Kristie reopened her eyes and stared at the ground. “I thank ye for yer help, Creag.”
He pulled his hand back and paused before answering, “Well, I dinnae know if ye mean cleaning the mud from yer hair or helping in the field, but I can answer for both in the same breath. Ye are welcome, Kristie. It is my pleasure being of service to ye.”
She nodded and tucked a few wet locks that had come loose from her braid behind her ear. “Domnall will be glad of yer help. He never much liked plowing with the ponies. Said it was frustrating work without oxen.”
“Well, I pray he will return to ye soon.”
Kristie considered her current situation and the fact that Creag hadn’t harmed them. He hadn’t recovered fully, but he could have ridden off on one of their ponies if he’d wanted. She already knew Jean’s position on the subject.
Kristie cleared her throat. “If ye meant it and ye are able, we could use the help ’round here ’til he does come back. For a roof over yer head and food in yer belly.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought ye were done with putting up with me—the outsider.”
“Are ye so eager to go out into the unknown, not knowing who ye are or where ye belong?”
The corners of Creag’s lips pulled into a half smile, and he walked away from her. “I cannae say that. Here is just as good as any place.”
“Is it, now? Ye have other lodging arranged I dinnae know about?” She thought of Moira and how eager she might be to have him stay in her father’s byre, albeit it was unlikely that Sacharie would allow it.
He paused in reaction to her raised voice. She hated how easily he riled her, and she forced herself to take a deep breath.
Creag unfastened the leather strap around his waist and tossed it on the rocks. Then he lifted his plaid from the ground. It was dark from absorbing the rain, but it was clean. He wrapped it about his waist before tugging free his muddy tunic and taking it off, exposing his bare chest. He picked up his walking stick and leaned on it.
Kristie looked away, embarrassed by how distracted she was by him. When she began to wade out of the water, he cleared his throat. “I am thankful for yer kindness and accept yer offer.”
“Very well.” She stole one more glance at him washing his tunic in the water and said, “I am off to return home. Come knock when ye get back, and I will have yer meal ready.”
Creag turned his head to look at her and nodded. She stepped on the slippery rocks in her bare feet, holding out her hands to keep balance, and walked away from the shore. All the way back, she tried to make a list of the things that needed tending on the farm, but thoughts of him touching her brow haunted her until she finally found sleep curled up in the rafters of her brother’s home.
Chapter 8
A week went by without much rest for anyone. Creag started getting up before Kristie could startle him awake and prepared for another day of hard labor. He hoped her tension would ease once the crops were sowed, but he realized when each item was ticked off her list of chores, there was something else waiting to be done. She was more tightly wound than a wild pony tethered for the first time, yet he couldn’t help the fact that he enjoyed getting her stirred up.
Creag woke with a start. He could still taste saltwater on his lips and hear waves lapping, punctuated with the shrill calls from seagulls. Like every morning, he was lying in the dark, now-familiar shadows of the byre. Sadness and loss gripped his heart, although he didn’t know why. The dream that shocked him awake every morning left him haunted. He thought of the streaks of red that clouded the water around him and the muffled shouts that filled his ears. The voices didn’t strike him as being familiar, and although he tried, he couldn’t determine what they were calling. It nagged at the corner of his mind, although with Kristie keeping him busy, he didn’t have the time to dwell on it, so he got up and secured his plaid over his shoulder and belted it around his waist.
He glanced at the walking stick, sitting against the wall in the corner. He’d set it aside, believing no one would suspect a magical recovery nearly two weeks after his injury. Creag still limped for the show, but he knew he had a place to stay until Domnall returned.
Before leaving the shadowy confines of the byre, he stretched his arms, wrapping his fingers over the edge of the threshold and leaning into it. Creag glanced at the loch. He hadn’t tried to return to his magical seal form. He recalled how absorbed he’d become when he’d sped through the cool waters. It was such a freeing sensation, he wasn’t sure if he’d want to return to land and didn’t want to take the risk. Jean and Kristie needed help until Domnall found his way home, something Creag was beginning to doubt would happen, despite the repeated searches organized by Jean and Eileanor.
Creag walked to the dimly lit infield and bent over to pull a weed. The morning sun was covered with gray clouds, although he couldn’t detect the smell of rain on the horizon. He looked in the direction of Jock’s home. The lad hadn’t been seen since their mud fight, and he was beginning to miss him. Jock seemed to be the only one around there who knew how to enjoy himself, and the drudgery of working on the farm was wearing on Creag. He could have used a game or another selkie tale to keep his mind distracted from the mundane labor that made him wish for something more.
Shouting drew his attention, and he looked across the field at Kristie, who was standing just outside of the stone house, waving her arms about and cursing at the ravens. He chuckled at the sight of it, though he knew she found it less than amusing to have her seedlings picked at by “evil winged scavengers,” as she called them.
When the hollering continued without reprieve, he stopped to look again and realized there were no ravens pecking in the dirt between them. He squinted at Kristie’s apparent distress and strained to listen.
“The bairn is on its way!” Her mouth opened wide as she called, “I need ye!”
If Creag knew anything about childbirth, it had been forgotten with the bump to his head. He had no idea what he could do to help, but he thought it wise to hurry to Kristie’s side. She appeared anxious enough already. He dug in his feet and jogged up to the home, hoping he wouldn’t be invited inside to catch the wee thing as it came from Jean’s loins.
When he reached Kristie, her brown eyes were opened wide, and she was panting as if she’d run to the pasture and back without stopping. She was without her plaid and only wore a dark-gray tunic dress that fell to her ankles. No belt cinched her waist or braid contained her hair, which flowed freely in golden waves over her shoulders.
“Jean—she be having her bairn!” Kristie said through clenched lips, gesturing toward the home behind her. “And my brother is not returned. She be distraught, and if I speak true—so am I.”
“I dinnae know how an outsider like me can help,” he said.
“She be asking that Eileanor be fetched. Though I hate to invite that woman in to berate and judge me and my kin, I fear for my sister-in-law’s life more than anything.” Kristie gasped at breath, and her hands went to her temples as she pinched her eyes shut.
“Calm yerself.” Creag glanced over his shoulder toward Eileanor’s farm. “I will fetch her straightaway.”
Kristie’s brows pulled together and she gave a curt nod. Creag took off across the field in the direction of the yellowed reed roof in the distance. He’d never paid a visit to the neighbors before. He’d never had reason. But news of a birth was reason enough.
She watched him hurry away from her. Domnall wasn’t there, hadn’t returned yet. Kristie didn’t know if he would but couldn’t think about that. Not right now. For Jean, his wife, needed her. She depended on Kristie to help bring her bairn safely into the world.
A cry came from the home. Kristie was drawn from her thoughts. She turned about and rushed through the wooden door. Jean was lying in her smock in the bedstraw, clutching her round belly with her eyes pinched shut. Her lips were puckered in a wince while a painful wail escaped.
“Creag is off to collect Eileanor as ye
wished, and soon the bairn will be safe in yer arms.” Kristie went to the cask of ale to pour her sister-in-law a drink. They didn’t have the wealth to trade for wine or aqua vitae, which might have numbed the woman’s pain more.
She returned to Jean’s side and waited for her cries to die down before helping her onto her feet and handing her the cup. “Now drink up and walk about the place until the cramps come back, and then ye best hold onto the wall. I will be getting the chair ready.”
Kristie remembered the pain she’d gone through when her Seonaid was born. Seeing Jean in that discomfort now brought it all back. She had also been without her husband, though she’d known he would never return from the battlefield.
Jean’s face was flushed, making her hair appear even fairer. Her brows furrowed as she lifted the drink to her lips and slurped it down. It was so weak it would take more than a cupful for her to begin to feel its effects.
Kristie went to collect a stool and set it at the center of the room, then set a half-full bucket of water beside it.
Jean panted nearby and groaned. “Fetch me the bairn’s tunic. I only finished it yesterday. My son will need to be clothed once he joins us, Lord providing.”
Beside the wooden frame filled with bedstraw, Kristie spotted the cream folds of linen fabric on the ground. She knew Jean had been working diligently on it while she took to the confines of the home, sensing the coming birth of her first child. Kristie went to collect it and held it up. “Ye did a fine job on the stitching.”
“Oooh,” Jean cried and leaned against the wall.
Kristie set the small tunic beside the stool and went to Jean’s side, placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder and taking the empty cup from her hand. “The pain will pass soon enough. Tomorrow it will be a distant memory as ye hold yer wee one in yer arms.”
Her sister-in-law touched her head to the wall and braced her hands against the bumpy clay. The noises coming from Jean’s lips lifted into the high arched ceiling and were swallowed by the straw roof. Kristie heard her whisper, “How did ye ever do it?”
“Oh, well, I would say since I had no choice in the matter,” Kristie responded while she let her hand rest on the low of Jean’s back, “I decided it was best to hurry up with it so I could meet the lass.”
Jean sucked in a quick breath and held it as she pinched her face in a grimace. When she let it out, with it came prayers to God. A man might know battle and have a valiant heart when it came to fighting for kin, clan or country, but he would never know the fear a woman lived with when it came to childbirth—fighting an invisible foe. Sacharie’s wife had passed from the windy Highlands to travel to heaven following Moira’s birth. It was more common than not to suffer some kind of blow to either the child or the mother.
Kristie went to collect the three-legged stool. She placed it beside her sister-in-law and helped lower her down to sit. When the laboring woman rested on the seat, another cry escaped her lips, and she reached to cling to her sister-in-law’s arms. Kristie waited for the pain to pass before encouraging Jean to let go and lean back, which she did with a loud sigh.
“Let us see what state ye are in.” Kristie lifted the skirt of Jean’s smock and found she was feeling pressure for a very good reason. “I can see the wee one. Ye are close, now.”
She forced a smile up at Jean as fear sent cold sweats across her shoulders and back. Kristie had seen the baby, but not its head. She might not have been a midwife, but she knew which end should come first, and it wasn’t its backside.
Jean’s eyes met hers, and she began to pant. “What are ye not telling me?”
Kristie tried breathing out slowly to prevent herself from crying, but it didn’t work. Her cheeks quivered as she said, “It be not the head I see.”
“Oh, Mother of God,” Jean whispered. “Take me under yer protection.”
Without so much as a knock, the door flung open and Eileanor rushed inside. She stood looking at the scene before latching the door shut, blocking out the daylight.
The neighbor didn’t let her gaze fall on Kristie at all, but remained focused on Jean. It was to her she spoke when she stepped closer. “Good thing yer outsider came to fetch me. Without a midwife near, ye best rely on those who know their prayers. Take my hand.”
Eileanor went to Jean’s side and the pregnant woman began to cry. The neighbor pulled her head to her shoulder and tried soothing her.
Kristie breathed out slowly before being able to utter under her breath, “The bairn is turned about with its buttocks first.”
“Oh, Lord.” Eileanor’s eyes widened.
Jean turned into the neighbor, grabbing hold of her plaid in pain. The pregnant woman’s face was pinched tight as she moaned. Eileanor stood by helplessly and began to mutter prayers with a stricken look on her face.
Every scream Kristie witnessed, she felt down to her bones. Only a year and a half had passed since it had been her perched on the edge of the stool with Jean encouraging her. The memories haunted her, though she did well to keep them from her thoughts—most of the time.
She backed toward the door as she tried to push away the memories of pulling the stillborn calf from its mother, or even the thoughts of the last shallow breaths her daughter took before passing. All of it was too much. It pushed her to break down and crumble in fear.
These were likely Jean’s last moments as well as her bairn’s. Kristie would soon be completely alone. Maybe it was her fate to suffer through all of her loved one’s deaths.
Kristie wrenched open the door and ran outside, crying. Tears blinded her from seeing what stood in her path. She fled straight into Creag, who grabbed ahold of her shoulders.
“What be the problem?” She could hear the concern in his voice. “Is Jean safe? Be it the bairn?”
She couldn’t speak. She only pinched her eyes shut and leaned against him. The welcome feeling of arms wrapping about her shoulders might have soothed her, but she was beyond consolation.
“Kristie!” he hollered with a shake and pulled her away from him.
She sniffed and let her lids slide open. Creag was staring at her with a frown. “Calm yerself, and tell me what be the matter.”
“I dinnae know how ye can call for calm. Jean be needing someone else to rely on. She and that bairn of hers are as good as buried if I interfere.” She began to cry again.
“Explain yerself.” His deep voice was like a beacon though a storm.
“The bairn is turned backward, and all I can think about is that lifeless calf I pulled from its mam. I keep seeing it in my mind—cannae stop picturing it.” She pressed her hands against her temples, and her voice came out in a whisper. “My wee nephew or niece is near, and I cannae take seeing another sweet, innocent bairn ushered away by the angels. Not again.”
She thought of her sweet, innocent daughter and fell apart.
Creag hooked his pointer finger under her chin and leaned in to growl, “I cannae believe what I am hearing. Ye are the only reason that heifer be walking still, along with that calf of hers. Look at me—”
She felt him wait for her focus to lift and settle on him. “Ye are her kin. Who else will fight like ye to save her and that bairn? No one, I tell ye. No one. Ye are a born fighter. I can see it in yer eyes and hear it in yer voice every time ye speak of yer blasted chores.”
Her cheek twitched, and she pressed her lips together. Her breathing slowed, and she blinked away her tears.
Creag’s tone didn’t waver. He spoke more forcefully than she’d ever heard. “Now go in there and be Jean’s strength. Believe enough for the both of ye that the child and mam are safe. And dinnae let that madwoman, Eileanor, push ye ’round or make ye feel less than ye are.”
Kristie looked into his gray eyes and could see that he thought her capable. It helped pull her back from the darkness. She recalled her own words to him, fight to the last. She was born of fighters. So she would walk in their footsteps.
His finger released its hold from her chin, and sh
e wiped away her tears. Just then a cry came from the darkened contours of the home. Kristie lifted her skirts and hurried inside, latching the door behind her.
Kristie found Eileanor at Jean’s side, clutching the pregnant woman’s hands and reciting prayers. Kristie took a deep breath and nudged their neighbor away from Jean. Eileanor didn’t let her glare interrupt her steady flow of prayers.
A strange sense of calm came over Kristie. She knew she had to do what she could to help Jean. For her brother and for her own sake.
“Are ye feeling like it be time to push? Are ye feeling pressure?” she asked.
Jean’s forehead was covered with sweat and the tracings of fear could be seen in her teary eyes. She nodded and began to cry.
Kristie put her hand on Jean’s cheek. “Yer bairn wishes to meet ye, so let us not keep him waiting.”
Kristie waited for Jean to nod in confirmation before lowering herself to the ground and helping Jean lean back. Jean’s screams accompanied her first push. A sweet bairn’s bottom emerged, and next, one of his legs.
“He be coming in a hurry.” Kristie looked up at Jean to give her a smile of encouragement.
Her sister-in-law’s face turned red with effort as she sucked in another deep breath before bearing down again. With this push, the bairn’s other leg came out along with his torso. Jean stopped to catch her breath while Kristie helped to free one of the child’s arms from the birth canal, then the other.
Kristie secured her hands on either side of the base of the bairn’s head, careful to support his delicate neck. “Whenever ye are ready.”
In the background Eileanor’s soft voice recited, “Mother of orphans, health and hope of those hoping in thee, virgin before giving birth, virgin during birth, and virgin after giving birth. I beseech thee…”
If his head was too large, the child wouldn’t survive, and Jean might not either. She held eye contact with her sister-in-law and nodded. The pregnant woman groaned and bore down.
Outsider (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 4) Page 9
