My Shadow Warrior

by Jen Holling

  Jamie held the man’s leg for her, and when she finally allowed him to release it, he rushed outside and vomited. After instructing her patient how to care for his healing abscess, lest it fester again, she joined Jamie outside. He huddled on a bench beside the cottage door, his head in his hands.

  She sat beside him. “Are you all right?” She pushed back the blond hair falling over his brow and pressed her palm to his clammy forehead.

  He shrank from her touch, an unmistakable expression of disgust on his face, and scooted further down the bench, away from her. “You will stop this…healing when we are wed.”

  Rose dropped her hand, wondering if she should be offended by his reaction to her touch, but all she truly felt was relief. Just the day before, he’d been anxious to bed her. It appeared that would no longer be a concern. But then again, she meant to marry him, didn’t she? She did not want her husband to be repulsed by her.

  “Why should I stop?” she said. “I’m a healer. It’s what I do.”

  “When we marry you’ll be a wife. The MacPherson’s lady.” When she didn’t respond, he straightened, giving her a pointed look.

  She opened her palm in a placating gesture. “Someone must heal the people on your lands—”

  “We already have a healer.”

  “I’m better.”

  He raised a brow. “How very modest of you.”

  Rose shrugged. “It’s true. Besides, my mother always—”

  “Your mother was burned alive. She is of no matter to us.”

  Rose stiffened. “She matters to me. She was a great lady who helped all who needed it. I don’t care how she died. I can only hope to live a life as rich as hers.”

  Jamie groaned and rolled his eyes. “Let’s speak of this later.”

  Rose stood, angry now. “I want to discuss this now. Let’s return to Lochlaire and discuss it over dinner. I’m starving.”

  Jamie sighed and stood heavily. “I do not think I can eat.” He looked down his nose at her, nostrils pinched. “You do intend to bathe, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Rose said, her cheeks hot.

  He sniffed disdainfully and started for the loch. Rose followed, embarrassed as she’d never been before. She glanced down at herself, noting the stains all over her clothes. She’d never cared before; neither had anyone else who knew her. Her cheeks burned hotter with suppressed anger.

  Before they reached the small dock, she noticed a skiff rowing frantically across the water.

  “Miss Rose!” a lad called as she was untying a boat. “Wait, Miss Rose!”

  Rose’s heart tripped, wondering what had set the lad in such a frenzy. Her father. She waited on the shore until the prow hit the dock.

  “Get in, hurry! Tira is having her wean!”

  Rose closed her eyes in relief. Jamie gave her a puzzled look, and Rose said, “My uncle’s wife is in labor.”

  They clambered into the boat. With Jamie taking a set of oars, they moved swiftly through the water. When they entered the castle’s cavernous water entrance, Rose’s gaze was immediately drawn to the man waiting for her quay-side. William. Her heart stumbled at the unexpected sight of him, large and grim, a lone sentinel on the quay. He watched their approach, his hands folded behind his back, aloof. A shadow warrior, so alone in his self-inflicted exile. A lump rose in her throat. He would leave after Tira gave birth, and she would never see him again. Jamie would certainly never allow contact with him.

  “What is he doing here?” Jamie muttered, pulling on the oars with renewed force. His eyes narrowed on the lone figure, and his jaw jutted pugnaciously.

  “He has agreed to assist me with Tira.”

  Jamie snorted. “That’s woman’s work.”

  “Aye, unless you’re a gifted healer,” Rose said, her lips pursed together tartly. “Though I can deliver weans and mend many wounds, I cannot stop all the blood from draining out of a woman after—”

  “Very well, I ken your meaning.” There was a slightly green pallor to his skin, and his rowing had slackened considerably. It had never occurred to Rose that her husband-to-be would be so squeamish. She tried not to feel scornful about it but couldn’t help remembering how William had healed others, oblivious of blood and sickness.

  Jamie pulled in the oars as the boat slid the rest of the way to the quay. William descended the steps to help her from the skiff but retreated when Jamie hauled her roughly out of the boat.

  “Easy, lad,” William said when Rose winced from Jamie’s hold on her arm. “She’s not a Lachaber ax for you to be tossing about.”

  Jamie thrust her behind him. “You dare speak to me, scabbit bastard?”

  William stood several steps above them. He stared down at Jamie, his expression mildly amused. “Scabbit? Mayhap. But no bastard. I assure you, my parents were married.”

  “It’s not a legal marriage if one of the parties is a pig.”

  William’s eyes narrowed, and his hand went to his dirk hilt.

  “Och, need you a knife? Can you not just touch me and give me the plague, Wizard?”

  “Jamie!” Rose found his jealousy no more endearing than his weak stomach. She darted out from behind him and climbed to the step above him. “You said you wouldn’t fight.”

  “I promised not to kill him. I never said I wouldna speak my mind.”

  “Those sounded like fighting words to me,” Rose said. She turned to William and gave him a pleading look.

  He resheathed the dirk he’d pulled halfway from the scabbard at his waist. He held Jamie’s gaze over her head for another moment before looking down at her. “Come,” he said. “Tira asks for you.”

  Rose followed him through the castle, Jamie trailing behind. They climbed three flights of stairs to the remote apartments at the top of the west tower. From the landing, they could hear the screaming inside.

  “Uh…Rose?”

  Rose turned to find Jamie hanging back on the steps. Tira screamed again and he grimaced, head sinking down into his shoulders.

  “I think I’ll wait here for you, on the steps…” Tira shrieked again, as if someone tried to murder her. Jamie swallowed. “Except further down.”

  “Birthings can take a long time,” Rose cautioned. “I might be in there twelve hours or more. Why don’t you find some dinner and get some rest?”

  Jamie’s gazed fixed on William and his lips curled. He said, with more strength in his voice, “I’ll wait on the stairs.”

  Rose sighed. “Very well.” At least he wouldn’t be in the birthing room, fighting with William. He looked her up and down, as if considering whether he wanted to kiss her, then settled for a pat on her shoulder before retreating down the steps.

  Rose turned back toward the door. William leaned against the frame, watching her. “You must be near to swooning from such a passionate courting.”

  Rose glared at him. “I’ve been healing all day. I look hideous. No one would want to touch me.”

  He laughed and shook his head. Before she could ask him what was so amusing, the door opened and Tira’s maid glared out at them. Hilda was a stout, sour-faced woman who made certain Tira obeyed every edict Roderick set forth regarding her pregnancy. After losing two wives to childbirth, Roderick was taking no chances. Tira hadn’t left the tower room in two months.

  Hilda did not allow William entrance until he moved aside slightly, giving the maid a view of Rose. Hilda fluttered a hand over her ample bosom and threw the door wide. “You’re finally here!”

  When William started to follow Rose inside, Hilda blocked his way. “The master says I admit no one except him or Miss Rose.”

  Rose patted her comfortingly. “Worry not. Lord Strathwick is a skilled healer.”

  But Hilda did not look convinced. Her brows lowered and her thick lips pursed together in a flat line, but she let him pass.

  Tira sat up in bed, her belly huge beneath the sheet. Her face was ruddy with pain, and damp hair clung to her temples. She glanced from Rose to William anxiously
, her brows raised in worry.

  “Good morn,” William said. “May I?” He indicated the stool beside her bed.

  She nodded hesitantly. Long chestnut hair flowed over the snowy linen of her night rail and onto the bedding. Her skin was mildly scarred from smallpox, but it glowed with health, and her teeth were straight and white. She was a handsome woman, older than Rose by some years, a widow when Roderick had met her. She appeared downright robust to Rose—fully capable of delivering multiple weans with no harm to herself. Unfortunately, appearances were often deceiving.

  After Rose made the introductions, she passed her hands quickly over Tira, assuring herself of her aunt’s and the wean’s health. Both mother and child were well. Rose placed her hands on Tira’s belly and found that the baby still had not turned.

  The muscles contracted, bulging hard, and Tira gasped and cried out. Rose looked up at William. “The baby is still breech.”

  “Can she give birth that way?” He looked uneasy, no doubt remembering Deidra’s disastrous birth.

  “She’ll have to,” Rose said, comforted by William’s presence. The last breech birth she’d attended had been fatal for both mother and child.

  “What does that mean? Am I going to die?” Tira cried, gritting her teeth against the pain. “It’s a monster, isn’t it? It’s too big! Oh, God!”

  Hilda stood over the bed, her brow puckered in confusion. “It canna come until the master is here.”

  Rose raised an amused brow. “That is of no concern to the babe—I vow it. He cares not at all whether his father is present or not. Besides, Uncle Roderick should not be present in the birthing room.”

  Hilda’s gaze flew to William. “Then make him leave!”

  “He’s a healer. We may have need of him if aught goes wrong.”

  Tira moaned on the bed. “Oh God, Oh God! Get it out!”

  William murmured soothingly to her.

  “We need sheets,” Rose said to the maid. “And while you’re fetching them, see if you can find my uncle.”

  As Hilda left, Tira cried after her, “You must find him!” She clutched William’s arm as another contraction gripped her. When Rose moved to the bedside, Tira grabbed at her sleeve. “Rose, please. If he’s not here, I will die.”

  Rose hushed her, stroking her hand gently over Tira’s damp hair. “Fash not, I’ve delivered many weans, and Lord Strathwick will not let you or your child die.”

  William met her gaze grimly. He could not promise that, of course; he could promise only that one would live, but there was no reason to tell Tira that.

  “No!” Tira cried, thrashing about on the bed. “You don’t understand—it will kill me! He put it in there—it’s unnatural! It’s a monster! You must find my husband!”

  She screamed, gripping her stomach. After the contraction passed, William came to stand beside Rose. “What does she mean? A monster?”

  “She’s mad from the pain,” Rose murmured.

  He took her elbow and led her farther away from the bed. His expression was grave. “Which one, Rose? If it comes down to it, which one do I save?”

  Rose’s belly clenched. She could not make such a choice. “Let us pray the choice doesn’t have to be made.”

  She tried to return to the bed. He held fast to her elbow. “Prayers aren’t good enough. Which one? I have to know—for when it happens, there will be no time for debate.”

  Rose pressed her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “I know not! Pray you, wait until Hilda returns with my uncle. I cannot make this choice.”

  “Very well.” He rubbed a hand across the black-and-silver stubble on his chin, eyeing Tira pensively. “If both mother and child are in danger…there is a way to save them both.”

  She clasped his arm hopefully. “Really? What is it?”

  He gave her a long, fathomless look. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, aye? Let’s hope we do not.”

  He returned to the bedside. Rose frowned at him for a moment longer, wondering what he could mean, then resumed her preparations.

  Hilda returned with no news of Roderick. “I know not where he is. He did not even tell us he was leaving Lochlaire this morn. We sent for him when Tira began having pains. No one could find him. No one knows where he went.”

  Rose sighed heavily. This news only distressed her patient more, and she began raving again. Hilda wrung her hands. William’s gaze urged Rose to make a decision but she could not, so she looked away, avoiding direct conversation with him. He’d said there might be a way to save both. That was her choice.

  She gestured to the maid. “Help me get these soiled sheets off the bed.”

  Rose and Hilda stripped the bed while William lifted the pregnant woman as if she weighed nothing, heedless of the mess her sopping, blood-streaked shift had become. Rose and Hilda padded the mattress with a thick oiled skin and many layers of sheets. They’d been anticipating the birth for weeks now and had changed to a mattress stuffed with heather, so that when it was ruined, it would be no great loss. William laid her down, then built the fire back up as they changed Tira’s shift and wiped her down with a cool cloth.

  Tira cried and moaned, declaring over and over again that she would die without her husband’s assistance, that the child was a monster. Rose knew very little about her aunt. Though she’d tended her the last few months of her pregnancy, Tira was a quiet, withdrawn woman, not inclined to gossip or idle conversation. She’d never seemed afraid of Roderick, and he positively doted on her. It was all very curious. Rose had seen women who, in the throes of birth pain, said many bizarre things. Afterward they barely remembered saying them.

  The rapid progression of the labor was somewhat alarming. Rose had successfully delivered breech babies before, but loss of life was the more common scenario—for both mother and child. It really depended on the size of the baby and the size of the mother. Judging by the size of Tira’s belly, Rose estimated that the baby was an exceptionally large one. Tira was not a tiny woman, but Rose still had some concerns as to whether she could easily pass such a large infant. She checked her several times and finally began applying hot compresses to help her expand.

  William sat near the head of the bed, talking softly to Tira, while Hilda and Rose worked. She overheard William assuring Tira that her child was no monster but a gift, and of course Roderick put it in her belly—that’s the way it worked. She cried and argued incoherently with him. William kept sending Rose worried looks. She tried to reassure him with her eyes that Tira’s ravings were naught but nonsense uttered in some form by all women in labor.

  Tira jerked forward suddenly and cried in a hoarse voice, “The monster is here!”

  Rose looked down. A foot appeared.

  “It’s here,” Rose hissed, silencing everyone but Tira.

  She pressed Tira’s thighs further apart, speaking soothingly to her and urging her to push. Tira screamed and moaned, and Rose distinctly heard her beg William to kill the baby when it was born. Rose straightened from between Tira’s legs to meet William’s troubled gaze. He was holding up admirably amongst all the screaming and blood. She’d seen seasoned warriors faint dead away when presented with a wife’s birthing—which was one of the reasons Rose never allowed men in the room. She had enough to worry about without head wounds added in. But William appeared entirely unaffected.

  Rose urged Tira to keep pushing. On and on. The fire blazed and the room sweltered. Rose quickly removed her bodice and sleeves, tossing them somewhere behind her. Her shift clung to her skin and legs, her hair stuck to her face. Long moments passed, and only the wean’s legs and pelvis had emerged. Exhausted, Tira whimpered that she couldn’t push anymore, that it was killing her.

  Rose passed her hands over the baby periodically, and when finally the abdomen slid out, the baby’s color began to fade. The cord was pulled tight against the torso. Rose put a finger to it. The pulse fluttered weakly.

  “Something is wrong,” she said.

  “Can you feel it?�
�� William asked, beside her now. Tira had become oblivious in her pain, no longer aware of the others in the room with her.

  Rose summoned the magic again, as he’d taught her, sending it down her arms. She’d seen the dark mass at the baby’s neck, and now she felt it, thick and spongy, circling the baby’s throat.

  “The cord is wrapped around the neck. The position is strangling him.”

  “Can you pull him out?” William asked, touching a small, pale foot lying motionless against the sheets.

  Rose’s breath shuddered in and out of her chest as she slid her fingers into the birth canal, searching for the chin. “No—I can’t find his chin.” Her muscles trembled from the strain of supporting the substantial child on her forearm. “If I pull him out now, I could kill him.”

  William’s hands were on her shoulders. “He will die anyway if you don’t. I’m here. Pull him out.”

  “No. If I hurt his neck or head, he could die instantly. You told me you couldn’t bring back the dead.” Tira screamed again. Another hard contraction squeezed Rose’s fingers.

  “Pull her to the edge of the bed,” Rose ordered, her voice frantic. “Now—do it!”

  William gripped Tira’s thighs and pulled her down so that the child’s body dangled over the edge, supported by Rose’s left hand and forearm.

  An arm slid out, and Rose felt the chin. “I got it!” she cried triumphantly, lifting. The mouth was free, and indeed, the cord was wrapped tightly about the baby’s neck. Rose quickly slipped her fingers in further, locating the other arm and freeing it. Then she grasped the feet with her right hand and flipped the baby up and back, freeing the head and laying him neatly on his mother’s belly.

  He wasn’t breathing. He was limp and unresponsive, even after the cord was unwrapped from his neck. She cleared the mouth and nose, but still nothing. William took the baby from her and held it in his arms. Rose’s heart pounded in her ears as she looked from his face to the child. A moment later, he thrust the baby back at her and went down on one knee.