His was a wary smile and all the sweeter for its rarity. Catriona felt the expression was dismissed all too soon.
For the laird’s sister came running up the stairs, her concern most clear. “Catriona! Do not be afraid. I have done this afore and you will do it well.”
“And what is in your mind that you run up the stairs?” the laird demanded.
The lady dismissed his concerns with a wave that made his eyes flash.
The vigor of the next contraction was greater than that of the preceding ones. Catriona was shocked at the vehemence of her labor, and how quickly it came upon her. The fear she had tried to control grew beyond her control.
Was her womb rejecting the babe because it was a monster?
Or was it dead?
In this moment, the old tales and rumors seemed to have new potency.
“The pains are close together,” Lady Vivienne said. “Your babe is merely in a hurry to see the world.” She smiled encouragement. “That is good for you, as the ordeal may be shorter. Do not be afraid, Catriona. I will not leave you.”
“I cannot be afraid with such aid as you offer, my lady.”
“Good.” Lady Vivienne squeezed her hand.
But Catriona was afraid, and she saw in the eyes of the Laird of Ravensmuir even as he stepped back that he knew the truth. She noted the quick glance that brother and sister exchanged, then the laird strode across the solar and leapt down the stairs.
“Now, let us remove your kirtle,” the lady murmured, reaching for Catriona’s laces. “You will be more comfortable in your chemise alone.”
“And there will be less to wash,” Catriona whispered.
The lady smiled. “There is that consideration as well. You are always pragmatic, Catriona. That trait will serve you well as a mother.”
She lifted the kirtle over Catriona’s head, pausing for a moment to stare at the jeweled cross revealed.
“My mother gave it to me on her deathbed,” Catriona said, blushing at her lady’s astonishment. It did seem unlikely, though it was the truth. Catriona had been as surprised by Lady Vivienne. She knew her blush made her look guilty, but she could not stop it.
“And a fine token it is,” Lady Vivienne said as she folded the kirtle away. Something changed in her manner, though, at the sight of Catriona’s secret treasure, and that sent a pang of fear through Catriona.
The lady thought her a thief.
Her place of employ might not be secure.
She had to find her child a good home.
As the pain began to build once again, Catriona clutched the cross, hiding it in her hand, and began to pray.
* * *
Vera could not come quickly enough, to Malcolm’s thinking. Catriona was crying out in pain before Erik and Ruari cleared the gap in the hedge, making him fear that the maid with so much experience in bringing children to light would arrive too late. He had a bad feeling, one he could not shake, and it was not entirely due to memory. He already knew that Catriona was stoic, and for her to show such distress so early could be no good thing.
Indeed, he had anticipated more of a fight from her about her remaining at Ravensmuir.
Malcolm knew that Vivienne needed hot water and clean cloths and praised his good fortune that his sister was even at Ravensmuir. Rafael took over the management of the work crew, understanding without a word that Malcolm would be unavailable until the child arrived.
“It comes so quickly,” he said to Vivienne, when he brought the water. Already Catriona wore only her chemise and braced on her elbows, her knees apart. She panted, her face red with exertion, a clean sheet covering her lower body. She clutched something in her fist, that talisman that hung from a chain around her neck. Vivienne was between Catriona’s ankles and though her hands were hidden beneath the cloth, Malcolm knew where they must be.
“Very fast,” Vivienne agreed softly, then smiled at Catriona. Malcolm did not miss the hint of his sister’s concern, though she spoke with confidence to Catriona. “But that only means your labor will be short.”
“I doubt it is such good fortune as that, my lady,” Catriona said, wincing as another contraction clearly seized her body.
“Whatever do you mean?” Vivienne asked, though Malcolm could hear in her voice that she was troubled. “All will be well.”
Catriona closed her mouth tightly and shook her head. “Nay, it is too fast and too fierce.”
“You must not concern yourself in this moment with such fears,” Vivienne said soothingly, but Malcolm knew that Catriona had witnessed many births.
“What do you think is amiss?” he asked, and she flicked a glance at him, as if uncertain whether to voice her fear aloud. He nodded once and she swallowed before she spoke.
“I fear it is dead,” Catriona said. “And my womb spews it forth to cleanse itself with all haste.”
Vivienne was clearly shaken by these words, but she tried to hide her reaction. “You must think well of the outcome,” she said. “You must believe in the goodness of God and the world…”
“I know little of such goodness, my lady,” Catriona said, interrupting her. “Only wickedness can come of this child’s conception.”
Vivienne turned to Malcolm with horror, and he found himself kneeling beside Catriona. Once again he took her hand, although she caught her breath at his touch. “I say you are wrong, that all babes are innocent when they first see light.”
Her gaze flew to his, even as she panted, as if she wanted her thinking to be changed.
“You said that last night the babe was agitated,” he reminded her. “Perhaps it is merely impatient with its confinement.”
The tension in Catriona’s features eased slightly. “I pray you are right, my lord.”
“I know that I am.”
She stared at him, as if drawing strength from his conviction. Then she bit back a cry as another contraction rolled through her body. This one was longer and more fierce, leaving her breathing quickly. Vivienne murmured encouragement and wiped her brow. Catriona began to pray aloud, her obvious fear terrifying Malcolm.
It was too close to what he had witnessed before. That time, Ursula had understood the outcome of the day, long before it had come to pass, and had accepted no assurances that she would survive. Malcolm found himself praying as well, and feeling as useless as ever he had. He held Catriona’s hand when she let him do so. When she spurned his touch, he paced and watched out the window, reasoning that he should remain in the solar because its height granted a better view of the road.
Why did the party from Kinfairlie take so long?
Malcolm fetched and carried as Vivienne required, the morning seeming to crawl at a snail’s pace. He winced at every cry Catriona emitted and marveled that women ever survived such an ordeal. He stoked up the fire in the brazier and returned to the window time and again, impatient with the speed of those who came to assist. He prayed as he had never prayed before. It was past noon when he thought he saw two horses riding toward Ravensmuir from Kinfairlie.
“I believe Eleanor comes,” he said, but his sister was dismissive.
“I see the child!” Vivienne frowned then, flicking him a glance. He saw the urgency in her manner immediately and went to her side.
Evidently Catriona had noted it as well. “What is amiss?” she demanded.
“Eleanor will arrive within moments…” Malcolm said, speaking calmly.
“And she will be too late,” Vivienne whispered. “This child is an impatient one, Catriona. Do not fear.”
“What can I do?” Malcolm asked, not understanding. He looked between the women, fearing that the past repeated itself, fearing that Catriona would share Ursula’s fate.
“Naught,” Vivienne said, her hands clearly moving. She grimaced and shook her head.
“Vivienne, I would be of assistance,” he insisted, unable to simply watch.
“Ursula,” Catriona whispered, and his gaze flew to meet hers.
Malcolm nodded minutely.
/> “Then wash your hands,” Catriona said briskly. “You can be of aid, sir.”
“Nay!” Vivienne gasped in horror.
Catriona, though, looked Malcolm in the eye, her resolve most clear. “The child must be tangled in the cord, sir, and your hands are strongest. I would ask you to save my child with all haste.”
“Catriona!” Vivienne murmured, her shock most clear.
“We must bring this child forth, Vivienne, regardless of your notions of convention.” Malcolm said firmly as he washed his hands. “Tell me what to do, Catriona.”
This time, he would not stand aside and let a child die.
This time, he would see both child and mother survive.
This time, he would follow Catriona’s counsel and choose to do differently than he had done before.
Chapter Seven
There was something to be said for a man unafraid to do whatsoever had to be done.
Never mind one who could choose the best course from an array of poor options. Even with his aid, this babe’s situation might not end well. One sight of the laird’s agitation had made all clear to Catriona: this was how Ursula had died, in laboring too long, perhaps for the same reason.
Catriona had feared that the Laird of Ravensmuir would balk at her request, but he barely blinked before he agreed. She had felt that the child was held back by something, for the vigor of her contractions should have sent it forth already. She knew Lady Vivienne tried to move something and understood it had to be the cord. She also knew that the child had been in the birth canal too long.
If the laird could not aid her, the babe would die.
Catriona realized she was not quite ready to leave all in God’s hands. The laird was present, and she chose to believe that was divine design.
The babe might still die, but they would try.
Of course, the laird would know little of the birth of children. Amongst the nobility, a man was not allowed to witness a birth. Catriona knew as much, so her lady’s reaction had not surprised her. That this laird had attended one birth was rare and probably due to circumstances of war. His history meant, though, that he would not be shocked or squeamish, and Catriona welcomed that.
“I will guess that the cord is about the babe’s neck,” she said, raising herself to her elbows.
“Aye, it is,” Vivienne agreed. “But Malcolm…”
Catriona ignored her lady’s protest, liking that the laird ignored it as well.
“And so?” he asked, kneeling below her.
“You must reach within and move the cord away,” Catriona said, liking that he did not flinch. It was not a task for the meek, or those who disliked blood, but she wagered he was neither. Indeed, he did not hesitate, for she felt the warmth of his hands upon her. “Time is of import, sir,” she reminded him so that he did not pause.
He moved both quickly and gently. Catriona watched his face closely, seeking some sign of what he found. Another contraction began to build within her but she gritted her teeth and breathed steadily, trying to give him as much time as possible. His gaze flicked to her, and the line of his lips tightened, making her think that he understood. She panted even as her womb rippled.
“I have it,” he said, frowning. “But it is so tight and slippery, like a wet snake.”
“Can you ease a finger beneath it?” Catriona asked. “Sometimes that makes the difference.”
He frowned and his hands moved. “There! My thumb is beneath.” He grimaced as he sought to move it. In that same moment, the pain built, redoubling as her womb tried to force the child forth. “Almost. I have the shoulder.”
Catriona bit her lip, trying to hold back her cry, even as she watched the laird.
“And it is moving over, so slowly. But a moment longer, Catriona.”
The lady crossed herself.
Catriona panted. Just when she thought she could not hold back any longer, the laird flicked her a triumphant glance. “Done!”
Catriona screamed as she let the contraction come over her and she pushed with all her might.
“Aha!” the laird said with such satisfaction that Catriona could only hope for the best. The next contraction came quickly, so quickly that she scarce had time to catch her breath. To her relief, she felt the child spill forth.
The lady leaned down and Catriona knew she cleaned the mucus from the child’s face. She fairly held her breath, still dreading that the child was dead.
Then the babe cried out with vigor, and the laird’s smile fair stole Catriona’s breath away. “A boy, Catriona!” he said to her, with such pride that the child might have been his own. He held her gaze, as if willing her to accept the truth. “A perfect boy.”
Catriona fell back against the pallet with relief. She fought the urge to weep with joy. She wanted to cuddle her child close and admire his beauty, but knew that would only make the surrender of him harder to bear. Her heart was torn that she had to give him away, and she feared that if she so much as looked upon him, she would not be able to do what she knew to be right for him.
Still, a boy and one so hale as to make the Laird of Ravensmuir smile. That was a feat, indeed.
There was a clatter of hoof beats in the bailey, but the party from Kinfairlie had indeed arrived too late.
“Look upon him. He is beautiful!” Vivienne laid the babe upon Catriona’s belly with care, then fetched a cloth to finish washing him.
Catriona raised a hand to cup the back of her son’s head, the perspiration on her face mingling with tears of relief. She was reluctant even to touch her own child, yet unable to keep herself from doing so.
“Praise be to God,” she murmured, then looked instead at the laird. His eyes shone with a pleasure that made her heart pound anew. “I thank you, my lord.”
“You are most welcome, Catriona.”
He seemed to hold some secret close, his gaze darting to his sister and then to the party erupting from the top of the stairs.
“Still the afterbirth will come,” Lady Vivienne said. “Rest, Catriona, for your task is done.”
But it was not done. She had to find a haven for her son before she could rest.
* * *
The first child born at Ravensmuir in decades and a boy. No less, the boy had only survived because Malcolm had assisted in the birth. It had to be a sign. He fought the urge to look for the returning ravens, even as the sound of the arriving party could be heard on the stairs.
What if his sorry soul could be saved?
“We are too late!” Eleanor cried, racing across the room to see the child. She nodded to Malcolm, then lifted the boy from his arms. “He is handsome indeed!”
“You should not even be in this chamber!” Vera scolded with good natured grumpiness. She pinched Malcolm’s arm, her smile showing that she was glad he was home again. “Such matters are not for men to know.”
“I am beyond glad that I was,” Malcolm replied firmly. He nodded to Catriona. “And gladdened yet more that Catriona was not afraid to ask for my help.”
Eleanor and Vera exchanged puzzled glances.
“Malcolm freed the child from the cord,” Vivienne supplied. “I could not do it.”
Vera crossed herself. If there had been a stool near her, she undoubtedly would have sat down. Instead, she wavered on her feet. “She asked for his aid?” she echoed.
“Indeed, Catriona is a woman of remarkable sense,” said Malcolm. “And one who thinks quickly in such moments.” He smiled at the woman in question, knowing she would suit him well as wife, for however long he might remain by her side. “Praise be.” He bowed, then left the women in the solar. There was silence behind him, then Vera began to organize matters as she best preferred.
Malcolm would have liked to have remained with Catriona—and not only to defend her from Vera’s edicts—but there were arrangements to be made for his newly arrived guests. He dispatched Rafael to hunt whatsoever he might catch and fought an almost forgotten urge to whistle. The masons had questions for him and t
he fire on the hearth had to be stoked, and for the first time since his return, he wished he did have some servants in the hall.
Catriona was right.
The time had come to add to his household.
Malcolm was debating the merit of asking the advice of Kinfairlie’s castellan, Anthony, in seeking some servants for the hall itself when Eleanor and Vivienne came downstairs together. He stood to greet them. “How is Catriona?” he asked and they exchanged a glance.
“She is asleep,” Eleanor said.
“And her rest well deserved,” agreed Vivienne. “Never have I seen a child born with such haste.”
“And he is not small, either,” Eleanor said.
“Praise be that Malcolm was with us, and all ended well.”
“Anthony sent supplies with us,” Eleanor said to Malcolm. “He could not bear the prospect of our subsisting at Ravensmuir without a hot meal, even for part of one day.”
“You must show Eleanor all that you have done,” Vivienne said. “The new Ravensmuir is magnificent and will be wondrous indeed when it is complete.”
“First I will make Catriona a posset,” Eleanor said, reaching into one of the satchels she had brought and removing some dried herbs. “It will also make her sleep.” She put a mortar and pestle on the table and began to grind herbs within it, their scent filling the hall. Whatever plants she had brought, Malcolm found the scent both soothing and invigorating.
“In truth, I have been thinking that it is time to have some servants in the hall,” Malcolm said to Eleanor. “Would Alexander be troubled if I asked Anthony’s aid in this task?”
She smiled. “They both would welcome the opportunity. They are beyond curious about what you have done here and what you plan, though pride has kept Alexander home.”
“I know he disapproves…”
“And I know that you are his brother.” Eleanor gave Malcolm a kiss on the cheek. “He needs solely an invitation to be your ally again, Malcolm. Do not imagine that it is otherwise. He nigh wept with relief that you were returned hale and whole.”
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