Labor of Love

by Felicia Rogers

  As he held the sword to the man’s neck he glanced at his fingernails noticing they were dirty again. Sighing he realized he would never be truly clean until he was able to return home. Running around with Festus and Lorcan was truly taking its toll. A looking glass behind the counter revealed even his wig was losing its luster.

  The big man didn’t seem inclined to answer. He stood there with his eyes narrowed. Nigel removed the rapier from his neck and replaced it in his scabbard.

  “Now if ye would be so kind, I will drink your ale, and I request food for my friends and myself.” Nigel turned and headed to where Lorcan and Festus waited, with their tongues hanging.

  “Oh, please do close your mouth. Your slobber is dripping upon our table.”

  Lorcan responded first. “I didn’t know ye had it in ye.”

  “Well, of course not. A gentleman never reveals all his talents at once.”

  Nigel had not ordered specific food because he was sure there were no choices, only what they gave you, just like with the drink. A serving wench with their food came their way. “Ah, here we are.”

  When it reached the table, the lass shot them a toothy grin. She dropped the tin plates, the food sloshing over the sides and running toward Nigel’s sleeves. She fell into Festus’ lap and stroked his head with her chubby fingers.

  “Hey handsome, where have ye been all my life?”

  “I don’t rightly know where I been, but I’m here now.”

  “Aye, that ye are.”

  “Would ye like to go upstairs?” Festus asked, with a goofy grin resting on his face.

  The maid twirled a lock of her hair. “We could, but ye would have to ask me brothers first.”

  “Yer brothers?”

  “Aye, my brothers.” Immediately they were surrounded by a multitude of Scotsmen, all with swords drawn. The girl jumped from Festus’ lap and laughed like a wild woman.

  The men converged on their table. Lorcan, Festus, and Nigel jumped to a standing position, each drawing their own weapons. They were in trouble. Lorcan and Festus only carried small daggers, and Nigel had nothing more than the rapier at hand. There was no way they could defend themselves against this many Scotsmen welding six-foot swords.

  As the men advanced someone else stepped into the fray. “Looks like ye might need some assistance.”

  Nigel didn’t wait to respond but shouted, “Aye, I believe we do.”

  “I might be inclined to help ye, but I need a favor in return.”

  “What would that favor be?” Nigel angled himself in a way he could be seen through the window. He hoped his men would rush in from outside and make the fight more even.

  “Ye see I have these friends and they are mighty tired of yer pursuit. If ye would see fit to let them go about their way, then I would be glad to call off this pack of hounds.”

  Suddenly, it dawned on him. This had all been an elaborate trick! The pub probably carried a mass variety of beverages, and they were withheld from him in the hopes of starting an argument. What a complete fool he had been to walk straight into such a trap! He would let this savage know right off what he thought about his favor.

  Nigel screamed at the top of his voice for reinforcements. The uniformed men ran to the door, getting caught together as they tried to push inside all at the same time. Nigel slapped his head with the palm of his hand. What kind of men was he dealing with? When they finally arrived, Nigel spoke with a new level of confidence. “I believe I will deny the answering of your favor, for it seems we are now equally matched.”

  Nigel slashed first with his rapier and hit one of the men the lady had called brother. The man clutched at his arm and fell back, allowing his other cohorts to move forward. Nigel, Lorcan, and Festus moved to the wall and slashed and hacked a route to the front door. There was no way they could actually win the fight, they must retreat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several of his soldiers fall, mortally wounded. Several more fell as Nigel escaped the fray and headed outside to his waiting horse.

  He mounted, and was soon followed by Festus, Lorcan, and the few others who managed to escape. They rode out, whipping their horses faster and faster as they reached the edge of town.

  The losses his group endured would have to be established at a later time. For the moment, they were still under attack. As they rode through the trees leaving the town far behind there was an explosion of sound that shook the ground.

  Was that a cannon or a pack of horses? Nigel hunched over the back of his beast, lowering his body. A swish of air sailed overhead. There was the crunch of trees to his side. He rode harder, pushing his horse faster.

  Enough distance between the town and himself, he stopped. His horse breathed heavy from exertion. As the animal drank from a nearby stream, Nigel slipped from the horse and used his hand to scoop water. Dirt and grime from the harrowing ride washed away, he stood erect and searched for his men.

  Inspection revealed Lorcan and Festus and a handful of men remained with him.

  Because of his stupidity, he had suffered heavy losses. He vowed he would not be so gullible again.

  ****

  “Did we get them?” asked a fellow Scotsmen.

  “Not all of them.”

  “Not even with the cannon?”

  “Nay, afraid not.”

  “We have done all we could do. I guess Grant is on his own.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  They rode for days, and stopped little to rest. Grant wanted to be closer to home before Nigel caught them. Sorcha needed to be safely tucked away behind a protective wall before any fighting began. Grant’s theory had her story ending in a battle. Sorcha hoped and prayed for other options.

  Her legs and rear were wholly numb. The constant jarring of the animal caused pain to radiate up her spine. With such little sleep she was in danger of falling from her horse. Grant hadn’t offered her to ride with him. Was it because he was with his family or because he feared together they would be a bigger target? Either way, she was too tired and scared to care about the reason.

  Around noon of the fifth day, Sorcha could stand the pain no longer. “Grant?”

  “Aye lass?”

  “I need to stop.”

  The men were called to a halt. Dismounted from his horse, he helped her from her own mount. When placed upon the ground, a clear liquid ran down her legs and pooled at their feet.

  “Now lass if ye needed to go that bad ye should have said something earlier.”

  Sorcha’s eyes widened, her voice shaky. “Grant, I didn’t go on meself.”

  “Then what…”

  They looked at one another and spoke in unison. “The babe!”

  Grant’s look of concern doubled. He yelled, “Bryce!”

  Bryce ran to their position and skidded to a stop. He studied the ground. His cousin and the woman stood in a puddle of muddy water. He widened his eyes, and his throat moved up and down as he gulped.

  “Aye?”

  “Who are we close to?”

  “Who are we close to?” he repeated. “What do ye mean?”

  “I mean the Frasers, the McNeals, the Sinclairs, are we close to anyone?”

  Bryce struck a thoughtful pose.

  The silence was deafening. Sorcha doubled over in pain. Reaching out and grabbing Grant’s hand, she squeezed. “We have to hurry, the babe is not going to wait.”

  “Bryce, think quicker, will ye!”

  Bryce’s hands flew toward the sky as if he had just remembered something. “I believe we are close to Duncan and Arbella.”

  “That is great news. I will get on my horse and ye hand Sorcha up to me.” In position, Grant added, “Send some men on ahead and tell Duncan of our impending arrival. Then ye take some men behind us and check on Nigel. We will see ye soon, my brother.”

  Bryce turned to leave. Cradled in Grant’s arms, Sorcha watched over his shoulder as Bryce directed the men.

  Pain raced from her back to her front. Body tense, she grabbed Grant. Trai
ls of nail marks covered his forearm where she applied pressure with each spasm.

  Grant leaned forward. “Hold on love, we are verra close,” he whispered.

  Breathlessly, she said, “I don’t know if I can. The babe may not wait.”

  “Just a little longer lass, just a little longer.”

  He talked to her, but she couldn’t respond. She listened as he told stories of his childhood. Stories about his five sisters and Samuel, his only brother. Their father had long waited for a child to be born to his sons to carry on the family name.

  Grant explained in detail how he hadn’t been home in many years. How he spent years traveling the world only to wind up close to home as second-in- command of another keep. All the news he heard of his family had come from letters Samuel had sent.

  Although Grant was the eldest and Samuel the youngest they had been the best of friends. They loved their sisters and would do anything to protect them. Their sisters had married young and started to grow their families, giving their father exactly what he longed for, grandchildren. Valan Cameron considered his sons a disappointment in that area and never missed an opportunity to tell them so, always in a loving and jesting manner, of course.

  Sorcha half-listened. She concentrated on his voice, more than his words, trying to focus her energy on anything and everything besides the pain. The spasms were coming closer and closer together. Already she was barely able to take a breath in between. She needed to tell Grant to stop the horse but speech failed her. She tapped on his arm to get his attention.

  Grant looked at her face. “What is it lass?”

  Between ragged breaths she squeaked, “We have to stop, the babe, it won’t wait.”

  Grant’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped. He pulled on the reins and stopped the horse. Summoning one of the other men over, they helped her dismount. Down on a fluffy green patch of grass, she was laid.

  “Does anyone know how to deliver a babe?” Grant yelled.

  The men scattered, pretending to do other things. Sorcha breathed deep. Time was running out for her to receive assistance. With as much gumption as she could manage she said, “Well, if this isn’t fitting.”

  Between each twinge of pain she spoke directions. “Someone spread out a blanket, and boil me some water. The rest of ye go somewhere and watch for Nigel. Oh, one more thing, someone needs to make a litter.”

  The men stood there like they couldn’t move. She bellowed, “I need these things done now!”

  That got their attention. The cover was laid out first. She moved from the exposed ground onto the blanket, her middle rising with each passing pain. Men started a fire and brought a pot of water to a boil, others fashioned a litter, and still others waited. Sorcha prayed. She knew if anything happened now she or the babe could easily perish.

  The babe was coming. She had Grant send the men farther away. Then she told him what to do.

  “Do ye see anything?” she asked, through gritted teeth.

  “Aye, I think so. What do I do?”

  “Wait patiently and watch.”

  ****

  Bryce ordered Ailbert, Bernard, and Colin Cameron to ride to the Sinclair Keep and request assistance. The three brothers rode in line formation, eldest in the front and youngest in the rear.

  “We will be heroes!” said Bernard.

  Ailbert couldn’t understand his younger brothers, especially Bernard. He was always trying to look big or be special. “Let’s not worry about being heroes lads, let’s just work on keeping our heads attached. I have heard the Sinclair keep is the most heavily guarded keep in all of Scotland.”

  Colin popped up. “Aye, I heard the same rumors. They say Duncan Sinclair could kill a man just by squintin’ at him with his beady eyes. I even heard tell the lady of the keep was spawned from the loins of one of the Kincade three! And to beat it all the laird and lady of the keep have twins that are like the devil himself!”

  Ailbert shook his head. While he tried to be practical about what they might face, Colin was quoting rumors utterly ridiculous in nature.

  Not to be outdone, Bernard said, “Aye, I heard the daughter can pitch a wail that can make a grown man’s ears bleed!”

  Weary of his younger brothers and their ignorant ramblings, Ailbert decided the next time Laird Valan sent him on a mission he would request his brothers stay behind. “Listen lads, we have bigger worries than those rumors ye’ve heard. We need to reach the keep, request help, and get back to Sorcha before she gives birth. She’s going to be none too happy with us if we tarry, and she has to deliver that babe on her own. Not to mention Grant will probably have our head on a pike for our dallying. Now stop ye jaw flappin’ and help me watch the trail.”

  They traveled on in silence. A twig snapped. Ailbert whipped his head around to look for the sound. Too late he was ripped from the horse and slung to the ground. The sharp glinting blade of a knife pointed at his throat. Arching his back, he looked for his brothers. They too were in a similar position. There was nothing to do now but attempt to talk their way out of their predicament.

  “Excuse me, but what do ye think ye are doin’?”

  The captor looked at him quizzically. “What do I think I’m doin’? What do ye think ye are doin’? Ye are on Sinclair land.”

  “Oh, praise be,” said Ailbert, causing even more confusion.

  “I don’t know if I would be praising be just yet,” said one of the other men with a smirk as he pinned Bernard to the ground.

  Bernard started to ramble. “We have been riding all day. We are just glad to see ye. Sorcha is about to have her babe and we need to have someone from the Sinclair keep come and help her.” He attempted to push the dagger away but his hand was slapped. “Now, what did ye do that for? I just told ye we need yer help.”

  “I don’t care what ye said. We don’t know who ye are, and we don’t know anyone named Sorcha. Ye can just turn yer horses around and go back to whence ye come and we might allow ye to live. But only because ye are Scottish.”

  Colin interjected. “But we canna go back without ye or our head will be on a pike! We have to help Sorcha and the babe.”

  Ailbert was embarrassed. Even in explaining their situation they did nothing but add more confusion. “Allow me to explain. Although it would be much easier if ye would permit me to sit up. Lying down at the point of yer weapon, makes me speech a bit awkward.”

  The man removed himself and sat back on his heels. “All right, ye have time to explain yeself. Don’t upset me.”

  Ailbert sat up, dusting off his breeks. Glaring at his attacker, he said, “We are from clan Cameron. Grant Cameron sent us to acquire yer assistance. His future wife, Sorcha, is giving birth. We have been sent to request yer help.”

  The man flipped his yellow hair back with his hand and roared in laughter. “Grant Cameron is getting married! What a riot!” With a deep steadying breath, he continued, “I don’t know if I should believe ye or not. But we will take ye to Duncan and let him decide.”

  The three warriors were let off the ground and allowed to mount their horses. They followed in between the Sinclair men at what felt like a snail’s pace. Ailbert couldn’t stand it. “We need to go faster. Ye don’t understand, the lass is having the child now! Not sometime in the future!”

  Kicking the lead horse the Sinclair man yelled, “Well, why didn’t ye say so!”

  Soon they were staring at the wooden gates of the Sinclair keep. Men walked the battlements and watched the surrounding areas. As the small group rode through the gates, a crowd gathered. Ailbert was impatient. He couldn’t imagine anyone in there helping them. Grant must have been incorrect.

  The lead man dropped to the ground. “Duncan? Duncan?” he yelled.

  A large man walked forward followed by a full figured woman. “Aye, what are ye yelling about, Boyd?”

  Boyd pointed at Ailbert. “This man claims to be a Cameron. He says Grant is getting married and that his woman is already with child and she needs help.”


  Duncan’s eyebrows rose. “Well it does sound like Grant to have a woman pregnant, but I don’t know about getting married.”

  This line of speech was trying Ailbert’s patience. In charge of getting help for the future lady of his clan, he was determined to be expedient with the work. “Beggin’ yer pardon for interruptin’ but Grant Cameron sent me to request yer assistance, and I don’t have time for all this talking. Sorcha, his future wife, is about to give birth by herself! Is there nary a soul that can assist her?”

  The woman beside Duncan grabbed his arm. “Duncan, I must go and help her.”

  “Nay, Arbella. We don’t know that these men are really from Grant.”

  “Then come with me. Bring an armed guard, I don’t care. But I am going to help that girl. I can’t imagine being in the same shape. Remember how afraid you were when I gave birth to the twins. Remember how you feared losing me? If Grant is truly in that same situation, wouldn’t you want him to have help?”

  Duncan gazed lovingly at his wife. “Aye, I would.” He faced Boyd. “Ready some men, we must follow Arbella and give her safe passage.”

  Ailbert finally felt like something was going to get done. If the lady didn’t take too long to prepare then, just maybe, Sorcha would have the help she needed before it was too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Grant was terrified. There he was helping to birth a babe in the middle of the forest. What if something went wrong? As instructed he sat and watched. He was completely awestruck as the tip of a tiny head pushed its way through. As Sorcha took a much needed breather, the babe twisted, and before he knew it Sorcha pushed one more time and a tiny blue babe dropped into his arms.

  Prepared for Sorcha to give him more directions he waited. What he wasn’t prepared for was the babe to be ripped from his hands. Instinct had him reaching to jerk the child back, until he saw who held it. Arbella.