The Midwife
The Pocket Watch Chronicles
By
Ceci Giltenan
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, locations and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Any actual locations mentioned in this book are used fictitiously.
This book contains a fictional description of a modified non-traditional method (moxibustion) for treatment of a fetus in a malpresentation (a “breech baby”) condition. The author has modified this treatment to maintain integrity with fictional 13th century medical conditions. This fictional treatment is not intended to be a procedure for the 21st century nor should it be used as such. Neither the author nor the publisher suggest, recommend, support or otherwise condone the process described. Neither do they intend to suggest that the process described is safe or effective. Pregnant women are strongly urged to consult their medical provider before undergoing any medical treatment, of any sort.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Copyright 2016 by Ceci Giltenan
www.duncurra.com
Cover Design: Earthly Charms
ISBN-10:1-942623-22-4
ISBN-13:978-1-942623-22-9
Produced in the USA
Dedication
To Dr. Edna Quinn PhD, midwife, professor, and dear friend, thank you.
Your friendship and support throughout my life is precious to me.
To my friend and colleague, Dr. Susan Wilson DVM, PhD, who helps make sure my characters know there is more to riding a horse than “climbing up and holding on.” Thank you for everything.
And, as ever to my dearest, Eamon, I adore you.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
About the Author
Highland Echoes - Excerpt
Highland Angels - Excerpt
Other titles published by Duncurra LLC
The Duncurra Series
Glossary
Bairn
(BAIRn) A baby
Brathanead
(BRA huh need) the name of the fictional MacLennan stronghold
Canonical hours
The medieval day was ordered by these times, rather than clock times
Vigil, Matins, Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, Compline
Carraigile
(Kah rah GEEL) the name of the fictional MacKenzie stronghold
cods
testicles
compline
(COMP lin) Night prayer, after sunset, before bedtime
eejit
A slang term meaning idiot
gob
A slang term meaning mouth
kertch
Also called a brèid (BREEdt): a square of pure white linen folded in half and worn by married women to cover their hair. It is a symbol of the Holy Trinity, under whose guidance the married woman walks.
lauds
(LAWDS) Sunrise
léine
(LAY in ah) A full tunic-like garment. A woman’s léine is a full-length dress with full sleeves that is worn belted at the waist. A man’s léine would only come to his knees, similar to a long shirt. Both men and women generally wore another garment and/or a plaid over.
matins
Just before sunrise
none
(rhymes with bone) Literally the ninth hour, about 3 in the afternoon
prime
After the first hour of daylight, about 6 in the morning
sext
Literally the sixth hour, noon
skelping
A beating
sweetling
An endearment
terce
Literally the third hour of daylight, about nine in the morning
wheesht
Shh, hush
vespers
Evening prayer, sunset
vigil
The night office, the period from compline to matins (just before dawn)
Every man has his own destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him.
~ Henry Miller
Chapter 1
Carraigile Castle - The Western Highlands
Sunday February 5, 1279
Angus MacKenzie’s wife had been unusually quiet and tense for several weeks. He knew something was bothering her. He had asked several times, but she had made one excuse or another. He hated to push her, but seeing her upset always caused his heart to ache. When they retired to their chamber that evening, he tried one more time. “Wynda, my love, ye’ve seemed out of sorts for quite a while now and it’s only getting worse. Please tell me what’s upsetting ye.”
She trembled and burst into tears, his words appearing to shatter whatever fragile hold she’d had on her emotions. He gathered her in his arms, “Wheest, darling. Please don’t cry. Tell me what has ye so distressed.”
She regained enough control to say, “I-I-I’m pregnant,” before breaking into sobs again.
His heart fell. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a chair near the hearth where he sat, holding her as she cried. It wasn’t that they didn’t want a child—he wanted nothing more. But in the thirteen years since they were wed, Wynda had been pregnant four times; each time the bairn came too early. Only the very first one—a tiny lad, born in the seventh month—ever drew breath. Their wee precious child, lived but a few hours.
Their hopes rose with every pregnancy, only to be dashed each time a babe was lost. He knew she loved and wanted this one every bit as much as she had the others, but the fear of facing that crushing loss again overwhelmed her.
When her tears subsided, he brushed the moisture from her cheeks. “I know ye’re afraid. I am too. But, my darling, we must maintain hope. A battle is lost that is never entered.”
“I don’t think I can live through losing another one.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
He wasn’t sure he could live through it either but he said, “Ye certainly can. Ye’re braver and stronger than any woman I’ve ever known. We’ll pray fervently that this time will be different.”
Angus vowed silently to do anything in his power to make certain that it was.
~ * ~
The next afternoon, Angus sat in his solar considering his options. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“In,” he called.
Cade, his son by his first wife and his only living child, entered. Cade was an accomplished warrior and a strong, well-respected leader. His ability to read and contro
l any situation was remarkable. However he enjoyed women, drinking and sword-fighting—in that order—and occasionally he was a bit too arrogant for his own good. “Ye sent for me, Da?”
“Aye, come in and sit down.”
“Come in and sit down? What have I done now?”
“For once, nothing. I need ye to do something.”
“Ah…well then, set me my quest,” Cade said as he sprawled in a chair across from his father.
“Wynda is expecting again.”
Cade sobered, sitting up straighter. “Really? How is she?”
“Physically she’s well, but she’s also terrified as ye might imagine.”
“I have no doubt. I’m sorry, Da. I hope this one…well I hope everything turns out well.”
Angus acknowledged is son’s heartfelt concern with a nod. “I do too and I want to do everything I possibly can to see that it does. I’ve recently heard tell of a particularly skilled midwife. There is a chance she might know something that will help.”
Cade leaned forward. “Really? That’s wonderful. Where is she?”
“Well, that’s the problem—she’s a Macrae.”
His son frowned. “I guess it could be worse. We aren’t openly feuding with them.”
“Nay but there has always been tension between our clans.”
“So, ye want me to go to Laird Macrae and ask him to send ye this lauded midwife?”
“Nay, I want you to mind things here. I intend to ask myself.”
Cade shook his head. “Da ye can’t do that. Ye can’t just ride up to the gates of Castle Macrae uninvited. They might kill ye before ye can tell them why ye’ve come.”
“This is too important to send a messenger and it would be too easy for Laird Macrae to refuse someone of no consequence.”
“And what if he looks ye in the eye and refuses ye?”
Angus stared at his son. He hadn’t considered that. “I would be…disappointed.”
“Da, ye’d be furious. Ye’d have but two choices: call him out—and likely be killed—or hang yer head and leave.”
“What man, with compassion, would deny this to a man who has lost four bairns?”
“I don’t think most men would, but the Macrae has a reputation for cruelty. He might tell ye nay, just to see ye beaten. Ye cannot do this—it’s a fool’s errand.”
“I have to try. If I don’t at least attempt it, and we lose one more child, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Then let me go.”
“Why would it be different for ye?”
“I’m not Laird MacKenzie.”
“But if Macrae turns ye away, ye’d have the same choices I’d have. Son, ye’re not known for yer forbearance. Ye’re more likely to get yerself killed than I am. And it would be no easier for ye to walk away.”
“Perhaps not, but it would hurt the clan less if I were the one forced to do it.”
“And ye’d do it? Ye’d go into a situation knowing ye might be humiliated?”
Cade looked his father directly in the eye. “I would for this. I would for ye and Wynda.”
Angus considered his son for a moment. “Ye’ll be laird someday. Why do ye think it would damage the clan less for ye to be defeated than it would for me?”
Cade gave him a devilish grin. “Because I will not be defeated.”
Angus shook his head. “Ye’re an excellent swordsman, but short of taking a force large enough to lay siege, ye’ll not be able to force the Macrae into this.”
“I have no intention of forcing the Macrae. If he says nay, I’ll simply take the midwife. It isn’t as if she’s a member of his family who will be guarded day and night.”
It was a measure of how desperate Angus was that he agreed to this.
~ * ~
Castle Macrae
Saturday, February 11, 1279
Alban Macrae observed the four MacKenzie warriors entering his hall. He recognized Laird MacKenzie’s son, Cade, and could not imagine what business brought him here. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.
Cade inclined his head. “Good afternoon, Laird Macrae, thank ye for receiving us. I am Cade MacKenzie, Laird MacKenzie’s heir.”
“Good afternoon Sir Cade. I must say, I was surprised to hear that a party of MacKenzies approached and I’m curious about what’s brought ye here.”
“Then I’ll get straight to the point. My father sent me with a humble request.”
Alban wanted to ask what the mighty Laird MacKenzie could possibly want from him, but it would be so much more entertaining to hold his derision until after Cade groveled a bit. “I see. And what is it?”
“He has been married for fourteen years and in that time, his wife, Lady Wynda, has been pregnant four times. Each bairn came much too soon.”
“I’m very sorry for their losses.” Alban was beginning to see where this was going.
“Thank ye, Laird. As it happens, Lady Wynda is with child again and my father would like to do everything possible to ensure that this babe lives.”
“I can well imagine, but I fail to see what service I can be.”
“We have heard clan Macrae has a very skilled midwife. My father hopes that perhaps ye would be willing to allow her to come to Carraigile and attend Lady Wynda.”
Alban nodded with what he hoped was a concerned expression on his face. “I see.” I will appear to contemplate this ridiculous request for a moment. Just as he was about to laugh them out of his hall, Drummond, one of his most trusted and ruthless guardsmen, caught his eye. The man shook his head ever so slightly before glancing towards the tower stairs.
His message was clear: don’t do anything yet.
Alban stroked his beard a moment more before saying, “Gentlemen, I would like to help. Truly I would. As the father of three healthy children, I understand Laird MacKenzie’s loss. But, I need to consider this a bit. I must check with the woman herself and ensure that none of my clanswomen will suffer in her absence. Surely ye understand that?”
“Of course, Laird Macrae.” Cade’s expression was inscrutable.
“Well then, please excuse me while I attend this matter. Ye may wait here in my hall. I’ll see ye’re given some refreshment.” He motioned to a serving maid who curtsied and hurried to do his bidding. He also signaled for Drummond to follow him.
Once they reached the privacy of his solar he said, “I am assuming ye have a good reason for this. I was ready to serve that arrogant MacKenzie pup his pride instead of a tankard of ale.”
“Aye, Laird, I have a very good reason. The MacKenzies are a powerful clan and ye’re poised to make either a strong ally or a dangerous enemy.”
“Surely ye don’t mean for me to send Dolina to Laird MacKenzie?”
“Of course I don’t. But consider this. MacKenzie doesn’t know who the midwife is. Ye can send anyone and he’ll be grateful.”
“But I doubt Dolina can be of any help—much less some other midwife.”
“I agree, Laird. In fact I’m fairly certain no one can help. Some women just can’t carry a bairn and MacKenzie must know he’s grasping at straws. All he seeks is peace of mind that he’s done what he can. If ye send him someone who pretends to care for Lady MacKenzie—at least until the inevitable happens—the outcome won’t matter. He’ll be forever in yer debt for the kindness ye showed. Ye’ll have gained a powerful ally, without having done anything.”
“Drummond, that’s brilliant. I could send any midwife.”
“Laird, ye don’t even have to send a real midwife. Dolina’s niece, Elsie, has helped her over the last few years. She’ll know enough to be able to fake it for a few months.”
“Elsie is one and twenty and has never had children. No one will believe she’s a skilled midwife.”
“Ye’ll tell Elsie exactly what she must do to make people believe, as well as what will happen to her if anyone finds out the truth. The threat of a severe whipping should be a powerful motivator.”
Aye, Drummond was ruthless. “Bring he
r to me.”
~ * ~
Elsie had just finished sweeping Aunt Dolina’s cottage. Drummond’s sudden appearance at the door startled her and she took an involuntary step backwards. She was a little afraid of the huge guardsman. In truth, she was more than a little afraid of him. He had a reputation for cruelty and she was happy enough to stay out of his way.
With him filling the doorway it was impossible to avoid him. Not wishing to make eye contact, she glanced down. “Good afternoon, Sir Drummond.”
“The laird has need of ye. Gather yer things.”
“Why do I need to gather my things?”
“Because I told ye to, ye insolent chit. The laird is sending ye on an errand. If ye waste any more of my time with questions, ye’ll go with nothing but the clothes on yer back.”
An errand? Where? To do what? Nay she didn’t dare ask. This was not good but she figured it was best to just follow his bidding. She only had a few garments. Laying them on a linen sheet with her comb and a silver brooch that had been her mother’s, she folded the sheet inwards over the clothes and rolled them up, tying the bundle with a ribbon. She folded a blanket in half and rolled it around the bundle, securing it with a belt. She had barely wrapped her mantle around her shoulders when Drummond grabbed her arm, practically dragging her from the little cottage and up the lane through the village.
Elsie didn’t complain. It would do no good and likely result in worse treatment. All she could do was try her best to keep up. They were halfway to the keep when a horrific screeching sound assaulted her ears just before a searing pain tore through her skull. Gripping her head, she fell to her knees, dropping her bundle.
Chapter 2
Circling over John F. Kennedy International Airport
Saturday February 11, 2006
The Midwife: The Pocket Watch Chronicles Page 1
