by Connie Mason
On the day Gillian went into labor, the moors and hill-sides were ablaze with purple heather; the scent of it filled the warm air and floated on gentle breezes. Members of Clan MacKay and Clan MacKenna were gathered in the hall to await the birth.
Abovestairs in her bedchamber, Gillian paced the floor, her contractions monitored closely by Gizela. Alice and Hanna were also present, preparing the chamber for the eagerly anticipated birth.
Gillian let out a groan as a particularly violent contraction brought a fine sheen of sweat to her forehead. This bairn couldn’t be born soon enough to suit her. For the last month she hadn’t walked; she’d waddled. She felt ungainly and unattractive despite Ross’s assurance that she was just as beautiful to him now as she had ever been.
“Do you feel like you could push, lass?” Gizela asked.
“I feel that if I doona push this bairn out soon, I will explode.” Gillian gasped as another contraction gripped her. “How much longer do I have to walk? I’ve been pacing for hours. I doona know how much more of this I can take.”
Gizela eyed Gillian’s belly and guided her over to the bed. “ ’Tis time to bring your bairn into the world. Lie down.” She assisted Gillian into bed. “Alice, fetch the kettle of water heating on the hearthstone.”
A flurry of activity followed Gizela’s orders. Once the hot water had been poured into a bowl, Gizela washed her hands with strong soap and ordered the other ladies to do the same. Then she returned to the bed.
“Bear down when the next contraction comes, Gillian.” She placed a hand on Gillian’s stomach, felt the beginning of a strong contraction, and said, “Now, lass, push.”
The pushing went on for the longest thirty minutes of Gillian’s life. Thus far she had controlled her cries, but now it was no longer possible. She was hurting so much she didn’t even realize she had screamed. She wanted Ross. If Ross were here with her, she would be braver. What silly rule said men didn’t belong in the birthing room?
Gillian’s piercing scream reached the hall. Ross leaped from his chair, uncertain what to do. Tearlach MacKay grasped his arm.
“Naught is amiss, lad. Take it from a man has who survived the births of five braw sons and a wee lassie. You’ll have to wait it out as I did.”
Ross subsided into his chair, wishing himself in the solar with Gillian. Why were men barred from witnessing the birthing when they were the ones responsible for their wives’travail? When Ross heard Gillian scream a second time, there was no holding him back. Shaking off MacKay’s restraining hand, Ross took the stairs two at a time and burst into the bedchamber.
“Laird, this is no place for a man,” Hanna admonished, trying to block his view of the bed.
“This is where I belong,” Ross said, pushing past Hanna.
“Ross,” Gillian said weakly. Her smile of welcome turned into a grimace of pain as she reached for his hand. He grasped it and held it tightly.
“What can I do to help, Gizela?”
“Birthing isna a pretty sight, laird. Are you sure you want to be here?”
“Just tell me what to do,” Ross replied. “I canna bear to see Gillian suffer. Is it always like this?”
Gizela placed herself at the foot of the bed. “‘Tis an easy birth compared to some. Support your lady’s back as she pushes your bairn out. It willna be long now. I can see his head. ’Tis as red as his mother’s.”
“Are you all right, Gillian, lass?” Ross asked as he gently lifted her head and shoulders and sat behind her to provide support.
“Push, lass,” Gizela urged. “Doona hold back. Soon you will hold your son in your arms.”
Gillian’s face turned a mottled red as she labored to push her child into the world. With Ross supporting her and whispering encouragement into her ear, the pain became more bearable, enabling her to bear down more forcefully.
With a whoosh, the baby slid into Gizela’s hands. Gizela held the perfectly formed boy up by his feet, gently slapped his bottom, and waited along with the others for the sound of life. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when he let out a hearty wail of protest.
“You have a fine, braw laddie, laird,” Gizela said as she handed the babe to Hanna. Hanna cleared his mouth and took him over to the washbasin to clean and wrap him in swaddling clothes.
The afterbirth was quickly delivered and carried off in a bowl by Alice. Ross gently laid Gillian down and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Are you all right, lass? It pains me to see you suffer.”
Gillian blinked at him sleepily. “’Twas worth it, Ross. Did you hear our son cry? He’s going to be a strong warrior like his father.”
“Or like his mother,” Ross teased.
“I want to see him.”
Hanna handed the babe to Ross, who placed him in Gillian’s arms. The first thing Gillian did was unwrap him, count his tiny fingers and toes, and check for imperfections.
“He’s perfect,” Ross said wonderingly.
“What shall we name him?”
“Tavis, for your dead brother.”
“TavisTaren MacKenna,” Gillian added.
“ ’Tis time you left, laird,” Gizela said. “Your lady is exhausted and needs rest. And we need to clean her and change the bedding so she will be presentable for visitors.”
Ross rose and picked up his son, cradling him tenderly in his arms. After placing a kiss on Gillian’s forehead, he carried the bairn from the chamber to show him off to his grandfather and uncles.
“Gillian has given me a fine, braw son,” Ross exclaimed as he strode into the hall. “I present to you TavisTaren MacKenna, future laird of Clan MacKenna.”
Tearlach MacKay dashed away a tear as he inspected his new grandson, his second, since Murdoc’s wife had given him a healthy grandson one month earlier.
After the child was inspected and admired by members of both clans, the celebration began. When the babe started to fuss, Ross quietly left the hall to return him to his mother.
Gillian watched through teary eyes as Ross brought their son to her. She held out her arms.
“You should be sleeping,” Ross said, placing the bairn in Gillian’s arms.
“I needed to see my bairn again before I could sleep,” Gillian said as she cuddled the babe.
“I love you, Gillian,” Ross murmured. “Thank you for our son.”
No answer was forthcoming. Gillian had already fallen asleep, her arms curled around her son. But it didn’t matter; she already knew Ross MacKenna’s heart belonged to her, just as hers belonged to him.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I hope you enjoyed the nonstop action and enduring love between Ross and Gillian. Though generations of enmity separated the two, it took love and mutual respect to finally bring an end to an ancient feud and unite two warring clans.
My next book, The Price of Pleasure, takes you to another time, another place. The story opens in a French prison called Devil’s Chateau during Napoleon’s rise to power. Hovering near death, Reed Harwood, spy extraordinaire, prays for death, but instead he is rescued and nursed back to health by the Black Widow, a woman rumored to buy prisoners for her own pleasure.
I don’t want to give away any more of the story, but I promise you won’t be disappointed with this sexy tale of love and denial, good versus evil, with, as always, a happy ending.
I love hearing from readers. I can be reached through e-mail at [email protected] and by snail mail at P.O. Box 3471, Holiday, FL, 34692. Visit my Web site at www.conniemason.com for information about my new releases and to see my new book cover.
CONNIE MASON is the author of more than fifty historical romances and novellas that regularly appear on the USA Today bestseller list and the New York Times extended list. Her tales of passion and adventure are set in exotic as well as American locales. Connie was named Storyteller of the Year in 1990 and was awarded a Career Achievement Award in the Western category by Romantic Times in 1994. Connive makes her home in Florida with her husband, Jerry.
Conni
e travels extensively, sometimes for pleasure but more often to do research for her books. She likes telling anyone who will listen about her three children and nine grandchildren, and sharing memories of her years living abroad in Europe and Asia as the wife of a career serviceman. In her spare time, Connie enjoys reading almost anything.
