Across Captive Seas

by Michele du Barry

  It couldn’t last much longer, couldn’t be endured and Scott’s face was white with fear as his dark eyes pleaded for help from one of the women.

  “How long did Lorna take?” He questioned Molly in a whisper.

  “Two days, but the second baby should come quicker.”

  “I never knew what a woman had to go through—” His words choked off as Angela screamed again and her pain was his, racking him, twisting in him until he felt like screaming himself.

  After a while even her screams stopped, only low animal-like grunts and moans escaping between her slack lips. Dark shadows circled her eyes like bruises and her skin was stark white, stretched tautly over the bones of her face. Scott wasn’t even sure if she was aware of his presence anymore as she was enclosed in a separate dark world where only pain existed. But he wouldn’t leave her side to eat or sleep.

  The third night began and Eilean practically had to tear him away from Angela to get him to speak to her in a shadowed corner of the room. But his eyes never left the woman on the bed, even as she hesitated, afraid to tell him—afraid not to.

  “The bairn’s coming the wrong way,” she began. “It’s a breech birth.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” growled Scott, beside himself with anxiety and the need to return to Angela.

  “It is supposed to come head first. She’s too narrowhipped to ha’ it any other way.”

  His eyes pierced hers, dawning realization of what Eilean was trying to say darkening his soul. “Tell me the rest.”

  “She’s going to die—”

  “No! No!” For a moment he thought he was going to pass out as the room swung crazily around him and when his vision cleared he was sitting in a chair. Scott buried his face in his shaking hands and the words he spoke were muffled. “There must be something—anything we can do!”

  “Two things,” Eilean whispered. “We can save the bairn or—”

  “I don’t care about the baby; it’s Angela I love! How can I go on living without her?”

  “Be quiet and listen till I’m finished! If the bairn could be turned inside her so it was coming right, she might ha’ a chance. But even tha’ could kill her or the bairn—or both.”

  “And that’s the only chance?” He was terrified of her answer.

  “Yes. And ye ha’ to do it. Neither Molly nor me ha’ the strength to do it. ’Tis yer decision.”

  Life and death hovered like carrion birds over Scott’s head. It was up to him. Another moan came from the bed and decided him; he had to at least try. If he didn’t she would surely die; if he did he might kill her with his own hands. Either way he was damned.

  He washed his hands and arms with strong soap and hot water under Eilean’s supervision. Then she poured whiskey over them and he rinsed again in water. How could he do it when his hands were trembling and his nerves would snap at any moment? Scott steeled himself and went to the bed.

  Sweat trickled down his face and his hands were slippery with blood as he tried again and again to turn the baby in her womb. Angela had started screaming again at the start and then, mercifully, had fainted.

  “Come on!” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Move damn it! Move!”

  And the baby turned beneath the pressure of his hands. He had done it! Half an hour later a boy was born, crying angrily at his rough treatment and Scott handed the wet, red-faced baby to Eilean to bathe and lay in the cradle. He didn’t give it a second glance, his only concern was Angela so white and still and barely breathing.

  “All we can do now is make her comfortable and keep her warm,” Eilean informed him. “Sleep is the best thing for the wee lassie now.”

  He drooped with exhaustion as he built the fire back up, and if he felt so bad Angela must be almost dead from the ordeal. Scott went back to sit beside the bed. Even her bitten lips were white now, whiter than the pillowcase and he touched her cheek lightly and it was cold. Cold!

  In a frenzy of fear Scott jerked back the covers revealing the scarlet-stained nightgown. Her dream! She was lying in a pool of blood hemorrhaging her life away.

  “Eilean! Molly!”

  Angela’s eyes flickered open. “Scott.” Her voice was just a sigh so that he had to put his ear to her lips. “Don’t let me die.”

  “You won’t! I promise I won’t let you go. Angel, Angel!”

  He buried his face against her hair and Angela felt a hot wetness against her cheek. With a superhuman effort she raised her hand and felt the thick softness of his hair beneath her fingers. “Darling, don’t.”

  The bleeding had to be stopped somehow and Scott dashed the tears from his eyes. The two women didn’t know what to do and he wracked his brain for an answer. Desperation drove him before it like the storm driving the snow outside. That was it! Snow! He would pack her in snow to slow the bleeding, and pray as he had never done before in his life.

  Every servant was dragged out of bed and set the task of bringing buckets of clean snow upstairs. Scott worked unceasingly, never stopping for a moment and as fast as he packed her womb with snow it melted. Time didn’t exist as he pushed himself to the limit, nothing in this world or any other mattered except the battle for Angela’s life. He hadn’t just won her to lose her so quickly!

  Could it be daytime already? At last the flow slowed to a trickle and they changed the sodden bedding and bundled Angela beneath the covers. The baby cried but she didn’t even stir, the day passed and she was as motionless as a marble statue.

  “Live, Angel, live!” Scott gasped in her ear. “Don’t you dare leave me now, not after all we have been through. Love me, hate me—I don’t care—but never leave me!”

  The angry, pleading words reached her through the darkness of infinity, drawing her back through gloomy unlit corridors. She was underground in the secret passageways and Scott was furious with her, dragging her kicking and screaming in protest to the dower house. But why was she fighting him when she really liked it, when she longed to reach the bed hung with burgundy velvet?

  She was so confused and with a supreme effort opened her heavy-lidded eyes. This wasn’t the dower house, it wasn’t even England and the man by her side with wild bloodshot eyes, his jaw blurred by days of stubble was her husband.

  “Oh, Angel! Love!” His voice was hoarse with relief and exhaustion. “You’re going to be all right. You’re going to be fine.”

  “The baby?”

  Scott had forgotten about it and he glanced toward the cradle. “We have a son, sweetheart. It’s a boy.”

  “Let me see.”

  He brought it to her holding the tiny bundle awkwardly in his arms and her face lit up with a weak smile as he put it by her side. It started crying and she put it against her breast touching the abundant black hair and tiny fists. Greedily the baby sucked and Angela’s eyes glowed with exquisite joy at the new life cuddled against her.

  Scott turned away unable to watch, grim lines tightening around his mouth. The baby’s eyes were blue, sapphire blue, and a pain knifed through him, twisting viciously in his heart. It was Keith’s son just as she had told him it was—Keith’s son that had almost killed her! Bitterness and jealousy fought in him but he could never let Angela know of his disappointment.

  Montgomery’s son was his heir!

  Angela recovered slowly, too slowly to suit Scott. He hovered anxiously over her, feeding her broth a spoonful at a time, bringing the baby to be suckled, and refusing to let her stir. Not one word did he say about the baby, no recriminations, and he never would. He had her back and that was all that mattered, anything else was insignificant.

  A few days later after the storm died down the doctor examined her, shaking his head in disbelief that she had survived. He told Scott that it was a miracle and only his quick thinking and actions had saved her.

  Doctor Fletcher examined the baby and weighed him, proclaiming him healthy and fit as a fiddle. Ten pounds, he was a big baby and he wondered how the slender, ethereal-looking woman lying so still in the
bed had managed it. Not easily, that was certain, and not without help. He had to admire the duke’s common sense and stamina in a situation that would have overwhelmed any other man. Now he hoped he was just as understanding about another matter.

  “The duchess is past all danger now and there’s no fever, which is good. She’s mending nicely but it will take a long time for her to recover—lost a lot of blood.” Doctor Fletcher paused to sip his brandy before a fire in the library. Then he looked directly at Scott and said bluntly, “She’s to have no more children!”

  “You mean the baby injured her?” asked Scott, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown.

  “No, man—I mean that if you get her with child again she will not survive it. Too narrow-hipped and her pelvis is small, not the type to be a brood mare. You know what she went through with the boy , and her maid told me that she also had difficulty with the first.” He paused and looked accusingly at Scott. “Why didn’t you heed the doctor’s warning then?”

  “I didn’t know!” The gravity of the situation was just beginning to penetrate Scott’s numb brain.

  “Well I hope you will listen to me. Another child will kill your wife! If you get her pregnant again you will murder her.”

  “But, but—”

  “If you love her, don’t touch her. Get yourself a mistress for your other needs. No sex. No more children!”

  How could he possibly stand it? The most difficult decision of his life was being forced upon Scott. He didn’t want a mistress, he wanted Angela! No other woman came close to doing the things that she did to him and he loved her. She was his wife.

  Never again to lie with her, feel her hot body surrender beneath him meeting and matching his passion with savage abandon. No more sweetly sighing kisses against his lips with her loins molded to his, quivering with wild ecstasies.

  It was impossible! How could he resist such temptation? Living with her every day, and the nights! To have to sleep in the same bed with Angela and be unable to touch her would be the most excruciating of tortures. How could he prevent himself from kissing her, caressing her and then just stop?

  But what was the alternative? The scenes of horror of the baby’s birth returned with full force—the pain and blood. He wouldn’t want his worst enemy to die like that. They could either live together Platonically or he could face life without her—alone. With a loud curse he smashed his fist down on a table knocking a decanter to the floor where it smashed into a thousand pieces.

  Scott stared at the shards of crystal littering the floor unaware that Doctor Fletcher had left the room. Their lives from now on would be like the decanter, shattered beyond repair. But he would keep the doctor’s words to himself, an unspeakable secret. There was no need to burden Angela with this latest disaster; she had suffered enough already.

  The Bratach Sith was exacting its retribution.

  “Robert Bruce,” Angela laughed delightedly and the baby gurgled back at her. “The perfect name for a boy with wild Scottish blood—but he had to wait long enough for it, poor little thing!”

  “Little!” Scott protested. “He’s a giant. And you, love, better than anyone should know that.”

  Angela sat cross-legged on the bed with her son on her lap and Scott leaning attentively close to them. Lorna lined up regiments of soldiers on the carpet playing her favorite game. Robert stared at his father, his gold-speckled brown eyes wide at the awful faces Scott was making for his amusement.

  It was really his son! Scott almost couldn’t, believe it but one day he had been shocked to find his own eyes staring back at him. The color had changed overnight. Angela had laughed, “Didn’t you know that most babies have blue eyes?” And Scott just shook his head mystified, replying that he had never known a baby before.

  Angela’s happiness knew no bounds. Their son was two months old today, strong and healthy and so very much like his father. She realized that Scott had at first thought the baby was Keith’s, but the very fact that he had never mentioned it endeared him to her even more. He had saved her life and Robert’s and although she was still weak and confined to bed she could feel her strength returning a little every day.

  Scott was solicitous and charming, at her side most of the time to drive away the boredom of being bedridden. They talked for hours at a time, played chess and cards, and when she was tired he read to her—poetry, French novels, the history and customs of Scotland, whatever caught her fancy at the moment. The majority of the time they spent with the children, and she felt herself changing toward him, felt them drawing closer together. No longer strangers, they were comfortable with each other and Angela eagerly awaited his presence every morning when they would share breakfast and plan the day.

  Then there were the quiet times with Scott sprawled in a chair beside the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him, watching silently as she nursed their son. When Angela would look up she would find his brown eyes glowing warmly, loving her and their child from a distance. And sometimes she imagined she saw a brief, fleeting look of great sadness in those melting eyes but it disappeared so quickly she couldn’t be sure. Besides, what did he have to be unhappy about? Everything was perfect.

  That night as he tucked her in and brushed a good night kiss against her temple Angela twined her arms around his neck, refusing to let him go. “Don’t you think it’s time you came back to your own bed?” she asked almost shyly.

  “But you are still recuperating, sweetheart,” Scott said, evading the issue. “I don’t want to disturb you by thrashing around during the night.”

  “You won’t!”

  “You need your sleep, Angel—I will wait a little longer.” Scott began to disentangle her arms from around him but she surged up against him, her lips warm and eager to be possessed.

  “Please?” she murmured with small nibbling kisses. “I need you, just to be close to you and feel your arms around me. I don’t want to be alone and I get so lonely.”

  “No!” He broke away from her, hating himself for causing that look of hurt rejection. “I only want what is best for you.”

  “What’s best for me is to have my husband by my side at night,” Angela shouted, angry at his unyielding attitude. “You can be exasperating!”

  “No more than you, my stubborn little wife.” He almost smiled but forced it back. It wouldn’t do to laugh at her when she was in a rage, it only made it worse. Yes, Angela was getting stronger, regaining her spirit and her temper.

  “Scott,” she said alluringly, changing her tactics after watching the conflicting emotions play over his face. “Please, sit down for a minute. I want to talk to you and I certainly can’t do it with you standing there towering over me. I swear, you are looking at me just the way Angus does at times.”

  “And how is that?” Scott asked, relenting and sitting on the edge of the bed. What a little enchantress she was. He was going to have to tread carefully lest he arouse her suspicions.

  “As if I was going to bite him!”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you,” he laughed. “You have sunk your teeth into me often enough. But now, what did you want to discuss?”

  “Us,” she said hesitantly. Now that she had his attention she wasn’t quite sure she could tell him. “Don’t look at me. I can’t tell if you’re staring at me!”

  “Don’t get upset, my love,” Scott murmured putting his arms around her too-thin body and hugging her close. Burying his face in her hair he asked, “Is that better?”

  “Much,” Angela admitted snuggling closer and then blurting out, “I. . .I don’t hate you any more!”

  “Is that all?” he said, amused, moving to look deeply into her revealing eyes. It might be better for them both if she still did. “I have known that for a long time, Angel—even before you did. But,” he added feigning regret, “I rather liked the way you hated me. You did it with such verve. I wouldn’t have missed being hated by you for the world!”

  “Stop teasing and come to bed. There is no reason not to now
.”

  But there was, the best reason he could possibly think of; but he couldn’t let her know. He was stronger than Angela and would somehow manage the burden alone. So to appease her and allay any suspicions Scott undressed and slipped into bed beside her, snuffing out the candle.

  The room glowed faintly in the flickering firelight and Angela sighed contentedly with her head pillowed on Scott’s shoulder. It had been so long, and she was glad he had abducted her, glad he was her husband. Her fingers stroked his chest moving as lightly as a breeze, trailing slowly downward over the ridged muscles of his abdomen.

  “Hell!” Scott caught her hand holding it fast. “I will stay with you under one condition, you little witch—that you stop teasing me and go to sleep!”

  There was still snow on the mountains on the cold April day that Scott allowed Angela to go riding for the first time. Patches of brown and green dappled the hills and the loch was as blue as the sky. She lost her head at the thrill of being on horseback again and raced over the soggy moor until everything was a wonderful blur of speeding pictures melting into one another.

  When Scott caught up with her in a copse he was enraged at the risk she had taken. “Damn it, Angela! Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  She thought he was going to slap her but instead he dragged her from the horse and ground his mouth into hers. He hurt her purposely, angry at her seductive ways and alluring smiles that had been driving him to distraction lately. This had brought his blood to a boil and anger was the only way to release his pent-up emotions.

  Scott slammed her against a tree, his hard lean body driving the breath from hers. She was bruised, caught totally by surprise, but most of all puzzled. All these months he had hardly touched her—a few kisses but nothing equaling passion. He had grown silent and surly and she was helpless to prevent their drifting apart. When she made the slightest advance he shouted at her calling her a tease and then left for hours.