“She came to no harm, and no one followed us here,” Benjamin replied.
She saw some unspoken message between the two men, and she suddenly knew there was much more to this encounter than the issue of her return. Who was Benjamin, and why did he speak to her father so boldly, as if the Englishman had no fear of him? Other than her uncles, she had never seen a man confront her father without fear, yet Benjamin stood straight and sure in front of them as if he had some secret assurance Winn meant him no harm.
Benjamin was either a fool or the bravest Englishman she had ever known. She was not sure which.
“My thanks for her safe return,” Winn said, his fingers tightening on her shoulder. “I give you safe passage to leave. None of my men will harm you.”
Benjamin’s gaze did not waver from Winn’s at that moment, but Kyra saw the way the Englishman’s fists tightened at his sides. She looked up at her father, and then to Benjamin, confused at the threat lying beneath her father’s words.
“Da, he helped me, he’s done no wrong!” Kyra interrupted. At her protest, her father snapped. He grabbed her by her chin and turned her face upwards, his face awash with a mixture of fear and fury she had never witnessed before.
“This man is our enemy. Be glad your heart still beats, and that he took pity on a foolish child!” her father growled. She squirmed to break the hold he had on her chin, but he was relentless, his blue eyes boring through her until tears coursed down her cheeks. Finally, he released her chin and she looked up at Benjamin through her misty eyes.
Her savior’s face held no shelter. Fixed as if carved from stone, there was no more trace of the kindness she had seen in him.
“Your father speaks true. Do not return to town. Ever. And be glad I am the only enemy who knows who ye are,” Benjamin said, staring down at her. His voice slanted to a coarse octave when he raised his eyes back to Winn’s. “Your secret is safe. For now.”
Winn nodded, and Benjamin returned the gesture. Before Kyra could utter another word, Winn turned abruptly and hauled her back to the village. As they reached the safety of the trees, she turned her head.
The pounding of hooves thudded like thunder across the damp earth, and she could only see the haunches of two horses as Benjamin and Morgan galloped out of sight.
CHAPTER 3
Maggie
“You have to push now! Push!” Gwen demanded. Maggie’s aunt took a firm hold of Rebecca’s knees, urging on the younger woman in the midst of labor. Sweat dappled Rebecca’s forehead and the mop of blond curls on her head lay limp and plastered to the skin around her face. As Gwen shook her Rebecca let out a long sigh, more of a sob than anything. The desperate sound caused Maggie’s toes to curl in her boots.
Something was wrong. Rebecca’s pains had started before the sun graced the sky that day, yet still there was no baby as the moon rose above them. Gwen, always the stalwart one, suddenly appeared unsettled and her directions to Rebecca seemed more frantic than direct. Maggie swallowed hard at the sight of Gwen’s hands covered in bright red blood.
As Rebecca collapsed back against the pillows, Maggie grabbed Gwen’s wrist. When Gwen’s sad green eyes met her own, Maggie knew her suspicion was correct. Rebecca had been bleeding for the last hour, and the trickling flow showed no sign of stopping.
“She needs to push. The babe must come out, it’s right there!” Gwen said to Maggie’s unasked question. “You sit behind her, make her sit up. Hold her legs, it’ll help the wean come down.”
Maggie pushed herself behind Rebecca and did as Gwen commanded. She put her hands on Rebecca’s knees and drew them back, despite the moan of resistance Rebecca offered. Rebecca’s head lolled back onto Maggie’s shoulder, her eyes staring blankly up at her friend.
“Only a few more pushes, the baby’s almost here,” Maggie murmured. She felt Rebecca’s body shudder with the onset of another contraction.
“Again! Oh, I see the head, one more push, girl!” Gwen shouted.
Rebecca leaned forward suddenly as if she regained her strength, screaming long and hard with the last push she could tolerate. Tears coursed down Gwen’s face as the babe slid into her arms, and when they heard the throaty cry of healthy newborn they all broke into sobs.
“I did it,” Rebecca whispered, a smile creasing her lips. Maggie kissed her cheek, hugging her tightly as she helped her friend lay back in the bed. Gwen cleaned and wrapped the squealing babe then placed the infant gently in Rebecca’s arms.
“A boy. A fine son fer yer man,” Gwen announced.
“He’s perfect,” Maggie added. She tucked the blanket down at the babe’s chin so they could look properly at his face. He had large round eyes, staring up calmly at them as if he wondered what all the fuss was about. When he opened his mouth to yawn, tears streaked down Rebecca’s face.
“Do ye know how much I wanted ye?” Rebecca said softly as she stared at her son. Maggie helped her put the boy to her breast, and Rebecca smiled when he latched on with a hearty suck. The babe made soft snoring sounds as he fed, taking his fill for some time before Rebecca laid her head back on her pillow. “You look just like your father,” she whispered.
She was right. With a swatch of thick black hair and a set of the darkest eyes Maggie had ever seen on a newborn, the boy was the image of his father. The infant stared solemnly up at his mother, eyes wide and soulful beyond what a newborn should possess.
Maggie drew back away from the bed, giving her friend some space with her child. She knew better than anyone how little time a woman actually could keep her son beside her. Now that Malcolm was weaned, it would not be long before he joined the men in their duties and learned the ways of the village. If Makedewa was anything like his brother, Maggie knew Rebecca would be seeing her son grow up faster than she could blink.
Gwen remained at the end of the bed, delivering the afterbirth and massaging the new mother’s belly. Maggie assumed her aunt was just cleaning up, but when Gwen’s face tightened and her lips pursed into a line a surge of unease shivered over her skin. Gwen should be happy now that the babe had arrived healthy, shouldn’t she?
“What is it?” Maggie asked. Gwen shook her head, as if to herself, then pushed a bundle of bloody furs onto the floor. Blood pooled on the bed beneath Rebecca, so much that it dripped off the side onto the soiled pile at Gwen’s feet.
“Sister, would ye take him for a bit? I think I shake too much, I might drop him,” Rebecca asked with a tiny laugh. “I doona see myself having as many weans as ye, if this is what one wee mite does to me,” she added. Her head fell back onto the pillows and her lids closed over her weary eyes as Maggie took the babe from her.
“Of course I’ll hold him. Just until you’re steady again,” Maggie replied. Rebecca smiled at that, and Maggie could not help but notice her lips had taken on a bluish tinge. In fact, her once rosy skin seemed flat and much too pale, as if the life was draining from her with each moment.
And it was.
When Gwen met her gaze again over Rebecca’s still body, the reality of what was about to happen numbed her.
“It willna stop. There’s too much blood,” Gwen said softly. Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut at Gwen’s declaration, and a tear streaked down her cheek.
“I know,” Rebecca whispered in return. Gwen continued to massage Rebecca’s belly with long strokes, pushing her fists into the new mother’s soft skin. It did little to stem the bleeding.
“It will stop, it will,” Maggie said, clutching the newborn in her arms. Gwen shook her head, tears staining her cheeks.
“We must send fer her husband. Stay here, I’ll find him,” Gwen muttered. She clutched her arms around her full waist as she rose as if comforting herself to the task. The older woman wiped her bloodied hands on her apron and left without another glance at Rebecca.
“Shh now, sister. Bring him to me. I should like to see him again,” Rebecca said. Her face seemed caught in a grimace, her teeth biting down into her lower lip as tears continued to fall fro
m her shining eyes. She tried to lift her hand, but it fell weakly to her side. “Please…wipe my face. I canna let my husband see me so.”
Maggie dutifully sat down next to her friend, blotting at her pale skin to dry the dampness. Even as her fingers were tinged blue, and her neck looked mottled with splotches along the collar of her shift. Rebecca knew she was fading, and it tore at Maggie’s heart to see her friend so calm as she faced the other side.
“Put him next to me, so I might warm him,” Rebecca asked. Maggie placed the swaddled babe gently beside her, tucking the child in next to his mother.
“Here, he’s right here,” Maggie replied.
“Make sure he’s warm. Ye’ll see to it, won’t ye? That he’s always warm?” she asked. Maggie pressed her face into Rebecca’s hair and clutched her tight. Did Rebecca truly understand she was bleeding too much? Did she accept there was nothing they could do to stop it?
“Of course. Of course I will,” she promised. Maggie wondered what was keeping Gwen from finding Makedewa as her resolve to be strong broke into tiny fragments. When Rebecca let out a long sigh and grew quiet Maggie bit her own lip to muffle her sob, yet Rebecca’s chest continued to rise and fall with her shallow breaths.
How could this be happening? Women didn’t have to die in childbirth! Why did they have to sit back and watch it happen, without interference? What was the good of having magical blood if she could do nothing with it?
Malcolm’s blood was too old to help Rebecca.
There was nothing in her power to do to help her friend.
Maggie looked up when Winn pushed open the door. He glanced down briefly at the tangle of bloodied furs at her feet and then shifted his blue eyes to hers. His throat was tight, his face carefully composed as Makedewa came into the room with Chetan.
Makedewa shrugged off the hand that Winn placed on his shoulder and sank down onto his knees beside Rebecca. He stared silently at her for a long moment until her eyes fluttered open and he kissed her gently on her clasped hands.
Maggie felt Winn’s hand at her waist and she let him lead her from the room. Chetan nodded as they passed by, crouched down on his haunches by the doorway as he watched Makedewa. The sound of Rebecca’s voice was too faint to hear, only a whisper left between the two lovers as they held each other.
CHAPTER 4
Makedewa
HE PLACED HIS HANDS over hers. Although there was sweat on her brow, her skin was not warm, but she smiled at him despite any discomfort she felt. He felt her attempt to squeeze his hand, so he gathered her fingers between his palms and shook his head.
“Rest, chulentet,” he said. “Close your eyes, I will stay here with you.”
Her body relaxed, her head falling back onto the pillow as she uttered a sigh. Strands of her golden hair stuck to her face, so he gently brushed the tendrils away. He needed to see her clearly, every bit of her sweet heart-shaped face. If ever he had known another’s soul, it was hers, and if by looking into her eyes he might find some truth, then he must look.
Gwen said Rebecca was too far gone.
Gwen must be wrong.
“Our son is perfect,” she said softly.
Makedewa did not look at the babe. There would be time for that later, when her strength returned and they could tend to the child together. Until then he could not bear to consider the boy in her arms, lest he linger on the anger at that small spirit for draining the life from the woman he loved.
“Let Gwen take him,” Makedewa said, his voice more gruff that he intended. “Gwen –”
“No, leave him. Please,” Rebecca insisted. She tried to sit up, causing his heart to clench as she faltered and fell back down. He took her in his arms, ignoring the little beast swaddled at her side.
“Let him stay, but you must rest. I need my wife at my side again.”
“Husband,” she whispered. “I must tell ye –”
“Tell me nothing –”
“The life we have, this life we have made – it is so precious to me. When I was broken, ye made me whole. I have lived a beautiful life,” she whispered, “Because of ye.”
When she grimaced, he realized he clutched her too hard, so he slid down onto the bed beside her. Her body surrendered, molding against his, tucked into his chest where she belonged. Slick with sweat, her forehead rested in the crook of his arm, her flesh clammy despite his efforts to warm her. She hated being cold. He must make her warm, and then she would feel better.
“You will live your life at my side,” he insisted, his voice hoarse.
For a long moment, she did not answer, her eyes closed as her mouth fell slightly open. Finally, with a sudden burst of strength she stirred, clutching his tunic with her blue-tinged fists.
“Please, stay with me,” she said.
“Always,” he replied.
He meant it.
Makedewa held her long after the breath left her body. If he did not let her go, she could not leave him.
CHAPTER 5
Maggie
The men stayed away from Gwen’s dwelling while the women tended to cleaning up. They were all accustomed to their duties and expected to carry on, each member of the community pulling together to finish the task. The sounds of muffled sobs littered the air inside the longhouse as they worked, scattered among the scent of childbirth and blood.
Maggie patted Gwen’s hand and tilted her head, giving her aunt notice that she needed a moment. Gwen nodded, and Maggie wiped her hands on her apron and left. Away from Rebecca’s shrouded body. Away from the sweet woman who had called Maggie sister.
Away from the squalling babe in the cradle who would never know his mother.
Although the Northern Hall was quiet, Maggie imagined the men must be gathered there with Makedewa. Wishing to feel the crisp night air across her face, she pushed her wool hood off her head and took a deep breath.
Oh, Rebecca, she thought. It was so unfair, so wrong.
The courtyard was empty save for a lone man who sat by the well. He was not difficult to make out, sitting on the edge of the well with his face in his hands. The fur mantle shrouded his slumped shoulders, and while his face was difficult to see in the moonlight, she noted the glimmer of dampness on his cheeks.
In his own way, Cormaic had cared for Rebecca. Despite his brawn, there was a gentle side to him, one he let loose around those he cared for. When Rebecca married Makedewa, it was Cormaic at her side pledging to remain her friend. It was Cormaic who honored her by making Makedewa fight for her hand. Whatever feelings he had for her he kept silent, supporting her choice and giving every outward appearance of acceptance.
Maggie gently touched his mane of copper hair. He uttered a deep sigh but did not look up, keeping his face buried in his massive hands. For want of knowing how to comfort him, she remained silent, merely sitting down beside her cousin. She looped her arm through his elbow and laid her head against his shoulder, feeling tears slide down her cheeks as he shuddered.
Finally he placed his hand over hers. A slight squeeze, enough to acknowledge the pain they shared. He raised his head and stared off into the sky, wiping the back of his hand over his face.
“She was not mine to mourn, but still…still it pains me,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she whispered.
His jaw tightened and he sat up straighter.
“Is that Makedewa?” he asked.
Maggie turned to see who he referred to, and sure enough, it was Makedewa stalking across the yard toward them.
“I thought he was with his brothers,” she replied. As he drew near, the look on his face sent a current of despair down deep in her bones. Whether it was grief that drove him or anger she did not know, but from him she knew to expect anything.
She stood up and walked to meet him, concern winning out over fear. Although he had not yet held his son, she hoped he might remedy that and find some comfort in the child Rebecca had wanted so desperately.
“I – I’m going back to help Gwen. Your son �
��”
“Heal her,” he interrupted, grabbing her wrist. “Use your magic, use the Bloodstone. Heal her as you healed me once.”
His grip was on the edge of painful, but she tried to ignore the sting as she looked into his desperate face. His mouth was set firm, his breath coming in short bursts. Black eyes reflected his darkness, and with a sickly feeling of recognition, she saw the beast within him surge to the surface.
“I – I can’t,” she stammered. He knew as well as she did that only the newborns of her line held that power. The power to heal was a sacred gift, one that was too potent to carry as one aged. It was Dagr’s blood that had saved Makedewa’s life once, and now all the Blooded MacMhaolians were past that time. The only way she could heal death would be to give all of her blood, and as such, her life.
“You cannot? Or you will not?” he asked.
“Let her go,” Cormaic growled, his voice surfacing at her side.
“Makedewa,” she said softly. He was her husband’s brother, her family. He would not hurt her. Or would the grief drive him to place he could not return from?
“You saved my life once,” he hissed. “Why? So I should live without her?” She felt the sting of his fingers as he clenched her wrist, but it was the desperate depths of his black eyes that kept her attention. She tried not to move, afraid her efforts would send him further over the edge.
“We all love you,” she said, at loss to give him any sensible answer.
“I have nothing.”
“You have a son,” she whispered. His eyes narrowed.
“I only wanted her,” he replied.
Cormaic placed his hand over Makedewa’s, and chaos broke loose as she was jerked free. She hit the ground bottom first, scraping her palms on the stony earth as she was shoved away from the melee.
She winced as Makedewa threw a punch, landing it squarely in Cormaic’s ribs. Cormaic bent over at the blow and rammed his shoulder into Makedewa’s gut, sending both men crashing to the ground. They rolled together, entwined in a knot of flailing arms and kicking legs, each striving for the upper hand in a battle no one was meant to win.
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