by Fiona Faris
“Now he will have nae sword tae train with. If he cannae train, then he cannae protect yer flank in battle because he will nae possess the skill tae save ye. What do you think will happen then?” Malcolm asked.
“We will both be dead,” the boy answered, sobering.
“’Tis good tae be able tae defeat yer foe in battle, but someday ye will be defeated by someone nae matter how good ye are. How would you like tae be treated in your defeat? Would ye wish tae be treated as ye have treated yer friend?” Malcolm pointed out.
The lad shook his head no. Malcolm nodded his head in understanding. “What do ye think we could do about it now?” Malcolm asked.
“We could share the sword,” the boy suggested.
“Aye, ye could,” Malcolm agreed.
The lad stood there thinking for a bit longer. “Or I could give it back. I do already have a sword o’ my own and I dinnae really need another one.”
“Aye, ye could,” Malcolm answered, smiling.
The boy gave the other lad back his sword. “Ye want tae go again?” he asked.
“Aye! And this time I will trounce ye,” the defeated lad promised.
“Nae if I have anythin’ tae say about it,” the winner replied and the boys went off together.
“Remind ye o’ anyone?” Duncan asked Malcolm grinning.
“Aye, they do at that,” Malcolm answered chuckling.
Alana watched the entire exchange in admiration. Malcolm was wonderful with the lads, teaching them about honor and chivalry without robbing them of their dignity. “Yer brother is a good man,” Alana observed aloud.
“Aye, he is the best man, other than Faither, that I have e’er known,” Iona agreed.
A rumble of thunder sounded overhead and the sky began to turn dark as a storm emerged over the mountains and swiftly descended on the glen. The men ceased their sparring and returned to their homes. Malcolm turned seeing Alana and Iona sitting on the ground and came over to assist Alana to her feet. “’Twould be best tae go inside,” he advised. “It looks as if we are in for a bit o’ weather.”
Alana was all too familiar with such highland storms. They came on swiftly and could be quite fierce. Men had died from being caught out with no place to shelter themselves. The trio went inside and watched the storm roll over the glen from the drawing room windows. The rain poured down in violent sheets as lightening splintered across the sky. Thunder boomed, causing the castle to shake with its awesome power. The wind howled with the eerie sound of a banshee.
“Upon death’s wings she rides across the clouded skies with lightenin’ in her eyes. Beware the banshee’s cries!” Alana murmured under her breath. The verse was one of the only memories she had of her maternal grandmother who had cared for Alana and Ross after their mother died, but had passed away when they were still quite young. Her grandmother had recited it every time there was a fierce storm such as the one Alana watched now.
“Are ye a poet, lass?” Malcolm asked from beside her.
“Nae, ‘twas one o’ my grandmaither’s,” Alana answered. “She could turn an eerie verse.”
“Aye, eerie, but lovely,” Iona agreed.
“She passed long ago, but I carry her words with me,” Alana admitted.
“As ye should,” Malcolm replied nodding his head. “From Ireland was she?”
“Aye. She came tae Scotland when she married my grandsire. They’re both gone now.” Alana reached out and touched the cool glass of the window pane, following the raindrops with her fingers. A lighting flash crackled just outside the castle walls, causing her to take a step back. She could feel the fire fizzle in her fingers as the hairs on her arms stood straight up. The thunder clap that followed shook the earth, causing the pictures on the walls to rattle. A shiver raced up her spine and she nearly tripped over a piece of furniture.
“Easy, lass,” Malcolm soothed, encircling his arm around her waist to keep her from falling.
Alana looked up into his ocean blue eyes and was lost. The room faded away into nothingness as he wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her against him. As his lips moved closer to hers, a haunting voice broke through the spell, ‘Bed him if ye must.’ Startled, Alana pushed away from him and staggered backwards onto the settee.
“Alana…” he started, but another thunder clap drowned out his words.
Iona moved forward to make sure Alana was not hurt. “Are ye well, Alana? What did ye do tae her, brother?” she chastised.
Malcolm’s eyes flickered with something Alana could not read. “I am well, Iona. I simply stumbled. Yer brother was kind enough tae catch me. ‘Tis nae his fault that I fell,” Alana rushed to answer.
“Ye need tae stay off that foot,” Iona observed. “Ye hurt it more than ye have admitted.”
“I am fine. Dinnae fash,” Alana reassured her.
Malcolm turned away to silently stare out of the windows once more. Alana was afraid she might have offended him and it struck her as odd that she should care what he thought or felt at all. She had been raised to think of him as the enemy and yet she cared very much that she might have hurt him. Rising from the settee, she walked over to his side and slid her hand into his. “I am sorry,” she whispered.
“Ye have nothin’ tae be sorrowful for. ‘Tis I that has done ye a discourtesy. I should ne’er have assumed my attentions were desired by ye. Ye are a bonnie lass and I find I cannae resist ye nae matter how hard I may try.” He squeezed her hand, encircling her fingers with his own.
“Malcolm, I…” Alana’s words were interrupted by the voice of Mary’s husband, Bruce, as he ran into the room.
“The bairn is comin’! The bairn is comin’ now and Mary is nae doin’ so good.” A scream ripped through the castle as if in testament of his words.
Chapter Seven
Blair Castle, Scotland
“There is nae way tae send for the midwife in this storm. She would nae make it tae the castle. The river is o’er its banks,” Malcolm informed his brother-in-law. Bruce’s face was pale white with worry.
“She has asked for Alana,” Bruce informed them. His eyes begged her to come quickly.
Alana released Malcolm’s hand and hurried to Mary’s room. Malcolm and Bruce followed close behind while Iona went to find Freya. As Alana walked, she threw orders over her shoulder. “I will need plenty o’ hot water, clean cloths, string, and a sharp knife.”
“I will get it,” Malcolm promised and went off to gather the supplies.
When Alana entered Mary’s room she found her to be in a state of distress, drenched in sweat and moaning, doubled over in pain upon the bed. The sheets were wet from her broken waters. Turning to Bruce, Alana asked, “How long has she been like this?”
“I dinnae ken. I found her this way,” Bruce answered.
“I did nae ken what was happenin’. I thought I had o’er exerted myself again,” Mary groaned. “There ‘tis nae time betwixt the pains. ‘Tis but one long ne’er endin’ pain.”
“Bruce go and find some fresh linens, a nightdress, and a bottle of whisky,” Alana instructed. Bruce did as bid and went to an armoire in the corner. He pulled out clean bedding, a gown, and the requested bottle. “Now help me tae get her clean and dry. There is nae need for her tae have tae lay in any more misery than is necessary.”
Bruce helped Mary to stand while Alana stripped the bed clean of all soiled linens and replaced them with clean ones. Freya entered with a pitcher of hot water. “Malcolm is followin’ with the rest o’ it,” she informed Alana, pouring the water into a bowl on the washstand. Taking in the drenched pile of bedding and the state of her daughter, she offered, “I will go and fetch some more water. It looks as if ye will be needin’ it.”
“Aye, we will,” Alana agreed. “I thank ye, my lady.”
“Call me Freya. Ye are helpin’ tae birth my grandchild. Ye can call me by my given name. I will return,” she promised, then left the room.
Bruce and Alana removed Mary’s wet garments and bathed her
from head to toe before donning the fresh nightdress. Mary groaned and panted, leaning against her husband through the entire ordeal, but the bath did appear to offer some comfort. They assisted her back into bed whereupon Alana examined her. Freya and Malcolm entered the room with the requested supplies. “Her waters have broken, but the pains are tae close together. She is nae far enough along for them tae be this bad. The bairn is still tae high up. I fear somethin’ is amiss, but there is nae anythin’ we can do except wait and give her what comfort we can until the bairn comes,” Alana informed them.
Bruce looked as if he might faint. “Mary,” he whispered his voice shaking.
Alana handed him the bottle of whisky and he took a swallow of the amber liquid. The burn of it appeared to steady his nerves. “Bruce, let us go and tell Faither that he will be a grandsire afore the night is done.”
“Aye,” Bruce nodded, “but only for a time. I dinnae wish tae leave Mary for verra long.”
“We will return afore the bairn is born. I swear it,” Malcolm soothed his brother-in-law.
“Ye wish tae be present for birthin’?” Alana asked in surprise.
“Aye,” Malcolm and Bruce answered as one.
“In this family we dinnae leave our lass’ tae birth our bairns alone. I ken well enough ‘tis done differently elsewhere with men leavin’ the birthin’ tae the women, but here we are made o’ sterner highland stock,” Malcolm explained. “In battle we dinnae leave a warrior tae fight alone. ‘Tis the same with birthin’ bairns.”
“I have ne’er heard o’ such.” Alana did not know what to make of Malcolm’s declaration. The men she had known could not leave the room swiftly enough. They would never have likened the pains of birth to that of battle, but there was something about the poetry of it that Alana greatly admired. The Murray men are nae brutes as Faither claimed. Alana was beginning to doubt everything she had ever been taught about them.
Malcolm stepped in front of Alana and placed his hand on her cheek meeting, her eyes. “Nae woman or sister o’ mine would e’er go through such a thing alone,” he murmured. The intimacy of his meaning caused Alana’s body to flush with heat. He ran his thumb gently over her lower lip, creating a flow of sensation down to her toes. A groan from Mary brought her back to the present.
Alana turned to see Bruce cradling his wife in his arms and cooing sweet nothings into her ear as he smoothed back her hair. “Go and tell Faither, then return tae me, husband,” Mary panted.
“Aye, I will, wife,” Bruce promised, kissing her face, then rose to follow Malcolm out of the room.
“That should allow him tae gather himself,” Freya remarked, coming around the side of the bed to wipe her daughter’s brow. “They usually need a moment, but Murray men are there for the women they love nae matter what. My Andrew was there for each one o’ our bairns. He will be sad tae miss the birthin’ o’ our first grandchild, but he will be able tae greet the bairn in due time.”
“Bruce and I were talkin’ about a name for the bairn. If ‘tis a boy we were thinkin’ Andrew Malcolm Murray.” Mary shared the information with as much of a smile as she could manage in her current state.
“A braw name,” Freya remarked smiling. “Yer Faither and brother will be well pleased.”
Mary groaned again. “I cannae bear it,” she whimpered. “There is nae time tae breathe afore the next pain begins.”
“We need tae get the bairn tae come down,” Alana stated. “Freya, help get her up. Mary, ye need tae walk if ye can at all.”
“I dinnae ken if I can,” Mary groaned.
“We will help ye,” Alana promised.
Alana and Freya got on either side of Mary’s body and supported her weight as she moved about the room. Another pain hit her and she doubled over, clutching her abdomen. Her muscles spasmed and she cried out. “For the love o’ heaven make it cease!” she moaned.
“I cannae, lass,” Freya answered, rubbing her daughter’s back in consolation. “A maither spends her life wishin’ tae spare her children pain, but there is nae a thing I can do tae take it away from ye, my wee lamb.”
Alana watched as mother and daughter leaned into each other for comfort and felt a wave of envy wash over her. I will ne’er have this. My maither will nae be there when it comes my turn tae birth a bairn. I will nae have a lovin’ man tae hold me while I lay racked with pain. I will be alone, all alone. The idea of being forced to produce heirs for a man such as Laird Sutherland made her shudder with disgust and dread.
They walked the floor, pausing every few moments as the pain ripped through Mary’s body. Bruce and Malcolm returned and took Alana and Freya’s places on either side of Mary, walking her around the room. “Who is with yer faither now?” Freya asked her son.
“The lasses are with him,” Malcolm answered over his shoulder. “They cannae wait tae greet the new bairn.”
“They are nae the only ones,” Mary breathed.
“Nae, they are nae,” Bruce agreed, kissing the top of his wife’s head.
They walked for several hours with periodic spells of resting to allow Alana to check Mary’s progress. Mary lay upon the bed sobbing. “I cannae do this,” she moaned. “I cannae do this.”
Alana had heard many a mother proclaim the very same words while growing up in the Cairngorms. When she was old enough, she had acted as a midwife to her father’s men’s wives and mistresses. In most cases, the look on the mother’s face when it was all over had been one of boundless love and joy, though she had seen as few greeted with dread and tears. “Ye can do this, Mary. I ken it does nae feel as though ye can, but I promise ye that it is worth it in the end when ye will hold yer wee bairn in yer arms.”
“It hurts too much,” she sobbed. “I am nae goin’ tae make it through this.”
Alana came out from beneath Mary’s skirts frowning. “What is amiss?” Malcolm quietly asked.
“The bairn has come down, but it has turned. I am goin’ tae have tae turn it back ‘round,” Alana replied.
“Can ye do such a thing?” Malcolm questioned.
“Aye, I have tae. If I do nae she nor the bairn will make it through this,” Alana answered soberly.
“What must ye do? Can I be o’ aid?” Malcolm inquired.
“I will try and turn it from the outside, but if I cannae then I will be forced tae do so from the inside,” Alana explained. Bruce’s face blanched white at hearing the words. “Mary, this will hurt, but I have tae do it. Do ye understand what I have said?”
“The bairn is the wrong way and if ye do nae turn it, we will both surely perish,” Mary panted out through the pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her face contorted in agony.
“Aye,” Alana answered. “Freya and Bruce hold her hands. She will need ye tae get through this. Malcolm, yer hands are stronger than mine. I need ye tae do as I do and attempt to turn the bairn just so…” Alana used her hands to show Malcolm what she was talking about. She pressed and massaged Mary’s protruding belly, attempting to move the bairn back into the correct position. It did not move. She placed Malcolm’s hands in the desired position and then urged him to do as she had done. She watched as his strong masculine hands worked to coax the unborn babe to turn, but it would have none of it.
“It is nae movin’,” Malcolm noted, looking to Alana with worry in his eyes.
“I ken it,” she sighed. Alana walked over to the wash stand and scrubbed her hands and arms with hot water and whisky. She examined her nails to make sure that they were short enough, without any broken edges, so as not to scratch anything and found that they were. She walked back over to Mary and positioned herself between her legs. She looked from Bruce to Malcolm and gave them one last opportunity to flee. “Are ye certain ye wish tae remain?”
“Aye,” both men firmly answered.
Nodding her head in acknowledgement, Alana set her mind to the business at hand. She had done this only once before and she was not at all certain that it would work now, but she had to try. She could nae let
Mary die without doing everything in her power to stop it. Mary screamed in agony as Alana entered her and attempted to turn the baby. When she stopped screaming, Mary turned a ghastly shade of pale green. “Bring her a bowl, quickly!” Alana commanded. Malcolm rushed to obey and just managed to get the bowl to Mary in time before she expelled the contents of her stomach. The muscle contractions that resulted from her heaving torso combined with Alana’s efforts caused the baby to begin to turn. “The bairn is turnin’!” Alana exclaimed with joyous relief.
Exhalations of relief swept around the room. Bruce kissed Mary’s forehead, then lay his chin on the top of her head. “Ye’ll be well, Mary, my love. Ye and the bairn will be well.”
Once the baby was turned, Alana withdrew her hands and went to wash them once more.