Like a Laird to a Flame

by Pride, Mia

  “’Tis too late!” she cried and sat up into a ball, screaming once more and clenching her teeth against the pain. “The bairn comes!” Tears ran down her cheeks and sweat dotted her brow.

  “Now?” James asked, looking around at the barren trees surrounding them, nothing but the kirk around for miles.

  “Now!” she roared. Collapsing back into the hay, Mary panted and whimpered like an injured animal.

  “Ye willnae birth our child in the back of a cursed cart,” William assured her and scooped her up into his arms. “James, open the back. We must get her inside the kirk.”

  James stared at his sister with disbelief, turning as white as the snow that covered the earth. “James! Now!” William roared, and James blinked his eyes, snapping out of whatever spell he had temporarily been under. Hopping out of the cart, James lifted the latch and lowered the back, allowing William to safely climb down, cradling Mary in his arms.

  “Run ahead to the kirk. Tell the prioress that Mary is in labor. They will ken what to do.”

  Nodding his understanding but remaining silent for the first time since William had met the man, James took off at a run toward the kirk entrance.

  “Ye cannae leave me out here!” Stephan shouted from the tree he was tied to. “I will die out here!”

  Groaning, Mary shifted in his arms and rested her head against his shoulder. The torn plaid wrapped around her head was a reminder of all that Stephan was truly capable of and William scowled at the man.

  “Mayhap ye should have thought of that before ye attacked an innocent woman carrying a child!” William spat at Stephan’s feet and scowled. “I would leave ye here to rot for what ye have done, but I willnae deny Robert the pleasure of deciding yer fate. Tell me one thing. Did ye kill my warrior?”

  Stephan’s face slowly morphed before his eyes. He went from a look of distress to one of mirth blended with pride. “It wasnae personal, ye ken. He was a convenient sacrifice in the games of war.”

  “War?” William wished to know more, but Mary writhed in his arms and cried out in torment. “James will be back to take ye to Drum, and ye shall suffer!” William shouted as he turned and ran toward the kirk.

  Stephan was a foul, loathsome excuse for a man and though William had no idea what he meant about war, the words set unease into his bones and he knew danger was brewing back at Drum.

  When he reached the entrance, the doors were wide open as the prioress awaited them and signaled William to follow, leading him down a corridor that brought them to a separate wing of the kirk. Unlocking a door with a heavy metal key, the prioress swung the door open, its rusted hinges squeaking in protest.

  “Bring her in here, quickly now.” As other nuns stood by awaiting their orders, the prioress continued to guide William while shouting commands to bring fresh linens and warm water to the room. She was certainly not the meek and tittering nun he had witnessed upon his arrival, and it gave him the much-needed hope that Mary would receive the help she required.

  “My name is Mother Frances. I am also a midwife. Mary is in good care. Ye must place her on this bed and go.”

  William did as he was told and gently placed Mary down onto a clean mattress covered in fresh white linen sheets, but he refused to leave her side. “I willnae leave.” Mary fluttered her eyes and attempted to smile at him, searching for his hand with hers. Another pain wracked her body and she wailed, more tears running down her cheeks.

  “I am the father and I willnae leave her.”

  The nun pushed him aside and placed a cushion beneath Mary’s wrapped head. “I dinnae care if ye are the father of the bairn or father of this kirk! The birthing room is no place for a man!”

  “Will…” Mary squeezed his hand. “I will be… all right.”

  “I dinnae wish to leave ye, Mary.” Kissing her forehead, he felt her sweat-slicked skin and looked at her bandaged head. “I fear for ye.”

  “Stephan… is a… Douglas,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as if every word cost her dearly. The wound on her head must have pained her greatly, she seemed determined to speak. “Drum. War… tell James.”

  Another roar of pain tore through Mary and she bellowed in agony. Sister Frances ran over to her with a wet linen, placing it on her forehead, then moved to the foot of the bed. “I must examine the lady. Ye must leave.”

  Finally accepting that he was not welcome in the birthing chamber, William pushed away his disappointment and gave Mary’s hand one last squeeze. “I will leave this chamber, but I willnae leave the kirk. I will relay yer warning to James and send him to Drum with Stephan.” Releasing her hand, William slowly walked toward the door, reluctant to leave her side. He feared for her life, and for the child. He knew childbirth was a dangerous business, and many women and children did not survive it. Mary would… she had to. He could not live without her. But she was the very strongest woman he had ever known and he prayed all would be well.

  Before he stepped foot out of the door, William turned around and looked at Mary. If there was ever a time to tell her how he truly felt about her, it was now. He was not even certain she would remember his words, but they had to be said. “I love ye with my whole heart, Mary. I willnae leave this kirk until ye are leaving with me, I vow.”

  Stepping out of the chamber and into the hall, William quietly shut the door behind him and strode down the long, narrow hall, every footstep echoing around him. The ancient stone walls did nothing to keep the chill of winter at bay, but he never minded the cold overmuch. Locating the kirk’s entrance, he stepped into the snow, looking around for any sign of James.

  He was not in front of the kirk, so William walked around to the back near the garden, seeking out the area in the woods where the cart had been parked. Stephan was no longer tied to the tree, but the cart was still there. Pulling out his sword, William stared at the cart, taking slow steps toward it. “James?”

  When his companion did not reply, William froze, searching his surroundings for any sign of foul play. He saw no tracks nor footprints. The snow had successfully covered any sign of movement in the area and William cursed beneath his breath. The back of the cart was still down and he could see nothing but a pile of hay inside.

  “Stephan, if ye are hiding in here, come out now before I run ye through.” Waiting a moment, he heard no sounds of movement. “Ye have been warned.” The man did not deserve a warning at all. If it was not for William’s cursed honor as a knight, he would have killed Stephan already, armed or not.

  Thrusting his sword into the hay, he met with no resistance. Where was the bloody bastard? And where was James? Turning around, nothing but leafless trees and their gnarly branches were to be seen. Mayhap James had already left for Drum, taking Stephan with him on his horse. Nothing seemed to make sense, but as he scoured the surrounding area, he saw nothing unusual. Checking the stables, his own horse remained comfortably within, chewing on hay and appearing at ease, yet James’ horse was missing. William muttered a curse under his breath. James left before William had had a chance to relay Mary’s message of warning, but there was naught William could do. He needed to stay here and take care of Mary, relying on James to prove himself worthy of this task.

  Walking back into the kirk and sheathing his sword, William paced in circles, worrisome scenarios replaying in his mind: the chance of harm coming to Mary or the child. War at Drum. Elizabeth’s safety. William was a man of action and did not like feeling helpless. It reminded him of watching his mother slowly die from a wasting sickness when he was a lad. His father had wailed for days when she died, and William was unable to stop her death or calm his father. At least he had been able to comfort his sister, which was more than he could currently do for Mary, whose screams of turmoil could be heard echoing through the halls.

  Starting to run in her direction, William stopped himself and pulled at his hair, reminding himself that he was not allowed near her, yet frustrated by his inability to help James or Mary or Drum.

  Turning back
toward the chapel, William grumbled under his breath, restlessness and anxiety eating away at him. Taking a deep breath, he walked further into the cathedral, looking at the lit sconces, their fires dancing with the breeze permeating the ancient building and casting ominous shadows across the walls.

  A few effigies rested in the transept of the cathedral and William stopped in his tracks. The spirits of fallen soldiers were surely adding to the somber feelings looming in the air, chilling him to the bone. One effigy caught his eye, not because of the intricately carved armor, but because the features etched in stone looked familiar. Reginald and Robert both bore a strong resemblance to one another in the bone structure of their faces, and the man carved in stone just a few feet away looked very much the same. William had, of course, met the living, breathing man, had even called him brother while he lived. Alexander had been married to Elizabeth for so short a time, and though his love for Mary had been no secret to those who knew him, Alexander had treated Elizabeth well, and William had respected him as a man, warrior, laird, and brother-by-marriage.

  Walking slowly toward the effigy, William wondered how he could feel so much envy for the man who lay beneath the stone slab. He was gone, and yet he was everywhere. He would never hold Mary in his arms again, and yet he would always hold her heart. William could not compete with this man, for even in death, Alexander was more beloved than William could ever be. His stomach tightened into a knot as he stood before it and looked down at the man, inspecting his armor and the well-made likeness. Even in cold, hard stone, he was a handsome man. His nameplate glittered in the light cast by the fire, and William kneeled beside him, swallowing the lump in his throat.

  “Alexander.” His voice was husky with emotion and gooseflesh spread over his body when he spoke the man’s name. The woman William loved was birthing this man’s child down the corridor, her cries carrying through the ancient walls. It felt like dark tidings, and a chill ran up his spine. “I didnae ever expect to be here, to be fool enough to attempt to speak with ye. And yet, for some reason, I ken ye can hear me. Can ye hear her? She is birthing yer child, Alex.”

  Silence consumed the cathedral. He was alone, yet he was not. “I love her, Alex. I tried not to. Do ye remember when I first arrived at Drum with my sister? Who kenned then that ye would die at Harlaw, Elizabeth would marry yer brother, and Mary would marry yer brother-by-marriage?” William grunted when he said that out loud. It seemed like the most unusual situation, even to his own ears.

  “Ye were a good man. A brave man. Ye died fighting for yer people. Mary has missed ye greatly. I admit that I envy ye, as foolish as that sounds while ye lay here beneath a cold slab of rock. She loves ye in a way that she will never love me. But, I will love her eternally, just the same. I will care for her and yer child just as well as ye would have, I vow. I dinnae ken why I am speaking to ye now, except to ease yer soul… and mayhap my own. If ye are here, please watch over Mary and the bairn. Please. I fear they willnae survive the birthing, and I have never been more afraid in my entire life. I have faced the fiercest enemies on the battlefield and, yet, this is what frightens me most. A woman and a child,” William said wryly.

  Startled by heavy footsteps behind him, William stiffened his back and spun on his heels, hand on his hilt. When he saw James swiftly striding toward him with snow in his hair and ruddy cheeks, he was confused, yet relieved that it was a living man and not a dead one. Mayhap speaking to spirits was messing with his mind and making William believe in more than he should.

  “What are ye doing here, James? I thought ye were headed back to Drum?”

  James appeared winded but shook the snow off his head and growled. “Where is Mary?”

  “She is giving birth in the priory and is being attended by a nun who willnae allow me near her,” he grumbled.

  “Have ye seen Stephan? I am worried about my sister’s safety.” James bent over to catch his breath, and William stepped closer, eyes growing wide with concern.

  “What? Nay. He wasnae at the tree when I went back. I thought ye left with him.”

  James blew out a strong breath and ran his fingers through his long, tangled hair. “The moment we left him to bring Mary to the kirk, the bastard escaped! He was tied to that tree verra well. I took my horse out to find him, but he had disappeared. I found tracks heading south, but they disappeared into the woods, away from the kirk.”

  William ground his teeth and clenched his fists. That madman was on the loose and Mary was vulnerable once again. “Mary mentioned his dagger. He must have hidden it, then used it to cut himself free and fled.”

  “Aye. The tracks lead toward the old road out of Aberdeen. I dinnae believe he is anywhere near here.”

  “Toward Douglas lands…” William muttered, rubbing his rough beard with his hand, wishing he had killed Stephan while he had the chance.

  Dropping his eyebrows, James looked at William. “Why would the arse head toward Douglas lands?”

  “I tried to tell ye, but ye were gone. Mary couldnae speak much but warned that Stephan is a Douglas. It was all a setup. He killed my Keith warrior to turn us against the Douglases, which turned the Irvines on them, as well. He wrote ye that missive, turning the Hamiltons against the Irvines. He said something about a war when he was tied up. He has set us against one another and I fear for my sister back at Drum.”

  “Aye, I ken she is with child, as well,” James said matter-of-factly, and William felt as if he would fall over on his arse with shock.

  “Lizzie is having a bairn?”

  “Ye didnae ken it? Mary told me on the way here.”

  “Nay, I didnae ken!” he shot back, feeling pulled between the urge to protect both the women he loved most in this world. He could not be by Mary’s side, but he could not go to Elizabeth. “James, ride like the devil to Drum. Tell them that Mary is safe at the kirk having her child, and I am with her. Call the Hamiltons off the Irvines. There is no need for yer clans to be enemies. I will marry yer sister, and we shall all have peace. Whatever ye do, tell Robert about Stephan killing Brian. My men will wish to slaughter Irvines if they find out and I’m not there to command them, but I need ye to tell them my orders. Do ye understand? ’Tis up to ye, James.”

  “I understand. I already failed Mary. I shallnae fail ye.”

  “She loves ye, James. But the Irvines are her kin, as well. She will forgive ye. Just stop this madness.”

  Nodding, James placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “I was wrong about ye. I couldnae ask for a better man for my sister. Tell her I love her and that, if the child is a lad, he had better share my name.”

  William scoffed. “Like hell, he will.”

  Sending him a wry smirk, James turned and fled the cathedral, leaving William alone with naught but his spinning thoughts, Mary’s echoing screams, and the spirit of her dead lover.

  Chapter Eleven

  She would not survive this. The pain exploding in her head with every scream rivaled the pain tearing through her abdomen with every contraction. The prioress attempted to soothe her, but nothing she said could be heard through the ringing in her ears.

  The minutes turned to hours, and Mary had no idea how long she had been in this room attempting to birth Alexander’s bairn, but it felt like an eternity of endless pain shooting through every part of her. How did some women do this ten times in one lifetime? She would never have another child. William could go to the devil. He had said he loved her just before leaving the room and though her heart soared when she heard those sweet words, the rest of her had been in agony ever since.

  Gritting her teeth, Mary clenched her fists into the linen of her bunched under tunic, her legs pushed up into her abdomen. “Push, my lady!”

  She had no choice but to obey. Her body was forcing her to whether she wished to or not. There was no control to be had as this child was expelled from her womb one excruciating push at a time.

  “I cannae…” she sighed, squeezing her eyes closed.

  “Ye must
, lass,” the prioress said calmly, rubbing a horrid smelling herbal balm into her calves as if that were the solution to all her current troubles. Her calves may very well be the one area of her body that did not feel as if they were being torn to shreds.

  “I… am tired. I want William.”

  “He is just outside awaiting ye.” Another cramp came on strong, squeezing like a vise. Mary cried out and wished she would just die and be done with the pain. Pushing as hard as she could, her head pulsed against the linens secured around her wound. Curse Stephan. Curse William, and Alexander, as well. Curse James and Robert and even Reginald simply for being men who did not need to ever birth a human!

  “This is all their fault!” she cried.

  The prioress gave her a grunt of agreement. “The bible blames Eve, but I ken better than that. I may be a nun, but I can see who is really to blame. ’Tis why I took the veil,” she said calmly, rubbing Mary’s leg. “I wish I could give ye something for the pain in yer head, lass, but I cannae risk harming the bairn.”

  Opening her eyes, Mary looked at the prioress and suddenly envied her decision to remain chaste as another wave of excruciating agony tore through her. “Damn ye, Alex!” she cried.

  “Mary…” a voice drifted to her ears like a caress and she gasped at the familiarity of it. She looked around but did not see anyone aside from the nun between her legs.

  “He is crowning, Mary! He is almost here!” the woman said with relief. “One more push, lass, and ye shall be a mother!”

  “Mary…”

  “Alexander?” she whimpered, looking around the room. Her head wound was causing her to go mad, hearing a voice from a man she was certain was not here. “It cannae be.”

  A candle in the corner of the room rapidly flickered then went out, catching her attention as the smoke billowed up to the ceiling. A draft washed over her flesh, giving her gooseflesh all over her arms and legs, yet the door remained locked and there were no windows. Chills crept up her spine as she felt another pain forcing her to push. “I am dying!” she howled. “I willnae survive this!”