by Gwyn Brodie
Drostan raced through the door, his father and his brothers on his heels, and swept Isobel up in his arms. "Dinnae fash, lass. I'll get you there in plenty of time," he said, trying to assure himself as much as Isobel. He carried her to the castle, and up to the bedchamber they shared, then carefully placed her on the bed.
Lady Fraser hurried into the room, her face twisted with worry for her only child's wellbeing.
His mother came in behind her and took him by the arm. "I can see you're worried sick, but she'll be fine, as will the bairn."
He nodded, praying all went well. His mother had been lucky with all her births, but 'twas not always so. Many a man had lost the love of his life to a complicated childbirth. He sat down on the edge of the bed and squeezed Isobel's hand.
"I love you," he whispered.
She smiled, but her face showed the pain she bore. "As I do you."
"Out with ye, lad," the midwife ordered.
He looked at Isobel. "I dinnae wish to leave you."
"Dinnae fret so. I'll be fine. 'Twill be over soon."
Reluctantly, Drostan kissed her cheek and left the bedchamber. The door closed behind him, and he had the strongest urge to go back in and return to Isobel's side—disagreeable midwife or not. Instead, he took a seat on the carved oak bench in the corridor.
His father clasped his shoulder. "What you need is a dram of whisky, son."
"Much thanks, Da, but I'm not leaving this spot until I have news of Isobel and the bairn."
"Taran, fetch us a bottle of whisky and cups." His father took a seat beside Drostan. "I've been in your position many times, and I ken I've been a lucky man because I still have my Maggie. You sat with me on this same bench during the birth of the majority of your siblings, so you ken 'twill be a long wait."
"Aye, I do." After tossing back a dram or two, Drostan rose from the bench and began to pace up and down the corridor. Each time Isobel cried out in pain, a piece was torn from his heart. Minutes stretched into hours, and by the time he listened to the bairn's first cry, he was confident he had worn a path in the wood floor. Judging by the sound, the bairn possessed good, strong lungs, but fear for Isobel wrapped around his chest until he could hardly breathe. Then the door opened.
"Come see your son—my grandson," his mother said, her eyes sparkling with tears.
"And Isobel?"
"Come see for yourself."
He hurried into the room and to her bedside. He took her hand in his. "Are you well, lass?"
She looked exhausted but smiled. "I am."
His gaze dropped to the tiny bundle beside her. "Is he?"
"Aye." Would you like to hold him?"
He nodded, for as firstborn, he had held many a bairn. He gently took the wee lad, feeling both pride and new emotions rising up inside him. "He has your nose and eyes."
She chuckled. "He has your size, 'tis the reason it took so long for him to arrive. His sweet mouth is yours, as well."
Drostan gently pressed his lips against the bairn's tiny cheek, marveling at its softness. "We never did decide on a name. What shall we call him?"
"What do you think of James Fraser Drostan Mackintosh, and we'll call him Fraser?"
He grinned. "'Tis perfect." With Isobel by his side, everything was.
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Also by Gwyn Brodie
The Highland Moon Series
Beneath a Highland Moon: A Scottish Historical Romance
Once Upon a Highland Moon: A Scottish Historical Romance
Chasing a Highland Moon: A Scottish Historical Romance
Tempted by a Highland Moon
MacGregor's Daughter: A Scottish Historical Romance
The Highland Moon Series, Book 6
Drostan, A Scottish Historical Romance, The Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle