‘Let me help you,’ Aileen said, bringing several pillows to help her sit upright. ‘When the midwife arrives, we will both try to turn the child.’
‘Have you done this before?’ she asked.
‘Only once,’ Aileen admitted. ‘But Darerca and I will do what we can.’ She reached out and took her hand. ‘You must try to rest as much as you can. We don’t know how long this will last, and first babies often take many hours.’ Though the healer tried to sound calm, Joan hadn’t missed the tension in her face.
When Darerca arrived, Aileen spoke with the midwife in a low voice, whispering in Irish. Joan couldn’t quite tell what they were saying, but the midwife’s expression turned grave, and she nodded.
‘It is dangerous to try to turn the baby since your waters have broken,’ Aileen said, ‘but we will try it once.’
Darerca guided Joan to get on her hands and knees. Then she and Aileen began to push against her swollen womb, trying to turn the baby. Pain radiated through Joan so violently, she clenched her hands against the pallet. Although the women attempted to manipulate the child and force the baby into the correct position, Joan already knew the truth. It was no use.
At last, they bade her to lie on her back once again. ‘Rest a moment,’ Aileen said. ‘I must talk with Darerca a moment to see what else we may try.’
The women stepped outside for a little while, and Joan could only fear the worst. Neither of the healers appeared hopeful, and she rested her hands upon her unborn babe, praying silently.
The door opened again, but this time, Ronan came inside. His expression remained shielded, but he came to sit beside her. ‘How are you, a stór?’
‘I’ve been better,’ she said, letting out a slow breath as another contraction took her. ‘Our child has decided he wants to be born this day.’
He reached out and offered his hand. ‘It will be all right, Joan. Aileen and Darerca are the finest healers. I have confidence in their skills.’
She wanted to believe that, but her fear was stronger. Yet, she thought it might be best to pretend as if there was nothing wrong. At least, for now.
Ronan did not leave, as she had expected him to, but instead, he remained at her side throughout hours of labour. Her face was damp with perspiration, and the pain never ceased. Aileen and Darerca helped her to walk around, but as the contractions strengthened, she had to stop and hold on to Ronan.
When night fell, Aileen and Darerca made another blend of herbs and asked her to drink it. ‘Your body is not widening for the birth of the child,’ the healer explained. ‘This may help you.’
Joan drank the foul-tasting tea, though she doubted it would do any good. She was beginning to understand the danger facing both her child and herself. Emotions rose high within her, and she didn’t bother to stop the tears.
‘I’m going to die, aren’t I?’ she predicted. ‘And the baby, too.’
‘No,’ Ronan said. ‘I won’t let that happen.’ His tone was haggard as he helped her to sit once more. His hand gripped hers, and he looked into her eyes. ‘I swear it.’
But he could not fight this battle for her. She drew his hand to her face, ignoring the tears. ‘The baby is breech, Ronan. If the worst comes to pass, promise me you will cut the baby from my body and save him.’
‘Don’t even speak of such a thing,’ he warned. ‘It will not happen.’
She squeezed his hand tightly as another contraction took her. Despite his attempt to reassure her, she knew the truth—that she might not survive the birth.
‘Promise me you will save our child.’ She needed to know that their baby had a chance to live.
He shook his head. ‘If you ask me to choose between your life and our baby’s, the choice will always be you, Joan.’
She embraced him, resting her cheek against his. ‘This may be the only baby I ever have, Ronan. And if I had the choice between my life or my child’s, the choice would always be to sacrifice my own.’
* * *
Ronan didn’t sleep at all that night but kept vigil at his wife’s side all through the next day and night. Joan fought hard as the contractions overtook her body, and he hated seeing her in such agony. He brought hot water to Aileen and Darerca, but he knew his efforts were for naught. With every hour, Joan’s strength diminished. She was racked with pain, suffering as no woman should.
At last, Ronan could stand it no longer. To Aileen and the midwife, he demanded, ‘Do something. She cannot endure this another day.’
The older woman sighed. ‘Come with me, King Ronan. There is aught I must tell you.’
He didn’t want to hear it, but Aileen nodded for him to go. He followed the woman outside, and Darerca said, ‘She is suffering badly, and there is almost no progress. The child is twisted up within her and may already be dead. She cannot push, for her body has not changed in preparation for the birth.’
Every part of him froze up with her words, though he had suspected this for hours. The thought of Joan dying was the worst nightmare he could have imagined.
‘What can be done to save them?’
The midwife paused. ‘I do not know. Joan asked me to cut the child from her, if she dies. Sometimes the child can survive, if it is taken quickly.’
‘But Joan would die,’ he finished. ‘No. I won’t let that happen to her.’
‘If nothing changes, both will die,’ the midwife insisted. ‘I have given her every remedy I can, but nothing is working. I tell you this not to frighten you, but to prepare you for what may happen.’
Her warning resonated deeply within him. He knew what Joan’s wish was, but he could not bring himself to agree. He loved her deeply. How could he ever give the order for her to be cut open and die?
But he also understood that Joan would die if he stood by and did nothing. ‘I need to think,’ he said. The midwife inclined her head and stepped back.
Ronan trudged through the grounds at Clonagh in silence. The stars were out and most of the Ó Callaghans were sleeping within their homes. One of the dogs rose from his sleeping place at the threshold and came over to greet him, his tail wagging.
Ronan bent to rub the dog’s ears, but inwardly, he felt shaken. His wife and child were dying, and he had no means to save them.
Was this how his brother had felt? The devastation of being powerless to fight death, his heart wrenching at the impending loss. Somehow, after his wife’s death, Ardan had managed to go on living for the sake of their son...but when Declan had died, he’d lost his own will to live.
Ronan stopped at the far end of the fortress, resting his head against the fence. He didn’t want to imagine living without Joan. The thought of going through each day alone was devastating.
It felt as if Fate had asked the impossible of him. If he allowed the women to cut into Joan, she would likely bleed to death. But if he refused to allow it, both would die.
His gut twisted with fear and self-loathing. If he could give up his own life for theirs, he would do so without hesitation. Yet this was a battle he was helpless to fight. And he knew not if there was any hope at all.
He raised his eyes up to the stars, wishing his brother were here to advise him. As he thought of Ardan, he knew his brother would have done everything to save his family—even at the greatest risk.
Slowly, he walked back to his wife, feeling numb to the decision he must make. Already she had laboured for two days with no progress. He could not stand by and let her die with the child trapped inside her.
The night air was warm, but it did nothing to allay the frozen chill of his heart. Never in his life had he felt such fear, but he saw no alternative.
Slowly, he pushed the door open and crossed the threshold. Joan was fighting to breathe, her face red with exertion as the labour pains rolled over her. The midwife turned to him in silent question.
‘Do everything you can to save
Joan,’ he said. ‘Even if you must cut the child from her body.’
* * *
Joan was lost in delirium, feeling as if her body were being ripped apart from the inside. Ronan came to sit beside her, but when he took her hand, his skin was like ice.
‘I cannot bear to see you suffer,’ he murmured. ‘I wish I could take this pain from you.’
‘So do I,’ she remarked, braving a smile she didn’t feel. She could see his own torment as she fought the violent waves of pain. But he could do nothing to help her, and her strength was waning.
‘I am afraid,’ he admitted. ‘The midwife believes we should try to cut the child out.’
‘But if we save the child, I will die,’ Joan said. Weariness poured through her, and she squeezed his hand. ‘Ronan, I am going to die anyway. I cannot bear this pain much longer, and neither can our baby. We have no choice but to try. At least if our child lives, a part of me will go on.’
‘I want both of you to live,’ he gritted out. He drew her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. ‘I love you, Joan.’
Her own love swelled through her, and she closed her eyes. ‘Even if the worst comes to pass, I could not have asked for a husband I loved more.’ She let her tears fall freely. ‘Whatever happens, you must not blame our child. It is not the baby’s fault. Nor is it yours.’
He leaned in to kiss her lips, and she kissed him back, winding her arms around his neck. Even when the pain caught her again, she only stopped to catch her breath.
‘You must know how much I love you,’ she whispered. ‘How much I will always love you, even if I am gone.’
His face grew stricken, overcome with shielded grief. ‘Fight to live, Joan. Our baby needs a mother. And I will not wed another.’
She drew him down to her once more, pressing her forehead to his. ‘I will fight until my dying breath.’
He held her for a little while longer until at last Darerca said, ‘It is time. We cannot delay any longer, Ronan.’
Aileen gave her a leather strap to bite down upon. Behind her, she saw the midwife cleaning a sharp blade. She had tried to be brave in front of Ronan, but her courage was slipping away. The blade would cut through her, and she would die. It might even be too late for her child.
‘You must leave now,’ the midwife ordered Ronan. But he shook his head and came to sit behind Joan’s head. He reached down to take her hands in his.
‘I will be here with you,’ he swore. ‘You can break my fingers if the pain is too great. But I will not leave you.’
His promise meant more to her than he understood. If she was to die now, she wanted her last sight to be of her husband’s face. From Ronan, she would draw her strength.
Joan reached back to take his hands while Aileen drew near. The healer had a needle and thread prepared, along with a poultice. It seemed that both women had known what would come to pass. And the knowledge only deepened her terror.
To Aileen, he said, ‘Connor told me you are the greatest healer in Éire. I hope it is true.’
Aileen met his gaze. ‘I will not lie—this is dangerous to both of them. But Darerca has cut in and saved a child before. This is not her first time.’
‘Did the mother live?’ Ronan asked quietly, meeting the midwife’s gaze.
Darerca slowly shook her head. ‘Only the baby.’
It was as she had feared. But Joan knew that there was no other choice—not after this long.
‘Save them both,’ Ronan commanded. ‘Do all that you can.’
Joan steeled herself and put the leather strap into her mouth. She gripped Ronan’s hands and looked back at him, not wanting to see the gleam of the knife.
‘I am ready.’
Chapter Thirteen
The cry of a newborn broke through the silence, and Ronan stared in disbelief at his son. The boy wailed as the healer pulled him free, swaddling him while Aileen cut the birthing cord. The moment he saw the baby, he knew Joan needed to see their boy.
‘We have a son,’ he said, his voice breaking. He took the infant from Darerca and brought him to rest upon Joan’s chest. Aileen and the midwife worked quickly, removing the afterbirth and trying to stop the bleeding.
His wife wept as she smiled at him. ‘We will call him Ardan, after your brother.’ She kissed the infant’s head, but he was aware of how her body had begun to tremble after the birth. He knew not what Aileen and Darerca were doing, but both worked swiftly, stitching the wound.
‘He is beautiful,’ Joan said. ‘Everything I imagined he would b-be.’ Her mouth was tense from the pain, but he had never known a woman braver than his wife. She had barely flinched when Darerca had drawn the blade across her womb though he knew how badly it had hurt her.
‘Take care of him for me,’ she whispered. ‘Tell him how much I loved him.’
He didn’t like the ominous tone of her voice or the way she was speaking as if she would not be here. ‘You will tell him yourself,’ he insisted. ‘Joan, you must fight to stay with us. Ardan needs you, and so do I.’
Her eyes began to close, and he touched her cheek. ‘Look at our son, Joan. See how perfect he is.’
She fought back and kissed their son’s downy head. ‘He is beautiful.’ Her voice was hardly above a whisper. ‘And strong-willed, like his father.’ She tried to smile, but he could not return it.
He didn’t tell her that the child had been folded in half, his head nestled against his knees. There was no question that if they had not cut in, the baby and Joan would now be dead. Yet he could see her trembling and the effort it took to keep her eyes open.
Aileen and Darerca packed a poultice against Joan’s wounds, and then the midwife brought over a fur that had been warmed near the fire. ‘Put this around your wife,’ she ordered.
At the sudden warmth, Joan closed her eyes in relief. ‘Oh, that feels good. Thank you.’
The midwife helped guide the baby to Joan’s breast to help him nurse. His wife was exhausted, but she did take interest when Ardan latched on. He met Darerca’s gaze and understood what she was doing. Every moment Joan spent with their baby gave her a new reason to fight for her own survival.
In time, the baby lay against her heartbeat, drawing comfort from Joan’s skin. She held him, but exhaustion reigned over her.
‘Drink, Joan,’ Aileen said softly. She lifted a cup of warm tea to his wife’s lips, and though he didn’t recognise the herbs, he knew they were still trying to save her. ‘It will ease the pain.’
‘I will stay with them.’ Ronan couldn’t imagine leaving either his wife or child at this moment.
‘Do not let her get up or move,’ Aileen warned. ‘She must remain as she is for at least a sennight, if not a fortnight. Later, she can try to eat, but for now, let her rest.’
He nodded and turned back to Joan. Her face was pale, but she stared at their baby as if he were everything in the world.
‘Is there anything you need?’ he asked his wife.
‘Just you,’ she murmured. ‘Hold us while I sleep.’ She cradled the baby in her arms, and he lay beside her, protecting them both in his arms. While she fell asleep, he studied their baby, marvelling at his tiny size. Ardan was a miracle, a child who never should have lived.
Yet, he had—and so had Joan.
Ronan knew that the danger was not yet past. A fever could take her, or her wounds might not heal. There were a thousand things that could go wrong. But he watched his loved ones sleeping, so thankful that they were alive. The fist of emotion caught his gut, until he realised his cheeks were wet.
He would watch over them every moment of every day. For he loved this woman with all his being and their son, too.
* * *
Summer had waned into autumn, and Joan sat outside by the fire. She smiled as she watched over the people within Clonagh. Ronan had barely allowed her to move during the
past few months, but they both knew that her survival was a precious gift they had never expected. Already their son was babbling in a language only he could understand and was beginning to smile.
There were scars upon her flesh, markings that would be with her always. But she would readily bear a thousand scars in exchange for the life of their son. The feeling of his warm body nestled against hers was everything she had imagined it would be.
Her husband came walking towards her with a young animal. Instantly, she recognised it as the gift Sorcha had chosen from the MacEgan stables. The dun-coloured filly was restless, nudging at Ronan’s arm.
Joan went to meet him and smiled at the sight of the horse. ‘I’d nearly forgotten about her.’
‘Connor kept his promise.’ Ronan held the yearling steady as she rubbed the animal’s ears. Ardan’s eyes widened at the sight of the horse, and he instinctively reached towards the filly’s nose. Joan pulled him back, but Ronan’s hand was already between them.
‘When you’re older, lad,’ he said, nudging his son’s chin. He gave the reins to a stable lad and walked alongside them through the ringfort. Although Joan had lived among the Ó Callaghans for nearly a year, many still regarded her with awe. She should not have lived through the birth, and most believed she was otherworldly. Although she didn’t believe there was anything special about herself, she did believe in miracles. Her son was living proof.
Though she spoke with several women as she passed, Ronan guided her towards their home. Ardan’s eyes were closing, and she knew he was ready to lie down and sleep, as he did every afternoon.
When they were inside their bedchamber, she placed their son in the cradle Ronan had carved for him. The wood held the design of a cross knotted with circles and an elaborate pattern. It had taken her husband months to finish, and he had sanded it smooth. She had never seen anything so fine, and the cradle could be rocked by resting her foot upon one of the runners.
Forbidden Night with the Prince Page 21