by Jessi Gage
“Ah. But you do not dream from your heart. You make plans. From here.” He tapped her temple.
She batted at his finger, failing to make contact—goodness, the man was quick.
“Of course. Why not set goals that make sense?” He made sense and logic sound like bad things. “Why would I hope for things that might change with time, like love? Why would I hope for things I have no power to achieve? Life will be much more stable and rewarding if I plan it logically, set reasonable goals.”
She saw now that she needed to make some concession to chemical attraction in her plan. That’s where she had gone wrong with Milt. When she returned home, she would simply revise her goals and carry on basing the bulk of her choices on facts and logic, and making allowances for certain physiological and emotional requirements.
The man cocked his head, as if straining to hear something far away.
She listened but heard nothing.
“Ah, but I am being summoned. I must go.” He stood from his cross-legged position without pushing off with his hands, all grace and long limbs and strength. Taking her hand, he pulled her up too but didn’t let go. “Many mortals place high value on sense and logic. And yet, your world is filled with senseless acts of violence. Should there not also be senseless acts of love?”
A high-pitched moan shattered the dream. She salt bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. The baby was coming.
Chapter 6
The abbey’s kitchen faced to the north and was therefore one of the coldest rooms unless the monks were baking their morning bread. As it was mid-afternoon, Wilhelm must perform the chores Anselm had delegated to him without the comfort of warmth.
At the moment, he stood at a basin of frigid water rinsing bricks of cheese from which he’d just pressed out the whey. ’Twas while he rubbed his reddened hands together to warm them that Terran strolled in and tore off a chunk of the most recently rinsed brick and popped it in his mouth.
Eye twitching, Wilhelm returned the brick to the press to reshape it. “How fares Aifric?” he asked of the lass Terran had taken a liking to.
The twinkle he’d had in his eye when he’d stolen the cheese faded. Terran wiped a hand down his face. His cousin hadn’t slept a wink since they’d arrived in the middle of the previous night. Instead of seeing to his own rest, he’d been sitting watch over Aifric. It seemed he’d finally found a woman he might care about as more than a body to warm his bed for a night.
“Spent. Hurting,” Terran said. “’Tis killing me. Wish I could take it for her. Anselm’s been sitting with her so I could move about some.” He stretched his arms overhead, fingertips gripping the wooden beam above. Bracing on the pads of his fingers, he leaned forward with a groan. “Och, sore from the skirmish.”
Wilhelm nodded. His muscles ached, too, but in a way that was most welcome since they hadn’t done much training on their journey. As for Aifric, he was worrit she might not make it through the day let alone deliver a bairn, but he didn’t share his thoughts with Terran.
“I see Anselm put you to work.” Terran helped himself to some candied figs that Wilhelm had been grazing on while he did his chores. “I would offer my aid, but I just came for a bite. I doona wish to leave her for long.”
Wilhelm wrapped a freshly rinsed brick in cloth for stacking in the cellar, where it would keep for months. “You ought to rest. You’ll be no good to her weary. She needs you strong.” He reached for another brick.
“Have ye no faith in me, cousin?” He feigned offense. “You’ve seen me cut down foes on less sleep.”
“Aye. I have faith in you. ’Tis why you’ll be my second one day.” He clapped his cousin on the back. “Will she eat?” He offered Terran the rest of the figs before continuing with the cheese.
“Nay. Canna tolerate aught but sips of tea. Even that, she takes sparingly.”
Wilhelm prayed silently for the lass as he finished his task. He prayed for Constance as well. Mayhap she would be awake by now. An hour ago, he’d slipped into her room to assure himself she was sleeping comfortably. ’Twas a good thing she had been or he might have resumed their kiss from earlier.
Soon, he would have her sleeping in his bed. Of this, he was cert.
Terran interrupted his thoughts. “Any more news from Perth?”
Wilhelm shook his head. Ruthven’s men hadn’t given chase after the skirmish—he’d learned that much from his early morning trip to the village and already shared the information with Terran. It seemed the fire had spread and all Ruthven’s resources had been directed toward putting it out. The lack of pursuit, however, didn’t mean the baron hadn’t named them fugitives. Wilhelm figured ’twas merely a matter of time. Ruthven would never ignore an opportunity to crush a Murray.
“Havena been down to the village again,” Wilhelm said. “I’ll go before the evening meal and see what I can learn.”
“Did you send the letter to your da?”
“Aye.” It left in the hands of a young monk who promised to make the journey to Dornoch in three days. Wilhelm had not believed this would be healthy for any horse, but Anselm assured him the lad would change mounts when he reached the monastery in Aviemore. Apparently, the monks had become so skilled at delivering messages that they often did so for coin to support their orders. Anselm had refused to accept payment from Wilhelm, however.
“Ye asked to meet Kenrick in Inverness?” Terran didn’t normally ask so many questions. He must feel uneasy.
Wilhelm stopped what he was doing and gave his cousin his full attention. “Aye. In a week’s to ten days’ time, like we discussed.”
They had decided to ride for Inverness with Constance, as soon as she healed enough to travel, likely in two to three days. Aifric, if she survived the birth, would remain under Anselm’s care for her safety.
In Inverness, they would enlist Kenrick’s help in finding a magistrate to hear their confession—they had instigated a skirmish, after all—but they’d had good reason for doing so. Ideally, the magistrate would hear their confession and rule their actions justified before Ruthven submitted formal charges against them.
Even better, if the magistrate was a proponent of evidence-based justice, as Wilhelm was—and if he was a man of influence and courage, he might even file charges against Ruthven for abusing his power of local rule. ’Twas the sunniest of possible outcomes and not at all likely, but he’d learned to strive for things that seemed out of reach, for the only true failure was in not making the attempt. He’d described all this in the letter to his father and requested Kenrick meet them in Inverness.
“I’ll breathe easier when I lay eyes on the man.”
“I will as well.” Kenrick’s experience in advocating would surely aid them in thwarting of any petty schemes Ruthven might hatch.
Wilhelm was about to offer Terran some reassurance, but the opportunity was lost when Anselm burst into the kitchen.
“’Tis time.” Eyes wide, he nodded toward Terran. “The pains have increased.” He turned on his heel and disappeared again.
Terran raced after him.
Anselm’s acquaintance from the priory in Perth would not arrive for hours yet. After all the poor lass must have been through as Ruthven’s prisoner, he hoped for Godspeed in her birthing.
He followed Anselm and Terran. When he arrived at the guest quarters, he found Constance already at Aifric’s side. She had attempted to sit with the young lass earlier, he’d learned from Terran, but he and Anselm had ushered her back to her bed, where she could rest and heal. Now that Aifric’s birthing was impending, he approved Constance’s participation, especially since she’d been resting now for most of the day.
The young lass sat forward with folded linens behind her. Constance rubbed vigorous circles on her back while murmuring encouragements.
Wilhelm’s chest swelled with pride. She would make a fine Lady of Dornoch one day, provided he found a way to rid himself of the Ruthven-sized thorn in his side.
Anselm directed the other mon
ks to supply hot water and extra bedding. He attempted to shoo Terran out of the room, but his cousin was having none of it.
“I stay,” he said simply.
Wilhelm, on the other hand, had no reason for being there. Satisfied that Constance seemed up to the task of delivering a bairn, he set off to find more chores that needed tending—the farther from the poor lass’s whimpers the better. Mayhap the sheep could use feeding.
Never would his father forgive him if he neglected to earn his keep as a guest of the church. After all that had transpired at Ruthven’s, he would be presuming enough on his father’s forgiveness without adding unnecessary offenses.
#
The young woman—Aifric was her name, Connie had learned—lost consciousness after an afternoon of intense labor. At first Connie thought she’d fallen asleep, and she’d been relieved, because the girl looked beyond exhausted. But when her rounded belly clamped down of its own accord with a powerful contraction and Aifric didn’t wake, she became worried.
“What do we do?” she asked Aselm.
Earlier, the monk had brought her clothes and an afternoon meal. He had insisted she remain in bed to rest even though Aifric had sounded distressed. But when the girl’s moans had become more urgent, she’d offered her help and Anselm had finally accepted. The nun he’d sent for wouldn’t be expected until later tonight at the earliest. That left Connie and Wilhelm’s cousin Terran, at the helm. Anselm seemed relieved to be demoted to the role of hot water fetcher and provider of supplies.
Connie held one of Aifric’s hands. Terran held the other. He looked even more worried than she felt. In her worry over the girl, her own pain had faded to a manageable level. A few hours of sleep had no doubt helped her healing as well.
“When will the midwife be here?” Terran asked.
The man was a strapping warrior, like Wilhelm but with longer and slightly darker hair. His presence seemed to take up most of the tiny room. Anselm had tried several times to get him to leave, but Terran refused.
“Not soon enough,” Anselm replied with his face set grimly. “Mayhap you should attempt to wake her,” he said to Connie.
She patted Aifric’s check, terrified of hurting her. She was so frail. It had likely been weeks since she’d eaten. Malnutrition made sharp angles of her cheekbones, and bruise-like shadows made her eyes appear sunken. How had this happened? Where was her family? Why had Ruthven treated her this way?
She didn’t have a husband. That much she’d learned from Aifric between contractions. It seemed Terran had more than a polite interest in her. Maybe, if Aifric made it through this ordeal, she and Terran would find happiness together.
Though she would never admit it to anyone, she liked to unwind in the evenings with a romance novel from the library. The busyness of the city and the stress of her job made her crave a small dose of softness in the evenings. Maybe the stress of the past two days had made her cling to the romantic notion of an instant attraction. Or maybe the dream she’d had last night was making her sentimental.
She spoke directly into Aifric’s ear while patting her shoulder. “Wake up, hon. We’ve got to deliver your baby.” Still no response. “She won’t wake up.”
“Keep trying.” Anselm looked resigned, like he didn’t expect this to go well.
“Wake, love,” Terran whispered to Aifric. “A little while longer, and you’ll have your bairn in your arms. You can rest then.” He kissed her forehead. “I’d give ye my strength if I could, lass. Would that I could.” His voice cracked. “Wake now. Please. For me.”
Aifric remained motionless except for her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
Terran’s tenderness with a woman he had only met the night before caused Connie’s heart to constrict. It wasn’t just Connie’s secret romantic inclinations making her see something that wasn’t there. Love had bloomed for these two, and it had done so incredibly quickly. Maybe this what the man in her dream had meant by senseless acts of love.
It could happen to you too.
But it wouldn’t. This kind of love had never been part of her plans. Too unpredictable. Too abstract. Love wasn’t something you could quantify like income and career status. She could never depend on something of indeterminate value.
Maybe sudden devotion wasn’t for her, but that didn’t mean she was immune to the sweetness of it. She would be damned if she didn’t do everything in her power to give these two the happy ending they deserved.
She racked her brain for every bit of information she’d ever learned about giving birth. Everyone knew a woman’s cervix had to dilate ten centimeters. Doctors would check by inserting fingers into the birth canal. What they felt for, Connie could guess at; the cervix must feel like a ring, stretched taut with the baby’s head creating a hard plane in the center. Once the opening was large enough to accommodate an infant’s head, there would be pushing. Someone usually helped guide the baby out. The cord had to be cut. She could do those things. Provided nothing went wrong.
Time to roll up your sleeves and get to work, Con.
She’d never shied from hard work, and wasn’t about to start now. She certainly wasn’t going to leave Aifric to the ineptness of a monk who stammered every time Connie suggested looking between the girl’s legs and a man who was so besotted he couldn’t stand to see her in pain.
“I’ll check her cervix,” Connie said, more to herself than to the men. They both gave her blank stares. “To see if she’s close.” The explanation didn’t seem to help their understanding. She sighed. “I’m going to place my hand at the entrance to her womb and see if she has—” would they know the word dilated? “Stretched enough to allow the baby to pass.”
Anselm’s face turned red. “I’ll just fetch some more hot water.”
Terran said, “Do it.”
She took a bracing breath and rolled up the sleeves of her borrowed dress so she could dip her hand in a bowl of warm water, the only thing available for washing. Wincing, because she had never viewed another woman so intimately, she lifted the blankets. There was instantly no question that Aifric’s cervix had dilated to ten centimeters because a bluish scalp with matted black hair pressed at a perfect tight circle of flesh like a cereal bowl coming through a hole in a sock.
“Oh. Um.” She glanced at Terran, her hands trembling. “It’s happening. The baby is coming.”
Terran was there with her less than a heartbeat later, looking between Aifric’s legs. Just then another contraction eased the baby a little further. The child’s closed eyes were just visible near the front of Aifric’s mound. Instinct told her it wouldn’t be long now.
“That’s it, lass. Your bairn is coming.” Terran cupped his hands like a catcher in a baseball game.
Connie laughed, oddly jubilant at witnessing this miracle. “Wash your hands first.”
He blushed and obeyed.
Ten minutes later, Terran delivered a pink, wrinkly little girl. She wasn’t moving.
With tears in his eyes, he asked, “Is she…?”
“No,” Connie said. “Here. Give her to me.”
Terran placed her carefully on the bed between Aifric’s legs where Connie began rubbing the tiny, beautiful thing with a clean blanket. She used quick, firm strokes, remembering that babies needed to cry when they were born. Sure enough, the infant’s face got even redder and her little mouth opened. A distinctive newborn cry filled the room.
“There you are, sweetheart,” she said to the baby. She wrapped the little girl in the blanket and transferred her to the arms of a shocked looking Terran. “You find something to tie off the cord while I check on mommy.”
Giving commands came easily to her thanks to managing projects at her engineering firm. Sometimes confidence could even make up for lack of knowledge, if a gal got lucky. Hopefully, they’d all be lucky today, because unlike at work, she had no idea what to do with a newborn.
Aifric was still breathing, and she didn’t seem to be bleeding badly. “I think she’s all
right,” she said to Terran. “Probably just weak from not being able to eat?” She hoped that’s all that held Aifric unconscious and that they could get some sustenance into her now that the birth was over.
A throat-clearing sound called her attention to the doorway. Anselm hovered there with a cautious smile on his face. “All is well?”
“Aye,” Terran said, grinning like a fool as he looked up from the cord. He had double-knotted a length of twine-like rope around it. While she and Anselm watched, he sliced it clean through with a long-handled knife. “Look at the wee lass.” He held her up for Anselm to see. “A bonny sweet thing.” Her skin was pink and soft, and her face was scrunched up but somehow more beautiful than anything Connie had ever seen before. She wasn’t a chubby baby, but she wasn’t skinny either. Her mother had given her a good start, it seemed, despite her own poor health.
“Aye,” Anselm agreed. “Would you like to be her da?”
Terran didn’t miss a beat. “We’ll do it as soon as she can stand at my side for the vows.” He turned his attention to Aifric, who stirred and moaned, oblivious to the men. She was probably in a lot of pain and exhausted. Connie didn’t blame her one bit for losing consciousness.
Terran tried to show her the baby, but she didn’t open her eyes. “Bring her mead,” he told Anselm.
“No,” Connie said. “Water or tea, but nothing alcoholic while she’s breast feeding. And something to eat. Maybe she’ll be able to keep it down now that she’s delivered the baby.” After Anselm left, she told Terran, “Let’s see if we can get her to nurse.”
She lowered the neckline of Aifric’s nightgown, and directed Terran to put the baby at one swollen breast. Nature took its course, and the baby attempted to suck. But the breast was too firm. The tiny mouth couldn’t seem to latch on.
Connie did what felt natural. She grabbed Aifric’s breast none too gently and compressed just behind the nipple. This did the trick. The baby girl sucked the entire areola into her mouth and began nursing. Connie let go, and the baby continued without difficulty.