Highland Magic

by K. E. Saxon

  All of a sudden, a great wave of fluid flushed from inside her womb, down her legs and onto her feet. “Godamercy!” Branwenn lifted her now drenched skirts with trembling, nerveless hands and waddled to the door. She was having her babe! She could feel a very strong contraction begin as she flung the door open and stumbled outside the cottage. “Callum! Ohmygod! Callum, the babe!” she yelled as loudly as she could. Then, unable to keep herself upright any longer by herself, she held tight to the doorframe and doubled over.

  * * *

  Callum’s heart leapt into his throat. In the next second, he was on his bay and kneeing it into a hard gallop, forcing it to leap over logs and debris. The animal nearly lost its balance when it slid in some muddy, soft soil by the side of the loch, but with some quick maneuvering, Callum and the horse were once again headed in the direction of the ruin.

  The babe was early. By at least two moons. This wasn’t good. And surprisingly, the thought of losing the babe broke his heart. He’d grown accustomed over the past sennights of thinking of it as his own; watching Branwenn’s body grow and gently harbor the wee one under her heart had softened his own.

  At the door of the building, he quickly tied the reins to the post. “I’m here,” he said, lifting Branwenn into his arms and then taking two steps inside so he could settle her upon the blanket as best he could.

  Branwenn still hadn’t opened her eyes. Her brows were furrowed, her face, flushed, and her skin was drenched. She was panting and whimpering as she held her belly. “The babe’s coming, I can feel it!” she said suddenly. She opened her eyes and lifted up a bit, straining forward. “Oh God, Oh God! It hurts!”

  Callum hadn’t been allowed in the childbed chamber when Lara had delivered their daughter, so he was frantic now. He had no knowledge of what must be done, what he could do to help her. A thought struck, and ‘twas not a good one: What if he lost her as well? Nay. Remain calm. ‘Twas the only way. He took a deep breath and looked around. The birth chair! Praise be to heaven! “Branwenn, I must try and get you out of these soaked clothes, I think, for they surely will only get in the way in a moment.”

  Branwenn’s eyes were tightly clamped shut once more, as were her teeth. She gave him a short nod.

  Callum quickly unlaced the gown she wore. Thankfully, the laces ran down the side and not the back. ‘Twas a struggle, but he was at last able to lift it from under her prone body and up over her head. Luckily, the chemise lifted off with the gown, leaving Branwenn completely bare. He was stunned momentarily by the beauty of her fertile form, but when she threw her head back and cried out, he put his arm behind her back, saying, “I think we should get you in that birth chair. I believe it aids the mother to deliver her babe, somehow. At least, ‘twas what the craftsman told me when I gave him coin to carve it.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Will you look first to see if my babe is coming out of my womb? It feels like she is.”

  Callum nodded and she settled back on her elbows, opening her legs. “Do you see her?”

  For the first time, Callum noticed the small amount of blood and nearly swooned from the dread it caused him. Was it natural, common? Oh, Holy Father, he prayed, I beg you, let it be common! Then he realized he was looking at the crown of a very dark-haired head. “Aye! The babe’s starting to push out. I’ve got to get you to the chair, love, now!”

  He put one arm behind her back and the other under her knees and shot to his feet. In a matter of only a minute, she was settled on the stool and bearing down once more. “Oh, God! My womb’s tightening up again! Here she comes, Callum, take hold of her!”

  Callum thrust his arms under the opening and his daughter dropped into them. Just as quickly, and as beautifully, as that. As he reverently brought her up toward his face so he could see her more clearly, Branwenn said, “Grandmother Maclean said something about clearing the babe’s mouth and nose and then holding her and rubbing her back until she cries. Make haste!”

  Callum placed his sticky daughter, still attached to her mother, up to his chest. The breadth of her back was half the size of his hand span. He began to rub her back, as Branwenn had told him to do. Oh, God. Please don’t die.

  She let out a lusty cry, and continued to do so as Callum and Branwenn looked at each other in joyful amazement.

  “I think you have to cut the cord now. But Grandmother Maclean said she always douses her scissors with spirits before she uses them, for luck. ‘Tis a Maclean tradition.”

  Callum thought quickly. “I have some uisge beatha in my satchel. Here, take her,” he said, leaning forward and handing her the babe. Then he was out the door. Before Branwenn had time to say more than a few words to her daughter, who was now quiet again, he was back inside and rustling through the sewing cask for her scissors. He strode over to them and efficiently cut the cord and tied it off—that much he knew to do, as he’d seen the result of such after Laire’s birth.

  Branwenn felt her womb tighten. “Oh, Lord! I forgot. Grandmother Maclean said to expect the sack attached to the cord to flush from my womb once the babe arrived.” She handed her daughter to Callum and sat forward to relieve the pressure. In a moment, the deed was done and Branwenn was beginning to feel a deep lethargy overtake her.

  Callum helped her to rise and settled her on the blanket. “I need to clean the two of you up a bit. Do you mind if I use the uisge beatha? ‘Tis all that I have.”

  Branwenn would have laughed if she’d had the energy. Instead, she smiled and said, “You’re sure to make the lass thirst for the stuff for all her days, but, aye, ‘twill be fine to do so.”

  He strode over to the sewing cask once more and lifted out a fine piece of linen. After dousing it in the liquor, he quickly wiped the babe clean and then settled her back on Branwenn’s bosom. The babe found her nipple as quickly, and ravenously, as he did. Callum laughed, but thought better of saying his thoughts aloud.

  Branwenn felt dozy. But excited as well. Her babe was so beautiful. She had all her fingers, and all her toes. Did she have the mark? She opened her wee legs and looked. Aye, there it was. And ‘twas beautiful. Gorgeous. Not ugly at all.

  Branwenn grinned down at her hungry bairn. ‘Twas such a strange and glorious feeling, nursing her babe. And she looked so much like Callum when he was at the same pursuit. She could feel the milk being drawn from her breast, but she wanted to make sure. ‘Twas a bit of a struggle, for the lass had a powerful hold on it, but she at last freed the nipple from her daughter’s mouth long enough to test that enough was coming out before offering it up to her babe once more.

  As Branwenn nursed their daughter, Callum washed clean her thighs and, as lightly as he could, dabbed the remnants of the childbed from the outer flesh of her womb. “Praise be, there’s no tearing.” He lifted his gaze to her countenance. “Are you well? Do you hurt?”

  Branwenn met his gaze and smiled. “Aye...and Nay, I feel wonderful, in fact. Glorious.” Her babe made a loud sucking noise and they both laughed. Branwenn turned her attention back on her babe once more.

  After a few minutes, she felt Callum settle next to her on the blanket and looked up. He wasn’t looking at her. Nay, he was looking at their daughter—and he had the same expression now that he had had that day so many moons before when he’d held Laire in his arms, and she’d realized she loved him. Lord, but he was beautiful. Lovely and strong, gentle and generous, was he.

  “All right. I’ll wed you.”

  Callum’s eyes shot up to her own and he grinned like an idiot. “Praise be. I’m a lucky man.” He leaned forward and kissed her. Not with passion—although, she certainly could feel the heat hidden deep in the embrace—but with awe. And love.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 21

  The MacGregor chapel was a silent, reverent place that July morn as Callum and Branwenn once again rested on bended knee at the altar awaiting the priest. Their daughter—Mai, they’d named her—would be baptized afterward as well, as they’d waited until Branwenn was allow
ed back inside the church after childbed in order that she, too, could be part of the baptismal services. Maryn sat holding their daughter on the front bench behind them, and all their other family, save one—Reys—were there as well.

  Alyson had only had one missive from him all these moons, for he was caught up in a bloody campaign with his liege lord, Prince Llywelyn, and did not know when he might return to retrieve his young bride.

  He had confirmed to them, however, that the contract Gaiallard had extolled as genuine was a forgery, which eased everyone’s mind that there might be further problems coming to bear from King John regarding Branwenn.

  The priest shuffled from behind the screen just then and had only taken two steps toward the couple when the door swung open behind them.

  “Blood of Chr—”

  “Callum!” Branwenn elbowed him in the ribs, but still turned to see who was interrupting the ceremony.

  “My pardon,” Callum said irritably as he turned toward the opened door as well. “But, truly, NOT AGAIN!”

  Alyson jumped to her feet. “Reys, at last!” She scurried up the aisle and stopped short just in front of him. She smiled and dipped a quick curtesy. “Husband,” she said.

  Reys smiled and took hold of her hand and gave it a light squeeze before lifting it to his lips and brushing a soft kiss over the top. “Wife.”

  Alyson blushed. “Come, you must settle next to me on the bench, for the priest is just about to bless Callum and Branwenn’s vows. Make haste.”

  After Reys and Alyson had taken their places on the bench, the priest began the ceremony, first asking Callum and then Branwenn to swear to the affirmative regarding each one’s legal age to wed, that each had the consent of their family, that they were not within the forbidden degree of consanguinity, and finally, that each of them freely consented to the marriage.

  Then, after the priest gave a short lecture regarding mutual faithfulness, the importance of keeping the peace in the home, and the need to educate their bairns in the ways of the Church, he asked Callum for the ring and blessed it. After which, Callum took the double ring set passed down to him from his grandmother and slipped the set in turn on each of three fingers of Branwenn’s left hand, saying, “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” At last, he fitted them on her third finger, saying, “With these rings I thee wed.”

  “You may both rise now,” the priest said. He bestowed the Kiss of Peace on Callum, and Callum in turn settled it on Branwenn’s lips, tho’ his held much more heat than had the priest’s.

  The couple turned, grinning merrily, and, even though ‘twas strictly forbidden, every single member of the family stood up and cheered.

  Thankfully, the priest only shook his head and smiled. He, after all, was well aware of just how much these two had endured to at last get to this moment.

  * * *

  “Lady Maclean, she’s such a tiny thing!” Alyson said as she gently, tho’ a bit awkwardly, held Mai in her arms the next dawn. The newlyweds had traveled to their new manor for the night and had left their young ones in the care of their family until later in the day. Alyson looked up at the older woman. “Is it common for babe’s to be so small?”

  Lady Maclean came up to stand behind Alyson’s shoulder and gaze down at her newest great-grandchild. As she reached around and softly stroked her finger over the rise of the babe’s cherub cheek, she replied, “Aye, ‘tis quite common for lasses as wee as our Branwenn to have daughters as small as they. But worry not, Alyson, the babe is hearty and hale.” She looked up at Alyson and grinned. “As her lusty cries and bobbing legs and fists have shown us.”

  Reys, standing a bit away from the ladies and leaning against the wall near the window, studied his young wife as she held his niece in her arms. ‘Twas a sight he hadn’t known he craved seeing until this moment and it stunned him. He wasn’t ready—she wasn’t ready—for such intimacy yet. It had only been a bit over a year since his first wife and daughters had perished in that terrible fire and, even now, his heart ached for them.

  And Alyson. The poor girl still couldn’t bear to be touched by him in any way that could possibly be construed as visceral.

  ‘Twas good, he supposed, that his liege was calling him to duty so soon again. ‘Twould give both of them time to heal, to prepare themselves for that part of their marriage. And Alyson, tho’ disappointed that he would leave her again so soon, was not completely displeased with the notion of staying for a time with the nuns at the convent near her family’s home in Normandy. They were to hie there, in fact, directly from here on the morrow.

  * * *

  It was not until Reys and Alyson were ready to depart from their short visit to Tryamour Manor the next day to continue on their journey that the mystery of Gaiallard’s knowledge of the birthmark and freckle was at last revealed to Branwenn—with her husband standing directly beside her.

  In the past days, Reys had heard the tale of Gaiallard’s final coup against the couple and was determined to set all to rights with the truth. “Your daughter is beautiful, Branwenn,” he said as he tucked a woven sack full of cheese and a portion of mutton into his satchel for their meal later. “Does she sport the mark of the wizard, as most of our father’s family has done since the time of Arthur?”

  Branwenn flashed a look at Callum before settling her astonished gaze back on her brother. “Aye, she does. As do I, but—Are you saying that you sport the mark as well?”

  Reys chuckled. “Yes. And if you’d stayed in Cambria, you would have realized ‘tis quite a famous tale in the land. Most of the natives believe us to have magic, in fact. But, that, I can promise you, is not truth. There is no magic in our line.” A thing he had dearly desired to have that long ago day on the road when his mother had been taken from him forever.

  Alyson blinked at the pair. “Magic? Mark?”

  Reys turned to his wife and explained: “‘Tis an ancient tale, but most in our family sport a birthmark on our thigh. ‘Tis rumored to be a wizard’s mark.” He held his hand out and waited, curious, but patient, to see if she would place hers inside it. She did—tho’ hesitantly—and he continued, “Both my daughters had the mark and, I should warn you, there is every chance that ours—yours and mine—will show the same.”

  Callum silently took hold of his wife’s hand and placed it over his heart. He looked at her and she turned to look at him as well. No words were spoken, but in the look, much understanding passed between them. His was of grieved remorse and hers was filled with gentle forgiveness.

  “I wonder,” Branwenn said at last, turning her gaze once more on Reys. “Gaiallard...” She cleared her throat. “Does the tale also include a freckle, mayhap?”

  “If ‘tis a certain freckle upon yourself of which you speak,” Alyson interjected, “Gaiallard was told of it by the lady’s maid who helped us dress each eve. He came into my chamber while she was adorning my hair and they spoke of it. He was not pleased to find out that you had such a blemish.”

  Callum growled low in his throat.

  Alyson looked at Callum. “I did try to tell you about it that day in the glen—remember? But you would not allow me to do so.” She dropped her hand from Reys’s and stepped toward Branwenn. “Gaiallard and the maid were lovers, I believe,” she whispered.

  Callum put his arm around Branwenn’s shoulder. “I was such a fool to listen to that bastard Norm—pardon, Alyson—cur dog.”

  Reys grasped Callum’s shoulder and gave it a shake. “It all ended well. Finally,” he reminded.

  Callum’s mouth tightened in a grim line, but he nodded. “Aye. Finally. Praise be.”

  Reys turned and helped Alyson mount her palfrey. “We must make haste, if we are going to arrive at the inn by sunset.” He turned back to Branwenn and opened his arms to her.

  She stepped into his embrace and held tight. “When ever are we to see you again?”

  “I know not, for our princely cousin is fighting his kin and the marcher lords for domin
ion in Cambria. ‘Tis no secret that he wants to be king of all Pura Wallia.”

  “Take care and send us word of how you fare.” She looked up at Alyson. “And you as well.”

  Alyson smiled and gave a brief nod of consent.

  Reys mounted his steed and the two of them turned and left through the courtyard gate.

  Callum and Branwenn stood silently watching their departure. When the two travelers were out of earshot, Callum turned his wife toward the rose garden. “Come, I’ve something to show you.” They hadn’t gone more than three paces forward when Callum suddenly halted and stood stock-still, his eyes wide with wonder. He turned and placed his hands on top of her shoulders. “Mai is mine! Yours and mine!”

  Branwenn grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to figure that out.” She poked him in the ribs. “It took you long enough!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? That day in the ruin? All this time, I’ve worried the babe was born too soon.”

  Branwenn shrugged a bit sheepishly and dipped her head. Her gaze settled on the center of his chest. “I suppose ‘twas just a wee bit of vengeance on my part.” She forced her eyes up to his. “The things you said to me in those hours after the joust—what you did! You broke my heart, Callum.” She turned and continued walking toward the garden. “Besides, I had every intention of telling you on the lass’s first birthday.”

  Callum jogged to catch up. “Her first birthday! You would have left me in the dark that long?”