“Made it.” She sobbed with relief.
“Cruachan.” Alistair gave the battle cry of the Campbells as they touched wrists. He dragged her out into the middle of the creek where the water came up to shoulder level.
The air became even hotter. Beth’s lungs burned as she fought to breathe. She turned her head to watch the flames race up to their cabin. Red hot and greedy, they devoured everything in their path. The flames fanned out, flowing across the grass like molten lava, until the trees and scrub lining the creek ignited.
Alistair stepped in front of her, to protect her from radiated heat. She heard a loud crack, and a burning tree dropped into the water. Shoving her to one side, he leapt for his life, but was not quick enough to stop a branch from grazing his head. He dropped unconscious into the water and Beth dragged him to the surface.
She fought valiantly to keep his face out of the water so he would not drown. Beneath the grime, his skin turned ashen and blood trickled from a nasty wound at the side of his head.
She stood there supporting him. Terror stricken, she watched the bushes burn around them like the fires of hell. The creek was a wide one, but the flames burned with ferocity. Was grandfather safe? They were trapped in the water, because she could not climb out of the creek without assistance. Alistair’s head and shoulders weighed a ton. Thank goodness she could feel his chest rise and fall, hear his ragged breathing. All she could do now was hang on to him, and wait for someone to rescue them.
Chapter Eighteen
Martin downed another whisky and stared broodingly into the empty glass. “She would not hurt her bairn,” Fergus had said. Had he made a terrible mistake? The old man spoke with a thick brogue. ‘She aborted the bairn,’ were the words he had used all those weeks ago. Did he mean she had miscarried? Any wonder after Dolly’s treachery. I’m cursed. He flung the empty glass at the wall. It broke and the shattered remnants slid to the floor
She had wanted the child even more than he did. The devastation she must have felt at its demise, made even worse because he shunned her. He held his head in his hands and cursed his stupidity and volatile temper. Old Fergus must have been desperate to beg help from a Mulvaney. What it must have cost the old Highlander to bury his pride.
I’ll ride over to see Elizabeth and explain how Dolly tricked us with some old letters and a few strands of hair. He had been shocked to overhear her gloating to an acquaintance about how clever she had been.
Striding out of the castle, he sniffed the smoky air. A groom saddled his horse and he headed for the Campbell farm. He must see Elizabeth, beg her on bended knee if necessary, to come back to him.
The last few months had been sheer purgatory as he tried to deaden the pain of his loss with drink. Strange how a man did not know what he had until it was taken away. He had even forced Ollie to choose between him and Elizabeth.
Sonofabitch. For as far as the eye could see the blackened countryside smoldered. He had been too busy wallowing in his own misery over the last couple of hours to worry about the fires. Not a living thing stirred. Everything appeared dead. Far into the distance, walls of red flame raced up the mountain.
When he reached the Campbell cabin, he found a blackened shell. God, let her be safe. He sent up a silent, desperate prayer to a God that he had ignored for years. With reckless abandonment, he had broken nearly every one of the Ten Commandments. Leaping from his horse, he raced over to the ruins, half expecting to find her body. When he stumbled and fell to the ground, the smoldering grass burned through his pants and seared his skin, a mere trifle compared to the pain ripping his heart to shreds.
As he raised himself from the ground, he noticed that not a thing remained unburnt, except for a horse trough and a tall scraggy bush covered with singed white roses.
“Elizabeth.” No answer. Where in tarnation would she go? The creek, of course, to seek safety in the water.
“Elizabeth, Elizabeth.” The smoky atmosphere dried his throat, distorted his voice as he strode off. His eyes stung, his lungs burned and he had difficulty breathing.
“Help me, help me.” Like a voice from heaven, the cry reached him. A chorus of angels could not have sounded more beautiful. He broke into a run. The smoke started to clear now and through the gloom he saw Elizabeth neck deep in the water, supporting Alistair. What had happened?
He slithered down the embankment. Her eyed widened with shock then filled with tears.
“Help me. I can’t hold him for much longer.”
Her face looked white as death, her eyes red rimmed from the smoke. Her hair hung wet and loose about her shoulders where it had escaped from its plait.
“What happened?”
“The tree hit Alistair on the head,” she blubbered, almost collapsing with relief as Martin grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him out of her arms.
“Is he all right?” she asked.
“I think so, he’s still breathing. He’s got a nasty cut on his head, though. Come on, you can’t stay there all day.”
“I can’t move.” Her legs felt numb, the pain in her back crippling. “Take him first then come back for me,” she pleaded.
Alistair was slight of build, so Martin carried him in his arms and laid him on the charred ground, before returning to the water. Elizabeth had not moved. Her eyes darkened with fear and pain. Did she think he might harm her?
“What is it, my sweet? You’re safe now.” He opened his arms wide. She remained motionless. “I love you, Elizabeth. I want you to come back to the castle with me.” Still she did not move, even though water lapped around her chest.
Her face contorted and she doubled over with pain. “Martin, Martin,” she screamed.
He dashed to her side, bent down to pick her up and froze. As his hand touched her swollen stomach, she cried out. “The baby’s coming.”
“Baby!” He swung her up in his arms and strode out of the water. His head spun, shock froze his vocal cords. His child wasn’t lost. Fergus had lied to him.
Beth put her arms around his neck and sobbed. “It’s coming.”
As he lowered her to the ground next to Alistair, she screamed.
“Don’t cry, you’re in pain because you’ve been in the water for so long,” he lied. She could not see the blood stains on the back of her skirt.
Alistair still lay unconscious. Martin shook him, desperate for him to wake up and ride for help. He groaned, his eyes flickered open for a moment then closed again.
“I’ll be back in a minute, my sweet.” He kissed her trembling lips. “I want to get my saddle so I can make you more comfortable.”
He sprinted to his horse, tethered it to the water trough and unsaddled it then dashed back to where Elizabeth writhed on the ground. He dumped the saddle on the blackened grass so she could use it for a pillow, the saddle blanket he spread out under her before he loosened her wet gown.
“Where’s grandfather?” she panted.
“He went into town.”
“Alistair?”
“He’s all right. I’ll tend to him in a moment. I want to try to make you more comfortable. We’ll have to wait until Fergus comes, I can’t move you on my own. Unless I can get your brother on his feet, we’re safer here.”
Alistair groaned when Martin leaned over him. His eyes flickered open.
“Mulvaney.” He struggled to get up.
“Lie still for a moment then slowly try to get up.”
The boy’s face looked bloodless. His blonde hair flopped in a damp swathe across his forehead, his blue eyes were glazed with pain. “Beth?”
“She’s all right, except I think she’s gone into labor.”
“What! Out here! Don’t worry about me, take her to the cabin.”
“It’s burnt to the ground. Everything’s gone, only the water trough and the white rose bush remain.”
“Bonnie Prince Charlie’s rose.”
“The what!”
“Grandfather brought it out from Scotland. The Jacobites wore the white r
ose as an emblem during the rebellion.”
Elizabeth screamed and Martin raced to her side.
Alistair crawled over to his sister.
“Are you all right?”
“Alistair, the pain’s terrible. I’m going to die,” she sobbed.
Martin stared into two sets of frightened blue eyes, his gut clenched. His heart overflowed with remorse for having reduced them to this pitiful state.
Alistair blacked out again and Elizabeth screamed. Martin glanced around, desperately hoping for a miracle in the form of old Fergus Campbell coming with help. Nothing. Just blackened desolation.
Elizabeth was bleeding, crying with pain and fear and he knew the birth was imminent. He pushed her damp skirt up out of the way, and for the first time in years felt the sickening sensation of real fear. Cold and relentless, it crept over every inch of his body. He had driven his wife from the castle, reduced her to giving birth like an animal in a field. Even the child of Bethlehem had a manger to lie in and the Holy Mother had a roof over her head with fresh straw to lie on. The mother of his child lay in torn wet clothes on a horse blanket.
Beth could not stop the screams that rent the air around them. The pain became so severe she knew she would die. No mortal could endure such torture and survive. Instinctively she grabbed hold of her knees and pushed.
Martin knelt in front of her and gasped in awe when the baby’s head crowned. “It’s all right. It will be over soon.” He guided the infant into the world, marveling that the fruit of his loins was a boy. Thank God, it was over. “We have a son,” he said, supporting the raven-haired baby in his hands, while the infant bellowed disapproval at his rough entrance into the world. He reached into his saddlebag for a knife to cut the umbilical cord, and a handkerchief to tie it up.
“Is he all right?”
“Yes, yes, a fine boy, thank God.”
He stripped off his shirt, wrapped up the infant and handed him to Elizabeth. Even as she clutched the baby, she screamed in agony.
“Don’t cry now. It’s all over, my sweet.”
It wasn’t over. Beth knew she was doomed because the pains still came, terrible in their intensity. At least Martin had his son.
A string of blasphemous swear words pierced through her pain-filled haze. “There’s another one. Push, Elizabeth.”
With the last of her strength, she did as he ordered.
“Another boy.”
She fainted. He cut the cord with his knife and ripped a strip off her skirt to tie it up. This baby felt limp, lifeless, and he did not cry. Holding the baby up by the legs Martin slapped him on the bottom. No response, so in desperation he administered a couple of hard slaps. Surely, God wouldn’t seek retribution over the sins of the Mulvaneys, by letting an innocent newborn baby die?
“Our father who art in heaven.” It was the only prayer he could remember. “Hallowed be thy name.” A spluttering sound followed by an angry yell and loud crying cut off his impassioned words. He had nothing dry in which to wrap this baby. Tearing another piece from the damp skirt, he wrapped his second son in this.
He ripped a larger piece off Elizabeth’s skirt for a blanket to lay the infants on while he turned his attention to their mother. He would never forgive himself for reducing her to the status of an animal giving birth in a paddock.
“Martin.”
“Yes, I’m here my sweet. Everything will be all right now. We have two fine sons. All we have to do now is wait for your grandfather to arrive with help.”
He picked up the crying infants and held them so she could gaze into each tiny wrinkled face because she was too exhausted to hold them.
“They’re beautiful.”
“I know.” He grinned. “They’ll look even better when they’re cleaned up.” He was light-headed with relief, eternally thankful his wife and babies were safe. Even if it took the whole of his lifetime, he would make it up to her for all she had suffered.
Alistair staggered to his feet. His wound had stopped bleeding once the blood congealed. Martin glanced up and saw the sun sink in a blood red sky in one direction, in the other, old Fergus riding like a man possessed. All of eighty years old, yet he vaulted from the saddle and dashed over to them.
“Bethie, my wee, Bethie.” He fell to his knees beside her, his eyes full of tears as he gabbled several words in Gaelic.
“I’m all right, grandfather,” she whispered, wearily closing her eyes.
“Alistair, laddie, ye be all right?”
“Yes. Twins, grandfather, twin boys. Ooh, my head hurts, though.”
“What happened? What did ye do to them, Mulvaney?” Fergus demanded without moving away from Beth. The accusations stopped when the old man noticed the babies Martin held in his arms.
“Are the bairns all right?”
“Yes, but Elizabeth needs a doctor. I did what I could. My wife had to give birth in a field like some wild animal,” his voice broke, and he had trouble getting the words out over a lump of bitter regret. “A miracle we didn’t lose all three of them.”
“The Campbells come from hardy Highland stock.”
“She’s not a damn brood mare. You’ll have to stay here with them while I ride for the doctor. The boy’s useless, slipping in and out of consciousness all the time.”
“The doctor will be here soon. I had to promise him triple his normal fee, though”
“We’ve lost everything.” Alistair scrubbed at his eyes with trembling fingers.
“Aye, but the Bonnie Prince Charlie rose still blooms.”
“Have you seen the babies?” Alistair asked.
“Aye, they’re bonnie wee twins. Ye did good work, laddie.”
“Not me,” Alistair confessed. “Mulvaney did it. I’ve been unconscious. A branch fell on me when we were in the creek. Beth held me up out of the water for ages.”
“Here, hold the babies.” Martin gave them to Fergus. “I want to check on Elizabeth, she’s lost a fair bit of blood. Where’s that wretched doctor?”
“He should be here soon. I hope the stupid city man didn’t get lost.”
“Where’s Doc Grogan?” Martin asked feeling relieved because the bleeding seemed to have eased.
“He’s away on holidays.”
Holidays, he thought savagely, no one is ever around when you need them. One of the babies started to cry, but stopped when Fergus walked up and down crooning the Gaelic lullaby.
At last, they saw a buggy approach, driven by a young man with bright red hair. “My goodness, what’s happened here?”
“What does it look like? My wife has given birth to twins in a burned out paddock.”
“Where’s your house?” the doctor asked.
Burned to the ground you imbecile. Martin bit back the angry words.
“It burnt down,” Alistair stated the obvious.
“See to my wife will you, I did the best I could.”
He hated the thought of this brash young city doctor even looking at Elizabeth, let alone touching her, but there was no alternative.
“Can we move her to my place?” he asked. “I live a couple of miles from here.”
“Good idea. You didn’t do such a bad job, Mulvaney,” the doctor said after checking mother and babies.
Martin carried Elizabeth to the doctor’s buggy and laid her on the back seat. He sat next to her and cradled the twins. Alistair sat next to the doctor, while Fergus galloped on ahead to warn Mrs. Irvine of their pending arrival.
“The babies aren’t crying. Are they all right?” Beth whispered.
“Yes, one of them woke up and cried a while ago, your grandfather crooned that Gaelic lullaby and got him back to sleep. Doctor, how do I get a wet nurse for these babies?”
“Wet nurse? Your wife doesn’t intend to suckle them herself?”
“How can she feed two of them?” Martin snapped.
“It can be done.”
“I want to feed them myself. My mother fed Alistair and me,” she croaked through cracked lips.
<
br /> “You feed them at the same time,” the doctor explained. “One on each breast.”
When they arrived at the castle, Mrs. Irvine waited for them. Thanks goodness she was well organized Martin thought. Saucepans of water bubbled on the stove, towels and linen were at the ready, and she directed the operation with military precision.
He carried Elizabeth upstairs while Mrs. Irvine took charge of the twins. After he placed her on the bed so the doctor could examine her, he went into his dressing room and grabbed a clean shirt.
In the kitchen, the three men sat for what seemed like hours downing black tea laced with whisky.
“Why is it taking so long?” Martin complained. “Goddammit, I’m her husband.” He paced the floor.
“Ye be better off down here,” Fergus said.
“I need a shave and a bath.” Martin ran his hand across his stubble-covered chin. Even though he had washed his face and hands in the kitchen, he still felt filthy.
“What will you name them?” Alistair asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll let Elizabeth decide.”
Finally, when he thought he could stand it no longer, the doctor strolled into the kitchen.
“Are my sons all right?”
“Yes, you’ve got two fine healthy boys, Mr. Mulvaney.”
“My wife?”
“She’s exhausted, doing well, considering.”
“Considering what?” he shot out.
“Spit it out, laddie,” Fergus said to the doctor.
“I need to speak with Mr. Mulvaney alone.” He took the cup of tea Alistair shoved in his hand.
“You can speak in front of them, they’re her brother and grandfather.”
“Well…”
Sick dread churned Martin’s stomach. What else could go wrong? “What is it?”
“I’m sorry, but I doubt if your wife will be able to give you any more children.”
“Why not? You just said she was all right.”
“Mr. Mulvaney, your wife is tiny and gave birth to two quite large babies in unfortunate circumstances. I’m a surgeon, but I have done some work in obstetrics. There’s internal damage, I’ve been able to repair it to a certain extent…”
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