Tempted by a Warrior

by Amanda Scott

  He opened it to find a gillie at the threshold with news that a man riding a lathered horse had come to Kirkhill House in search of its master.

  By evening, Fiona’s pains were close together and fierce.

  She was sure that if the baby did not come quickly, she would go mad with the pain, for she had never felt anything like it before. With every breath, she cursed Will Jardine for ever coming into her life.

  Flory and Jane had persuaded her to get into bed, but she could not get comfortable, and when Flory moved to try to straighten the bedclothes, Fiona snapped, “Don’t do that! Find someone who knows how to make this stop!”

  Flory backed away and looked from Jeb’s Jane to the other two women that Jane had summoned for advice.

  “My lady,” Jane said quietly. “There be nowt we can do till the bairn starts to come. That will happen only in its rightful time.”

  “Don’t tell me that! Someone needs to make it come before I die of this. Go find some—” Her words broke off in a scream of pain just as the door opened and Kirkhill walked into the room.

  Gasping, she shrieked, “What are you doing here? Get out!”

  “Jardine sent for me,” he said calmly.

  “You must be daft. Jardine is dead!”

  “Aye, but he arranged to send me a message lest you forget to do so.”

  “Well, I don’t care. Get out! You cannot be in here!”

  He turned to the women, all four of whom were looking frazzled, one even wringing her hands. “Who amongst you knows most about birthing?” he demanded.

  “We’ve all had bairns,” Jeb’s Jane said bravely. “But I canna say we ken gey much about it, me lord. Our bairns just came when they were of a mind to.”

  “Madam,” he said then over his shoulder, “mayhap you had better come in at once, without waiting for an invitation. First, tell that lad I saw on the landing to run and fetch your midwife to us.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Fiona demanded. “Are there not enough people in this room? I don’t want anyone else, so—” She broke off with a scream when another contraction struck hard.

  “Hush now, that’s enough,” Kirkhill said firmly. “You do yourself no good with that noise. Here, look at me,” he added when she cried out even louder.

  “No, get out! I don’t want you here! I don’t want anyone!”

  Instead, she heard him ask Flory how long she had been having the pains.

  “Sakes, m’lord, she’s had some o’ them for weeks now, but these big ones only since yestermorn.”

  “Do you not understand that I don’t want you here?” Fiona demanded. Angry tears streamed down her face. “I don’t want anyone! Does no one hear—?”

  When she cried out again, Kirkhill caught her firmly by the shoulders and said, “Calm yourself now and breathe. If you keep this up and your babe hears you, you may frighten its wits out of it before it is even born. Moreover, the pain will ease if you can make yourself think about something else.”

  “As if you would know!”

  “Believe me, I do know. Now, do as I bid you and look at me. Fix your eyes on my face and grip my hands. Squeeze them as hard as you can to vent your anger and ease your pain. Meantime, you might welcome the visitor I’ve brought you.”

  “Visitor! Are you mad?” She had shut her eyes tight rather than look at him, but curiosity overcame fury, and she opened them.

  The lady Phaeline stood just behind him, smiling at her.

  “Mam? Is that really you?”

  “Aye, my dearling,” Phaeline said in a loving tone. “Now, do as Kirkhill bids, for I begin to think he knows more about birthing babies than all the rest of us together, although I cannot imagine how that could be.”

  Chapter 6

  Kirkhill wished he had as much confidence in his abilities as Lady Phaeline had. But at least the lass had forgotten her pains in her surprise at seeing her mother.

  To the other women, he said, “You may stay, Flory, but you others must go when the midwife comes unless she sets tasks for you. Sithee, the lady Phaeline brought the woman with her from Dunwythie Hall.”

  “I don’t want a stranger here,” Fiona said, still breathing hard from the previous contraction.

  “Mother Beaton is the midwife who aided Mairi,” her mother said gently.

  “Aye?”

  “Aye.”

  “I sent you a message,” Fiona murmured.

  “Aye, sure, with the knacker Parland Dow,” Phaeline said. “And a gey good notion that was, too. But why did you not send one long ago?”

  Fiona grimaced, but another contraction came just then, so Kirkhill could not tell whether the grimace was for the question or the pain. She took hold of his hands, though, and squeezed them tightly enough to cut off the circulation in both of them. But at least, he thought with relief, she had ceased her shrieking.

  “Try to breathe more deeply and much more slowly,” he told her. “Think about each breath and inhale as deeply as you can. Then let it out slowly.”

  “How do you know that will help?”

  He nearly told her just to trust him, but he knew that her pains had frightened her, so he said evenly, “Someone gave me that advice when I got hurt. It helped me, so I think it will help you.”

  “Were you having a baby?”

  “You know I was not.”

  “Do you mean to deliver my baby?”

  “Nay,” he said. “I have never done so before, although I have delivered or aided in the delivery of a number of calves, foals, and lambs, and I believe the process is similar. But your mother told me that this Mother Beaton of hers delivered your sister’s son gey handily.”

  Fiona gritted her teeth as another pain struck. This time a keening wail escaped her that sent a shiver up his spine.

  When she could talk again, she said, “Where have you hidden this midwife?”

  “She probably went to bed,” he said. “I warrant the woman sleeps whenever she can, and the lad who came for me did not tell me that your pains had begun. Your mother just thought you would want a midwife when your time did come.”

  A rap sounded on the door as he spoke, and Flory opened it to admit a plump, motherly woman who gazed around the room with widening eyes. “Good sakes,” she exclaimed in a melodious voice, “a birthing’s no a grand entertainment! Ye there, Jeb’s Jane? ’Twas your lad, Davy, who fetched me, aye?”

  “Aye, Mother Beaton,” Jane said.

  “I sent him to tell them in the kitchen that I’ll want pots o’ hot water. Mayhap ye should go and see that they do as I bade, and take them other two lasses wi’ ye.” Turning next to Flory, Mother Beaton said, “If ye be her ladyship’s woman, ye’ll stay and help me when I need ye. But ye, me lord, must leave us. A birthing chamber be nae place for a gentleman.”

  Fiona’s grip on his hands tightened.

  Giving her a reassuring look, he said calmly to the midwife, “Now that you are with her, Mother Beaton, I’ll go. But I am legally responsible for her ladyship’s interests, and responsible, too, for her bairn. If it is a lad, it will inherit all that its grandfather had except the funds left in trust for her ladyship’s keep. It is quite customary in such a case, as you must know, for the child’s appointed guardian to witness its birth in the event that he ever has to testify to the validity of its claim.”

  As Mother Beaton nodded, Phaeline exclaimed, “Do you mean to tell me only now that Old Jardine named you Fiona’s trustee and my grandchild’s guardian?”

  “Aye, madam, and I apologize, because I should have told you before,” he said. “I am also trustee for the estates until the child reaches five-and-twenty.”

  “Mercy,” Phaeline said.

  A cry escaped Fiona.

  “Get thee hence now, sir, do,” Mother Beaton said gently. “I need to see if this bairn be truly on its way. Ye’ll see soon enough if it be a lad or no.”

  “I’m going, but send for me as soon as it’s born,” he said firmly. “’Tis my duty to see it. I
don’t believe that anyone here has cause or intent to switch babies, but I’d prefer that no one in the future find excuse to suspect such a thing, either.”

  She agreed, and he left. The midwife was right in that a birthing chamber was no place for a gentleman, especially one unrelated to the new mother except by a dead scoundrel’s command and a few legal documents.

  Nevertheless, those documents meant that the child would be in his charge for its first twenty-five years, and just being at Spedlins, knowing that it was about to be born, had increased the already deep sense of responsibility he felt toward it.

  Seeking out Old Jardine’s chamber, he found the manservant Hod stuffing clothing into kists. Others stood nearby, strapped and ready for removal.

  Numerous items sat on a large table against the wall near the doorway where Kirkhill stood: a cresset lamp, a few winter caps and gloves, and other oddments, including something of brassy-looking metal that peeked from one of the gloves.

  Kirkhill’s gaze swept the rest of the cluttered room.

  The mastiff had curled itself by the cold hearth and barely lifted its head. Even so, as its gaze met his, it bared its teeth.

  “Nae doots, ye’ll be wanting this room for yourself,” Hod said gruffly.

  “Not until it has been well cleaned and aired out,” Kirkhill said, wrinkling his nose. He looked back at the table, picked up the glove, and saw that the thing inside it was a brass key. Holding it up, he said, “What does this key fit?”

  When an answer was not immediately forthcoming, he looked up.

  Hod shrugged and his eyes shifted focus back to the kist he was packing. “I dinna ken,” he muttered. “I found it amongst his things, like them caps and such.”

  “Then I expect I should keep it until we find out what it fits,” Kirkhill said, slipping it into the leather pouch strapped to his belt. “Sithee, Hod, if I do use this room, I’ll keep this big table here. When you’ve cleared out his clothes, see that they’ll go to folks who can make good use of them. Then throw out all his old bedding, have the floor well scrubbed, open all those window shutters, and order a fire built with pine logs in the fireplace. To get rid of the odors in here, you’ll need to keep it burning for a while. Then I’ll decide if I’ll sleep here.”

  Hod stood where he was, resentment plain in his expression.

  “What is it?” Kirkhill asked.

  “I ken fine that the old master put ye in charge here, but I’m no used to taking orders from any save himself.”

  “Then you have a choice to make,” Kirkhill said evenly. “You will take your orders from me, as every other man, woman, and bairn on these estates will, or you will find a home elsewhere.”

  “Aye, well, laird or no, ye’re nobbut one man,” Hod said.

  “One who came here with a tail of forty more, well armed,” Kirkhill said in the same tone. “I can summon a hundred more with a signal fire, and if necessary, I can call the Lord of Galloway and his thousands to my aid. I don’t want to have to do either of those things, because these estates will run more smoothly if the people who are used to running them go on doing so. But neither will I suffer defiance or insubordination, Hod. I don’t tolerate it at home, and I will not tolerate it here.”

  Hod stared at him, clearly taking his measure.

  Kirkhill let the silence lengthen for a count of ten before he said, “Your decision is a simple one. Stay or go. I would prefer that you stay, because I’ll wager you know more than most folks do about this place and its people. But if you cannot stomach me as your master, I’ll not hold that against you. I ken fine that you took good care of Old Jardine, and I shall write a letter for you, saying so.”

  “What of the young master then?”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “Nay, but although Old Master did think he were dead, he may yet live.”

  “Well, I mean to find out what happened to him,” Kirkhill said. “Recall, if you will, that he is my cousin, so ’tis nobbut one more family duty.”

  “Ye’ll also be heir to all here if Master Will be dead and her ladyship’s bairn dies at birth or doesna live long enough to take his grandsire’s place.”

  “That is true, but hard as it may be for you to accept my word, I do not covet Applegarth or any of its dwellings or estates. I came here because Old Jardine left me no choice. You will not believe that, and I can understand why. Doubtless you have a strong fondness for this place and for the Jardines.”

  “I do, aye.”

  “Well, I own Kirkhill in upper Annandale, and my family owns lands in Lothian as well. Sithee, man, my plate was full before your master summoned me here. I’ll need any help I can get, but I will be master of Applegarth, its lands and tenantry, until Will Jardine returns or his child comes of age. Reconcile yourself to that, Hod, for when I give an order, I’ll expect compliance. Anyone who fails to obey me will quickly learn the nature of my temper. Now, what say you?”

  “I’ll see to the room, sir, and I’ll do nowt to undermine your authority here,” Hod said. “More than that I canna say till I ken ye better than what I do now.”

  “Fair enough,” Kirkhill said. He turned to leave, bethought himself of one more thing, and turned back, saying, “That dog goes outside. If it is dangerous—”

  “I’ll look after it, sir,” Hod said hastily.

  “See that you do. I don’t want to see it inside the tower again.”

  “Ye’ve a bonnie wee son, me lady, and once he decided to come along, he came quick and easy,” Mother Beaton said in her comfortable way hours later. She held the tiny, wrinkled, healthily squalling creature so that Fiona could see him, then turned to wash him in a tub of warm water that Jane had brought up to her.

  He continued to cry, albeit not so lustily.

  Exhausted, Fiona looked at her mother. “He’s so tiny and so red.”

  “He will grow before you have time to turn around, my dearling. To think that you have produced a son with your first attempt. How proud you must be!”

  “I don’t feel proud,” Fiona said. “I just feel tired.”

  “That, too, will soon pass,” Phaeline assured her. “But you should rest now, so that you will feel more the thing in the morning.”

  “Beg pardon, me lady, but she should suckle the bairn first,” Mother Beaton said. “He’ll get little from her this first time, but they need to get acquainted, and she’d best be a-doing it afore she falls asleep and afore his lordship comes back.”

  Despite the good advice he had given her and her brief reluctance to release his hands, Fiona felt a surge of anger now. “His lordship has no business in here.”

  “Aye, dearling, he does,” Phaeline said. “It is not only his right but also his duty to see that all is well with your son. Doubtless Jeb’s Jane is right outside the door, or her Wee Davy is. In any event, I’ll find someone to send for him.”

  Mother Beaton said, “His lordship need not come into this chamber if her ladyship objects to his presence, madam. I can carry the bairn out to him.”

  “No,” Fiona said curtly. “You will not take him out of my sight without my consent. Do you hear me, all of you? I do not know Kirkhill, but Old Jardine said that he is as likely as anyone to have killed Will, if anyone did. Also, Kirkhill will inherit Applegarth if…” Her breath caught. “He must not be alone with my baby!”

  Seeing Flory frown, and Phaeline and Mother Beaton exchange a look, Fiona said urgently, “You must promise me, all of you, or I swear I won’t sleep a wink.”

  Phaeline had opened the door, but she turned back to say, “We cannot make such a promise, Fiona. Kirkhill is master here now. If he wants to be alone with the child, he need only command it.”

  “He could not be such a beast as to snatch a newborn babe from its mother,” Fiona snapped. “Nor could any of you. If he must see my son, let him come in.”

  “I will come in then, thank you,” Kirkhill said as Phaeline stepped aside to let him pass. “Jane’s Wee Davy ran to fetch me
as soon as the babe squalled.”

  He paused halfway to the bed when his gaze came to rest on the baby.

  Mother Beaton had finished rinsing him and was wrapping him in a blanket that Flory had handed to her. “We’ll just see if this laddie recognizes his mam,” the midwife said. Then, to Kirkhill, she said, “He’s a fine, lusty lad, sir. He has all his fingers and all his toes, his mam’s dark hair, and the right male equipment, too. But if ye’d like to see it all for yourself…” She held out the babe toward him.

  Glowering, Fiona moved to object, but seeing the awestruck look on Kirkhill’s face, she kept silent.

  Phaeline, still near the doorway, caught her eye and smiled. “Your wee laddie is gey handsome,” she said. “He looks more like a Dunwythie than a Jardine.”

  “Good,” Fiona said.

  Kirkhill seemed to give himself a shake, and her gaze snapped back to him as he stepped almost hesitantly toward her child.

  “D’ye want to hold him, my lord?” Mother Beaton asked.

  He nodded silently, his eyes on the baby.

  It stopped crying and seemed to stare back at him.

  Fiona did not realize that she was holding her breath until she let it out as he accepted his tiny ward from the midwife and cradled him close to his broad chest.

  The room was still. No one spoke as Kirkhill gazed down into the baby’s solemn little face. A tiny fist escaped the blanket and clutched at his shirt.

  Fiona’s breath caught again, but when Kirkhill looked at her, radiating his delight, something turned over inside her, leaving a warm feeling in its place.

  After what seemed to be an extraordinarily long moment, Mother Beaton said, “Ye should give the laddie to his mam now, sir. He needs to suckle.”

  Kirkhill nodded again, still silent, but his gaze still held Fiona’s warmly as he moved toward her. When he reached her bedside, he bent to give her the baby, but before he did, the midwife spoke again:

  “Lay him atop her first, so that one of his ears lies next her heart, sir. He’ll hear it beating and ken fine that he be wi’ his mam.”

  Obeying her, Kirkhill leaned nearer than necessary and murmured for Fiona’s ears alone, “I’d never snatch a child from its mam, lass, unless I knew it to be otherwise in mortal peril. This child is in no danger from me.”