By the time he was Duncan’s age, it had been one of his duties ta hang from the high mast and be a look out for whales, he and Dougal both. The only time they’d been allowed ta come down was to help slice up the great fish, once one had been spotted and captured.
They hadn’t even come down for meals, ta take a piss, or even ta sleep. Food, mainly bread and fish, and bottles of weakened ale were sent up by way of a little basket and a pulley system. And as far as pissing, they simply yelled look out below and hoped they didn’t hit anyone who’d later hit them back. He and Dougal both had become experts, the hard way, when it came ta sleeping. Just like every watcher before them, they’d learned to link their scrawny arms and legs through the rigging of the mast and hold on as they napped in their makeshift beds or rode out a storm.
If Duncan’s legs had been studier, he would’ve had the lad do watcher duty right along with all the other boys his age on their last outing. He hadn’t though. He hadn’t been sure the lad could hold on, and the thought of Dougal’s son falling to his death on his watch was more than Quint could stomach.
Perhaps he was becoming as soft as his little wife, after all.
Beth simply didn’t understand what it meant ta grow up MacLeod. It was an honor, not a punishment, ta be tasked with something so important as delivering a missive. He himself had certainly not been any older than Duncan was when his father had first sent him back and forth across the channel, bearing communications for one laird or another.
Yes, he understood, and he wasn’t an idiot. The practice could be dangerous. Over the years, a handful of lads had been lost at sea, and though they’d been grieved for sorely, stories of their bravery had been told around the fire and there was never a shortage of volunteers for the next assignment.
But if one didn’t send a lad, how would one get messages sent across the channel in the first place? No laird worth his salt would ask a full grown man ta walk away from his duties or even the older lads ta leave their training just ta deliver or gather news. After all, it was one of the simplest of tasks. Even a MacLeod lass could do it, probably.
Why then did he feel so guilty?
His tender-hearted, little wife was going ta be the death of him yet.
Quint chuckled, and with a sigh, stood, stretched, and headed up the stairs. Perhaps his Beth didnae wish ta see him, but he had a powerful need ta see her. She was simply going ta have ta bear his odious presence like it or nae.
If he could make it past the old maid Bronwyn and the barred door this time.
****
Beth wasn’t exactly sure how long ago her water broke. All she knew was, she was extremely wet, cold, and uncomfortable.
Between contractions that were coming closer and closer together, she slowly made her way off the bed and over to her trunk. She desperately needed to get out of her soggy shift and replace it with a dry one so the shivering would stop, she could once more think clearly, and with any luck, the incessant chattering of her teeth would cease.
How she longed for the warmth of Quint’s arms right about now. Just a few minutes of bliss, just long enough to drive the ice from her bones and replace it with his glorious heat. For there was certainly no other source of warmth in this room. Even though a fire had been stoked earlier, over the course of the last few hours, it had been reduced to nothing but embers.
Her maid was no longer by her side, either. She’d sent Bronwyn off before the contractions ever started. She hadn’t wanted the old woman to miss out on the Christmas festivities because she was being a stubborn blockhead. And since her maid hadn’t peeked her head through the door once since then, she must have taken her lady up on her suggestion to go and have some fun.
Fear she’d been striving to keep at bay seeped in right alongside the cold. No one was coming to check on her, and there was no way she could make it out of this room and down the stairs in order to seek help. Even if she could, she couldn’t take the chance it would be the viscount she’d encounter instead.
Gently, she placed her hand upon her belly. God help her and Quint’s son both, because she was going to have to deliver this child all on her own. As an American history teacher she knew many things. Birthing babies, sure as hell, wasn’t one of her specialties.
“Tobias,” she cried in desperation. “Come help me please. I can’t do this.” But the only response she received was the increased pounding of her heart.
Another pain hit. This one so hard it had her knees buckling and a cry escaping her throat.
Beth hadn’t been aware anyone had entered the room until her husband’s warm, strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her in close.
“My Beth,” he whispered. “What is it, lass? Why are ye shivering so? And why did ye cry out? Is it the bairn?”
She managed a nod as he picked her up and carried her toward the bed.
“Where is ye maid?” he scolded. “Why did ye not have her come for me? Surely, ye cannae be so angry ye’d keep me from the knowledge of this?”
She shook her head. “I told her to go and enjoy Christmas hours ago, before any of this started. And then by the time I realized I truly was in labor, I couldn’t make it far enough to yell for help.” Leaning into his embrace, Beth cried. “I’m sorry for being so unreasonably angry with you earlier, Quint. I know you’d never ask anything of Duncan you thought would bring him harm. It’s just that he’s so little.”
She buried her head against his chest, the heat of him seeping into her bones, warming her. Another contraction sliced through her, this one burning low in her back, radiating to her front, and lasting so long she thought it would never end.
“Let’s get ye back ta bed, lass.” Quint’s normally rock steady voice shook.
“It’s wet,” she whimpered. “My—my water broke some time ago.”
He gulped. “Oh.”
If the situation hadn’t seemed so dire, she would’ve laughed. She wasn’t sure it was because she actually found their particular dilemma funny or because she was just so grateful he was here now and she didn’t have to face the birth of his son all alone.
He turned with her in his arms, one way and then another, as if trying to decide where to set her down in order to go for help. But in the end, he simply walked to the door, opened it, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Bronwyn.”
A moment later, the sleepy-eyed maid peeked from behind the nursery doorway. When she saw Beth being clutched in Quint’s arms, she rushed toward them as quickly as her old bones would allow.
“The bairn’s coming,” Quint roared.
Bronwyn walked right past him and into the room, as if he hadn’t even spoken. “Aye, I kenned that,” she cackled. “Though I do think she’ll have an easier time of it if ye put her in the bed, laird.”
Beth almost smiled, but then another contraction hit, this one a whopper, and all she could do was moan and hold onto her husband.
“I ken she’d be more comfortable in the bed, ye old harridan, but ’tis wet.”
“Ah,” Bronwyn said. “Then give me a moment ta see things put ta right.”
Quint paced back and worth with her in his arms, and though he was making Beth quite dizzy, she didn’t complain. She was too grateful for his presence. When Bronwyn signaled, he placed her gently between the clean sheets and covered her with the warm fur.
The moment he stood back up, she knew exactly what he was thinking and what he was intending to do, and panic had her calling out, “Stay, Quint. Please don’t leave me.”
He looked as if he were going to be sick. With both Ben and Brian, she hadn’t wanted Burt in the labor room, and he’d been more than happy to wait for word from the comfort of the neighborhood bar. But with Quint, it was different. Beth didn’t want to be alone this time, and more than anything, she wanted desperately to share this miracle with him.
Though they were not fated to be together as Quint raised his son into manhood, they could both be witness to the first breath the child took.
&nbs
p; “Stay,” she pleaded once again as the next pain hit, and he took a seat on the edge of the bed and grasped her hand.
“Are ye sure, my Beth?” he asked. “I do nae know what ta do ta help. I fear I’ll be in the way.”
She smiled as the pain let up a little. “Stay with me. We were together when this child was made, and we should be together when he comes into this world.”
Quint smiled back at her, and then glanced toward his wife’s maid. “Ye heard what she said. I’m ta be ye servant this time. Just speak plain and slow, Bronwyn, when ye tell me what ye need me ta do. This being my first time midwifing and all.
From almost the moment Quint had gotten her back to bed, the contractions came one after the other and each one stronger and longer than the last. It got to the point where Beth could no longer tell where one began and another ended.
Something was wrong. Nothing could possibly hurt this badly and be normal. With Ben and Brian, there had been a lovely epidural in place by the time labor progressed to this point, so she really had no idea what normal was anymore. All she knew was, she hurt horribly and all Quint and Bronwyn could do about it was sit and watch. Though the old maid did cool her brow with a damp cloth, and her husband held her hand and whispered sweet encouragement to her, no matter how tightly she squeezed his.
“Ohh,” she moaned long and loud, and they both jumped. he grabbed both her hands and began frantically patting while Bronwyn flipped back the furs, lifted her shift, parted her thighs, and stared.
“Looks like ’tis still going ta be a while yet,” was all she said.
Beth shuddered. How had women done this without the advent of modern medicine? God what she wouldn’t give for a hefty dose of morphine right about now? Then she chuckled, morphine be damned. Who was she kidding? She wanted another dose of the anesthetic they’d used to completely knock her ass out for Brian’s C-section.
A sobering thought struck her. Many women hadn’t successfully done this at all, especially as far back as the seventeenth century. More than a few had died trying to do exactly what she was attempting this very moment.
She tightened her grasp on Quint’s hand. “If I don’t make it through this, promise me you’ll care for and love this child with all your heart and never hold against him the fact his mother died giving him birth. It’s not his fault, and I’d gladly give my life for his.”
Then another thought struck. Perhaps this had been Fate’s plan all along. Perhaps she’d been destined to die in childbirth and that was how she’d be reunited with Ben and Brian, the children she’d lost, the children she hadn’t appreciated enough until after it was too late, the children she’d said horrible, unforgivable things to only moments before their deaths.
Her children. Her real, true children.
Quint shook his head, fear evident upon his face. “Ye’ll nae leave me, my Beth. I won’t allow it. Do ye hear me? I’d nae survive without ye, and neither would our bairn. We need ye. Take my strength, take my very breath, and the last beat of my heart if ye have need of them ta get ye through this. But please, I beg ye, do nae go.”
Chapter Nineteen
He was one of the most beautiful babies she’d ever laid eyes on.
Beth couldn’t bring herself to look away from the child she held close to her heart and had been holding since the moment he made his presence into the world, red-faced and screaming bloody murder as the sun began peeking its head above the mountains.
She glanced toward Quint and smiled at her peacefully sleeping husband. Though now exhausted, he’d shown no signs of it throughout the long night. He’d stayed right by her side and held her hand, without letting go even once during the entire process. He’d whispered words of encouragement when she’d needed them most. He’d even held his squirming wet son as Bronwyn cut the cord, and he’d been the one to gently place the infant into her outstretched, waiting arms.
God, how she loved him.
She glanced back down at his son. The baby had his father’s dark brown hair, but his was still the fuzzy, soft down of a newborn. And he had his dad’s cute nose, strong jaw, and full lips, though Beth was pretty sure it was Elspeth’s ears the little boy had inherited. No matter which parent contributed what, there was no doubt about it; he was absolutely, undeniably beautiful.
And he was already tugging hard on her heartstrings. He felt so very right in her arms. And after he’d fed at her breast, he’d grabbed onto her pinky and held on for dear life, just as if he knew she’d be gone soon, that she planned on leaving him.
With that thought, the air around her suddenly began to shimmer, and Beth felt an added presence in the room. She didn’t look up. She didn’t want to see Tobias Moiré, third generation event manipulator, better known as Fate.
At least, she didn’t want to see him today.
She wasn’t ready.
He cleared his throat, and Beth swatted at the air. “Go away, Bronwyn. You’d think after the long night you had, you’d still be sleeping.”
“We both know I am not Bronwyn, madam. Do stop pretending and have the decency to at least look me in the eye.”
Beth glanced his way. Well, actually, she glared. And though she’d pleaded with Fate to come to her rescue last evening, it still distressed her to actually see him standing right beside her bed today. “Tobias?”
The event manipulator rolled his eyes. “I assure you, it is I, madam. And this isn’t a social call. You summoned me, remember?”
He pulled his cell phone looking thingy from his pocket. “I see you’ve made good on your part of the bargain and have given Quinton MacLeod his heir. So I take it you’re ready to be reunited with your children as per our agreement?” He pushed a couple of buttons. “A simple case of birthing bed fever should do the trick nicely.”
“No.” Beth scurried from the bed with the baby still in her arms and led Tobias into the same little alcove they’d spoken in the last time he’d been here. It wouldn’t do for Quint to wake in the middle of this conversation and see a strange man with wire-rimmed glasses, wearing a long white robe, standing in the middle of their bed chamber.
She clasped the infant to her chest. “I can’t go yet,” Beth whispered. “Lord Fredrick is somewhere in this very castle as we speak, and the moment he finds out Quint’s son has been born, he means to kill him. I can’t just leave Quint and this helpless little newborn baby all alone in the seventeenth century without first knowing they’ll be safe.”
Fate scoffed. “Surely, you jest, madam. With or without the influence of the viscount, there certainly was no such thing as a guarantee of safety in the seventeenth century, for anyone, of any age.”
He shook his head. “I mean, really, you were a history teacher in your old life. You know as well as I only approximately twelve percent of all infants born in this time period lived to see their first birthdays, let alone grow into adulthood. Even if they happened to make it past infancy, there was still mumps and measles, chicken and small pox, dysentery, cholera, consumption, whooping cough, typhus, yellow and scarlet fever, influenza, and let’s dare not forget about the black plague to deal with. And that’s not even taking into consideration all the accidental and intentional ways people found to meet their demise.”
Tears misted Beth’s eyes as she rocked the sleeping child back and forth.
“Trust me, madam.” Tobias Moiré sighed. “You’re better off leaving right this moment before you get too attached. You’ve already suffered the loss of two children. Why take the chance of putting yourself through the possibility of a third?”
He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them on the sleeve of his robe. “You have successfully fulfilled your part of the bargain, and now it’s my turn. It matters not how long or whether Quinton MacLeod and his son live or die. As far as I know, the heir simply had to be born in order to fix my, umm, mistake.”
The event manipulator once more started pushing buttons on his contraption. “Let’s see, if you aren’t keen on birthing be
d fever, perhaps a nice quick, painless hemorrhage will be more to your liking?”
“Stop,” she yelled and held the baby so tight he began to squirm. “I can’t, not yet anyway. Just a little more time, please?”
Fate frowned. “If you weren’t ready for me to fulfill my part of the bargain, then why did you call?”
Heat crept up Beth’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry. At the time, I was all alone and didn’t know what else to do.”
Tobias Moiré glared at her. “Do I look like a ladies’ maid to you, madam? I know for a fact I’ve told you before I’m a very busy man. Floods, tornados, earthquakes, car accidents, but not yours, of course. Wet slippery floors, falling rocks, and the such. I don’t have time for nonsense. So don’t call me again until you’re truly ready to complete our transaction.”
Beth gulped down the lump in her throat that had formed at the mention of the car accident that took the lives of her children.
“It’s no skin off my nose, you know?” he continued. “And I couldn’t care less if you decided to spend the rest of your, I mean, Lady Elspeth Frasier MacLeod’s natural life right here in the seventeenth century. I’ll still return and reunite you with your children even if you die in your bed in your sleep in the middle of the night when you’re eighty. But I do so detest having my time wasted, madam. Time is important, and as you well know, almost impossible to get back once it’s gone.”
She nodded. She did understand, probably better than most. Time was a precious gift. What happened in the blink of an eye or a careless moment could never be taken back or changed. So it was infinitely important how time was used.
And she also understood what Fate was offering her, and for a moment, her heart soared. If she wanted to, she could stay right here in 1643 with Quinton MacLeod and his son, and still be reunited in Heaven with her children when Elspeth’s life had run its natural course. But wouldn’t that be selfish? Hadn’t her children already waited long enough?
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask when Fate shimmered, and in the space of a heartbeat, completely disappeared.
Time For A Highlander (Real Men Wear Kilts) Page 21