Highland Wedding

by Hannah Howell

  “Feels so, doesnae it. ’Tis just that I dinnae like physicians.”

  “That was easy to see. Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I dinnae ken really save that I have seen their work and it turns my stomach. I could say t’was because of what was done to my cousin, a youth named Ninian, save that I had already begun to distrust the breed by then.”

  “What happened to Ninian?” He relaxed a little as he sensed the growing calm in her and the child in her womb.

  “He was hurt in a raid. His kin brought in a physician. The mon was near at hand after all. I was there for my fither and brithers were part of the raid. Poor Ninian was already weak and wan with the loss of blood but that carrion and his assistant wanted more. Ninian’s fither was nearly swayed to believe their cries that t’was needed. He e’en went so far as to let them put the leeches on. Ninian didnae have the blood to spare, Iain. Any fool could see that.”

  “Did he die?” Ian asked softly.

  “Nay,” she muttered, not sure she wanted to finish the tale.

  “What happened? Come, ye cannae stop in the midst of the tale.”

  “Och, weel, they left, the physician, his aides and Ninian’s fither too. They sought a drink and the privacy to speak. Nathan and I took the leeches off while Robert fetched a calf. When the men returned they found fat leeches, ones so bloated they had fallen off. Ninian’s father took one look at the creatures, thought on all the blood they had taken from a youth who had already lost so much and sent the physician away. Ninian still hasnae told his fither the truth. He doesnae like physicians either.

  “They could have killed him, Iain, and would have an it had been Ninian’s blood in those leeches, blood Ninan couldnae spare.”

  “Letting blood is an accepted practice,” he said calmly although he silently admitted that he had little liking for it.

  “Iain, when a person gets a wound they seek to stop the blood flowing out of it. Losing blood makes ye weak. Losing too much can kill ye. Most everyone kens that. Ye will ne’er get me to believe ’tis wise to purposely draw it out. If God didnae want what’s in there to stay in there He wouldnae have put it in there to begin with.”

  “I have oft thought the same.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Are ye feeling, better?”

  “I didnae feel poorly. ’Tis just that I feel it best to lie down when the bairn jumps and reels so. It can make me feel a wee bit unsteady on my feet. I dinnae wish to fall.”

  He nodded slowly, chilled by even the thought of such occurrence. She seemed to be rounding out at an alarming rate. He did not dare to say anything, however, for he knew his fear would taint his words and possibly infect her as well. Iain did wish there was someone he could talk to about the matter and greeted his brother almost hopefully when Tavis arrived.

  “Does she look large to ye, Tavis?” he asked almost the moment Islaen had left.

  “She is starting to round out, isnae she.”

  “That I can see for myself,” Iain drawled. “What I asked was if ye think she has rounded out too much.”

  “Nay. Dinnae look for trouble, Iain.”

  “The movement of the bairn makes her seek a bed. That cannae be right.”

  “An it isnae then Storm has erred with each of our bairns. Storm told me that she didnae have to lie down, just felt a wee bit safer if she did so for the movement made her feel unsteady.”

  “So Islaen said.”

  “Then heed her. She kens what she does or doesnae feel, can feel better than ye can if there is aught wrong. Truth tell, I think a woman kens her body, the weaknesses, strengths and ills of it, better than a mon does his. I think they need to.”

  “Mayhaps. ’Tis just the way it feels,” he whispered. “An I can feel it so strongly, I cannae help but worry o’er how it makes her feel. She says the bairn dances and, God’s beard, ’tis what it feels like.”

  “Aye, I was oft astounded o’er the feel of it. I shouldnae like to bear it. Dinnae let her see how ye fret, Iain.”

  “She kens it.”

  “No doubt, but there is no need to flaunt it afore her eyes. She does all she should, Iain. Rests, eats weel, doesnae let herself grow too weary.”

  “Catalina stayed abed.”

  “Catalina was a fool. Aye, and mayhaps ’tis why she is dead. After months of doing naught but lying in bed what strength did she have to birth a bairn with? Dinnae think on her. Islaen isnae Catalina. There is naught to compare between them. We best leave the matter, Iain, for I have little patience with your worries, understand them though I do, and ye cannae shake them.

  “Heed this, though. Islaen may be a wee lass but she isnae a weak one. Ye have seen that. She is of a line of women who have large healthy broods and fare none the worse for it. Her brother Robert loves her dearly but he seems little worried. She does all she should to keep herself strong and in good health. The bairn she carries shows life, strong vigorous life. She has been through a lot, yet is still hale and still carries the bairn. She is neither growing wan nor grows sickly.

  “Heed all these things, Iain. Keep them in your mind. Use them to hold your fears back. Aye, she seems content and shows no fear but the fears are there. Every woman has them. Dinnae make them worse by feeding them with yours.”

  Iain nodded, solemnly recognizing the truth in Tavis’s words. He had already seen the need to hide his fear as much as he could but it did strengthen his resolve to hear another point it out. Although he knew nothing could fully still his fears, he was determined to remember every good thing Tavis had mentioned. He could easily see how they could give him strength.

  The day his stitches were removed, he tested his strength to stand and walk but found little there. As he cursed his weakness he suddenly recalled Islaen saying he would. Glancing her way he saw her fighting a smile and started to laugh. It was the only time he found any humor in the situation. He found the rate at which his strength returned far too slow a one.

  Islaen watched her husband sleep and smiled crookedly. It seemed a little unfair that her method of soothing him had not seemed to work as well for her. She was wide awake. However, the current activity in her womb was undoubtedly the real reason she could not sleep despite the warm, pleasant feeling of sated desires. She wished the child would suit his schedule of being active and inactive to suit hers a little better but suspected few women had such luck.

  Deciding to get up for a little while, she rose and donned her robe. She moved to the window, opened the shutter and looked out. The hint of winter was definitely in the air. Just as she wondered if Wallace had been wrong in predicting snow she saw the first flakes fall. Winter could bring with it a lot of ills, not the least of which were hunger and sickness. For once, however, she was glad to see it arrive. It signaled the end of all work upon Muircraig.

  “Islaen?”

  “By the window, Iain.”

  “Are you mad?” he grumbled as he rose and hurriedly donned his robe against the chill before moving towards her. “’Tis cold. Ye could catch a chill.”

  “Just a moment longer, Iain. Look. ’Tis snowing. It has just started but Wallace says t’will be a strong storm.”

  “Do ye like the snow, Islaen?” he asked as he came up behind her and slipped his arms around her.

  “Oh, aye, Iain.”

  “’Tis pretty but it means winter is here to stay for a while.”

  ‘Aye,’ she mused silently, ‘and so are you, husband.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Biting her lip, Islaen fought against crying out when a strong contraction gripped her. It had been fairly easy so far but she realized it would soon be impossible to hide the fact that she was in labor, and had been since the very early morning. She could only hope that there were not many hours left. It was important to keep Iain from knowing for as long as possible. A glance towards her husband told Islaen that that might not be so easy. He was staring at her and paying little attention to what his brother and father were saying.

 
; He had stared at her a lot lately and she knew it was not all from a fascination with how big she had grown during the last stages of her pregnancy. Her impish sense of humour had reared its head too often, but she had consistently beaten down the urge to do something silly, pull some prank. Iain was in no state of mind to find it funny. He would never understand that his staring had prompted her, would probably think her cruel beyond words.

  Another was watching her closely and Meg leaned nearer to mutter, “Will ye nay seek your bed now, lass?”

  Smiling faintly, Islaen shook her head. Meg helped in every way she could and Islaen was grateful to her. Without Meg’s help, many of the minor troubles and ills of pregnancy could never have been hidden from Iain. In the past few months Islaen had come to see, more clearly than ever before, that Meg cared for her. It had been a great source of comfort, especially as she had adjusted to new kin, new surroundings and the loss of her large, boisterous family.

  “Nay,” Islaen replied softly. “An I maun, I will have the bairn upon this cursed settle rather than make Iain wait through a minute of labor.”

  “’Tis mad ye are,” Meg grumbled, her keen eyes seeing another contraction grip Islaen. “Keep that bit o’ cloth ye are making a muckle great mess of o’er your belly. ’Tis easy tae see that the bairn tries to get out.”

  Islaen smiled. “I suspicioned that it might be. If Wallace is right, I still have time left me.”

  Meg made a rude noise but softly. “Ye are a woman, nay a cow or a mare nor a cursed ewe.”

  “I ken ye dinnae like to hear it said but their way of birthing is as ours save quieter. I learned a lot.”

  “T’was no place for a lady, mucking about in the stables. Those pains are coming muckle close togither now, lass.”

  “Aye, but not close enough yet. Ye ken that as weel as I do, Meg. Dinnae pinch at me so.”

  “When will ye confess your trickery, lass?”

  “I plan to tell him when I hand him a healthy, squalling bairn.”

  That confession worried her more than the ordeal she faced. In truth, she did not really need to make it. Having forgotten the one time she had had her menses, Iain still felt that their first night together had seeded the child. He had not the slightest suspicion that she had not kept her promise. It was sorely tempting to let matters stand that way but she knew she could not.

  Lying was foreign to her although she could never claim to be free of that sin. Lying to Iain had caused her a lot of anguish. She had to confess even if she feared how he would react. The lie was becoming a slow poison to her and she wanted it out of her blood. She could only pray that Iain would understand and forgive her.

  She continued to fight the revealing of her labor. The needlework she pretended to work on progressed not at all, but it served to hide the rippling of her contracting belly and gave her something to stare at in the hope that none could read what was happening in her face. She almost welcomed the increased ferocity of the pains and their growing proximity to each other for it meant that her time of birthing drew nearer.

  Not all men were ignorant of the various intricacies of birth. Tavis may have missed the birth of his firstborn, but he had more than made up for that with his other children. Although he could not say exactly what made him suspect, he felt more confident with each glance that his brother’s tiny wife was in labor. The moment he could do so without stirring Iain’s curiosity, Tavis left the table and strolled to where Storm struggled to teach Aingeal needlework. His little daughter was easily sent off for she had little liking for the lessons.

  “She will ne’er learn e’en a modest ability if ye keep releasing her from the lessons.”

  “I ken I will be forgiven this time. Try not to be too obvious about it but have a good look at wee Islaen.”

  It was not easy to be subtle when her curiosity had been stirred to a fever pitch but Storm managed. What was even harder was to hide her shock as her keen eyes noted all the signs of advanced labor. That she had to look closely to see it made her mentally shake her head in wonder. She knew well how the pains of birth could wrack the body at such a late stage of labor.

  “The little fool. What do ye wish me to do?”

  “There must be some way to get her up to her chambers without alerting Iain. If she excuses herself, he will be after her and fretting like an old woman. Mayhaps if ye take her off he willnae think on it. The mon’s in a verra sad state.”

  “Aye, poor man. I ken t’would kill him an aught happened to Islaen for I am certain that he loves her, though he is as loathe to admit it as ye e’er were.”

  Grinning, Tavis kissed his wife’s pert nose but then he grew serious. “This wee lass owns his soul though I doubt she kens it and, an Iain does, he isnae saying. Enough of this talk. Get the wee lass up to her bed ere Iain’s firstborn comes forth upon that settle.”

  Islaen silently thanked Storm with her eyes when the woman got them out of the hall on the excuse of looking over some infant clothes and necessities. Once out of the hall, Storm and Meg took turns scolding her as they helped her up the stairs. They were just outside of her chambers door when her waters broke. A terse word from Storm was all that was needed to make the maids share in the secrecy.

  The back stairs were used to bring whatever was needed. So too were the back stairs used to take word to Wallace, a circumstance that caused many to wonder, but less so than when Wallace called for a bath. Robert was secretly sent on his way to the MacRoths by the same manner.

  The help and support of Storm and Meg was greatly appreciated by Islaen. She was too far gone in her labor to do much for herself when they reached her chambers. The two women efficiently undressed her, helped her into a loose shift and did their best to make her as comfortable as they could, not an easy chore when her body was wracked by pain and she needed all her strength to keep calm and quiet.

  For a moment, Islaen found herself angry with Iain. She needed him, his strength and support. Quite naturally, she had her own fears but he was too caught up in his to notice or to aid her in easing them. She had to fight that battle all alone and she was tired of the fight.

  Then she silently scolded herself for that brief weakness. Managing it on her own was necessary. Iain was not to blame for his fears. She told herself to accept the lack of his support as the penance for her lie and turned her attention to Storm.

  “I have sent word to the men that we have retired for the night,” Storm said after a few hours had passed. “T’will hold them for a while.”

  “Ah, good,” Islaen gasped as a pain subsided. “Would it not be wondrous to be all done ere Iain seeks his bed?” She tried to flow with it as another pain ripped through her. “I thought that the breaking of the waters was a sign that t’was soon.”

  Storm sighed as she bathed Islaen’s sweat-beaded forehead. The girl was on her knees gripping the bedpost and Storm could well recall her own labors, bearing the children in such a position. All signs pointed to imminent arrival but nothing happened. Despite the pain so clearly etched upon Islaen’s face, she made no sound save for an occasional moan and a great deal of panting. Storm could not help but admire the girl’s strength and marvel at the depth of her love for Iain, both of which kept her from the very natural reaction of crying out from the pain that gripped her whole body. Even though she admired it, it was somewhat eerie. Screaming was a part of labor.

  “It can be but not all women are the same. The first always comes the hardest and takes the longest.”

  “Could ye send for Wallace? T’would ease my mind an he would check me. He can tell by touch whether the bairn is turned wrong.”

  That was a thing that Storm feared but hid it, saying soothingly, “There’s naught to fear. It has not been that long that we need to worry.”

  “I dinnae fear it, Storm, but an it is holding matters up I wish to ken that. My mither had several bairns enter the world feet first.”

  Without any further word and, ignoring Meg’s sputterings, Storm sent for Wall
ace. The man arrived but moments later having been seated in the kitchens awaiting any possible request for him. A faint color touched his cheeks as he entered the exclusively female domain, but one look at Islaen erased his discomfort. Talking to her much as if she were one of his treasured stock, he ran his knowledgeable hands over her belly.

  “Aye, ye kenned it richt, m’lady. The bairn’s wrong way round. Needs turning.”

  “Turning?” squeaked Meg. “Ye cannae turn a bairn in the womb like ye do some foal.”

  “Why can ye not?” asked Storm, quite taken with the idea.

  “She is just a wee lass, not some cursed great mare. How can ye, weel,” Meg flushed, “gie at the bairn?”

  “Like ye do a foal, ye silly auld coo. If the bairn can gie out, then a hand can gie in.” He looked at Storm. “Ye hae wee hands, m’lady. Can ye do it? I will talk ye through it. Aye, the lass could bring the bairn oot as it lies but ’tis verra dangerous. A bit o’ pain now can save a muckle lot later. I ken ye helped with a foaling last spring.”

  “That I did. I cannot say I will enjoy this but an I maun, I maun, as ye heathens say.”

  She grinned briefly as she moved to wash her hands and the three Scots grinned back at her although Islaen’s turned into a gritting of teeth. Wallace stood with his broad back turned to where Storm knelt between Islaen’s legs. Meg bathed Islaen’s face as Storm eased her hand up the birth canal and said nothing to the instructing Wallace when he soothed Islaen with strokes and murmurs as if she were some animal. All three of them tensed when a soft but audible gasp escaped Storm.

  For one brief moment, Islaen felt terrified. With a concerted effort she forced her fears away. Fear would weaken her and she needed all her strength now especially if something was not right.

  “I am sorry, so very sorry. I did not mean to afright you. That gasp was not because of a fault. There is more than one babe in here and t’was a shock to find a head near the back of the babe I was trying to turn. Ye are to bear twins as I did.”

  “Me mither had twa pairs,” ground out Islaen. “I ken I need something to bite on ere I shorten my tongue.”