Highland Wedding

by Hannah Howell

  “Here, sweeting,” Meg soothed as she placed a thick piece of leather between Islaen’s teeth.

  “When ye get the bairn’s head where it should be, make sure the cord’s clear o’ the wee neck,” Wallace instructed.

  “Aye. ’Tis clear of both wee necks. That all, Wallace?” When the man nodded, Storm removed her hand and went to wash.

  “Weel, I will just gie back tae the kitchens,” Wallace said with a definite touch of regret.

  “Ye dinnae have to, Wallace. I ken ye would like to be in on the birthing of a bairn. Ye have been such a help so ye maun stay if ye wish it.” Islaen’s voice was strained and broken by pain. “We may have need of ye yet.”

  There was no need to further persuade him. Wallace was eager to see the birth he had spent so much time discussing with Master Iain’s tiny wife. Islaen was glad for it was the only way she could think of to repay him for all he had done. She also found his methods of soothing her very effective and was not at all perturbed by the fact that she had seen him treat his precious animals just so. Islaen hoped she would yet be done before Iain sought their chambers.

  Knowing it was what Islaen wanted, Tavis tried valiantly to keep Iain in the hall but failed. Iain knew he would not sleep much at all for he had not since he had discovered he was to be a father, but he could not keep away from Islaen for any length of time. Although Islaen, with her astonishingly large belly, was the source of his agitation and nightmares he could not stay away from her nor find any ease of mind if he did. He lay beside her at night, his eyes and often his hands exploring the swell of her abdomen, fascination and terror warring with each other as he felt the prodigious activity within.

  It was not in him to accept the death of any young woman easily, but he had never felt so terrified of it when Catalina had faced it as he did with Islaen. Guilt concerning his need for her, a need that had brought her to this, nearly choked him. It was only recently that he had finally left her alone. The thought that he could lose her ate away at him day and night. Catalina’s death had affected him mostly through guilt, the knowledge that he had used her as had others. Islaen’s would touch him in every way.

  Briefly he indulged in cursing her for putting him into such a state. He had neither wanted nor needed to feel so about any woman. Despite all his efforts to keep a distance between them, Islaen had pulled him ever closer, subtly pulling him deeper beneath the spell she wove so effortlessly.

  As he started to their chambers, he told himself not to be so unfair. Islaen plied no tricks nor played any games. Islaen was simply Islaen. The web he found himself tangled in was one he had walked into with a full knowledge of his fate. He had seen the danger and simply lacked the strength to fight it.

  “Iain,” Tavis called as he followed his brother up the stairs, Colin watching with curious concern from the hall.

  “What is it?” Iain asked in a taut voice as a cold feeling seeped through him.

  Gripping Iain by the shoulders in a gesture meant to comfort, Tavis said, “The bairn is on its way.”

  Iain felt as if he had been dealt a powerful blow to the stomach. He swayed slightly beneath the shock of Tavis’s quiet announcement. Although he had been expecting Islaen to deliver the child at any moment he had expected some warning of the event when it came. There had been none. Or at least none that he had seen or been told about, he thought suddenly, and looked at Tavis with growing suspicion.

  “Ye kenned and said naught?” Iain hissed, the cold in him turning to sheer ice as Tavis’s words continued to sear his brain.

  “She didnae want ye to ken it was time. Aye, she was in labor as we dined but I didnae guess it ’til later.”

  “Oh God,” Iain groaned as he broke from Tavis’s light grip and bounded up the stairs, his father and his brother at his heels.

  There was no real sound to be heard when he stopped outside of the door of his chambers, a circumstance that chilled his heart. A low moan and the soft murmur of a man’s voice reached his ears and his fist wreaked havoc upon the closed door. It did not gain him the entry he desired. Instead, he found himself facing Meg, who planted herself firmly between him and the reshut door.

  “Ye cannae go in there. ’Tis nay a place for a mon.”

  “There is a mon in there now. I can hear him.”

  “’Tis Wallace. He has a way of soothing the lass like one of his beasts and is as guid as any midwife. Ye will stay out here.”

  “God’s beard, ye old corbie, I want to see my wife.”

  “I ken ye arenae intending to sweet talk yer way in. Ye arenae going in. Ye are in a sorry state and thinking on death. It willnae do the lass any guid to have such a dowie face keeking at her. Stay here or gie tae the hall to get drunk but ye arenae going in to fret o’er her.” She slipped back into the room, slammed and bolted the door.

  “I will set right here, witch,” he bellowed but then began to pace the hall in agitation.

  Colin slipped away and returned a few moments later with some whiskey. Flanked by his brother and father, Iain sat directly opposite the door. Although Tavis and Colin managed to get a dram or two, it was Iain who did most of the drinking. The lack of noise usually associated with a woman in labor began to bother them as well. Somehow it seemed ominous not to be assailed with the vocal expressions of the pain they knew she had to be in. A hearty scream would almost be welcome.

  Islaen was sorely tempted to give a scream that would bring down Caraidland’s sturdy walls. With the entrance of her son into the world she felt as if she were being torn in two. Her teeth nearly met through the leather she bit on. The worst of it was that it was not over. Her exhausted body hardly took a breath but it was straining yet again to eject another babe. Despite that she smiled when the lusty cries of her firstborn filled the room followed immediately by Iain’s pounding fist on the still-bolted door.

  For someone who was so terrified of childbirth, Iain seemed very eager to come and see, she thought with a weak smile. His obvious concern was support of a sort and she found a source of renewed strength in that. He might not be right beside her but he was near and clearly concerned and that was good enough.

  “Let me in,” Iain belowed. “Now!”

  “Nay,” Meg bellowed right back, “ye cannae come in yet. There’s things that be left tae be done. Ye’d be surprised if ye kenned,” she muttered.

  “Islaen,” called Iain, thrilled by the sound of a living child but still terrified for his wife, “are ye all right?”

  It was not easy but Islaen answered him. “Aye. I go along fine, Iain. Be patient. T’will not be long now.”

  “There,” Tavis soothed as he pulled Iain back from the door, “doesnae that ease your mind? The bairn lives as does Islaen.”

  “Wee Islaen would say she goes along fine if she had to use her dying breath to do it. I wish to see with my own eyes that she does.”

  “They will be cleaning up and all,” said Colin. “Then ye can go in and look all ye care to. The worst is o’er now, laddie.”

  It was not true and they both knew it. Now came the danger that, as with Catalina, the bleeding would continue until the life drained from the woman’s body or a fever took her within days of the birth. A live baby would mean little to him if it cost him Islaen. Iain wanted to be with her as if by the sheer strength of his will and presence he could keep her from slipping away from him.

  Each minute the door remained closed to him, denying him the sight of a living Islaen, was a torture to Iain. He saw all too clearly all the ways she could die, envisioned every horror that could visit a childbed. As he waited for what seemed a lifetime he took little notice of a second and third wail.

  “Mark the first-born,” gasped Islaen as her second son loudly proclaimed that he lived and she wondered why her body still strained. “I want no doubt as to which has what rights. Ye three will be witnesses to it. As my fither had done, Meg.”

  Begging forgiveness for hurting such a harmless creature, Meg cut the baby’s right palm
then tended the wound in a way that would leave a scar. It would be a lasting mark that would ever denote the boy as the first to have left his mother’s womb. Less important was the way it would ever make the twins easy to tell apart. MacRoth had dubbed it the Heritage Scar for it told without question how the line of succession went. Meg then turned her mind to Islaen and fought to hide her fear and worry.

  “What is it, Wallace? Can ye tell why the poor child still labors as if there is yet a bairn to be born?”

  After his knowledgeable hands moved over Islaen’s still swollen, contracting belly, Wallace said, “Seems there still is a bairn to come.”

  “Oh God,” Islaen moaned softly, “am I to bear a litter like some bitch?”

  “Nay, ’tis the last but dinnae hope too much for it tae live, lassie,” he said softly. “T’would be a miracle an it did.”

  Islaen knew that would bring her pain later. The exhaustion and pain that gripped her so firmly at the moment kept Wallace’s soft, grim prediction from delivering much of a blow. She simply wanted to be done. To be finished with her labors and get some rest was all important to her.

  The girl that emerged from her mother’s womb was tiny, its cry but a mew. To the women’s amazement, Wallace ordered them to see to Islaen as he took the baby. They had barely bathed Islaen and put a clean gown on her when Wallace scooped her up in his arms. He laid her down next to the washed, tightly swathed girl he had placed before the freshly stoked fire.

  “Gie her the first suckle, lass. Then ye maun get a wet nurse for the bairn. She’ll need milk aplenty if she is tae hae a chance and ye’ll be sore tried tae feed her brithers. Grizel what married the blacksmith will do. She be clean and loving and heavy with milk for her bairn died but hours after it were born.”

  A little blindly, Islaen stared at the child Wallace had pressed into her hold. The little girl was very tiny and looked weak. Islaen felt grief stir beneath her exhaustion but it was unable to gain the strength needed to bother her much. Later she would face the loss of the babe she had nurtured within her body for so many months. She was glad of the protection her weariness gave her against that pain.

  Wallace told her all he would do and have done to keep the child alive as Islaen let each boy know where nourishment was to be found. When her bed was clean and all signs of blood erased, he carried her to her bed. He was sent to fetch Grizel and a priest to baptize the babes. As he stepped out of the room he was nearly knocked down by Iain rushing to his wife.

  Through exhaustion-glazed eyes, Islaen stared at her husband. He looked as bad as she felt and she almost smiled but then she remembered that she had to tell him about her lie. For the first time since uttering the lie she was not afraid of confessing it to him. She was simply too tired. Fearing her weariness would pull her into sleep’s firm hold before she could speak she hurried to get the words out.

  “Are ye weel?” he asked her as he sat on the bed and clasped her hands in his.

  He thought she looked small and pale. Her eyes looked bruised, their color weakened. It looked as if whatever strength she had had been completely sapped. Her hands were limp in his.

  Valiantly he struggled to still his fears. If things had not gone well or took a turn for the worse, she would need him calm and require his strength. With all his will, he dredged up what he could but was not sure it would be enough to keep him from crumbling if something was wrong.

  “Aye, just weary. Look at your bairns, Iain.”

  “M’God,” he breathed, staring at the three bundles with as much shock as his brother and father. “Three?”

  His mind refused to accept what his eyes told him. Living twins were a miracle in most people’s eyes. He himself often considered them such. That a woman, especially one as small as Islaen, could bear three children at one throw was more than his frantic mind could comprehend. It helped little at all that his father, brother, Storm and Meg seemed to see it as fact. Deciding he would deal with that confusion later he turned his full attention back to a heavy-eyed Islaen. In truth, she was all that mattered to him at the moment.

  “We fear the lass willnae live, Iain. I am sorry. Wallace is getting a wet nurse for her and a priest. I maun tell ye something,” she said with sleepy urgency.

  “Ye can tell me later, sweeting.”

  “Nay, now. I lied to ye, Iain. I ne’er used those things. Forgive me?”

  “Aye,” he said in a choked voice, “I forgive ye.”

  Her eyes closed as sleep conquered her. “Thank ye. I was tired of feeling wicked but I had to show you that I could do it.”

  “Oh, aye, ye showed me right enough,” he whispered and, unmindful of his audience, clasped his sleeping wife to his breast and wept into her hair with a mixture of joy and relief.

  Chapter Twenty

  Smiling, Islaen watched her father coo at her sons. He and six of her brothers had arrived at Caraidland three days after the birth. They too feared for the little girl, named Liusadh, and shared her grief. Despite that lingering possibility of sadness, no one, not even herself, could hide their delight in the boys, Morogh and Padruig. Such healthy babies were a blessing that could not be ignored. Neither could anyone feel it right to deprive them of any love through a grief that they could not understand.

  “How fares the lass today, sweeting?” Alaistair asked as he handed Islaen a restless Morogh.

  Putting her son to her breast, she replied softly, “She still lives, Fither. Grizel says her appetite grows as does her voice.”

  “Both good signs but dinnae let your hopes rise too high,” he said gently. “I wish I could save ye from that pain.”

  “No one can. We all pray daily for her and none could work so hard to keep her alive as Grizel does. ’Tis in God’s hands now.”

  Alaistair nodded, then smiled at Padruig who patiently waited his turn. “Here’s a sweet bairn. Good natured.”

  “Aye, seems to be.” She let Morogh clutch her finger. “I think this is the lad with the devil in him.”

  “Mayhaps. ’Tis best an he is the stronger, since he is the heir. Do ye ken, lass, I think if wee Liusadh survives, she will be the real devil of the three. Any lass who can live when all says she shouldnae has a strength and a spirit that promises to put muckle a white hair upon her parents’ heads.”

  “Ye may just be right.”

  “And how fares your marriage, lass? Other than fruitful,” he added with a slow grin. “The lad o’er his fears now, is he?”

  Glad she had told her father of Iain’s demands and her deceit, she nodded. “Aye, I believe so but dinnae expect anither grandchild too soon. We mean to be careful.” She watched him closely and saw him nod with approval.

  “Good. Your mither and I were. ’Tis said to be a sin but I cannae believe it. God couldnae have meant for us to kill our women with childbearing, wearing them into the grave by filling their bellies every year. ’Tis a sin to waste the life God gave and that is what constant childbearing does, wastes life. Your mither proved ye can be both fruitful and careful.”

  As her father took Morogh and gave her Padruig she smiled at him. “I am glad ye came.”

  “So am I, lass.” He kissed her cheek. “Ye arenae really happy yet, though, are ye?”

  “Iain is a good mon. ’Tis early yet and I cannae expect a return for my feelings simply because I feel them. Ye need not fash yourself o’er me. Truly. I have more than many women find and I will seek my happiness in that.”

  She wished she was as confident as she tried to appear to her father. When Iain joined her later, bringing her a meal they would share in the privacy of their chambers, she did not feel confident at all. It did not really help that they had not really talked since the children were born. She had heard him say he forgave her, but as the days slipped by and he said no more on the matter, she began to doubt what she had heard. Once the meal was done, she took a deep drink of wine and decided to bluntly ask him how he felt.

  “Iain?”

  Taking his gaze from his
sleeping sons, he looked at her with mild curiosity. “What is it, love?”

  He still found it all very hard to believe. Not only had his tiny wife given two sons but, if God was merciful, a daughter too. So too was Islaen alive, was in fact healed enough already to grow impatient with the lying in bed that was forced upon her. To look at her one would find it hard to believe she had been through the ordeal of birth so recently. Considering the torment he had been through, he could almost resent her good health.

  “Iain,” she began hesitantly and reached out to take hold of his hand, “Do ye truly forgive me for my deceit?”

  Moving to sit beside her on the bed, he took her into his arms.

  “I told ye I did, lass,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Right after the birth I told ye that I forgave you.”

  “And I heard ye say it, yet ye have ne’er said any more on it and I grew afraid.”

  “There seemed no more to say. There is no way to thank ye for the bairns.”

  “Liusadh…”

  He put his finger over her lips to silence her. “Nay, dinnae speak on it. If God means for her to live then she will. If not then we must find joy in the bairns we have and the ones to come.”

  “Ye want more then, Iain?”

  “Aye, but only when and if ye feel strong enough to nurture my seed. I will ne’er insist that ye get with child.”

  “I want more bairns, but I wouldnae trick ye again, Iain.”

  “I believe ye, Islaen. Ye arenae one to lie and I should ask forgiveness for forcing ye to do so.”

  “Ye had good reason, Iain.”

  “Selfish reasons.”

  “Nay.”

  “Aye. Selfish. I didnae want to suffer that guilt again.”

  “Iain, t’was not your fault. ’Tis not a thing ye can tell until too late.”

  “I ken that now. Ye are e’en smaller than Catalina, yet ye came through fine. So too does Storm. There was naught to see in Catalina to tell me she wouldnae give me a bairn as easily as Storm gives Tavis bairns. T’was because she didnae want my touch that I blamed myself. T’was as though I had cursed her.”