After the Storm

by Tia Isabella

  The Sotted switched off the television set with the remote control and turned his gaze toward the doctor. He picked up his glass of juice from the table and took a healthy swallow. “The storm is brewing off the coast of Africa. ‘Tis expected in tae weeks. We’ve one fortnight tae prepare.”

  “Then we best ready ourselves,” Argyle decided as he unwrapped a quarter-pounder with cheese and wolfed it down in three bites. Through a full mouth he proclaimed, “By the saints, how I will miss these tasty concoctions.”

  “I willna miss watchin’ ye eat them, that is fer a certainty.”

  “Ye criticize everything I do, Sotted!” Argyle placed his hands indignantly on his hips. “Ye are beginning tae make me suffer from an inferiority complex!”

  “Where in the blazes did ye pick up such an idea as that, lad?”

  Reginald sighed and shook his head. “When he’s not lusting over some woman on the Playboy channel, he’s busy lusting over Oprah.”

  “Who in the name of almighty God is this Oprah?” Harold asked.

  Argyle rolled his eyes sentimentally toward the heavens. “’Tis the name of a Nubian goddess,” he sighed romantically.

  Reginald rolled his eyes and shot to his feet. “She’s rich as Midas and way out of your league.” He placed his hands on his hips and peered down at the two sitting Scotsmen. “I’m going for a walk. I cannot stand being penned up in this cage with the two of you a moment longer. Between your sex drive,”—he threw an agitated hand Argyle’s way—“and your yelling,”—he heaved his other hand toward Harold—“I never know a minute’s peace around this sorry place.”

  “Quit yer cryin’, Reggie,” Harold countered with a bellow. “I’ve seen many a better day me self!”

  “I somehow doubt that.” Reginald headed for the motel room door, turning around to glower only after he’d reached it. “And don’t,” he added through narrowed eyes and inflamed nostrils, “call me Reggie!”

  * * * * *

  Maya found Sara atop the battlements, peering morosely out into the night. She was dressed in a wispy gown made of red silk, her long raven hair unbound and spilling down to her waist. The moonlight reflected off of her tresses, casting a bluish tint to it.

  Maya had happened upon her best friend each night for the past week in this very place. She didn’t kid herself. She knew what Sara was doing. She was waiting and watching, hoping that eventually she’d get lucky and spot her father en route to Castle MacGregor.

  Maya waddled up to Sara’s side and stood next to her, gazing out into the black night. She said nothing, merely watched the stars twinkle as they seemed to do only on MacGregor soil, waiting for Sara to speak first. If she wanted to remain silent, she wouldn’t press the issue. Sara was beginning to look as hopeless and forlorn as Maya felt. She reached over and grabbed her hand, clasping it tightly into her own.

  Long minutes passed by spent in silence, the sounds of the Scottish night eerily placid in the rugged Highlander terrain. Maya drew the hood of her cloak around her face, the summer’s midnight air growing chilled from the faint gusts of wind swirling about them.

  “Maya?”

  “Yes, Sara?”

  “Find that midwife.”

  Chapter 29

  Maya stared up at the ceiling as she lay in bed next to her dozing husband. She clutched the large ruby stone her husband had given her during their courtship to her breast.

  She was almost a full nine months along. It was more than feasible that Harold and Argyle were as good as stuck in 2001 and that she would be forced to deliver her baby the very old fashioned way. No drugs. No painkillers of any sort. Just total and unadulterated heaving, screaming, pushing, and praying.

  All she could do at this point in the game was pray to God and to all of Thomas’s saints that she and her baby would make it through the delivery with flying colors. Her husband wouldn’t be able to bear it if she and the baby died. And she wouldn’t be able to rest peacefully in the afterlife knowing her husband was distraught in this one.

  Thomas rolled onto his side a few minutes later and tucked his wife in the fold of his arm, breaking Maya out of her languorous state. He ran his hand over her swollen belly and smiled down to her, still groggy from last night’s sleep. “Good morning, my loves.”

  Maya tilted her face upward and smiled. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Aye. Did ye and my bairn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Maya reached for her husband’s hand and laced her fingers through his. He kissed her on the belly then raised their clasped hands to his lips and placed a warm kiss on her fingers. “What is wrong, lass?”

  “Nothing.” She sighed. “Nothing. Just hold me, Thomas.”

  The MacGregor drew his wife closer and hugged her lovingly to his side. “The fair is today, my love. That should make ye verra happy.”

  Maya smiled up at her worried husband with a serenity she was far from feeling and nodded. “Yes, Thomas. Just hold me in the mean time.”

  * * * * *

  A few hours later, Maya admitted to herself that the fair was doing wonders for uplifting her forlorn mood. There was so much to see, so many villagers to meet, and much to her never-ending delight, so many different foods to eat. The only thing that soured an otherwise sweet occasion was the fact that MacGregor soldiers surrounded her at every side. She looked like a princess with her frock of bodyguards about her.

  Thomas had insisted that five guards personally escort her through the throng of fair goers, while an even larger contingent guarded the grounds. How her husband hoped to draw out Robert MacAllister with all of these men looming around was beyond her fathoming capabilities. Not that she was looking forward to the inevitable showdown in the least.

  “’Tis an honor tae at last make yer acquaintance, milady. Ye ha’ met my husband Stephen, as he’s one of the MacGregor’s men, but I ha’ no’ had the pleasure of meeting ye myself.”

  Maya smiled warmly at the young woman who had introduced herself as Margaret. She was as heavy with child as Maya was, but didn’t appear to be worried over the impending birthing in the slightest. How she wished she had this woman’s fortitude of character! “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Margaret. I hope to get to know you better. Please feel free to come up to the keep anytime, any day.”

  “I should never impose,” Margaret blushed. She laughed warmly as she grinned at Maya. “My husband would sooner ha’ my head than allow me tae presume on the laird’s hospitality!”

  “Nonsense!” Maya assured her with a gleaming, white-toothed smiled. “You would be my guest and therefore welcomed at any time. Sara and I could use the company. Besides,” she added with a shrug, “our babies are due at roughly the same time. Perhaps they can become playmates!”

  Margaret laughed joyously, nodding her head up and down. “I should like that, milady. I better go, as my husband has been looking forward tae eating the foods here fer the last sennight.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Margaret,” Sara announced with a smile.

  “Likewise, Lady Sara. ‘Twas nice tae meet both of ye.”

  Margaret waved a friendly hand of departure as she strolled back toward her husband’s side. Maya glanced toward Sara and grinned. “She’s nice, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, very.”

  The women proceeded to explore more of the fair, stopping every so often to talk to another villager or to indulge in the variety of sweet treats being hocked by the travelling merchants. Maya quickly decided that she was going to have cook prepare sugar-rolled ginger candies as often as possible. She wolfed down her fifth one, pointing out to Sara another booth she wished to visit in the process.

  Half an hour later, Thomas and Dugald caught up with their women at a booth where they were even now engrossed in conversation with a craftsman. Neither of the women was aware of their men’s presence as of yet.

  The old man running the booth had fashioned all sorts of eye-catching vases and st
ained glass creations from assorted pottery and shades of glass he’d acquired during his travels. “I would probably need about fifty to one hundred pieces,” Maya told the old man.

  “Do you really think you could complete so much work by the end of December?” Sara asked skeptically, wrinkling her nose. “It’s only a few months away.”

  The old man nodded his head vigorously, obviously delighted at the prospect of gaining steady work. “Aye, my ladies. I would work night and day do I need tae. No’ only can I forge the glass, but I ha’ the training of the smithy as well. And I would be honored tae take up residence in the MacGregor’s hall. I ha’ no family left tae speak of, so I dinna need but a floor tae sleep on.”

  “Nonsense,” Maya announced with a wave of her hand. “I would never think of putting you on the floor. You’ll get your own room and three meals a day along with your commission.”

  Thomas raised an eyebrow. There were plenty of spare rooms in the keep, more even than he knew of most likely, but he didn’t appreciate his wife giving out chambers in his home without asking his permission first.

  “That is verra kind of ye, milady,” the craftsman flushed, “but mayhap ye should speak tae the laird afore ye offer me such a reward.”

  Thomas nodded grimly. At least the old man understood the way of things.

  “I already have his permission,” Maya insisted with a dismissive shrug.

  Thomas glared at his wife’s back as he assumed his most challenging stance. “Oh do ye now, wife?”

  Maya whirled around at the sound of her husband’s voice. Instead of showing the proper amount of dread she should have summoned after being caught telling a lie, she actually looked happy to see him, he mused.

  “Thomas!” she exclaimed as she grabbed his hand and drew him up to her side. “I want you to meet someone. His name is Hamish, just like the MacGregor herder.” She beamed a smile his way. “Isn’t that neat?”

  Thomas shrugged. He knew what his wife’s Tampa English word neat meant, but he didn’t see why this discovery was thus. Many Scottish men were named Hamish, after all. Apparently his wife didn’t know as much, so he said nothing. “Hamish,” he acknowledged with a brief jerk of his head.

  “My lord,” Hamish countered with a reverent bow.

  Maya squeezed her husband’s hand in excitement. “Sara and I have finally found a man who has the talent to fashion the ornaments that will go on our Christmas tree this year! Isn’t that great?”

  Dugald inched his way in between Maya and Sara. “Christmas tree?”

  “Don’t you two remember?” Maya asked, eyeing them both.

  Thomas shrugged. “Apparently not. What am I tae remember?”

  Maya scowled at her husband, releasing his hand at once. Sara smiled up at the laird and spoke quickly, hoping to avoid any scenes Maya might cause if she thought that her husband had backed down from his word. “Thomas, you promised your wife last Christmas day that this year we would celebrate the holiday according to the traditions of our homeland, stockings and pine trees both. You told Maya that if she could find a craftsman with a talent for creating the ornaments she desired for the pine tree in the great hall, that she could invite him to stay at the keep.”

  Thomas’s jaw dropped open as his memory was jarred. His wee wife hadn’t told a lie after all. He was the one who had jumped to the wrong conclusion. “Ah so I did. Forgive me, love. Then this is the mon who can make the ornaments tae yer specifications?”

  Maya grinned up at her husband, her enthusiasm returned. “Uh huh. Look at his work,” she insisted with a swipe of her hand toward the booth’s table. “He’s brilliant!”

  Hamish’s face shown crimson as he shuffled awkwardly back and forth on his feet. “Yer praise makes an old mon feel worthy, milady.”

  Maya shook her head, turning her delighted smile the craftsman’s way. “We’re the ones who are lucky to have found you. So,” she continued, “you can pack up your things and report to the keep at any time you’re ready. Gilfred here will have one of the servants ready your chamber. Isn’t that right, Gilfred?”

  The young squire approached his lady and nodded. “Aye, milady. I’ll see it done me self.”

  “Thank-you, Gilfred, I–”

  Maya paused mid-sentence. Her exuberant smile faded, replaced by a paled look.

  “What is it, love?” Thomas’s heartbeat accelerated as he reached out to steady his wife.

  Maya gazed up at her husband and forced a look of calm on her face. “It’s time,” she whispered.

  Sara’s eyes widened to the shape of full moons. “The baby?” she shrieked.

  Maya nodded.

  Thomas picked his wife up and cradled her into the protection of his arms. “Let us get her tae the keep,” he yelled over his shoulder to his men as he made his way through the parting crowd.

  * * * * *

  Robert MacAllister watched the MacGregor carry his wife from the fair toward MacGregor castle at top speed. He scowled. Damn the man! He was making it impossible to get near the comely bitch!

  He ran his hands through his hair in agitation as he considered his next move. ‘Twas bleakly apparent that the MacGregor would never relax his wife’s guard so long as he believed him alive. If Thomas didn’t think him dead, he’d never get close enough to the castle to penetrate it.

  Robert knew of a way to breech the MacGregor fortress, an abandoned evacuation route he’d meandered upon while squiring for Angus MacGregor in his youth. He’d killed Elizabeth through that route. He would kill the current Lady MacGregor through that route as well.

  And just like Elizabeth, he’d ride between the bitch’s legs first. Mayhap she wouldn’t welcome his violent thrusts any more than Elizabeth had. Robert shrugged. ‘Twas of no import. The resistance always made victory all the sweeter.

  The question as Robert saw it was not what would happen to the lady once he obtained her, but how he would go about setting his plans into motion. How could he make the MacGregor believe him to be dead? How could he stage his own demise so he could get close enough to the castle to find his way in?

  Robert scratched his head, the lice making his scalp sore from prolonged habitation. Then he smiled slowly, the first glimmer of real hope he’d entertained in months. He picked a festering larva off his head and crushed it between his blackened fingernails.

  Ah yes.

  He knew exactly what he had to do.

  Chapter 30

  Sara took the wet towel the midwife handed her and wiped it soothingly across Maya’s brow. “Your contractions are roughly fifteen minutes apart, darling.” She shook her head restively, thinking how much easier it would be to know for certain if only she’d had the foresight to have been wearing a watch when she and Maya had been taken by the black clouds. “You still have quite a ways to go.”

  “Terrific,” Maya retorted sarcastically. She ground her teeth. “There’s nothing quite like prolonging the agony for as long as possible.”

  The midwife Maris clucked her tongue. “’Tis part of life, this pain, and ‘twill be over afore ye know it. Ye ha’ hips round enough tae bring a healthy bairn intae the world and ye are as strong as an ox. Ye ha’ no reason tae fear.”

  Maya wrinkled her brow and looked expectantly up at Maris. “Do you really believe that?”

  “Aye,” she predicted with a nod of her head. “Now if only we could get yer countenance tae be in the same good shape as yer body, we’d all be passing fair.”

  Sara chuckled.

  Maya frowned, then winced as she prepared herself for another contraction.

  “You’re lucky I like you, Maris,” she warned. “I’m not in a good mood today.”

  “Ye dinna say?” Maris clucked her tongue in the motherly way she had about her and shook her head again. Maya flushed, feeling properly chastised. There was something about the midwife that commanded respect and made her trust in her healing capabilities.

  Perhaps it was the fact that Maris had to be in her fifties, ye
t unlike most fourteenth century people of her age, she still possessed all of her teeth and held her regal back up straight as an arrow. The woman had bore ten children, yet her body looked as fresh and well kept as a woman half her age. She was the embodiment of all things healthy. She gave Maya hope that a woman could bear many children and still live out her life robustly in this time.

  A contraction seized Maya’s stomach, causing her to double over in pain. Maris rubbed her back and cooed soothingly to her while Sara gripped her hands to steady her until the intensity wore down. “They are growing closer together,” Sara whispered, excitement and dread warring in her body simultaneously.

  Downstairs in the great hall, Thomas blanched as he listened to his wife’s bellows of pain. He’d never felt so powerless, so completely lost, in all his days. If only Argyle and Harold had managed to acquire Lord Chance in time for the birthing then he wouldn’t be so worried.

  Dugald walked closer to the pacing laird and patted him on the back. “She will be fine, Thomas. She’s a strong lass, yer wife.”

  The laird stopped pacing long enough to sigh and run his hands through his hair. “Keep tellin’ me so, my friend,” he said quietly as he resumed his stiff walking. “Please keep tellin’ me so.”

  * * * * *

  “You two are crazy! I am not—I repeat not—walking any closer to that damned hurricane!” Dr. Reginald Chance put his hands on his hips and scowled ferociously at Argyle and Harold. “Furthermore, I feel like a blasted idiot dressed like this. If we die on this beach, I do not want to be found wearing a skirt!” He frowned, motioning down to the MacGregor plaid Harold had forced him to don at swordpoint this morning.

  “’Tis no’ a skirt!” Argyle countered with as fierce a frown as Reginald’s. “’Tis the plaid of the MacGregor and ye should be feelin’ honored this day tae be wearing it!”