by Pam Binder
“This be Molly Grant.” Grizel made a quick movement of her head toward the pregnant woman. “Help be welcome this day.”
Amber’s smile quivered. “We’ve met.”
Having a baby in this century was life-threatening for both mother and child. There were bound to be complications. Amber’s total experience concerning the mysteries of childbirth came from books and an eighth grade video entitled, How a Baby is Born. Every girl in her class had vowed never to have a child after watching that tape. She hoped the midwife was good at giving directions.
“I’ll do what I can.”
Grizel reached for a goblet on a nearby table. She held it toward her. “Can you not smell the stench through the sweet wine?”
Amber repressed a shudder. “That’s awful. What is it?”
Grizel shook her head and looked at the liquid. “Savory, ground with pennyroyal, and the scent of something I cannot identify. Molly has tried to rid herself of the babe.”
The walls in the small, one-room house seemed to dose in on Amber. She took a deep breath of the warm stale air and gagged. She was in over her head.
Molly screamed and clutched at the coverlet.
The old woman set the goblet down and reached for a doth in a basin of water. She gently sponged the girl’s damp forehead. “There is much to do, and little time.”
Amber forced herself to walk over to the bed. Molly’s eyes were clouded with pain. Amber knelt beside the midwife.
Molly raised herself on one arm and reached for Amber. The young woman’s fingers tightened around her hand.
“Bartholomew isn’t who he claims to be.” Her eyes closed as, briefly, a spasm shuddered through her. “I followed him through the castle’s underground tunnels. He was angry with me. I told him I wouldn’t tell. How could I? I love him.”
The midwife smoothed the young woman’s damp hair away from her face as lovingly as if Molly had been a small child.
Grizel nodded. “The devil’s own tempted this one. I knew the father of her child would not take her with him, but until this moment I knew not his name.” She turned to Amber. “Please, stay with Molly. There is a matter that needs tending. I shall see that my daughter is here with you, until I return. Although blind, she is a skilled midwife.”
The old woman stood. “Not many would offer to help on the day of a festival.”
She opened the door and departed, leaving Amber alone with Molly in the small cottage. Amber’s hand trembled as she took the linen towel and wiped the girl’s neck and face.
“Everything will be all right. It has to be.”
Shouts rang over the field by the River Ness in the fading light. Soon it would be too dark to play the game. Lachlan watched as Angus shouldered his way into the center of a group fighting for control of the ball. His friend, who was playing for the opposing team, burst from the circle of men and kicked the ball free from his attackers. It headed toward a goal line marked with a flag bearing the MacAlpin colors, and went in. The score was now even. He smiled. It was a welcome change to hear laughter on a field instead of the screams of battle.
Lachlan reached for the wooden bucket and took a long drink of the cool water before pouring it over himself. The teams this day were evenly matched. Only a few broken bones that would be in need of tending. Lachlan nodded to Gavin and handed him the bucket. “Angus has played well.”
Gavin set the empty bucket down beside him. “You would be the one to catch him.”
“Aye, the same thought came to my mind.”
“Why do you and Angus not share the same team? You could win easily.”
“There is no pleasure in a game, if it be readily won.” Lachlan looked into the crowd of townspeople lingering around the booths and traveling minstrels. “When last did you see Amber?”
Gavin turned the bucket over and sat on the upturned end. “She told us we could watch you and Angus. Was I supposed to stay near her?”
Lachlan shook his head. “Nay, Gavin. Perhaps she has gone back to the inn.”
A man and a woman were arguing in a grove of trees nearby. Although their words were not dear, the anger and frustration rang out. As he watched, the woman turned her back on the man and folded her arms across her chest. There was a smile of satisfaction on her face as the man pleaded with her. Lachlan remembered the dance he shared with Amber. She was strong-willed and intelligent, of that there was little double. But he believed she would never play a man for the fool as did the woman in the grove. If Amber wanted something, she would ask.
Someone touched his arm and he turned. It was Grizel.
She motioned for Gavin to leave. Lachlan could read the urgency in her eyes. The old woman would only seek him out on matters of importance. He knew that Gavin would not budge until given an order from him. Lachlan sensed he should set a task for the boy, lest he feel dismissed because of his youth. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“Grizel seeks a word with me and it comes to mind that I have not seen MacDougal in some time. Make sure that the beast has not eaten all the pies in its reach. It is important the dog does not make the townspeople sorry we attended their festival. If there are damages, assure them that the MacAlpins will make it right.”
Gavin puffed out his chest. “No one will regret our being here. I shall see to it.” The boy ran toward the brightly-colored booths.
Grizel stuffed a strand of hair back in her cap. “You have a way with the lad. If he grows to be a man worthy of your man colors, you alone will be responsible.”
Lachlan folded his arms across his chest and waited. Grizel would come to the reason she was here in her own time.
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Molly’s time has come.”
“The child is early.”
Grizel nodded. “Aye, true enough.”
“How will she fare?”
The midwife shook her head.
He heard the sound of men cheering and knew the game was at an end. A celebration would fill the taverns this night, while Molly and her child’s life lay in the balance. The sights and sounds of the festival dulled before him. “Was an accident the cause to bring about the early birth?”
“No accident. ‘Twas learning that her man would neither wed her, nor take her with him, that drove her to it.”
“Speak not around the truth. What is the cause?”
Grizel wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Molly tried to rid herself of the child.”
“The Church forbids killing of an unborn babe.”
“That may be the truth of it, but the knowledge is still used when need be.”
He had heard of such things in his travels. Whispered secrets that were not meant for a man to hear. These matters involved women and were not his concern. But to end a life? The notion troubled him.
“Were you the one who gave her such knowledge?”
Her voice lowered. “You know me, Lord. I bring life into the world, not take it away. ‘Twas a mixture of savory and pennyroyal cloaked in a red wine that was the cause. A dangerous concoction for a woman so far along with child. I’ve seen many a birth. Such a mistake usually means the woman’s death. I know not where Molly got the brew.”
Lachlan looked away from the midwife’s tear-stained face toward Angus and the men on the field. They were headed toward the center of town. He could join them and be welcome, but in truth all desire had fled when he had learned of Molly’s condition.
It was for the sake of her child, Bartholomew had been given a second chance. Lachlan had found a small cottage where the family could begin their life together. When last he saw Molly, she was making preparations for her marriage. It was for her, and for her unborn child, that Lachlan had swallowed his anger toward the man. He felt it rise with renewed strength to the surface and turned to Grizel.
“I shall bring Bartholomew back. Comfort Molly that she will have a father for her bairn if the child survives, and a husband, regardless the outcome.”
Grizel
shrugged. “She has little chance of surviving the night. But the news that the wretch she loves will be coming back may give her the hope she needs to ding to life. I have left Molly with the Lady Amber. Your betrothed is inexperienced, but has a good heart.” Grizel nodded before turning down die path and heading toward a cluster of white-washed houses.
Lachlan gazed at the dear blue sky. Someone was in need and Amber had flown to the rescue like an eagle protecting her nest. The last time he had seen Amber she was surrounded by Gavin and his friends. Instead of enjoying the festival, she had put that aside to help another. Lachlan gathered his clothes and headed to the inn where his horse was stabled. He made a vow to bring Bartholomew to Molly.
Lachlan guided his horse, Rowan, through a highland mist that rolled over the gentle sloping hills. A family traveling to the festival had provided the necessary information. They said they had seen a man of Bartholomew’s description heading in this direction. He pulled on the reins and Rowan slowed to a standstill. Cloud cover blocked out the night sky. The farther he had traveled from Inverness, the more severe the weather had become.
Lachlan dismounted and led the animal toward where he suspected Bartholomew’s camp to be. He had always prided himself on his judgment of character. But with Bartholomew he had listened to the words, not looked into the man’s eyes for the truth. The tutor had vowed, falsely of course, that he would take Molly to wife. Now, it was necessary to force the marriage.
Rowan tossed his head and whinnied. Lachlan heard the answering sound of another horse drift toward him, and stroked the coarse hair on Rowan’s neck to quiet him.
“If that be Bartholomew’s mare, a ceremony will yet take place before the babe is born.”
The mist thinned as he reached the crest of a hill and saw a horse grazing. Smoke curled from a fire. Illuminated in the meager light were two men.
Lachlan tied the reins around the trunk of an alder. What were these men doing on this land, made his in battle? Had they come for the festival, or had they another purpose in mind?
The clouds parted revealing the moon in its first quarter. Nearly two weeks had passed since he had pulled Amber from Loch Ness. Words of the legend whispered to him… But the waters will reclaim her once again, if, after the passage of one full moon, the immortal she was sent to heal accepts not the power of eternal love. The legend was a reality. He could no longer deny it On his return to Urquhart he must discover the mystery behind the stolen vial and the purpose behind its disappearance. He must also decide if he had the courage to let Amber into his heart.
He paused when he reached the camp. One man lay on the ground in a pool of blood, the other, as yet unaware of Lachlan’s presence, stood near die fire. He recognized Bartholomew in the firelight. The schoolmaster bent down and started searching through a traveler’s pack.
Lachlan edged closer. He would not underestimate Bartholomew. The tutor lacked honor to have behaved as he had, and men, such as he, were not bound by the same code. The sword belonging to the man on the ground was still in its scabbard. If there had been a fight, the blade would have been drawn. Further, the sound of metal striking metal would have carried on the wind. He felt certain the man had been attacked in his sleep. Lachlan clenched his fist. He had given the schoolmaster more chances than he had given any man. This would be the last.
He stepped out into the clearing. “Have you added murder and thievery to your list of offenses?”
Bartholomew swung around. He dropped the bag of coins and drew his sword. “Ah, so you have come to fetch me. The trip is wasted. As for that,” Bartholomew nodded toward the man on the ground, “he attacked me. I defended myself.”
“The lies come easily. ‘Tis clear he never drew his sword. And now you steal from him as well.”
Bartholomew shrugged insolently. “A dead man has no need of coin.”
Lachlan noted the change in his demeanor. This man was different from the one who had sought the position as Gavin’s tutor. He was aware that he was seeing the man’s true character.
“ ‘Tis a poor choice Molly made in you.” Lachlan circled around him.
“I shall wager the MacAlpin skill with a blade is like the Highland mist, no substance for all its reputation.” He lunged at Lachlan. “I’ll not return to Inverness.”
Lachlan stepped back, drew his sword smoothly, and blocked Bartholomew’s attack. “Aye, that you will.”
The moonlight glittered off forged steel as blade made contact with claymore The ring of metal echoed over the hills. Lachlan forced himself to remember his purpose. It would be an easy task to drive his blade through Bartholomew’s heart, but he had vowed to return the tutor to Molly. Lachlan drove Bartholomew toward the mare with a series of controlled parries. The horse, alarmed by the sound and movement, pulled on her tether and sidestepped out of the way.
Lachlan saw fear in the schoolmaster’s eyes and beads of perspiration form on his brow. Now was the moment to strike. The force of his attack knocked Bartholomew’s sword out of his hand. It clattered to the ground.
“I care not the condition you be in when we return to Urquhart, but for Molly’s sake I will bring you back alive. She carries your child.”
Bartholomew’s voice faltered. “I’ll not be tied to a woman’s skirts, my bones rotting on Scottish soil. As for the child, I care not. And take warning, I have friends who will not look favorably on my ill-treatment”
Lachlan sheathed his sword. “Talk with you is wasted. Your threats hold little substance.” He doubled his fist and hit Bartholomew in the jaw. A bone cracked and blood spurted from the tutor’s mouth. He stumbled against the mare and grabbed at her mane before crumbling to the ground.
Lachlan checked that the tutor still lived. Better Molly be alone than take Bartholomew as husband. He had promised to bring the father of her child back to Urquhart and then he would be tried for his crimes.
Stars filtered through the clouds and the moon cast a white glow over the Highlands. Lachlan stepped over Bartholomew to look at the man on the ground. The man rested on his elbow and stared back at him.
A cough racked the man and he doubled over and winced, putting his hand on his stomach. His shirt was soaked with blood. “The name is O'Donnell.”
Lachlan leaned over and helped the man to his feet. There could be only one explanation why the man was still alive, after spilling enough blood to drain Angus himself. He would have more than the legend to discuss with Marcail, on his return.
The first light of dawn began to edge over the horizon in the still morning. Amber rubbed her eyes and sank down beside the shore of the River Ness. She dipped her hand in the water and splashed it over her face, then lay back on the damp grass. She’d never been this tired before. A twig snapped. Whoever was coming would have to walk over her because she wasn’t moving. She felt, rather than saw, someone kneel down beside her and opened her eyes. It was Lachlan.
“ ‘Tis a heavy burden you bear this day.” Even in the gray morning light she saw the sadness in the lines on his face. So he knew about Molly. Her voice trembled. “There was nothing I could do. They just died. I should have been able to do something.”
“Marcail has performed the duties of midwife and said if the mother lacked the will to live, she would not survive childbirth. Molly had given up long before she took the herbs that would rid her body of the child.”
She felt the burning tears in her throat. “Why?” He lay beside her and cradled her against his chest. His voice was little more than a whisper in her ear. “The father of her babe would not recognize his responsibilities. Raising a wee lass or laddie without the blessing of marriage would have condemned the child to a lifetime of ridicule and shame. She took the only course she felt was left open to her.“
The warmth of his arms quieted her trembling, but not her tears. “I saw the baby, Lachlan. He was so small.”
Lachlan turned her face toward him. His fingers were gentle as he wiped tears from her eyes. “I should have been there w
ith you, instead of looking for Bartholomew.”
Amber touched the side of his face. It hurt him to see others in pain, although he ignored his own. She tried to keep die tears out of her voice. “What you did was more important.”
“Your act of kindness required courage.”
She shook her head slowly. “What I did wasn’t courageous. It was something I had to do. I’ve spent my life running away from becoming too involved in other people’s lives, or getting too close. I can’t run away anymore. I don’t want to.”
“You judge yourself harshly. It takes time to know ourselves and determine the type of person we wish to become.”
The crisp notes of a fiddle broke through the quiet dawn. It came from the direction of the house where Molly and her baby had died. Amber sat up.
He brushed her hair away from her forehead. “Molly’s family and friends have come to watch over her and the child until the burial. There will be dancing, weeping, and singing until the sun goes down over the Highlands.” He stood, reached for her hand, and kissed her fingertips. “Come, it is time we returned to Urquhart. There are clothes Elaenor purchased for you at the tavern if you wish to be rid of the gown.”
She looked down at her stained dress. Her hands shook. The blood of Molly and her baby were a deep red against the fabric. The reality of their death threatened to smother her.
“My dress… their blood is on my dress. It’s… ruined. Ifs all ruined.” Tears spilled down her face and sobs racked her body.
“I shall have a dozen gowns ordered to replace this one.”
His body was warm and comforting and his words meant to soothe her, but he didn’t understand.
“I don’t care about the dress. It can be replaced. But not Molly, not her baby.” She looked at him and searched for a sign that he understood what she was feeling. Amber saw concern in his eyes, and perhaps love, but he didn’t understand her sense of loss. The realization hit her as if it were a physical blow.