The Highlander's Bargain

by Barbara Longley

  No asking. Just telling? Stunned, her heart pounded so hard she was afraid one of her ribs might break. She couldn’t breathe, much less speak. Her mind reeling, all she could do was follow along as he took her hand and led her into the keep. How did she feel about his proposal, if that’s what you’d call it? She didn’t even know. It would take her some time to process this new twist before she could respond. There were so many things to consider, like where she was and how things were done in these times. And what about her feelings for Robley, which were all jumbled up with her unfortunate past? Her baggage. They entered the great hall to find preparations for supper well underway.

  “I must go clean up and change before we eat,” Rob said. “You’ll want to change as well, aye?”

  She glanced down at the brownish wool gown she’d borrowed and nodded. They’d known each other for such a short time. How could he be thinking of marriage? If only she could straighten out all of the mess going on inside her brain, she might be able to make some sense of her thoughts and sort through her feelings.

  “There ye are, milady,” Beth called from the stairs. “I’ve been looking for ye. If ye please, come to yer chamber. There’s no’ much time.”

  Robley gave her a little push. “Go, love. I’ve much to do before greeting my parents.”

  His parents. Right. What would they think when he shared his grand plan? What did it matter? They only had about three weeks before the faerie warrior came back for Robley. Her heart slid to the pit of her stomach. Her life had been so simple, her goals clear, and then everything had gone all Twilight Zone on her. Erin hurried up the stairs and followed Beth down the corridor to her chamber.

  “I’ve taken the liberty o’ bringin’ a ewer o’ hot water so ye can wash up a bit.” Beth hustled her through the door. “Then I’ll do your hair and help ye into a fresh gown.”

  “Thanks.” Obediently, Erin removed her work clothes and washed. Her mind on other things, she allowed Beth to dress her in another of Elaine’s left-behind gowns, this one a lovely shade of gold. Beth led her to the chair beside the hearth, sat her down and brushed her hair, arranging it into a French braid. She was going to have to face True in a few minutes. Embarrassment heated her face again, and she blew out a long breath. Best get it over with.

  “Something troubles you, Erin.” Not a question, but a statement.

  Well, that was an understatement. She’d been caught up in Rob’s wake as he’d been returned to his own time. Life as she knew it had been ripped from her, and she’d just been informed that should Robley survive past his allotted thirty days, he’d post the banns for their wedding. “Are you married, Beth? I didn’t think to ask you before.”

  “Aye, I’m wed to the weaver’s oldest son. He tends the sheep along with his da and brother. We’ve a small cottage on the island.” She helped Erin to stand. “Best be going.”

  “Are you happily married? Robley said a MacKintosh man gives his heart only once, and then it’s given forever.”

  “Aye, ’tis true.” Beth grinned dreamily. “Verra happy. We want a bairn sae badly though, and none ha’ taken root thus far. Mayhap you have some herbs or a concoction?” Sadness flashed through her eyes, chasing the dreamy look away.

  “How long have you been trying?”

  “Since midsummer.”

  “I wouldn’t worry yet. If you’d like, I can show you how to tell when you’re ovulating. In fact, I’ve been thinking about teaching a natural family planning class for any of the women who might be interested. Do you think that would go over well?” Thoughts of the villagers doing the sign of the cross and backing away from her flitted through her mind.

  “Ovulating?” Beth’s brow creased. “I dinna ken what that means.”

  “When you’re most likely to get pregnant.” Put it in terms they understand, that’s what True had told her. “The time in your cycle when your husband’s seed is most likely to take root.”

  “Och, aye?” Her face lit up. “I’m certain many of the women would be grateful for any help you wish tae share, milady.”

  “Good.” Excitement for the project gave her a reprieve from the worries crowding her brain, if only temporarily. Planning the curriculum for her class filled her mind. Where would she hold the sessions? The clinic was tiny. Maybe she’d start with small groups, or perhaps True could arrange for her to have the classes in the great hall while the men were all doing their testosterony type things in the lists. How would birth control go over with the men, she wondered. They made their way back to the great hall, and Beth left her.

  True crossed the room, smirking all the way. “Sorry about bursting in on you two like that,” she whispered. “I had no idea Robley was back.”

  She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “No biggie.” Her eyes slid to True. “You will keep it to yourself, right?”

  The sound of True’s laughter drew Malcolm’s gaze—along with the attention of Rob’s parents, uncle and aunt. Great. Erin could feel the color rising up her neck again. Robley’s mother and aunt left their husbands’ sides to join them.

  “Good eve to you, my dear,” Rosemary greeted her warmly.

  “Good evening.” Erin curtsied, encompassing Lydia in her greeting.

  “How are things coming along with your clinic?” Lydia asked.

  “They’re going well. I’ve assembled the things I need to attend births, and I’ve cleaned the cottage from top to bottom. It’s nice to have a central place where I can organize.” She smiled. The clinic was a definite bright spot in the dome of doom she was living under.

  “Come.” Lydia gestured toward the dais. “Let us sup. You must be famished after all your efforts this day, aye? And I see the servants are eager to begin serving.”

  Robley appeared at the top of the stairs, and her breath caught. His hair still damp, he wore a clean white shirt with billowing sleeves under a crimson plaid. Her pulse went wild at the sight of him. He hadn’t shaved. She liked the beard. A lot. Her mouth must’ve dropped open, or she was drooling, because True nudged her, smirking again.

  “Busted,” True whispered into her ear.

  Rob’s mother and aunt exchanged an inscrutable look before Rosemary made a beeline for her son. Flustered, Erin stood awkwardly aside as Rob’s parents converged on him.

  “My lad,” Rosemary cried, wrapping her arms around him. “We thought we’d lost you.”

  Robert clasped his son’s shoulder. “Good to have you home,” he croaked. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  “’Tis good to be home.” Rob hugged his mother and turned toward his father. “I’m sorry I caused you such worry.”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” his dad said, ushering them toward the dais. “Now that your mother kens you’re safe and sound, she can eat again.”

  Erin felt Rob’s internal flinch of regret and guilt at his father’s words, and she suffered an echoing internal cringe of her own.

  “You OK?” True asked her.

  “Not really,” Erin muttered. “Robley—” The doors to the great hall swung open, and the ferry master burst through.

  He removed the cap from his head, twisted it in his hands and shifted his weight back and forth. “Begging your pardon.” He bobbed his head. “I’ve come tae fetch the midwife.” His Adam’s apple bobbed this time. “My daughter . . . ’tis too soon, but . . .”

  Instinct kicked in, and years of training wiped away any thought of her own problems. She had a job to do. “I’ll go change, and I have to stop at the cottage for my bag. I’ll meet you at the ferry.”

  “My thanks, milady.” Arlen turned and left just as suddenly as he’d arrived.

  “Do you need help?” True asked.

  “No.” She stared pointedly at her friend’s belly. “You need to take care of yourself. Rest. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll see you safely to the mainland.” Ro
b came to her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

  “I’m only going to the village. Stay. Have supper with your parents.” She reached out to touch his cheek, thought better of it and dropped her hand to her side. “They’ve missed you, and I know how worried they’ve been.”

  He gripped the hilt of the dagger at his waist, his brow furrowed. His glance went back and forth between his family and her, clearly torn.

  “It’s all right, Rob. I’ll be fine. Arlen will be with me, and anyway, it’s not like I’m going to be with strangers.”

  He snatched her up in his arms, kissed her soundly on the lips and let her go just as suddenly. “Should you need aught, send someone to the island for me.”

  “I will.” His inner conflict and desire washed over her, and she responded in a rush of breathlessness and want—as she always did with him. She headed for the stairs, keeping her eyes focused in front of her. His family had witnessed their kiss. What must they think?

  She undid her gown along the way, tugging it off as she crossed her room to the peg where her work clothes hung. She changed quickly, drew her cloak around her shoulders and raced down the back stairway to the shortcut leading to the postern gate. Rushing through the kitchen gardens, she glanced at the dry stalks, all that remained of the vegetables and herbs from the summer.

  This was the woman’s first baby, and it was coming early. Arlen was worried. She had fears of her own, but if her presence helped ease the ferry master’s fears, the sooner she reached him the better. She stopped at the cottage she and True shared, grabbed the sack containing everything she’d put together and rushed down the path to the ferry. Arlen paced in front of the mooring.

  “Let’s go,” she told him as she jumped onto the wooden planks. “Did your wife start water boiling like I instructed?”

  “Aye, lass.” He threw off the ropes and pushed out onto the lake.

  “What’s your daughter’s name again? I’ve forgotten. I’ve met so many people in the past week.”

  “Alma, and me wife’s name is Etan.”

  “Right. Got it.” She placed her hand on the old man’s forearm. “Everything’s going to be fine, Arlen.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed again, and he nodded. “’Tis grateful I am tae ha’ you here, lass. This being her first and it coming sae soon and all—me and the missus is a bit fashed.”

  “I understand.” Her touch soothed him, and he visibly relaxed.

  They made record time to the opposite shore, where a younger man waited. Arlen left him to secure the ferry, and he led her to his daughter’s home a short distance away.

  “Who is the young man you left with the ferry? Is that Alma’s husband?”

  “Nay. ’Tis my son. Monroe will man the ferry this eve. Though ’tis unlikely any will want tae cross at this hour. Alma’s husband will be at home with her by now, I expect.”

  First order of business would be to send the men away. She was all for husbands being labor coaches, but not without prior training, and not without making sure they had bathed and changed into clean clothes beforehand. She didn’t want the risk of infection, and a new mother didn’t need her husband’s anxiety adding to her own, especially in the case of a preemie. When she’d visited Alma, she’d guessed her to be around thirty-two weeks. She hoped her guess was accurate. A baby had a good chance of surviving at that point, especially if it was a girl.

  They came to a small cottage with a loft, and Arlen knocked on the door. A young man answered, his face tight with tension, he sucked in a huge breath when he caught sight of her and launched into rapid-fire Gaelic. All she could do was shake her head.

  “Speak the words of the Sassenach, lad,” Arlen admonished. “Lady True has said more than once the lady was no’ raised amongst her kin.”

  “Och, begging your pardon,” the young man said, bowing his head to her. “Welcome to our home. We’re verra grateful to ye.”

  “I’m glad to help.” Erin’s brow rose. What story had been circulated regarding her upbringing? “Please, call me Erin.” She pushed her way past the men and surveyed the interior. The scent of mint permeated the place, and everything appeared to be clean and tidy. Alma and her mother stood by the hearth. The young woman’s eyes were huge with fright, and a sheen of perspiration made her forehead glow in the light of the fire.

  “If it’s all right with you”—Erin turned to Arlen and the father-to-be—“I’d like to send you both on your way. Is there somewhere you can go?”

  “Aye.” Arlen put his hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder. “To the inn for a pint, and then we’ll await news at me and me wife’s cottage.” He shot Etan a look as if asking her permission.

  “’Tis a good idea, Arlen. We’ll send for ye.” Etan shooed them toward the door. “Be off now, and let us do what needs tae be done.”

  Erin rolled up her sleeves and took out the soap from the bag she’d brought with her. “You’ve boiled water?”

  “Aye, mum. There’s some cooling on the table there and more a boilin’, just as ye said tae.” Etan pointed to the table.

  “Let’s wash our hands and arms, and then we’re going to give you a quick bath as well, Alma. It’ll help you to feel more comfortable.” She started washing, and Etan joined her. They stripped Alma down, washed her and put a short linen gown over her head, just as a contraction hit her.

  “It’s too soon,” Alma wailed through her pains. “The bairn is comin’ far too soon.”

  “There’s not a lot we can do about that.” A narrow cot had been set up in one corner, and Erin noticed the ticking was wool rather than straw. Hopefully that meant fewer vermin, and from what True had told her, mint was used as a repellent. After the contraction passed, she had Alma lie back and lift her knees so she could check to see how dilated and effaced she was. “You’re at four centimeters.” She frowned. Something wasn’t right. She didn’t get anything from the baby—no signs of life emanated from the fetus. Oh God.

  After she washed her hands again, she rested her palms on Alma’s belly once more, hoping against hope she’d been wrong. What she would give for a stethoscope and fetal monitor about now. “When was the last time you felt movement, like the baby kicking?”

  Alma’s expression shifted into alarm. “Why do ye ask. Ah!” Another contraction began.

  “Breathe, Alma. Pant like a hound. It’ll help you get through it.” Erin kept her hands on her patient to ease some of the discomfort as she strained. Alma rode the crest, blowing out a long breath once the pain subsided. Should she tell her?

  “Etan, in my bag you’ll find a smaller bag with some herbal tea inside. Can you make up a nice mug for Alma? It’ll help her labor progress and ease some of the pain.”

  “Aye, mum.”

  “Please, call me Erin.”

  “Aye, mum.” The older woman gathered what she needed to brew the herbs Erin and True had blended for the purpose. “What else can I do? I’ve got the drying cloths folded and ready tae go right there, and we boiled them clean like ye said tae.” She jutted her chin toward the neat pile of linens set on end of the cot. “The water is boilin’. Shall I move it awa’ from the fire?”

  “That would be good.” Erin turned to Alma. If it were her, she’d want to know. “Alma, I’m afraid for your baby. I don’t detect any signs of life. That’s why I asked about the last time you might have felt any movement.”

  “Nay. You’re wrong,” she cried. “It can’t be. I felt the bairn kick earlier this day. I swear it.”

  “I hope so.” She knew better, but upsetting Alma further would not change anything.

  Time went by, and Alma made steady progress in textbook fashion. Sometime around midnight, the urge to push came over her. “Etan, can you prop her up from behind?” Erin got into position to catch the baby. One more push and the tiny body slid from its mother, perfectly formed, but stillborn. “I’m so sorry, A
lma. I’m so sorry.” She remained where she was to ensure the placenta delivered as well.

  “Oh, sweet girl,” Etan muttered. “Oh, my dear.”

  Alma wept and held out her arms. “Let me see him. Let me hold my bairn,” she wept.

  “I’ll go get her man.” Etan rushed out of the cottage.

  Erin cut the umbilical cord and wiped the tiny baby clean. She wrapped him in a blanket and placed his still form into his mother’s arms. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes stung, and helplessness to give any kind of meaningful comfort broke her heart. There were no words that could assuage the kind of loss and grief Alma was suffering. She hadn’t been prepared for this side of being a midwife. While Alma held her son, Erin cleaned up.

  The door opened, and Alma’s husband strode through, rage contorting his features. “What did you do?” he growled at her.

  “What did I do?” Erin blinked. “These things happen. Nothing I did caused your son to be stillborn, and there isn’t anything I could have done to prevent it.”

  “Humph. Mayhap you’re bad luck, and that’s why the Sutherlands let ye go sae easily.” He strode over to his wife’s side.

  “Roderick, dinna blame the midwife. She had naught—”

  “Go. All of ye. Leave us,” he shouted. “Now.” The bereaved father turned stricken eyes to them. “I dinna want ye here.”

  This time his gaze fixed on her, and the suspicion and rage she glimpsed behind his grief stole her breath.

  Etan tugged at her arm. “Come, lass.”

  They walked silently toward the ferry landing, and Erin felt as if all the eyes of the villagers were peering at her. She even caught movement from one of the windows, though when she turned to look, all she saw was the dim light of a candle coming from inside. Her tears fell freely down her cheeks, and she racked her brain for something to say that would ease Etan’s grief. Nothing came to her.

  What a way to begin her career in her new home as a midwife. How could Alma’s husband possibly blame her for the death of their baby? Arlen arrived at the ferry just as she and Etan did. “I’m so sorry about the loss of your grandchild, Etan, Arlen, but nothing I did caused the baby’s death. I believe he was already gone before Alma’s labor started.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.