Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (34 page)

"Had I found one like ye, sweet Lady Fiona, I would surely have-"

"Me lady!" Hannah fairly flew through the door of the hall, her hands caught in tight fists. "Tis Eve. Her bairn comes early."

Rose stood quickly, all amusement gone from her face. "Did she na stay abed as I ordered?"

"Aye, she did, me lady. But when she went to empty her bowels this morn, the cramping began. Her husband, John, came here straightaway."

"How early is she?"

"Many weeks," breathed Hannah. "And I fear what will become of her if she loses this bairn too."

"Roderic," Rose said.

"I go to ready the horses, me lady," he said simply. "Ye gather what ye need."

They were riding before the sun topped the highest tree. Maise's stride was long and smooth beneath Rose. Roderic rode ahead, a claymore at his side and his bow across his back. Behind him came Hannah, her riding skills not great, but her concern for her sister urging her along at their swift pace.

The cottage was a low, simple building made of stone and pebbles and held together with mud. The roof was thatched with heather. No windows interrupted the rough walls of rock and mortar. A horse, borrowed from Glen Creag's stables, grazed beside the hut, testimony that the woman's husband had arrived before them.

"Me lady." He turned quickly from his wife's bed as Rose entered the humble hut. “I fear it is much as it was before."

His face was drawn and pinched and his hands, Rose noticed, were not altogether steady.

"How long did the birthings take in the past?"

"Hardly na time," blurted John, his face turned from his young wife's pale features. "Some say the bairns were lost because she didna suffer long enough during the birthings."

"Some would believe our Maker is a cruel God," rejoined Rose brusquely. "I prefer to believe He is a God of kindness." She stepped quickly forward, taking the woman's hand in her own. "A God who does not glory in our pain. How fare you, Eve?" she asked, lowering her eyes to the expectant mother's.

"I fear for the babe," gasped Eve, her lips parched, yet her brow damp. "I canna bear to bury another wee..." Her voice broke and Rose touched her cool palm to the woman's brow.

"Do not think of it," she crooned softly. 'Think of..." In her mind she heard a child's laughter, high-pitched and filled with glee. "A son," she said distantly. "With your husband's dark hair and your father's name." She lowered her gaze to Eve's, her own wide from the clarity of her vision. "Somerled," she whispered. " Tis a fine name for a strong lad."

Eve's face paled even more. "I've told no one of the name," she whispered hoarsely.

Rose's eyes held Eve's gaze. "The Lord can do many things. I believe He can grant you a healthy babe."

"Aye." Eve nodded, her lips lifting in a tremulous smile of painful hope. "Aye." She gripped Rose's hand firmly. "I also believe."

The hours passed slowly, for in truth there was little to be done but pray and wait. Rose had given her patient a tea brewed from valerian and birch leaves. It had done much to help her relax and slow her contractions, and while Rose worried now that it might delay the birthing too much, she brewed another pot and gave a mug to John and Roderic.

Men, she observed, were never good at waiting during the birthing process. Thus she had laced their tea with mild sedatives and tried to keep them busy gathering supplies that might be needed—extra blankets, a knife, wood for the fire, and as many other things as she could think of.

Meanwhile, Hannah sat at her sister's side, gripping her hand and crooning soft words of encouragement.

It was mid afternoon when the pains began in earnest. Rose redoubled her prayers, ordered a fire built, and with all the knowledge and practical sense in her keeping, eased the new life into the world.

It was a lad, wizened and red with a mop of slick black hair and miniscule fists clutched to his bony chest. Rose, however, took only a fleeting second to notice these things, for the babe was so small and fragile that it could barely squeeze out a raspy whimper in protest to its rough welcome into such a harsh world.

Cradling it against her bosom, she hurried the tiny life to his mother's bare chest, leaving the pulsing cord intact and covering the pair quickly with multiple blankets.

Warmth, comfort, and prayers. There was little else they could give it. And yet...

Rose sucked in her lower and worried. "Fetch a reed from the swamp," she ordered suddenly. "It must be green and hollow, yea long, and as narrow as ye can find."

"Aye, me lady," agreed the men, and hurried to do her bidding.

She heated water and prayed during their absence. Only once had she seen this process done, and then the babe had died. But she had seen others die too, passing on from the sheer exhaustion of living, of trying to take enough nourishment to sustain life. For suckling took great energy—energy such a tiny infant often did not possess.

But if they could express the mother's milk and feed the babe through the reed ...

Evening had come. Though the little hut felt hot as an oven to Rose, the warmth seemed to comfort the babe, for he slept like a minute angel against his mother's breast.

"Thank ye, me lady." Eve's voice was husky, her eyes moist, but Rose shook her head.

"Do not thank me," she said softly, worry etched on her brow. "Thank the Lord. But I fear there is still danger. He is so tiny." She could not see the little bundle beneath the covers but remembered with clarity the deep wisdom on the infant's scrunched face. If he could but continue to take nourishment through the reed until he was strong enough to suckle, he would yet survive his early entry into the world. "I must gather some things from Glen Creag," she said finally, "but I will return this eventide if you do not mind my staying with you."

"Nay, lady," said John from behind her, his face earnest with gratitude. "Ye would do us great honor to stay, but I fear we already owe ye more than we can ever repay."

Rose opened the door and stepped out. The two men followed. "I ask no payment, John," she said as they closed the door behind them to hold the heat within the cottage. "I only ask that you keep the babe as warm as—"

From the sky came a soft whistle. A sickening thud echoed through the glen as steel pierced Rose's flesh. She gasped in shock and fell, the reverberating wooden shaft of an arrow embedded deep within her chest.

Chapter 26

The black wolf had been slain, and Leith rode now to MacMartin's cottage to find Rose, but suddenly a rider came racing around a corner. He recognized his brother almost immediately, noticed the limp body in his arms simultaneously.

"Dear Jesu!" Leith whispered, his legs clamped hard against his stallion's sides.
"Dunna let it be. Please!
”
he prayed, knowing with the bitter burn in his soul that Rose was hurt.

"Me liege," Roderic choked, pulling his mount to a halt before his brother. Rose’s body was flaccid, her face pale against his brother’s plaid. "I have failed ye."

For a moment weakness threatened to overcome Leith, but he drew himself up, fighting the numbing pain that crushed his heart. "Is she dead?" His tone was flat and as cold as stone. He made no attempt to touch her. Indeed, he did not even allow his gaze to drop to her.

Roderic's answer was no more than a whisper, his eyes frantic above the lady's bright head. "She yet lives."

Hope! Painful in its stinging intensity! "What has happened?"

"Outside John MacMartin's hut. An arrow struck her." Roderic swallowed hard. "It passed within a hand's breadth of her heart."

Leith's gaze fell to her, drawn there against his will. "Give her to me."

She passed from hands to hands, her shoulder and breast sticky with blood.

Leith turned Beinn smoothly then paused, not moving his gaze from her still form. "Who has done this?"

"I dunna ken," rasped Roderic, "but he will die."

"Come with me," Leith ordered.

"Me laird!" Roderic said, his tone harsh. "Ye would na let this crime go unpaid!"

"Hear me now," said Leith, his voice so low it was barely audible. "He who did this shall surely die a bloody death." His mouth twitched with the force of his emotion. "But for now we shall think only of saving me lady."

The drawbridge lowered on creaky pulleys. Their horses' hooves clattered across. The courtyard was nearly empty, but the hall was filled for the evening meal and the noise abounded.

The great door swung shut behind them. Faces turned, blearing in Leith's distress as he strode through the cavernous room, his grip tight about his small bundle.

"Me laird."

"Leith!"

Words and gasps accosted him, but he acknowledged none and stopped for nothing. His world lay wrapped in stillness in his arms.

He laid her upon the bed. Fresh blood seeped through the rend in her gown.

"She saved MacMartin's bairn," Roderic said softly. " 'Twas a miracle. A lad it is. Named Somerled."

"Ye got the arrow cleanly out?" Leith asked, ignoring his brother's words.

"Aye. It went straight through." Roderic said, seeming to draw himself from a trance. "I broke it off and pulled it free."

Leith felt the pain rip through his own flesh. Sweet Jesu, if she should die ... But nay. He gritted his teeth. He would not let it happen, even if he had to make a pact with the devil.

"Shall I fetch a priest, me laird?"

"Nay!" Leith bellowed, not knowing who asked the question or who answered in unison with him. "She willna die!" He rose like a towering mountain, his face contorted with rage. "Do ye hear? She willna!"

"Nay, Leith." Mabel's hands unclasped as she touched his rigid arm. "She willna. Judith, fetch warm water and clean cloths. The rest of ye, go out. She needs rest to heal."

Leith sank to the mattress beside Rose. They did not believe she would live, he knew, but he took her hand and gripped it in both of his. They thought she knocked even now at death's door, but she would not leave him. For he loved her.

Rose woke once during the night, speaking feverishly. Leith leaned close, wiping her brow with a wet cloth and whispering gentle words.

Dawn came in grim shades of gray. The day dragged toward noon and past, yet Leith sat, motionless and silent. A quiet rap sounded at the door, but he ignored it. He would not allow others to mourn her, for in truth, he could not bear their tears.

Sometime during the night he had slipped Rose's small wooden cross from about his neck and held it now, seeking solace from the rough-hewn symbol of forgiveness and peace.

His eyes felt dry and empty—as did his soul. There was the sound of shuffling in the hall and Leith gritted his teeth, knowing Roman had bedded there, waiting to be admitted. But that was the face he could least bear to look upon, with those round, frightened eyes that mirrored his own panic with such perfect clarity.

He was Scots. He was Highlander. He was laird—strong, invincible. But without her he was nothing, only a shadow of a man who cared not whether he lived or died.

After all this time, it seemed he understood his sister and her lover. Eleanor had risked her pride and the pride of her people to be with Owen. And those who did not believe that he himself had killed Owen, believed the young man had taken his own life to be with
her.

"Sweet Jesu!" For the first time Leith could pray for the lad's soul, for surely he had suffered enough here on this earth. Losing the woman he loved had surely caused him more pain than one man should have to bear.

His prayers continued into the night, through the dark hours, interrupted now and then by Rose's moans.

Gray light seeped slowly into the room. The rain had stopped. The burning pain in Leith's heart did not.

He stood, ignoring the stiffness in his back as he went to push open the window shutter.

"Silken!" he said in surprise.

The cat rose warily from his spot on the broad window ledge.

They stared at each other—feline and human, mere inches apart.

"She willna die," Leith vowed, as if the cat's presence there challenged his words.

Silken hunched his back slightly, his ears shifting.

"Why do ye come?" Leith whispered. "Stalking about as if to take her spirit from this world." Silence echoed around him, mocking him for his one-sided conversation. "Ye shall na have her." He drew himself straighter. "She is mine."

The cat eased onto his belly, watching, waiting.

"Damn ye," swore Leith, feeling the torturing lump of fear rising hopelessly. "No one will take her from me, for she is ..." A strangled noise came from his throat. "Mine."

The single word slipped into the grayness of the morn, yet seemed to echo in his ears.
Mine. Mine.

But she was not.

He covered his eyes with his hand, imagining the misery of a future without her.

Even now she was not truly his. Not by the words of a priest or a single vow from her lips.

But even if marriage vows had been spoken, would she belong to him alone?

Nay!

The truth came to him suddenly.

She was not his! She belonged to his people. To Roman and Roderic and Mabel. To wee Somerled just birthed, and Malcolm whom she had saved. And yes, perhaps she belonged even to Silken, who could not bear to be parted from her.

"Roman!" He yelled the name, startling Silken to his feet again, though he did not turn away. "Roman." Running to the door, Leith threw up the bar.

The boy was already there, camped at their door like a small, watchful angel, his narrow face shadowed below round eyes.

"Ye kept her safe before, lad." Leith gripped the boy's arms, lifting him from the floor and carrying him to Rose's bed. "Ye shall keep her safe again. Do ye hear me?" He shook Roman gently until the lad nodded. "Dunna let her leave us. Speak to her. Call her back, lad, as ye did with yer dog," he pleaded, and then he was gone, running down the stairs, already shouting for Hannah. The sun had come out!

The wagon rumbled along, bearing its precious burdens quickly toward Glen Creag. Again the drawbridge lowered. Again unshod hooves clattered across.