Highland Magic (45 page)

The babe was early. By at least two moons.
This wasn’t good. And surprisingly, the thought of losing the babe
broke his heart. He’d grown accustomed over the past sennights of
thinking of it as his own; watching Branwenn’s body grow and gently
harbor the wee one under her heart had softened his own.

At the door of the building, he quickly tied
the reins to the post. “I’m here,” he said, lifting Branwenn into
his arms and then taking two steps inside so he could settle her
upon the blanket as best he could.

Branwenn still hadn’t opened her eyes. Her
brows were furrowed, her face, flushed, and her skin was drenched.
She was panting and whimpering as she held her belly. “The babe’s
coming, I can feel it!” she said suddenly. She opened her eyes and
lifted up a bit, straining forward. “Oh God, Oh God! It hurts!”

Callum hadn’t been allowed in the childbed
chamber when Lara had delivered their daughter, so he was frantic
now. He had no knowledge of what must be done, what he could do to
help her. A thought struck, and ‘twas not a good one: What if he
lost her as well? Nay. Remain calm. ‘Twas the only way. He took a
deep breath and looked around. The birth chair! Praise be to
heaven! “Branwenn, I must try and get you out of these soaked
clothes, I think, for they surely will only get in the way in a
moment.”

Branwenn’s eyes were tightly clamped shut
once more, as were her teeth. She gave him a short nod.

Callum quickly unlaced the gown she wore.
Thankfully, the laces ran down the side and not the back. ‘Twas a
struggle, but he was at last able to lift it from under her prone
body and up over her head. Luckily, the chemise lifted off with the
gown, leaving Branwenn completely bare. He was stunned momentarily
by the beauty of her fertile form, but when she threw her head back
and cried out, he put his arm behind her back, saying, “I think we
should get you in that birth chair. I believe it aids the mother to
deliver her babe, somehow. At least, ‘twas what the craftsman told
me when I gave him coin to carve it.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Will
you look first to see if my babe is coming out of my womb? It feels
like she is.”

Callum nodded and she settled back on her
elbows, opening her legs. “Do you see her?”

For the first time, Callum
noticed the small amount of blood and nearly swooned from the dread
it caused him. Was it natural, common?
Oh,
Holy Father
, he prayed,
I beg you, let it be common!
Then he realized he was looking at the crown of a very
dark-haired head. “Aye! The babe’s starting to push out. I’ve got
to get you to the chair, love, now!”

He put one arm behind her back and the other
under her knees and shot to his feet. In a matter of only a minute,
she was settled on the stool and bearing down once more. “Oh, God!
My womb’s tightening up again! Here she comes, Callum, take hold of
her!”

Callum thrust his arms under the opening and
his daughter dropped into them. Just as quickly, and as
beautifully, as that. As he reverently brought her up toward his
face so he could see her more clearly, Branwenn said, “Grandmother
Maclean said something about clearing the babe’s mouth and nose and
then holding her and rubbing her back until she cries. Make
haste!”

Callum placed his sticky
daughter, still attached to her mother, up to his chest. The
breadth of her back was half the size of his hand span. He began to
rub her back, as Branwenn had told him to do.
Oh, God. Please don’t die.

She let out a lusty cry, and continued to do
so as Callum and Branwenn looked at each other in joyful
amazement.

“I think you have to cut the cord now. But
Grandmother Maclean said she always douses her scissors with
spirits before she uses them, for luck. ‘Tis a Maclean
tradition.”

Callum thought quickly. “I
have some
uisge beatha
in my satchel. Here, take her,” he said, leaning forward and
handing her the babe. Then he was out the door. Before Branwenn had
time to say more than a few words to her daughter, who was now
quiet again, he was back inside and rustling through the sewing
cask for her scissors. He strode over to them and efficiently cut
the cord and tied it off—that much he knew to do, as he’d seen the
result of such after Laire’s birth.

Branwenn felt her womb tighten. “Oh, Lord! I
forgot. Grandmother Maclean said to expect the sack attached to the
cord to flush from my womb once the babe arrived.” She handed her
daughter to Callum and sat forward to relieve the pressure. In a
moment, the deed was done and Branwenn was beginning to feel a deep
lethargy overtake her.

Callum helped her to rise
and settled her on the blanket. “I need to clean the two of you up
a bit. Do you mind if I use the
uisge
beatha
? ‘Tis all that I have.”

Branwenn would have laughed if she’d had the
energy. Instead, she smiled and said, “You’re sure to make the lass
thirst for the stuff for all her days, but, aye, ‘twill be fine to
do so.”

He strode over to the sewing cask once more
and lifted out a fine piece of linen. After dousing it in the
liquor, he quickly wiped the babe clean and then settled her back
on Branwenn’s bosom. The babe found her nipple as quickly, and
ravenously, as he did. Callum laughed, but thought better of saying
his thoughts aloud.

Branwenn felt dozy. But excited as well. Her
babe was so beautiful. She had all her fingers, and all her toes.
Did she have the mark? She opened her wee legs and looked. Aye,
there it was. And ‘twas beautiful. Gorgeous. Not ugly at all.

Branwenn grinned down at her hungry bairn.
‘Twas such a strange and glorious feeling, nursing her babe. And
she looked so much like Callum when he was at the same pursuit. She
could feel the milk being drawn from her breast, but she wanted to
make sure. ‘Twas a bit of a struggle, for the lass had a powerful
hold on it, but she at last freed the nipple from her daughter’s
mouth long enough to test that enough was coming out before
offering it up to her babe once more.

As Branwenn nursed their daughter, Callum
washed clean her thighs and, as lightly as he could, dabbed the
remnants of the childbed from the outer flesh of her womb. “Praise
be, there’s no tearing.” He lifted his gaze to her countenance.
“Are you well? Do you hurt?”

Branwenn met his gaze and smiled. “Aye...and
Nay, I feel wonderful, in fact. Glorious.” Her babe made a loud
sucking noise and they both laughed. Branwenn turned her attention
back on her babe once more.

After a few minutes, she felt Callum settle
next to her on the blanket and looked up. He wasn’t looking at her.
Nay, he was looking at their daughter—and he had the same
expression now that he had had that day so many moons before when
he’d held Laire in his arms, and she’d realized she loved him.
Lord, but he was beautiful. Lovely and strong, gentle and generous,
was he.

“All right. I’ll wed you.”

Callum’s eyes shot up to her own and he
grinned like an idiot. “Praise be. I’m a lucky man.” He leaned
forward and kissed her. Not with passion—although, she certainly
could feel the heat hidden deep in the embrace—but with awe. And
love.

* * *

The MacGregor chapel was a silent, reverent
place that July morn as Callum and Branwenn once again rested on
bended knee at the altar awaiting the priest. Their daughter—Mai,
they’d named her—would be baptized afterward as well, as they’d
waited until Branwenn was allowed back inside the church after
childbed in order that she, too, could be part of the baptismal
services. Maryn sat holding their daughter on the front bench
behind them, and all their other family, save one—Reys—were there
as well.

Alyson had only had one missive from him all
these moons, for he was caught up in a bloody campaign with his
liege lord, Prince Llywelyn, and did not know when he might return
to retrieve his young bride.

He had confirmed to them, however, that the
contract Gaiallard had extolled as genuine was a forgery, which
eased everyone’s mind that there might be further problems coming
to bear from King John regarding Branwenn.

The priest shuffled from behind the screen
just then and had only taken two steps toward the couple when the
door swung open behind them.

“Blood of Chr—”

“Callum!” Branwenn elbowed him in the ribs,
but still turned to see who was interrupting the ceremony.

“My pardon,” Callum said irritably as he
turned toward the opened door as well. “But, truly, NOT AGAIN!”

Alyson jumped to her feet. “Reys, at last!”
She scurried up the aisle and stopped short just in front of him.
She smiled and dipped a quick curtesy. “Husband,” she said.

Reys smiled and took hold of her hand and
gave it a light squeeze before lifting it to his lips and brushing
a soft kiss over the top. “Wife.”

Alyson blushed. “Come, you must settle next
to me on the bench, for the priest is just about to bless Callum
and Branwenn’s vows. Make haste.”

After Reys and Alyson had taken their places
on the bench, the priest began the ceremony, first asking Callum
and then Branwenn to swear to the affirmative regarding each one’s
legal age to wed, that each had the consent of their family, that
they were not within the forbidden degree of consanguinity, and
finally, that each of them freely consented to the marriage.

Then, after the priest gave a short lecture
regarding mutual faithfulness, the importance of keeping the peace
in the home, and the need to educate their bairns in the ways of
the Church, he asked Callum for the ring and blessed it. After
which, Callum took the double ring set passed down to him from his
grandmother and slipped the set in turn on each of three fingers of
Branwenn’s left hand, saying, “In the Name of the Father, and of
the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” At last, he fitted them on her
third finger, saying, “With these rings I thee wed.”

“You may both rise now,” the priest said. He
bestowed the Kiss of Peace on Callum, and Callum in turn settled it
on Branwenn’s lips, tho’ his held much more heat than had the
priest’s.

The couple turned, grinning merrily, and,
even though ‘twas strictly forbidden, every single member of the
family stood up and cheered.

Thankfully, the priest only shook his head
and smiled. He, after all, was well aware of just how much these
two had endured to at last get to this moment.

* * *

“Lady Maclean, she’s such a tiny thing!”
Alyson said as she gently, tho’ a bit awkwardly, held Mai in her
arms the next dawn. The newlyweds had traveled to their new manor
for the night and had left their young ones in the care of their
family until later in the day. Alyson looked up at the older woman.
“Is it common for babe’s to be so small?”

Lady Maclean came up to stand behind Alyson’s
shoulder and gaze down at her newest great-grandchild. As she
reached around and softly stroked her finger over the rise of the
babe’s cherub cheek, she replied, “Aye, ‘tis quite common for
lasses as wee as our Branwenn to have daughters as small as they.
But worry not, Alyson, the babe is hearty and hale.” She looked up
at Alyson and grinned. “As her lusty cries and bobbing legs and
fists have shown us.”

Reys, standing a bit away from the ladies and
leaning against the wall near the window, studied his young wife as
she held his niece in her arms. ‘Twas a sight he hadn’t known he
craved seeing until this moment and it stunned him. He wasn’t
ready—she wasn’t ready—for such intimacy yet. It had only been a
bit over a year since his first wife and daughters had perished in
that terrible fire and, even now, his heart ached for them.

And Alyson. The poor girl still couldn’t bear
to be touched by him in any way that could possibly be construed as
visceral.

‘Twas good, he supposed, that his liege was
calling him to duty so soon again. ‘Twould give both of them time
to heal, to prepare themselves for that part of their marriage. And
Alyson, tho’ disappointed that he would leave her again so soon,
was not completely displeased with the notion of staying for a time
with the nuns at the convent near her family’s home in Normandy.
They were to hie there, in fact, directly from here on the
morrow.

* * *

It was not until Reys and Alyson were ready
to depart from their short visit to Tryamour Manor the next day to
continue on their journey that the mystery of Gaiallard’s knowledge
of the birthmark and freckle was at last revealed to Branwenn—with
her husband standing directly beside her.

In the past days, Reys had heard the tale of
Gaiallard’s final coup against the couple and was determined to set
all to rights with the truth. “Your daughter is beautiful,
Branwenn,” he said as he tucked a woven sack full of cheese and a
portion of mutton into his satchel for their meal later. “Does she
sport the mark of the wizard, as most of our father’s family has
done since the time of Arthur?”

Branwenn flashed a look at
Callum before settling her astonished gaze back on her brother.
“Aye, she does. As do I, but—Are you saying that
you
sport the mark as
well?”

Reys chuckled. “Yes. And if you’d stayed in
Cambria, you would have realized ‘tis quite a famous tale in the
land. Most of the natives believe us to have magic, in fact. But,
that, I can promise you, is not truth. There is no magic in our
line.” A thing he had dearly desired to have that long ago day on
the road when his mother had been taken from him forever.

Alyson blinked at the pair. “Magic?
Mark?”

Reys turned to his wife and explained: “‘Tis
an ancient tale, but most in our family sport a birthmark on our
thigh. ‘Tis rumored to be a wizard’s mark.” He held his hand out
and waited, curious, but patient, to see if she would place hers
inside it. She did—tho’ hesitantly—and he continued, “Both my
daughters had the mark and, I should warn you, there is every
chance that ours—yours and mine—will show the same.”