Page 156 of Laird of Flint
She’d slept by herself for the past fortnight. In her condition, she found she grew too hot and restless with another person in the bed.
But she wasn’t alone. Standing in the middle of the floor in the dim morning light was a rat.
“Not today, Twinkle,” she told the wee beast. “Ye should make yourself scarce. The chamber’s goin’ to be full o’ maids soon.”
The rat didn’t budge, only sniffed patiently at the air.
“Och fine,” she relented, breaking off a crumb from the oatcakes she kept by the bed.
She tossed it to Twinkle, who scampered off through a gap in the garderobe curtain.
“And don’t come back until everyone’s left.”
Then she summoned the maid, who called the midwife, who called another midwife, who called four more maids to assist. This was the Laird of Dunlop’s grandchild, after all. They wanted no mistakes.
While the servants readied the chamber, stoking the fire, hauling water, bringing linens, Carenza felt more waves tightening her belly. As she’d seen the coos and sheep do, she huffed out her breath until they passed.
Between contractions, she thought wistfully about the marriage document. She had hoped it would arrive before the bairn was born. But no one knew what had happened to Sister Eve. Carenza hoped she was all right.
Someone was sent to wake her father and Hew, though she felt that was unnecessary. They might as well sleep. Birthing was usually an all-day process. Besides, Hew was already nervous about the ordeal. It seemed cruel to draw out his suffering.
At least they could keep each other company. As it turned out, they were nearly inseparable. And whether it was Hew’s influence or the threat of losing her or the impending birth, her father had softened in his attitudes. He no longer cared if everything was perfect.
He made no mention of the missing marriage decree. By his behavior, he assumed they were legitimately wed. He already treated Hew as if he were his son. He’d even had Hew’s precious axe replaced. Though he couldn’t reproduce the runes, he’d hadAmor vincit omniacarved into the handle.
He made no comment about Carenza’s appearance, even though she knew she was as large as a coo and bedraggled as a molting owl. He was just thrilled to be getting an heir.
She breathed through another mild contraction. One of the midwives set up the birthing chair, though she wouldn’t need it for hours. A superstitious maidservant slipped a dagger under her pillow, whispering that it would cut the pain. Another maid mopped Carenza’s brow with a damp rag. The pain passed, and Carenza smiled. The quiet efficiency of the ladies around her was curiously calming.
“’Tis been hours,” Hew growled in complaint as one of the maidservants tending to Carenza emerged onto the crowded great hall.
“These things take time, m’laird,” she said.
“But she’s all right?” the Laird of Dunlop asked.
“Och aye, she’s fine.”
Hew and the laird exchanged glances of dubious relief and returned to pacing.
Hew felt as if he were at his wit’s end. His heart raced. Every nerve was on edge. Carenza was fighting a battle in her bedchamber. And there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do to help her.
He shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn’t made the decision to return to Dunlop.
As for her father, he wasn’t helping Hew’s mood. His face was sickly pale with fear. He’d chewed his lip until it was raw. Even his hounds in the corner of the hall whimpered, sensing his unease.
The laird stopped him mid-pace, seizing his arm. “Do ye think we should fetch the physician?”
Hew wondered. It wasn’t normally done. Physicians knew little about childbirth. That was a midwife’s purview. On the other hand, this was his child and the heir to Dunlop. “I’m not sure. Should we?”
The maidservant suddenly appeared beside them again with a pair of ales. “Nay, m’lairds. ’Tis already crowded enough in her bedchamber. Here. Have a wee bit to drink. ’Twill help calm your fears.”
“I don’t want to calm my fears,” Hew snapped, grabbing a cup and downing it anyway.
The maidservant didn’t even flinch. Still, Hew felt remorse the instant he opened his mouth. He sounded like his mother, lashing out in anger at anyone in his path.
“Och, forgive me,” he said. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just…”
“Ye’re just a man waitin’ for his child to be born.”
