Dusk was settling in a grey cloak over the land when Galan and Tea rode back into Dun Ringill. Galan’s warriors had lit torches on the defensive walls; golden beacons beckoning them home.
It had been a tense return journey. The easy camaraderie they had enjoyed earlier that day had gone after the kiss they had shared. When Tea would not answer Galan’s concerns, he retreated. The man who rode beside her now, was the same cold stranger she had enjoyed hating on her first days here.
Only now she knew that was not the real man.
It had been an effort to choke back the tears, but she had forced herself to. She could not weep in front of Galan, could not tell him the real reason for her upset. He would not understand. Who would understand such foolish fears?
Tea hardly understood them herself.
All she knew was that she would not love, she would not let anyone in. If you cared, you risked loss—better to turn your heart to stone.
She was considering this decision, and reflecting on the lonely existence before her, when they rode through the gate into the fort. Dismounting in front of the stables, they led their ponies into their stalls and began the process of unsaddling and rubbing down.
Each of them kept their silence for a while, but it was eventually Galan who broke it.
“Whatever I did to upset you, I’m sorry for it,” he said, regarding her over the withers of his stallion. The braziers at the entrance to the stable cast long shadows over the stalls, illuminating Galan’s strong, proud face in gold.
Tea met his gaze, stifling a wince at the confused look on his face. She could not let him blame himself.
“You did nothing wrong, Galan,” she said huskily. “It’s me. I can’t give you what you seek.”
He opened his mouth to answer her but was forestalled by Donnel, who strode into the stables.
Excitement danced in Donnel’s eyes, his body tense with purpose. His gaze darted between Galan and Tea, barely noting the tension between them. “You’re back!”
Galan glanced his brother’s way, his expression darkening. Donnel’s appearance had shattered a delicate moment between man and wife. “What is it?” he snapped.
“It’s Luana—the babe is coming a month early.”
Tea threw down the twist of straw she had been using to rub down her stallion. She shifted focus, her thoughts leaving Galan and fixing upon her sister-by-marriage. If the babe was coming early, Luana would be upset.
“I must go to her,” she announced before striding from the stall. “Luana will need me.”
***
“Move around if you want to.” Tea rubbed Luana’s lower back soothingly. “It will help the cramps.”
Luana’s pretty face scrunched in discomfort but she did as Tea bid, pacing around the alcove, her bare feet crunching on fresh rushes. “I’m exhausted already,” she said, her voice breathy with pain. “My feet feel as if they’re filled with wet sand. My ankles have been swollen since dawn.”
Tea watched her, a frown furrowing her brow. For the first time leaving Dun Ardtreck she wished Eithni was here. Although she was young, her sister had already brought a number of healthy babes into the world. Tea had assisted her at some of the births, and knew what to do to help—yet she lacked Eithni’s confidence, her healer’s touch.
Luana’s pregnancy had concerned her; she had not carried the babe easily and had complained of fatigue and ‘heaviness’ for a while now. Dun Ardtreck’s midwife, a middle-aged woman named Alia, had been summoned. Tea hoped she would take control of the situation and soothe Luana’s fears.
“It’s too soon,” Luana gasped, clutching her lower back as she took short, pained steps around the small space. “What if the babe is harmed?”
“Many children are born early,” Tea assured her with more confidence than she felt. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
At that moment, the hanging of stitched goat-skin that shielded them from the open space beyond, drew aside and a short, heavyset woman with dark braided hair and flushed cheeks entered.
“Now,” she clucked, bustling over to Luana. “Why the worried face?”
“The babe has come too soon,” the young woman groaned, doubling over as a contraction seized her. “It’s not right. I don’t feel right.”
“Nonsense.” Alia cast Tea a stern look, as if she blamed her for Luana’s agitation. “Women give birth to healthy babes every day, and you will be one.”
Luana attempted a smile of gratitude that turned into a wince as the contractions returned.
Satisfied, she had calmed Luana sufficiently, Alia glanced back in Tea’s direction. “Get me hot water and fresh linen. The babe will be coming soon.”
Donnel and Luana’s son was born as the moon reached its zenith that night. Talor mac Donnel was a tiny babe, so small he fit into his father’s cupped hands. He was a red-faced infant who squawked like an angry fowl.
Donnel’s eyes glistened with tears as he cradled his son in his arms. Exhausted, her delicately featured face pale against the dark furs, Luana gave her husband a wan smile. “He will be handsome, like his father.”
Donnel smiled. “And hopefully wise, like his mother.”
Looking on, Tea’s eyes misted. It was a tender scene and one for them to share in private. Satisfied her work was done, Alia had gone off to her fur by the fire. Tea needed to leave them now too.
She edged back to the hanging and slipped beyond it. The fire in the great hearth had burned down to embers and a chill lay in the air. Tea shivered and padded over to the alcove she shared with Galan. Like her, he had stayed awake until the babe had been delivered, and he was waiting for her when she entered. He propped himself up on one elbow, regarding her sleepily.
“All is well?”
“Aye, Luana just needs to rest.”
No sooner had she spoken when Donnel’s shout rang out through the stone fort, followed by an infant’s wail. “Alia!”
Tea started, her hand going to her throat. Whirling, she pushed back through the hanging, aware of movement behind her as Galan sprang from the furs.
She reached Donnel’s alcove to find Luana in convulsions. Donnel gripped the crying babe under one arm, while he tried to still his wife with the other.
Tea rushed forward and plucked wailing Talor from Donnel. A moment later, Alia stumbled into the alcove, her eyes wide.
“The Mother preserve us,” she gasped. “She has the birthing sickness.”
The birthing sickness. Tea clutched Talor to her breast, terror washing over her. She had never heard of it.
“What’s wrong with her?” Galan demanded from over Tea’s shoulder.
“Don’t just stand there gawping, woman,” Donnel snarled at the midwife. “Do something!”
Face ashen, Alia rushed to Luana’s side. She grabbed a scrap of linen, dipped it into the bowl of water beside her and tried to mop Luana’s face. However, the convulsing woman paid her no heed; her head was now jerking from side to side.
“There are poisons in her body,” the midwife muttered, her eyes bulging as she tried to keep Luana from hitting her in the face. “They are devouring her.”
“Can you stop them?” Galan now stood next to Tea, his face revealing the same horror she felt.
Alia’s eyes gleamed with tears as she shook her head. “There’s nothing anyone can do. When the birthing sickness hits, the woman will die.”
Donnel’s roar of rage echoed through the alcove. “Save her!”
“I can’t.” Tears now ran down the midwife’s face. She grasped hold of Luana’s convulsing shoulders and tried to pin her to the bed.
Tea, Galan and Donnel watched, horrified, as Luana’s body went rigid, her eyes rolling back in her head. A heartbeat later, she slumped, lifeless, in the midwife’s arms.