And hard, hard work it was. Cora lost track of the outside world, as she always did in this kind of work — her whole heart was with the woman in labor, every shred of empathy extended to help her feel in control, to feel she was in safe hands, to feel not so alone in the grips of this profoundly powerful natural phenomenon. Between contractions Audrina was able to communicate that she was certain it was twins. The size of her certainly supported that theory. Audrina had always been a slender woman, and to see her the size of the side of a house was all the evidence Cora needed of a multiple birth. Besides, she always trusted women’s intuition on these things. If it felt like two babies, it was usually two babies — that was, if it wasn’t three.

Colin was almost comical in his desperation to help, and his utter helplessness in the face of what was happening. He reappeared lugging a huge bowl of hot water and almost slopped the entire thing down his front when Audrina screamed — she laughed a little and apologized as the contraction ebbed. Cora set him to work gently bathing his wife’s forehead with a damp cloth — it was more for his benefit than hers, but he set about his task with the seriousness of a surgeon. Definitely one of the good ones, Cora thought to herself. If Audrina was going to abandon her entire life to have twins with some Scottish stranger, she could have done a lot worse.

Ian reappeared at some point with an armful of strange bottles, poultices and potions — he’d placed them on a chair while making an incredibly deliberate effort not to look at any of the proceedings, then nearly crashed into the door in his haste to get out of their way. Cora almost groaned to look at the meager supplies before she recognized Audrina’s careful handwriting on some of the bottles. Her friend confirmed that they were supplies she’d been cultivating and gathering — proper, proven remedies, not just superstition — and Cora’s knowledge of herbalism did the rest. Not an alcohol wipe in sight, she grumbled to herself, but it would have to do. At least there were antiseptic tinctures, as well as some for pain relief, which the flagging Audrina was in sore need of.

Margaret, in one of her quiet entrances to the chamber with fresh cloths, pointed out a small pouch of something — “For strength and fortitude,” she said quietly.

Cora trusted the older woman’s experience.

It was several hours longer of hard labor before the crunch time came. Cora was ready, and so was Audrina — a new focus came into her eyes when Cora looked up from checking her dilation to nod solemnly.

“Do you want him back in here?” she asked quietly. Colin had been banished again by Margaret and her maids for getting underfoot.

Audrina nodded, her jaw tight and hands fisted in the bedclothes. There was still a lot of blood, and her face was pale, but Cora knew how strong her friend was. She’d need that strength.

Later, she’d look back and realize that the sun must have crested the horizon sometime during the birth of the two babies — cold gray light had been creeping into the room for some time, but as Audrina uttered one final battle cry and pushed her daughter into the world, Cora noticed the light was warmer. The babe screwed its face up against the light and screamed — Colin and Audrina both uttered astonished laughter, stealing a quick glance at each other then gazing at their daughter.

Cora beamed, doing a quick check that the little one was more or less intact (ten fingers and toes, good enough for her) before swathing her in a soft piece of cloth and handing her to her father. He gazed down at her tiny face — and before long, Cora was holding a second one, just as perfect, just as unimpressed to be out in the cold and the light.

“He’s so loud,” Audrina mumbled. Her body was dropped across the pillows like a soldier who’d just come in from war, chest heaving as she finally caught her breath.

Cora gave her the boy — she took him with the wonder of a new mother, gathered him to her chest, heedless of the slime and blood that covered his squalling face as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. Colin, surprisingly gentle for a man so large, gently placed their daughter into her other arm.

Cora smiled. “I’ll be back in just a moment,” she murmured quietly, and stepped out of the birthing chamber. Audrina would need to be cleaned up, but for the moment it was important for the new family to have a moment together.

She was surprised to find a handful people standing in the corridor, among them a tall, elegant woman in a beautiful green dress. By her side stood a young boy, perhaps nine or ten years old — a scrawny thing, big eyes and grazes on his knee. Ian was there, too — he clearly hadn’t slept — and Margaret, along with the handful of maids who had assisted with the birth.

“How’s Maeve?” Ian said anxiously. “And the bairns?”

“She’s fine,” Cora confirmed, discreetly tucking her bloodied hands out of sight. “Exhausted, but fine. Two healthy babies, a boy and a girl.”

The corridor erupted in cheers — Cora shushed them, a broad smile dancing across her face.

“Thank you so much, young woman,” said the woman in green, stepping forward. “We haven’t met. I’m Mary MacClaran, Ian’s mother and Lady of —”

“Congratulations, Grandma!”

Mary blinked — the boy at her side collapsed into giggles. “I suppose I’d best get used to that. Donal, hush your noise. This is my other son, Donal, wee hellraiser that he is.”

Donal sketched a formal little bow to her — the effect somewhat ruined by the giggling fit he was clearly still gripped by.

Cora smiled. “I’m Cora Wilcox. Pleased to meet you all.” She hesitated. “You have a lovely home.”

“I think we’ll have a lot to talk about later, Cora,” Mary said, thoughtfully. “For now, you’re an honored guest in our house. Margaret will show you to your quarters when you’re ready. For now, I think it best we all get some rest and let Cora finish her work.”

Donal whined. “But I want to see the wee bairns! I’m an uncle now,” he added wisely. “I need to start teaching them life lessons.”

Ian cuffed him around the ears, not hard. “Git.”

The crowd dispersed. Cora tapped gently on the door before she let herself back in. Colin was holding his daughter, gazing into the little girl’s face in absolute rapture. Audrina was cleaning her son’s face with the corner of the bedsheet.

“I’ll give them both a bath for you, don’t fret.”

Colin looked up, eyes aglow. “Thank you, Cora. Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

“Don’t thank me til I’ve cleaned up,” she chuckled as Audrina gently handed over the baby boy. “They’re beautiful little souls, honestly. Do you have names all picked out?”

Margaret had stepped into the room behind Cora — she had readied a couple of large basins of water, a perfect temperature to bathe the babies in, and some soft clean blankets for them to be swaddled in. She and a couple of the maids set to bathing the newborns while Cora checked on Audrina and gently cleaned her up.

“You’re in pretty good shape for someone who’s just given birth to twins,” she told her, gently removing the last of the soiled bedclothes — there were clean sheets hidden beneath the layers of bloodied ones so the exhausted mother wouldn’t have to be moved too far. Good thing, too — Audrina was already asleep. Colin was stroking her tangled hair back behind her ears the way she liked to keep it — he looked up again as Cora tucked a clean blanket around his wife.

“So you’re from Audrina’s time,” Colin murmured, eyes twinkling.

“What?” Cora looked up. “I thought you called her Maeve.”

“My wife has a few names. And a few lifetimes, for that matter. She was brought here by magic — by our need for her. My need for her. And it seems that her need for you brought you here too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cora murmured. With the birth over, all the questions and confusion that she had put aside were beginning to resurface. Where was she? And now — for the first time, stirring like an unwelcome guest in the back of her head, a different question, the kind of question that belonged in low-budget science fiction.

When was she?

“Get some rest, Cora Wilcox,” Colin said kindly, reaching out to touch her arm — she realized she had been staring at him for several minutes without speaking, her own thoughts taking over her mind. Silly, silly — but it was dawn, and she hadn’t slept in what felt like years, and —

“What’s happening?” she whispered. “Where am I? What — what is this?”

“You’re in Scotland, friend. A few hundred years before your time, if my wife is to be believed.”

“No.” She swayed again, entire mind screaming. “No, that’s ridiculous. I — I have to —” And without having any idea of where she was going, or what her plan was, Cora turned from the room and fled, door closing hard behind her. She ran down the winding stone corridors, up the stone stairs and down again, past servants and soldiers who stared curiously at the newcomer as she fled past them. Finally, she found a door to a room with nobody in it, and she slammed it shut behind her and collapsed onto the stone floor.