Brogan and Mairghread returned to their keep three short weeks after leaving Stirling. David had ordered Aymer put to death, by beheading. Knowing he was no longer a threat left them feeling safer than they had in a very long while.

Reginald had met them at the steps with news that Hargatha had died — of natural causes they assumed — just a week before their return. Only two people had attended her funeral: Reginald and auld Seamus. None were apparently mourning her loss.

They had been home less than two days when Mairghread’s birthing pains started. Because this was not her first time giving birth, she was not at all worried or nervous. She had experienced false pains three times before actually giving birth to Connell. With two weeks left until she was due, she decided she would wait before telling Brogan. Besides, he’d not left her side in weeks. Although she was quite glad for his attention, and loved him dearly, she was in desperate need of a respite.

She enlisted Reginald’s help later in the afternoon. “I love him, I truly do,” she told him. “But I would like to be able to use the chamber pot without him askin’ me if all be well.”

Unable to deny his lady anything, and believing all was well, Reginald agreed. “I shall take him to count horses.”

Knowing that could take most of the afternoon, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank ye, Reginald,” she exclaimed with a hug.

Convincing Reginald to aid her was significantly easier than getting Brogan to agree to leave her side for more than a moment.

“I am well, love,” she told him with a smile. “We have two weeks before our babe is due. I promise, I’ll do naught but sit here with Gertie and Tilda and sew.”

Eying her closely, he finally relented. “But if aught changes, ye will send fer me at once.”

The urge to roll her eyes was great. “Why? So that ye can pace up and down the hallway for hours and hours until our babe is here?”

“Who says I will no’ be right beside ye the entire time?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Och!” she said with a giggle. “‘Twould be the death of Gertie and Tilda, fer certain, to have ye there at the birth.”

“I was there at the makin’ of this babe,” he teased playfully. “I do no’ see why I can’t be there for the birth.”

She could not help herself. Rolling her eyes, she said, “There are some things a man is no’ meant to see and the birthin’ of his bairn be one of them.”

* * *

Paying off three guards to help effect his escape was far easier than bribing the king. And far less expensive. Within two days of being tossed into the dungeon, he was free, and meeting with Courtemanche in a small forest a few miles outside of Sterling.

A bag of gold and the promise that he could do whatever he wished with Mairghread was all it took to convince the Frenchman to help him. In short order, Aymer Mactavish was soon heading back to Mactavish lands with his eager French friend. And twenty well-paid, well-trained mercenaries.

Because they were not travelling with a woman heavy with child, they were able to reach the keep long before Mairghread and Brogan. For more than a week, they camped away from the border, in a dense forest. The mercenaries were used to living in harsh elements. Courtemanche however, was not. He complained incessantly. Aymer ignored the man’s protests for there was far too much at stake. He needed the Frenchman’s resources if he were to succeed at someday overthrowing David.

Aye, the Mactavish seat had been his primary goal for a very long while. But ’twas just a stepping stone to what he truly wanted: the kingdom of Scotland.

For years now, he’d been forging allegiances with other clans who were opposed to David. With the Frenchman’s backing and coin, they would be able to move forward with his plan within two short years. He could almost feel the weight of the crown resting on his head when he thought of it.

But in order to gain Courtemanche’s loyalty, he had to give him Mairghread. She was a small sacrifice in his grander scheme. He cared not what plans Courtemanche had for her. But they had to get her out of Scotland first.

’Twas a bright and sunny afternoon when they finally set their plan into motion.

Because of their false sense of safety, the gate was left open during the day to make it more accessible for clan members to come and go as needed. Additionally, Aymer still had loyal friends inside the Mactavish keep. Donning monks robes, he and one of his mercenaries walked through the open gate without anyone questioning their presence.

Soon, ye will have all ye have worked for, he mused silently as he walked through the gates. His heart beat against his chest with excitement. They would be taking Mairghread from here today, allow her to birth the child along the way back to France. He’d simply leave the babe to the elements, and leave the world to think she had died. With her death he could then take his rightful and God-given place as chief, which would in turn lead him to the throne of all of Scotia.

For decades now, he’d been working diligently to rest the Mactavish seat from his brother and his direct descendants. Killing them off had been easy and he possessed no regrets, for he was doing God’s work.

His path was righteous.

* * *

With Brogan away for the afternoon, Mairghread tried to enjoy a nap. But the pains in her back were persistent. They’d been plaguing her off an on for several hours since morning. But now, as they day drew on, they became steadier and gradually more intense and moved to her abdomen.

Mayhap these were not the same false pains she’d experienced with her first bairn. Deciding ’twas best to err on the side of caution, she called for Gertie and Tilda. They were hovering over her like mother hens in short order.

“Now, do no’ panic or cry out,” Mairghread warned them when they came bustling into her room.

Gertie’s eyes turned to slits. “Ye can no’ begin with ‘do no’ panic or cry out’, fer that is sure what we will do!”

Of course she could not expect calm at a time like this. “Why did I even bother to call fer ye?” she murmured under her breath. Because no matter how frustratin’ they be, ye love them.

Another pain came, twisting and intense. She waited until it passed before speaking again. “Quietly, and as calmly as ye can, I need one of ye to fetch Martha.”

Almost instantly, they realized what was happening. Tears filled both their eyes as they each beamed happy smiles. “Och! It be yer time!” Gertie shouted.

Rolling her eyes, Mairghread was already exasperated with them. “I said quietly and calmly,” she reminded them. “’Twill likely be hours before this babe is here.”

Moving into action, Tilda went to the cupboard and removed the birthing basket. “How often are ye having pains?”

“I’d say two every quarter of an hour,” Mairghread replied as she pressed a hand to her back. “Like I say, ’twill be hours before this babe is here.”

Gertie was too busy crying to help. “It be a glorious day,” she murmured. “A glorious day indeed!”

“How bad be the pain?” Tilda asked, taking charge.

“No’ too bad, but we all ken that will change,” Mairghread said with a light giggle.

Tilda pulled the small table closer to the bed and set the basket on top. “Gertie, I think ye should go below stairs and have someone fetch Martha.”

Gertie wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. “’Tis a glorious day,” she repeated.

Tilda and Mairghread exchanged knowing glances. “Never mind,” Tilda said. “I shall fetch her. More likely than no’, Gertie will be tellin’ one and all that yer time draws near. We’ll no’ get a moments peace if Brogan finds out just yet.”

Mairghread had to smile at Tilda’s insight. “Ye be right. He says he wants to be with me durin’ the birth.”

Tilda froze in place. Gertie was aghast. “Nay!” Gertie exclaimed. “Be he more tetched than we realized?”

Laughing at their horrified expressions, Mairghread said, “I have been wonderin’ that meself.”

“Then we shall make certain he does no’ find out just yet,” Tilda told her. “I shall go get Martha meself.”

* * *

It seemed to Mairghread that much time had passed since Tilda left. Of course, that could be attributed to the fact that her pains were growing more intense and closer together, as well as the fact that Gertie couldn’t seem to pull herself together. The poor woman kept bursting into tears of joy.

“Gertie, will ye please stop yer cryin’?” Mairghread asked as she held onto the back of a chair for support.

“I can no’ help it,” she said with a smile. “I be just so happy!”

Yer happiness is goin’ to drive me to madness, Mairghread thought as another pain came.

“’Tis a girl,” Gertie told her. “I can feel it in me bones. A right bonny wee lass she will be, as well.”

At the moment, Mairghread did not care if it were a boy or girl. All she wanted was for the child to be healthy and to live a long, happy life. “What do ye think is keepin’ Tilda and Martha?” she asked.

“Mayhap Martha be helpin’ Joanne, wife of Phillip,” Gertie said. “I think she was due to have her bairn any day now.”

The thought of not having Martha at her side nearly sent her into a fit of panic. Only because she knew Brogan would be fit to be tied and that would leave her alone with Gertie and Tilda. Taking in deep, steadying breaths, she refused to think of the what ifs. Worrying over all the things that could go wrong would serve no purpose.

Gertie was ringing her fingers together, no doubt lost in worrying. “Gertie, please, do no’ fash yerself. With or without Martha, this babe will be born.” She tried to sound cheerful.

“I ken ye be right, lass,” Gertie replied in a soft voice.

“But that still does no’ stop ye from worryin’, does it?” Mairghread said with a smile.

“I fear it does no’,” Gertie said.

Wanting to lighten her somber mood, Mairghread giggled. “Mayhap ye should go fetch Brogan.”

That was enough to bring her out of her current state of dread. “Och! Do no’ say such things!”

“Then stop yer worryin’,” Mairghread told her. “Else I will go fetch him meself.”

* * *

An hour had passed and Tilda had yet to return with Martha. Mairghread refused to worry. Instead, she would rejoice in the fact that soon, she would be holding Brogan’s bairn in her arms. He had confessed to her once that he had thought he’d never be a father. And although he was overjoyed with the prospect of impending fatherhood, he was secretly quite worried. She had refused, however, to allow him to be consumed with self doubt. He was, she reassured him, going to be a wonderful father.

Her pains had not changed much since Tilda had left. They were still steady, coming at regular intervals. Although she wished for it all to be over soon so that she could hold this precious bairn who had been kicking her ribs for weeks now, there was a small part of her who wanted to keep him safely ensconced in her womb. ’Twas silly, she knew, but no harm could come to him whilst he was still tucked away within her.

Gertie had quit worrying and set to work finishing what Tilda had started. She tied lengths of heavy yet soft rope at the edge of the bed. When the time came to push, Mairghread could grab hold of the rope for strength and balance.

Next, she stripped the blankets from the bed and replaced the linens with older, worn ones. “No sense in ruin’ perfectly good sheets, aye?” she said as she tucked the corners in.

Mairghread was not listening to her. Another pain hit, stronger than the last few. The tall backed chair was quickly becoming her friend. Each time a birthing pain hit, she would lean over, with her head down, whilst she grasped the back.

While working through her pain, a knock came at the door.

“Well it be about time!” Gertie exclaimed as she went to the door.

Mairghread was too busy trying to keep from breaking the chair in half to greet the midwife properly.

An eery silence fell over the room. Gertie wasn’t chastising Tilda or Martha for taking so long. Instinct warned that something was amiss, but what, she could not say. Slowly, she stood straighter, still clutching the chair, and turned to see what had stunned Gertie into muteness.

Standing just inside the door was Aymer Mactavish and a man she’d not ever seen before. Aymer was sneering at her, while the man held a large blade to Gertie’s neck.

“Scream and she dies.”

* * *

Her world began to spin as sheer terror enveloped Mairghread. Nay! This can no’ be!

Too stunned to speak, all she could do was watch in horror as Aymer Mactavish walked into her room.

“Did ye miss me?” he asked sarcastically.

Bile rose in her throat. She could make no sense of how the man who was supposed to have been beheaded weeks ago, was standing in her bedchamber.

“Me thinks she be surprised to see me,” he said, speaking over his shoulder to the large, menacing man.

“What do ye want?” she stammered with wide, horrified eyes.

“What do I want?” he asked, feigning surprise. “I thought ye already knew what I wanted.”

Swallowing back the bile, she tried to sound stronger than she actually felt. “Leave now, Aymer, and I will make certain Brogan does no’ kill ye.”

“Brogan?” he asked with a raised brow. “He will no’ be back fer hours. I be told he is off with Reginald and Seamus, countin’ horses.”

It felt as though the floor beneath her feet had suddenly disappeared. She had to grab the chair again, to keep from falling over.

“Ye are comin’ with me, Mairghread,” Aymer said as he grabbed her arm. “Claude has missed ye.”

Claude? Nay, nay, nay! She wanted to scream, to lash out, to fight. But there was no doubt in her mind that the strange, dark man would kill Gertie in the blink of an eye. Before she could tell him there was no way on God’s earth she was leaving with him, Gertie spoke up.

“She can no’ go anywhere, ye fool! It be her time!”

Aymer spun to look at her. “What are ye rambling’ on about ye old bat?”

“Her pains started this morn. Martha has been sent for,” Gertie explained, using a harsh tone.

Aymer studied each woman for a short moment. “It matters no’,” he said. “She be comin’ with me.”

“I can no’ leave!” Mairghread cried. “I am goin’ to have me bairn soon.”

Aymer grabbed her arm more forcefully. “I do no’ care how soon,” he hissed. “We leave now.”

Gertie squeaked when the man twisted her arm and pressed the knife even harder against her neck. “Please, laird,” she begged Aymer. “Please, do no’ harm our lady or her babe.”

Aymer sneered at her. “Shut up, auld woman! Or I shall kill her now and let ye watch her die!”

Tears streamed down Gertie’s wrinkled cheeks. Closing her eyes tightly, she could not bear to watch as Aymer pulled Mairghread from the room.

* * *

Brogan felt he’d been away from his wife long enough. But Reginald and Seamus were insistent that they needed his help.

“Just one more cottage,” Reginald promised. “It be less than an hour away.”

“An hour?” he exclaimed. They had already been gone for hours. Hours that seemed like days to a man much in love with his wife. “Nay,” he said. “Ye may go on without me. I am returnin’ to me wife.”

Some might call it naught more than jitters attributed to impending fatherhood. No matter the reason, he’d begun to feel uneasy about being away so long. He though back to his sister-by-law Rose and how she had conspired with the women of their clan to keep Ian away for an hour or two when her time drew near. His brother loved her, of that, there was no doubt. But even Brogan thought he had hovered too much over Rose during those last few days before she gave birth to John. Back then, he believed his brother was naught more than a besotted fool.

But now he understood what Ian felt, with vivid clarity. He loved his wife. He knew without equivocation he could not survive losing his wife or their babe. Let them call me a besotted fool, he told himself. I care no’. I love Mairghread and it be perfectly reasonable to be concerned.

“But Brogan,” Reginald began to argue.

“Nay,” he said with a shake of his head. “I have been gone long enough.”

With a light tap to his horse’s flanks, he steered the beast back toward the keep.

In less than an hour, he was handing his horse off to one of the stable boys and racing up the steps. An uneasiness had crept in to his heart. He barely understood it himself, let alone could he make any attempt to explain it to someone should they ask. Something, an inner voice or feeling, was telling him that Mairghread needed him.

Eager to see his wife, he did not stop to speak to anyone, or otherwise dawdle or delay. He did not care if his presence annoyed her. He needed to see her, to see that she was in fact quite well. Mayhap ’twas fatherly instincts that propelled him forward. Or perhaps ’twas naught more than unjustified worry. Either way, he raced above stairs and flung open the door to their room.

His heart fell to his feet when he saw Gertie, tied to a chair, a wad of cloth stuffed into her mouth, and panic stricken eyes.

“What in the bloody hell happened?” he yelled, reaching her in naught but a few short strides.

Her eyes were wide with horror as she struggled against the ropes. ’Twas then he realized she was screaming but not looking directly at him. Her eyes were pinned on something behind him.

In one fluid motion, he removed the dirk from his waist and spun around. A man he did not recognize was coming at him with a dirk raised over his head.

Ducking low, he was able to miss the blade by a few inches. Lunging forward, he tackled the man about his waist, hurling them both to the floor. There was no time to wonder who this man was, or why Gertie was bound to a chair. He could only act.

Pinning the man to the floor with his knees, Brogan tossed his dirk into his left hand, balled his right into a fist and plunged it into the man’s face. Blood began to spurt from his nose, but the stranger was not ready yet to give up the fight.

“Who the bloody hell are ye?” Brogan asked through gritted teeth.

He replied by planting his feet firmly on the floor and pushing Brogan up and off.

Caught off guard, Brogan rolled over, and crouched on one knee, ready for the man’s next move. A moment later, he crouched low and lunged once again. Slicing in a wide arc, aiming for Brogan’s neck, the blade whistled through the air. Brogan had anticipated the move, and fell onto his back, knocking a chair over in the process. A moment later, he was on his feet again.

Just as he was about to tackle the man again, Martha and Tilda appeared at the door.

“Brogan!” Martha called out.

The man spun around at the sound of her voice, just the distraction Brogan needed. Lunging forward, he tackled him once again, this time sending him crashing to the floor on his stomach. The dirk fell from his hand and slid across the floor.

Wrapping a strong arm around his attacker’s neck, Brogan pulled his head up and back by his hair. “Who the bloody hell are ye, and what have ye done with me wife!”