Biting her lip, Islaen fought against crying out when a strong contraction gripped her. It had been fairly easy so far but she realized it would soon be impossible to hide the fact that she was in labor, and had been since the very early morning. She could only hope that there were not many hours left. It was important to keep Iain from knowing for as long as possible. A glance towards her husband told Islaen that that might not be so easy. He was staring at her and paying little attention to what his brother and father were saying.
He had stared at her a lot lately and she knew it was not all from a fascination with how big she had grown during the last stages of her pregnancy. Her impish sense of humour had reared its head too often, but she had consistently beaten down the urge to do something silly, pull some prank. Iain was in no state of mind to find it funny. He would never understand that his staring had prompted her, would probably think her cruel beyond words.
Another was watching her closely and Meg leaned nearer to mutter, “Will ye nay seek your bed now, lass?"
Smiling faintly, Islaen shook her head. Meg helped in every way she could and Islaen was grateful to her. Without Meg's help, many of the minor troubles and ills of pregnancy could never have been hidden from Iain. In the past few months Islaen had come to see, more clearly than ever before, that Meg cared for her. It had been a great source of comfort, especially as she had adjusted to new kin, new surroundings and the loss of her large, boisterous family.
"Nay,” Islaen replied softly. “An I maun, I will have the bairn upon this cursed settle rather than make Iain wait through a minute of labor."
"'Tis mad ye are,” Meg grumbled, her keen eyes seeing another contraction grip Islaen. “Keep that bit o’ cloth ye are making a muckle great mess of o'er your belly. ‘Tis easy tae see that the bairn tries to get out."
Islaen smiled. “I suspicioned that it might be. If Wallace is right, I still have time left me."
Meg made a rude noise but softly. “Ye are a woman, nay a cow or a mare nor a cursed ewe."
"I ken ye dinnae like to hear it said but their way of birthing is as ours save quieter. I learned a lot."
"T'was no place for a lady, mucking about in the stables. Those pains are coming muckle close togither now, lass."
"Aye, but not close enough yet. Ye ken that as weel as I do, Meg. Dinnae pinch at me so."
"When will ye confess your trickery, lass?"
"I plan to tell him when I hand him a healthy, squalling bairn."
That confession worried her more than the ordeal she faced. In truth, she did not really need to make it. Having forgotten the one time she had had her menses, Iain still felt that their first night together had seeded the child. He had not the slightest suspicion that she had not kept her promise. It was sorely tempting to let matters stand that way but she knew she could not.
Lying was foreign to her although she could never claim to be free of that sin. Lying to Iain had caused her a lot of anguish. She had to confess even if she feared how he would react. The lie was becoming a slow poison to her and she wanted it out of her blood. She could only pray that Iain would understand and forgive her.
She continued to fight the revealing of her labor. The needlework she pretended to work on progressed not at all, but it served to hide the rippling of her contracting belly and gave her something to stare at in the hope that none could read what was happening in her face. She almost welcomed the increased ferocity of the pains and their growing proximity to each other for it meant that her time of birthing drew nearer.
Not all men were ignorant of the various intricacies of birth. Tavis may have missed the birth of his firstborn, but he had more than made up for that with his other children. Although he could not say exactly what made him suspect, he felt more confident with each glance that his brother's tiny wife was in labor. The moment he could do so without stirring Iain's curiosity, Tavis left the table and strolled to where Storm struggled to teach Aingeal needlework. His little daughter was easily sent off for she had little liking for the lessons.
"She will ne'er learn e'en a modest ability if ye keep releasing her from the lessons."
"I ken I will be forgiven this time. Try not to be too obvious about it but have a good look at wee Islaen."
It was not easy to be subtle when her curiosity had been stirred to a fever pitch but Storm managed. What was even harder was to hide her shock as her keen eyes noted all the signs of advanced labor. That she had to look closely to see it made her mentally shake her head in wonder. She knew well how the pains of birth could wrack the body at such a late stage of labor.
"The little fool. What do ye wish me to do?"
"There must be some way to get her up to her chambers without alerting Iain. If she excuses herself, he will be after her and fretting like an old woman. Mayhaps if ye take her off he willnae think on it. The mon's in a verra sad state."
"Aye, poor man. I ken t'would kill him an aught happened to Islaen for I am certain that he loves her, though he is as loathe to admit it as ye e'er were."
Grinning, Tavis kissed his wife's pert nose but then he grew serious. “This wee lass owns his soul though I doubt she kens it and, an Iain does, he isnae saying. Enough of this talk. Get the wee lass up to her bed ere Iain's firstborn comes forth upon that settle."
Islaen silently thanked Storm with her eyes when the woman got them out of the hall on the excuse of looking over some infant clothes and necessities. Once out of the hall, Storm and Meg took turns scolding her as they helped her up the stairs. They were just outside of her chambers door when her waters broke. A terse word from Storm was all that was needed to make the maids share in the secrecy.
The back stairs were used to bring whatever was needed. So too were the back stairs used to take word to Wallace, a circumstance that caused many to wonder, but less so than when Wallace called for a bath. Robert was secretly sent on his way to the MacRoths by the same manner.
The help and support of Storm and Meg was greatly appreciated by Islaen. She was too far gone in her labor to do much for herself when they reached her chambers. The two women efficiently undressed her, helped her into a loose shift and did their best to make her as comfortable as they could, not an easy chore when her body was wracked by pain and she needed all her strength to keep calm and quiet.
For a moment, Islaen found herself angry with Iain. She needed him, his strength and support. Quite naturally, she had her own fears but he was too caught up in his to notice or to aid her in easing them. She had to fight that battle all alone and she was tired of the fight.
Then she silently scolded herself for that brief weakness. Managing it on her own was necessary. Iain was not to blame for his fears. She told herself to accept the lack of his support as the penance for her lie and turned her attention to Storm.
"I have sent word to the men that we have retired for the night,” Storm said after a few hours had passed. “T'will hold them for a while."
"Ah, good,” Islaen gasped as a pain subsided. “Would it not be wondrous to be all done ere Iain seeks his bed?” She tried to flow with it as another pain ripped through her. “I thought that the breaking of the waters was a sign that t'was soon."
Storm sighed as she bathed Islaen's sweat-beaded forehead. The girl was on her knees gripping the bedpost and Storm could well recall her own labors, bearing the children in such a position. All signs pointed to imminent arrival but nothing happened. Despite the pain so clearly etched upon Islaen's face, she made no sound save for an occasional moan and a great deal of panting. Storm could not help but admire the girl's strength and marvel at the depth of her love for Iain, both of which kept her from the very natural reaction of crying out from the pain that gripped her whole body. Even though she admired it, it was somewhat eerie. Screaming was a part of labor.
"It can be but not all women are the same. The first always comes the hardest and takes the longest."
"Could ye send for Wallace? T'would ease my mind an he would check me. He can tell by touch whether the bairn is turned wrong."
That was a thing that Storm feared but hid it, saying soothingly, “There's naught to fear. It has not been that long that we need to worry."
"I dinnae fear it, Storm, but an it is holding matters up I wish to ken that. My mither had several bairns enter the world feet first."
Without any further word and, ignoring Meg's sputterings, Storm sent for Wallace. The man arrived but moments later having been seated in the kitchens awaiting any possible request for him. A faint color touched his cheeks as he entered the exclusively female domain, but one look at Islaen erased his discomfort. Talking to her much as if she were one of his treasured stock, he ran his knowledgeable hands over her belly.
"Aye, ye kenned it richt, m'lady. The bairn's wrong way round. Needs turning."
"Turning?” squeaked Meg. “Ye cannae turn a bairn in the womb like ye do some foal."
"Why can ye not?” asked Storm, quite taken with the idea.
"She is just a wee lass, not some cursed great mare. How can ye, weel,” Meg flushed, “gie at the bairn?"
"Like ye do a foal, ye silly auld coo. If the bairn can gie out, then a hand can gie in.” He looked at Storm. “Ye hae wee hands, m'lady. Can ye do it? I will talk ye through it. Aye, the lass could bring the bairn oot as it lies but ‘tis verra dangerous. A bit o’ pain now can save a muckle lot later. I ken ye helped with a foaling last spring."
"That I did. I cannot say I will enjoy this but an I maun, I maun, as ye heathens say."
She grinned briefly as she moved to wash her hands and the three Scots grinned back at her although Islaen's turned into a gritting of teeth. Wallace stood with his broad back turned to where Storm knelt between Islaen's legs. Meg bathed Islaen's face as Storm eased her hand up the birth canal and said nothing to the instructing Wallace when he soothed Islaen with strokes and murmurs as if she were some animal. All three of them tensed when a soft but audible gasp escaped Storm.
For one brief moment, Islaen felt terrified. With a concerted effort she forced her fears away. Fear would weaken her and she needed all her strength now especially if something was not right.
"I am sorry, so very sorry. I did not mean to afright you. That gasp was not because of a fault. There is more than one babe in here and t'was a shock to find a head near the back of the babe I was trying to turn. Ye are to bear twins as I did."
"Me mither had twa pairs,” ground out Islaen. “I ken I need something to bite on ere I shorten my tongue."
"Here, sweeting,” Meg soothed as she placed a thick piece of leather between Islaen's teeth.
"When ye get the bairn's head where it should be, make sure the cord's clear o’ the wee neck,” Wallace instructed.
"Aye. ‘Tis clear of both wee necks. That all, Wallace?” When the man nodded, Storm removed her hand and went to wash.
"Weel, I will just gie back tae the kitchens,” Wallace said with a definite touch of regret.
"Ye dinnae have to, Wallace. I ken ye would like to be in on the birthing of a bairn. Ye have been such a help so ye maun stay if ye wish it.” Islaen's voice was strained and broken by pain. “We may have need of ye yet."
There was no need to further persuade him. Wallace was eager to see the birth he had spent so much time discussing with Master Iain's tiny wife. Islaen was glad for it was the only way she could think of to repay him for all he had done. She also found his methods of soothing her very effective and was not at all perturbed by the fact that she had seen him treat his precious animals just so. Islaen hoped she would yet be done before Iain sought their chambers.
Knowing it was what Islaen wanted, Tavis tried valiantly to keep Iain in the hall but failed. Iain knew he would not sleep much at all for he had not since he had discovered he was to be a father, but he could not keep away from Islaen for any length of time. Although Islaen, with her astonishingly large belly, was the source of his agitation and nightmares he could not stay away from her nor find any ease of mind if he did. He lay beside her at night, his eyes and often his hands exploring the swell of her abdomen, fascination and terror warring with each other as he felt the prodigious activity within.
It was not in him to accept the death of any young woman easily, but he had never felt so terrified of it when Catalina had faced it as he did with Islaen. Guilt concerning his need for her, a need that had brought her to this, nearly choked him. It was only recently that he had finally left her alone. The thought that he could lose her ate away at him day and night. Catalina's death had affected him mostly through guilt, the knowledge that he had used her as had others. Islaen's would touch him in every way.
Briefly he indulged in cursing her for putting him into such a state. He had neither wanted nor needed to feel so about any woman. Despite all his efforts to keep a distance between them, Islaen had pulled him ever closer, subtly pulling him deeper beneath the spell she wove so effortlessly.
As he started to their chambers, he told himself not to be so unfair. Islaen plied no tricks nor played any games. Islaen was simply Islaen. The web he found himself tangled in was one he had walked into with a full knowledge of his fate. He had seen the danger and simply lacked the strength to fight it.
"Iain,” Tavis called as he followed his brother up the stairs, Colin watching with curious concern from the hall.
"What is it?” Iain asked in a taut voice as a cold feeling seeped through him.
Gripping Iain by the shoulders in a gesture meant to comfort, Tavis said, “The bairn is on its way."
Iain felt as if he had been dealt a powerful blow to the stomach. He swayed slightly beneath the shock of Tavis's quiet announcement. Although he had been expecting Islaen to deliver the child at any moment he had expected some warning of the event when it came. There had been none. Or at least none that he had seen or been told about, he thought suddenly, and looked at Tavis with growing suspicion.
"Ye kenned and said naught?” Iain hissed, the cold in him turning to sheer ice as Tavis's words continued to sear his brain.
"She didnae want ye to ken it was time. Aye, she was in labor as we dined but I didnae guess it ‘til later."
"Oh God,” Iain groaned as he broke from Tavis's light grip and bounded up the stairs, his father and his brother at his heels.
There was no real sound to be heard when he stopped outside of the door of his chambers, a circumstance that chilled his heart. A low moan and the soft murmur of a man's voice reached his ears and his fist wreaked havoc upon the closed door. It did not gain him the entry he desired. Instead, he found himself facing Meg, who planted herself firmly between him and the reshut door.
"Ye cannae go in there. ‘Tis nay a place for a mon."
"There is a mon in there now. I can hear him."
"'Tis Wallace. He has a way of soothing the lass like one of his beasts and is as guid as any midwife. Ye will stay out here."
"God's beard, ye old corbie, I want to see my wife."
"I ken ye arenae intending to sweet talk yer way in. Ye arenae going in. Ye are in a sorry state and thinking on death. It willnae do the lass any guid to have such a dowie face peeking at her. Stay here or gie tae the hall to get drunk but ye arenae going in to fret o'er her.” She slipped back into the room, slammed and bolted the door.
"I will set right here, witch,” he bellowed but then began to pace the hall in agitation.
Colin slipped away and returned a few moments later with some whiskey. Flanked by his brother and father, Iain sat directly opposite the door. Although Tavis and Colin managed to get a dram or two, it was Iain who did most of the drinking. The lack of noise usually associated with a woman in labor began to bother them as well. Somehow it seemed ominous not to be assailed with the vocal expressions of the pain they knew she had to be in. A hearty scream would almost be welcome.
Islaen was sorely tempted to give a scream that would bring down Caraidland's sturdy walls. With the entrance of her son into the world she felt as if she were being torn in two. Her teeth nearly met through the leather she bit on. The worst of it was that it was not over. Her exhausted body hardly took a breath but it was straining yet again to eject another babe. Despite that she smiled when the lusty cries of her firstborn filled the room followed immediately by Iain's pounding fist on the still-bolted door.
For someone who was so terrified of childbirth, Iain seemed very eager to come and see, she thought with a weak smile. His obvious concern was support of a sort and she found a source of renewed strength in that. He might not be right beside her but he was near and clearly concerned and that was good enough.
"Let me in,” Iain belowed. “Now!"
"Nay,” Meg bellowed right back, “ye cannae come in yet. There's things that be left tae be done. Ye'd be surprised if ye kenned,” she muttered.
"Islaen,” called Iain, thrilled by the sound of a living child but still terrified for his wife, “are ye all right?"
It was not easy but Islaen answered him. “Aye. I go along fine, Iain. Be patient. T'will not be long now."
"There,” Tavis soothed as he pulled Iain back from the door, “doesnae that ease your mind? The bairn lives as does Islaen."
"Wee Islaen would say she goes along fine if she had to use her dying breath to do it. I wish to see with my own eyes that she does."
"They will be cleaning up and all,” said Colin. “Then ye can go in and look all ye care to. The worst is o'er now, laddie."
It was not true and they both knew it. Now came the danger that, as with Catalina, the bleeding would continue until the life drained from the woman's body or a fever took her within days of the birth. A live baby would mean little to him if it cost him Islaen. Iain wanted to be with her as if by the sheer strength of his will and presence he could keep her from slipping away from him.
Each minute the door remained closed to him, denying him the sight of a living Islaen, was a torture to Iain. He saw all too clearly all the ways she could die, envisioned every horror that could visit a childbed. As he waited for what seemed a lifetime he took little notice of a second and third wail.
"Mark the first-born,” gasped Islaen as her second son loudly proclaimed that he lived and she wondered why her body still strained. “I want no doubt as to which has what rights. Ye three will be witnesses to it. As my fither had done, Meg."
Begging forgiveness for hurting such a harmless creature, Meg cut the baby's right palm then tended the wound in a way that would leave a scar. It would be a lasting mark that would ever denote the boy as the first to have left his mother's womb. Less important was the way it would ever make the twins easy to tell apart. MacRoth had dubbed it the Heritage Scar for it told without question how the line of succession went. Meg then turned her mind to Islaen and fought to hide her fear and worry.
"What is it, Wallace? Can ye tell why the poor child still labors as if there is yet a bairn to be born?"
After his knowledgeable hands moved over Islaen's still swollen, contracting belly, Wallace said, “Seems there still is a bairn to come."
"Oh God,” Islaen moaned softly, “am I to bear a litter like some bitch?"
"Nay, ‘tis the last but dinnae hope too much for it tae live, lassie,” he said softly. “T'would be a miracle an it did."
Islaen knew that would bring her pain later. The exhaustion and pain that gripped her so firmly at the moment kept Wallace's soft, grim prediction from delivering much of a blow. She simply wanted to be done. To be finished with her labors and get some rest was all important to her.
The girl that emerged from her mother's womb was tiny, its cry but a mew. To the women's amazement, Wallace ordered them to see to Islaen as he took the baby. They had barely bathed Islaen and put a clean gown on her when Wallace scooped her up in his arms. He laid her down next to the washed, tightly swathed girl he had placed before the freshly stoked fire.
"Gie her the first suckle, lass. Then ye maun get a wet nurse for the bairn. She'll need milk aplenty if she is tae hae a chance and ye'll be sore tried tae feed her brithers. Grizel what married the blacksmith will do. She be clean and loving and heavy with milk for her bairn died but hours after it were born."
A little blindly, Islaen stared at the child Wallace had pressed into her hold. The little girl was very tiny and looked weak. Islaen felt grief stir beneath her exhaustion but it was unable to gain the strength needed to bother her much. Later she would face the loss of the babe she had nurtured within her body for so many months. She was glad of the protection her weariness gave her against that pain.
Wallace told her all he would do and have done to keep the child alive as Islaen let each boy know where nourishment was to be found. When her bed was clean and all signs of blood erased, he carried her to her bed. He was sent to fetch Grizel and a priest to baptize the babes. As he stepped out of the room he was nearly knocked down by Iain rushing to his wife.
Through exhaustion-glazed eyes, Islaen stared at her husband. He looked as bad as she felt and she almost smiled but then she remembered that she had to tell him about her lie. For the first time since uttering the lie she was not afraid of confessing it to him. She was simply too tired. Fearing her weariness would pull her into sleep's firm hold before she could speak she hurried to get the words out.
"Are ye weel?” he asked her as he sat on the bed and clasped her hands in his.
He thought she looked small and pale. Her eyes looked bruised, their color weakened. It looked as if whatever strength she had had been completely sapped. Her hands were limp in his.
Valiantly he struggled to still his fears. If things had not gone well or took a turn for the worse, she would need him calm and require his strength. With all his will, he dredged up what he could but was not sure it would be enough to keep him from crumbling if something was wrong.
"Aye, just weary. Look at your bairns, Iain."
"M'God,” he breathed, staring at the three bundles with as much shock as his brother and father. “Three?"
His mind refused to accept what his eyes told him. Living twins were a miracle in most people's eyes. He himself often considered them such. That a woman, especially one as small as Islaen, could bear three children at one throw was more than his frantic mind could comprehend. It helped little at all that his father, brother, Storm and Meg seemed to see it as fact. Deciding he would deal with that confusion later he turned his full attention back to a heavy-eyed Islaen. In truth, she was all that mattered to him at the moment.
"We fear the lass willnae live, Iain. I am sorry. Wallace is getting a wet nurse for her and a priest. I maun tell ye something,” she said with sleepy urgency.
"Ye can tell me later, sweeting."
"Nay, now. I lied to ye, Iain. I ne'er used those things. Forgive me?"
"Aye,” he said in a choked voice, “I forgive ye."
Her eyes closed as sleep conquered her. “Thank ye. I was tired of feeling wicked but I had to show you that I could do it."
"Oh, aye, ye showed me right enough,” he whispered and, unmindful of his audience, clasped his sleeping wife to his breast and wept into her hair with a mixture of joy and relief.