The Highlander's Bargain (16 page)

This was the woman’s first baby, and it was coming early. Arlen was worried. She had fears of her own, but if her presence helped ease the ferry master’s fears, the sooner she reached him the better. She stopped at the cottage she and True shared, grabbed the sack containing everything she’d put together and rushed down the path to the ferry. Arlen paced in front of the mooring.

“Let’s go,” she told him as she jumped onto the wooden planks. “Did your wife start water boiling like I instructed?”

“Aye, lass.” He threw off the ropes and pushed out onto the lake.

“What’s your daughter’s name again? I’ve forgotten. I’ve met so many people in the past week.”

“Alma, and me wife’s name is Etan.”

“Right. Got it.” She placed her hand on the old man’s forearm. “Everything’s going to be fine, Arlen.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed again, and he nodded. “’Tis grateful I am tae ha’ you here, lass. This being her first and it coming sae soon and all—me and the missus is a bit fashed.”

“I understand.” Her touch soothed him, and he visibly relaxed.

They made record time to the opposite shore, where a younger man waited. Arlen left him to secure the ferry, and he led her to his daughter’s home a short distance away.

“Who is the young man you left with the ferry? Is that Alma’s husband?”

“Nay. ’Tis my son. Monroe will man the ferry this eve. Though ’tis unlikely any will want tae cross at this hour. Alma’s husband will be at home with her by now, I expect.”

First order of business would be to send the men away. She was all for husbands being labor coaches, but not without prior training, and not without making sure they had bathed and changed into clean clothes beforehand. She didn’t want the risk of infection, and a new mother didn’t need her husband’s anxiety adding to her own, especially in the case of a preemie. When she’d visited Alma, she’d guessed her to be around thirty-two weeks. She hoped her guess was accurate. A baby had a good chance of surviving at that point, especially if it was a girl.

They came to a small cottage with a loft, and Arlen knocked on the door. A young man answered, his face tight with tension, he sucked in a huge breath when he caught sight of her and launched into rapid-fire Gaelic. All she could do was shake her head.

“Speak the words of the
Sassenach
, lad,” Arlen admonished. “Lady True has said more than once the lady was no’ raised amongst her kin.”

“Och, begging your pardon,” the young man said, bowing his head to her. “Welcome to our home. We’re verra grateful to ye.”

“I’m glad to help.” Erin’s brow rose. What story had been circulated regarding her upbringing? “Please, call me Erin.” She pushed her way past the men and surveyed the interior. The scent of mint permeated the place, and everything appeared to be clean and tidy. Alma and her mother stood by the hearth. The young woman’s eyes were huge with fright, and a sheen of perspiration made her forehead glow in the light of the fire.

“If it’s all right with you”—Erin turned to Arlen and the father-to-be—“I’d like to send you both on your way. Is there somewhere you can go?”

“Aye.” Arlen put his hand on his son-in-law’s shoulder. “To the inn for a pint, and then we’ll await news at me and me wife’s cottage.” He shot Etan a look as if asking her permission.

“’Tis a good idea, Arlen. We’ll send for ye.” Etan shooed them toward the door. “Be off now, and let us do what needs tae be done.”

Erin rolled up her sleeves and took out the soap from the bag she’d brought with her. “You’ve boiled water?”

“Aye, mum. There’s some cooling on the table there and more a boilin’, just as ye said tae.” Etan pointed to the table.

“Let’s wash our hands and arms, and then we’re going to give you a quick bath as well, Alma. It’ll help you to feel more comfortable.” She started washing, and Etan joined her. They stripped Alma down, washed her and put a short linen gown over her head, just as a contraction hit her.

“It’s too soon,” Alma wailed through her pains. “The bairn is comin’ far too soon.”

“There’s not a lot we can do about that.” A narrow cot had been set up in one corner, and Erin noticed the ticking was wool rather than straw. Hopefully that meant fewer vermin, and from what True had told her, mint was used as a repellent. After the contraction passed, she had Alma lie back and lift her knees so she could check to see how dilated and effaced she was. “You’re at four centimeters.” She frowned. Something wasn’t right. She didn’t get anything from the baby—no signs of life emanated from the fetus.
Oh God.

After she washed her hands again, she rested her palms on Alma’s belly once more, hoping against hope she’d been wrong. What she would give for a stethoscope and fetal monitor about now. “When was the last time you felt movement, like the baby kicking?”

Alma’s expression shifted into alarm. “Why do ye ask. Ah!” Another contraction began.

“Breathe, Alma. Pant like a hound. It’ll help you get through it.” Erin kept her hands on her patient to ease some of the discomfort as she strained. Alma rode the crest, blowing out a long breath once the pain subsided. Should she tell her?

“Etan, in my bag you’ll find a smaller bag with some herbal tea inside. Can you make up a nice mug for Alma? It’ll help her labor progress and ease some of the pain.”

“Aye, mum.”

“Please, call me Erin.”

“Aye, mum.” The older woman gathered what she needed to brew the herbs Erin and True had blended for the purpose. “What else can I do? I’ve got the drying cloths folded and ready tae go right there, and we boiled them clean like ye said tae.” She jutted her chin toward the neat pile of linens set on end of the cot. “The water is boilin’. Shall I move it awa’ from the fire?”

“That would be good.” Erin turned to Alma. If it were her, she’d want to know. “Alma, I’m afraid for your baby. I don’t detect any signs of life. That’s why I asked about the last time you might have felt any movement.”

“Nay. You’re wrong,” she cried. “It can’t be. I felt the bairn kick earlier this day. I swear it.”

“I hope so.” She knew better, but upsetting Alma further would not change anything.

Time went by, and Alma made steady progress in textbook fashion. Sometime around midnight, the urge to push came over her. “Etan, can you prop her up from behind?” Erin got into position to catch the baby. One more push and the tiny body slid from its mother, perfectly formed, but stillborn. “I’m so sorry, Alma. I’m so sorry.” She remained where she was to ensure the placenta delivered as well.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Etan muttered. “Oh, my dear.”

Alma wept and held out her arms. “Let me see him. Let me hold my bairn,” she wept.

“I’ll go get her man.” Etan rushed out of the cottage.

Erin cut the umbilical cord and wiped the tiny baby clean. She wrapped him in a blanket and placed his still form into his mother’s arms. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes stung, and helplessness to give any kind of meaningful comfort broke her heart. There were no words that could assuage the kind of loss and grief Alma was suffering. She hadn’t been prepared for this side of being a midwife. While Alma held her son, Erin cleaned up.

The door opened, and Alma’s husband strode through, rage contorting his features. “What did you do?” he growled at her.

“What did I do?” Erin blinked. “These things happen. Nothing I did caused your son to be stillborn, and there isn’t anything I could have done to prevent it.”

“Humph. Mayhap you’re bad luck, and that’s why the Sutherlands let ye go sae easily.” He strode over to his wife’s side.

“Roderick, dinna blame the midwife. She had naught—”

“Go. All of ye. Leave us,” he shouted. “Now.” The bereaved father turned stricken eyes to them. “I dinna want ye here.”

This time his gaze fixed on her, and the suspicion and rage she glimpsed behind his grief stole her breath.

Etan tugged at her arm. “Come, lass.”

They walked silently toward the ferry landing, and Erin felt as if all the eyes of the villagers were peering at her. She even caught movement from one of the windows, though when she turned to look, all she saw was the dim light of a candle coming from inside. Her tears fell freely down her cheeks, and she racked her brain for something to say that would ease Etan’s grief. Nothing came to her.

What a way to begin her career in her new home as a midwife. How could Alma’s husband possibly blame her for the death of their baby? Arlen arrived at the ferry just as she and Etan did. “I’m so sorry about the loss of your grandchild, Etan, Arlen, but nothing I did caused the baby’s death. I believe he was already gone before Alma’s labor started.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

“Of course ye are no’ to blame.” Etan patted Erin’s arm. “These things happen. Take Erin back tae the island, Arlen. Good eve to ye, lass. Our thanks for coming.” She turned and hurried back to the village.

“Off you go, lad.” Arlen gestured for his son to return home. He helped her onto the wooden planks and shoved off without a word. It was the longest trip she’d ever made. The older man’s grief pressed painfully against her. The fifteenth century was a scary place to be, and right now all she wanted was to find Robley. She needed him. Too bad it was well past midnight, and she had no idea how or where to find him.

She jumped off the ferry before it landed, and strode to the keep. Straining to open one of the heavy double doors to the great hall, she was surprised to find a fire still burning brightly in one of the hearths. A form moved from the shadows. “Rob,” she sobbed, all the grief and fear rising to choke her. In an instant, she found herself caught up in his arms.

“What is it, love? Why do you cry?”

“The baby . . . Alma’s baby was stillborn. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, but . . . but Alma’s husband blames me.” She burrowed her face against his shoulder, and her tears came in such a flood, they dampened his shirt. Her heart ached for the young couple, and at the same time, the suspicion and rage aimed her way still spooked her.

“Och, love. ’Twas his grief that caused him to lash out as he did.” He ran his hands up and down her back. “He’ll come to his senses ere long. Dinna fash.”

“You waited up for me.” She leaned back to swipe at her eyes. “Thank you. I . . .” She sniffed. “I was going to try to find you.”

“Come. Sit with me awhile until you’ve calmed.” He led her across the great hall toward the hearth.

She sank down onto the bench and leaned back against the edge of the table. Staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace, she sucked in a huge breath and let it out slowly. “Not a very auspicious way to begin my career as the MacKintosh midwife, was it?” Torn, she wondered what the future held.

She loved Rob, but she wasn’t sure she could withstand the mentality of the era. They didn’t even really understand how pregnancy worked. They still thought a “man’s seed” planted itself inside the woman’s womb. How could she function surrounded by such ignorance?

Another happy thought knotted her gut. If Alma’s husband went around to everyone in the village with his accusations, who would want her to attend them during their births? No one, that’s who. Starting a clinic had seemed like such a good idea, but what business did she have doing such a thing? Given the superstitious mentality she faced in the fifteenth century, she’d surely fail. Besides, more than likely, she’d be hurled back to her own time before she could make any difference in the lives of the villagers. That thought sent another pang ricocheting through her. Robley. She’d lose the best friend she’d ever had.

“What are you thinking about, love?”

She shrugged. “Just that it might be a huge mistake for me to practice midwifery in your century.”

“Dinna give up just yet. ’Tis unfortunate, but no’ all that uncommon for bairns to be stillborn. It happens with the livestock as well.” Robley sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “There will be other births to attend to.”

“What if no one wants me to be there after this? Alma’s husband said the Sutherlands let me go because I’m bad luck.”

“Ridiculous. You were never with the Sutherlands.”

“You and I know that, but the rest of the villagers don’t. That man is going to bad-mouth me all over town.”

Robley frowned in confusion. “Bad-mouth?”

“He’s going to gossip about me in the very worst way.”

“Humph. I’ll speak to Arlen.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s going to make a lot of difference.” She leaned against him, exhaustion and defeat dragging at the edges of her soul. “Your century certainly is a minefield.” He grunted beside her, and she knew he didn’t have a clue what a minefield was. Still, his presence filled her with warmth, and she was overwhelmed with gratitude. Never before had she experienced the kind of support and loyalty Robley provided for her on a daily basis. Lord help her, she had to find a way to save him from the faerie coming to take him away, or die trying.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A
nother se’nnight gone, and still no word of Giselle’s whereabouts. Robley took his place upon the
dais, his mood surly. Even though he expected his men’s journey would come to naught, every day that he waited for news grated upon his nerves until he was edgy and raw. He had but a fortnight left to live and no resolution in his sights.

He caught movement from the top of the stairs. Erin. His poor heart strained at the sight of her, and frustration brought him even lower. He wanted her with an intensity that stole his breath and weakened his knees, yet with his future so uncertain, the strong mix of emotions—love, desire and despair for a future he might never have with her—did naught but churn his insides to mash.

What would become of her? How could he secure her future? Swallowing the tightness in his throat, he stood to pull her chair out for her. “You look lovely this eve,
mo cridhe
.” She did indeed steal his breath away with her beauty, despite the lines of worry etched around her eyes and mouth. He’d heard the whispers amongst the villagers and servants. Since the ferry master’s daughter gave birth to a stillborn son, they feared her, and he kent she’d heard the whispers as well. None of the women who were breeding had sought her help. Yet another reason to secure her future before his demise.

Her small smile in answer to his compliment smote him on the spot. Was love always this unsettling? Did all men suffer this same shaky weakness? Nay. Most men believed they’d have a lifetime with their beloved. He kent well he did not.

At least his immediate family understood the truth where Alma’s bairn was concerned, and True still relied upon Erin as her time drew near. In that he took comfort. Gently, he pushed her chair in and took his place beside her, just as his parents, uncle and aunt began to filter into the great hall for supper.

Erin’s expression clouded. “Have you heard anything from the men looking for Giselle?”

“Nay.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “’Tis as if my neck were already on the block, and I’m just waiting for the blade to fall. I’ve no notion what to do. Walk to the loch with me after supper? ’Twould do me good to have your company for a bit. Mayhap we’ll think of aught we’ve overlooked.”

“I’d like that.” Erin squeezed his hand before turning to greet his family. Tieren, Hunter’s closest friend and Malcolm’s page, began filling their goblets with watered wine.

Malcolm and Hunter were the last to arrive, and Hunter took up the mantle of page, eager to serve them. Malcolm sat in his customary place. “True is no’ happy to be confined above.” He flashed a wry grin to Erin. “She’s used to being the
boss
.”

“’Tis for the best,” Rosemary said, nodding to Erin.

“We’ll keep True company anon.” Lydia smiled. “I ken her time is near, for she’s quite restless. I had to stop her from scrubbing the walls of our solar this morn.”

Platters of food came from the kitchen, filling the hall with savory smells. Rob’s mouth salivated in anticipation. He helped himself to two large portions of meat, placing them on the trencher he shared with Erin. “Turnips?” he asked, his dagger hovering above the root vegetables.

“Yes, please. Carrots and cabbage too.” She glanced his way, lifting the small dagger he’d given her. “I still miss my fork.”

“You’ll become accustomed to the wee dagger, lass,” his uncle William said, rubbing his hands together. “I do enjoy freshly roasted pork.”

Robley’s father sneezed and sneezed again. Slumping forward, his head fell to the table.

“Robert!” his mother shook him by the shoulders. “Robert, what is it? What ails you, my love?”

“Father,” Rob cried. Leaping to his feet, he hurried to his side. Rob’s lungs seized with alarm at the sight of his father’s limp form. He’d always been so strong, invincible in Rob’s eyes.

“Oh God.” Erin pushed him aside and pulled his father upright. She placed her hands on either side of his head, and a look of intense concentration suffused her face. “A stroke. He’s had an ischemic stroke. I can sense the blockage.” She kept her hands on him as he leaned precariously.

Rob reached out to support his father where he teetered in the chair. He would not let him fall. His heart in his throat, fear and grief pierced him through. He held his father by the shoulders, and all the while childhood memories played through his mind. He’d never had a moment’s doubt that his da loved him. Despite the many hours of worry he’d caused his parents, they’d always been there for him, offering encouragement and direction. “What can be done, Erin?” he asked.

“Keep supporting him, Rob.” Her gaze shot to Hunter. “You know the trunk in my room?”

“Aye.” He nodded, wide-eyed.

“Inside you’ll find a leather bag. Bring it quickly.” She returned her attention to Robert. “Once I get some aspirin down his throat, we need to transfer him to his bed.”

His mother wailed, and his aunt went to comfort her. William came to stand on his da’s other side. Rob looked to Erin. “What is a stroke?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“Um, I think you’d call it apoplexy. He has a clot in one of the blood vessels in his brain, and it’s blocking the flow of blood.” Erin pressed two fingers upon his father’s neck, just below his jaw. “His pulse is strong and steady. His respiration is good.”

“What can I do?” Malcolm stepped forward.

“Have someone make sure there’s a good fire in his chamber, and have the bed ready,” Erin directed.

Hunter returned and handed Erin her purse. She riffled through it, bringing out a small vial. Her hands shaking, she untwisted the lid and poured a few white disks into her palm. Using the flat side of a dagger, she crushed the things into powder atop the table linen, poured out most of the wine from his father’s goblet and brushed the powder into what remained in his cup. “Help me get this down his throat.” She turned to him. “Ready?”

“Aye.” Robley pried his father’s jaw open and tilted his head back, his heart breaking at the sight of his father’s slackened features and ghostlike pallor. Erin poured the contents down his throat and massaged his neck until his Adam’s apple gave indication that he swallowed the concoction.

“Will he live?” his mother asked in a tremulous voice. “Speak plainly, lass. Will my husband live?”

“The next few hours are critical.” Erin spared her a glance. “I don’t know. I hope so. He’s a strong, healthy man. If he doesn’t have another episode, the odds are in his favor.”

His father made a gurgling sound and opened his eyes. One side of his face drooped slightly. He reached for his wife, and she moved to his side, clasping his hand to her chest.

“We need to get him to bed.” Rob sought his cousin, who had sent servants scurrying to make ready his parents’ chamber. “Help me get him upstairs. I’ll take his shoulders.” Between his uncle, Malcolm and himself, they managed to wrest his father up the narrow staircase and to his bed. The women followed, and Lydia continued on down the corridor. For certes she meant to inform True of what had happened.

“How is he?” True soon appeared in the doorway, breathless and flushed, followed by Lydia. She clutched a small pouch in her hand and hurried to Erin’s side. “What needs to be done?”

Rob moved out of the way, guilt and helplessness reducing him to near tears. Was this his fault? He’d always been the one to cause them worry, what with his recklessness and constant desire for adventure. They’d thought him dead these past few months, and he still might die if he didn’t succeed in accomplishing what the faerie warrior had asked of him. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he stayed out of the way as the women tended his father.

Erin fussed with making Robert more comfortable. She removed his boots and smoothed the blankets beneath him. “I’ve given him aspirin to thin his blood. Hopefully that should help.” She straightened. “Wish we had a hospital down the road.” Her face was drawn, and concern formed creases across her delicate brow. “And physical therapists nearby.” Her eyes caught and held True’s.

“I have red willow tea. It’s made from the inner bark.” True placed the pouch in Erin’s hands.

Erin shot her a stern look. “Tell me you didn’t go all the way to the cottage for this. We don’t need another emergency tonight.”

“No. I keep some on hand in our chamber. Aspirin is made from red willow, right? Will this have the same effect?”

“Probably.”

“My . . . Rose . . .” Robert croaked, trying to rise. “Rosemary.”

“I’m here,
mo céile
.” Rosemary rushed to Robert’s side. Perching on the edge of the bed, she put her arms around her husband’s shoulders. He sighed, calmed by her presence, and relaxed back onto the mattress.

“That’s a good sign.” Erin caught his eye. “He’s able to talk, and we got the blood thinner into him immediately. Hopefully the damage is minimal.” She began herding everyone toward the door. “I’ll stay and monitor his progress, but all we can do now is wait and see. He needs to rest. Go. I’ll let you know if anything happens.” Erin turned to Rob. “I left my purse in the great hall. After Hunter has something to eat, will you send him up with my bag and some boiled water for the tea? I’ll keep dosing Robert with aspirin or willow bark tea through the night.”

Robley studied his mother and found he was reluctant to leave. Grief and fear suffused her features, and her eyes were overly bright with unshed tears. His own helplessness to do anything to help pained him. Another crisis he couldn’t control. Frustration at his own inadequacies burned through him. Worse was the niggling suspicion and corrosive guilt that his foolhardy actions may have precipitated his father’s ailment. He strode to his mother’s side and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Would you rather have me stay?”

“Aye. If you please,” she said, her voice quavering. “’Twould give me comfort, and if Erin needs to move him, she’ll need your help.”

“I’ll send Hunter with the things you need,” Malcolm said. “Have the lad pass the night here. If you need aught, send him in your stead.” He placed his hands on his wife’s shoulders and guided her toward the door. “Back to our chamber, True. Like Erin says, we dinna need another crisis this eve.”

“But—”

“Please. I don’t want to worry about you right now. I have enough on my hands as it is,” Erin pleaded. “You should be off your feet and in bed.”

“All right.” Reluctantly, True let Malcolm guide her out of the chamber.

Erin’s eyes met Rob’s, and in an instant, she was in his arms, soothing him with her touch.

“It’s going to be all right. I can feel it. He might need some help, but he’s going to recover.”

Resting her cheek over his heart as was her habit, she tightened her arms around his waist. His throat worked, and his eyes stung. Unable to speak, he did the only thing he could. He held her, taking the comfort she so generously offered. Would she ever ken how much having her with him mattered? Did she not realize how much they already leaned upon one another during their trials? In her heart she trusted him. ’Twas in her head where the problems lay, keeping them apart. If he did naught else, he meant to convince her they were meant to be together.

The night passed slowly. With Rob’s help, Erin and his mother undressed his father and made him more comfortable. Rob tended the hearth and did what he could to comfort his mother, while Erin tended his da, waking him oft to drink tea or to take more of the white powder. Each time she roused him, she laid her hands on his temples to ease his pain, or to heal him. She only hoped it helped.

Erin stretched and rubbed her back. “He’s stable and sleeping well. I’m not worried that he’ll worsen or have another episode.”

“Go to your rest, lass.” Rosemary clasped Erin’s hands in hers. “I am so grateful to have you with us. I’ve no idea how we would have managed were you no’ here.” Rosemary reached out a hand to Robley, and he took it. She drew him into their circle. “See Erin to her chamber. I’ll stay up with your da, and if there’s any change, I’ll send Hunter for you.”

Rob looked at Hunter where he slept on a pile of blankets by the hearth. “Are you certain? If it would give you ease, I’ll keep the vigil with you.”

“Nay.” She rubbed her eyes. “We all need rest. Erin says he’s stable, and I can see it is so with mine own eyes. I will need your strength on the morrow. Go to your rest now.”

“She’s right.” Erin sighed. “We won’t be good for anything if we’re both exhausted.” She laid a hand on Rosemary’s arm. “Just before dawn, see if you can get more of the tea into him. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I will. Now off with you both.” Rosemary shooed them out the door, shutting it behind them.

His heart faltering, he stood in the dimly lit corridor and tunneled both hands through his hair. His eyes stung with weariness and grief. “Erin . . .”

“I know. I’m sorry.” She ran her hand down his arm.

“Do you ken if . . .” His throat closed up, and he had to swallow a few times before continuing. “Did I cause my father’s stroke?” He stared down the hall, his jaw clenching. “My parents thought me dead. I . . . I gave them such grief and worry. Is it because of me that he—”

“No. You didn’t cause the clot. Conditions leading to a stroke take years to develop.” She placed her hands on his cheeks and turned his face so that their eyes met. “Nothing you did caused this, and there is nothing you could’ve done to prevent the stroke from happening.”