The Witch and The Warrior (39 page)

“If I leave, your child will die,” Elspeth said coldly, knotting a length of rope to one of the posts at the foot of the bed. “Is that what you want, foolish girl?”

“Cameron,” whimpered Clarinda, her voice barely more than a sob, “please make her go away. Please!”

“Cameron is in a far better state to be sensible than you are,” said Elspeth, casting him a warning look through the hot, dark room. “He knows I have birthed more bairns in this clan than anyone else, and that he should not interfere in a female matter he cannot possibly understand. Not if he wants his child to live.”

Cameron raked his hand through his hair, torn by his beloved wife's suffering and the undeniable weight of Elspeth's experience.

“Don't touch me!” screamed Clarinda, flailing wildly as Elspeth tried to grab her ankle.
“Don't you dare touch me!”

“For the love of God, Elspeth, must you tie her down?” asked Cameron.

“All this thrashing about is doing grave injury to the bairn,” Elspeth informed him curtly. “We'll be lucky if it isn't dead already. I can't imagine a mother being so sinfully selfish. Now hold her while I secure her to the bed.” She grabbed Clarinda's ankle and began to twist the rope tightly around it.

“Take your hands off her, Elspeth,” commanded Gwendolyn, barely able to contain her rage.
“Now.”

“You have no business here, witch,” declared Elspeth, moving to secure Clarinda's other leg. “This unborn child will not belong to you or the devil you serve. Begone!”

“Gwendolyn,” mewled Clarinda pitifully, “don't leave me.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Clarinda,” Gwendolyn assured her, hurrying over to the bed. “We have a bairn to birth—remember?” She took hold of Clarinda's sweating hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“You cannot stay,” snapped Elspeth. “I won't allow it.”

“You're mistaken, Elspeth,” Gwendolyn responded, her voice as hard as steel. “It is you who isn't staying.”

Elspeth continued to lash Clarinda's other swollen ankle to the bed. “If I leave, this child will die, for God will not absolve the sins of the mother—”

“Get out!”
Gwendolyn cried, still holding Clarinda's hand. “Take your ropes and your vile threats and leave this chamber at once or I will cast a spell that will turn your evil tongue into a slithering snake!”

Elspeth raised her hand to her mouth and stared at her in shock, suddenly unsure. “I will speak to MacDunn of this,” she warned, speaking through her fingers.

“Do so,” Gwendolyn said. “And I will tell him how you take pleasure in terrorizing helpless women as they suffer during birth!”

Elspeth cast her a long look of undiluted loathing.

And then, her hand still shielding her mouth, she turned and fled the room.

“That was wonderful!” exclaimed Isabella, who had entered the chamber with Gwendolyn. “Although I must confess, I would have enjoyed seeing her tongue change into a snake. Do you suppose it might have slithered out and bitten her on the nose?”

“Isabella, would you kindly fetch Marjorie and Lettie?” asked Gwendolyn, her voice deliberately bright as she gently untied the cords binding Clarinda's ankles. “Tell them we are going to need their assistance, as they have some experience in this business of childbearing—and ask them to bring whatever they feel we will need.”

“Why don't you just use your powers to take the bairn out?” Isabella asked.

“I think it is better to let this wee life appear naturally,” Gwendolyn explained. “But I have never assisted at a birth before, and I would like Marjorie and Lettie to help.”

“I will help as well,” Isabella volunteered as she headed toward the door. “I won't be long.”

Clarinda regarded her friend with tear-filled eyes. “Thank you, Gwendolyn. For a moment I was so afraid—”

“Hush, now, Clarinda.” Gwendolyn brushed a silky lock of hair off Clarinda's forehead. “Everything is going to be just fine. My word, it's hot in here—Cameron, would you kindly open the windows?”

“It's still storming outside,” Cameron pointed out, “and Elspeth said the room must be kept very warm—”

“I hardly think it can be good for either Clarinda or your bairn to inhale this awful smoke,” Gwendolyn said. “Does it bother you, Clarinda?”

Clarinda nodded. “It's making me feel sick.”

“There, you see? Come, now, Cameron, a little fresh, rain-washed air will do us all a world of good. And see if you can't take that fire down a bit,” she added, glancing at the blazing hearth. “One would think we were preparing to roast a stag in here!”

Cameron obediently opened the windows, releasing a sweet gust of moist, grass-scented air into the chamber. The wind had eased slightly, so that no rain came into the chamber, but instead thrummed soothingly against the stone exterior of the castle.

“That's much better,” Gwendolyn declared. “Now, then, Clarinda, how do you feel?”

“I feel better. I would like to get up.”

Gwendolyn frowned in confusion. Just a moment earlier Clarinda had been thrashing about in complete agony. “Really?”

“The pain is gone, and it won't be back for a little while,” Clarinda told her with relative certainty. “I would like to walk a little before the next pain comes.” She began to sit up.

“No, Clarinda,” Cameron objected. “Elspeth said you mustn't move. You must lie still and wait for the bairn to come.”

“I don't want to lie still. I want to get up. I think I will feel better if I walk a bit.” She eased her legs over the side of the bed.

“Gwendolyn, tell her to get back into bed,” said Cameron, searching for an ally.

Gwendolyn considered a moment. “You're not planning to run up and down the corridor or go leaping about, are you, Clarinda?”

“Of course not. I just want to walk.”

“Well, there, you see, Cameron? I can hardly see how a gentle stroll could do either Clarinda or the bairn any harm.”

“She needs to rest,” Cameron told her firmly.

“I'm not tired,” Clarinda protested impatiently.

“But you will be,” Cameron assured her. “You must rest now for the long and painful suffering ahead—”

“Thank you, Cameron, for sharing your opinion with us,” Gwendolyn interrupted. “But since it is Clarinda who is going to birth this bairn, I think that if she feels better sitting up, or walking, or standing on her head, then that is what she should do.” She helped Clarinda to her feet, then wrapped her arm around her friend's back and began to walk across the chamber with her.

“You shouldn't be doing this, Clarinda,” Cameron said sternly.

“And when you're the one giving birth, I'll be certain to tell you all about how you should do it,” Clarinda retorted. “Now, why don't you go and train with the other men in the great hall while Gwendolyn and I take care of things here?”

Cameron's red brows rose in disbelief. “You want me to leave?”

“Gwendolyn will call you when we need your assistance. Won't you, Gwendolyn?”

“Aye,” promised Gwendolyn, having no idea what, exactly, Cameron would be needed to do. “I will.”

Cameron looked unconvinced. “You're certain?”

“I'm certain,” Clarinda assured him. “Now that Gwendolyn is here, everything is going to be fine.”

“Very well.” He stood in front of his wife and tipped her chin up. “But you are to have Gwendolyn call me the moment you need me—is that understood?” Without waiting for an answer, he bent low and gave her a long, gentle kiss.

“Everything is going to be fine this time, my love,” whispered Clarinda softly. “I can feel it.”

“Aye,” said Cameron, his voice gruff. He laid his hand against the hard swell of his wife's abdomen. “I can feel it as well.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Oh, look, she's up—did the bairn come already?” asked Isabella, entering with Marjorie and Lettie.

“Judging by her size, I'd say the wee thing's still tucked safely inside her,” said Lettie, setting down a basin and a stack of neatly folded linens. “Either that or she's been eating far too many bannocks!”

“Was it a false pain, Clarinda?” asked Marjorie, while placing a small dirk, needle, and thread, and a soft little plaid on the table. “That happens sometimes, you know. With my third one, I felt sure it was coming, and then had to wait nearly a week before he finally appeared.”

“I don't believe there was anything false about it,” Clarinda replied. “This bairn is coming today. It's just taking a little rest at the moment.”

“Then why are you out of bed?” Marjorie asked.

“Because she feels like it,” Cameron said flatly. “And since Clarinda's the one birthing the bairn, she can do as she pleases.” He hesitated at the door. “But if, by chance, she decides to stand on her head, be sure to fetch me. That's a sight I'd not want to miss!” He easily ducked the pillow Clarinda tossed his way, then closed the door.

“Isabella tells us you sent Elspeth away,” Lettie said, regarding Gwendolyn in amazement.

“I most certainly did.” Once again she began to escort Clarinda slowly around the chamber. “Clarinda did not want her near, and that was fine by me. Can you believe she was actually tying Clarinda to the bed when I came in?”

Lettie nodded and seated herself in the chair by the hearth. “Elspeth tied me down when I birthed my wee Gareth. She ties all birthing mothers down. She believes the mother should lie still and suffer the pain in silence, since 'tis God who is sending her the pain, as punishment for her womanly sins.”

“Didn't you mind being bound?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I hated it,” Lettie admitted. “It made me feel helpless—like a prisoner. And I couldn't move my arms or legs to a more comfortable position when I wanted to. I was struggling as much against the bonds as I was against the pain. My wrists were so raw and sore afterward, I could scarcely hold my bairn.”

“I think it's a horrible thing to do to a woman,” Gwendolyn said. “I may not know much about birthing, but it seems to me one should do everything possible to make the mother more comfortable, instead of lashing her to the bed and ordering her to keep still.”

“I certainly wouldn't have wanted to be tied down when I had my bairns,” agreed Marjorie, sitting on the bed. “That was long before Elspeth became the clan's healer. In my day, the women who attended you just made you lie in bed until the bairn came. Which is strange,” she mused, frowning, “since my mother said she always worked right up until a few minutes before the bairn pushed its way out. She claimed that when I was born, she wrapped me up, put me in the cradle, and then carried on making supper. Said my father hated it if anything interfered with his supper being ready!”

The women laughed.

“Oh my!” Clarinda gasped. She grabbed Gwendolyn for support as her knees buckled beneath her. “Oh—my.” Her eyes squeezed shut, she crumpled to the floor, unable to say anything else.

“What's happening to her?” Isabella asked anxiously. “Is the bairn coming?”

“Clarinda, are you all right?” Gwendolyn knelt beside her. “Do you want us to help you to the bed?”

Clarinda held her breath, her lips locked tight as she struggled against the pain.

“Breathe deeply, Clarinda,” instructed Marjorie, hurrying over to them. “Come, now, lass, a nice, deep breath. That's it. Now let it out. It won't last long—you're almost through it—and everything is just fine—you're a good lass. Just a wee bit longer, and then you'll feel much better.”

“Shouldn't we do something?” demanded Gwendolyn, distressed at seeing her friend in such agony.

“There's nothing much we can do,” said Lettie, who had also moved closer. “You have to suffer until you think you cannot bear it a moment longer, and then you suffer even more. And finally the bairn comes out, and you forget about everything except the wee person you hold in your arms.”

“Oh!” gasped Clarinda weakly, relinquishing her crushing grip on Gwendolyn's hand. She exhaled a long, steadying breath. “That was a fierce one.”

“Where is the bairn?” asked Isabella, who hadn't moved from the opposite side of the chamber. “Do you have it?”

“Not yet, Isabella,” said Marjorie, smiling. “We have to wait awhile longer.”

“That was very good, Clarinda,” praised Gwendolyn. “You were absolutely splendid—like the mighty Torvald when he was almost torn in half by the terrible two-headed monster!”

“Perhaps that's how I should think of it,” Clarinda suggested weakly. “I am a great warrior who refuses to be conquered by this pain.”

“And in the end, you are rewarded by a marvelous treasure,” suggested Lettie.

“You mustn't think you need to be brave,” Gwendolyn countered. “Or at least, you needn't be quiet. Make all the noise you want, do you hear?”

Clarinda smiled. “I will, Gwendolyn. Thank you.”

“Would you like to walk some more?”

“Actually, I believe I will lie down for a moment. That left me feeling rather wilted.”

Gwendolyn and Marjorie obligingly helped her over to the bed.

“There, now,” said Gwendolyn, adjusting the pillow behind Clarinda's head. “Are you warm enough?”

“I'm fine.”

“We must wait awhile now,” said Marjorie, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. “It can be a slow business, waiting for a bairn.”

“Why don't you tell us a story, Gwendolyn?” prompted Isabella. “That will make the time go faster.”

Clarinda's expression brightened. “Tell the one about when the mighty Torvald went to slay the kelpie who had stolen the poor man's daughter—”

“—only he found she was living as a princess in a magic kingdom deep at the bottom of the loch,” finished Isabella excitedly.