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“For me, too.” He murmured. “Though I believe we should try to let go, and make room for the good things that are coming.”
“It will not be easy, but we can do it.”
“The chance to take part in our second child’s beginning is also a dream come true, mo morair chat.”
She smiled tenderly at him.
His head lifted to her all bad intentions. “Meanwhile, I will enjoy…say…ploughing my wife.” And proceeded doing just that when his mouth took her breast shamelessly.
Her peal of laughter made him even hotter.
August 1810
“I think we should call Mrs Boyd.” Drostan, and Freya lounged by the loch on a blanket after eating the delicious food cook prepared for their picnic. Ewan played at the water’s edge.
Around them, deep green woods hosted a multitude of birds engaged in a requiem vibrating in the warm air. The placid water reflected an azure sky disturbed only by the occasional fish.
Drostan lay on the blanket, one arm over his eyes. “Who is Mrs Boyd?” His question came lazy and relaxed.
Midsummer offered them a welcome break as the fields grew green with the spring sowing, and the livestock already roamed with their young in the pastures. The land nurtured life and prosperity.
“The midwife from the McDougal.” Her first symptoms that their child was coming had just made themselves noticed. Warm liquid ran down her thighs.
A broad upper body sprang up. “Bluidy hell!”
Her hand came to rest on his bunched arm. “No hurry, mo gradh.” She calmed him. “It will take some time.”
“Alright.” He raked his wavy hair with a tense hand. “Yes...” His eyes surveyed around restless. “Can you walk?”
“Yes, do not worry. It is only the first signs.” She smiled at his crumpled features.
Quickly tidying the picnic, he grabbed the wicker basket and reached to help her up. The loch lay about two hundred yards from the manor through a well-kept track.
“Come, I will carry you.” He gestured to pick her up.
“No need, Drostan. To tell the truth, walking eases the discomfort. It did wonders to me when I trekked to Mrs Boyd’s almost five years ago.” Ambling towards the manor, she held her advanced bump.
It had been a three-mile walk on a mild September day before Ewan came to the world. When the contractions popped up, she stopped by the road until they subsided, carrying on afterwards. Five years ago, she learned what to expect for she had heard many women’s stories of their childbirth experiences. Nonetheless, the fear and the strain had accompanied her in her loneliness and her dire situation.
As soon as they entered the front hall, Drostan began barking orders to whomever was around to hear them. “Lachlan!” He called his brother who had just finished luncheon. “Can you go to the McDougal fetch Mrs Boyd, the midwife?”
His brother’s eyes bulged on her. “Sure.” And rushed to the stables.
Drostan left Ewan with the nanny and followed her upstairs.
“Mrs Boyd was very kind and considerate with me when Ewan was born.” Freya remembered.
“She deserves high praise for that.” He assured his wife.
Two hours later, Mrs Boyd arrived and took over. Freya’s condition did not change.
Drostan refused to leave the room which made her happy. She wished very much for his company.
When the discomfort arose, she walked around the room or found a relieving position on the bed. Drostan had unbuttoned her dress earlier, and she changed into a loose nightgown. He had unpinned his tartan from his shoulder, clipping it on his waist, and rolled the shirt sleeves up.
When the contractions became stronger and oftener, Drostan kept by her side doing whatever he could to help.
“Mommy!” Ewan’s fretful voice came from outside the chamber. “I want to see my mama.” It had been several hours they came from the loch. The boy barged into the room, the nanny at his heels with an apologetic look.
