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“It is alright, Bess. He may hear what is going on.” Laboriously crouching to the carpet, she took Ewan’s hand.
“What happened, mama? Are you ill?” His beautiful eyes almost crying. Those past years must have marked him with the sense of insecurity of not having his mother around.
“No, my love.” Her calm tone seemed to soothe him. “The babe is coming. I will need you to stay with nanny for a while. Can you do that?” She stroked his chestnut hair.
He nodded and Freya looked up to her husband who coaxed the boy to go with Bess.
She did not even finish standing up when a sharp contraction made her double on her waist.
“Freya!” Drostan rushed to her and held her in his arms.
See-sawing breath, she managed to utter. “It is getting stronger. Not long now.” After it faded, she straightened, and he hugged her from behind unsure of what to do. Her frame leaned on him, and he instinctively rubbed her bump. “Oh, that is delicious.” She murmured, her head falling on his chest.
He increased his stroking. “Tell me where it aches. I will massage you.” He said on her ear.
Mrs Boyd watched the couple very closely with a quizzical expression. Naturally, men kept away from a childbirth tableau deeming it women’s affair.
“My back is quite painful.” She said, skin swimming in sweat at this point.
He made her lie on her side on the bed and strong hands kneaded her painful areas.
A new wave of contraction arose even stronger. She sat on the mattress, leaning on him as his arm circled her.
“Mrs Boyd, the babe is coming.” The midwife sprang into action.
With Drostan giving her support, she pushed in earnest. In his free hand, he held a cloth with which he mopped her sweat.
Sorcha came into the world with enviable lungs and a mop of auburn hair. After Mrs Boyd had cleaned and wrapped her, she placed the tiny bundle on her parents’ besotted arms.
“Lucky little girl.” The woman spoke cleaning her hands. “With parents who love each other this much, she will want for nothing.”
Drostan and Freya exchanged an even more besotted look. “Thank you, Mrs Boyd.” Freya expressed for both.
“Please, Mrs Boyd, wait outside.” Drostan addressed her. “I will be with you shortly.”
His long fingers caressed the babe’s hair enchanted. “I have no words to say how grateful I am to you.” He said, still sitting behind her and holding her.
With a radiant if a somewhat tired smile, she turned to him. “As far as I remember, we made her together.” She jested.
“That was the fun part.” He smiled back. “But you did all the hard work.”
“I am thankful, too. You were there every step of the way.”
“I love you, mo morair chat!”
“And I you, mo gardh.”
September 1810
The McKendricks, Taran and a heavily pregnant Aileen sat at the top terrace of the McKendrick manor sharing a whisky after dinner. The women chose tea instead. They gathered to celebrate Ewan’s fifth birthday and the birth of Sorcha. They all spent the day together as nature turned to shades of red and brown around them.
Ewan sat between his mother and father. He had been taken with Sorcha from the first day and considered himself responsible for her. Right now, Drostan was teaching him how to hold her safely.
“The gathering in spring for you to apologise for punching Alistair went not so bad.” Fingal needled Taran.
In a fit of jealousy, Taran had punched the McKendrick kin in the middle of Samhain in front of countless witnesses. To smooth things out, The McDougal had promised to gather both clans and offer a formal apology so as not to perpetuate the rift between them. The McKendricks had not met the McDougals since as the land demanded much work at that time of year.
“You mean it went vastly well.” Countered Taran.
