Three knightscame into view.
Relief flooded Gwendolyn. A larger force would ride beneath the Earl of Balfour’s standard.
The trio of men halted before the gate.
Even from this distance, she noted the lead warrior. Broad shoulders. His stance confident. A shiver of unease rippled through her.
“Do you think ’tis your betrothed?”
She shook her head. “The writ stated the earl would arrive with a sizable contingent. I suspect ’tis but knights traveling through.”
A faint echo of a man’s deep voice reached her.
A guard’s voice rang out. A clank sounded, then the slow rattle ofthe portcullis.
Gwendolyn relaxed. Whatever the travelers had told her guard, they were not a threat.
A frown thinned her mouth as she entered the secret tunnel. With King Robert determined to unite Scotland, how many years would pass before their country found peace? She damned the war, the struggle for power that had claimed too manyinnocent lives.
Inside the cave, Pieres lit a candle. Golden light cut through the blackness, the wet walls slick with moss and the sandy path scattered with wave-smooth pebbles.
She inhaled to settle her nerves, then focused on the upcoming birthing of her prize mare. “I wish the groom was here. ’Tis Kellan’s first foal, and ’twould ease me to know she was in Edmund’s competent hands.”
Her friend raised the taper, started down the tunnel. “MacDuff has helped Edmund several times with a mare’s birthing.”
“He has. But a few months studying beneath Edmund’s skilled guidance far from gives MacDuff the experience he needs.”
The smell of hay and horse filled the air as they reached the hidden door outside the stable. With a tug of the latch, Gwendolyn pushed aside the entry, then stepped ontothe soft dirt.
Pieres followed, secured the door behind them. “I will check to see who has arrived.”
“I thank you.” Afternoon sunlight flickered over her friend’s shoulders as he entered the bailey.
A snort sounded from the corner stall.
Warmth spilled through her as she hurried over. “Howfares Kellan?”
“She has begun birthing,” MacDuff replied.
At the worry in the stable hand’s voice, her chest tightened. She hurried inside the stall.
Heavy with foal, the mare staggered upon the bed of straw. She nickered, half-collapsed to her side, rolled, shoved back to her feet, thenbegan to pace.
“Easy, girl,” Gwendolyn soothed as she stroked her velvety muzzle. “How long has she been unsettled?”
MacDuff rubbed the back of his neck. “Since a short while after you left.”
The mare tossed her head and half-reared. As her feet hit the floor, her entire body shook. On a whinny, she again dropped to her knees, fell to one side, then rolled.
“There should be some sign of the foal coming by now,” MacDuff said, his voice rough with worry. “I… I fear the foal is turnedthe wrong way.”
God, no! Dread filled Gwendolyn as she remembered horrific stories of a mare’s screams as she suffered during a difficult foaling, of the loss of blood, and the trauma that could leave both the motherand foal dead.
Male voices echoed from the stable entry, but she ignored them, damning her lack of knowledge concerning the upcoming birth, a fact she would remedy after this day. “Surely Edmund has delivered such difficult births in the past?”she forced out.
A ruddy hue swept the man’s face. “Aye,” the stable hand replied, “but none after he began instructing me.”
Furious at her helplessness, Gwendolyn knelt beside Kellan. Hand trembling, she stroked her sweat-slicked neck.Please, God, do not let her die.
