Chapter Twenty-Two
Mari practically bowled over the servant who opened the door for her and bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time, not caring at all that it probably was not ladylike. She nearly collided with a distraught Ian pacing the hall in front of Jillian’s bedchamber.
“Ye canna go in there,” he said as she reached for the door knob.
Mari glared at him. She was not in the mood for any MacLeod bossiness at the moment. “Jillian is my sister.”
“And I am her husband. The midwife ordered me out, and Bridget threatened to plant a boot on my arse if I didnae leave. ’Tis too crowded, they said.”
“Go,” Jamie said from behind her as he put a restraining hand on Ian’s shoulder. “’Tis nae men they want in the room.”
Mari gave him a brief nod and slipped through the door and then nearly collapsed at the scene in front of her. Bright red splotches of blood splattered the crisp white linens everywhere. Her stomach began to churn.
“If ye are going to swoon, out with ye!” the midwife snapped. “I’ve nae the time to tend ye.”
Mari swallowed the bile in her throat and took a deep breath. The sight of blood was not going to make her swoon—although there was so much of it. She did not need medical training to know this was a bad situation.
Jillian held out a hand weakly. Mari inhaled deeply once more and moved forward to grasp her sister’s hand in both of hers. “You are going to be all right,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster, though even to her ears it sounded inane. Jillian was certainly notall right.
Bridget gave Mari a worried look as she dabbed Jillian’s forehead with a cool cloth. “’Tis good ye returned. Is Jamie with Ian?”
“Yes. They were both in the hall.”
“Tell Ian not to worry—” Jillian whispered and then grimaced grotesquely.
Mari clutched Bridget’s other arm. “How much pain is she in? Is she—”
“’Tis just the birthing pains,” the midwife said as she pulled a chair close to the bed and draped a fresh sheet over Jillian’s raised knees. “Ye must push.”
Jillian grimaced again and then grunted, closing her eyes as her head fell back on the damp pillowcase.
“How can you ask her to push when she is so weak?” Mari asked. “You cannot expect her to—”
“If she dinnae push, the bairn will die. If it does nae come out, yer sister will bleed to death,” the midwife said grimly.
Mari felt Effie’s hand on her shoulder. “She is right. Perhaps you should wait outside with the MacLeods.”
“No.”
“We all know what we are doing,” Effie replied. “Not much else can be done.”
“I can pray.” Mari felt the slightest pressure from Jillian’s hand and returned the squeeze. “I am not leaving, but I promise not to get in your way.”
“Then take this,” Bridget said as she handed Mari the damp cloth. “Keep bathing her forehead while I help with the birthing.”
The next few minutes seemed like hours. Bridget crawled into the bed behind Jillian, bracing her in a sitting position so she could push better. Effie stood by, holding what looked like handfuls of moss and leaves while the midwife’s hands were under the draped sheet—God only knew what she was doing, but Jillian alternately groaned and whimpered. Mari bit her lip to stay quiet. She had to trust the midwife knew what she was doing since the physician had not yet arrived.
Jillian suddenly screamed, the sound rending the air like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. A distinct baby’s cry followed just as the door was flung open and Ian burst through.
“Ye are killing my wife!” he said, taking in the sight and then lurched toward the wall, his face white as fresh milk as he slumped down.
“Men,” Effie muttered.
“’Tis better he passed out,” Bridget said a minute later as she took charge of cleaning the bairn. “He would just be in the way.”
“I have nae time to look after him,” the midwife said as she began stuffing the mossy substance Effie handed her between Jillian’s legs. “I must get the bleeding to stop.”
Mari concentrated on bathing Jillian’s face and neck, praying the entire time that her sister would not bleed to death. She was only vaguely aware when Jamie entered the room, quickly retreating with a shaky Ian.
