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Sure enough, Ingram lunged at him in an attempt to pierce his chest. Blair sidestepped easily and slapped the flat of his sword against his opponent’s shoulder to send him to his knees again. He waited, immobile, as the earl regained his feet.
Ingram tried the same move again, with a similar result. Again, Blair allowed him time to recover, and was rewarded by a determined attempt to hack off his sword arm. This time Ingram’s blade connected and sliced through the leather of Blair’s sleeve. No blood was drawn, but it was clear that the cornered rat was dangerous. Time to end this.
Blair sidled around his adversary as Ingram swung at him in wild, uncontrolled arcs. Had the man never been taught even the rudiments of swordplay? Seemingly not, because the earl lunged again, leaving his entire left side undefended. Blair’s claymore swirled about his head, the air shifted with the force of the blow, and blood spurted from the Earl of Ingram’s neck.
His enemy collapsed to the ground, gasping for air and Blair knelt beside him. It had been a clean enough blow and would prove fatal, though death may be minutes away.
Blair was tempted to leave him there to die alone, but knew he could not. This was after all his brother-in-law. His enemy was beyond help, and could harm them no more so justice was served. The McGregor could afford to be merciful now, even if the bastard deserved much less. Blair drew his dagger, the same blade with which he had seen off the wounded guard back at Dunisburn woods, and he finished the task before him.
Satisfied, Blair stood. He cleaned his blades, replaced his claymore in the scabbard, and jammed the dirk back in his belt, then he whistled for his horse.
* * *
“I was never more glad tae see ye, my friend, but I confess to being baffled. How did ye ken that ye were needed here?” Back at the beach Blair leaned down from his stallion to grasp Aiden’s outstretched hand. “Do ye have a man spare to go an’ recover the earl’s body?”
Aiden grinned up at him. “Aye, I shall see to it at first light. But for now, I suggest ye attend to Lady Roselyn. She needs ye, unless ye would prefer tae allow me and the wee lassie there to deliver your bairn.”
“What? But the child is nae due for weeks yet.” Blair flung himself from the horse and set off at a sprint in the direction of the boat where Roselyn still lay.
Aiden kept pace alongside him. “Ye may tell the child that, when he arrives. I daresay ye shall have that opportunity soon enough.”
“Shit.”
Chapter Thirteen
Roselyn panted hard, her body gripped with another crippling contraction. Her entire being was consumed with an overwhelming urge to push. Was that the right thing to do? She had no notion how to birth a bairn, but surely she must…
“Blair, where are you? I need my husband,” she wailed. “Is he here?”
“The laird is coming,” assured Meggie. “There, I see him now.”
“Tell him… tell him I… aaagh!”
“I am here, sweetheart.” There was a clatter of booted feet as The McGregor vaulted to land beside her in the tiny boat which had been dragged up onto the shingle beach. He grabbed her hand, then smoothed back the tangled and matted hair which covered her face. The evening was chilly, but heat consumed Roselyn. Sweat erupted from her brow, her limbs felt clammy, but all those discomforts were as nothing when set beside the agonising squeeze and twist of her distended belly. Her contractions were rapid now, unceasing it seemed as her womb strove to propel her child into the world.
She groped in the darkness for her husband’s hand. “It is time. The baby is coming…”
He grasped her fingers, turned her hand and kissed her palm. “I know. He will be here with us very soon.”
“I need Betsy. And Elspeth.”
Blair let out a groan. “I know, my love, but you shall have to make do with me. And Aiden.”
Roselyn stifled a whimper. “I mean no disrespect, my lord, but you know nothing of midwifery.”
“What is there to know?” As ever, The McGregor was ready to rise to the challenge. Confidence and self-assurance were all well enough, she would readily concede, but were a poor substitute for experience and knowledge of the intricacies of childbed. Her husband continued unabashed. “We have between us seen more foals birthed than either of us cares to recall. I daresay we can manage a mere Sassenach.”
“I am not a mare, my lord.”
“So I have observed. Nevertheless, we shall contrive to—”
Roselyn knew his intention was to reassure her, and in truth she was ready to place her trust in him. She was a pragmatist at heart. The McGregor was the best help to hand, and he had never failed her yet, but any further discussion on the matter was forestalled by another wrenching contraction. She doubled up and let out a scream which pierced even her own ears. As the wave of pain receded she emitted a string of curses which would cost her hours of contrite penance on her knees in the Duncleit chapel. Roselyn was beyond caring, past any semblance of dignity as she surrendered to the urge to bear down.
“I cannot… I cannot… I, oh, oooh.” She tightened her grip around his fingers, and pushed for all she was worth.
“My darling, I need to check—”
When Blair would have loosened her grip she just clung on harder. “Do not leave me. Please, I need—aaagh!”
