Laird of Flint: A Forbidden Love Scottish Medieval Romance Adventure (The Warrior Lairds of Rivenloc

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Summer filled the glen with meadowsweet and bluebells.

Still Sister Eve didn’t return.

Twice, against Carenza’s wishes, Hew had risked a visit to the village alehouse late at night, heavily cloaked and stooped to hide his size. Yet he’d learned nothing about the king’s disposition or the status of the laird of Dunlop or what anyone imagined had become of that Rivenloch warrior with the axe.

Carenza wasn’t surprised. The men who exchanged gossip at a village alehouse were more likely to discuss the cost of bread and which neighbor was cheating on his wife than Scottish politics and nobles’ marriages.

But she didn’t mind. They’d transformed the byre into a home.

Meanwhile, summer ripened slowly into autumn.

The thistles in the glen flourished and faded. Bilberries and blackberries swelled and sweetened. Squirrels and hedgepigs and foxes had litters of young. Woodland birds retired their songs and muted their colors. And the trees changed out of their green gowns into shades of gold and scarlet that fluttered off like butterflies in the blustery wind.

Carenza’s body ripened as well.

At first, it was no great inconvenience.

While Hew worked from dawn to dusk, cutting peat for their cook fires, gathering berries, fishing, and fetching foodstuffs and linens, she could still care for the hens and prepare the daily pottage and oatcakes.

But now she was simply unwieldy. She could no longer see her feet. Where in summer she might have skipped across the glen to gather bunches of wild garlic, the mere thought of trudging across the wet grass to admire the last persistent purple thistle was exhausting. And she was always hot, despite the cool autumn weather.

This morn, however, when she waddled out the door, there was a strange stillness in the air and a chill that made her wrap her plaid tighter around her round belly.

Hew was already outside, scowling at the sky.

“It feels like snow,” she said.

He grunted.

“’Tis early yet,” she remarked.

Nonetheless, the clouds were thick and bluish-gray, and it did feel like they might begin sifting snowflakes onto the earth at any moment.

He turned then to look at her. And she saw his unspoken fear.

It was the same fear that had lurked in the back of her mind for weeks. The one she’d kept cloaked in denial. The one they hadn’t spoken about.

She could see now it was too late. The weather had turned. They’d never make it through the snow.

By her estimation, she would birth the bairn in a few fortnights. And if the snow started falling now, it could indicate a harsh winter where it might not melt until spring.

She’d foolishly hoped Sister Eve would return within the next fortnight with the approved document, to relieve them of their fugitive status and allow them to return home.

It had been her quiet wish to have their child at Dunlop—in the castle, on her feather bed, surrounded by the ladies of the clan—while Hew and her father drank ale and paced the great hall. She’d imagined presenting the bairn to her father. Dreamed of showing off the laird’s heir to the people of Dunlop.

Now that wouldn’t happen.

Her child would be born in a byre.

She wouldn’t have a midwife.

And they’d probably be on their own for the first several months of the bairn’s life.

Still, it wasn’t a completely abhorrent thought.

The Christ child had been born in a byre, after all.

Her husband could serve as a midwife. That undoubtedly frightened him more than it did her. But Carenza had delivered coos and lambs and piglets all her life. She knew what to do.

And as far as being on their own, it might be pleasant to be alone with her wee family, out from under the influence of grandparents with strong opinions.

It wasn’t ideal, but she could make do with this situation.

Even as she took a breath to assure Hew she would be fine staying in the byre, white flakes began to drift down between them.

Hew clenched his fists, as if priming to do battle with the elements.

“We need to go,” he decided abruptly.

No question. No discussion. No hesitation.

She blinked.

Hew had made up his mind when he’d first risen and stepped outside.

He knew by the stillness in the air. By the cold. By the color of the clouds.

Snow was coming.

For several moments before Carenza arose, he’d stared at the heavy heavens, torturing himself with self-blame and self-loathing.

He should have taken her home weeks ago.

How could he have been so selfish? So irresponsible? So determined to watch out for his own safety that he’d trapped his innocent wife with him? So intent on keeping her for himself that he would sacrifice her happiness for his own desires?

What kind of savage was he to keep his pregnant wife in a hovel like this?

And what kind of father was he to endanger the life of his child?

He’d been a fool to delay so long. Before, coming out of hiding had meant risking his arrest. Now it meant risking the lives of Carenza and their bairn.

But he could afford to delay no longer. They had to go, no matter the cost.

“Go?” Carenza asked. “Go where?”

“Dunlop,” he said, pushing past her to begin packing what they’d need.

“And risk the king’s wrath? And our arrest? Nay.”

“You needn’t worry. None of this was your fault,” he said, hauling out his largest satchel and stuffing it with wool plaids. “No one will blame you. Not your father. Not Gellir. Not the king. ’Twas all my doing.”

“This?” she exclaimed, cradling her belly. “’Twas most certainly not all your doing. I seem to recall givin’ ye little choice in the matter.”

Hew seemed to recall that as well. But no one else would believe that. And that was as it should be. Carenza was too pure of heart to be branded a fallen woman or a wanton. He was much better suited to take on the burden. Many already considered him a boorish lecher anyway.

Nay, he didn’t want to debate her.

“The hens will be safe enough inside,” he said, adding oatcakes and a jack of ale to the pack.

“Hew,” she said.

“We’ll have to leave most of the linens.”

“Hew.”

“And I don’t think we’ll have room for Sister Eve’s gown.”

“Hew! Stop!”

He paused, but he couldn’t meet her gaze. Couldn’t stomach the guilt he felt when he looked at her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“What’s wrong?” he echoed ruefully.

He’d woken up. He’d realized it didn’t matter if the king condemned him. What was important was that Carenza was safe. Their bairn was safe. Dunlop’s heir was safe.

Maybe by some miracle, Sister Eve had been right. Maybe all had been forgiven. But even if that seemed unlikely, even if it meant risking his life, Hew still had to take the wager.

If the worst happened—if he was immediately seized and put into shackles, carted away to a royal prison, and executed as a traitor—his dishonor would be only a wee blemish on Rivenloch and a worthwhile sacrifice for Carenza and their bairn.

Carenza might grieve for a bit. But she’d have their child to warm her heart and the love of her clan to surround her.

She’d be free to marry again. Indeed, if Sister Eve never showed up, it would be as if she’d never been wed. And a woman as perfect as Carenza—beautiful, sweet, kind, gentle, thoughtful, charming—would have men clamoring for her hand before Hew was cold in the ground, no matter whose child she named as heir.

As for Hew, he knew he would die a better man, just for the privilege of having spent this magical year with an angel.

He wasn’t about to tell her all that. She’d only argue with him. And they didn’t have time. The snow was falling fast now.

So he told her the most important part of the truth. The heart of it.

“The truth is I can’t bear the thought of losing you, Carenza.”

“Losin’ me? Ye’re not goin’ to—”

“If anything happened…” he choked out, shaking his head. “If something went awry… If I lost you… If we lost the bairn…”

“We won’t lose the bairn.”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I’d rather risk imprisonment than endanger the lives of my loved ones.” He clenched his jaw as a knot rose in his throat. “You can’t talk me out of it. So don’t try. I’ve made up my mind. And I won’t change it. I love you too much.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Och, Hew. I don’t want to make ye suffer. I could ne’er cause ye distress. And God help me, I love ye more than—” She halted abruptly with a gasp and pressed a hand to her belly.

Hew’s heart plunged. The blood drained from his face.

Dear God, was she…?

This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

He held his breath and stared at her in horror for several agonizing heartbeats.

Finally, her face relaxed into a smile. “Just a kick.”

The tension shivered loose like chain mail off his back, leaving him suddenly weak and vulnerable. And he knew at that instant he was doing the right thing by taking her home to Dunlop.

Carenza had meant to change Hew’s mind. She’d intended to convince him they’d be fine staying in the byre. After all, this was her clan’s land. She knew it well. The snow had come unseasonably early. But it wasn’t the first time it had done so.

His fears weren’t completely unfounded, of course. Births didn’t always go according to plan. But she wasn’t near her time yet, and so far she’d been healthy.

She would have argued that the risk of arrest was no less now than it had been months ago. So it seemed unwise to turn up at Dunlop when they couldn’t be assured of a friendly welcome.

She’d intended to say all that.

But the moment she saw the sheer terror in his eyes and the pale cast to his face, she knew she couldn’t. Putting him through that kind of fear over the next days and weeks would have been cruel.

She had a sense he was right about the blame. If Carenza waddled up to the castle gates with the heir of Dunlop in her belly, no one would put her in shackles. And that gave her a certain leverage.

She rubbed her palm over her belly, calming the bairn.

“He must be eager to go meet his grandfather,” she said.

The relief in Hew’s eyes was instant. And she knew she’d made the right choice.

She grabbed her satchel and tucked their pair of wooden cups into it, along with two wild apples and the verses Merraid had written.

Hew shouldered the large satchel. “She.”

“What?”

“She’s eager to meet her grandfather.”

She grinned. “Ye think ’tis a daughter?”

“I hope ’tis a daughter.” His eyes softened like melting silver. “I’d like another just like you.”

She sighed. He always knew just what to say. Secretly, though, she wanted a son just like him.

Packing all they needed for the journey didn’t take long. It was only a few miles to Dunlop. Still, it would be rough traveling, more than an hour over rocky ground and through dense woods. And Carenza would require frequent breaks.

They did leave behind Sister Eve’s gown. Carenza wanted it to be there for her, if and when she turned up at the byre.

She said farewell to the hens. She figured they’d live like queens even without their human masters. After all, they had plenty of grain and the entire cozy byre to themselves.

Then she pulled her arisaid over her head, picked up her satchel, and slipped out into the feathery white.

“Hold on,” Hew said.

He took her satchel and slung it across his back with his own. Then, before she could squeak in surprise, he swept her up suddenly into his arms.

“What kind of Viking’s son would I be,” he said, “if I couldn’t carry off a wench?”

His ancestors would have been impressed. He carried her and their bairn all the way to Dunlop.

They passed through the gates of Dunlop and crossed the snowy courtyard without incident. When Hew carried her through the doors of the great hall to set her on her feet near the hearth, a sudden hush fell over the clanfolk.

“Carenza?” Her father looked stunned.

She’d been thinking about this moment all the way from the time they left the byre. She’d decided if they were going to do this, if they were going to march up to the gates of Dunlop and drop their fate in her father’s hands, she would make it her mission to defend Hew with her life and the life of her unborn child.

“Father.” She straightened and faced him squarely. “I have somethin’ to tell ye.”

“Ye’re goin’ to have a bairn,” he realized.

“That’s right,” she said. “But I’ll have ye know, if ye’re not willin’ to forgive Hew, if ye plan to turn him o’er to the king, I’ll make certain ye ne’er see your grandchild.”

“But—”

“I’ll go into exile,” she bit out. “And ye won’t have an heir.”

“But—”

“I know ’tis a harsh decision. But considerin’ all Hew has sacrificed in the name o’ love, ’tis the right decision. So what will it be?”

She braced herself for a challenge.

It never came.

Instead, her father looked at Hew. “’Twas ye all along, wasn’t it? Her lover. Her caretaker. Her hero. I knew it.” He came forward with watery eyes and a father’s proud smile.

Against all odds, it turned out what Sister Eve had told them was true. All of it. Merraid the maidservant had written the verses. And fought at Gellir’s back. And been knighted by the king. And brokered peace between the lairds. She was now married to Gellir and expecting a bairn.

Eve was even right about the king and the laird of Rivenloch forgiving Hew and Carenza for their reckless behavior, though they still needed the sealed marriage document to make their union official.

First, however, Carenza meant to write a missive to Merraid, apologizing for her hasty departure. Congratulating her on her marriage and her upcoming delivery. Commending her on her clever and passionate verse. And announcing her own marriage to the heretofore unnamed father of her bairn, Sir Hew du Lac of Rivenloch himself. Their marriages would make Carenza and Merraid cousins.

She smiled, imagining the stir her missive was sure to cause.

Carenza woke early on Martinmas morn. Not because she needed extra time to dress, which she did lately, since she’d grown to roughly the size of Hamish.

Nay, she didn’t think she’d be going to Mass today.

What urged her awake was a twinge deep in her abdomen, the kind she got when her menses were beginning.

It was time.

The cramp subsided, and she levered herself out of bed.

She’d slept by herself for the past fortnight. In her condition, she found she grew too hot and restless with another person in the bed.

But she wasn’t alone. Standing in the middle of the floor in the dim morning light was a rat.

“Not today, Twinkle,” she told the wee beast. “Ye should make yourself scarce. The chamber’s goin’ to be full o’ maids soon.”

The rat didn’t budge, only sniffed patiently at the air.

“Och fine,” she relented, breaking off a crumb from the oatcakes she kept by the bed.

She tossed it to Twinkle, who scampered off through a gap in the garderobe curtain.

“And don’t come back until everyone’s left.”

Then she summoned the maid, who called the midwife, who called another midwife, who called four more maids to assist. This was the Laird of Dunlop’s grandchild, after all. They wanted no mistakes.

While the servants readied the chamber, stoking the fire, hauling water, bringing linens, Carenza felt more waves tightening her belly. As she’d seen the coos and sheep do, she huffed out her breath until they passed.

Between contractions, she thought wistfully about the marriage document. She had hoped it would arrive before the bairn was born. But no one knew what had happened to Sister Eve. Carenza hoped she was all right.

Someone was sent to wake her father and Hew, though she felt that was unnecessary. They might as well sleep. Birthing was usually an all-day process. Besides, Hew was already nervous about the ordeal. It seemed cruel to draw out his suffering.

At least they could keep each other company. As it turned out, they were nearly inseparable. And whether it was Hew’s influence or the threat of losing her or the impending birth, her father had softened in his attitudes. He no longer cared if everything was perfect.

He made no mention of the missing marriage decree. By his behavior, he assumed they were legitimately wed. He already treated Hew as if he were his son. He’d even had Hew’s precious axe replaced. Though he couldn’t reproduce the runes, he’d had Amor vincit omnia carved into the handle.

He made no comment about Carenza’s appearance, even though she knew she was as large as a coo and bedraggled as a molting owl. He was just thrilled to be getting an heir.

She breathed through another mild contraction. One of the midwives set up the birthing chair, though she wouldn’t need it for hours. A superstitious maidservant slipped a dagger under her pillow, whispering that it would cut the pain. Another maid mopped Carenza’s brow with a damp rag. The pain passed, and Carenza smiled. The quiet efficiency of the ladies around her was curiously calming.

“’Tis been hours,” Hew growled in complaint as one of the maidservants tending to Carenza emerged onto the crowded great hall.

“These things take time, m’laird,” she said.

“But she’s all right?” the Laird of Dunlop asked.

“Och aye, she’s fine.”

Hew and the laird exchanged glances of dubious relief and returned to pacing.

Hew felt as if he were at his wit’s end. His heart raced. Every nerve was on edge. Carenza was fighting a battle in her bedchamber. And there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do to help her.

He shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn’t made the decision to return to Dunlop.

As for her father, he wasn’t helping Hew’s mood. His face was sickly pale with fear. He’d chewed his lip until it was raw. Even his hounds in the corner of the hall whimpered, sensing his unease.

The laird stopped him mid-pace, seizing his arm. “Do ye think we should fetch the physician?”

Hew wondered. It wasn’t normally done. Physicians knew little about childbirth. That was a midwife’s purview. On the other hand, this was his child and the heir to Dunlop. “I’m not sure. Should we?”

The maidservant suddenly appeared beside them again with a pair of ales. “Nay, m’lairds. ’Tis already crowded enough in her bedchamber. Here. Have a wee bit to drink. ’Twill help calm your fears.”

“I don’t want to calm my fears,” Hew snapped, grabbing a cup and downing it anyway.

The maidservant didn’t even flinch. Still, Hew felt remorse the instant he opened his mouth. He sounded like his mother, lashing out in anger at anyone in his path.

“Och, forgive me,” he said. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just…”

“Ye’re just a man waitin’ for his child to be born.”

“I was the same way,” the laird confessed. “Fear dressed up as anger. This time, though, ’tis naught but fear for me.”

The maidservant pressed the second cup into his hand. “This works for both. And ye might as well have a seat. Otherwise ye’ll wear out the bottom o’ your boots by the time this bairn comes.”

They tried to sit. But the laird couldn’t stop bouncing his leg. And Hew kept standing up and sitting down, too restless to rest.

“Is it good luck or bad luck to be born on Martinmas?” the laird wondered.

Hew didn’t know. “At this rate, the bairn won’t come till the morrow.”

“What if it doesn’t? What if Carenza’s up there in agony for a sennight?”

“It can’t take that long,” Hew scoffed. Then he reconsidered. “Can it?”

“Do ye suppose they have enough plaids?”

That was a consideration. It was snowy, and the bairn would be wet. “Should we gather more?”

They shot to their feet and began scouring the hall, demanding the plaids from clanfolk who warmed themselves by the fire. Whether they would be useful or not, it at least gave Hew something to do so he wouldn’t go mad with worrying.

He’d gathered a heaping armful of plaids when the outer doors were suddenly flung open. A cold breeze rushed in to flicker the flames. A motley party of half a dozen travelers, cloaked against the harsh weather, pushed boldly inside.

Hew scowled.

What strangers dared to muscle their way so brazenly into Dunlop’s hall?

Who deigned to meddle in their private affairs?

Incensed at their intrusion and forgetting this was not his keep, he called out, “Who goes there? Show your faces.”