Chapter 18
“Out of the way! Out of the way, I said!”
The corridor was suddenly too narrow for the number of bodies trying to fill it.
Boots thudded on stone. A servant nearly collided with a guard carrying a bucket that sloshed water onto the rushes.
Someone shouted for more cloths. Someone else shouted back that they were already bringing them.
The air smelled of smoke and wet wool and sharp fear.
Isla clutched Ariella’s hand so tightly Ariella could feel her pulse through her fingers.
“Me lady,” Isla sobbed, breath catching on every word, “she’s crying out and I cannae do anything. I cannae! I cannae help her!”
“Ye can, Isla,” Ariella said, keeping her voice low and even as she guided Isla through the crowd. “Ye will.”
They rounded the last corner to the kitchens and nearly ran into Moira, who stood with her arms full of linens, hair slightly disheveled, eyes fierce.
“Where have ye been?” Moira snapped at Isla, then caught sight of Ariella and shifted at once. “Lady McNeill. Thank the saints. We’ve moved her to the bedchamber. The pains are close together now.”
“How close?” Ariella asked.
Moira’s mouth tightened. “Close enough that she bit me hand.”
“Moira!” Isla wailed, horrified.
Moira waved her off. “It’s fine. It’s me left. I can still cook with it.”
Ariella squeezed Isla’s hand once. “Go fetch more boiled water and keep the fire stoked. We need heat. We cannae let the room turn cold.”
Isla blinked, tears still falling. “Me?”
“Yes, ye,” Ariella said gently. “Ye are nae useless, Isla. Move.”
Something steadied in Isla’s face, just a little. She nodded and ran.
Moira leaned toward Ariella, voice dropping. “The laird’s giving orders like a commander. He posted guards in the corridor like we’re under siege.”
Ariella did not smile, but warmth flickered in her chest. That was Maxwell. Protecting by making the world orderly, even when it refused to be.
“Good,” Ariella murmured. “It will keep the chaos out.”
Moira jerked her chin toward the door. “Go. She’s waiting.”
Ariella pushed into the bedchamber and the noise outside vanished as if swallowed.
The room was warm, thick with hearth heat and candle smoke. Curtains had been drawn. A basin of water sat on a stool. Cloths were stacked on a chair. A servant girl hovered by the door wringing her hands until Moira snapped at her to move or be useful.
And in the bed, Mairi lay drenched in sweat, face pale, hair plastered to her temples. Her belly rose like a hill beneath the sheet. Her hands clutched the linen. Her eyes were wild but focused, fierce with the kind of strength that only comes when pain demands everything.
“Moira,” Mairi rasped, voice strained, “if ye tell anyone I screamed, I’ll skin ye with a bread knife.”
Moira lifted her bitten hand. “Too late. I am already dying.”
Mairi tried to laugh, and it turned into a groan that shook her whole body.
Ariella crossed the room at once, dropping to her knees beside the bed. “Mairi.”
Mairi’s head turned. Relief flooded her expression so fast it made Ariella’s throat tighten.
“Me lady,” Mairi breathed. “Oh. Thank God.”
“I am here,” Ariella said, taking Mairi’s hand gently. “Ye are nae alone.”
Another contraction hit. Mairi’s fingers crushed Ariella’s. Her eyes squeezed shut. Her jaw clenched so hard Ariella feared she might break a tooth.
Ariella leaned closer. “Breathe with me. In. Slow. Out.”
Mairi shook her head, panting. “I cannae.”
“Yes ye can,” Ariella said, steady. “Ye have done this twice already. Ye ken what to do. This body of yers kens what to do. It will nae fail ye now.”
Mairi’s breath hitched. “It hurts.”
“I can see that it does,” Ariella whispered. “But it is pain with purpose. It is bringing yer child to ye.”
Mairi’s eyes fluttered open and found Ariella’s. Something softened there, the tiniest release of fear.
Ariella remembered Skylar’s voice, years ago, patient and sure while Ariella sat beside her cousin in the McIntosh solar with a doll in her lap and a stack of cloths like it was a game.
Keep yer voice calm, Skylar had said. It gives the maither something to hold onto. Fear spreads. Calm does too.
Ariella tightened her grip on Mairi’s hand, becoming that calm with every breath.
Moira hovered near the basin, muttering to herself. “More cloths. More water. Saints, where is that blasted healer?”
“She will come,” Ariella said without looking away from Mairi. “For now, Mairi and I manage.”
Mairi’s laugh came out rough. “Manage. Like it’s stew.”
Ariella smiled gently. “Ye make stew sound easy.”
Mairi groaned again as another wave hit, longer and sharper. Her body tensed. Her back arched slightly. A low sound tore from her throat, half rage, half agony.
Ariella braced, voice firm. “This one is strong. Let it pass through ye. Daenae fight it.”
Mairi bared her teeth. “Easy for ye to say.”
“I ken,” Ariella murmured. “So curse me if ye must. But breathe.”
Mairi’s nostrils flared. She dragged air in, shaky, then forced it out on a hiss.
“That’s it,” Ariella praised. “Again.”
Moira pressed a cloth to Mairi’s brow. “Here. Bite this instead of me.”
Mairi grabbed it and muttered something impolite.
Ariella shifted slightly, repositioning Mairi’s pillows the way Skylar had described. “Yer shoulders loose. Yer jaw loose. When the time comes, ye will push, but nae yet. Nae until yer body tells ye.”
Mairi’s eyes darted toward the doorway. “Callum?”
“He is outside,” Ariella said. “He is being kept from fainting, I assure ye.”
Mairi snorted, then winced as another contraction began. “He better nae faint. I’ll never forgive him.”
Ariella squeezed her hand. “He will nae. He loves ye. He is terrified, but he is there.”
Mairi’s eyes filled briefly. Not from pain alone. “I hate being in bed.”
“Do ye wish to stand?”
“Aye.”
Another groan, deeper this time as she helped Mairi from the bed to the birthing chair. Mairi’s breaths came faster with each step. Ariella felt the shift in her body and knew the time was drawing nearer.
Moira hovered, eyes sharp now. “Lady, she’s close.”
“I ken,” Ariella said, voice steady, though her heart hammered. “Mairi, listen to me. When the next one comes, ye will need to push. Nae with yer throat. With yer body. Like ye are moving a mountain.”
Mairi’s eyes widened. “I cannae.”
“Ye can,” Ariella said. “Ye have to get that child out. Ye have to let it breathe.”
Mairi’s lips trembled. “I am afraid.”
Ariella leaned in close enough that only Mairi could hear. “Then let fear ride beside ye. But daenae let it steer. Ye steer. For yer child.”
Mairi stared at her, then gave the smallest nod.
The contraction hit, and Mairi screamed, the sound raw and primal. Ariella did not flinch. She anchored herself, voice low and unwavering.
“Now,” Ariella said. “Push. One, two, three. Again.”
Mairi obeyed, panting between efforts, tears sliding down her cheeks. Ariella wiped them away without ceremony.
“Ye are doing it,” Ariella told her. “Aye. That’s it. Ye are bringing yer baby home.”
Moira’s hands shook as she passed another cloth, but her voice stayed sharp. “Harder, Mairi. Show the child who its maither is.”
Mairi snarled a laugh and pushed again.
The room felt like the center of the world. Heat. Breath. Pain. Life gathering itself into one moment.
Ariella felt it, too, in her own bones. Terrifying and beautiful. She had never felt more certain of her place than she did right now, kneeling beside a woman in labor, holding her hand, guiding her breath, helping bring new life into the keep.
It felt natural.
As if this was a language she had always known and had only just been given permission to speak aloud.
Outside the door, footsteps pounded, voices rose, someone called for the healer again. But inside, Ariella’s voice remained the same.
Calm.
Steady.
“Breathe,” she whispered. “Ye’re safe. Ye’re strong. Ye are nearly there.”
And Mairi, sweat-soaked and fierce, and clung to that calm like it tethered her to the earth.
“Quit yer pacing, Callum.”
“I am nae pacing,” Callum snapped, then took two more steps and stopped abruptly as if to prove the lie.
Maxwell sat on the bench outside the bedchamber door, arms resting on his knees, posture still.
He had sent half the keep running for supplies.
He had stationed guards at both ends of the corridor.
He had ordered a messenger to ride hard and drag the healer back if she was still at the market.
He had done everything that could be done from the outside.
And still the sounds behind the door made his jaw lock.
Mairi’s cries rose and fell like battle calls. Moira’s sharp voice cut through, commanding, scolding, coaxing. And Ariella, quieter than both, threaded through it all, calm as a river under ice.
Callum paced again, then stopped and dragged a hand down his face. His fingers were black with forge soot, as if he had tried to scrub them clean and failed. He looked like a man who had fought metal all his life and had never been beaten until now.
“She’s hurting,” he whispered.
“Aye,” Maxwell said.
Callum’s eyes were bloodshot. “What if something goes wrong.”
Maxwell’s gaze stayed on the door. “It will nae.”
“How can ye say that?” Callum demanded, voice cracking. “Ye’re nae the one in there.”
Maxwell looked at him then, expression hard. “If panic will help her, then panic. If it will nae, then stop.”
Callum flinched, breathing hard. Ewan sat on the floor by the wall, clutching his scraped knee as if it were proof that pain existed in the world. He looked from Callum to Maxwell, eyes wide.
“Da,” Ewan whispered. “Is Mam going to die?”
Callum froze.
Maxwell’s chest tightened, but his voice remained steady. “Nay, hush, laddie.”
Ewan swallowed. “How do ye ken?”
Maxwell looked down at the boy. “Because yer maither is nae the sort of woman death takes easily.”
Ewan’s eyes filled. “She’s scary.”
“Aye,” Maxwell said. “So are ye, when ye stop crying.”
Ewan let out a wet laugh that turned into a sniffle.