Epilogue #2
Three Weeks Later….
Skye felt restless all day. She unfolded and refolded the beautiful little gowns her mother had made. Unmade and remade the sheets and blankets in the bassinet. Arran came in from making his rounds, and found her trying to tug the baby’s dresser from one side of the room to the other.
“Skye!” he exclaimed. “What are ye doing? Ye’ll hurt yerself!”
“It just doesn’t look right over there,” she explained. “I want to try it closer to the window.”
“But dinnae Ava say that too much light might be hard on the baby’s eyes?”
Skye sat down on the edge of their bed, and held onto her belly. “I just want everything to be perfect.”
Arran sat down beside her. “Oh, sweetheart. It is already perfect. Ye’re wearin’ yerself out. Why don’t ye come down to the little dining hall, an’ hae some’at ta eat with me. I think yer maither an’ Ava are already there.”
“I fussed at Ava, and at Maither,” Skye confessed. “I’m big as a house. Me back hurts, me feet hurt, an’ I ha’ the strangest feeling in me belly.”
“Ye do?” Arran asked. “Ye stay right there. I’ll be right back.”
Arran stuck his head out the door of their bedchamber and looked up and down the hall, until he spotted the footman on duty. “Ramey!” he exclaimed. “Rund down to the dining room, an’ ask Healer Ava to come up, please.”
The lad looked alarmed. “At once, Laird MacArthur. Is ought the matter?”
“Lady Skye has an odd feeling in her belly. I dinnae ken if it’s an ordinary feeling or something else. But Healer Ava will know. Step lively now. All manner o’ ill things could have happened while ye are palaverin’.
“At once!” Ramey said, hastening toward the great stair.
In just a few minutes, Ava came up the stairs, with Lady Helena following close behind. As she entered the room, Skye bent over, clutching her belly. “Ava! Something isn’t right. I hae a great pain.”
Ava sat down beside her, and placed one hand on her stomach. “Actually, it is quite right. Yer wee’un has decided that this is the day to come out an’ visit with us.”
“He has?” Skye asked. “I know the maithers-to-be cry out, but I dinnae ken it would feel like this.”
“No one understands it until they’ve given birth,” Ava said.
“Did ye ever?” Skye asked.
“Aye, once, long ago,” Ava replied. “But let’s not talk of that now. Rest a minute, whilest I make sure the birthing room is ready. Bringin’ a babe into this world is messy business. Ye’ll want to keep this room nice for when ye want to show yer wee un off.”
Skye bent over again, wrapping both arms around her middle. “Nice deep breaths,” Ava reminded her. “Think about the air flowing into ye and into yer babe. Keep yer mind on that. There now, that’s the way.”
Ava then turned to the young footman who still stood in the doorway. “Take Laird MacArthur to find Magnus. Tell him it is time to practice wood cutting, or to practice at the pels, or to even go hunting.”
“But won’t Skye need me?” Arran protested.
“Ye did yer part nine months ago,” Ava said. “Now ye need to go make sure there is plenty of wood to heat water, and a fine, nourishing meal ready for yer wife when she is done with her work.”
Arran followed the young footman down to the dining hall where Magnus was standing with Mary.
The cook had packed a basket, which she handed to Arran.
“I’m told that the wood cutting is well into the forest,” she said, giving a wink to Magnus.
“An’ the blueberries are comin’ on. Lady Skye might fancy some o’ them after the babe is here.
Ye be sure an’ get a full cart o’ wood, now ya mind.
We’ll be boilin’ up a passel o’hot water in the days to come. ”
“But Skye . . .” Arran protested again.
“Is going to be busy with women’s work,” Magnus said gently. “We can gather the wood tha’s going to be needed for the cleanin’ up, and the mountain o’ laundry that goes w’ a wee ‘un. That’s our part.”
Arran was so bemused that he let himself be led out of the castle and down the path to the stables where the wood cart was already hitched to the oxen.
Magnus kept up a running monologue about council business, the need to lay in a good store of wood and other items before the cold weather arrived.
Magnus frequently served as the arms master for the two clans, so Arran was accustomed to following his directions. Magnus put his Laird to work splitting logs while he sawed length of log from the felled timbers that lay at one side of the clearing.
When the cart was full, and Magnus set him to stacking wood, Arran asked, “Why is it exactly that we are cutting all this wood?”
“It’s traditional,” Magnus replied before taking a swig from the water bottle.
“But it is June,” Arran protested. “With summer coming on, tha babe will be plenty warm.”
“Well,” Magns said thoughtfully, “I can see that ye ken not the mountain o’ laundry one wee babe can produce. Then there’s the bathin’, an’ the cookin’ up o’ special dishes. Wee’uns are a powerful lot o’ work.”
Arran reached out a hand for the water bottle, and took a drink from it. “But why now, Magnus? What if Skye needs me?”
Magnus sighed. “Laddy, Ava is the best healer tween the north sea and Lunnen. If there is aught Skye needs, she’ll see to it. There’ll be plenty o’ caretakin’ later on.”
“But . . .” Arran protested.
Just then Fionn came running down the path from the castle. “Lady Ava,” he gasped out, “says the babe will be here soon, and ye can come on back now. But to take yer time, because it will be a little while yet.”
Arran did not have to be told twice. He helped Magnus hitch up the oxen so they could begin the slow trek back to the castle. As he and Magnus walked beside the stolid beasts, he commented, “So all this is mostly to keep the faither out from underfoot? This is all make work?”
“Ta keep the faither from makin’ a nuisance of himself, for sure. But not pure make work. Tis true indeed that a babe creates a lot o’ work. Tis fortunate that ye and Skye hae woodsmen and washer women to keep up with the hardest parts.”
Arran scowled. “Magnus, if aught has befallen me wife whilst I’m in the wood playin’ at bein’ useful, I’ll ne’er forgive ye.”
“An’ that is why ‘tis the faither-in-law’s duty ta keep ya busy,” Magnus said, as they turned the team and load of wood over to the stable hands.
Arran nearly ran into the castle and up the stairs to the birthing room. He was just in time to hear the soft wail of a newborn child.
Helena met him at the door, holding a swaddled bundle in her arms. “Laird MacArthur, yer just in time ta meet yer daughter. Why don’t ye go show her off to Magnus whilst we make Skye presentable.
Arran peered into the blanket, and was greeted by two, dark blue eyes that stared at him curiously. The wee girl already had a thick mop of dark, curly hair. Nestled in her father’s arms, she stopped crying, and chewed on her own tiny fist.
“She is perfect,” Arran said. “Absolutely perfect.”
The End?