Epilogue #2
“I dinna care.” He carried her to Isla and held her out like an offering. “Help her, Mother. I fear for her.”
The goddess smiled. “Set her down, my son. If she is feeling sick, jostling her will not help.”
Hannah agreed. “I promise I am fine. The doctor said nausea is normal.”
With a nostril flaring snort that meant he disagreed, Taggart carefully lowered her to her feet.
Isla shooed them all aside. “The lot of you go upstairs. My daughter and I have much to discuss.”
“I am staying here,” Taggart said, resettling his stance.
“I shall see what needs to be done here at the keep,” Thaetus announced before disappearing into the passage.
Septamus cleared his throat. “And I shall watch to ensure he does it right.” The senior Draecna ambled out, quietly closing the door behind him.
“Might I stay, Goddess?” Esme asked as she circled the eggs, studying them.
“Yes.” Isla leveled a stern gaze in her direction. “If you can remain quiet and not interrupt.”
Esme gave an obedient nod.
Hannah wiped the nervous sweat from her palms onto the colorful, flowing skirt she had chosen for the occasion.
The brilliant fuchsias, blues, greens, and golds made her happy and so did the elastic waist. She prayed it would also bring her luck and answer her hopes that the Draecna goddess would know something that would allay her fears. “Did Taggart tell you everything?”
Compassion filled the Draecna’s eyes. “Yes, my child. And I am sorry. The pain of losing a young one is real, no matter how short a time they have been in your life.”
“I am so afraid it will happen again.” She moved closer to Taggart, thankful for his strength and caring as he hugged her to his side. “Do you know of anything I can do? Or what I might have done wrong with the first two?”
“You did nothing wrong.” Isla’s voice took on a chiding tone.
“You must understand that.” Twin wisps of smoke rose from the goddess’s nostrils and spiraled to the ceiling.
“And there is no way of knowing why it happened. Even in this world, among human parents with no—” She paused and cleared her throat.
“No unusual DNA strands mixing. It is not always known why miscarriages happen.” She leaned forward, tilting her head as she brought her iridescent snout closer and sniffed.
The corners of her enormous mouth curled upward.
“But you already have the scent. That is good.”
“Scent?”
Isla nodded while folding her claws across her stomach. “Draecna females emit a distinctive scent when they are ready to nest and lay their fertilized eggs.” She frowned at Taggart. “Have you not noticed your mate’s scent?”
Taggart shrugged. “Aye, Mother, but in this world, a woman changes shampoo and perfumes as often as she changes her mind.”
“Oh, really?” Hannah cut her eyes over at him.
“Ye do.” He gave her a terse frown. “Go on wi' ye now. Admit it.”
She ignored him and turned back to her Draecna mother-in-law. “Are you saying I’m going to lay an egg instead of carry this baby to term then have a live birth?”
Isla fluttered the folds of her wings. “That I cannot say. Taggart came from an egg but is half human. His father possessed unimaginable magic for one of this world, but he was still human.” She stroked her long, flowing beard.
“But you have the scent which leads me to believe the child within you is strong.” Her gaze shifted to Taggart and one of her golden brows arched upward toward her horns.
“While I find your lack of observation rather concerning, can you remember whether or not your mate ever smelled like this particular shampoo or perfume before?” Her clipped words dripped with sarcasm.
Taggart’s eyes narrowed and his arm tensed around Hannah.
She elbowed him. “Be nice. She is trying to help.”
“I dinna recall my lady love ever using smelling of this fragrance before.” His chin tipped to a defiant angle.
“That bodes well,” Isla said.
Hannah’s heart warmed, and the nausea disappeared. “It bodes well.” She smiled up at Taggart, attempting to soothe his ruffled scales. “I don’t care if I lay an egg or have our baby the normal way, as long the little one is healthy.”
He relaxed and returned her smile. “I agree, m’love, and look forward to holding our wee bairn in my arms.”
Taroc Na Mor
Entirely too long later…
(36 to 40 weeks, give or take a few days)
“Tell me again why your accent sounds like you were born and raised in Scotland?” Hannah squeezed both his hands while panting like a dog.
“Because I lived here for several centuries, my love. Searching for our beloved Guardian.” From his position behind her, supporting her back while she sat between his outstretched legs, Taggart eyed the dividing screen a few yards out from the end of the bed.
Three faint silhouettes revealed Mother, Septamus, and Esme pacing on the other side.
He wished they would go down to the kitchen and wait with Thaetus and William, but all three had refused.
His poor Hannah had been in labor for hours, and according to the midwife, it could be hours more.
He repressed a disgusted huff. That infernal woman did nothing but get on his nerves.
He still wondered where, in Merlin’s name, Thaetus had found her.
Hannah sagged back against him, hugging his arms around her and resting them on top of the large mound of her stomach.
“That one lasted forever,” she said. The weariness in her tone worried him. “Are there any ice chips left?”
“More ice chips!” he bellowed. One of the silhouettes faded away and the bedroom door opened, then closed. He combed her damp hair back from her face. “I could try my healing magic to help this along, ye ken?”
She shook her head without opening her eyes, her breathing returning to normal. “No. I want nothing that might hurt the baby.”
“It willna hurt the bairn. ’Tis not like anesthesia.” Of course, he also wasn’t certain it would even work. After all, she was not injured. She was trying to bring forth life.
“Where did that woman go?” She feverishly rubbed the end of her nose as though unable to satisfy its itching. “She keeps disappearing. Isn’t she supposed to stay in here and coach us?”
Apparently, she did not like the midwife any more than he did.
“I believe she went downstairs again. Said something about joining Thaetus and William for lunch.” He stretched and reached one of the cloths from the bowl on the nightstand, wrung it out, and dabbed its coolness across her forehead.
“Dinna fash yerself, m’love. Dr. Brimleyton should be here any time. ”
“Even in this storm?” She caught his hands in hers, bared her teeth, and squinched her eyes shut. “Here comes another.”
Every muscle tensed in sympathy as he helped her sit up. She huffed and groaned as the contraction shuddered through her.
He breathed along with her, wishing it would help.
“The doctor will make it through the storm,” he promised, knowing it was a lie.
It was dead of winter on the northernmost tip of Scotland and a fierce monstrosity of a blizzard had blown in from the sea yesterday.
The tail of it still battered the land. The only way the doctor would make it was if he folded time and space and found a windless portal.
Taggart doubted very much that the average, middle-aged man possessed such an ability.
At least the midwife was there. If they could keep the woman out of the kitchen.
She appeared to have an annoyingly rigorous fascination not only for Thaetus but also for food and alcohol.
A deeper moan escaped Hannah, and she dug her fingernails into the backs of his hands while panting harder.
“Where are the feckin’ ice chips?” he roared again.
“They are here.” Esme hurried around the screen with a large bowl mounded high with crushed ice.
Her eyes flared wide and the smooth skin between her forehead horns furrowed in alarm.
“Guardian—you appear to be in a great deal of pain still. What can we do to aid you in bringing this child into the world?”
Hannah fell back against him, breathing hard. “Just put some ice chips in my mouth before the next one hits.”
Esme did as requested while noting, “Even when bringing forth the largest of eggs, the Draecna do not experience this.”
“That is not helpful,” Taggart advised. He tipped his head toward the screen. “Back ye go, aye?”
Esme glared at him, lifted her snout, and showed a fang. “Only if the Guardian directs me to do so.”
“Esme,” Hannah groaned while pushing herself upright again and grabbing hold of her knees. “Get the midwife. I really feel like I need to push.”
“Push what?” Esme stood there blinking at them both.
“Just go!” Taggart rubbed Hannah’s back. “Remember what the woman said, dear one. Breathe. Ye shouldna push ’til she gets here.”
Septamus stuck his head around the screen. “I am going to the kitchen to ensure Esme returns with the midwife. I can bear this no longer.”
Taggart waved him onward. He had no time for anyone but his wife and child right now.
Isla rounded the screen from the other side, her expression worrisome. “You and I shall help dear Hannah bring my first grandchild into the light.”
“Where is Mrs. Macanurny?” Hannah asked through a long, low groan.
Isla stared at Taggart and barely swung her head back and forth in a quiet no.
Hannah leaned forward as far as her great belly would allow. “Tell me! Now!”
“Esme telepathed that the woman is passed out in the kitchen floor. It appears she does not handle grog well.” Isla cringed as Hannah responded with a stream of curse words.
“Dinna fash yerself, m’love,” Taggart reassured. “As soon as we bring this bairn into the world, I shall snap Thaetus’s neck for wasting our time with that insufferable woman.”
“But I am afraid,” she sobbed through another pained growl. “I don’t know what to do. And I really want to push.”