Chapter 14 #2
But Hilda did not look convinced. Her brows lowered and her thick lips pursed together in a flat line, but she let him pass.
Tira sat up in bed, her belly huge beneath the sheet. Her face was ruddy with pain, and damp hair clung to her temples. She glanced from Rose to William anxiously, her brows raised in worry.
“Good morn,” William said. “May I?” He indicated the stool beside her bed.
She nodded hesitantly. Long chestnut hair flowed over the snowy linen of her night rail and onto the bedding.
Her skin was mildly scarred from smallpox, but it glowed with health, and her teeth were straight and white.
She was a handsome woman, older than Rose by some years, a widow when Roderick had met her.
She appeared downright robust to Rose—fully capable of delivering multiple weans with no harm to herself.
Unfortunately, appearances were often deceiving.
After Rose made the introductions, she passed her hands quickly over Tira, assuring herself of her aunt’s and the wean’s health. Both mother and child were well. Rose placed her hands on Tira’s belly and found that the baby still had not turned.
The muscles contracted, bulging hard, and Tira gasped and cried out. Rose looked up at William. “The baby is still breech.”
“Can she give birth that way?” He looked uneasy, no doubt remembering Deidra’s disastrous birth.
“She’ll have to,” Rose said, comforted by William’s presence. The last breech birth she’d attended had been fatal for both mother and child.
“What does that mean? Am I going to die?” Tira cried, gritting her teeth against the pain. “It’s a monster, isn’t it? It’s too big! Oh, God!”
Hilda stood over the bed, her brow puckered in confusion. “It canna come until the master is here.”
Rose raised an amused brow. “That is of no concern to the babe—I vow it. He cares not at all whether his father is present or not. Besides, Uncle Roderick should not be present in the birthing room.”
Hilda’s gaze flew to William. “Then make him leave!”
“He’s a healer. We may have need of him if aught goes wrong.”
Tira moaned on the bed. “Oh God, Oh God! Get it out!”
William murmured soothingly to her.
“We need sheets,” Rose said to the maid. “And while you’re fetching them, see if you can find my uncle.”
As Hilda left, Tira cried after her, “You must find him!” She clutched William’s arm as another contraction gripped her. When Rose moved to the bedside, Tira grabbed at her sleeve. “Rose, please. If he’s not here, I will die.”
Rose hushed her, stroking her hand gently over Tira’s damp hair. “Fash not, I’ve delivered many weans, and Lord Strathwick will not let you or your child die.”
William met her gaze grimly. He could not promise that, of course; he could promise only that one would live, but there was no reason to tell Tira that.
“No!” Tira cried, thrashing about on the bed. “You don’t understand—it will kill me! He put it in there—it’s unnatural! It’s a monster! You must find my husband!”
She screamed, gripping her stomach. After the contraction passed, William came to stand beside Rose. “What does she mean? A monster?”
“She’s mad from the pain,” Rose murmured.
He took her elbow and led her farther away from the bed. His expression was grave. “Which one, Rose? If it comes down to it, which one do I save?”
Rose’s belly clenched. She could not make such a choice. “Let us pray the choice doesn’t have to be made.”
She tried to return to the bed. He held fast to her elbow. “Prayers aren’t good enough. Which one? I have to know—for when it happens, there will be no time for debate.”
Rose pressed her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “I know not! Pray you, wait until Hilda returns with my uncle. I cannot make this choice.”
“Very well.” He rubbed a hand across the black-and-silver stubble on his chin, eyeing Tira pensively. “If both mother and child are in danger…there is a way to save them both.”
She clasped his arm hopefully. “Really? What is it?”
He gave her a long, fathomless look. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, aye? Let’s hope we do not.”
He returned to the bedside. Rose frowned at him for a moment longer, wondering what he could mean, then resumed her preparations.
Hilda returned with no news of Roderick. “I know not where he is. He did not even tell us he was leaving Lochlaire this morn. We sent for him when Tira began having pains. No one could find him. No one knows where he went.”
Rose sighed heavily. This news only distressed her patient more, and she began raving again.
Hilda wrung her hands. William’s gaze urged Rose to make a decision but she could not, so she looked away, avoiding direct conversation with him.
He’d said there might be a way to save both. That was her choice.
She gestured to the maid. “Help me get these soiled sheets off the bed.”
Rose and Hilda stripped the bed while William lifted the pregnant woman as if she weighed nothing, heedless of the mess her sopping, blood-streaked shift had become.
Rose and Hilda padded the mattress with a thick oiled skin and many layers of sheets.
They’d been anticipating the birth for weeks now and had changed to a mattress stuffed with heather, so that when it was ruined, it would be no great loss.
William laid her down, then built the fire back up as they changed Tira’s shift and wiped her down with a cool cloth.
Tira cried and moaned, declaring over and over again that she would die without her husband’s assistance, that the child was a monster.
Rose knew very little about her aunt. Though she’d tended her the last few months of her pregnancy, Tira was a quiet, withdrawn woman, not inclined to gossip or idle conversation.
She’d never seemed afraid of Roderick, and he positively doted on her.
It was all very curious. Rose had seen women who, in the throes of birth pain, said many bizarre things.
Afterward they barely remembered saying them.
The rapid progression of the labor was somewhat alarming.
Rose had successfully delivered breech babies before, but loss of life was the more common scenario—for both mother and child.
It really depended on the size of the baby and the size of the mother.
Judging by the size of Tira’s belly, Rose estimated that the baby was an exceptionally large one.
Tira was not a tiny woman, but Rose still had some concerns as to whether she could easily pass such a large infant.
She checked her several times and finally began applying hot compresses to help her expand.
William sat near the head of the bed, talking softly to Tira, while Hilda and Rose worked.
She overheard William assuring Tira that her child was no monster but a gift, and of course Roderick put it in her belly—that’s the way it worked.
She cried and argued incoherently with him.
William kept sending Rose worried looks.
She tried to reassure him with her eyes that Tira’s ravings were naught but nonsense uttered in some form by all women in labor.
Tira jerked forward suddenly and cried in a hoarse voice, “The monster is here!”
Rose looked down. A foot appeared.
“It’s here,” Rose hissed, silencing everyone but Tira.
She pressed Tira’s thighs further apart, speaking soothingly to her and urging her to push.
Tira screamed and moaned, and Rose distinctly heard her beg William to kill the baby when it was born.
Rose straightened from between Tira’s legs to meet William’s troubled gaze.
He was holding up admirably amongst all the screaming and blood.
She’d seen seasoned warriors faint dead away when presented with a wife’s birthing—which was one of the reasons Rose never allowed men in the room.
She had enough to worry about without head wounds added in.
But William appeared entirely unaffected.
Rose urged Tira to keep pushing. On and on.
The fire blazed and the room sweltered. Rose quickly removed her bodice and sleeves, tossing them somewhere behind her.
Her shift clung to her skin and legs, her hair stuck to her face.
Long moments passed, and only the wean’s legs and pelvis had emerged.
Exhausted, Tira whimpered that she couldn’t push anymore, that it was killing her.
Rose passed her hands over the baby periodically, and when finally the abdomen slid out, the baby’s color began to fade. The cord was pulled tight against the torso. Rose put a finger to it. The pulse fluttered weakly.
“Something is wrong,” she said.
“Can you feel it?” William asked, beside her now. Tira had become oblivious in her pain, no longer aware of the others in the room with her.
Rose summoned the magic again, as he’d taught her, sending it down her arms. She’d seen the dark mass at the baby’s neck, and now she felt it, thick and spongy, circling the baby’s throat.
“The cord is wrapped around the neck. The position is strangling him.”
“Can you pull him out?” William asked, touching a small, pale foot lying motionless against the sheets.
Rose’s breath shuddered in and out of her chest as she slid her fingers into the birth canal, searching for the chin. “No—I can’t find his chin.” Her muscles trembled from the strain of supporting the substantial child on her forearm. “If I pull him out now, I could kill him.”
William’s hands were on her shoulders. “He will die anyway if you don’t. I’m here. Pull him out.”
“No. If I hurt his neck or head, he could die instantly. You told me you couldn’t bring back the dead.” Tira screamed again. Another hard contraction squeezed Rose’s fingers.
“Pull her to the edge of the bed,” Rose ordered, her voice frantic. “Now—do it!”
William gripped Tira’s thighs and pulled her down so that the child’s body dangled over the edge, supported by Rose’s left hand and forearm.