Chapter 22
Morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Great Hall, pale and cool against the stone floor.
Lilliana paused at the top of the stairwell, gloved fingers tightening around the railing as she watched the servants lay out breakfast below.
Kayden’s words from the night before still rang in her ears.
“Daenae return to the village until me men have reported back.”
The request had been firm, but not cruel. Protective, infuriatingly so.
She drew a slow breath.
No. Today, she would not argue. Today, she would act.
Instead of descending, she turned down the corridor towards the practice yard. Jacob stood there already, speaking quietly with two guards. He arched an eyebrow when he saw her approach.
“Me Lady,” he greeted, surprised but polite.
“Good morning,” she replied. “Have you heard from the guards Kayden sent?”
Jacob crossed his arms loosely. “Nae yet, but I expect them within the hour. Why?”
She hesitated only a moment. “Because I intend to return to the village today.”
Jacob’s mouth twitched. “Ah. And ye wish me to soften the ground before ye speak to the Laird?”
“I do not intend to ask him,” she said calmly. “I intend to inform him.”
That earned her a genuine laugh.
“Aye,” Jacob murmured. “He will like that.”
She inclined her head slightly. “Betsy will accompany me. And Old Fergus. I will also take two guards with me. I am not being reckless.”
Jacob studied her for a long moment, expression thoughtful. Then he nodded once. “The men should be back soon if they arenae back already, Me Lady.”
“Thank you,” she said.
When she entered the breakfast hall a short while later, conversation lulled. Kayden sat at the head of the high table, dark hair still damp from washing, speaking with Cameron over a ledger. He glanced up as she approached, eyes softening almost imperceptibly.
“Lilliana,” he greeted.
“My Laird,” she replied, taking the seat opposite him.
Servants moved quietly, placing bread and fruit before her. She did not start eating immediately.
“I spoke with Jacob this morning,” she said.
Kayden’s eyebrow rose. “Did ye now?”
“He expects the guards to return shortly,” she continued. “Which is precisely why I will be returning to the village today.”
Silence fell over the nearby tables.
Kayden leaned back slowly, studying her as though she were a puzzle he was not yet finished solving.
“Will ye?” he asked mildly.
“Yes,” she said. “With two guards. And Betsy. And Old Fergus. I will not go alone.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Why daenae ye take Moira, Cameron, and Jacob with ye as well? Ye could empty the castle.”
A few men chuckled.
Lilliana laughed, but the sound held more steel than humor. “I believe the castle would collapse without Moira at the helm and Cameron’s kitchens,” she said lightly.
Kayden’s eyes gleamed. He was enjoying this.
She rose from her chair. The movement alone drew attention, but it was what she did next that shifted the air.
She turned towards the hall and spoke clearly, her voice carrying farther than she had expected. “Everyone, leave us. Now.”
The words were simple. Firm. Commanding.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Jacob pushed back his chair with exaggerated obedience. The staff followed. The guards at the wall stepped towards the doors, ushering the remaining diners out.
Within moments, the hall emptied, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the echo of retreating footsteps.
Kayden watched her the entire time, eyes dark with something dangerously close to admiration.
“Well now,” he murmured. “Does it feel good?”
She hesitated.
“I do not know,” she admitted. “I am not certain how I feel about wielding authority so openly. But I know I must use it for good, or it means nothing.”
His gaze softened at that.
She stepped closer to the table, hands resting lightly on the wood. “I am needed there, Kayden. Not tomorrow, but today.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. Then he sighed, slow and resigned, but not displeased.
“I have already received word from the guards,” he said quietly.
Her breath caught. “You have?”
“Aye. They returned at dawn.” He folded his hands. “Which is another reason why I didnae forbid ye this morning.”
Surprise flickered across her face.
“I am meeting with the council this afternoon,” he continued. “There is more to discuss than poisoned wells.”
She nodded slowly, understanding sinking in. “So you will let me go?”
“I will allow it,” he corrected gently. “Because ye came to me with sense instead of defiance. Nae asking for permission, for once.”
Her lips curved faintly.
“Two guards,” he added. “Betsy. Fergus. And ye return before nightfall.”
“And if we cannot?”
“Send word immediately,” he said. “And ye will stay at Fergus’s cottage. Nay wandering. Nay heroics.”
She inclined her head. “Agreed.”
He rose then, coming around the table until they stood only a pace apart.
“I am impressed, ye ken,” he said quietly.
“With my stubbornness?”
“With yer strength,” he replied. “Ye didnae fight me. Ye showed me why ye must go.”
Unexpected warmth spread through her chest.
She turned towards the doors and nodded once to the guards stationed there. They swung the great doors open, allowing the hall to fill again with movement and sound.
As she stepped out, Betsy hurried towards her, already carrying her cloak.
“Are we going then, My Lady?” she asked breathlessly.
“We are,” Lilliana said.
She felt Kayden’s eyes on her from where he stood. The emotion on his face when she left him was not worry this time, but unmistakable pride. And as she crossed the threshold towards the courtyard, she felt it clearly and smiled.
She was no longer merely his English bride. She was now the Lady of Clan McGill.
The village did not give her time to breathe.
She had scarcely finished checking on the smithy, who had an apprentice who burned his working hand on the forge, when a panting boy burst inside, eyes wide with panic.
“Lady McGill,” he blurted, voice cracking. “It is Mairi. She is in labor. The bairn is coming wrong.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Labor. A wrong presentation.
Lilliana stood so quickly that her stool scraped across the floor. “How long has she been in pain?”
“Since the night,” he said, wringing his hands. “She has been crying out for hours.”
Lilliana’s stomach tightened. She snatched her bag without thinking, already moving. “Take me to her.”
Outside, the air was damp and cold, but her skin prickled with heat as her mind began to race through possibilities. She had read of difficult births.
She had assisted Moira with minor injuries, fevers, and broken fingers. But childbirth was a storm all its own, and she knew better than to swagger into it with pride.
By the time she reached the cottage, the sound hit her first. A woman’s voice, ragged with exhaustion, crying out from deep within her body.
The sound made Lilliana’s throat tighten.
Inside, the small room was crowded with women. A fire burned low. A pot simmered. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and fear.
A midwife stood at the center, sleeves rolled up, hands steady. She was older, gray plait tucked beneath a scarf, eyes sharp as flint.
Lilliana recognized her at once. Mistress Ailsa, the woman Fergus had mentioned more than once, the one the village trusted most.
Ailsa’s gaze snapped to Lilliana the moment she entered. It was not welcoming.
“What is she doing here?” a woman near the wall muttered. Her tone was hostile, sharp, meant to cut.
Lilliana recognized her from her stance. Strong shoulders. Hard eyes. A woman used to making decisions in her own home.
That must be the distrustful one.
Ailsa lifted a hand, not dismissive but firm. “We have enough people underfoot,” she said, brogue thick. “If ye are here to stare, go home.”
“I am not here to stare,” Lilliana replied, forcing calm into her voice. “Tell me what you see, and tell me what you need.”
Ailsa studied her for a long moment. Then, as if deciding whether Lilliana was worth the time, she jerked her chin towards the bed. “Breech,” she said simply. “Feet first.”
Lilliana’s blood ran cold.
Mairi lay on a pallet, hair plastered to her forehead, face pale, lips trembling. Her husband hovered near the door like a man who did not know where to put his hands. A young girl, perhaps her sister, held a cloth to Mairi’s brow and sobbed quietly.
Lilliana moved closer. “Mairi,” she said gently. “It is Lady McGill. Look at me.”
Mairi’s eyes flickered open, glassy and exhausted. “I cannae,” she whispered. “I cannae do it.”
“You can,” Lilliana said firmly. “You will.”
Ailsa’s mouth tightened, but she did not contradict her.
The distrustful woman near the wall barked a sharp laugh. “Aye, say that to her. English words are easy.”
Lilliana kept her gaze on Mairi. “Mistress Ailsa, what do you want me to do?”
Ailsa hesitated. Then she nodded towards the pot. “Boiled cloths. More hot water. And if ye have any laudanum, keep it out of this room. She needs sense, nae sleep.”
“I have no laudanum,” Lilliana said quickly. “But I have raspberry leaf and a little peppermint.”
Ailsa’s eyes narrowed on her. “Raspberry leaf is for strengthening. Peppermint is for nausea. Ye ken what ye are holding.”
“I do,” Lilliana said.
That earned her the smallest shift in Ailsa’s posture. Not approval, but acknowledgment.
Lilliana set to work at once, hands moving with purpose. She boiled clean cloths, laid out cord, and placed warmed towels near the bed. She spoke little, saving her words for when they mattered.
The distrustful woman watched her the entire time.
Finally, as another contraction seized Mairi, Ailsa braced her hands and said, “Now, push when I tell ye.”
Mairi screamed, and Lilliana’s heart clenched painfully. She had read descriptions, but the raw reality of it made her knees tremble.
Ailsa’s jaw tightened. “There,” she murmured. “I see the feet.”
Lilliana stepped closer. “Can I support her?”
Ailsa nodded once. “Hold her shoulders. Keep her steady.”