Chapter 22 #2
Lilliana slid behind Mairi and wrapped an arm under her shoulders, anchoring her. Mairi clutched her sleeve with desperate strength.
“I cannae,” she sobbed.
“You can,” Lilliana repeated right into her ear. “Push when she tells you. Look at me. Do not look at the fear. Look at me.”
Ailsa worked with grim focus, guiding the tiny body carefully as if it were glass.
Minutes stretched. Sweat slid down Lilliana’s spine. Her arms ached from holding Mairi upright, but she did not move. She could feel the village women watching, judging, waiting for her to falter.
The distrustful woman muttered, “If she panics, she will make it worse.”
Lilliana did not answer.
Ailsa’s voice sharpened. “Head is next. Mairi, listen to me. Ye push like ye mean it.”
Mairi made a sound that was more animal than human, body straining. Lilliana held her tighter, bracing her.
For one terrible moment, everything went still.
Ailsa swore under her breath. “Come on,” she growled, hands working. “Come on.”
Lilliana’s heart hammered.
Then, suddenly, a wet startled cry sliced through the air, thin and furious. Life.
Mairi collapsed against Lilliana, sobbing with relief. Ailsa lifted the infant and turned it quickly, clearing its mouth with practiced efficiency. The baby cried again, louder.
Lilliana’s eyes stung. She had not realized she was holding her breath until she released it in a shaking exhale.
“It is a girl,” Ailsa announced.
A murmur rose. Relief spread through the room like warm water. The husband made a broken sound and sank onto a stool, face in his hands.
Lilliana looked down at Mairi, who wept silently, exhausted beyond speech.
Ailsa wrapped the child and placed her against Mairi’s chest. The baby rooted and settled, and Mairi’s trembling hands curled protectively over the bundle.
At that moment, something inside Lilliana shifted.
It was not a thought she chose. It was a feeling that arrived like truth, stunning her with its intensity.
This is what I could have. A home. A child. A life that is not merely survival.
Her throat tightened. She turned slightly, needing air, and found the distrustful woman staring at her.
The woman’s expression was different now. Still guarded, but less sharp. “She did not run,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
Ailsa glanced over her shoulder. “Nay,” she agreed. “She didnae.”
The woman stepped closer, hesitating as though it cost her pride. “I thought ye would faint,” she admitted roughly. “Or make a fuss. English ladies do fuss.”
“I am not here to fuss,” Lilliana said.
The woman’s eyes flicked to Mairi and the babe. “Me name is Elspeth,” she said, as if that alone were an offering.
Lilliana inclined her head. “Lilliana.”
Elspeth nodded once, then cleared her throat. “Ye did well.”
Two simple words, but they landed heavily.
Acceptance did not come quickly in a place like this. If it came at all, it came in small, hard-won pieces.
“Thank you,” Lilliana said quietly.
As she left the cottage, her hands still smelled faintly of smoke and boiled cloth. The early afternoon light made the village look softer, less suspicious, as if the whole place had exhaled in relief.
On the walk back to the main road, she could not stop thinking of the baby’s cry, of the way Mairi’s face had softened the instant the babe was placed on her chest.
And she could not stop thinking of Kayden.
Of the distance that had once defined them.
Of how marriage had felt like a cage when she had first arrived.
And how, lately, it had begun to feel like a door opening.
When she finally returned to the castle, Betsy met her in the corridor, eyes wide with alarm.
“My Lady, you are pale,” Betsy blurted. “What has happened? Are you ill again?”
“I am not ill,” Lilliana said, though her voice sounded strange to her own ears. She let Betsy guide her into the healer’s chamber and sit her down.
Betsy hovered, fussing. “Did something happen in the village? Did you see more sick people?”
“Yes,” Lilliana said absently. Then she shook her head, as if clearing it. “No. Not that. Not today.”
“Then what?” Betsy demanded, softer now. “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”
Lilliana stared at her hands for a long moment. “There was a birth,” she said finally.
Betsy’s lips parted. “A birth?”
“A breech birth,” Lilliana added.
Betsy went pale. “Oh Lord.”
“The babe lived,” Lilliana said quickly. “The mother lived. The midwife was skilled. I only… assisted.”
Betsy sat beside her, suddenly solemn. “That is… that is remarkable, My Lady.”
Lilliana swallowed hard. “It was not the danger that shook me. It was the moment after. When the babe cried. When the mother held her. I have never seen anything so fierce and so… wholesome.”
Betsy’s gaze softened. “It makes you think of your own future.”
Lilliana’s cheeks warmed. “It made me realize how little I know,” she admitted. “How much I have avoided. Not only with him, but also in myself. I have spoken so boldly about healing and duty, yet when faced with a baby, I…” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I felt something I did not expect.”
Betsy’s voice softened. “Longing.”
Lilliana did not answer, but her silence was confirmation enough.
Betsy reached over and squeezed her hand. “Perhaps that is not something to fear, My Lady.”
Lilliana looked down at their joined hands. “Perhaps,” she whispered. “But it makes everything feel… nearer. More real.”
And that, she realized, was both terrifying and wonderful.