Chapter 25
T he moment Beth keened and collapsed to his chest, Duncan halted the mind games he’d been playing for restraint and exploded deep within the warm confines of his wife’s lithe body.
Holding her close, he inhaled the fresh scent of her hair as it veiled his face. He grinned. His ladywife would no doubt deny it with her dying breath, but the poor wee thing was verra easy to arouse.
He only had to hold her close and stroke the side of her breast, nibble at the junction of her neck and shoulder, or kiss her softly while playing small circles on her lower back to capture her interest, to make her groan.
That’s all he need do, but then he did have to catch her first, which was becoming a bit of a problem.
He stroked her small, firm buttocks. “Did ye enjoy?”
“Uh huh.” She nuzzled his neck.
“Good, then can ye kindly explain why I’m having to chase ye to ground every time I want ye?”
He felt rather than heard her laugh. She rose up onto her elbows and ran a hand through her hair to get it off her face.
The way she tipped her head as she did it sent his blood racing.
“I’ve already explained I’m either already with child or not. And all the tupping in the world at this point will not change that.”
Duncan snorted. He knew for a fact that some women took a good deal of attention to get with child. Others ye merely had to look at crossways and they were with get. Since he had no idea what kind of woman he had, he intended to be thorough. Verra.
“Besides,”—she crawled off his chest and motioned for him to roll over so she could examine his shoulder—”you should be working the lists, and I should be in the kitchen.” Prodding his new flesh, she murmured, “You’re truly amazing. It’s almost completely healed. Is your shoulder stiff?”
He flexed. “A wee bit.”
She kissed his back. “You can roll back now.” She cuddled into his side. “What will you do should you lose the tournament?”
“I’ll not.” Even the suggestion made his blood run cold.
“Yes, I’ve no doubt. But, God forbid you should lose, what will you do for money—-coins?”
He had hoped she’d not put the two together. “Then I will go to France for a short while.”
“ France? ” She came up on her elbows to examine his face.
“Aye, I will sell my arm to Louie.”
She blanched lily white. “You’d become a mercenary again, after everything you’ve seen and done?”
“‘Tis nay need to shout.” He brushed the hair from her lovely face. He’d forgotten she’d read part of his diary. He sighed. ‘Twas odd, knowing his writings were of such import they’d been translated. Twice. When she settled on his chest again, he wrapped his arms around her.
“Ye ken I dinna like it, but will do it again if need be to keep what is mine.”
He felt something warm and wet on his chest and lifted her chin to see her tears. “Hush, ‘twould not be so bad. Ye’d have a free hand here and nay need to fret over me chasing ye with a gleam in my eye.”
She slapped his stomach. “Do not joke about war, Duncan Angus MacDougall. You could die or be maimed—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “I’ll not do it again if it upsets ye.”
She settled onto his chest again. “Damn straight, it upsets me.”
It came as a bit of a shock to realize his wife truly cared for him. Mayhap she’d not leave him after all, even if she couldn’t have a child.
“Beth, what do ye want most in the world?”
She studied his face for a long moment as fresh tears filled her eyes. In answer she kissed him gently on the lips but said no more.
~
The next morning, unlike the rest of the clan who cheered and hooted as Duncan and Angus went at each other on the lists, sending the sounds of crashing wood on steel echoing around the bailey, Beth grimaced and silently bit her nails. She sorely regretted suggesting Duncan practice for the tournament. How the men could still laugh and call out obscene taunts as they tried to decapitate each other was beyond her.
“Dinna fash, my lady,” Flora whispered at her elbow. “Yer man is well-skilled at this. See, he has not been unseated, and Angus is verra strong and wily.”
Making room for Flora at her side, Beth smiled for the first time in hours. “Good morn, Flora.”
“Good morn.”
Beth’s smile faded into a cringe as Angus’s lance struck her husband’s shield with an ungodly thud and the wood shattered. “Just the thought of him falling and getting trampled by that enormous beast…”
The massive white Percheron Duncan rode weighed a ton.
Flora shook her head. “Ransom is fond of his master so he willna stomp upon our liege should he be unseated.”
“I pray you’re right.”
Duncan had told her he’d acquired the animal in France six years ago and swore the stallion was intelligent and the best he’d ever had.
“I see ye wear thy broach,” Flora whispered.
“Yes, it’s lovely, Flora. I thank ye again.”
“Ye are most welcome. I’ve come to ask if ye would like to see the new woolens Sean’s wife has been weaving. So soft and fine, ‘tis wondrous.”
“I would love to see it.” Beth had been dying to see what home industries Duncan had at his disposal. Surely, with her twenty-first century perspective, she could come up with something lucrative that would keep him home, keep him from becoming a mercenary again.
“Then let us go after the men are finished here, my lady. Sean’s wife and the loom are just above the village, there.” Flora pointed toward the hill just to the right of Drasmoor.
“Yes, and thank you.”
Flora’s attitude toward her had changed since the banquet. This last week, she’d been pleasant and the first in the hall to assist in readying the mid-day meals. Pleased that Flora had extended her hand in friendship in yet another way, Beth said, “I’ve always wanted to see how a loom works.”
“Grand. We can cross to Drasmoor with one of the fishermen and be back by mid-day meal.”
As she watched her husband dismount, Beth said, “Thank you for offering to take me.”
“‘Tis my pleasure.”
“Ah, my ladywife!” Duncan pulled his helmet off. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat. “What say ye? Am I fit enough to carry yer token into battle?”
He was obviously so pleased with his performance she answered, “Aye, my lord. You are a splendiferous example of manhood, if ever I saw one.” And he truly was, gleaming and clanking in armor as he bore down on her in the morning sunlight.
He pulled off his gauntlets and scooped her into his arms.
In a whisper, he asked, “Have I allayed yer fears, woman mine?”
“Aye.” She kissed him soundly, knowing he wouldn’t mind her confirming his prowess before one and all. The clan’s very livelihood and security depended on his ability. Yet she worried. As strong an opponent as Angus was, the Bruce was bigger still.
Lowering her to the ground, he called to Rachael’s son, “Squire, fetch yer weary knight a drink.”
The skinny lad, twelve, all joints and ears, preened. “Aye, my lord!”
“You ken Rachael will have your skin,” Beth murmured, “if you continue to encourage the boy’s ambitions to knighthood.”
Duncan laughed. “The lad needs learn how to defend himself and Isaac agrees.”
Seeing Rachael’s dour expression out of the corner of her eye, Beth muttered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Ye fash too much, dear lady.”
She rolled her eyes. “Someone around here has to.”
He laughed as Jacob handed him a flagon of ale. After downing it, he called, “Angus, ye sorry excuse for a man, are ye ready for a wee bit of sword play?”
“’Fore ye pick up yon claymore again,” Angus called, “ye’d best go fetch a few brawny men, ye braggart. Ye’ll be needing help walking off the field.”
Duncan laughed and kissed her nose. “Later, wife. I need put that heathen on his back.”
~#~
Beth and Flora had just taken their seats at the bow of the long boat when they heard, “Halt! Wait!”
Beth wondered why Flora swore under her breath seeing Rachael, flushed scarlet, racing along the quay with a man close on her heels.
“Thank ye,” Rachael gasped as one of the oarsmen helped her in. She tossed her satchel onto the floor. “I feared ye had already left. ‘Tis wee Mary, my lady. Her birthing isna goin’ well.” Pointing to the man at her back, she said, “’Tis her husband, Alex.” The man, unlike Rachael, was deathly pale and obviously close to tears.
Beth nodded to the man. “Hello. What is wrong?”
“I dinna ken, my lady. The midwife wouldna tell me. She just said to summon ye soonest.” As his tears began coursing down his cheeks, Flora blanched.
The oarsmen needed no coaxing to put their backs into every stroke.
Totally out of her element, Beth whispered, “Do either of you know what to do?”
Flora, obviously horrified, shook her head.
“Mayhap I do,” Rachael whispered, “but if we canna help, then our presence will, at least, be some comfort.” She lowered her voice even farther. “Such a wee thing is Mary. She’s had trouble from the verra first. This be her third babe.”
As soon as the boat hit the beach everyone tumbled out. With their skirts soaked to the knees, the women raced after Alex.
Beth’s fear that they’d lose sight of him evaporated as a blood-curdling screech rent the air. It came from the second stone cottage before her.
Rachael entered the small two-room home ahead of her and settled on her knees before a pale, sweat soaked woman on the pallet. “Shh, Mary, ‘twill all be well, dearest.”
The midwife, though probably only forty, looked a hundred as she whispered in Gael and Rachael translated, “She said ‘tis the shoulders. The head is out but she canna bring forth the rest.”
Beth, easing to the far side of the cot, felt the blood leave her head as she looked between the laboring woman’s shaking legs. The child’s cone shaped head was indeed out, dark and swathed in blood.
Feeling light-headed, she mentally chided, Get your shit together. This woman needs what little comfort you can offer. Beth knelt, brushed the woman’s russet curls from her face and placed a cool compress on her brow.
Rachael whispered to the midwife, “Ye have nay choice, mistress. Ye must break the babe’s shoulder or we lose mother and child both.”
“But I had hoped…”
Rachael shook her head and reached for Mary’s hand and right leg. “My lady, take Mary’s other hand and leg as I.” When Beth had imitated Rachael’s hold, Rachael murmured to the midwife, “Do it, now.”
Tears sprang into Beth eyes as the walls echoed with Wee Mary’s stomach-churning agony.
Before Beth could think to pray, all went deathly quiet. Beth looked to the midwife. The woman held a stout but silent babe on her forearm. With a well-practiced hand, the midwife swabbed the babe’s face and mouth and then slapped the baby’s feet. Beth’s heart gave a mighty thump when the child, a boy, finally bellowed for all he was worth. The new mother, her arms reaching for the infant, laughed and praised God while Beth silently slid to the floor.
Excited by the simple prospect of having a child, she’d given no thought to the dangers of birthing in this primitive world. Her fingers instinctively sought her wedding band.