Chapter 27 #2
“He must be eager to go meet his grandfather,” she said.
The relief in Hew’s eyes was instant. And she knew she’d made the right choice.
She grabbed her satchel and tucked their pair of wooden cups into it, along with two wild apples and the verses Merraid had written.
Hew shouldered the large satchel. “She.”
“What?”
“She’s eager to meet her grandfather.”
She grinned. “Ye think ’tis a daughter?”
“I hope ’tis a daughter.” His eyes softened like melting silver. “I’d like another just like you.”
She sighed. He always knew just what to say. Secretly, though, she wanted a son just like him.
Packing all they needed for the journey didn’t take long. It was only a few miles to Dunlop. Still, it would be rough traveling, more than an hour over rocky ground and through dense woods. And Carenza would require frequent breaks.
They did leave behind Sister Eve’s gown. Carenza wanted it to be there for her, if and when she turned up at the byre.
She said farewell to the hens. She figured they’d live like queens even without their human masters. After all, they had plenty of grain and the entire cozy byre to themselves.
Then she pulled her arisaid over her head, picked up her satchel, and slipped out into the feathery white.
“Hold on,” Hew said.
He took her satchel and slung it across his back with his own. Then, before she could squeak in surprise, he swept her up suddenly into his arms.
“What kind of Viking’s son would I be,” he said, “if I couldn’t carry off a wench?”
His ancestors would have been impressed. He carried her and their bairn all the way to Dunlop.
They passed through the gates of Dunlop and crossed the snowy courtyard without incident. When Hew carried her through the doors of the great hall to set her on her feet near the hearth, a sudden hush fell over the clanfolk.
“Carenza?” Her father looked stunned.
She’d been thinking about this moment all the way from the time they left the byre.
She’d decided if they were going to do this, if they were going to march up to the gates of Dunlop and drop their fate in her father’s hands, she would make it her mission to defend Hew with her life and the life of her unborn child.
“Father.” She straightened and faced him squarely. “I have somethin’ to tell ye.”
“Ye’re goin’ to have a bairn,” he realized.
“That’s right,” she said. “But I’ll have ye know, if ye’re not willin’ to forgive Hew, if ye plan to turn him o’er to the king, I’ll make certain ye ne’er see your grandchild.”
“But—”
“I’ll go into exile,” she bit out. “And ye won’t have an heir.”
“But—”
“I know ’tis a harsh decision. But considerin’ all Hew has sacrificed in the name o’ love, ’tis the right decision. So what will it be?”
She braced herself for a challenge.
It never came.
Instead, her father looked at Hew. “’Twas ye all along, wasn’t it? Her lover. Her caretaker. Her hero. I knew it.” He came forward with watery eyes and a father’s proud smile.
Against all odds, it turned out what Sister Eve had told them was true. All of it. Merraid the maidservant had written the verses. And fought at Gellir’s back. And been knighted by the king. And brokered peace between the lairds. She was now married to Gellir and expecting a bairn.
Eve was even right about the king and the laird of Rivenloch forgiving Hew and Carenza for their reckless behavior, though they still needed the sealed marriage document to make their union official.
First, however, Carenza meant to write a missive to Merraid, apologizing for her hasty departure.
Congratulating her on her marriage and her upcoming delivery.
Commending her on her clever and passionate verse.
And announcing her own marriage to the heretofore unnamed father of her bairn, Sir Hew du Lac of Rivenloch himself.
Their marriages would make Carenza and Merraid cousins.
She smiled, imagining the stir her missive was sure to cause.
Carenza woke early on Martinmas morn. Not because she needed extra time to dress, which she did lately, since she’d grown to roughly the size of Hamish.
Nay, she didn’t think she’d be going to Mass today.
What urged her awake was a twinge deep in her abdomen, the kind she got when her menses were beginning.
It was time.
The cramp subsided, and she levered herself out of bed.
She’d slept by herself for the past fortnight. In her condition, she found she grew too hot and restless with another person in the bed.
But she wasn’t alone. Standing in the middle of the floor in the dim morning light was a rat.
“Not today, Twinkle,” she told the wee beast. “Ye should make yourself scarce. The chamber’s goin’ to be full o’ maids soon.”
The rat didn’t budge, only sniffed patiently at the air.
“Och fine,” she relented, breaking off a crumb from the oatcakes she kept by the bed.
She tossed it to Twinkle, who scampered off through a gap in the garderobe curtain.
“And don’t come back until everyone’s left.”
Then she summoned the maid, who called the midwife, who called another midwife, who called four more maids to assist. This was the Laird of Dunlop’s grandchild, after all. They wanted no mistakes.
While the servants readied the chamber, stoking the fire, hauling water, bringing linens, Carenza felt more waves tightening her belly. As she’d seen the coos and sheep do, she huffed out her breath until they passed.
Between contractions, she thought wistfully about the marriage document. She had hoped it would arrive before the bairn was born. But no one knew what had happened to Sister Eve. Carenza hoped she was all right.
Someone was sent to wake her father and Hew, though she felt that was unnecessary. They might as well sleep. Birthing was usually an all-day process. Besides, Hew was already nervous about the ordeal. It seemed cruel to draw out his suffering.
At least they could keep each other company. As it turned out, they were nearly inseparable. And whether it was Hew’s influence or the threat of losing her or the impending birth, her father had softened in his attitudes. He no longer cared if everything was perfect.
He made no mention of the missing marriage decree. By his behavior, he assumed they were legitimately wed. He already treated Hew as if he were his son. He’d even had Hew’s precious axe replaced. Though he couldn’t reproduce the runes, he’d had Amor vincit omnia carved into the handle.
He made no comment about Carenza’s appearance, even though she knew she was as large as a coo and bedraggled as a molting owl. He was just thrilled to be getting an heir.
She breathed through another mild contraction.
One of the midwives set up the birthing chair, though she wouldn’t need it for hours.
A superstitious maidservant slipped a dagger under her pillow, whispering that it would cut the pain.
Another maid mopped Carenza’s brow with a damp rag.
The pain passed, and Carenza smiled. The quiet efficiency of the ladies around her was curiously calming.
“’Tis been hours,” Hew growled in complaint as one of the maidservants tending to Carenza emerged onto the crowded great hall.
“These things take time, m’laird,” she said.
“But she’s all right?” the Laird of Dunlop asked.
“Och aye, she’s fine.”
Hew and the laird exchanged glances of dubious relief and returned to pacing.
Hew felt as if he were at his wit’s end. His heart raced. Every nerve was on edge. Carenza was fighting a battle in her bedchamber. And there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do to help her.
He shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn’t made the decision to return to Dunlop.
As for her father, he wasn’t helping Hew’s mood. His face was sickly pale with fear. He’d chewed his lip until it was raw. Even his hounds in the corner of the hall whimpered, sensing his unease.
The laird stopped him mid-pace, seizing his arm. “Do ye think we should fetch the physician?”
Hew wondered. It wasn’t normally done. Physicians knew little about childbirth. That was a midwife’s purview. On the other hand, this was his child and the heir to Dunlop. “I’m not sure. Should we?”
The maidservant suddenly appeared beside them again with a pair of ales. “Nay, m’lairds. ’Tis already crowded enough in her bedchamber. Here. Have a wee bit to drink. ’Twill help calm your fears.”
“I don’t want to calm my fears,” Hew snapped, grabbing a cup and downing it anyway.
The maidservant didn’t even flinch. Still, Hew felt remorse the instant he opened his mouth. He sounded like his mother, lashing out in anger at anyone in his path.
“Och, forgive me,” he said. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just…”
“Ye’re just a man waitin’ for his child to be born.”
“I was the same way,” the laird confessed. “Fear dressed up as anger. This time, though, ’tis naught but fear for me.”
The maidservant pressed the second cup into his hand. “This works for both. And ye might as well have a seat. Otherwise ye’ll wear out the bottom o’ your boots by the time this bairn comes.”
They tried to sit. But the laird couldn’t stop bouncing his leg. And Hew kept standing up and sitting down, too restless to rest.
“Is it good luck or bad luck to be born on Martinmas?” the laird wondered.
Hew didn’t know. “At this rate, the bairn won’t come till the morrow.”
“What if it doesn’t? What if Carenza’s up there in agony for a sennight?”
“It can’t take that long,” Hew scoffed. Then he reconsidered. “Can it?”
“Do ye suppose they have enough plaids?”
That was a consideration. It was snowy, and the bairn would be wet. “Should we gather more?”
They shot to their feet and began scouring the hall, demanding the plaids from clanfolk who warmed themselves by the fire. Whether they would be useful or not, it at least gave Hew something to do so he wouldn’t go mad with worrying.
He’d gathered a heaping armful of plaids when the outer doors were suddenly flung open. A cold breeze rushed in to flicker the flames. A motley party of half a dozen travelers, cloaked against the harsh weather, pushed boldly inside.
Hew scowled.
What strangers dared to muscle their way so brazenly into Dunlop’s hall?
Who deigned to meddle in their private affairs?
Incensed at their intrusion and forgetting this was not his keep, he called out, “Who goes there? Show your faces.”