CHAPTER 10 #3
“That’s all right,” said Clarinda, helping herself to an enormous chunk of bread. “I intend to do the actual birthing. I just need you to help me through it. Perhaps you can cast a spell to ease the pain, or make the birth go a little faster.”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “There must be someone else within the clan who can help you.”
“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
“But I can’t—”
“I cannot do this alone, Gwendolyn. And no one else would dare accept, for fear of angering Elspeth, and then she might refuse to care for them or their families when they needed her. If I am left without someone to help me, Elspeth will step in when I am overwhelmed with pain and unable to send her away. Do you understand?” She laid her hands protectively over the enormous swell of her stomach.
“I could not bear to have her near, telling me how God is punishing me for my sins by giving me pain. And if anything were to happen to the bairn and she wouldn’t let me see it—” She broke off suddenly.
Gwendolyn lowered her gaze. She could not bear to see Clarinda upset.
“I’m asking you to help me, Gwendolyn,” Clarinda said, brushing away the tears welling in her eyes. “I need you to be with me when I am powerless to help myself. If you are truly my friend, you cannot refuse me. I would not refuse you if you needed me.”
If you are truly my friend.
The words seemed strange to Gwendolyn, for she had never had a friend.
No one in her clan had ever been willing to associate with her.
After all those years of rejection and isolation, she had accepted the fact that there would never be anyone in her life except her father who would care for her.
Yet here was Clarinda, who had never shown her anything but kindness and concern, asking for her help.
Warmth suddenly flooded through Gwendolyn, dispelling the chill that had seized her these past two days.
Seeing that Clarinda had started to tremble, Gwendolyn silently rose from her chair and draped her shawl over her friend.
“We will bring this bairn into the world together, Clarinda,” she told her, kneeling so she could wrap her arms around her. “I swear to you I will not leave your side.”
Clarinda regarded her uncertainly. “You’re sure?”
Gwendolyn pressed her cheek against the soft auburn fall of Clarinda’s hair, like a mother comforting a child. “I’m sure,” she whispered softly.
“The storm has finally broken,” Owen announced with relief. “The witch must be feeling better.”
“A foul tempest, that was,” said Lachlan, carefully measuring a draft of his latest potion into a cup. “By all the saints, she must have been furious.” He cautiously sniffed his drink, then wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“I believe I would have been furious as well,” said Marjorie, “had someone tried to burn me to death in my own chamber!”
“It was a black day for our clan,” fretted Reginald, polishing his sword with an enormous rag. “Nothing honorable about sealing a woman in a burning room. A right nasty way to kill someone—even if she is a witch.”
“And I suppose it would be more honorable to tie her to a stake and set her afire?” challenged Clarinda. “With everyone there to watch?”
“Dear me, no,” Owen assured her, looking horrified. “Witch or not, I could never sanction anyone doing such a terrible thing.”
“Nor could MacDunn,” added Morag. “That is why he saved her from the MacSweens.”
“The question is, who banged her on the head and set her chamber afire?” wondered Munro.
“Why don’t you tell us, Munro?” Robena suggested, her voice sharp with accusation. “You’ve hated her from the day she dropped that pot on your head.”
“I would never do such a thing!” Munro’s eyes bulged out of his round face. “I have no reason to want her dead.”
“You said she looks like an old toe to you,” pointed out Lachlan. “Any man might tire of looking at something like that.”
“She isn’t nearly as hideous as I once thought,” Munro quickly assured them. “Actually, there are moments when she is almost comely.”
“I’ve thought that as well,” agreed Owen brightly. “Of course, she’s not nearly as comely as you are, Morag,” he quickly amended. “No one is.”
“Really, Owen,” said Morag, flustered. “What a ridiculous thing to say.”
“MacDunn was in a rage when it happened,” said Farquhar. “He has vowed to find the culprit who did it.” He took a deep swig of ale before finishing, “I’d not want to be anywhere near when he does.”
“He has also said that we are all to keep a careful watch over her and ensure that no more accidents happen,” added Ewan.
“What an excellent idea!” said Owen, rubbing his hands together. “I would be happy to look after the lass. I shall begin straightaway.” He took a few steps, then stopped and turned. “Where, exactly, is she?”
“She has gone outside with David,” said Lettie, adjusting her baby onto her shoulder.
“Outside?” said Owen. “Dear me. I don’t believe I want to go outside. All that bright sunshine—”
“Outside?” thundered Reginald, sounding appalled. “By God, the MacSweens could come at any moment!” He threw down his rag and hurried toward the door, dragging his sword with him.
“Are you all right, David?”
“I’m fine, Gwendolyn,” he assured her. “Please take me around once more.”
His cheeks were rosy and his blue eyes clear as he leaned forward and patted the neck of his horse.
At first Gwendolyn was worried that the exertion would prove too much for him, but the fresh air and excitement of sitting astride a horse for the first time had infused him with a boyish energy she had not seen in him before.
“Very well,” she relented. “But this is the last time. After this we are going to sit on the grass with Ned and have our lunch.” She began to slowly lead the small horse in a circle at the very back of the courtyard, out of sight from where MacDunn was training with the men.
“I can scarcely believe you have never been on a horse before, David. You are a natural rider.”
“Do you really think so?” His face was beaming with pride.
“Absolutely. Don’t you agree, Ned?”
“He looks fine up there,” replied Ned, whittling a long stick.
“We shall have to ask your father to give you riding lessons,” said Gwendolyn. “Perhaps, if you are still feeling well enough, you could start tomorrow.”
David’s face fell. “My father won’t allow it.”
“Why not?”
“My father doesn’t want me to ride.”
“That is because you have been very ill. As long as you are feeling better, I’m certain he will be pleased to help you learn. Every father wants his children to learn to ride.”
David shook his head. “My father has never allowed me to ride a horse, even before I got sick. He said I might fall and hurt myself.”
“Well, of course you would fall. Falling is part of learning how to ride. You get all of your falling done in the beginning, when you are just learning, and then you don’t fall anymore.”
“But my father doesn’t want me to fall. He says I have a weak constitution and I might break my brittle bones.”
“I don’t believe you have anything wrong with your bones,” said Gwendolyn, slightly exasperated with MacDunn for leading the boy to think there was. “And as for your constitution—”
“Hold there, lass!” shouted Reginald, suddenly appearing around the side of the castle. “I’m coming!” He shielded his eyes with his arm and trekked purposefully toward her, followed by an agitated group of MacDunns.
“What is it, Reginald?” she asked tautly. “Is something wrong?”
“Aye, there’s something wrong, all right,” Reginald told her, his white-browed eyes puckered into slits. “That sun is so bright I can barely see you! How am I supposed to protect you with my eyes burning out of my head?”
“Now, lass, ’tis good to see that you are feeling better,” added Owen, squinting at her through his steepled hands, “but could you not fade the light just a wee bit? It’s harsh for an old man who doesn’t go out much.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lachlan, joining them. “You never go outside at all.” He suddenly noticed David and the horse. “Good Lord, get that lad off that colossal beast! He will fall and smash his brains in!”
“David is fine, Lachlan,” Gwendolyn assured him. “He is not about to fall, and even if he did, this horse is so small, he would only bruise himself a little.”
“Bruise himself a little?” sputtered Reginald, incredulous. “The lad is so weak, his neck will snap like a dry twig!”
“The very height of that creature is enough to make him faint!” added Owen.
“Actually, David feels quite well today,” Gwendolyn informed them. “And he enjoys being on the horse—don’t you, David?”
“Aye,” said David, nodding. “I feel just fine.” He smiled at the anxious group assembled before him. “Would you like to see me ride around the courtyard?”
“No!” everyone burst out.
David’s smile instantly melted.
Gwendolyn sighed. “Very well, then.” She moved to help David dismount.
“Of course we want to see you ride, David,” said Clarinda suddenly. “Show us what you have learned today.”
David regarded Gwendolyn uncertainly. She nodded.
Turning his attention back to the group, David straightened his back.
“You must sit tall when you are on a horse,” he informed them, his blue gaze serious.
“And you must hold on with your legs and pay attention to the rhythm of the horse, so that you learn to move with her. And you must pat her and praise her often, so that she knows you are her friend. You are not forcing her to go where you want,” he told them earnestly, “you are both riding there together.”
The cluster of MacDunns stared at him, speechless.
“Very good, David,” praised Gwendolyn. “Now let’s show them how well you ride.” She began to lead his horse across the grass.
“Good Lord, have you ever heard the lad say so much?” asked Owen, astonished.
“Never,” remarked Lachlan, equally bemused. “I always thought he was too timid to utter more than a word or two.”