Chapter Thirteen #2
Grimly, Roland heaved his saddle bag over his shoulder, and headed out.
He followed the sturdy wooden posts that had been planted to guide travelers during this kind of storm.
The wind blew in gales around him, hindering his every step.
The snow whirled around him, making it almost impossible to see more than a few inches in front of his face.
Each step was an effort and he was beginning to question the wisdom of coming out into the blizzard when he heard a sharp cry of pain.
He stopped to listen and another cry came from somewhere ahead of him.
He yelled as loudly as he could but he was shouting into the wind and the words flew back into his own ears.
Spurred on by the thought of Gwendolyn in pain, alone and frightened, and possibly injured, he trudged on.
His breath was labored as he battled forward, hoping that she had not wandered away from the guideposts.
If she had—he couldn’t let himself dwell on the possibility of a world without Gwendolyn in it.
Some minutes later he heard her cry out again. He shouted her name even more loudly. Faintly, he heard her reply and he moved more quickly.
Another eight steps brought him to a bundle in the snow. He lowered the lantern which shone its yellow light onto Gwendolyn’s pale face, although her chin and the tip of her nose were red from the cold. He shifted his arm beneath her shoulders and hoisted her up.
Her body stiffened and she screamed. For a moment Roland wondered if she had broken her leg but she was balanced on both.
She panted heavily and her hands pressed against her abdomen.
Understanding flooded through Roland. He swore.
This was not the time or place for her to give birth.
He had to get her to shelter. He looked around using the shape of the valley and the height of the fells around him to determine exactly where they were.
The fierceness of the storm was beginning to abate and he could make out the faint outline of the farmhouse below in the valley.
Gwendolyn tensed again and this time her scream was louder.
She clung to him, her fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders as her hands slid underneath his coat, seeking warmth and purchase.
The shudders in Gwendolyn’s body eased and he looked into her eyes. “Do you think you could walk a few steps?”
He watched her grit her teeth, blinking away tears that were gathering in her eyes. She nodded. “Are we close to the farmhouse?”
“No, sweetheart. The blizzard disorientated you and you wandered up onto the fells. But there’s a shelter less than twenty yards here used by the shepherds in the Spring when the ewes are lambing. We’ll be fine there until we can return to the house.”
He picked up the lantern which was, fortunately, still burning, and let Gwendolyn balance on his arm. He moved forward, urging her to keep focused. Four times they had to stop as contractions paralyzed Gwendolyn and each time she was a little slower as they continued on.
By the time the dry stone shelter came into view, Roland was worried. The sun was beginning to set and Gwendolyn had not eaten anything since lunchtime. Come to that, neither had he, but his appetite had been swallowed up by his concern.
With a sigh of relief, he walked into the gloom of the shelter.
Wooden pens had been partitioned off towards the back and a low bench and a stool were near the door.
The heavy stones provided protection from the snow and wind.
A low bleating sent Gwendolyn tripping backwards.
Two large sheep had also decided this was the best place to wait out the storm.
Gwendolyn laughed. “I don’t think I ever appreciated the Christmas story until now.”
Roland also grinned. “At least the sheep left some of the hay for us. Will you be all right on the bench while I arrange things for you? I think the storm is abating and we will be able to leave soon.”
Gwendolyn glanced around the little hut. “Yes.” She said no more as another contraction gripped her. She bit her lip and tried not to scream. She didn’t want to frighten the sheep or embarrass herself in front of Roland Montgomery.
But he stopped his action of gathering hay together into a bed to look at her. “Brave lass. I hope the little one waits until you are safe in your bedroom and attended by a midwife, but I fear this is going to be rough going.”
Gwendolyn huffed a laugh. “Nothing about me or my circumstances is normal. I should never have expected the birth of my child to be without complications.” The humor in her voice faded and she spoke softly almost to herself as she looked down at her swollen stomach.
“But I am to blame if anything goes wrong. As always, I was impetuous and insisted on going out for a walk on my own.”
Roland dropped the bundle of hay he was moving and in two strides was in front of her.
His one hand rested on her shoulder and the other cupped her cheek, tilting her face upwards.
“Chin up, little one. Many people have been caught out in sudden storms and are not as brave as you have been. Don’t falter now. ”
Gwendolyn took a deep breath. The confident way Roland held her chin and the sureness of his voice worked like an elixir, strengthening her heart and mind.
But another cramp interfered with her soaking in his presence.
She doubled over and clutched at his hand, gripping it so hard she cut off the blood flow.
The contraction eased after a minute or so, but Roland frowned.
He didn’t know much about the process of giving birth for humans, but he had heard that when a baby was pushing its way out of the woman’s womb, the contractions came closer together.
And Gwendolyn was in agony. Even if the snow stopped, she was not going to be able to walk down the slope in her present condition.
She might end up giving birth here and he would have to be the midwife, a role for which he was completely unprepared.
He quickly finished the makeshift hay mattress and came to where Gwendolyn was still sitting on the bench.
He held out his hand. “Come on then, lass, let’s get you settled. ”
Gwendolyn hesitated and then placed her hand in his.
“I don’t know what happens when a baby is born.
” Some deep instinct warned her that the baby was not going to wait for the storm to end.
She would need to trust her health and well-being and the very life of her baby to Roland Montgomery.
And when she looked into his calm eyes, she knew she could.
“I’ve never seen a human baby born, but I’ve been present and even assisted at dozens of births of calves, foals, and lambs.
Even a few puppies. If you’ll accept my humble knowledge, I will be with you the whole time.
I don’t think we’ll be able to wait until the snow settles.
Babies come when they want to, not when it’s convenient for their mothers. ”
His matter-of-fact manner calmed Gwendolyn and she let him lead her to the bed he had made for her. He knelt down and eased her onto his coat which he had laid out on the hay, using his woolen scarf as a pillow.
He collected an armful of wood from a pile in the corner of the hut and built it into a pyramid close to the door but out of the direct path of the wind.
He rifled in his coat pocket for a flint and stone and soon a fire was crackling merrily, although it did fill the little room with smoke.
The sheep were a little discomforted but after a few bleats they settled back onto their hay.
An enamel mug had been left near the wood and he scooped some snow into it, setting it near the fire to melt.
When it was almost too hot to hold, he swilled the water around and poured it out then refilled the mug and repeated the process.
The third time, he left the melted water in the mug and carried it to Gwendolyn’s temporary bed.
Roland sat down on the hay next to Gwendolyn. She had pushed back the hood of her cloak and he cupped her neck, lifting her up a little as he held the mug of water to her mouth. She drank thirstily, almost finishing it. She pushed Roland’s hand away. “You must be thirsty, too.”
His smile was so warm that Gwendolyn almost felt overheated.
She watched him lift the cup to his mouth.
It was probably just coincidence, but his lips touched the same place where hers had been and she squirmed slightly at the somewhat intimate action.
But she had no time to ponder. The contractions were almost continuous now.
She couldn’t get comfortable on the hay and wanted to stand, to move about a little.
Roland helped her to her feet and loosened the ties of her cloak, dropping the heavy garment to the ground. Her hair was disheveled and she pulled at the pins, letting the mass of golden curls tumble over her shoulders before twisting it into a loose knot.
Roland put his arm around her waist and walked up and down the small space with her. Every few feet she paused as her body tensed with a new contraction.
“Breathe deeply,” Roland urged. “Come, breathe with me. In, slowly, one, two, three, four. Now out slowly.”
Gwendolyn huffed in a long breath, but a contraction interrupted the outflow of her breath.
She shrieked, pushing against his chest. Roland tried not to be shocked at the expletives Gwendolyn spat out.
Where had she heard such words? But his entire focus was on getting her as comfortable as possible.
“Ow, ow.” She paused and he could see her bearing down. “My body’s splitting in two,” she gasped out. “Why did you insist I start walking? I just want to lie down!”
Roland stared at her for a second and then laughed. He had heard that women could be unreasonable when in childbirth.
“There is nothing amusing about this,” Gwendolyn scolded.