“Rest assured, I am quite well, Berin.” Quinn patted Evie’s hand where it rested on his forearm. “This is Lady Evaline. She is to be my wife. Ye may pledge yer fealty to her for saving yer chieftain so ye might again experience a peaceful night’s rest.”
Head still bowed, Berin grunted and labored down to one knee while pulling a dagger from its sheath. He offered it up to her like a cross, then placed the blade between his uplifted palms pressed together as though in prayer. “Ye have my solemn vow to serve ye, m’lady, and my gratitude for saving my chieftain.”
“Thank you,” she said, but the man remained on the ground, his gray head bent and hands extended in the prayerful pose. Was she supposed to do something else? She hadn’t a clue.
“Ye must accept his fealty,” Quinn whispered against her ear. “Cover his hands with yers and touch the dagger’s edge.”
With a quick nod, she clasped her hands over Berin’s, making sure she touched the blade as if she were the one with the power. “Thank you, Berin. I am honored to accept your fealty.”
“M’lady.” He dipped his head again, kissed the haft of the dagger, then sheathed it. With another pained grunt, he struggled back to his feet, then favored them both with a broad smile that revealed the only three teeth he had. “Welcome home, m’lord. Welcome home, indeed.” As his pleased focus shifted to Evie, she noticed his left eye had a milky blue-white coating clouded over it. His right eye appeared bright and alert, albeit watery. Its blue vividness rivaled the summer sky even though Berin looked to be well on in years.
“Ye will like it here verra much, m’lady,” he said with a gallant sweep of a hand that appeared so disfigured by arthritis, he couldn’t open his fingers. “Welcome to yer garden. Lady Fern’s roses will be a joy to ye.” He thumped his chest again. “I am the guard what keeps out anyone ye dinna wish to see. Ye can count on me, m’lady.” His one-eyed gaze swiveled to Quinn. “Dinna that be true, m’lord?”
“Aye, Berin. True indeed.” Quinn smiled down at her as Berin unlocked the gate and pushed it open. “Berin is one of my most experienced warriors. Even fought at my granddad’s side when he was naught but a lad half-grown.” He gave the man an approving nod as they passed through the gate. “Loyal and true. Ye are my most valiant warrior, Berin.”
“Thank ye, my chieftain. Yer kind words are worth more than gold.” If the man puffed out his chest any further, he would explode.
Evie understood Quinn’s tactic. Berin might be old, almost toothless, and half-blind, but the man had his pride and had served the family well in the past. To ensure he knew his value, Quinn assigned him the post of the inner garden gate. It doubtless received little activity. But Berin still had a job. A responsibility. Worth.
“You are a good man, Quinn.” She couldn’t ignore the need to praise him. Her heart ached with memories of the future where valuing the aged had somehow gotten lost, and those individuals, with all their wisdom and worth, had become a dispensable burden to be ignored until they did society a favor and died. She squeezed his arm. “An honorable man, indeed.”
“I am glad ye think so, but what prompted ye to say such a thing?”
“Because even though Berin is getting on in years and might not be the fastest or the best, you still make him feel appreciated.”
“Every man, woman, and child has worth,” he said, as if unable to understand why anyone would think otherwise. “Why else would the Almighty place them here?”
Fair point. She smiled and nodded but said nothing else. Care needed to be taken on how much she shared. Quinn might be a kind, understanding man, but she doubted he would ever believe or accept where she had truly come from.
They passed a circle of benches surrounding a small shallow pool bordered with rounded stones of a soft gray coloring. Long square patches of herbs and vegetables grew closer to the wall of the keep itself. Evie recognized the tall spikes of rosemary, pinkish-purple spears of lavender, and vibrant green leaves of mint. Someone must have recently cut some of the mint because its pleasant, clean scent filled the air. As for the other plants thriving in the well-tended beds, she didn’t have a clue what they might be, but they looked healthy. Whoever tended this garden had quite the green thumb.
Then they came to the flowers. An abundance of roses in varying shades of red. Delicate pink carnations trellised in earthenware pots to keep them from falling over. Bluebells. Primrose. White clusters of Queen Anne’s lace. Larger trellises overgrown with ivy created a maze of walls that separated the flowers from the fruit trees beyond. But Quinn’s sister had yet to show herself. Then a low moan came somewhere from within the maze of ivy and hedging.
“Fern!” Quinn charged into the mass of green.
Evie followed, wishing she had her bag at her side. From the sound of that moan, someone was in pain. She rounded another corner of the maze and came up short, almost tumbling over Quinn, who crouched beside a pregnant woman.
“Fern, lass, is it yer time?” He pulled her up against him, supporting her shoulders as she clutched his hand and buried her face in his chest. “Fern—speak to me, I beg ye.”
“Satan’s bollocks, ye smell like a goat, Quinn.” She whipped her head away and made a face. “When was the last time ye bathed? ’Tis summer, man, and no excuse for such a stench.”
Quinn’s eyes flexed to slits. He clamped his mouth shut for a moment before forcing a strained smile. “These past few days have been a mite busy, dear sister, and might I also add, I’m pleased my absence didna trouble ye.”
“I knew ye’d be fine. Ye always win the day.” She paused and eked out another long, low groan. “I wasna worried for a whit.” She balled up tighter, and her face shifted to a darker red. “I am nay ready for this. It canna be my time. Old Merdrid promised it wouldna happen ’til the full moon.”
Evie scooted around and crouched on her other side. The woman’s coloring, as well as the state of her hands and ankles, concerned her. Fern had passed the point of a little puffiness. Her extremities had swollen a great deal. Evie felt sure the woman’s blood pressure had reached a dangerous level as well. “When did the pains start?” she asked, taking hold of the woman’s wrist to confirm what she knew would be a racing pulse.
“Who are ye?” The red-faced beauty snatched her arm away, glaring at Evie as though she were the devil himself.
“Calm yerself, Fern.” Quinn tipped his head toward Evie. “This is my betrothed, Lady Evaline Indiana Wortham. She saved my life and—”
“Call me Evie,” Evie interrupted. Proper introductions could wait. “I’m a doc—a healer, and I’ve helped bring quite a few babies into this world.”
“Betrothed?” Fern beamed up at Quinn, then twisted with another labor spasm. She clutched her belly and drew up her legs. “I canna bear this. I fear for certain I’m dying.” She snatched hold of Evie’s hand. “If I die, please take care of my babe. If Quinn trusts ye, then so do I.”
“Now, there shall be no talk of dying,” Evie scolded in a gentle tone. “I intend to take care of both you and your baby, but we must get you inside since your pains seem quite close.” She locked eyes with Quinn. “Does the keep have a litter or some way of transporting her to her rooms? We must get her somewhere comfortable.”
He scowled at her as if she had just insulted his ancestors.
