“Come on, dear boy, come on now. I got all the muck out of you. Take in some air for me. Don’t be stubborn.”
The tiny arms and legs remained still far too long, and their coloring had a bluish tint. Evie glanced back at Reah. “Hand her to Quinn and come here.”
Reah placed the tiny babe in his arms. He had held a bairn this small only one time before. His wife’s child as the boy took its last breath. Red-faced and squirming, this wee lassie required skill and focus to hold her. With half his attention on the fussing baby in his arms, he watched Evie show Reah what to do for the wee laddie while she took care of Fern.
“Gently blow in two breaths, press his chest thirty times like so, then two additional breaths. Over and over. Just like this. Understand?”
As soon as Evie had stitched his sister’s stomach closed better than the finest seamstress, she returned her attention to Fern’s son, who had yet to respond. “Young man, I need you to perk up immediately. I do not tolerate losing patients. I don’t care what century it is.” She draped him longways across her forearm and massaged his back.
A bittersweet sadness crept into Quinn’s heart. Fiona and her daughter lived, but her wee son did not. He knew his sister. She would be both overjoyed and heartbroken when she awoke, and nothing he could say or do would ease her pain.
“He moved!” A fragile wail followed Evie’s exclamation. “Shame on you for giving us such a scare, young man!” She laughed as the cry strengthened.
“Is he all right?” Quinn asked after a glance down at his tiny niece, who had quieted. The red-faced lassie gazed up at him with the darkest blue eyes he had ever seen.
“He is alive,” Evie said quietly. The joy lighting her eyes faded. “I’m afraid that’s all I can promise you for now.”
“Where there is life, there is hope,” Janet proclaimed, smiling at the wee ones as though they were her grandchildren. “And what is the best way to care for the mistress and her fine children? We dinna wish for aught to go awry.”
“Lady Fern needs the care and attention of one who has just fought a valiant battle.” Evie nodded at Fern as she handed the wee laddie back to Reah. “Clean bed. Fresh shift. We must not allow infection. As soon as she comes around, plenty of broth and water to flush the whisky out of her. She doesn’t need to nurse these two until the alcohol is completely out of her system.”
“The pebbles?” Quinn suggested, remembering how Evie’s small white pebbles had helped him with his pain.
Evie smiled. “Yes. The pebbles will help her, too. I’m just not sure how many I have left.” She pressed the disk of her odd necklace to each babe, tucked her chin, and seemed deep in thought before pulling it away. “Hold them for a bit and gently rub their backs. At least until we see if they’re able to latch hold and nurse. I’ll feel better once I see how they respond at the breast. Our little lady appears quite hearty, but this gentleman has some catching up to do. I don’t want them left in a cradle just yet.”
“Fetch Isla,” Janet told Reah, taking the babe from her. “She said she’d be proud to help and wet nurse our lady’s bairns.”
Reah scurried to the door, then paused before lifting the bar. “Shall I let him in?”
As much as Quinn hated it, Gilbert had the right to know that his wife and children lived. But before he could answer, Evie replied, “Not yet. Better take the tapestry tunnel again for now. We need everything cleaned up properly before we admit him. I don’t think he would understand all the blood.”
Quinn smiled, and immense pride filled him. He had chosen wisely. Picked a fine woman to lead the clan at his side. A life bringer. A protector of those he loved. Perhaps the attack on him at the pool was the hand of Fate turning him in the right direction.
She made a sideways glance at the door as she reached for the wee one in his arms. “I’ll hold your fine niece while you have a proper word with your brother-in-law.” She paused and locked eyes with him. “A proper word, now. Civil. Your Fern needs calm even if she isn’t aware of everything just yet.” Her voice changed to a singsong croon as she briskly patted the babe’s back. “We shall let your Daddy in for a visit once Miss Janet and I have Mummy and your brother all cleaned up.” She turned and addressed him with an arched brow. “You agree to be on your best behavior?”
Relief, joy, and an intense awareness of being extremely blessed awakened a rare benevolence in him. “Aye, my bossy wee hen. Peace shall reign. I swear it.” He eased out from behind Fern, carefully adjusted her pillows, then straightened and turned to Evie. “Ye’re a rare woman, Evie.” Without hesitation, he cupped her face between his hands and gave her the gentlest of kisses. “Mere words could never explain what ye did for me this day.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I shall spend the rest of my years thanking ye.”
She stepped away with a faint smile, babe in her arms, a finger caught in the wee one’s grasp. “I’m glad I could help.” Her voice had softened until almost breathless. She inclined her head toward the door again. “Best see to your brother-in-law now. Janet and I have much to do.”
“Aye, lass.”
“And be nice,” she called after him, making him smile.
Not even married yet and already giving orders. He held the pleasure of it close as he unbarred the door and shoved into the sitting room without allowing Gilbert entry.
The irrational man, his ruddy hair sticking out in every direction, looked like an angry hedgehog. He charged forward and grabbed hold of Quinn by the front of his tunic. “I knew ye hated me, but I didna think even Quinn MacTaggart would sink so low as to refuse a man a last goodbye to his beloved wife.”
The promise to behave still ringing in his ears, Quinn clamped hold of Gilbert’s wrists, yanked the man loose, and shoved him away for his own safety. Promise or not, he had never done well at holding his temper. Wickedly hoping the fool would jump him again, he stood ready. “Yer wife lives. As do yer son and daughter.”
Noting Gilbert’s disheveled appearance, he headed to the sidebar and poured two glasses of whisky. The fool looked like highwaymen had jumped him. Wild hair. Scraped shoulder oozing blood. Tunic ripped, and a sleeve almost gone. “Pull yerself together, man. Ye look a mess.”
Drink part-way to his lips, Quinn paused. “By the way, how the hell did ye mangle yer sleeve?” Out of the corner of his eye, a caved-in dent of splintered boards about shoulder high in the bedchamber door caught his attention. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember any loud thuds. Of course, the unusual birthing of his niece and nephew had commanded his full attention at the time. He held up the other glass and wiggled it as if it were bait. “Well? Can ye nay speak? Do ye nay wish to drink to yer family’s health?”
“This is some cruel trickery of yers.” Gilbert spat at him, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Pure hatred gleamed in his eyes. “I know she is gone. I saw her at death’s door.”
“Ye’re a damn fool.” Quinn refilled his glass, then lifted it high, the golden liquid sparkling in the glow from the day candles lighting the darkest corners of the room. “If ye willna toast yer wife and bairns, then I shall. Here’s to their good health, long lives, and happiness—I daresay they’ll need the Almighty’s best guardian angels with yerself as husband and father.”
“Ye swear on yer own soul that my Fern lives?”
