The earl echoed his father-in-law’s sentiments. “Now my brother can stop hiding his love for the wench. I’m tired of his moaning about over her.” He sent for his sibling.
“Let us sit together by the fire,” Annabella suggested to her sister, taking her hand and drawing her over to a cushioned settle, where they sat down. Their parents remained at the high board with the earl, awaiting Matthew’s arrival. “Now you will learn the fine art of patience,” Annabella told her sister.
“What is happening?” Agnes wanted to know.
“All is well,” Annabella responded reassuringly.
Matthew came into the hall and went directly to his brother. They watched as the four heads at the high board came together. They could not even hear an echo of what was said, but Annabella could well imagine.
Then Matthew came over to where the two young women sat. He bowed politely to them. “Will ye consent to walk wi’ me, Agnes?” he asked her, holding out his hand.
“I will,” the girl said, taking his hand, standing up.
Then together they walked to the far end of the hall, where they appeared to be engaged in animated conversation.
Annabella got up from her place by the fire and joined the others at the high board. As she reached it she heard her father saying to her husband, “Aggie’s dower isn’t large, my lord. Each of my daughters has had the same dower, excepting Annabella, who brought ye the land ye wanted instead.”
“If such a dower portion was good enough for me, and yer two other sons-in-law, then it is certainly good enough for my brother,” the earl reassured the laird. “Especially since Matthew’s birth on the wrong side of the blanket dinna bother ye.”
“I’ve come to learn that he is a fine young man, and he hae yer favor,” the laird said. “I am content in the match.”
“I’m glad,” the earl replied. “Agnes’s presence is good for Annabella, especially now. I would suggest we hold the wedding sooner than later.”
“Agreed,” the laird said.
Matthew and Agnes returned from the end of the hall. They were both smiling.
They were in favor of having their wedding celebrated quickly. The marriage contracts were drawn up and signed. On the eighteenth of November the marriage was celebrated in the Duin village kirk. The bride wore a pale blue velvet gown with a cream-and-gold-colored silk damask underskirt. Her beautiful straight brown-blond hair was left loose, but topped with a wreath of dried white heather. A small feast for the family was held afterward. Both Matthew and Agnes seemed calmer now for their union.
A week after the wedding Annabella went into labor. The day had been oddly warm for late November. They watched as a storm blew up seemingly from nowhere, lightning forking down into the green water out over the sea. The storm, Jean said, would blow itself into Ireland, and not disturb them. Under the circumstances Annabella had felt the urge to take a leisurely ride to the village in the dog cart. She had been very restless these past days, which worried the lady Anne.
“’Tis good of ye to visit old Margaret,” Jean said, referring to a cottager in the village. “She and her Sim were wed for over forty years. His death was quite a surprise for us all. He seemed indomitable.”
“What happened?” the lady Anne asked.
“He just dropped down dead hauling wood the other day, but he was old,” Jean said. “Well past seventy, I believe.”
They entered the village, greeted by each person they passed. Annabella spoke to all by name, and with a smile. Her mother was impressed by her daughter’s gracious behavior, for there were a goodly number of clan folk. The dog cart came to a halt before a small neat cottage, where a smiling elderly woman stood waiting to greet them. Jean and the lady Anne helped Annabella from her transport.
As the Countess of Duin’s slippered foot made contact with the earth, there was an odd little sound. Annabella gasped, a look of shock upon her face. She looked down to discover herself standing in a puddle. “Holy Mother!” she cried. “I think my bairn is coming!’Tis too soon! Holy Mother! Holy Mother! I can feel it.”
The two older women took Annabella by her arms and hustled her past the startled old lady into the cottage. Instructing her to lie upon the bed, Jean pushed her mistress’s skirts up to see what was happening.
“Holy Mother!” she echoed Annabella. “I can see the head. The bairn is indeed coming.”
“We must get her back to the castle,” the lady Anne cried, thinking of the well-scrubbed birthing table, the feather bolster and down pillows for her daughter’s shoulders and head, the waiting cradle.
“There is nae time for that,” Jean said. “If we attempt it Annabella will hae the bairn out on the moor.”
“Ohhhhh!” Annabella groaned as a hard pain assaulted her.
Jean shook her head in the negative. “Nae time, madam.” She turned to the cottage’s tenant. “Margaret, we’ll need hot water, and some clean rags if ye hae them.”
Margaret nodded, and hobbled about collecting the required items. She also added a bit of ribbon from her sewing box. “To tie the laddie’s cord off,” she said.
Between them Jean and the lady Anne quickly stripped Annabella down to her chemise, which Jean then pushed up, revealing her mistress’s enormous distended belly.
“Push yer legs up so I can see what’s happening.” She peered down. “Holy Mary! The wee thing is about to be born! Can ye push, Annabella?”
