Malcolm Scott stared at the newborn. Two arms. Two legs. A penis, and a sac beneath it containing two balls.“A son!”he breathed ecstatically.
“Aye, my lord, a son!” Fenella said. “Dunglais has an heir of your loins!”
The laird took the baby from her, holding him gently against his chest. The child was moist with his birthing and a slick of blood. Malcolm Scott looked down at him. “James Alexander Scott, welcome home!” he said quietly and, bending, he kissed the boy’s wet dark head.
“Give me the laddie,” Bab said, and she took the infant from its father, rolling her eyes towards Alix. “He must be cleaned and swaddled. Help me, Fenella.”
The laird turned to Alix and, going to her, helped her from the birthing chair. She was naked and obviously very tired. “Thank you,” he said softly to her. And, enfolding her in his arms, he kissed her tenderly.
Alix sagged against him, exhausted. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” she whispered, and then she collapsed against him, her eyes closing.
Malcolm Scott walked to the bed and tucked her into it. She was already sound asleep, and he smiled down at her. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but there would be time later. “I love you, lambkin,” he murmured as he bent to kiss her again.
“We’ll take care of her, my lord,” Fenella said as he turned back to see his son. “Sit down here in this chair while we get the laddie ready for you.”
He sat silently as they cleaned the infant free of all evidence of his birth and wrapped him in swaddling clothes. Then, smiling, they tucked him in the crook of the laird’s arm. He sat contentedly as they then set to work bathing his wife with a sponge and putting her into a night garment. Alix never woke up. The laird gazed down on his newborn son, who was now quiet and staring back at his father. The child had large round blue eyes and was very fair. Startled, Malcolm Scott realized it was like looking into a mirror of himself. There was no doubt who this child’s sire was, he chuckled.
“You’ve an older sister,” he said. “Her name is Fiona, and you’ll meet her tomorrow. And you’ll respect me, for I’m your father, and respect and be good to your mother who just birthed you. She’s the love of my life, lad. I hope you’ll find a love like ours one day. And about your name. You bear the name of two fine gentlemen. My friend, James Stewart, who was king of this land. And your mother’s father, a physician. You must never bring shame on your names, lad. Any of them. You’re of Clan Scott, a respected name here in the borders. We are honest men, and faithful to Scotland and to our king. I want you to remember that.”
James Alexander Scott yawned a mighty yawn and then, closing his eyes, fell asleep in his father’s arms.
The laird chuckled. “Bab,” he called. “Take the bairn and set him in his cradle. He’ll stay with his mam and me for now.”
Bab grinned, showing several missing teeth. “I’ll watch over him, my lord,” she said. She cradled the infant looking down at him. “And protect him with my life.”
“You’re a good woman for an Englisher,” Malcolm Scott said.
“And you’re a good man for a Scot,” Bab shot back.
Chuckling, the Laird of Dunglais left his wife and child and, going down to the hall where the sleepy servants were now arriving to begin a new day, he said, “Rejoice with me and praise God and his Blessed Mother! Dunglais has a healthy son and heir!”
And the servants, now awake with their delight, cheered lustily at the laird’s announcement.
Chapter 13
It had taken Sir Udolf Watteson three days to be freed from his bonds. Finally one of his serving men, the only one who seemed left in his house, came into the hall and released his master. He was dying of thirst, and had pissed himself a dozen times over during his captivity. “Where the hell were you?” he demanded of his servant as the man untied the priest, who was in an equally unfortunate condition.
“My lord, we were all bound and then imprisoned in the pantry,” the man said. “When one of us finally managed to get free, the others were released.”
“And where are the others?” Sir Udolf wanted to know.
“Gone, my lord,” the serving man replied in a low voice.
“But you remained because of your loyalty to me,” Sir Udolf said.
“Aye, my lord!” the servant responded.
The master of Wulfborn Hall knocked the man before him to the floor. “Liar!” he shouted. “You returned to see if I was dead, and had I been you would have stolen what you could from my house!” He kicked the cringing servant, who was trying to inch away from the angry man.
The serving man scrambled to his feet. “Nay, my lord! Nay! I am loyal. Were I not I should not have freed you and the priest from your bonds.”
“He is being truthful, my lord,” Father Peter said in a raspy voice.
“Go and tell the others they had best return to the hall or I shall set the sheriff upon them. When they are caught they will be branded as runaways so they cannot run ever again,” Sir Udolf snarled. “Jesu! I stink of my own piss!” And his nose wrinkled in disgust. “I need to bathe. See the tub is set up in the kitchens and filled with hot water,” he directed the servant. “When that is done, you will go and fetch the others back.”
The serving man scuttled off to do his lord’s bidding.
“My lord,” the priest began, “I hope you realize how fortunate we are to be alive. The lady saved your life, although her husband would have been justified in taking it to serve honor. The other lords with him advised him not to heed her advice, but he did. We must thank God we were spared.”
