“I’m having a baby, Kier, not dying,” Cicely said rather sharply.
“Go down into the village, my lord, to the Mass. Ambrose will want to know. Then the two of you return and break your fast. You’ll be here for the bairn’s birth, I promise you,” Agnes told him. “But it cannot hurt to pray that the lady’s labor is quick, and a man’s nerves are always better for a good meal,” the midwife said, with a reassuring smile at the laird and a pat on his arm.
“Go!” Cicely told him.
Kier Douglas left quickly. When she had birthed Johanna he hadn’t felt so nervous. What the hell was the matter with him?You love her now,the little voice in his head said.You love her.“Aye, I do,” the laird muttered to himself.May God have mercy on me, I love her, and I can feel my strength draining away even now because of my weakness,he thought. “God’s balls!” he swore softly to himself as, taking the midwife’s advice, he left the house, heading for the church and his cousin Ambrose.
In the bedchamber Cicely let herself be examined by Agnes, whonodded and said, “You are just where you should be, my lady. A few more hours and you’ll have the bairn in your arms, I promise. Do you want to walk now?”
“Aye,” Cicely said. “And I’ll use the birthing chair we found in the attics. I’ll not bloody the bed with my bairn, nor birth it on the high board as I did Johanna.” She looked to Orva, and beckoned her to her side. “Stay with Johanna today, and tell her that if she is very good she will have a baby brother by nightfall.”
Orva nodded, her lips pressed together. “Forgive me, my lady, for being such a coward,” she said, low. “I cannot bear to see you in pain. I was with your mother when you were born. You went from your mother’s womb into my arms,” Orva said, as she recalled how Cicely’s beautiful young mother had not even had the opportunity to hold her child, but had bled to death before their eyes. From that moment on Orva had not been able to watch any woman give birth.
“I understand,” Cicely said softly, “but I am not my mam. However, I need you to be with Johanna, dear one.”
Orva nodded again and then, kissing Cicely’s hand, hurried from the chamber.
“Why?” Mary Douglas asked.
Cicely explained.
The clanswoman nodded her head, understanding. “Poor woman,” she said.
Through the beautiful summer’s day Cicely labored to bring her child into the world. Kier returned with Father Ambrose. When the two men had broken their fast they asked permission to come into the chamber. The priest prayed with the women, but Kier held his wife’s hand, and, his courage returned now, he encouraged her in her travail. Finally, in late afternoon, the sun still high in the heavens, Cicely pushed the baby forth from her womb with a mighty shriek of more effort than pain as she squatted on the birthing chair, her hands gripping its arms.
Agnes caught the child easily, handing it up to Mary Douglas soshe might attend to her mistress and the afterbirth to follow. The child was howling at the top of its lungs. One look and Mary Douglas grinned broadly. Holding the naked, squalling infant in her two big hands, she showed it to his father. One look and Kier shouted with triumph.
“A lad, Cicely! You have given me a fine, big lad!” he told her, and he bent to kiss her mouth.
“Let me see him! Let me see him!” Cicely cried, holding out her hands. They put the bloody, crying baby in her arms, and she looked down at him. “Oh, my,” she said softly. “He does take after his da, doesn’t he?” But her eyes were not on the baby’s face. Then she looked at Kier. “What would you call him, my lord?” she asked.
“Ian Robert,” Kier answered her without any hesitation. “Ian for my late cousin, and Robert for your father.”
Cicely smiled warmly at him. “It pleases me very well, my lord,” she told him.
The baby ceased his howling and, opening his eyes, looked at his parents hovering over him. His eyes were light blue.
“Take him back now,” Cicely said, handing her son to Mary Douglas so she might clean the baby up and swaddle him in warm cloth.
“I’ll fetch Johanna,” Kier said.
Cicely nodded.
When he quickly returned carrying her daughter, Orva behind him, Kier took Johanna to the cradle where her baby brother now lay. “Look, sweeting, your mam has given us a wee lad for Glengorm. ’Tis your brother.”
Johanna looked down at the infant, her thumb in her mouth as she studied him. “Nay,” she finally said. “Jana is Mam’s bairn.”
“Indeed you are, my little love,” Cicely assured her. “But now you have a brother, and he will be Mam’s bairn too.”
“Nay,” Johanna replied. “Don’t want!”
“Oh, dear,” Orva said nervously. “She is jealous, my lady.”
“She will get past it,” Mary Douglas told them sensibly. “The firstbairn is always jealous of the next one to come. After a time she will see she still has your love, my lady, and in another year the lad will be old enough for her to play with, and everything will change. Do not fret yourselves over it.”
Orva removed the little girl from the bedchamber, promising to take her to see the Midsummer fires that evening and give her a sugar cake. Satisfied, Johanna kissed her mother and stepfather good night. Agnes and Mary had seen to the afterbirth, which would be taken out to be planted beneath a large oak tree. Cicely was bathed and, in a clean chemise, settled in the bed. The two women bade the laird and his wife good night.
Kier came and lay on the bed next to Cicely, taking her hand in his. He kissed it. “Thank you for the lad,” he said to her.
