She blew a breath, but his patience was quickly fading.
“Sit with me or I will get up on my own.”
She glared at him. “Do not!”
“Then come.” He patted the spot Finn had left. “Sit by me. I grow tired of my own thoughts.”
With a grump, she came toward him. “I have much to do, Lachlann. Domelch will not be happy with me if—”
“She does not hold ye in high regard.”
Ethne laughed. “Ye’ve noticed.”
“I notice everything.”
She ignored that last comment and settled against the wall, keeping their arms from touching, but he could feel her relaxing. He turned to her. “I am verra grateful for yer care.”
“I know ye are. Ye are a good man, Lachlann.”
When his gaze dropped to her lips, she shook her head. “That was a mistake. We were both exhausted.”
He looked into her eyes, searching for that desire he’d caught a glimpse of earlier. It was gone. “I will not kiss ye if ye say nay, but it was no mistake. I waited a long time. I watched and I waited. A verra long time.”
“Then what stopped ye?” Ethne’s wise expression told him she knew the answer. “Mistake or not, ’tis in the past. Let us leave it there.”
“Ethne, come quick. ’Tis Momma.” Finn stopped in the entry, his face covered with dirt and tears and his tunic stained with berry juice. “I think she’s dying.”
* * *
Ethne’s thoughts scattered, but she took Finn’s little hand and followed where he pulled her. Hard as she tried to make sense of what he was saying, she could not understand how Domelch could have fallen into any harm. She had left only a few moments behind Malcolm and the others to meet Aidan. They would not have gotten any farther than the rocky ledge just before the upper glen. When Finn led her across the grassy hill instead of toward Aidan’s round house, her heart sped up. This was the path to the fair.
“Dear God, no!”
Lachlann was little more than a breath away. “Did she speak to ye, Finn?”
Finn shook his head, his speed never lessening. When his first try at answering came out garbled, he struggled with his voice. “She didna know me.”
The scene they came upon was of Domelch, sitting in a pool of sticky fluid speckled with blood, perched up against a rowan tree. Unconscious. Finn held back to take Ethne’s hand, and Lachlann went to her, obstructing their view.
“She has breath,” Lachlann said, his tone steady. A good sign.
As if in answer, she moaned.
He added, “I’m not certain about the babe.”
Ethne lurched forward and dropped to her knees beside him. With the lightest touch, she pressed against the swell. Domelch groaned something incoherent.
“I am here, Domelch. I will help ye.” Ethne moved her hands in search of the baby’s head. What she found instead was a small shoulder lodged awkwardly where it should not be. God alone knew how long the woman had been sitting like this, trying to deliver a babe that was stuck. With practiced hands, she pressed against Domelch’s side.
“What is she saying?” Finn cried. “I canna understand her.”
Lachlann turned to the boy, who kneeled on the other side of Ethne. “Being born is not easy, Finn. Ye have done well to find her.”
Try as she might, Ethne could not remember the last time the babe had moved, and she feared for the worst. A small lump dragged against Domelch’s side and Ethne winced at the moaning woman but continued to encourage the shifting babe.
“I need to see to her,” Ethne said, meeting Lachlann’s concerned gaze with a meaningful glance of her own.
He stood and offered his hand to Finn. “Let us give them some room.”
