Another groan, deeper this time as she helped Mairi from the bed to the birthing chair. Mairi’s breaths came faster with each step. Ariella felt the shift in her body and knew the time was drawing nearer.
Moira hovered, eyes sharp now. “Lady, she’s close.”
“I ken,” Ariella said, voice steady, though her heart hammered. “Mairi, listen to me. When the next one comes, ye will need to push. Nae with yer throat. With yer body. Like ye are moving a mountain.”
Mairi’s eyes widened. “I cannae.”
“Ye can,” Ariella said. “Ye have to get that child out. Ye have to let it breathe.”
Mairi’s lips trembled. “I am afraid.”
Ariella leaned in close enough that only Mairi could hear. “Then let fear ride beside ye. But daenae let it steer.Yesteer. For yer child.”
Mairi stared at her, then gave the smallest nod.
The contraction hit, and Mairi screamed, the sound raw and primal. Ariella did not flinch. She anchored herself, voice low and unwavering.
“Now,” Ariella said. “Push. One, two, three. Again.”
Mairi obeyed, panting between efforts, tears sliding down her cheeks. Ariella wiped them away without ceremony.
“Ye are doing it,” Ariella told her. “Aye. That’s it. Ye are bringing yer baby home.”
Moira’s hands shook as she passed another cloth, but her voice stayed sharp. “Harder, Mairi. Show the child who its maither is.”
Mairi snarled a laugh and pushed again.
The room felt like the center of the world. Heat. Breath. Pain. Life gathering itself into one moment.
Ariella felt it, too, in her own bones. Terrifying and beautiful. She had never felt more certain of her place than she did right now, kneeling beside a woman in labor, holding her hand, guiding her breath, helping bring new life into the keep.
It felt natural.
As if this was a language she had always known and had only just been given permission to speak aloud.
Outside the door, footsteps pounded, voices rose, someone called for the healer again. But inside, Ariella’s voice remained the same.
Calm.
Steady.
“Breathe,” she whispered. “Ye’re safe. Ye’re strong. Ye are nearly there.”
And Mairi, sweat-soaked and fierce, and clung to that calm like it tethered her to the earth.
“Quit yer pacing, Callum.”
“I am nae pacing,” Callum snapped, then took two more steps and stopped abruptly as if to prove the lie.
Maxwell sat on the bench outside the bedchamber door, arms resting on his knees, posture still. He had sent half the keep running for supplies. He had stationed guards at both ends of the corridor. He had ordered a messenger to ride hard and drag the healer back if she was still at the market. He had done everything that could be done from the outside.
And still the sounds behind the door made his jaw lock.
Mairi’s cries rose and fell like battle calls. Moira’s sharp voice cut through, commanding, scolding, coaxing. And Ariella, quieter than both, threaded through it all, calm as a river under ice.
Callum paced again, then stopped and dragged a hand down his face. His fingers were black with forge soot, as if he had tried to scrub them clean and failed. He looked like a man who had fought metal all his life and had never been beaten until now.
“She’s hurting,” he whispered.
