"Feels so, doesnae it. ‘Tis just that I dinnae like physicians."
"That was easy to see. Why not?"
She shrugged. “I dinnae ken really save that I have seen their work and it turns my stomach. I could say t'was because of what was done to my cousin, a youth named Ninian, save that I had already begun to distrust the breed by then."
"What happened to Ninian?” He relaxed a little as he sensed the growing calm in her and the child in her womb.
"He was hurt in a raid. His kin brought in a physician. The mon was near at hand after all. I was there for my fither and brithers were part of the raid. Poor Ninian was already weak and wan with the loss of blood but that carrion and his assistant wanted more. Ninian's fither was nearly swayed to believe their cries that t'was needed. He e'en went so far as to let them put the leeches on. Ninian didnae have the blood to spare, Iain. Any fool could see that."
"Did he die?” Ian asked softly.
"Nay,” she muttered, not sure she wanted to finish the tale.
"What happened? Come, ye cannae stop in the midst of the tale."
"Och, weel, they left, the physician, his aides and Ninian's fither too. They sought a drink and the privacy to speak. Nathan and I took the leeches off while Robert fetched a calf. When the men returned they found fat leeches, ones so bloated they had fallen off. Ninian's father took one look at the creatures, thought on all the blood they had taken from a youth who had already lost so much and sent the physician away. Ninian still hasnae told his fither the truth. He doesnae like physicians either.”
"They could have killed him, Iain, and would have an it had been Ninian's blood in those leeches, blood Ninan couldnae spare."
"Letting blood is an accepted practice,” he said calmly although he silently admitted that he had little liking for it.
"Iain, when a person gets a wound they seek to stop the blood flowing out of it. Losing blood makes ye weak. Losing too much can kill ye. Most everyone kens that. Ye will ne'er get me to believe ‘tis wise to purposely draw it out. If God didnae want what's in there to stay in there He wouldnae have put it in there to begin with."
"I have oft thought the same.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Are ye feeling, better?"
"I didnae feel poorly. ‘Tis just that I feel it best to lie down when the bairn jumps and reels so. It can make me feel a wee bit unsteady on my feet. I dinnae wish to fall."
He nodded slowly, chilled by even the thought of such occurrence. She seemed to be rounding out at an alarming rate. He did not dare to say anything, however, for he knew his fear would taint his words and possibly infect her as well. Iain did wish there was someone he could talk to about the matter and greeted his brother almost hopefully when Tavis arrived.
"Does she look large to ye, Tavis?” he asked almost the moment Islaen had left.
"She is starting to round out, isnae she."
"That I can see for myself,” Iain drawled. “What I asked was if ye think she has rounded out too much."
"Nay. Dinnae look for trouble, Iain."
"The movement of the bairn makes her seek a bed. That cannae be right."
"An it isnae then Storm has erred with each of our bairns. Storm told me that she didnae have to lie down, just felt a wee bit safer if she did so for the movement made her feel unsteady."
"So Islaen said."
"Then heed her. She kens what she does or doesnae feel, can feel better than ye can if there is aught wrong. Truth tell, I think a woman kens her body, the weaknesses, strengths and ills of it, better than a mon does his. I think they need to."
"Mayhaps. ‘Tis just the way it feels,” he whispered. “An I can feel it so strongly, I cannae help but worry o'er how it makes her feel. She says the bairn dances and, God's beard, ‘tis what it feels like."
"Aye, I was oft astounded o'er the feel of it. I shouldnae like to bear it. Dinnae let her see how ye fret, Iain."
"She kens it."
"No doubt, but there is no need to flaunt it afore her eyes. She does all she should, Iain. Rests, eats weel, doesnae let herself grow too weary."
"Catalina stayed abed."
"Catalina was a fool. Aye, and mayhaps ‘tis why she is dead. After months of doing naught but lying in bed what strength did she have to birth a bairn with? Dinnae think on her. Islaen isnae Catalina. There is naught to compare between them. We best leave the matter, Iain, for I have little patience with your worries, understand them though I do, and ye cannae shake them.”
"Heed this, though. Islaen may be a wee lass but she isnae a weak one. Ye have seen that. She is of a line of women who have large healthy broods and fare none the worse for it. Her brother Robert loves her dearly but he seems little worried. She does all she should to keep herself strong and in good health. The bairn she carries shows life, strong vigorous life. She has been through a lot, yet is still hale and still carries the bairn. She is neither growing wan nor grows sickly.”
