Chapter Twenty
Smiling, Islaen watched her father coo at her sons. He and six of her brothers had arrived at Caraidland three days after the birth. They too feared for the little girl, named Liusadh, and shared her grief. Despite that lingering possibility of sadness, no one, not even herself, could hide their delight in the boys, Morogh and Padruig. Such healthy babies were a blessing that could not be ignored. Neither could anyone feel it right to deprive them of any love through a grief that they could not understand.
"How fares the lass today, sweeting?” Alaistair asked as he handed Islaen a restless Morogh.
Putting her son to her breast, she replied softly, “She still lives, Fither. Grizel says her appetite grows as does her voice."
"Both good signs but dinnae let your hopes rise too high,” he said gently. “I wish I could save ye from that pain."
"No one can. We all pray daily for her and none could work so hard to keep her alive as Grizel does. ‘Tis in God's hands now."
Alaistair nodded, then smiled at Padruig who patiently waited his turn. “Here's a sweet bairn. Good natured."
"Aye, seems to be.” She let Morogh clutch her finger. “I think this is the lad with the devil in him."
"Mayhaps. ‘Tis best an he is the stronger, since he is the heir. Do ye ken, lass, I think if wee Liusadh survives, she will be the real devil of the three. Any lass who can live when all says she shouldnae has a strength and a spirit that promises to put muckle a white hair upon her parents’ heads."
"Ye may just be right."
"And how fares your marriage, lass? Other than fruitful,” he added with a slow grin. “The lad o'er his fears now, is he?"
Glad she had told her father of Iain's demands and her deceit, she nodded. “Aye, I believe so but dinnae expect anither grandchild too soon. We mean to be careful.” She watched him closely and saw him nod with approval.
"Good. Your mither and I were. ‘Tis said to be a sin but I cannae believe it. God couldnae have meant for us to kill our women with childbearing, wearing them into the grave by filling their bellies every year. ‘Tis a sin to waste the life God gave and that is what constant childbearing does, wastes life. Your mither proved ye can be both fruitful and careful."
As her father took Morogh and gave her Padruig she smiled at him. “I am glad ye came."
"So am I, lass.” He kissed her cheek. “Ye arenae really happy yet, though, are ye?"
"Iain is a good mon. ‘Tis early yet and I cannae expect a return for my feelings simply because I feel them. Ye need not fash yourself o'er me. Truly. I have more than many women find and I will seek my happiness in that."
She wished she was as confident as she tried to appear to her father. When Iain joined her later, bringing her a meal they would share in the privacy of their chambers, she did not feel confident at all. It did not really help that they had not really talked since the children were born. She had heard him say he forgave her, but as the days slipped by and he said no more on the matter, she began to doubt what she had heard. Once the meal was done, she took a deep drink of wine and decided to bluntly ask him how he felt.
"Iain?"
Taking his gaze from his sleeping sons, he looked at her with mild curiosity. “What is it, love?"
He still found it all very hard to believe. Not only had his tiny wife given two sons but, if God was merciful, a daughter too. So too was Islaen alive, was in fact healed enough already to grow impatient with the lying in bed that was forced upon her. To look at her one would find it hard to believe she had been through the ordeal of birth so recently. Considering the torment he had been through, he could almost resent her good health.
"Iain,” she began hesitantly and reached out to take hold of his hand, “Do ye truly forgive me for my deceit?"
Moving to sit beside her on the bed, he took her into his arms.
"I told ye I did, lass,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Right after the birth I told ye that I forgave you."
"And I heard ye say it, yet ye have ne'er said any more on it and I grew afraid."
"There seemed no more to say. There is no way to thank ye for the bairns."
"Liusadh..."
He put his finger over her lips to silence her. “Nay, dinnae speak on it. If God means for her to live then she will. If not then we must find joy in the bairns we have and the ones to come."
"Ye want more then, Iain?"
"Aye, but only when and if ye feel strong enough to nurture my seed. I will ne'er insist that ye get with child."
"I want more bairns, but I wouldnae trick ye again, Iain."
