“Aye, aye. Ye are right. I must never risk my chance to seek vengeance.” He lightly touched the wound on his face that Geordie had awkwardly bandaged. “Here is but another crime to add to the ones that slut must pay for.”
“And she will,” Geordie soothed but, as he silently urged Rory on, he felt it would be a very long time, if ever, before Aimil left Dubhglenn so lightly guarded and he knew that the hunt for Rory would now become even more determined, especially if Artair died from his wound.
It was a long while before Aimil felt safe enough to slow Elfking’s pace. Artair rested so heavily against her back that it worried her. Her contractions too were growing stronger. She feared she had erred in telling Artair that even a baby startled into birth did not come very speedily. Her child felt very determined to be set free.
“Artair? How fare ye?” She felt him stir and sighed with relief. “Can ye hold on until we reach Dubhglenn?”
“By my teeth if I must.” He frowned as, beneath his hands which rested upon her belly, he sensed something. “How do ye fare? Has the bairn been hurt? I dinnae mean to be indelicate but your belly feels strange.”
“It seems the bairn’s memory has been shaken.”
“Eh?”
“He has recalled that he cannae always abide in there.”
“Now? The bairn comes now?”
“Aye. Now.”
“Jesu. What do we do now?”
“Go on.”
“But, ye must be feeling verra uncomfortable.”
“Aye, I am but I have no choice, do I?” She was not surprised when he gave no reply but was rather disappointed that he could offer no other choices.
“Doesnae this hurt the bairn?”
“Nay. Artair, he willnae come for a while yet though it would be fitting for a child of mine and Parlan’s to be born in the saddle, dinnae ye think so?”
“I may think it fitting but I dinnae want to see it. Does…does it pain ye much?”
She almost smiled over the hesitant question. He sounded shy and decidedly nervous. It had never ceased to amaze her that men who so vigorously went about the business of creating children knew so little about childbirth, what to do, what should be done, or most anything else. His ignorance was simply another reason to get back to Dubhglenn as quickly as possible. Aimil did not want to ask Artair to deliver her child and she was confident that he did not want that either.
“Aye, it hurts, but not as bad as it will. Nae as much as your wound, I wager.”
“Oh, that isnae so bad. I have tied my shirt about my waist, and the bleeding has eased.”
It was not only the pain-ridden tone to his hoarse voice that suggested he lied. He still rested too heavily against her, and his breathing was irregular. While the suggestion that she was close to birthing her child had roused him some, Aimil suspected that he was periously close to unconsciousness. He was fighting that blackness, however. She only hoped that he continued to win the battle against it until they reached Dubhglenn. If he fainted and fell from Elfking, she would have to leave him—for she could never move him—and that was not something she really wished to do. Rory and Geordie may not have fled and could find the helpless Artair.
Gritting her teeth, she kept Elfking at a steady pace. Even his smooth gait was a torture, however. She could not give into the pain, stop, and concern herself with the birthing of her child. It was tempting but she fought that temptation, using the spectre of Rory to drive her onward.
“Would ye like to stop?” Despite his own pain and weakness, Artair was aware of Aimil’s increasing difficulties.
“If I stop, Artair, I shall never continue until the child is born. I fear to stop for neither of us ken much about birthing a bairn. Neither can we be sure that Rory has left, has run for his life. We thought t’would be foolish for him to come so near to Dubhglenn yet he did. We cannae think that he will now become wise. I dinnae think I have to tell ye how it would be if he caught us off Elfking, me giving birth.” She gasped as a fierce contraction ripped through her.
“Nay, there would be no chance for us. No chance at all. ’Tis just that ye seem to be growing worse.”
“Aye, I am, but we are also drawing nearer to Dubhglenn. Dinnae fash yourself. I have hours to go yet.”
“If ye say so.” He laughed weakly, the sound drained by his pain. “Parlan will come home to find himself a father.”
Parlan knew he was not going to like what he found at Dubhglenn the moment he rode through its gates. The people gathered in the bailey looked too guilty and fretful for his liking. Even Malcolm was hesitant to respond when Parlan dismounted and signaled to him. He felt his worry for Aimil become a hard knot in his stomach. A glance at Leith and Lachlan did nothing to ease his concern. They too looked worried. Malcolm’s feeble attempts at a cheerful greeting made Parlan scowl.
“Where is Aimil?”
“Ye cannae expect a lass so heavy with bairn to rush out to greet ye.”
