“I think I am glad now that ye made Parlan leave, Old Meg. I ken weel that I must look verra poorly.”
“Aye, ye arenae verra bonnie at the moment. Ye are near to done. It willnae be long.”
“It seems like years.” She glanced at Maggie who gently bathed her face and who was now gently rounded with Malcolm’s child. “Mayhaps ye shouldnae be here. Ye cannae like seeing it take so long.”
“I have seen many a birth, and ye arenae really taking so long. Aye, and ’tis going weel. I hope mine does as weel.”
“If ye say so.” Aimil’s doubt was clear to hear in her voice. “I still say it feels like years.”
“Weel, ’tis a big bairn, I am thinking.” Old Meg nodded vigorously. “Aye, ’tis a fine braw son ye will give my laddie.”
“Mayhaps t’will be a fine braw daughter.” Aimil managed a faint smile when Maggie giggled.
“Nay, the MacGuins always have a son first. Aye, for as far back as any can tell ye. Ye will have a son, lass.”
Something told Aimil she would too but she was suddenly too busy to say so. Her child had finally decided to make his final push for the freedom of her body, and her body worked furiously to grant him that wish. For most of her labor, she had made little sound, pride making her determined not to scream and wail as some women did but when her child finally broke free of her body, she could not restrain a scream that left her throat sore and which she suspected they had heard in Aberdeen.
“Aimil!” Parlan leapt to his feet and stared fearfully at the door.
Even Artair was alarmed. “And she has been so verra quiet ’til now.”
“Aye, she has. Something must be wrong,” Parlan said even as he bolted from Artair’s chambers, leaving his brother to curse his inability to follow.
When Parlan reached his chambers, he found the door barred. As he pounded on it to demand entry, Leith and Lachlan joined him. The wail of an infant made Parlan hesitate a moment as emotion assailed him, but he quickly renewed his pounding on the door. His sole concern at the moment was to know how Aimil fared.
“Be still, ye great fool,” Old Meg yelled as she worked to clean off the baby. “I will open the door in a moment.”
“I want to see Aimil now.”
“In a minute, Parlan.” Aimil struggled to help Maggie all she could as the woman cleaned her.
The testiness in Aimil’s voice caused Parlan to sag against the wall in relief. Her voice had been hoarse and heavy with weariness, but he felt sure that no woman on the brink of death could sound so naturally cross. The way Leith and Lachlan were smiling told him that they felt the same. He was not pleased to be kept waiting, however.
“He sounds a healthy lad,” Leith finally said. “A fine strong voice.”
“A lad? God’s beard, I didnae ask what the bairn was.”
Old Meg opened the door at that moment. “Ye have a son. A braw laddie to be your heir.”
Parlan suddenly felt hesitant as he entered the room. Something had happened that would change his whole life. Becoming a husband had not seemed so great a change after months of having Aimil at his side. Now he was a father and he knew that was going to seem a far greater step to take. There would be someone expecting him to teach, to lead, and to train. Parlan suddenly felt unsure of himself, unsure that he could do all that was needed to raise a son and do it right.
He forced his attention to Aimil. She looked very small, wan, and tired. Yet, as he drew nearer to her, he realized that beneath the exhaustion shone joy and excitement. He bent to kiss her lightly.
“Ye are all right?”
“Aye, just tired. Look at your son, Parlan. Ye said a son was what ye would get and, though it galls me to say it, ye were right.”
A shaky laugh escaped him before he was caught up in looking at his son, held in Aimil’s arms with an ease he envied. He especially envied it when a chuckling Leith urged him to hold the infant for a moment, Lachlan seconding the notion. Aimil offered no escape for she quickly ceased suckling the child and held him out to be taken.
Gingerly, obeying Aimil’s soft instructions, Parlan took his new son in his hands. With one hand beneath the infant’s tiny head and another cupping the equally small bottom, Parlan stared at his child. He was oblivious to Leith and Lachlan poking and peering at the baby, commenting upon how well-formed the child was. All he knew was that he held his son, his first child. Emotion choked Parlan, and his first thought after picking the child up was that he wished everyone would leave.
“He is so small, such a wee thing,” he managed to say at last but made no move to relinquish the child.
“Wee?” Aimil was finding it hard to fight her weariness. “Weel, mayhaps he seems so to a great brute like ye. He didnae feel so wee a few moments ago.” She smiled faintly when Maggie gasped and blushed but felt no embarrassment about speaking so bluntly before Parlan, her brother, and her father.
“He is a braw laddie,” Old Meg declared. “I have seen a lot of bairns and I ken weel that he be both verra strong and a good size for a bairn. Aye, even his color is good, equal to that of a bairn days older.”
“Aye, I thought he looked fair for a newborn,” agreed Lachlan. “Some can be so red, so shriveled, they are naught but ugly and the father is left to wonder what he has bred.”
