“I may not drawtheirattention, but what of the interest of whatever might lurk in that hole?”
“There is nothing lurking in there. Please, Jennet, get in. ’Tis for the best.”
With a sigh, she allowed Ranald and Robert to help her into the ditch, but to Elizabeth she said, “Why didnae you speak up? I was of the belief that one of these men is your husband.”
“Aye, he is, but”—Elizabeth adopted an expression of meek piety—“I would ne’er argue with my dear husband.”
Trying to get comfortable, Jennet noticed that Robert greeted that claim with the same scorn she did. She found the ditch no more comfortable than the cart, but no worse either. Left sitting there, able to hear only the muted sounds of the fight to save Dubheilrig, Jennet found her discomfort demanding more of her attention.
She frowned. Her aches and pains were slightly different from what they had been all day long. It no longer felt as if her whole body was sore. All the little pains were becoming one, uniting and centering around her abdomen. She required only a moment to understand what that meant, and cursed.
“Is something wrong?” Elizabeth asked, her attention immediately drawn to Jennet.
“Mayhaps.” She looked up to see that Ranald and Robert were standing several yards away at the very edge of the wood, watching what was happening on the hill in Dubheilrig, and added, “Something could be verra wrong indeed.”
“With the babe?” Elizabeth edged closer to Jennet.
“I believe it may have decided to arrive now.”
“Now? In a ditch? With men fighting so near at hand that we can hear them?”
“Aye, now. I thought I was but bone weary of travel. Howbeit, what was an uncomfortable feeling with no purpose save to make me miserable now has a purpose. I had wondered why my verra active bairn was so still.”
“Preparing to journey into the world. Robert!” Elizabeth called, bringing him and Ranald hurrying over.
“Keep your voice down, Lizbet,” Robert scolded. “Do ye want the enemy kenning where we are? We cannae be certain that they are all trapped upon that hill.”
“Well”—Elizabeth looked at Jennet—“mayhaps you had best find something she can clench her teeth on then.”
“What?” Robert’s eyes widened briefly before he cursed. “Not now.”
“Aye, I fear so,” Jennet murmured, then gasped softly as she felt her first recognizable contraction.
“Is something wrong? Do ye feel ill, Jennet?” Ranald frowned down at her.
“I am going to have the bairn now, Ranald,” she explained, and had to smile at his look of pure horror. “’Tis not as terrible as all that.”
“But—ye are in a ditch.”
“True, I would prefer my chambers at Dubheilrig, but at least ’tis June and not December.”
“Weel, mayhaps we can get you there. This fight might not take verra long.”
“I shouldnae place a wager on that. I believe this bairn has been trying to get out all day. ’Tis just that I only realized it now.”
“What can we do?”
“Get me more blankets, water, and some rags,” Elizabeth replied. As both men hurried away to do just that, she turned to smile at Jennet. “A few more blankets and this hole in the ground will not be such a poor bed.”
“Nay, ’twill do. If all had not gone so weel at Dunfermline, I would have been having this bairn in the castle dungeons.”
“Sweet Mary, do not even think of it.” Elizabeth gave an exaggerated shudder and quickly held Jennet’s hand as she suffered another contraction. “Are they very strong yet?” she asked in a soft voice as Jennet’s panting eased.
“Strong enough. Elizabeth, do ye think Hacon is all right?”
“Aye, of a certain. He is a fine, skilled fighter. His plan was to surprise Balreaves, and my Robert says he did just that. Come, ’tis time to think of yourself and this child. Your man is fine,” she reiterated. “Why ask now?”
“Have ye ever heard it said that when one person dies another is born? I just wondered if—”
