“Aye, and some slipped free. They are being hunted down now.”
“Then we had best hie back to Jennet and the others. Where is her father?”
“I believe he is probably there already,” replied Dugald as Hacon stood.
“Surely ye left men to guard her?” said Lucais.
“Aye, Robert, Ranald, and four boys,” Hacon said. “Tell Mother that, if she can tend to it in the midst of this confusion, Jennet would be deeply grateful for a fine, soft bed. The journey has tired her.”
“There will be one readied. I dinnae believe our home was much damaged. Ye just go and get the poor lass and bring her back here safely,” he added even as Hacon and Dugald left, loping toward the wood where they knew Robert would have concealed the carts.
“Push, Jennet,” ordered Elizabeth as she crouched between Jennet’s legs.
“I thought I was,” Jennet snapped, the bite of her angry words lessened by her need to pant.
“Are ye sure I should be a part of this?” Ranald asked as he wiped the sweat from Jennet’s brow with a cool, damp cloth.
Jennet was almost able to smile, but the increasing frequency and strength of the contractions made it impossible. Poor Ranald sat at her back. She was cradled between his long legs, her back and head resting against his chest, and she gripped his knees as each contraction ripped through her. That had to hurt him at times, but he made no complaint, acting as her support even as he tried to ease her discomfort by bathing her face. The few glances she had taken had told her he was feeling sorely embarrassed yet fascinated. She supposed she ought to feel embarrassed too, but she was too grateful for his aid to care what he saw.
“If ye keep rolling about in the hay with the lasses, acting like my wicked father, ye will see a lot more of this,” she said.
“What a disrespectful lass ye are.”
There was no mistaking that drawling voice, and Jennet looked up to see her father crouched at the rim of the ditch. He was smiling, but she could see the concern on his face. She wanted to say something to ease it, but knew there were no adequate words. The only way to put an end to his worry would be to bear the child and recover quickly.
“It doesnae hurt for the lad to ken the consequences of that sort of thing. I dinnae suppose ye brought a bed.”
“Nay, lass. Ah, weel, your mother bore ye in a place much akin to this. Ye follow in her footsteps.”
“Why couldnae I pick a footstep set in a sweet, enjoyable place with big, soft pillows?” She gave herself over to her contractions for a moment, then frowned as they briefly eased, and a sound besides her own panting reached her ears. “Is something wrong? I thought I heard shouting. It is Hacon?”
“Nay, though he should be along soon. And ere ye ask—his family and Murdoc are unharmed. Howbeit, I fear some of Balreaves’s dogs have escaped and run this way.”
“Where is Robert?” Elizabeth demanded.
“He is with the lads guarding the carts and will stay there. Ranald, I think ye had best get up here.”
“Go,” Jennet ordered when Ranald hesitated. “Elizabeth, hold me up so he can move.”
Once Ranald climbed out of the rut, Jennet started to edge back. Elizabeth quickly aided her until her back was against the sloping end of the ditch. It was not as comfortable a support as Ranald had been but it would serve, she decided as she struggled through another contraction. She silently cursed when, as her head cleared, she heard the first clash of swords. She forced herself forward a little to yank at Elizabeth’s skirt. The woman was quickly recalled to the need to keep down and stopped peering out at the men fighting a mere few feet away.
“This is the time,” Elizabeth whispered, “when we are usually told to run away.”
“Now there would be a sight to make folk gape, if I could run at all. I think it will be soon.”
“Aye.” Elizabeth checked her progress. “I can see the head.”
“’Tis big and fat like his father’s, eh?”
“’Tis covered with black hair like his mother’s.”
“Oh. I had rather hoped for a fair-haired bairn.”
It was the last thing she could say, at least coherently. Elizabeth forced a thick square of leather between Jennet’s teeth so that her cries would not draw attention to them. They had no way of knowing how many of Balreaves’s men were out there or how much of a threat they posed. At the moment silence was their only and best means of defense if her father and the others failed.
Jennet wondered at the strangeness of it all. Here she was, crouched in the narrow, blanket-lined hollow with Elizabeth, struggling to bear her child, while all around her were the sounds of men locked in fierce combat. Through the increasing roar in her ears she heard the clash of swords, the yells and screams of men struggling to kill each other. She prayed she was not giving her child life only to have one of Balreaves’s men end it. Then she lost all awareness of anything besides helping her child break free of her body.
There was a wrenching, all-encompassing pain. Jennet knew she screamed but heard only a low, soft moan. She felt her teeth dig into the square of leather. For a moment she was aware of nothing. Then she heard a muffled cry.
