“Thank you,” she murmured then, given almost as a question and not a statement.
They removed their gazes from each other, giving their attention to the firth below once more. Half a minute slipped by in uneasy silence before she turned from the wall. A nervous half-smile flickered across her mouth, her eyes skimming past his without truly meeting them.
“I should go in. Try to sleep,” she said softly. “Goodnight.”
Ciaran nodded and watched her go, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought.
Bonny she was, aye—remarkably so, with a grace that drew the eye against his will. There was a softness to her mouth, a light in her gray eyes, that stirred something no other had, not in years. For a heartbeat he regretted that she left, that his coolness may have chased her away.
He caught himself hard, reminding himself that too often beauty was naught but bait, and fools snared themselves on it daily. Whatever she was—stray, stranger, or ghost—he had no mind to forsake caution. There was something about her he could not name, a wrongness he could not put his finger to, that made every instinct in him as wary as he was intrigued.
Chapter Six
Quiet Miracles
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The very day after the MacKinlay and Kerr armies returned to the castle, Ivy Mitchell went into labor. In hindsight, Claire decided it was probably a good thing. Until then, she had managed to keep a measure of distance from it all, to resist blindly accepting what Ivy claimed to be true, that they had both traveled through time. Before yesterday, weeks into this unreal dream, she’d still been able to tell herself there might still be some rational explanation. But the sight of those armies approaching Caeravorn had been something no modern mind could reason away. Hundreds of men rode or walked in a loose column, faces hollowed with exhaustion, skin streaked with mud and sweat, blood dried in dark patches on dozens of bandages. Not any part of that scene belonged to her world, and no amount of denial could make it so.
And then there was Ciaran Kerr. Meeting him—a man she was almost certain she had seen once before, not here, not now, but seven hundred years in the future—was something else entirely.
So yes, the coming of Ivy’s baby was a welcome relief, and she stayed all day with her new friend, anxious with joy.
From the first tightening across Ivy’s belly to the full force of the contractions, Claire remained glued to Ivy’s side, since she had previously expressed so much apprehension about giving birth in this century. To Claire, it was purely habit, instinct, to soothe and calm, to be as helpful as she could be to the midwife, Ruth, without stepping on toes.
After more than three hours had passed, Ruth, seated in the corner of Ivy’s bedchamber for there being so little for her to do at the moment, instructed curtly, “Walk, if ye can. It’ll bring the bairn quicker.”
Claire slipped an arm around Ivy’s waist, helping her pace the chamber, and kept her voice and thoughts bright. “You’re really doing it, Ivy. You’re going to meet your baby before the sun goes down, I bet.”
Ivy leaned on Claire’s shoulder, weaker by the hour. “I can’t—”
“You can,” Claire whispered back fiercely. “Every woman since Eve has. And so will you.”
Time became hazy, lost to a rhythm of pain and reprieve. Claire propped and steadied Ivy through walking and squatting and braced her when her legs gave way.
Yesterday, Claire had introduced Ivy to what her family calledPitty-Pat-isms. Ivy had decided to indulge in an afternoon bath and, to Claire’s surprise, invited her to join. Claire hadn’t hesitated—how could she when she missed her handheld shower head and deep soaking tub so desperately? She didn’t need to ask what had prompted such an unexpected offer. Alaric had been gone nearly a month, and Ivy admitted she wanted to be perfectly clean, hoping, as Claire privately interpreted it, for a welcome-home tumble.
“Actually, this is a perfect idea,” Claire had allowed in this very chamber, almost exactly twenty-four hours ago. “A leisurely afternoon bath.” She’d sent a teasing glance at Ivy. “So you can clean yourvirginia.”
Ivy had sputtered a laugh. “My what?”
Claire grinned, eager to relate a bit of family fun. “I have this elderly aunt—Aunt Pat, though we call her Pitty Pat. Remember that ditsy character fromGone with the Wind? Anyway, Pitty Pat has this wonderfully entertaining habit of misusing words.So, your lady bits, if you will,” Claire said, smirking cheekily at Ivy as they’d undressed, Claire not any more hesitant than Ivy to disrobe in front of the other, “is yourvirginia. She’s got a million of them. My cousin once had to get atesticleshot—tetanus shot, we figured out. And she once said to me—I swear to God—that this guy, some friend of her son, wasarrangedin court.”
Ivy had gotten a big kick out of that. She’d asked that Claire treat those Pitty-Pat-isms kind of like a word-of-the-day calendar. “I wantyouto deliver me a daily Pitty Pat-ism. Just one a day, every day.”
What a strange thing to bring to the fourteenth century, Claire had thought later—and yet she employed one now, hoping to buoy Ivy’s spirit.
“Breathe now, Ivy—deep, steady,” she instructed. “Don’t tense up, you’ll strain yourabdominables.”
Ivy nearly choked on her bark of laughter. “Abdominables? Really? A Pitty Pat-ism now?”
Claire brushed damp hair from Ivy’s brow, advising with a straight face, “Don’t argue with Pitty Pat—she’s practically a medical authority.”
As the day and hours wore on, the chamber grew stifling, steam from kettles and the sharp bite of herbs filling the air. And when finally the midwife urged Ivy to push, Claire clasped her hand and urged her on.
And soon enough, the room split open with the sound of a thin, indignant wail. Ivy’s daughter arrived, red-faced and furious at the trauma of birth. The midwife laid the tiny creature on Ivy’s chest, and Ivy sagged back, eyes brimming with tears, her spirit revived.
Claire’s heart soared.Oh, what joy!She would never not be astounded and in awe of the miracle of birth. Though she’d seen plenty of births before, never had one felt so personal, so closeto her. Her smile constant now, she counted toes and fingers at Ivy’s request, assuring her the baby was whole and strong.
