“’Tis been hours,” Hew growled in complaint as one of the maidservants tending to Carenza emerged onto the crowded great hall.
“These things take time, m’laird,” she said.
“But she’s all right?”the Laird of Dunlop asked.
“Och aye, she’s fine.”
Hew and the laird exchanged glances of dubious relief and returned to pacing.
Hew felt as if he were at his wit’s end.His heart raced.Every nerve was on edge.Carenza was fighting a battle in her bedchamber.And there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do to help her.
He shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn’t made the decision to return to Dunlop.
As for her father, he wasn’t helping Hew’s mood.His face was sickly pale with fear.He’d chewed his lip until it was raw.Even his hounds in the corner of the hall whimpered, sensing his unease.
The laird stopped him mid-pace, seizing his arm.“Do ye think we should fetch the physician?”
Hew wondered.It wasn’t normally done.Physicians knew little about childbirth.That was a midwife’s purview.On the other hand, this was his child and the heir to Dunlop.“I’m not sure.Should we?”
The maidservant suddenly appeared beside them again with a pair of ales.“Nay, m’lairds.’Tis already crowded enough in her bedchamber.Here.Have a wee bit to drink.’Twill help calm your fears.”
“I don’t want to calm my fears,” Hew snapped, grabbing a cup and downing it anyway.
The maidservant didn’t even flinch.Still, Hew felt remorse the instant he opened his mouth.He sounded like his mother, lashing out in anger at anyone in his path.
“Och, forgive me,” he said.“I’m not angry with you.I’m just…”
“Ye’re just a man waitin’ for his child to be born.”
“I was the same way,” the laird confessed.“Fear dressed up as anger.This time, though, ’tis naught but fear for me.”
The maidservant pressed the second cup into his hand.“This works for both.And ye might as well have a seat.Otherwise ye’ll wear out the bottom o’ your boots by the time this bairn comes.”
They tried to sit.But the laird couldn’t stop bouncing his leg.And Hew kept standing up and sitting down, too restless to rest.
“Is it good luck or bad luck to be born on Martinmas?”the laird wondered.
Hew didn’t know.“At this rate, the bairn won’t come till the morrow.”
“What if it doesn’t?What if Carenza’s up there in agony for a sennight?”
“It can’t take that long,” Hew scoffed.Then he reconsidered.“Can it?”
“Do ye suppose they have enough plaids?”
That was a consideration.It was snowy, and the bairn would be wet.“Should we gather more?”
They shot to their feet and began scouring the hall, demanding the plaids from clanfolk who warmed themselves by the fire.Whether they would be useful or not, it at least gave Hew something to do so he wouldn’t go mad with worrying.
He’d gathered a heaping armful of plaids when the outer doors were suddenly flung open.A cold breeze rushed in to flicker the flames.A motley party of half a dozen travelers, cloaked against the harsh weather, pushed boldly inside.
Hew scowled.
What strangers dared to muscle their way so brazenly into Dunlop’s hall?
Who deigned to meddle in their private affairs?
Incensed at their intrusion and forgetting this was not his keep, he called out, “Who goes there?Show your faces.”
