“Bethie?” Nicholas’s deep voice sounded softly in her ear.
She fought to catch her breath. “I think it’s coming.”
“Are you sure?”
“Aye. I can feel it. What should I do?”
For a moment he said nothing. “Do whatever your body tells you to do, love.”
And so she gave in to her body’s demands. Knees bent, she pushed again, felt her baby move down through her body. Again and again she pushed, until pain began to spread between her thighs like fire. “Oh, God, it hurts!”
“Reach down, Bethie. Can you feel your baby?”
At his urging, she reached between her thighs, felt a small portion of the hard curve that could only be her baby’s head. Despite her pain, she couldn’t help but smile. “Aye, I can feel it.” But then her fingers touched something else. She knew little about birth, but she knew enough for her heart to fill with fear. “The cord!”
In an instant Nicholas had slipped out from behind her, laid her gently back on the bed. His face was lined with worry.
“Wh-what are you going to do?”
She got her answer when he sat on the bed just below her bent legs and started to lift her gown.
“Nay!” She tried to slap his hand away.
He caught her wrist, held it. “Listen to me, Bethie. I’m sorry if this violates your sense of modesty, but I must move the cord if your baby is to have any hope of being born alive. I’ll do my damned best not to hurt you.”
She closed her eyes, felt him lift her gown, and she fought the desire, so instinctual, to kick at him or run.
“Let your thighs fall open, Bethie.”
Tears sprang into her eyes, but they were not tears of pain.
“Whatever you do, you must not push. Do you understand? The cord is caught above your baby’s head. If you push, you’ll cut off your baby’s blood supply for certain, and you might well break the cord. Then you’ll both be lost.”
She felt another pang begin to build. She tried to do as he asked, but the urge was overwhelming. She arched her back, panted, tried not to bear down. She felt his fingers slip inside her, and she screamed.
“Now, Bethie. Push, and push hard.”
She tried to forget that he was sitting between her legs, gave herself over to her body’s commands, pushing with all her might. She pushed again and again, until the fire between her thighs was unbearable. The pain consumed her. She was being split in two, ripped apart. She could not do this! A scream tore itself from her throat.
And then the pain abruptly lessened.
“The head is out, Bethie. You’re almost there.”
With the next pang, she pushed, and in a final surge of fire and water, felt her baby slide free. Out of breath, relieved, exhausted, she lay back on the pillow, awaiting the child’s first cry.
But no cry came.
She opened her eyes, dread in her heart, watched as Nicholas, his face grave, held and massaged her little baby. It was blue, limp. Tears blurred her vision, rolled down her cheeks.
Then abruptly the baby’s arms jerked as if in surprise, and it gave a tiny wail. In an instant its skin turned a bright shade of pink.
Nicholas looked up, and his gaze met hers. The tenderness in his eyes, so unexpected, stole her breath.
He smiled. “It’s a girl.”
***
Nicholas rose from his bedroll, stole silently across the floor, quietly added wood to the fire. He knew Bethie was exhausted after her long ordeal and he didn’t want to wake her or the baby. When he was satisfied with the blaze, he turned back toward his skins in the corner.
