“Aye, and my brother will carry it well. Of that, I have nay doubt.”
Fenella had to agree with her. The laird was already turning over many of his own tasks to his heir. Keenan would be well-prepared before his time came to assume leadership of MacNabb, which, God willing, would not be for years.
“I suppose ye’ve yet to hear from my wayward middle brother,” Groa said with a twist of her lips.
“Neither have ye or ye wouldna ask,” Fenella said with a shrug, though the question made her belly clench with unlooked-for resentment. “He’s either too busy to write or?—“
“Or many things. Dinna borrow trouble, my friend. Especially not on this day.”
Fenella shook her head. “’Twas nay my intent. I meant only to say that couriers may be scarce wherever he has wandered.”
A sudden shriek from above stairs silenced the crowd in the great hall. Another followed.
“Things are progressing,” Groa muttered, wincing in sympathy.
Fenella didn’t respond, her gaze on the stairs, but her heart in her throat. What would the rest of this day bring? The joy of a successful childbirth to add to the well-timed arrival of its father? Or more waiting? She refused to consider anything else.
Intermittent cries continued for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, becoming fainter and farther apart. The mood in the great hall had gone from jubilant to wary, mirroring Fenella’s own. Most traded worried glances as the sound of their muttered prayers rose and fell. No one could doubt Aimil was exhausted by her labor. How much longer could she continue?
Silence disturbed only by praying went another hour into the night before an infant’s wail sounded, breaking the somber mood that had settled over the hall like a low cloud. A collective gasp filled the hall, then laughter and cheers broke out. The bairn had arrived and lived! Fenella joined in the laughter, relief making her as giddy as the others in the hall. This was a day of joy indeed.
Before long, one of the healer’s apprentices appeared on the upstairs landing and the crowd quieted to hear her announcement.
“A lass is born,” she said, then retreated from view.
Fenella thought it odd that she showed no great enthusiasm, no smile, no excitement over the new bairn. Nor did she present the wee lass. But perhaps she had been with the healer during most of the day and was as tired as everyone in the birthing chamber must be.
“Ah, da will be disappointed ’tis nay a son and heir,” Groa said, still sitting at Fenella’s side after the long hours spent waiting. “But happy, too.”
Had Groa noticed the lass’s solemn tone? “Aye, we lasses have our uses,” Fenella retorted, relief and weariness suddenly making her snappish. Perhaps in her fatigue, she’d imagined the subdued tone.
Groa nodded but didn’t take the bait. “Where is Keenan? I wonder why he didna bring out his daughter.”
“Holding her mother’s hand, or I miss my guess,” Fenella told her, reaching for an explanation that made sense. “I daresay he didna want to leave her side, or to relinquish the bairn, if only long enough to show her to the clan.”
Groa put a hand on Fenella’s arm. “Ah, there go da and mother,” she said, pointing to her parents ascending the stairs. “Time for the family to invade, I suppose,” she added and stood. “Want to come see the wee lass?”
Suddenly reluctant, Fenella shook her head. “Ye go. ’Tis meant to be family time. Keenan will want ye there. I’ll have plenty of chances later.”
Groa took her arm. “Nay, ye are part of the family—or someday will be. Ye dinna want to miss yer future niece’s first breaths. Come with me.”
Fenella nodded, still reluctant but unwilling to make a scene with her friend at such a time as this. She appreciated Groa including her in the family, but she was only being kind. Fenella’s future was very much in doubt as long as Gavan stayed away. She couldn’t be certain of her welcome in the birthing room. Would she be treated as an interloper, even though Groa brought her? She hoped not. Torn, she moved with Groa across the great hall and followed her up the stairs.
The first thing she noticed as Groa opened the door and they entered the room was the heat and the smell. The flamesof many candles added to the heat of so many people in the chamber. Keenan’s parents and two of his brothers, Gregor and Donal, the healer’s apprentice, and herself and Groa in addition to the new parents and the infant filled the space. Blood and other things Fenella was in no hurry to name assaulted her nose, sharp and cloying and thick.
No one was moving. They stood around the bed, watching Keenan kneel by his wife, the babe at her pale breast but not suckling. Then Fenella understood what was happening and turned for the door.
Groa’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, the expression on her face a silent plea not to leave her. Fenella nodded and put her other hand over her friend’s, offering what little comfort she could.
Aimil lay dying.
Keenan hunched over her, stroking her sweat-soaked hair with one hand, the other on his daughter’s back. Tears dripped unheeded onto his wife’s neck and shoulder, both so pale as to be almost blue.
Fenella’s gaze swept the room and she understood the reason for the strong scent of blood. In bringing her daughter into the world, Aimil had bled, heavily. The healer had been unable to stop it.
The healer! Where was she? Irritation pierced Fenella’s dismay and she turned to glance out the door behind her, but the woman was not there, either. The healer should still be here, trying to save her dying patient.
After a few more agonized moments, Aimil gave a shuddering exhale, then breathed no more. No one moved, but at Fenella’s side, Groa gave a small cry of protest.
