Page 128 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

“Take more of her weight,” Muriel instructed.

Oscar widened his stance and drew closer, letting Ceana remain in the position she had chosen. Her breathing shortened as another contraction seized her. Damp strands of hair clung to her neck, and her nails pressed crescents into his skin.

Over her shoulder, Muriel arranged folded linen beside the basin with steady hands. Oscar almost asked whether Ceana’s breathing troubled her. He had promised to trust his sister’s judgment, so he kept the question behind his teeth and watched his wife.

When Ceana’s grip eased, Muriel said, “Give her water.”

Oscar held the cup while she drank. After two sips, Ceana pushed it away. He set the cup down, and his gaze lingered on the water as he fought the urge to press another sip upon her.

“Stop lookin’ as though ye have already selected yer mournin’ clothes,” she huffed.

“I cannae control me face while ye are tryin’ to break me hand.”

“Then give me the other one.”

Muriel hid a brief smile as Ceana seized his left wrist. “And walk while ye still wish to.”

She had permitted Oscar to remain because Ceana had asked for him. He would stay above Ceana’s waist and obey every order. At one word from his wife, he would leave.

Ceana took slow steps between the bed and the fire while Oscar moved beside her without steering. When another contraction hit, she reached for his arm and leaned heavily against him.

The cradle stood near the wall. Paisley’s ribbon adorned one carved rail, the same ribbon that had lain beside her cheek when the family slept together in this bed. A strip of clean linen rested near Muriel, with fresh water in the basin below it.

“Has the bairn arrived?” Tommy called from the passage.

“The entire castle will ken when it has,” Mairi answered.

Ness bleated.

“Ness agrees with me,” Tommy said.

A huff of laughter escaped Ceana before she pressed her forehead against Oscar’s shoulder. She caught his hand and placed it between her shoulder blades. He rubbed there until her grip slackened.

“Is Ceana well?” Paisley asked beyond the door.

“Muriel is carin’ for her,” Heather replied. “Yer grandfaither and I are here with ye.”

Oscar considered sending them downstairs, but Ceana had chosen to keep the children close enough to receive news quickly. His hand continued rubbing slow circles between her shoulders.

The water in the pitcher had fallen by half when a maid fed the fire again. Muriel replaced the damp cloth at Ceana’s neck. Soon her legs began to tremble.

“Ye may kneel against the bed now,” Muriel said.

Oscar placed folded linen where she indicated and reached for more cushions.

“One is sufficient,” Ceana insisted.

She then kneeled against the bed and drew him in front of her until her forearms rested on his shoulders. He kept one hand on her back and the other on her side, following each movement she made while Muriel reached for a stained cloth.

Stained cloth.

Dark linen.

Tommy crying while his mother lay dead.

His hands tightened.

“Oscar.” Ceana’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts. “Look at me.”