Page 32 of Fire in his Highland Heart

“Well, Mrs. Jenkins, d’ye trust me?” she asked.

The mother nodded. “Aye. I trust ye.”

And so Arguen went about delivering her first baby by herself.

* * *

The baby’s shrill cry seemed to rattle the windowpanes of the small house in the alleyway. Arguen could swear she saw a flock of birds fly off of their perch in surprise, but perhaps she was just imagining that. Mrs. Jenkins had been in labor since late afternoon the day before, and it was evening the following day. Mrs. Kinney had finally arrived to help, and was cooking supper in the kitchen downstairs. Though Arguen wouldn’t readily admit it, she was extremely hungry and tired and wanted nothing more than to eat something and plop back into her bed at the cottage. Thankfully, it had been a relatively easy birth--no complications and no life threatening dilemmas--but the little bugger had certainly taken his time. And despite the loud crying of the babe, Arguen felt at peace, like she had weathered a grisly storm.

The little baby continued his shrieks as Arguen cleaned him up as best she could and wrapped him in a little blanket. “Here ye are, Mrs. Jenkins,” she said softly, as she handed the babe to his mother.

“Only one?” she asked incredulously, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. Mrs. Jenkins had been sure she was to have twins—a boy and a girl—but she had just gotten one, a rather large baby boy.

“Aye, Mistress. An’ squealin’ like a pig. A good sign indeed,” she said. Even though she did not know very much about midwifery, she knew it was good for the babe to be crying when it came out. Silence indicated something terrible was afoot.

As she cleaned up the sheets and peeled off her bloody apron, she watched the two of them out of the corner of her eye. Part of Arguen wondered if this is what she would have done for Marianne at Bruckstone Castle had things not turned out the way they did. The other part of her wondered if she really could see Marianne with a child. Mrs. Jenkins looked so tender holding the babe to her breast, like a good mother should. She doubted Marianne had the capability to be gentle.

After the sheets and afterbirth were all disposed off and mother and baby were warmly nestled in bed, Arguen fetched the rest of the family. Mrs. Kinney, the young woman who’d been watching Mrs. Jenkins’s two other boys, and Mr. Jenkins shuffled in. The boys immediately ran to their mother and jumped on the bed, happy to see their mother and the family’s newest addition.

“Boys! Get off the bed!” Mr. Jenkins barked, and the boys obeyed, albeit reluctantly. They stood by their father’s side, in awe of the tiny little bundle in their mother’s arms.

“Ye have another brother,” Mrs. Jenkins whispered.

“Can I hold him?” asked the six year old with that particular childish earnestness.

“Not yet, lad. Wait until he’s older.”

“A boy, then?” Mr. Jenkins asked, his eyes shining with happiness. She nodded, a sleepy smile on her face.

Arguen stepped forward to take the toddler from his arms, so he could hold his new child, and watched him closely. In the few births she’d attended as help, this was her favorite moment--watching strong men just absolutely melt when they held their children. For a few moments, they did not seem so harsh, and their overjoyed expressions betrayed a warm vulnerability not often seen. This was the case with Mr. Jenkins especially. Arguen had been rather afraid of him and his gruff manners when they first met a few hours ago, but she could see he wasn’t so bad with a babe in his arms.

The other boys began to complain of hunger, and Mrs. Kinney took them back downstairs to find something to eat. Arguen hated to interrupt such a scene of domestic peace, but she’d been with Mrs. Jenkins for a night and a day. Her body was screaming at her to rest and eat.

“Mrs. Jenkins, are ye well?” she asked. She did not want to seem eager to leave, but she knew she could rest easy knowing Mrs. Kinney was here to help.

“Aye, lass. I thank ye for all ye’ve done. I’m sure he wouldnae have lived tae see the dawn without ye,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears.

Mr. Jenkins nodded in agreement. “Aye, ye’ve done a great service here, Miss Arguen. An’ we owe ye much.”

“Nay, Master Jenkins. Ye owe me naught.”

The parents began to protest, but Arguen respectfully declined any sort of payment. Mrs. Jenkins practically wept with thanks as Arguen left. She said her goodbyes to the boys and to Mrs. Kinney, who gave her a pitying look. The exhaustion on her face and in her very bones must have been clear.

She took a deep breath as she walked outside, closing the door behind her. The scent of the village—the smithery next door, horses, hay, food—all hit her at once. For a day and a night, her nose had become accustomed to blood and sweat. Horse droppings and smelted metal were a happy change. She began to make her way back to her cottage, thinking of nothing but ripping off a hunk of bread from the loaf she’d made two days ago, then taking off her stays and sleeping for a good while.

Apparently, the universe—God, the Holy Spirit, whoever—had other ideas. As she was crossing the field that separated her cottage from the town proper, she heard hooves clomp steadily behind her, and a voice calling her name. She turned around, surprised to see James Cranach, with what seemed like worry in his eyes.

“Aye, James, what be the meanin’ o’ this?” she asked.

James pulled his horse to a stop. “I just came from the town looking for ye. Laird Blake needs yer help.”

Arguen’s eyes widened despite her exhaustion. The man who never spoke to her kindly, ignored her, or gave sarcastic remarks when she was around, needed her help?

“James, ye cannae be serious,” she exclaimed, making no effort to hide the exhaustion in her voice.

“Och, but I am. Mrs. Kinney’s busy an’ the midwife is out. Yer his last hope.”

“I swear tae Christ, if he’s got a toothache--”