CHAPTER 12

Gwendolyn opened her eyes to find David staring at her, his little freckled face puckered with bemusement.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked curiously.

She looked down and saw that she was just barely covered by the soft plaid draped over her. She gasped and hastily yanked the blanket up to her neck, then glanced over to see if MacDunn was still lying beside her. Mercifully, he wasn’t. Summoning every shred of her tattered dignity, she regarded David as if there was nothing unusual about her being found stark naked in his father’s bed. “Is everything all right?”

“The whole clan is talking about you,” he reported.

Gwendolyn’s eyes widened in horror. Obviously everyone knew she had spent the night with MacDunn. Mortified to the core, she lowered her lids and meekly asked, “Are you terribly upset?”

He shook his head.

“You’re not?” she asked, confused.

“Your standing up to Robert is the bravest thing I’ve ever heard of—like something the mighty Torvald would do!”

His words penetrated her embarrassment. “Is that what the clan is talking about?”

“What else would they be talking about?”

“Nothing,” she hastily responded. She sat up a little, still clutching the blanket. “What, exactly, is the clan saying?”

He seated himself beside her, forcing her to move over a bit. “Owen says that of all the witches he has ever known, you are by far the most magnificent,” he said excitedly. “Then Lachlan demanded to know exactly how many witches he had known, and Owen could only think of you and one other, and Lachlan said that hardly accounted for much of a comparison. Then Reginald said he’s only sorry that he didn’t have the chance to hack off Robert’s monstrous head and present it to you, all bloody and leaking his brains on a pike, so that you might keep it as a memento of your bravery. And Lachlan snorted and said that was a disgusting notion, and that instead he would spend all day creating a special wine to be drunk tonight in your honor!”

Gwendolyn stared at him in bewilderment.

“Did you really climb onto the parapet and tell Robert to shoot you with a burning arrow?” David asked eagerly.

She nodded.

“Cameron said you looked like a black angel standing on the merlon, and that when Robert set the cottages afire, you raised your arms and conjured up a storm to put out the flames!”

Of course they would think that, Gwendolyn reflected. After all, the MacDunns were convinced that she controlled the weather.

“Ned says as long as the storm continues like this, the MacSweens won’t be able to attack again. But you won’t let it rain like this forever, will you? I’m feeling quite well today, and thought that maybe I could try riding again soon.”

“It won’t rain forever,” Gwendolyn assured him, although the storm did not seem to have eased since last night. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“I got hungry while I was waiting for you to come with my breakfast, so I went down to the kitchen and asked Marjorie to give me some bread and oatmeal. I didn’t have any milk, eggs, or cheese, or even any of the smoked herring that she was serving to the others.”

“How do you feel?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Fine.”

He certainly looked fine, Gwendolyn reflected. His blue eyes were clear and sparkling, and although his skin was still pale from a lack of sunlight, his lightly freckled cheeks held a hint of color. His face was freshly scrubbed, and he had taken the time to comb his bright red hair, so that it spilled in a relatively tidy mass of curls over his saffron shirt. Gwendolyn remembered the first time she had seen him, lying in that foul chamber with his chalky skin stretched across his sunken face like the thinnest of fabric, and his limp hair saturated with sweat and filth. She had felt certain he was on the edge of death and that there was nothing she could possibly do to save him. There was no trace of that dying child in the glowing young lad who sat beside her now, restlessly banging his feet against the frame of the bed. He was dressed in the plaid he had worn to the great hall last night, which he had arranged to the best of his unskilled ability, so that it hung like a shapeless rag over his narrow hips, with the excess fabric falling in a long swath down his back. MacDunn would have to give him a lesson in putting on his plaid, she decided, taking pleasure in seeing David look so well.

God had tested her in many ways, but He had given her one incredible gift. He had enabled her to help David live. For that she would be eternally grateful.

“My father said that conjuring up that storm made you tired,” David said sympathetically. “Is that why you’re still in bed?”

She nodded. “Where is your father?”

“He has gone outside with some of the men, to survey the damage to the outer wall and return the rocks that were dropped off the battlements. He has ordered all the tables and benches in the great hall to be moved to the sides so the men can train in there while it rains.”

Which means he knew Robert would return soon, reflected Gwendolyn. I will keep you safe. She did not doubt that MacDunn actually believed he was capable of such a feat. But he did not understand the depth of Robert’s ruthless determination to get her back. Robert would stop at nothing to force her to give him the stone. And by standing before him last night and offering him her life, Gwendolyn had made a grave, irreversible blunder. She had armed Robert with the knowledge that she was ready to die for the sake of the MacDunns. All he needed to do was attack the vulnerable cottages on the hill or take just one MacDunn hostage, be it Cameron, or Ned, or even grumpy old Lachlan, and Gwendolyn would have no choice but to surrender to him. And then Robert would slaughter the MacDunns anyway, before using the power of the stone for his own vile purposes.

She must lure him away from here and kill him first.

“David, please find Clarinda and tell her I must speak with her at once.”

“Are you going to tell us the story about what happened last night?” asked David, his eyes bright with anticipation. “I’m sure you would tell it better than Owen or Cameron.”

“Not today. Now hurry.”

David obediently rushed out the door, awkwardly hiking up his sagging plaid as he went.

A lump of emotion rose to her throat as she watched him go. Until she met David, her experience with children had been limited exclusively to the young MacSweens who used to taunt her and throw things at her, or run away whenever she appeared. She had thought children were either stupid or cruel, and most often both. But David had changed that perception. During their time together she had discovered that children were quick to abandon the fear and intolerance they learned from adults, and to judge people for themselves, as David had with her. MacDunn’s son was a sweet and gentle lad, and caring for him had made her understand what it is to love a child more than oneself.

She would not permit any harm to come to him.

She had promised Clarinda that she would stay and help her deliver her child, but that was impossible now. She must leave today, so she could spare the clan any further attacks. Although the knowledge that she was breaking her pledge to her dearest friend weighed heavily upon her, she felt certain Clarinda would understand. Marjorie would be able to help her with the birth, and perhaps Letitia would stay with her as well. Both these women were far more experienced in matters of childbearing than Gwendolyn was, since they had actually given birth.

“And must one have been cut open by a sword in order to know how to deal with the wound?” demanded Morag cryptically from the doorway. “I’ve brought you some fresh garments to wear,” she continued, not waiting for a reply as she moved gracefully past the sodden pile of black and cream fabric lying on the floor. “It would hardly do to have you traipsing about the corridor wearing nothing but that plaid, although you do look quite fetching in it.” She laid upon the disheveled bed a clean chemise and the amethyst-colored gown she had given to Gwendolyn.

“Thank you,” said Gwendolyn, trying to conceal her mortification at being found naked in the laird’s chamber.

“Not at all.” Morag smiled as she eased herself into the chair by the hearth. “I may be old, but I still remember what it is to be young and filled with longing.”

“I am not filled with longing,” Gwendolyn told her, pulling the chemise over her head.

“Of course you are, my dear. You have so much longing in you, you cannot trust yourself to give in to it, for fear that if you open that door you will drown in the flood of need that spills forth. You perceive need as weakness, and that frightens you, because you have always had to be strong and reserved—never giving in to your emotions, be they anger, or love, or even the simple desire for friendship. And sadly, you were correct. Had you listened to your heart and acted without restraint, the MacSweens would have found a reason to tie you to that stake long ago.”

Gwendolyn continued to dress herself, saying nothing.

“Alex, on the other hand, was once so full of fun and fire, we used to wonder how the rascal would ever learn to behave himself when he was laird,” she said, her mouth curving in a soft smile. “Whether with women or hunting or battle, he followed his own pleasures, giving no thought to the consequences. The clan was relieved when Flora finally captured his heart. She brought out the more responsible side of Alex, while still fanning the flames of his passion.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, when she died, Flora took part of Alex with her. He fell into a madness from which we feared he would never emerge—and he never really did. When he finally was lucid again, the passionate young man we had known was gone, replaced by someone who seemed incapable of any emotion but anger.”

Gwendolyn closed her eyes, her heart aching as she recalled the magnificent passion that had raged between them last night.

“You don’t want to leave,” Morag observed.

Gwendolyn opened her eyes and regarded her steadily. Although she didn’t believe Morag could see the future, it was clear the woman was uniquely perceptive. “I must.”

Morag considered this a moment. “At least you feel you must, and that, I suppose, is all that matters.”

“Robert will not rest until he has me,” Gwendolyn explained. “And when he returns, he will be far more brutal. If I stay, I will fulfill Elspeth’s prophecy of bringing death and destruction to the MacDunns.”

“Nonsense!” Morag waved her hand dismissively. “You have listened to the foul accusations of others for so long, you are starting to give them power over you.” Her expression grew contemplative. “You must look at yourself, Gwendolyn, but do not use your eyes. Only then will you be able to see clearly.”

“I cannot stay, Morag,” Gwendolyn said, her voice laden with regret.

Morag regarded her a long moment. And then she nodded. “Very well. But there is one matter you must attend to before you go. A promise to a friend in need cannot be broken.”

“If you mean my promise to help Clarinda birth her child, I cannot possibly keep it,” Gwendolyn told her apologetically. “I must leave before the storm breaks, so that Robert cannot—”

“Gwendolyn, come quickly!” pleaded Isabella, bursting into the room. “Clarinda’s birthing pains have started, and that horrible Elspeth is at her bedside insisting that she will deliver the child!”

Gwendolyn grabbed her skirts and raced out the door.

         

“Go away!” screamed Clarinda as she writhed in pain. “I don’t want you near me!”

“If I leave, your child will die,” Elspeth said coldly, knotting a length of rope to one of the posts at the foot of the bed. “Is that what you want, foolish girl?”

“Cameron,” whimpered Clarinda, her voice barely more than a sob, “please make her go away. Please!”

“Cameron is in a far better state to be sensible than you are,” said Elspeth, casting him a warning look through the hot, dark room. “He knows I have birthed more bairns in this clan than anyone else, and that he should not interfere in a female matter he cannot possibly understand. Not if he wants his child to live.”

Cameron raked his hand through his hair, torn by his beloved wife’s suffering and the undeniable weight of Elspeth’s experience.

“Don’t touch me!” screamed Clarinda, flailing wildly as Elspeth tried to grab her ankle. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

“For the love of God, Elspeth, must you tie her down?” asked Cameron.

“All this thrashing about is doing grave injury to the bairn,” Elspeth informed him curtly. “We’ll be lucky if it isn’t dead already. I can’t imagine a mother being so sinfully selfish. Now hold her while I secure her to the bed.” She grabbed Clarinda’s ankle and began to twist the rope tightly around it.

“Take your hands off her, Elspeth,” commanded Gwendolyn, barely able to contain her rage. “Now.”

“You have no business here, witch,” declared Elspeth, moving to secure Clarinda’s other leg. “This unborn child will not belong to you or the devil you serve. Begone!”

“Gwendolyn,” mewled Clarinda pitifully, “don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Clarinda,” Gwendolyn assured her, hurrying over to the bed. “We have a bairn to birth—remember?” She took hold of Clarinda’s sweating hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“You cannot stay,” snapped Elspeth. “I won’t allow it.”

“You’re mistaken, Elspeth,” Gwendolyn responded, her voice as hard as steel. “It is you who isn’t staying.”

Elspeth continued to lash Clarinda’s other swollen ankle to the bed. “If I leave, this child will die, for God will not absolve the sins of the mother—”

“Get out!” Gwendolyn cried, still holding Clarinda’s hand. “Take your ropes and your vile threats and leave this chamber at once or I will cast a spell that will turn your evil tongue into a slithering snake!”

Elspeth raised her hand to her mouth and stared at her in shock, suddenly unsure. “I will speak to MacDunn of this,” she warned, speaking through her fingers.

“Do so,” Gwendolyn said. “And I will tell him how you take pleasure in terrorizing helpless women as they suffer during birth!”

Elspeth cast her a long look of undiluted loathing.

And then, her hand still shielding her mouth, she turned and fled the room.

“That was wonderful!” exclaimed Isabella, who had entered the chamber with Gwendolyn. “Although I must confess, I would have enjoyed seeing her tongue change into a snake. Do you suppose it might have slithered out and bitten her on the nose?”

“Isabella, would you kindly fetch Marjorie and Lettie?” asked Gwendolyn, her voice deliberately bright as she gently untied the cords binding Clarinda’s ankles. “Tell them we are going to need their assistance, as they have some experience in this business of childbearing—and ask them to bring whatever they feel we will need.”

“Why don’t you just use your powers to take the bairn out?” Isabella asked.

“I think it is better to let this wee life appear naturally,” Gwendolyn explained. “But I have never assisted at a birth before, and I would like Marjorie and Lettie to help.”

“I will help as well,” Isabella volunteered as she headed toward the door. “I won’t be long.”

Clarinda regarded her friend with tear-filled eyes. “Thank you, Gwendolyn. For a moment I was so afraid—”

“Hush, now, Clarinda.” Gwendolyn brushed a silky lock of hair off Clarinda’s forehead. “Everything is going to be just fine. My word, it’s hot in here—Cameron, would you kindly open the windows?”

“It’s still storming outside,” Cameron pointed out, “and Elspeth said the room must be kept very warm—”

“I hardly think it can be good for either Clarinda or your bairn to inhale this awful smoke,” Gwendolyn said. “Does it bother you, Clarinda?”

Clarinda nodded. “It’s making me feel sick.”

“There, you see? Come, now, Cameron, a little fresh, rain-washed air will do us all a world of good. And see if you can’t take that fire down a bit,” she added, glancing at the blazing hearth. “One would think we were preparing to roast a stag in here!”

Cameron obediently opened the windows, releasing a sweet gust of moist, grass-scented air into the chamber. The wind had eased slightly, so that no rain came into the chamber, but instead thrummed soothingly against the stone exterior of the castle.

“That’s much better,” Gwendolyn declared. “Now, then, Clarinda, how do you feel?”

“I feel better. I would like to get up.”

Gwendolyn frowned in confusion. Just a moment earlier Clarinda had been thrashing about in complete agony. “Really?”

“The pain is gone, and it won’t be back for a little while,” Clarinda told her with relative certainty. “I would like to walk a little before the next pain comes.” She began to sit up.

“No, Clarinda,” Cameron objected. “Elspeth said you mustn’t move. You must lie still and wait for the bairn to come.”

“I don’t want to lie still. I want to get up. I think I will feel better if I walk a bit.” She eased her legs over the side of the bed.

“Gwendolyn, tell her to get back into bed,” said Cameron, searching for an ally.

Gwendolyn considered a moment. “You’re not planning to run up and down the corridor or go leaping about, are you, Clarinda?”

“Of course not. I just want to walk.”

“Well, there, you see, Cameron? I can hardly see how a gentle stroll could do either Clarinda or the bairn any harm.”

“She needs to rest,” Cameron told her firmly.

“I’m not tired,” Clarinda protested impatiently.

“But you will be,” Cameron assured her. “You must rest now for the long and painful suffering ahead—”

“Thank you, Cameron, for sharing your opinion with us,” Gwendolyn interrupted. “But since it is Clarinda who is going to birth this bairn, I think that if she feels better sitting up, or walking, or standing on her head, then that is what she should do.” She helped Clarinda to her feet, then wrapped her arm around her friend’s back and began to walk across the chamber with her.

“You shouldn’t be doing this, Clarinda,” Cameron said sternly.

“And when you’re the one giving birth, I’ll be certain to tell you all about how you should do it,” Clarinda retorted. “Now, why don’t you go and train with the other men in the great hall while Gwendolyn and I take care of things here?”

Cameron’s red brows rose in disbelief. “You want me to leave?”

“Gwendolyn will call you when we need your assistance. Won’t you, Gwendolyn?”

“Aye,” promised Gwendolyn, having no idea what, exactly, Cameron would be needed to do. “I will.”

Cameron looked unconvinced. “You’re certain?”

“I’m certain,” Clarinda assured him. “Now that Gwendolyn is here, everything is going to be fine.”

“Very well.” He stood in front of his wife and tipped her chin up. “But you are to have Gwendolyn call me the moment you need me—is that understood?” Without waiting for an answer, he bent low and gave her a long, gentle kiss.

“Everything is going to be fine this time, my love,” whispered Clarinda softly. “I can feel it.”

“Aye,” said Cameron, his voice gruff. He laid his hand against the hard swell of his wife’s abdomen. “I can feel it as well.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Oh, look, she’s up—did the bairn come already?” asked Isabella, entering with Marjorie and Lettie.

“Judging by her size, I’d say the wee thing’s still tucked safely inside her,” said Lettie, setting down a basin and a stack of neatly folded linens. “Either that or she’s been eating far too many bannocks!”

“Was it a false pain, Clarinda?” asked Marjorie, while placing a small dirk, needle, and thread, and a soft little plaid on the table. “That happens sometimes, you know. With my third one, I felt sure it was coming, and then had to wait nearly a week before he finally appeared.”

“I don’t believe there was anything false about it,” Clarinda replied. “This bairn is coming today. It’s just taking a little rest at the moment.”

“Then why are you out of bed?” Marjorie asked.

“Because she feels like it,” Cameron said flatly. “And since Clarinda’s the one birthing the bairn, she can do as she pleases.” He hesitated at the door. “But if, by chance, she decides to stand on her head, be sure to fetch me. That’s a sight I’d not want to miss!” He easily ducked the pillow Clarinda tossed his way, then closed the door.

“Isabella tells us you sent Elspeth away,” Lettie said, regarding Gwendolyn in amazement.

“I most certainly did.” Once again she began to escort Clarinda slowly around the chamber. “Clarinda did not want her near, and that was fine by me. Can you believe she was actually tying Clarinda to the bed when I came in?”

Lettie nodded and seated herself in the chair by the hearth. “Elspeth tied me down when I birthed my wee Gareth. She ties all birthing mothers down. She believes the mother should lie still and suffer the pain in silence, since ’tis God who is sending her the pain, as punishment for her womanly sins.”

“Didn’t you mind being bound?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I hated it,” Lettie admitted. “It made me feel helpless—like a prisoner. And I couldn’t move my arms or legs to a more comfortable position when I wanted to. I was struggling as much against the bonds as I was against the pain. My wrists were so raw and sore afterward, I could scarcely hold my bairn.”

“I think it’s a horrible thing to do to a woman,” Gwendolyn said. “I may not know much about birthing, but it seems to me one should do everything possible to make the mother more comfortable, instead of lashing her to the bed and ordering her to keep still.”

“I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be tied down when I had my bairns,” agreed Marjorie, sitting on the bed. “That was long before Elspeth became the clan’s healer. In my day, the women who attended you just made you lie in bed until the bairn came. Which is strange,” she mused, frowning, “since my mother said she always worked right up until a few minutes before the bairn pushed its way out. She claimed that when I was born, she wrapped me up, put me in the cradle, and then carried on making supper. Said my father hated it if anything interfered with his supper being ready!”

The women laughed.

“Oh my!” Clarinda gasped. She grabbed Gwendolyn for support as her knees buckled beneath her. “Oh—my.” Her eyes squeezed shut, she crumpled to the floor, unable to say anything else.

“What’s happening to her?” Isabella asked anxiously. “Is the bairn coming?”

“Clarinda, are you all right?” Gwendolyn knelt beside her. “Do you want us to help you to the bed?”

Clarinda held her breath, her lips locked tight as she struggled against the pain.

“Breathe deeply, Clarinda,” instructed Marjorie, hurrying over to them. “Come, now, lass, a nice, deep breath. That’s it. Now let it out. It won’t last long—you’re almost through it—and everything is just fine—you’re a good lass. Just a wee bit longer, and then you’ll feel much better.”

“Shouldn’t we do something?” demanded Gwendolyn, distressed at seeing her friend in such agony.

“There’s nothing much we can do,” said Lettie, who had also moved closer. “You have to suffer until you think you cannot bear it a moment longer, and then you suffer even more. And finally the bairn comes out, and you forget about everything except the wee person you hold in your arms.”

“Oh!” gasped Clarinda weakly, relinquishing her crushing grip on Gwendolyn’s hand. She exhaled a long, steadying breath. “That was a fierce one.”

“Where is the bairn?” asked Isabella, who hadn’t moved from the opposite side of the chamber. “Do you have it?”

“Not yet, Isabella,” said Marjorie, smiling. “We have to wait awhile longer.”

“That was very good, Clarinda,” praised Gwendolyn. “You were absolutely splendid—like the mighty Torvald when he was almost torn in half by the terrible two-headed monster!”

“Perhaps that’s how I should think of it,” Clarinda suggested weakly. “I am a great warrior who refuses to be conquered by this pain.”

“And in the end, you are rewarded by a marvelous treasure,” suggested Lettie.

“You mustn’t think you need to be brave,” Gwendolyn countered. “Or at least, you needn’t be quiet. Make all the noise you want, do you hear?”

Clarinda smiled. “I will, Gwendolyn. Thank you.”

“Would you like to walk some more?”

“Actually, I believe I will lie down for a moment. That left me feeling rather wilted.”

Gwendolyn and Marjorie obligingly helped her over to the bed.

“There, now,” said Gwendolyn, adjusting the pillow behind Clarinda’s head. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine.”

“We must wait awhile now,” said Marjorie, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. “It can be a slow business, waiting for a bairn.”

“Why don’t you tell us a story, Gwendolyn?” prompted Isabella. “That will make the time go faster.”

Clarinda’s expression brightened. “Tell the one about when the mighty Torvald went to slay the kelpie who had stolen the poor man’s daughter—”

“—only he found she was living as a princess in a magic kingdom deep at the bottom of the loch,” finished Isabella excitedly.

Gwendolyn looked at Isabella in surprise. “How do you know that story, Isabella? I have only told it to David and Clarinda.”

“I—I must have heard it somewhere else,” she stammered.

Gwendolyn reflected on this in confusion. The mighty Torvald was a character her father had created exclusively for her, and that particular tale was one they had made up together during one of their many walks in the mountains. She could not imagine how Isabella could possibly have heard it.

“Do tell it, Gwendolyn,” prodded Lettie, pulling her chair closer to the bed. “It sounds like a wonderful tale.”

“Very well.” She settled herself beside Clarinda. “Long ago, in a land far beyond the edge of the ocean, there lived a magnificent warrior of extraordinary strength and courage, who was known by all as the mighty Torvald….”

Afternoon slowly melted into evening, but the circle of women scarcely noticed. Gwendolyn spun the fiercest, most glorious tales she could think of, trying her best to distract Clarinda from her advancing pain. When the contractions grew stronger, she held Clarinda’s hand and spoke encouragingly to her, telling her to hold fast just a little longer, and promising her that it was nearly over. And when Clarinda would collapse against the mattress and whimper that she could not bear any more, Gwendolyn would gently massage the hard, aching swell of her belly, while Isabella sponged Clarinda’s face with cool water and Marjorie and Lettie spoke about what a wonderful experience it was to finally hold your very own child in your arms. More candles were lit, keeping the chamber bright, and outside the rain continued to pour, so that the air was fragrant with the sweet tang of wet heather and pine.

“…that’s it, Clarinda, you’re doing just splendidly,” said Gwendolyn, supporting her friend’s shoulders as Clarinda heaved and strained to free her child from her body.

“I can see more of the head!” announced Marjorie excitedly. “Oh, my,” she said, laughing, “what a lot of hair!”

“Let me see,” said Isabella, who had thus far avoided looking anywhere near where the child was to emerge. She cautiously moved to the end of the bed, then stared at the dark, wet crown of the baby’s head in shock.

And fainted dead away.

“Let’s hope she manages to stay awake for her own child,” quipped Gwendolyn.

“Come, now, Clarinda, you’re almost there,” said Lettie. “Another few pushes, and it will slip right out.”

“I can’t,” sobbed Clarinda, sagging back into Gwendolyn’s arms. “I just can’t.” She closed her eyes and began to weep, overcome with pain and exhaustion.

Marjorie regarded Gwendolyn with alarm. “She mustn’t stop now—”

“Look at me, Clarinda,” Gwendolyn commanded. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Clarinda regarded her dully. “Forgive me, Gwendolyn.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Gwendolyn told her sternly. “You are doing a wonderful job, and you are not about to give up now, do you hear? Now look at me—summon every shred of strength you have left and push, do you hear? Push!”

Clarinda closed her eyes. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will,” Gwendolyn informed her, using the same implacable tone she had heard Alex use when training his warriors. “We’ve come this far, and in another minute you’ll see your bairn, but you have to work a little longer. Now take a deep breath—that’s good—you’re strong, Clarinda, stronger than the mighty Torvald, do you hear? Now push, and scream as loud as you can!”

Clarinda obediently pushed. And screamed. And screamed some more.

“That’s it!” shouted Marjorie, elated. “Here it comes! Oh, my, Clarinda, it’s a girl! Oh, she’s just beautiful!”

A tiny, mewling cry filled the air as the door crashed open and Cameron burst into the chamber, his expression wild with terror.

“It’s a girl, Cameron,” Gwendolyn told him triumphantly, still cradling Clarinda in her arms. “A tiny, perfect lass.”

Cameron stared in awe at the gray, slime-coated creature that Marjorie was holding up for him to see. His gaze moved to Clarinda, who managed a trembling smile, and then to the bloody, unfamiliar fluids soaking the linens between Clarinda’s legs.

And then the fearless warrior’s eyes rolled up into his head and he joined Isabella on the floor.

         

Gwendolyn leaned back in her chair and watched the soft play of candlelight flickering over David’s cheeks. Her back and shoulders ached, and her hands were stained with purple bruises, the result of Clarinda’s agonized clutch. Weary beyond measure, she closed her eyes.

Thank you, God, for keeping Clarinda and her new daughter safe.

After little Eveline’s arrival, Gwendolyn and the other women had made Clarinda clean and comfortable while they all marveled over the sheer perfection of her child. They had repeatedly counted the bairn’s tiny fingers and toes, and touched the soft thatch of red hair fringing her forehead, and unanimously declared that she was by far the comeliest child any of them had ever seen. Clarinda had shone with pleasure and quietly thanked them all, saying she could never have managed without them, and that although she had decided she would not be having any more children, she would happily recommend their services to the other women in the clan. And Marjorie had laughed and said she used to feel the same way after each of her bairns was born, yet somehow she managed to produce six of them. Finally Isabella awakened, so of course they had to unwrap Eveline and marvel at her fingers and toes and arms and legs once more, and Clarinda assured Isabella that she felt quite well, despite how she may have appeared earlier. The chamber had been aglow with feminine laughter and warmth, and Gwendolyn had felt strangely content, bonded to these women by the wonderful journey they had taken together that day.

Finally Cameron groaned and rose from the floor, rubbing his head. He sheepishly apologized to the women for fainting, and attributed it to the fact that he had not eaten that day, assuring them that it took much more than a little blood to bring him to the floor. Marjorie had tried to soothe his pride by telling him that childbirth was a woman’s business and that men were best left to their battles. Then the women had discreetly excused themselves, leaving the new father and mother to stare in tender wonder at the child they had created.

The hour was late and most of the castle was now asleep, save for the warriors standing guard in the towers. Fortunately, the rain was still pouring down with great force, and there was little concern that Robert would attack tonight. David’s brow was cool and dry, his breathing steady and deep, so there was no reason for Gwendolyn to linger in his chamber. Yet she remained, watching over him as he slumbered, vainly trying to steel her heart to the unbearable knowledge that tomorrow she would leave him.

When MacDunn first brought her here, he had ordered her to heal his son. Gwendolyn had reluctantly agreed, coolly bartering David’s life in exchange for her own freedom once he was healed, a feat which she did not believe could be realized. At the time she had wanted nothing more than to escape the MacDunns and seek her vengeance on Robert. And now David was well and her time to leave had finally come.

She thought her heart would break from the pain of it.

When had she begun to care so deeply for this sweet child? she wondered bleakly. At what moment had his life become so much more important than her own? She gazed down at him with a love that was absolute—a powerful, motherly devotion she had never anticipated. Gwendolyn had not experienced the joy of bringing a new life into the world. But she had taken this dying child and labored long and hard to make him well, to heal his starving flesh and nourish his soul. And in those hours and days and weeks he had quietly captured her heart, binding her to him as surely as if he were part of her. He was not of her flesh, but her love for David was as powerful as the love of any caring mother for her child. All her life she had been accused of being a witch, and she had wondered why God would allow people to torment her so. But now she understood that God had had a reason to label her. Had she not been believed to be a witch, MacDunn would never have brought her here to save his dying son. David would have died, and she would never have known what it is to love a man and a lad to the very depths of her being. She inhaled a ragged breath as she skimmed her fingers across the softness of David’s freckled cheek, down to the sweet little dent in his chin that was a gift from his father.

And then she picked up a candle and left the room, fearing if she stayed a moment longer, she would begin to weep and never stop.

“I thought I would find you here,” said MacDunn, emerging from the dark shadows of the corridor. He frowned. “Are you ill?”

“I am tired.” Gwendolyn bowed her head as she quickly brushed away her tears. “That is all.”

He studied her a moment. “Between standing on the parapet in the freezing rain and then spending all day and night helping Clarinda to give birth, it will be a miracle if you don’t develop a burning fever and take to your bed for a month.”

“I never get sick, MacDunn,” Gwendolyn replied wearily. “I’ve told you that often enough.”

“Even so, you need to sleep. I am escorting you to your chamber, and you are to rest tomorrow morning—is that clear?”

Far too exhausted to argue, Gwendolyn nodded. MacDunn offered her his arm, and she laid her hand lightly against it as she walked with him along the torchlit hallway.

“I have heard that you were invaluable in helping Clarinda to birth her daughter,” he said.

“Clarinda did the hardest work.”

“That is usually the case when it comes to childbirth,” Alex acknowledged, trying not to smile. “But according to Marjorie, you kept Clarinda’s spirits high and managed to keep her strong when she felt she could bear no more.”

“Most of us can bear more than we think we can. Especially when we have no choice.”

“That is true. But it is an uncommon ability, to make others believe that. It is what enables a good leader to keep his men fighting, when all they want is to lay down their swords and die.”

“Had Clarinda been lashed to the bed as Elspeth had planned, she and her bairn might well have died,” declared Gwendolyn, feeling fresh anger overwhelm her. “Did Elspeth tell you I ordered her to leave the chamber?”

He nodded. “She also said you threatened to transform her tongue into a snake,” he added, giving her a mildly disapproving look. “It is not like you, Gwendolyn, to threaten others with your powers.”

“I believe her having a snake for a tongue would be an improvement. It would make her open her mouth less.”

“Regardless, I would prefer you not inflame Elspeth’s distrust of you by making such threats. Most of the clan has gradually come to accept you, and if you are patient, eventually Elspeth will accept you as well.”

Gwendolyn shook her head. She had no time to be patient, and she feared that when she was gone, other women would be at the mercy of Elspeth’s vile methods. Before she left, she had to make sure that MacDunn would put an end to Elspeth’s cruelty.

“Did you know that Elspeth binds laboring mothers to the bed as they writhe in agony, so that they cannot adjust their bodies to better birth their children?” she demanded. “You are a man and might think that is necessary, but Marjorie has birthed six children, and she assures me it is not. Lettie told me she hated being bound when she bore little Gareth, that it made her feel like a prisoner. And then Elspeth tells laboring women their pain is God’s punishment for their sins, and that they mustn’t scream, but they must endure it in silence, making them feel like they have sinned if they utter a sound. And if something is wrong with their child, or it is born dead, she blames the poor mother, as if the agonized woman could have somehow prevented it!”

For a moment Alex was too appalled to speak. He knew little about the business of childbirth, but what Gwendolyn had just described was utterly obscene. Elspeth had tended Flora during all her births, and two of those children had been born dead. Not once had Flora made any suggestion to him that she had been mistreated by Elspeth during her ordeal. Perhaps his gentle wife had been too naive to understand the atrocity of her treatment. Or perhaps the painful shock of the bairns’ deaths had obliterated all memory of being trussed like an animal and told that she was responsible for her child’s death. A terrible guilt enveloped him, coupled with a sudden, searing pain that seemed to cleave right through his skull.

“I—I did not know this,” he stammered, wondering how such a thing could have been kept from him. “No one told me.”

“Most women are far too embarrassed to ever discuss such a delicate matter with their laird, or even their husbands,” Gwendolyn explained. “And then of course many must believe Elspeth is right and that they must simply endure her horrid methods. But whatever the reason for their silence, you must speak with Elspeth. You are laird of all those women who have suffered, and those who will continue to suffer in Elspeth’s care. It is your responsibility to protect them from such barbarous treatment.”

Her gray eyes were wide and earnest, and her lower lip trembled slightly, making it clear how vital this issue was to her. Alex found himself deeply moved by her desire to protect the MacDunn women.

“I will speak with Elspeth tomorrow,” he promised, stopping before Gwendolyn’s door. “And I will make certain she abandons these practices immediately.”

“Thank you.”

Her black hair was spilling wildly over her badly wrinkled gown, giving her a sweetly disheveled look that only endeared her more to him. The memory of lying naked with her last night flooded his senses, stirring his body and heating his blood. He wanted to lift her into his arms and take her to his bed, to hold her and kiss her and pleasure her until neither of them could bear any more. But dark crescents bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and if it was possible, her face seemed even paler than usual. He sensed a deep melancholy to her as well, which he attributed to her severe fatigue. Last night he had kept her awake deep into the hours of early morning, and then she had endured a day that had been both physically and emotionally exhausting. The sight of her looking so frail troubled him.

“You will stay in bed until these marks under your eyes have faded,” he ordered, tracing them with the tip of his finger. “If I see you appear before then, I will carry you back to bed myself. Is that understood?”

Gwendolyn nodded as she stared up at him. She would never see him again after this moment, for she would be gone long before the castle began to stir. There was suddenly much she wanted to tell him, and yet she found she could not speak, for fear her tears would betray her and make him suspicious. And so she regarded him in silent anguish, memorizing the burnished gold of his hair and brows, the brilliant blue of his eyes, the elegantly chiseled line of his jaw, and that distinctive cleft in his chin that he had passed on to his son. I will keep you safe, he had vowed, and she knew he believed such a feat was possible, even if it meant he had to die to achieve it. But he had a son who needed him, and a clan who depended upon him. She could not let any of them suffer for something as insignificant as the preservation of her life.

“Good night, Gwendolyn.” Alex bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He did not trust himself to kiss her mouth, knowing desire would overwhelm him. “Sleep well.”

She tentatively raised her hand to his jaw, then slowly traced her fingers along the same path she had taken with his son; down the sandy plane of his sun-bronzed cheek, finally stopping at the depression in his chin. I love you, she told him silently, wondering if he could feel it in her touch. I always will.

“What is it?” Alex demanded, sensing her distress.

She abruptly took her hand away. “Nothing,” she whispered, turning from him. “Sleep well, MacDunn.” She slipped into her chamber and closed the door, then listened. She heard him hesitate a moment, perhaps waiting to see if she might emerge again.

Finally he left, his gait slow but sure as he made his way to his own chamber.

Gwendolyn approached the bed with leaden legs, using her candle to guide her through the shadows. There was something lying upon her pillow. Anticipating yet another talisman of iron or horse bone, or perhaps even a bloodstone, which was thought to have the power to break spells, she approached it with weary indifference. But as she drew closer she saw the shimmering handle of a dirk. She stopped and glanced nervously around the chamber, thinking that whoever had left this for her might still be lurking in the shadows. Then she reached out and pulled the dirk from the pillow, freeing the scrap of paper that had been skewered on its wickedly sharp point.

Gwendolyn,

Whatever the price, it will be mine. You will bring the stone to me at the south end of the woods before first light, or I swear I shall not rest until every MacDunn man, woman, and child lies butchered on the ground, and that mad fool’s head has been hacked from his body and placed in the hands of his precious son.

Their fate lies within your power.

Robert

Sick, dark fear spiraled up from the pit of her stomach. MacDunn. She must show this to MacDunn. She raced toward the door, clutching the note in her hand. And then she stopped. What could MacDunn possibly do? she wondered helplessly. He could not prevent Robert from burning the cottages and laying siege to the castle. Nor could he keep his people trapped within these walls forever. Eventually the MacDunns would have to go out, whether to find food or to face Robert’s army. The instant they did, Robert would cut them to pieces. There would be unimaginable suffering and death, because MacDunn had sworn to keep her safe, and he would fight to the hideous, blood-drenched end trying to keep his word.

She could not let him do that.

She inhaled a steadying breath, fighting to master her panic. She had planned to leave tonight, hoping to lure Robert away by leaving a note for him with the MacDunns, saying that she was returning to the MacSween lands to retrieve the stone, and Robert and his army should follow her there. That was impossible now. Robert was giving her an ultimatum, and he would tolerate nothing less than his terms. She had no choice but to go to him. Once he learned that the stone was hidden on MacSween land, he would not waste any more time here. He would depart before light, aroused by the promise of finally having that powerful charm within his evil grasp. No doubt he believed that once he had used it to give him unbridled power, he would massacre MacDunn and his people anyway.

But the moment she held the stone in her hands, she would use its power to destroy Robert instead.