Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 (67 page)

“Quinn? Really? Aye, he is very nice.” Gillian hadn’t given any thought to a husband for Fallon. The fact that Fingal had, frankly, surprised her.

“So ye think it would please her?” Fingal asked.

Gillian laughed. “Please her? Honestly, she practically swoons when he glances in her direction. If she can stop blushing long enough, aye, I think she would like the idea. What does he think?”

“Ye are so sure I have already spoken to him?” She leveled a glare at him that ended in a grin. He laughed. “He likes the idea too. But he wants to give her a chance to get to know him a bit.”

“Is he free to choose his own wife then?”

“Not exactly, but as long as they are both amenable, I will speak to Laird MacKenzie about it when we go to Duncurra for Rowan’s wedding.”

Gillian grinned. “I think Mother will be pleased to have Fallon marry a laird’s son. Not to mention the fact that Mother seems as charmed by him as every other woman here. Aye, I think it is a good match and I hope Laird MacKenzie agrees to the betrothal.”

“I do too, but it may take some convincing. He thinks Quinn is just here to lend some temporary aid.”

“I thought he was meant to be a permanent addition to yer guard.”

“Aye, he is, but Cathal won’t like that. He prefers his children to stay close to home.”

“That hardly bodes well for him accepting the betrothal.”

Fingal grinned. “We may avoid that wee fact until the betrothal is signed.” He put his finger too her lips. “Can ye keep a secret?”

She smiled coyly. “Perhaps if ye keep my lips busy doing something else, I can.”

“I am happy to oblige, my lady.” Fingal captured her lips with his own and she returned his kiss with ardor. Eventually he broke the kiss, whispering against her lips, “ye are tired and need yer rest.”

“I’m not too tired for this,” she whispered back, looping her arms around his neck.

Even after retiring earlier than they usually did, Gillian woke the next morning feeling weak and sick. Fingal hadn’t been around many pregnant women, but he had heard of the sickness that comes with pregnancy. Still he was inclined to worry. He urged her to rest more but she insisted that it would all pass soon.

Then, a little over a week after Agnes died, Fingal woke before dawn to the sound of Gillian sobbing and Bodie whining.

She was curled in a ball on the edge of the bed. “Sweetling, what’s wrong?” He reached for her, but he immediately saw the source of her tears. The sheets were bloody. “Oh, Gillian, Gillian, my love.” He gathered her in his arms and held her while she cried.

“I think I lost the baby,” she sobbed.

“I am so sorry.”

“I-I was s-so happy and mother was t-too.”

“I was happy too, sweetling. I know yer heart aches because my own does.”

“I-I’m s-s-sorry.”

“Wheest, Gillian, this isn’t yer fault, love. It isn’t anyone’s fault. It just happened. We will get through this together.”

When her tears had slowed, he kissed her before laying her gently on the bed. Bodie stood beside her as if he understood the pain she felt. “I will be right back, love. I am going to send for Eleanor.”

She nodded, but said nothing, putting her arm around Bodie.

Fearing what he did about Lana, he was loath to ask the next question, but he had to. “Shall I send for yer mother too?”

She nodded again. Although she tried to hold them back, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She buried her face in Bodie’s soft fur.

After he sent a servant for Eleanor and Lana, he returned to her side. “Sweetling, let me help ye wash.”

“Nay, a woman’s blood is harmful to a man.”

“I know there are people who believe that, but I think it is nonsense. Every man is born from a woman, how can her blood be harmful? There is nothing else I can do. Please let me help ye.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sorrow, and nodded. “I am so tired. Aye, thank ye.”

He brought the wash basin to the bedside and helped wash the blood from her legs. She placed linen toweling between her legs to staunch the flow. By the time he had her dressed in a clean shift and sitting by the hearth, wrapped in a soft plaid, Lana arrived.

“What on earth do ye need me for at this ungodly hour?” she demanded before entering the chamber. On seeing the bloodstained sheets her demeanor changed instantly. “Oh, Gillian, I am so sorry. Please leave us, Laird. I will help her from here. This is no place for a man.”

Fingal stiffened, preparing to argue. He would not leave her alone with Lana. But before he could protest, Gillian spoke up. “Nay, mother. I want Fingal to stay. I love him. I need him here.”

Her words gripped his heart. He went to her, took her hand and kissed her head. “I love ye too, my precious lass.”

Lana glared at him for a moment, but her expression softened. “Aye, Gillian, he can stay if that is what ye wish. What can I do?”

“I feel dreadful, queasy, and my stomach hurts.”

“Rhiannon’s tisane will help. I will go brew ye some. She gave me a new packet of herbs yesterday. I’ll bring fresh sheets for yer bed when I come too.”

Lana had no sooner left than Eleanor arrived. “Laird, I came as quickly as I could. Although I don’t know what need ye would have for a midwife.” As she entered the room, she clucked when she saw the bloody sheets. “My lady, are ye having trouble with yer courses?”

“Nay Eleanor, I think I have lost a babe.”

“Ye poor dear. I didn’t know ye were carrying. Ye should have told me.”

“I only just began to suspect it.”

She walked to the bed to examine the sheets more closely. “Did ye now? How long has it been since yer last courses came?” She turned away from the bed to face Gillian. “Och, Laird, forgive me. I forgot ye were here. Leave us now and we’ll see what’s what.”

Gillian grasped his hand as if holding on for dear life. Fingal had no intention of leaving Gillian regardless of what the midwife said. “Nay, I’ll stay. Gillian needs me.”

Eleanor clucked again. “Nay she doesn’t. She has me here now and this is no business for a man. ’Twill ruin yer sword arm, so it will. Tell him, my lady. Tell him to run along now and we will put everything to rights.”

Not only did her overly cheerful tone irritate Fingal, the look of horror on Gillian’s face told him she believed Eleanor’s dire predictions. Fingal was known through the Highlands for his skill with a sword. The notion that anything other than serious bodily injury could damage his swordsmanship was laughable. He had to quiet her fears. “It will do no such thing unless ye plan to cleave it off with a sword yerself. I will stay.”

Gillian relaxed, resting her head against him.

Eleanor looked affronted. “Well, this is highly irregular, but ye are the laird so I guess I have no say in it.” She huffed. “So my lady, how long has it been since ye bled last?”

“I’m not sure exactly. A little over a month.”

“Is that all? What makes ye think ye were carrying? Maybe ye were just a bit late. It happens.”

“I have been over-tired and sick for about a week now. And this...this feels different. It is more painful and...well, there is more blood and clots than usual.”

“Come lay on the bed and let me examine ye.”

Fingal helped Gillian walk to the bed and when he would have stepped away she held his hand, so he stayed by her side.

Once again Eleanor clucked her disapproval, but she examined Gillian with Fingal at her side.

When she finished her examination, she went to the basin to wash her hands. “My lady, I’m not sure whether ye were pregnant or not. The sickness ye describe suggests that ye might have been. Also, the pain and heavy bleeding ye are having is what happens with a miscarriage. However, sometimes when courses are very late, even with a maiden, the same thing can happen. Either way, ye are not pregnant now. Just be thankful it was so early ye didn’t have time to think about being a mother.”

Fingal was shocked by her words. The fresh tears in Gillian’s eyes told him she felt the same way. If he had only believed for a moment that they were expecting a baby, the loss would be as devastating. Before he could form a response, Lana returned with several servants in tow.

“Ah, Eleanor, how is my poor lass?”

“She’ll be fine in no time. She lost it very early, if she was pregnant at all.”

Lana was clearly affronted. “It? No matter how early the loss came, that was my grandchild Eleanor, not an ‘it’ and I’ll thank ye to remember that. Ye can go. I’ll take care of my daughter from here.” She turned her back on Eleanor. “Gillian, I’ve brought Rhiannon’s tisane and I added a bit of willow bark, to help with the pain.”

Eleanor grabbed her arm. “Ye mustn’t give her that if it contains willow bark.”

“Why on earth not?”

“If she wasn’t pregnant—if she is just having unusual pain and bleeding because she is late—it goes against God’s will to stop her pain. Women are meant to suffer for Eve’s sin.”

Fingal couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Perhaps this was the reason men should stay clear of these sorts of things. At that moment he wanted to use his sword arm on Eleanor. He opened his mouth to tell her what he thought but Lana beat him to it.

“I will give my daughter whatever I think she needs and will sort it out with God when I meet Him.”

“
If
ye ever meet Him, ye mean,” Eleanor snapped before she left the room.

Lana turned back to Gillian. “Pay no attention to her, Gillian. She has a knack for bringing even the most reluctant bairns safely into this world, but if God put a more annoying woman on this earth, I pray I never meet her.”

Fingal glanced at Gillian. While tears still stood in her beautiful brown eyes, a small smile played at her lips. For the first time since marrying Gillian, he felt a bit of respect for her mother.

~ * ~

It took Gillian longer than she expected to recover from the miscarriage. A little over week later the bleeding had all but stopped but she remained tired and queasy most of the time. She tried not to worry Fingal with it. Eleanor had said to let her know if the bleeding lasted more than ten days or so and not to overwork herself during that time. She hadn’t mentioned that the nausea would persist that whole time. Gillian had no energy, feeling exhausted after the slightest activity. Both Fallon and Lana stepped in to help see to things.

As expected, Bran MacBain arrived near the end of April with his wife Tira, their three children, and an escort of MacBain soldiers.

Gillian, Fingal, the elders, and many other MacLennans gathered in the courtyard to welcome them. As Bran had trained there, he was well known and respected by many of them. Quinn was there with Fallon at his side. Gillian had felt so ill she had barely noticed the burgeoning affection between them. Although Fallon still blushed shyly when she talked to him, at least she was able to speak.

Ailsa too was there with Duff whose head came to her waist now and who, like Bodie, was never more than a few yards from his mistress. She had been excited about the MacBains’ arrival ever since she heard that they had a daughter who was only a few years younger than her.

Fingal gripped Bran’s forearm in welcome then introduced him. “Gillian, do ye remember Bran MacBain?”

Bran took her hand, bowing low over it. “My lady, ye were no older than my daughter Maeve here when I saw ye last.”

“Aye, it has been a long time.”

“This is my wife Tira and our children, Maeve, Kieran, and the wee lassie hiding behind her mother’s skirts is Aileen.

“I’m very pleased to meet ye all.”

Introductions were mostly not required. Even Quinn knew them well as his oldest sister Annag was married to Bran’s brother, Laird MacBain.

Gillian motioned to the doors of the keep. “Please join us in the hall. We have prepared a feast to welcome ye.”

Ailsa looped her arm through Maeve’s, pulling her towards the door. “I’m so glad ye are here. We are going to be friends. Do ye like honey cakes? Jeanne makes the best honey cakes and I helped make them for the feast. This is my dog, Duff. Do ye like dogs? I like dogs.”

Gillian smiled and called, “Let her get a word in, Ailsa.”

Tira laughed. “Don’t worry. As soon as she takes a breath, Maeve will take up where she left off.”

“I am glad ye’ve come too,” said Gillian. “I know it must have been hard, leaving yer home. Bran is very well respected here and we truly do need skilled guardsmen.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure this will feel like home soon enough.”

“I have prepared rooms for ye in the keep. If ye would prefer a cottage in the village there are several ye can choose from. But the keep will be more comfortable until ye get settled.”

“The keep will be fine,” Tira assured her, “and it will give us a chance to get to know one another better.”

She offered Tira the seat next to her so they could chat during the meal, but as the evening progressed Gillian felt dull and unable to focus. Ailsa and Maeve sat across the table and kept a steady stream of chatter flowing.

Gillian actually nodded off at one point, jerking awake, startled. Tira rested her hand on Gillian’s and asked, “My lady, are ye well? Ye look a bit pale and ye’ve eaten almost nothing.”

“I’m so very sorry. I-I-I’m just over-tired. I’ll be fine. I haven’t shown ye to yer chambers yet.”

“I can do that, Gillian,” Fallon said gently. “Perhaps ye should retire now.”

Fingal eyed her with concern. “I’ll go up with ye, love. Please excuse us.”

“Nay, Fingal, it isn’t necessary. Please don’t desert our guests.” She stood to leave, swayed, and collapsed.

Fingal caught her before she hit the floor. “Gillian, are ye all right?”

“I guess, I’m a bit dizzy.” That was perhaps an understatement. The room spun wildly, forcing Gillian to close her eyes.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her from the hall, her mother and Bodie close on his heels. Fingal called over his shoulder, “Send for Eleanor.”

She opened her eyes when he laid her on the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m sure I’ll be better soon.”

“Gillian, wheest. There is nothing to be sorry for. Ye are ill.”

Her mother wrung her hands. “Gillian, lass, ye must be working too hard. Laird, ye should insist she rest more.”

Fingal arched an eyebrow at her. “Believe me, Lana. I have tried.”

“Then ye need to listen to yer husband, Gillian.”

If she had had the energy, Gillian would have snorted. “Fine, I’ll rest more. Just, both of ye go back to our guests now.”

“Ye’ve gone daft if ye think I will leave ye until Eleanor has seen to ye,” said her mother. “Although I think it would be better if we sent for Rhiannon. Eleanor isn’t much good unless someone is in labor.”

There was a knock at the door. Lana turned to open it saying, “Well, it’s about time—oh I’m sorry, Tira, I thought ye were someone else.”

“I know. Apparently Eleanor has gone to an outlying croft to deliver a bairn. I am a midwife too. I thought maybe I could help.”