To Marry a Scottish Laird

  "Just walk slow," Annabel advised as they began to walk her to the door. "We can stop if you need to. There is no rush."

  Joan nodded, but was still determined to get to the bedchamber before another contraction hit, and found herself pulling at the hold the two women had on her arms. They were in the hall and halfway to the bedchamber when the next cramp hit. Joan stopped walking at once, her hands instinctively reaching for her stomach. She didn't know if it was because she was standing or not, but it felt like someone was kicking her front, her back and her innards all at once and she staggered, dropping to her knees before Annabel and Saidh could stop her. That was when her water broke.

  "What happened?" Saidh asked with alarm as the liquid puddled on the wooden floor around Joan.

  " 'Tis the water the baby grows in," Annabel said calmly and assured her, "Do not fret. 'Tis normal. It has to come out so the babe can."

  "Oh."

  That faint cry drew their attention in time to see Murine slumping to the floor just outside the solar door. It seemed she'd regained herself . . . briefly.

  "Honestly, one o' these days she's going to hit her head so hard when she falls that she'll no' get up," Saidh muttered with a shake of the head. "She really needs to wear some kind o' cushioned cap that covers her whole head. Mayhap I should make her one," she added thoughtfully.

  "I'll help," Joan said on a pained laugh.

  "Aye, well, mayhap we could get through this first," her aunt suggested, kneeling beside her. "Can you still walk or shall I call Cam to come carry you?"

  "Nay! Don't tell Cam."

  Lady Sinclair frowned. "He should ken. 'Tis his child."

  "Aye, and he'll know once it's done, but I won't have him worrying in the meantime," Joan said at once.

  "But if you need help getting to the bedchamber we shall have to call on him," Annabel said apologetically.

  "I can walk," Joan said determinedly and started to push herself to her feet just as another contraction hit. This one came on hard and fast, and--unexpected as it was--tore a startled scream from Joan before she could stop it. Which caused an immediate commotion amongst the men seated at the trestle tables in the great hall below.

  "What's happening?" Cam shouted. "Joan?"

  " 'Tis all right!" Lady Sinclair called quickly, "Joan is--" She paused when Joan caught her arm and squeezed, then sighed and finished, "Lady Murine fainted again."

  "But I heard Joan scream," Cam called, sounding closer. He was coming up the stairs.

  "Stop him," Joan hissed through gritted teeth.

  "She screamed because Murine dropped her drink as she fell, spilling it all over Joan's gown," Lady Sinclair lied. "Go on back to what ye were doing. We're fine here."

  There was a pause and then the men began discussing the unfortunate Murine and her constant fainting, their voices growing fainter as they headed back downstairs.

  Joan closed her eyes with relief, both that Cam wouldn't worry, and that the contraction had ended. "Thank you," she whispered, managing a smile for her mother-in-law, and then on a burst of gratitude said, "I think I must be the most fortunate of women. I have the most wonderful husband, a beautiful home, amazing friends, and lovely family." She squeezed Lady Sinclair's arm again and smiled. "If I die on the birthing bed, I certainly can not complain that God did not gift me with much first. Including a good and kind woman for mother-in-law." She added solemnly, "Thank you, Lady Sinclair. You've been an angel, teaching me how to run Sinclair this last year, and doing so with the patience of a saint."

  "Do no' thank me dear, it's been me pleasure," Lady Sinclair said, hugging her. Then, dashing away the tears that had sprouted in her eyes, she added sternly, "But no more talk o' dying. Ye won't die, ye can't. Cam would ne'er forgive me and I would ne'er forgive meself."

  "Don't be silly, even if I don't survive the birthing bed, it won't be your fault. You've nothing to feel guilty for," Joan said, and lowered her head as another contraction started.

  "Bearnas?" Annabel said uncertainly. "What did you do?"

  Struggling with the pain building in her, Joan raised her head to glance at her mother-in-law, frowning when she noted the guilty expression on Lady Sinclair's face.

  Cam's mother hesitated, but then blurted, "My maid learned from Jinny about the wild carrot seed and I had her switch it out for--"

  "You interfering bitch!" Joan was as shocked as everyone else when she shrieked that. It was a combination of betrayal and the pain suddenly ripping through her that propelled it, and then she was too consumed with the agony overwhelming her to pay much attention when Annabel patted Lady Sinclair's arm and tried to soothe her.

  "Joan does not mean that. She is just in pain."

  "Aye," Lady Sinclair sighed. "But she's right. I am an interfering old . . . er . . . woman, and if she dies I'll never forgive meself."

  "I kenned it!"

  Joan blinked her eyes open with alarm and cursed rather volubly when she saw Cam stepping off the stairs and rushing toward them.

  "Ye're havin' the baby!"

  "Well you needn't sound so accusatory. 'Tis not as if I snuck around behind your back and got with child without you. You helped make it," Joan snapped, pain and frustration making her cranky.

  "She does not mean to snap, Cam," her aunt said at once, turning to pat his arm now. "She is just in pain. You must not pay attention to anything she says."

  "Aunt Annabel," Joan began, and then cried out with surprise when Cam scooped her up and started quickly down the hall.

  "If ye're going to shout at us and call us names, ye'll do it from our bed," Cam said, sounding a little snappy himself.

  " 'Tis perfectly normal, Cam," Annabel said reassuringly as she hurried after them.

  "Aye. Ye should ha'e heard what Annabel called me when she was birthing Payton," Ross MacKay said, appearing at the top of the stairs. As Cam carried her past, the man pursed his lips and added, "And Annella. And Kenna too, come to think on it." He shook his head. "My sweet little Annabel shrieked like a fishwife and cursed like a warrior."

  "Thank you, husband," Annabel snapped, looking embarrassed as she followed on Cam's heels. "Why do you and the other men not go below and wait? And take Cam with you."

  "I'm no' going anywhere," Cam announced firmly, continuing up the hall.

  "Well, if ye need a break, yer father and I'll be in the solar," Ross announced.

  "With uisge beatha," Artair Sinclair added, a pitcher in hand as he reached the top of the stairs.

  "Good thinking," Saidh said, taking the pitcher from him as she passed. Smiling she added, " 'Twill help Joan with the pain, I'm sure."

  "Damn," Artair muttered and then turned to peer below and bellowed, "Bring more uisge beatha, Aiden. That sassy Buchanan wench stole ours."

  Joan heard Saidh chuckle at the words as Cam carried her into their room and set her on the bed.

  The moment he released her he began gathering furs and bolsters and pilling them behind her back. Then he sat down on the side of the bed and took her hands in his.

  Joan took in his expression and frowned. He was looking at her as if it might be the very last time he would. Sighing, she turned to Saidh, a breathless laugh slipping from her lips when she saw that she'd poured some uisge beatha into a goblet and was downing it. "I thought that was for me."

  Saidh lowered the goblet and peered to her with surprise. "Did ye want some?"

  Joan rolled her eyes and said dryly, "It could no' hurt."

  Saidh nodded and looked about, then moved to the table by the fireplace where another goblet sat. Joan watched her start to pour the liquid, but then was hit by another contraction and lowered her head, staring at their entwined hands as she tried to concentrate on breathing until the pain had passed.

  "Squeeze me hand if ye want to," Cam said quietly. "It may help."

  Joan forced a smile and opened her mouth to assure him she was fine, but instead a long, loud scream came out.

  Saidh stopped dead at the sound a
nd stared at her wide-eyed, then raised the goblet to her mouth to gulp some down.

  "Give me that. 'Tis fer Joan," Lady Sinclair snapped with exasperation. Taking the drink from Saidh, she moved to the side of the bed, but then simply stood there and stared helplessly as Joan screamed. When the contraction ended and she finally stopped screaming, Lady Sinclair held out the goblet, but Joan just shook her head and sagged against Cam's shoulder, panting.

  Lady Sinclair hesitated, but then raised the goblet to her mouth and chugged down the contents.

  "Where's my aunt?" Joan asked wearily as she suddenly realized she wasn't there.

  "She said she was going to get her medicinals and have her maid fetch some items," Lady Sinclair said, peering into the empty goblet with a frown, then dropped it with surprise when Joan began to scream again as another contraction hit her.

  "What can I do?" Cam asked, panic on his face.

  Joan shook her head, but then tugged her hands free of his and grabbed at his shirt and plaid to pull herself upright.

  "What are ye doing?" he asked with surprise. "What do ye need?"

  What she needed was to get to her knees, or to squat. She was pushing, but it was harder to do while lying down and her body wanted to squat.

  "Get this off me," she gasped, tugging at her gown.

  Cam immediately helped her remove it, leaving her on her knees in nothing but her tunic.

  "Help me," she muttered, grabbing his shoulders to shift her position.

  Cam stared at her wide-eyed as she shifted to squat on the bed in front of him. "Should ye be doing that?"

  "Watch for the baby," Joan gasped.

  "Watch?" he echoed briefly and then glanced down with bewilderment. "What do I--?"

  Joan interrupted him with long half grunt, half shout as another contraction hit her and she bore down. The pain ratcheted up to an unbelievable level this time and it felt like she was being torn asunder, and then it suddenly ended, or at least dropped back to something that was almost nonexistent in comparison.

  "Bloody hell. I caught him," Cam muttered, and she peered down to see that he held their child in his hands and that it was indeed a boy.

  "Bloody hell! I missed it!"

  Joan glanced around to see that Annabel had returned and had come up short in the doorway, several servants behind her carrying water, linens and various other items.

  "Not all o' it," Joan pointed out dryly and her aunt gave her head a shake, and then rushed forward, barking orders.

  "He's perfect," Cam breathed, reaching out to brush his son's cheek with one callused finger.

  Joan smiled tiredly. Her aunt had kicked Cam out for the rest of the activity, and much to her surprise he'd gone willingly. Well, perhaps she hadn't been all that surprised. Birthing was a messy business and he had been rather green around the gills at the time. Now, however, it was all done. Her son was clean and wrapped in swaddling, she had passed the afterbirth, been cleaned and put in a clean tunic and was now sitting in a chair by the fire as the women changed the bed linens. Only then had her aunt decided Cam could return.

  "Aye, he's perfect," Joan agreed, peering down at the sweet faced baby in her arms.

  "The bed's ready if ye want to lie down again," Lady Sinclair said quietly, moving to stand beside the chair Joan sat in. Peering at her first grandson, she smiled softly and whispered, "He's beautiful. Do ye ken what name ye'll give him?"

  When Joan glanced to Cam, he shook his head. " 'Tis yer choice. Ye did all the work."

  Joan hesitated, and then met her mother-in-law's eyes.

  "Bearnard," she said quietly. "In honor of the lady responsible for his being here. Thank you," she added solemnly, and then rushed on, apologetically, "And I am sorry about calling you an interfering bitch earlier. My aunt was right, I really didn't mean it. Without you, we wouldn't have Bearnard."

  "Oh, me dear girl," Lady Sinclair cried, bending to hug her and the baby both. "There's no need to apologize, and pray do no' thank me. I should never have interfered and am just so relieved it all worked out all right. It could easily have gone the other way and then I would have lost someone I have come to love dearly."

  Cam frowned from one to the other as Lady Sinclair straightened. "What are you two talking about?"

  "Nothing," Joan said quickly, knowing he'd be furious if he found out how his mother had interfered. She'd tell him eventually, of course. But not until he got over the fear they'd both just gone through. She suspected that wouldn't take long, but didn't want to risk it now when everything was so perfect.

  "Thank you, dear," Lady Sinclair kissed her cheek, and then peered at the baby again and marveled, "He looks so like Campbell when he was a bairn."

  "Would you like to hold him?" Joan asked.

  "Please," Lady Sinclair said eagerly and carefully took him from her. She peered down at him and cooed gently, then glanced up to ask. "Can I take him to the solar for the men to see?"

  "Aye, of course," Joan said at once.

  Nodding, Lady Sinclair quickly left the room, taking Bearnard with her and Joan smiled faintly, and then gasped when Cam suddenly stood and scooped her into his arms.

  "It's to bed for you," he said carrying her across the room. Rather than lay her in the bed though, he settled in it with her in his lap, then pulled the linens and furs up to cover them both, muttering, "Ye must be exhausted."

  "I fear I am," Joan admitted wryly, then tipped her head back to smile at him. "Exhausted but happy. We survived the birthing bed," she pointed out.

  "Thank God," Cam breathed, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes. "Let's no' do this again. One babe is enough."

  "Oh, I don't know," Joan murmured. "It wasn't that bad."

  Cam pulled back and peered at her as if she were crazy. "Ye were screaming yer head off, woman."

  "Well it hurt. But it was worth it," she said with a smile, and then added, "And I was thinking a little sister for Bearnard would be nice."

  Cam stared at her silently for a minute, and then said, "A little sister, hmm?"

  "A pretty little girl who would adore her da as much as I do," she added.

  He smiled crookedly. "I bet ye were a beautiful baby."

  "And mayhap we could name her Maggie after my mother," she added softly.

  "Aye, mayhap we could," Cam said and kissed her.

  Joan kissed him eagerly back. They couldn't do much more than that for now, but she was content. She had survived the birthing bed, had a beautiful son who had all his fingers and toes, and someday he would have little brothers and sisters to join him. She could hardly believe how her life had changed. She really was the most fortunate of women.

  Want more Lynsay Sands?

  Keep reading for an excerpt from her classic historical

  SWEET REVENGE

  Available December 2014 from Avon Books

  KYLA WAS THE FIRST TO SEE THEM.

  Lying on her stomach in the back of the horse-drawn cart, she was dozing in and out of a fitful sleep when a leaf fluttered onto her forehead. Frowning slightly, she reached out from beneath the furs covering her and brushed the item away. She then tried to settle back into the warm cocoon of healing sleep again, but found discomfort would not allow it.

  Forcing her eyes open and blinking as the furs she lay upon came hazily into focus, she shifted slightly, trying to find a position that would ease the awakening pain in her back. It was a mounting, burning pain and was a miserable way to start the day, she decided unhappily, her mind immediately turning to thoughts of Morag's miracle salve. The stuff smelled as putrid as a privy on a hot summer day, but it made the pain in her back disappear immediately after it was applied. Temporarily at least. The effects lasted for only a few hours, then the foul balm had to be reapplied to beat back the white-hot agony. She could do with some of its lovely numbing effect now, she thought with a sigh, shifting carefully onto her side to peer hopefully at the woman who slept beside her.

  A drop of what she thou
ght to be rain landed on her face as the fur slid aside and she wiped it away, surprise replacing her irritation as she felt the grittiness on her finger and looked down to see that it wasn't rain but a small bead of mud. Eyes raising instinctively, she gaped at the shapes that hovered in the branches overhead. Silent and still, they hid among the trees, watching tensely as the procession moved along beneath them.

  Kyla had just opened her mouth to shout a warning to her escort when a long, loud wail filled the air. Bloodcurdling and ferocious, it set the hair at the nape of her neck on end. The first voice was joined by what seemed like a hundred others, and the mounted party came to an abrupt halt.

  Grabbing for the side of the conveyance to steady herself, Kyla watched in amazement as a man dropped lithely from the branches above to land between her and Morag in the cart. Her eyes widened as a ray of sunlight speared through the trees, glinting off of the sword he held and turning his red hair to fire. Her gaze dropped over the plaid he wore. At this angle and with it flapping in the early afternoon breeze, she had an exceptional view of his naked legs all the way up to his thighs. And a fair pair of legs they were, too, she noted with an interest wholly inappropriate to the situation. Shapely ankles, muscled calves, nice knees, and strong thighs distracted her--until he let loose another long, loud wail that drew her eyes upward. He raised his sword high in one hand.

  Truly, had she not seen him, she would have thought his wailing the shriek of the dead rising up from the pits of hell. It was loud, long, and ear-piercing, and it seemed to stab right through her skull to her brain, making it throb in contest with her back. It didn't help when his voice was joined by the others still in the branches above. And when the others suddenly began dropping from the trees as well, bedlam broke out in the clearing. Startled warning shouts and bellows of pain rose up around Kyla like the springtime flood waters in the river by her home, and the fellow standing at her feet suddenly leapt off the wagon and out of sight.