"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.