The Highlander's Lost Lady (The Lairds Most Likely 3)

Summer sun flooded into the tower bedroom through the tall windows. Marina slumped exhausted against the pillows, her face so pale that the dark circles under her eyes stood out in stark relief. Beneath the sheet, her stomach rose hard and swollen.

Fiona stood by the dressing table and prayed they would soon have an end to this. Marina was strong, but the night’s travails sapped even her impressive stamina.

Someone who showed no signs of flagging was Jenny. Now she bustled across to give her mistress some herbal concoction that seemed to soothe her.

In the corner, Marina’s maid Sandra fiddled with the elaborately decorated crib. Fiona hoped to heaven there would be a child to fill it before too long. They’d already been here over eight hours.

As she straightened her back, she bit back a groan. The days on horseback, ending in this difficult night, wearied her, too, although her aches and pains were nothing compared to Marina’s.

For the moment, the contractions had stopped. Even Jenny seemed worried, although she did a good job of hiding it.

Berating herself for borrowing trouble, Fiona picked up Marina’s brush and comb. She hoped that the smile she plastered to her face looked more convincing than it felt. “Can you sit up?”

Marina managed a smile in return. In her drawn face, her lips were bloodless. “I’m sure I can.”

In such a dire situation, you learned a lot about a person in a short time. Fiona couldn’t believe she’d met this woman mere hours ago. She felt like they’d been through a lifetime together.

Fiona couldn’t imagine a better companion. Marina Mackinnon was brave and strong and considerate of others, even in her extremity.

“If I plait your hair away from your face, you’ll be more comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Marina said in a whisper, struggling to shift against the pillows.

Fiona slid onto the bed behind Marina and helped her lean forward. She began to run the brush through the skeins of sweat-soaked hair clinging to face and neck.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Jenny said, approaching the bed with a bowl of warm water and a flannel. With gentle efficiency, she wiped Marina’s face before shifting to her arms and hands under the nightdress’s loose sleeves. “You’re a braw champion, my lady.”

“Per dio, I don’t feel like a champion. Ahi, madonna…”

Marina

stifled a whimper, as another contraction shuddered through her. Fiona abandoned the half-finished plait and slid her shoulder behind the woman. When she caught Marina’s hand, she hid a wince at the painfully tight grip.

“Aye, you’re doing grand, my lady. Breathe deep and ride out the pain.”

Fiona’s eyes met Jenny’s, as the older woman folded up the hem of the nightdress. It was time for the baby to arrive. The contractions now came so close together, they seemed as one. Marina sank her teeth into her lip deep enough to draw blood and groaned as she pressed back into Fiona’s hold.

“Scream, Marina,” Fiona said, squeezing her hand. “We’re almost there.”

***

The shriek was so distant, it could be a bird flying over the loch. But it disturbed Diarmid who had drifted off in his chair near the fire. In the opposite chair, Fergus immediately stirred from his wakeful doze and leaped to his feet.

“What…what is it?” Diarmid asked groggily, rubbing his face and feeling his beard scratch under his palm. With the next cry, he recognized the sound as a woman in agony.

“That was Marina.” Fergus glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. It was after nine. “I cannae bear it. I’m going up there.”

Before Diarmid struggled to his feet, Fergus had slammed out of the library. Diarmid cast a quick look around the untidy room, with its dirty glasses and playing cards scattered across the gaming table. They’d played until dawn, when even his attempts to make sure Fergus won weren’t enough to distract his friend from what happened upstairs. He knuckled the sleep from his eyes, stretched, and set off in pursuit of Fergus.

The screams grew louder and longer and more guttural, the closer he got to the tower. When he reached the top of the stairs, he also heard Fergus arguing with someone. He turned onto the landing and saw skinny, diminutive Sandra ranged in front of the closed bedroom door like Cerberus guarding the gates of the underworld.

“Non può entrare, signore. Non è appropriato.”

Fergus’s fists bunched at his sides. “Blast ye, get out of my way, Sandra.”

“La signora Marina, she in good hands,” Sandra said in a fractured mixture of Italian and English. “Tutto va bene.”

Another broken cry from inside made Diarmid question that reassuring statement. Anxiety knotted his gut. Until tonight, when there was a chance they might lose her, he hadn’t realized how much he’d come to love Marina. And dear God above, he doubted Fergus would survive if the worst happened.