with a mind of her own. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined that he would lose her to an Englishman. He still refused to concede defeat. A battle lay ahead. A battle from which a great many would not return. It was entirely possible that Katrine would find herself a widow. Duncan was too honorable a man to wish death on anyone, but if fate were to decide Richard Wolfe’s time was at hand, he would be there to help Katrine move on with her life.
The stairway was dangerously slick. She couldn’t possibly have managed it. He would have turned around, but a single nagging doubt kept him moving upward. Finally he reached the top. Lifting the candles above his head, he looked around and froze. A wooden panel stood ajar, revealing a narrow passageway.
The muscles stood out on his neck. Drawing a deep breath, he strode forward holding the candles before him and pushed the panel wide open. “Katrine,” he called loudly. “Katrine, are you down there?”
A sobbing moan reached his ears.
Uttering a vile expletive, Duncan forced himself to think clearly. She was obviously injured. He would need both arms. Anchoring the candle branch through a niche in the wall, he removed a single candle and forced himself to descend the narrow stairs carefully. When he finally reached her, he saw that his worst nightmare had come true. Katrine was in the throes of childbirth.
He looked at the narrow stairwell and cursed again. Carrying a woman swollen with child through that narrow corridor was impossible. There was no help for it. Katrine would have her child on this damp, vermin-infested floor, and he, Duncan Forbes, lord president of the Court of Session and a bachelor unaccustomed to children, would be her midwife.
She was barely conscious. “Duncan,” she whispered, “is that you?”
“Yes, dear,” he replied in a voice that was far calmer than he felt. “Don’t be frightened. I’m here now.”
She spoke through cracked lips. “The bairn will come soon.”
“I know,” he said hoarsely, reaching for her hands. “Do you know what to do, Katrine?”
She shook her head. “Do you?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course,” he lied, placing the candle on an empty step and standing to remove his coat. “The first thing we must do is make you more comfortable.” He bunched the coat into a pillow and placed it beneath her head. Reaching for the hem of her gown, he eased it up over her thighs, grateful for the shadowed darkness of the corridor. The desire of his life had been to lift Katrine Murray’s skirts, to peel back her stockings and run his hands over the length of her long, slim legs. His mouth twisted wryly. He was doing exactly that, but it was in far different circumstances than he had imagined.
Her legs were wet with what could only be blood. Bile rose in his throat. He forced himself to look at the juncture between her thighs, but the single candle was inadequate to see properly. He needed the branch. “Katrine,” he said, his voice low. “I need more light. There are candles at the top of the stairs. Can you manage if I leave you for a moment?”
He thought she nodded, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t wait to find out. Never in his life had he moved so quickly. Within seconds he was back, positioning the candle branch. Her stomach had tightened like the skin of a drum. She reached for him, and unreservedly, he gave her his hands. Lifting her head, she dug her nails into his skin and cried out, a frightening, primitive, unrecognizable sound that turned the blood in his veins to ice. Again she cried out, her head thrashing on his coat. Her eyes were wild, and there was blood on her lips. When it was over, she sank back against the steps, drained and white. Duncan reached for the candles to ascertain her progress when another spasm hit, racking her body and arching her back. Again she tore at his hands, crying out her pain, begging for release. He clenched his teeth, and the muscles tightened along his jaw. How could a human being bear such pain?
She clutched his arm. “He comes, Duncan. I can feel it.” Her voice cracked. “Help us.”
Unable to resist that piteous plea, Duncan squeezed her hand and nodded. Kneeling between her knees, he waited for endless seconds until Katrine’s tortured body expelled a wet, black-haired head. Gently he cradled it in his palm