Mine Is the Night A Novel - By Liz Curtis Higgs Page 0,166
the August heat and the hours of effort. “Water,” she moaned, and a cup appeared, offered by the women who’d surrounded her birthing bed: Marjory and Anne, Sally Craig and Mrs. Pringle, Elspeth Cranston and Katherine Shaw.
Tradition had brought them to her door. A woman never gave birth without other women present to give counsel and advice and to pray for mother and child. Though at the moment it was the child’s father Elisabeth longed to see.
“Jack,” she called out, sounding rather pathetic.
The women laughed. Katherine Shaw, who’d borne four daughters, said, “D’ye plan to gowf the man for putting ye through a’ this? Or shall we take care o’ that for ye?”
Elisabeth mustered a faint smile. “Nae, don’t slap my dear husband. He’s suffered enough, walking the halls of Bell Hill for a day.”
Marjory pressed a cool cloth to her brow. “Lord Buchanan only suffered when you did, Bess. Now, let Mrs. Scott finish her duties, and we’ll tuck your babe in your arms.”
Elisabeth glanced down at the sturdy midwife from Back Row, whose kind demeanor and gentle hands had seen her through the long and painful hours. “Bless you, Mrs. Scott,” she murmured.
“Ye ken what the auld wives say,” the woman answered softly. “There’s mirth among the kin when the howdie cries, ‘A son!’ ”
A son. Elisabeth would have gladly cradled a lad or a lass with equal affection. But Jack would be pleased to know his heir was born. And when she delivered a daughter into his arms someday, her stalwart husband would surely weep with joy.
When Mrs. Scott was satisfied the lad was fit to be seen, she brought him to Elisabeth, his wee body tightly wrapped in clean white linen, with only his pink features showing.
Elisabeth started to reach for him, then saw the look on Marjory’s face. “Let Mrs. Gibson hold him first.”
“Nae, Bess,” Marjory protested, “he’s your son.”
“Have you forgotten the promise I made? That any babe I ever bore would be nestled in your arms?” Elisabeth motioned to Mrs. Scott, who honored her wishes.
Marjory received the child with a look of wonder, touching his tiny nose with her fingertip. “The Lord is faithful,” she whispered. “And so are you, dear Bess.”
Elspeth Cranston looked on with pride in her eyes. “It does me good, Marjory, to see you with a son in your arms. ’Tis like you are one-and-twenty again, holding Donald.”
“I remember,” Marjory said, her voice thin.
“I do too,” Anne said on a sigh, “though I was a wee lass myself.”
The others gathered round, admiring the child, declaring him the most handsome baby boy in Christendom.
“I did not know your sons,” Mrs. Pringle confessed, “but I do know Lady Buchanan. She has surely been better to you than any mother-in-law could hope for.”
Marjory gingerly placed the newborn babe in Elisabeth’s waiting embrace. “No one will ever know all that my Bess has done for me.” Marjory bent down and pressed a kiss to her brow, her lips wet with tears. “The Lord bless you, dear girl.”
A sudden knock made them all jump. “Lady Elisabeth?”
Her heart quickened at the sound of her husband’s voice. “Come in, milord.”
Jack was through the door before Sally had time to dry her mistress’s face or comb her hair, though he did not seem to notice. “How beautiful you are,” he said, fervently kissing her on the lips, dry and cracked as they surely were. When he finally looked down, his strong chin began to wobble. “And who is this fine lad?”
Elisabeth held him up with trembling arms. “Your son.”
Jack cradled him in his hands, studying him like a nautical chart, interested in every detail. “I had no idea he would be so small.”
Elisabeth laughed. “I confess, I am glad for it. But he will grow, milord. Wait and see.”
When the lad began to wriggle, Jack quickly deposited him in Marjory’s waiting arms for safekeeping.
“The lad will have his faither’s name, o’ course,” Katherine said.
“Another Jack?” he protested lightly. “Nae, I think not. ’Tis a plain name and too short, like a bark. I hoped we might choose something more royal sounding.”
“George?” Elisabeth teased him.
His scowl was answer enough.
“Kenneth,” one of them put forth, and the rest quickly voiced their approval.
“He was the first King of the Scots,” Mrs. Pringle explained. “You’ll not find a name more royal than that.” One by one, the women eased away from Elisabeth’s bed, allowing the new parents a moment of privacy.
Jack eyed her closely. “What say you to ‘Kenneth,’ milady?”