Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,15

without a duty at the moment, I thought I could be useful.”

‘Twas her joke, as much as her presence, which relaxed him. He held the door open, silently inviting her in. She offered a hesitant smile, then slipped by him, her flower-in-winter scent teasing his nostrils as she passed by.

By St. Luke’s left clavicle, but she was beautiful!

Her beauty had been what had struck him first when he’d seen her last year on Mull, the reason he’d made an excuse to speak to her. But when he had, he’d found her to be as intelligent and humble as she was beautiful and had vowed to win her.

Coming here to Oliphant Castle had been part of that vow, but although he’d found his family, apparently, he’d lost her.

Once in the room, she placed the tray down and hurried to stand beside Fiona. “What can I do?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Merewyn straightened, grimaced, rubbed her own belly, then blew out a breath. “Hold Fee’s other hand. I suspect things are about to start getting—”

The noise Fiona made wasn’t a groan, but more of a cry, and Merewyn hummed.

“Toss me a pillow,” she commanded Graham, but he did even more than that.

He grabbed a few pillows and hurried to arrange them in front of where Fiona crouched, knowing Merewyn would have to get down on the floor in front of the laboring woman. He then helped her down, recognizing how much the midwife was relying on his strength and trying to hide it, and prayed to St. Luke for a speedy labor.

Fiona had obliged thus far, and it looked as though she’d continue.

As Graham stepped back, worried, Fiona cried out again, but Merewyn’s voice was calm when she said, “Aright, Fee, get ready. We’re going to push this bairn out. Remember what we spoke about? The pressure in yer bowels, and ye’ll feel the need to push? Graham, look away.”

She’d said the last part in the same soothing tone, and he couldn’t help but be impressed.

He wasn’t going to leave, but he did pull his attention above Fiona’s head…and met Davina’s eyes. She was smiling at him.

At him?

Or at the situation in general?

Either way, ‘twas impossible to resist the lure of her smile, and his lips twitched in response.

St. Luke’s blood, but he loved this woman. Loved how supportive she could be, loved how caring she was. Loved how she’d loved him…once.

“Aye, that’s it, Fee, push!” Merewyn was murmuring, as Fee’s cries turned to a low keen. “I can see the head. Once more.”

Skye was chanting, “Ye can do this, Fiona, ye can do this,” while her sister grunted and strained and panted.

Merewyn’s soothing monologue continued as well. “Once more and we’ll have the head, and the bairn will just fall out— Aye! That’s it!”

With one more cry, Fiona pushed, and it wasn’t long before Merewyn cried out, “A girl! A fine lassie, Fiona!”

Skye burst into tears and threw her arm around her twin. “A daughter, Fee! Ye did it!”

Fiona was laughing through her tears, and Merewyn was struggling to hold the bairn and lumber to her feet, but over their heads, Graham met Davina’s eyes. She was rubbing Fiona’s shoulders and beaming, her own beautiful blue eyes misty with tears.

‘Twas the knowledge she’d been present for this miracle, and was watching him, which sent him into motion.

“Dinnae move,” he growled to Merewyn, as he stepped forward to grab a cloth from Moira’s hands. The older woman was sniffling, so he bent to wrap the bairn—a squalling lassie—in the linen.

Merewyn glared at him, and he glared right back as he cradled the precious bundle. “I cannae get down there for the afterbirth, and I’ll no’ allow ye to bounce up and down, being as outrageously pregnant as ye are.”

Her frown eased, as she realized he was right. “It was absurdly pregnant just a while ago,” she muttered, determined to have the last say.

Davina leaned down. “Ye’re fast reaching the too pregnant stage.”

Merewyn and Moira, and even Fiona, chuckled at that, although the new mother’s laugh quickly turned into a moan.

As Graham turned to hand the infant to Moira to clean up, Fiona moaned, “I thought I was done!”

“Aye,” Merewyn said matter-of-factly, positioning herself in front of the stool once more, “but I explained about the afterbirth. Ye’ll have to push again soon.”

As Fiona groaned, the midwife placed her hands on her stomach. It should’ve been a quick feel, just to determine where the new mother needed help, but Graham saw her