Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,45
did open her eyes.
“Graham?” she murmured. “I thought ‘twas an angel yelling at me.”
Behind her, Kiergan huffed a manic laugh. “He’s nae angel, but he’s helping ye, love. He’ll keep ye safe.”
Graham nodded solemnly. “And yer bairn, if ‘tis possible.”
Kat’s lids fluttered and Davina moved up beside her sister to hold onto her shoulder, the way she had Fiona’s a fortnight ago.
“Katlyn!” At Graham’s bark, her eyes snapped open again, and he held her with the command in his tone. “Katlyn, the bairn wants to be born now, whether ‘tis time or no’. On the next pain, ye need to push. I ken yer insides and instincts are all mixed up, but ye have to trust me. Push.”
“Push?” she repeated faintly, and Davina was terrified they were beginning to lose her.
She gathered her sister’s hands from Kiergan, remembering how Merewyn had coaxed Fiona. “Like a giant shite.”
When Katlyn, Graham, and Kiergan’s gazes all swung to face her, she flushed, but soldiered on. “ ’Tis like a giant shite, Kat. Ye’re pushing out the world’s biggest shite.”
“Holy fook,” Kiergan muttered, his eyes wide.
Graham’s lips twitched, and Katlyn whimpered.
“Aye, Kat, a giant shite. Push like that.”
Kiergan closed his eyes on a curse but popped them open a moment later. “The tightness is beginning again.”
He leaned forward, hunching over his wife, as Davina willed her own strength into her sister.
“Push, Katlyn!” Graham coaxed. “Push now!”
The keening which emerged from Katlyn’s lips was somehow worse than the screaming, but she squeezed her eyes shut, tightened her grip on Davina’s hands until they were white, and pushed.
When that pain was over, she collapsed against her husband, breathing heavily, while Graham rummaged around between her thighs. Davina couldn’t drag her gaze away from her sister to see what he was doing but mopped at her brow and whispered soothing words of praise.
“The bairn’s head is in position,” Graham announced. “I ken ‘twas exhausting, but ye must do it again, Katlyn, and again, ‘til the bairn is born.”
Whether the poor wee thing was alive was a question only time could answer.
The moments seemed to smudge together. Time became an endless cycle of quiet, listening to Katlyn whimper with each breath, everyone resting between contractions. Then, Kiergan would call out the tightening was coming, and they’d all begin to chant encouragement and prayers, and above all, orders to push.
Soon, everything blurred together into one constant scream, with Kiergan praying aloud, and Graham coaxing Katlyn, and then—
And then it was over.
With a grunt which sounded more like an animal than woman, Katlyn collapsed back against her husband, and Graham seemed to freeze in place.
Holding her breath, Davina leaned forward—still gripping her sister’s hand—and watched the man she loved slowly straighten, cradling a tiny little body. The bairn’s cord was still connected to Katlyn, and the skin was the same purple color as Fiona and Evelinde’s daughters.
And Graham was holding his breath as well when he turned so Davina could see the bairn. The tiny mouth made no sound, but bright blue eyes stared at Graham seriously, and thankfully—blessedly, mercifully—the tiny chest rose and fell.
“ ’Tis a lad,” Graham whispered, as if afraid to startle the wee bairn. “A serious, studious lad.”
“He lives then?” Kiergan croaked, and Katlyn shifted, still gulping great heaving breaths, as if she’d run up a mountain.
Graham lifted his head and, miracle of miracles, his lips slowly pulled into a smile. “Aye, he lives. He’s far too tiny, but I clearly have a brilliant nephew.”
Her bark of laughter surprised Davina, but she lunged for a clean linen and reached for the bairn. As Graham did whatever arcane motions were necessary to deal with the afterbirth, she cleaned her nephew, murmuring soothing words and willing him to grow big and strong. She helped Graham cut the cord and tie off the lad’s belly button, her heart feeling light after so much terror.
Kiergan had unlaced his wife’s gown and chemise by the time she placed the bairn on Katlyn’s chest. The poor man appeared to be in shock, and he stroked a fingertip down the tiny infant’s cheek.
“Hello, laddie. I’m yer da.”
Katlyn sighed, her exhausted gaze on her son, and Davina felt tears pricking her eyes. As Graham cleaned and stitched and examined and prodded, she gathered the little family in her arms and rested her cheek against her sister’s shoulder. The bairn nuzzled weakly at Kat’s nipple, and she managed a faint chuckle.
“Ye did it, Kat,” Davina whispered. “Ye’re a mother.”
“No’ just any mother,” her sister whispered