Bride (48 page)
Struan gaped at the man.
“Push,
my lady,” Gael said. “Oh, do help her push, my lord. She'll not need any cutting o'her belly t'bring the wee one into the world.”
“The longer we wait—”
“Push,”
Struan said, ignoring the sawbones. “Push hard, my love. With me. I shall help.” Supporting her weight, he pressed her farther forward.
“Oh, Struan! Do not risk the baby's life.” Her white face gleamed, but she grunted and he felt the force of her fresh effort.
“Aye!” Mrs. Tabby said with toothy glee. “Cuttin’ indeed. The wee one's comin’ wi'out any cuttin’.”
Justine panted. Struan let her fall back a little, then eased her forward once more and willed his strength to join with hers.
“Again,” Gael said.
And again Justine cried out and bowed under Struan's pressure.
“Almost done!” Gael laughed, and swiped at her red hair with her upper arm. “We've the shoulders now. All m'lady needed was her man.”
“Out of the way,” the physician ordered officiously. “Very good, your ladyship. Very good, indeed.”
Jigging, Gael bobbed aside. She held her fists aloft and gritted her teeth as if to will Struan and Justine's infant into the world.
Using the fresh water Mairi brought, Mrs. Tabby wrang out clean clothes to bathe Justine's face and neck.
“You've a son!” Gael all but shrieked. “There. A fine wee boy.”
Justine fell against Struan and he heard her sob.
The insulted howl of new life brought a great grin to Struan's face. He glanced up from his wife to see a small, bloodied creature with a thatch of dark hair and tiny, jerking limbs.
“I want to hold him,” Justine murmured.
The physician shrugged into his coat. “Nonsense, my lady. These things are not for you to concern yourself with. You have come through remarkably well. Now you must rest.”
“Exactly,” the nurse agreed, proceeding to swaddle the infant.
“Struan,” Justine said, her voice stronger. “I want our baby.”
He smiled down at her, watching faint color begin to rise into her cheeks. “They do not know my tiger, do they? We'll hold our son, doctor. Now, if you please.”
Physician and nurse glanced at each other.
And Mairi promptly relieved the nurse of her little burden. “Come on, sweet wee bairn. Little miracle bairn.” She carried the wriggling bundle and handed it to Struan.
So light. So small, yet so fierce. Tiny fists already ground into a seeking mouth. Struan felt the unfamiliar sting of tears.
Very gently, he unwrapped the tight blanket from the baby, settled him upon his mother's breast, and pulled a cover over them.
“Y'need t'tell your people,” Gael whispered at his side. “They're all waitin’.”
“You be the messenger,” Struan told her. “Have them all come inside, into the warm. The castle staff can find them something to celebrate with. Tell everyone I”ll talk to them later, when her ladyship's asleep.
“Mairi. Will you please ask my brother and his wife, and the duke and duchess to come up?”
The physician snapped his cuffs straight. “A job well done, I believe. No doubt you have already retained a suitable wet nurse.”
Justine found Struan's hand and pulled herself up to look directly at the man. “Good day to you, doctor—nurse. We shall not require your services at the birth of our next child.”
Pippa and Grace tiptoed into the bedchamber.
“Is she awake?” Grace whispered.
“Is the baby awake?” Pippa whispered.
“Yes and yes,” Justine responded, still holding her son and snuggled in Struan's arms. “Come and see.”
Arran and Calum were much slower to enter. They stayed close to the door and murmured appropriate noises.
“He's
lovely,
” Pippa said. “And you look lovely too, Justine.”
“I look like a witch, but I don't care.”
“Justine,” Calum said, “I finally got word to Saber. He wrote back that he looks forward to seeing us all on his return to England. And he said he regrets the poor decisions he made.”
“He did no real harm,” Justine said. She would not allow old, bad memories to taint this moment. “We shall start again when he comes home.”
Grace looked at Pippa, who nodded emphatically.
“We have a surprise for you,” Grace said. “We scarcely dared hope it would arrive in time, but it has. See?”
From behind her skirts she produced a book bound in red leather. “In fact, it has already gone on sale and is being talked about all over London and in Edinburgh.”
Pippa took the volume and pointed to gold lettering on the front. “Entitled just as you requested.
Viscountess Hunsingore's Illuminations for, and Advice to the Modern Female on the Subjects of Courtship and Marriage.”
“Oh, I think I shall burst with happiness,” Justine exclaimed.
“This is my very favorite part,” Grace said, flipping through pages. “I declare you are so clever, Justine. Why did I never realize … Well, anyway.
On Caring For One's Husband A comfortable dressing robe for one's husband is of the utmost importance. Encourage him to undress and wear this robe as often as possible. You will discover, as I have, dear reader, that the less often a husband is constrained by heavy clothing, the better. Trousers are particularly onerous since they restrain the part of one's husband that is absolutely essential to the successful realization of marital bliss. Indeed, dear reader, this is the part which—”
“Grace!” Arran said abruptly and loudly. He came forward to take his wife's arm. “You must not tire Justine.”
“Oh, do read the dedication, Grace,” Pippa insisted. “Then we shall leave you three alone.”
Justine pulled herself a little higher and raised her face to receive Struan's kiss.
Pippa murmured, “Mmm.”
“This volume,”
Grace read aloud from the front of the book,
“is dedicated to my husband, Viscount Hunsingore, without whose instruction my undertaking could never have been completed.”
“Gad!”
Calum exploded. “I understand the thing's already flying through the hands of the
ton.
They say the printer can't keep up with demand.”
“You'll be the talk of Town,” Arran said, chuckling.
“Indeed,” Grace said. “But listen. In addition, Justine writes:
My thanks must also go to my brother-in-law Arran, Marquess of Stonehaven, and my brother Calum, the Duke of Franchot, two men who have tirelessly dedicated themselves to the greater gratification and enlightenment of women.”
lives in Washington State with her husband, three children, and beloved dog, Spike. A happily transplanted “Brit,” she loves being a wife, mother, friend, writer, and an American—in that order. Hopes? To be fitter, thinner, and more patient. Fears? Running out of time to write all her stories.
You can write to her in care of Warner Books, Inc., Time & Life Building, 1271 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.