Page 45 of Highlander’s Claim

“Is that a waste pit?” she asked Mhairi.

“Aye, ’tis. Chamber pots from the village need to be emptied somewhere.”

“Do people take water from that brook?”

“Aye, sometimes. If ’tis nae possible to take it from the village and the castle wells.”

That was a recipe for all kinds of nasty diseases. Something had to be done about it.

As the children skipped and chattered happily in front of them, Jenny looked at Mhairi, who had placed her hand on her watermelon belly. So pregnant, so happy. So round and full of life, with her cheeks plush and rosy. She wobbled slowly as she walked, pretty much like a penguin, the head of her baby no doubt deep in her pelvis now, getting ready to be born. If there was a perfect image of a woman full of life and fertility, it was Mhairi.

Mhairi had no idea what Jenny would have given to be like that. She’d take the varicose veins; she’d take pelvic pain and back pain and achy boobs. She’d take it all for a chance to hold her own baby in her arms.

She shouldn’t be jealous. She should be a doctor and watch this pregnant woman in case of any complications. “Are you sure you’re fine walking that far?” Jenny asked as they walked slowly side by side.

“Aye,” said Mhairi, smiling. “My bones ache, but my ankles and veins are better after the leeches. And Bhatair said ’tis good to walk to get the bairn to be born.”

Jenny chuckled. Some truths were universal through time and generations. Walking was still advised in the twenty-first century to get the baby to drop and start labor.

“Are you very uncomfortable?” Jenny asked.

“A wee bit. I have been having the tightening in my womb for three days now,” said Mhairi, making the face of someone who was trying to appear stronger than they were.

“You’ve been having contractions?” Jenny looked her over. “Should you be going to the woods?”

Mhairi chuckled. Her rosy cheeks dimpled, but the smile didn’t reach her gray eyes. “The bairn isna in the right position still. So, walking might help.”

That worried Jenny. The baby may still turn, but chances of it turning head down were smaller and smaller the closer to due date they were. They passed by the house of a tanner, which was one of the last houses in the village. The sweet and disgusting odor of old urine assaulted her nostrils.

As they entered the fields, Mhairi stopped and closed her eyes and put her hand on her lower back, breathing deeply.

Jenny stopped and waited with her. When Mhairi opened her eyes and smiled, Jenny said, “Sweetheart, you might be in labor already. How close together are your contractions…your tightenings?”

They resumed walking. “Nae very close. Let us keep going, I want the bairn to turn. My ma had the same problem. And I told Seoras before he marrit me. Nae matter how much I love him, I may never be a good wife. I may die giving birth.” She chuckled nervously.

Jenny glanced at her sharply. Breech babies were not caused by genetics. “Don’t say that.”

The grass of the field tickled her ankles as they walked. The children yelled and screamed as they ran through the oat field towards the dark gathering of trees up at the edge.

“’Tis out of our hands, ye’re right,” said Mhairi. “’Tis God’s will what happens to us.”

Jenny knew now was not the best time to educate anyone about medicine. She needed to think about herself and her own baby…who may not ever be conceived, especially if she stayed here too long. And yet, she couldn’t just leave a woman who may be in mortal danger.

She picked a stalk of oats. “How did you meet Seoras?”

Mhairi threw her an odd look and picked an oat stalk of her own. “We didna meet before we stood in front of a priest.”

Jenny raised her brows. Arranged marriage. A chill went through her. What would it be like to stand in front of a man she’d never met and have to commit to him for the rest of her life?

She couldn’t imagine that. She had thought Tom was the love of her life. She had thought her marriage would last forever. And yet, here she was, divorced and betrayed and left because of something she never could have given Tom. She wondered if it would have been the same had she married Aulay.

Jenny said, “And how was that for you? Did you like him right away when you saw him?”

Mhairi chuckled. “Nae. Ours was a marriage of alliance. I’m of clan Ruaidhrí, of the Isle of Skye. I was bound to marry a MacDonald to strengthen the ties of Somerled, our great Norse ancestor, between us. Colum is the eldest, but my ma and da were advised against him… He betrayed the clan, I was told. So, I marrit Seoras, his younger brother. And to answer yer question…” Mhairi ran the oats through her fingers thoughtfully. “I didna think much of him at first. I said aye when the priest asked if I took him for a husband, but ’twas mayhap two sennights after the wedding that I kent I loved him.”

Two weeks after marrying someone to fall in love with them… And what if Mhairi had never fallen in love? What if her husband had been unkind or abusive? This was such a different reality to what Jenny knew—the world of dating where a swipe left or right only meant a potential meeting, and everyone was free to date anyone they wanted.

“And are you happy?” Jenny asked.