"This is women's work, my lord," Fenella told her master firmly.
He went half-reluctantly, half-relieved.
"Fiona?" Alix asked.
"Bab has put her to bed, but not before telling her a lot of pretty stories," Fenella replied. "I was not pleased when you brought that old Englisher here to Dunglais, but she is actually a good sort, my lady. And she certainly isn't afraid of hard work. With your permission I'll have my cousin Mary help her with the bairn."
"I couldn't leave her behind this time, Fenella," Alix said, and winced as a small pain touched her. "Her master beat her after I fled Wulfborn the first time, and took every opportunity to assault her after that. After what happened I am sure Father Peter convinced him to find another woman to wife, but Bab unfortunately would have always been a reminder of me. If he did not like her, then his new wife would not. As you have noted, she is not a young woman. With Mary to help her she will take good care of the bairn and end her days here."
Several hours passed, and the midnight hour came and went. Alix's labor, which had begun with a sharp pain and then subsided into bearable ones, now began to increase in ferocity as Fenella had made her walk back and forth. The young woman bit her lip until it bled. When Fenella asked her why she would not cry out Alix told her she didn't want to awaken Fiona and frighten her.
"Jeannie is sleeping with your daughter," Fenella said in practical tones. "If she awakens to your screams the lass will calm Fiona."
The door opened to admit Bab. "Is the child not born yet? The laird has worn a groove in the floor of the hall with all his pacing."
"She does not want to scream," Fenella said.
"My lady! Screaming is part of the birthing," Bab told her. "If you do not scream the child will think you do not want him."
Alix screamed as a pain tore through her. "Oh God, it hurts!" she cried.
"Good! Good!" Bab approved.
"Help me get her onto the chair," Fenella said, and together the two women lifted Alix into the large high-backed chair. It had a hole in its seat, and the arms of the chair were strong and wide. Bab spread cloths beneath the opening. Fenella peered beneath it. "You are almost ready, my lady," she promised.
Alix screamed again and then again.
In the hall below Malcolm Scott heard his wife's cries. He had gone through this process once before when Fiona had been born, but he had forgotten how heart-wrenching the cries of a woman giving birth could be. He remembered Robena's screams as she birthed Fiona, and her screams afterwards learning her child was a daughter, for she had wanted a son, had wanted to never be with child again. What if Alix had another daughter? Would she be angry? At first they had referred to the child she carried as it but of late it had been he, him, or the lad. Alix had even asked if they might baptize a first son James for the late king and Alexander for her deceased father. They had no name for a daughter, but it could indeed be a daughter. And if it was, would Alix, like Robena, refuse to bear him another child? Would she take the chance that she might bear another daughter? He paced back and forth until finally Iver put a goblet of wine in his hand.
"Sit down, my lord. Sit down. You know these things evolve in their own time and not a moment before," his steward said soothingly.
"What if it is a lass, Iver?" the laird asked. "What if it is like the last time?"
"My lord, all are certain it is a son, but should it be a daughter you and the lady will pray once more for a son," Iver replied. "This wife is nothing like the other wife."
The keep slept but for its laird, his wife, and her attendants. Malcolm Scott sat by his hearth with his steward. When the fire would burn low Iver would add more wood to it. The night deepened and began to move slowly toward a new day. And then as the skies outside of the great hall's windows began to show gray both men sat up, startled, as a great shriek echoed throughout the keep. They looked at each other, and then the laird jumped to his feet and, taking the stairs two at a time, burst into his wife's bedchamber.
Alix lay a-bed, soaking wet from her exertions, her honey-blond hair sticking to her face, but she had a smile upon her face. Fenella turned, and in her hands was a naked, red-faced infant who was howling at the top of its lungs. The child flailed its little arms and legs about as it roared. The housekeeper had all she could do to hold on to the baby, but she was smiling too.
Malcolm Scott stared at the newborn. Two arms. Two legs. A penis, and a sack beneath it containing two balls. "A son!" he breathed ecstatically.
"Aye, my lord, a son!" Fenella said. "Dunglais has an heir of your loins!"
The laird took the baby from her, holding him gently against his chest. The child was moist with his birthing and a slick of blood. Malcolm Scott looked down at him. "James Alexander Scott, welcome home!" he said quietly and, bending, he kissed the boy's wet dark head.
"Give me the laddie," Bab said, and she took the infant from its father, rolling her eyes towards Alix. "He must be cleaned and swaddled. Help me, Fenella."
The laird turned to Alix and, going to her, helped her from the birthing chair. She was naked and obviously very tired. "Thank you," he said softly to her. And, enfolding her in his arms, he kissed her tenderly.
Alix sagged against him, exhausted. "He's beautiful, isn't he?" she whispered, and then she collapsed against him, her eyes closing.
Malcolm Scott walked to the bed and tucked her into it. She was already sound asleep, and he smiled down at her. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but there would be time later. "I love you, lambkin," he murmured as he bent to kiss her again.
"We'll take care of her, my lord," Fenella said as he turned back to see his son.
"Sit down here in this chair while we get the laddie ready for you."
He sat silently as they cleaned the infant free of all evidence of his birth and wrapped in swaddling clothes. Then they tucked him in the crook of the laird's arm with a smile. He sat contentedly as they then set to work bathing his wife with a sponge and putting her into a night garment. Alix never woke up. The laird gazed down on his newborn son, who was now quiet and staring back at his father. The child had large round blue eyes and was very fair. Startled, Malcolm Scott realized it was like looking into a mirror of himself. There was no doubt who this child's sire was, he chuckled.
"You've an older sister," he said. "Her name is Fiona, and you'll meet her tomorrow. And you'll respect me, for I'm your father, and respect and be good to your mother who just birthed you. She's the love of my life, lad. I hope you'll find a love like ours one day. And about your name. You bear the name of two fine gentlemen. My friend, James Stewart, who was king of this land. And your mother's father, a physician. You must never bring shame on your names, lad. Any of them. You're of Clan Scott, a respected name here in the borders. We are honest men, and faithful to Scotland and to our king. I want you to remember that."
James Alexander Scott yawned a mighty yawn and then, closing his eyes, fell asleep in his father's arms.
The laird chuckled. "Bab," he called. "Take the bairn and set him in his cradle. He'll stay with his mam and me for now."
Bab grinned, showing several missing teeth. "I'll watch over him, my lord," she said. She cradled the infant looking down at him. "And protect him with my life."
"You're a good woman for an Englisher," Malcolm Scott said.
"And you're a good man for a Scot," Bab shot back.
Chuckling, the Laird of Dunglais left his wife and child, and going down to the hall where the sleepy servants were now arriving to begin a new day, he said, "Rejoice with me and praise God and his Blessed Mother I Dunglais has a healthy son and heir!"