Page 40 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)
“Longer than is possible here—by several thousand years or so.”
She drew up her legs, curled over onto her side, and hugged her belly, hissing with the pain. “We will discuss this more at a later date. But know that I am not happy with you. You don’t keep me in the dark about important stuff. Understand?”
He offered a solemn nod. “I understand.”
“I see the babes have decided today shall be the day,” Mairwen said as she entered the room.
“They are taking their sweet time, though,” Emily informed her.
“Patience, child. Bringing forth new life is an honor. Relish it. The pain will quickly pass as soon as ye behold yer babes.” Mairwen moved to the other side of the bed, then frowned at Gryffe. “And why are ye still in here, grand chieftain?”
“Because I want him in here!” Emily snapped with a look that dared Mairwen to ask any other unwise questions.
“I believe my wife made that clear?” Gryffe said to the Weaver, unable to resist the temptation.
“Gryffe!” Emily squeezed his hand and groaned as her birth waters soaked the bed. “It goes faster now, right?”
He looked at Mairwen and Tayda, who both barely shook their heads.
“Deep breaths, our lady,” Tayda instructed. “And tune yer mind to something other than the pain. Ye can control much of it, if ye but try.”
“I am trying, dammit!”
“What names did ye decide upon, my own?” He had to get Emily to focus on something other than her increasing agony. “Did ye choose any of the ones I thought might do, or did ye settle on yer family names ye mentioned?”
“I settled on,” she said, sharply huffing and blowing. “Quinn for our son, and Saersy for our daughter.”
“Those were my favorites.” He matched her puffing, trying to breathe the same to encourage her. “Are ye certain?”
Tucking her chin to her chest and groaning, she finally bobbed her head. “Yes. Quinn and Saersy. I like the way it feels to say their names. It’s almost as if they chose them.”
“Perhaps they did.” He caught her as she sagged back against his chest, already exhausted from the pains.
“You know we could do this all night,” she said, peering up at him with a hopelessness that broke his heart.
“I have nowhere else to be but here.”
“Where is Grimalkin?” she asked, aimlessly looking around.
“Over there.” Gryffe nodded at the other side of the room. “Pacing.”
Hours passed, and the pains came fast and furious. If Gryffe had never admired and fully appreciated Emily before, or thought her strong and fearless, he did so now. She was braver and more resilient than any warrior wounded on the field of battle.
“The babies aren’t coming,” she said through a gasping moan as the most recent pain eased off. “I’m going to die, and so are they if you don’t cut me open and save them.”
“Dinna speak that way!” He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look him in the eyes. “Ye will not give up. Do ye hear me, Emily? Never will ye leave me or our babes.”
“They always speak that way right before the wee ones come,” Mairwen whispered from behind him. “Hold her and give her yer strength. She needs ye now more than ever.”
He gathered her up by the shoulders, supporting her with his chest as she sagged back against him. “Our wee ones come within the hour. I shall not think otherwise. Hold fast, love, and stay strong.”
“Another pain is coming,” she said, sounding so weary he wanted to weep. “I am going to push. I don’t know if it’s time or not, but I’m going to push.”
“Do ye not feel the need to push?” Mairwen asked.
“I feel the need to go to the chamberpot and unload a huge shit!” Emily snapped.
“That’s it, child!” Mairwen told her, excitement resounding through her tone. “Push yer bairns out, lass. We’re all ready to meet them.”
Gryffe helped Emily sit higher, straining as she groaned and pushed with every last bit of her energy.
“I see a head full of dark hair,” Mairwen said excitedly. “Keep pushing.”
And then the most magical thing Gryffe had ever seen in his life happened.
His child, a tiny babe, slid into Mairwen’s hands, as slippery and wiggling as a wee selkie.
Red faced and angry, he squalled as Mairwen patted the soles of his feet to make him cry—for it was a him. Gryffe’s firstborn son. Quinn.
“See him, my love,” he told Emily. “What a fine, braw boy we have. Just look at him. Listen.”
“He’s crying so loudly. And breathing. I hear him breathing between cries. He’s healthy, isn’t he? He’s fine?” Emily sobbed uncontrollably while reaching for the babe. “Give him to me. Let me hold him till his sister comes.”
Gryffe stared down at his angry son, unable to speak as Emily cooed and calmed him, not caring that he had yet to be cleaned of the mess of his travels.
“Sorry, Quinn,” she said as she handed him back to Mairwen. “Sister is coming.”
Gryffe held her upright again and witnessed the second miracle of the day. A wee daughter. Red and angry. Smaller than her brother but a great deal louder. Little Saersy.
Then Tayda stepped forward and started massaging Emily’s stomach, kneading her middle like pummeling bread between her fists.
“What the devil are ye doing?” he asked, ready to shove her away.
“All the afterbirth must come out, my chieftain. ’Twill make her ill, if it doesn’t.” Tayda kept kneading and pushing.
“It’s all right, Gryffe,” Emily told him. “It doesn’t hurt, and she’s right. Everything has to come out, so I don’t get an infection.” She lay cradled in his arms, exhausted but happier than he had seen her in a very long time. “Our babies are healthy,” she whispered. “They’re going to live.”
“As are ye,” he whispered back. “Say it.”
She smiled. “As am I.”
“I love ye, my own.” He kissed her damp forehead, relishing her salty sweetness.
“I love you more.”