Free Choosing the Highlander by Jessi Gage

his father and requested Kenrick meet them in Inverness.
    “I’ll breathe easier when I lay eyes on the man.”
    “I will as well.” Kenrick’s experience in advocating would surely aid them in thwarting of any petty schemes Ruthven might hatch.
    Wilhelm was about to offer Terran some reassurance, but the opportunity was lost when Anselm burst into the kitchen.
    “’Tis time.” Eyes wide, he nodded toward Terran. “The pains have increased.” He turned on his heel and disappeared again.
    Terran raced after him.
    Anselm’s acquaintance from the priory in Perth would not arrive for hours yet. After all the poor lass must have been through as Ruthven’s prisoner, he hoped for Godspeed in her birthing.
    He followed Anselm and Terran. When he arrived at the guest quarters, he found Constance already at Aifric’s side. She had attempted to sit with the young lass earlier, he’d learned from Terran, but he and Anselm had ushered her back to her bed, where she could rest and heal. Now that Aifric’s birthing was impending, he approved Constance’s participation, especially since she’d been resting now for most of the day.
    The young lass sat forward with folded linens behind her. Constance rubbed vigorous circles on her back while murmuring encouragements.
    Wilhelm’s chest swelled with pride. She would make a fine Lady of Dornoch one day, provided he found a way to rid himself of the Ruthven-sized thorn in his side.
    Anselm directed the other monks to supply hot water and extra bedding. He attempted to shoo Terran out of the room, but his cousin was having none of it.
    “I stay,” he said simply.
    Wilhelm, on the other hand, had no reason for being there. Satisfied that Constance seemed up to the task of delivering a bairn, he set off to find more chores that needed tending—the farther from the poor lass’s whimpers the better. Mayhap the sheep could use feeding.
    Never would his father forgive him if he neglected to earn his keep as a guest of the church. After all that had transpired at Ruthven’s, he would be presuming enough on his father’s forgiveness without adding unnecessary offenses.
    #
    The young woman—Aifric was her name, Connie had learned—lost consciousness after an afternoon of intense labor. At first Connie thought she’d fallen asleep, and she’d been relieved, because the girl looked beyond exhausted. But when her rounded belly clamped down of its own accord with a powerful contraction and Aifric didn’t wake, she became worried.
    “What do we do?” she asked Aselm.
    Earlier, the monk had brought her clothes and an afternoon meal. He had insisted she remain in bed to rest even though Aifric had sounded distressed. But when the girl’s moans had become more urgent, she’d offered her help and Anselm had finally accepted. The nun he’d sent for wouldn’t be expected until later tonight at the earliest. That left Connie and Wilhelm’s cousin Terran, at the helm. Anselm seemed relieved to be demoted to the role of hot water fetcher and provider of supplies.
    Connie held one of Aifric’s hands. Terran held the other. He looked even more worried than she felt. In her worry over the girl, her own pain had faded to a manageable level. A few hours of sleep had no doubt helped her healing as well.
    “When will the midwife be here?” Terran asked.
    The man was a strapping warrior, like Wilhelm but with longer and slightly darker hair. His presence seemed to take up most of the tiny room. Anselm had tried several times to get him to leave, but Terran refused.
    “Not soon enough,” Anselm replied with his face set grimly. “Mayhap you should attempt to wake her,” he said to Connie.
    She patted Aifric’s check, terrified of hurting her. She was so frail. It had likely been weeks since she’d eaten. Malnutrition made sharp angles of her cheekbones, and bruise-like shadows made her eyes appear sunken. How had this happened? Where was her family? Why had Ruthven treated her this