The Black Rood by Stephen R. Lawhead Read Free Book Online

squirms the whole night through.”
    Placing a hand to the bulging dome of her round stomach, I said, “It is only because he is eager to come out and meet his family.”
    â€œIt is because he is his stubborn father’s son,” she replied sweetly, stroking my hair with her fingertips.
    Little Cait awakened and scampered into bed with us. She snuggled down between us and proceeded to wave her feet in the air while singing a song about a fish. It was a fine and happy moment with my best beloved and I reveled in it. Looking back now, I cherish it all the more—knowing the dark, unendurable days which lay ahead.

FOUR
    T HE BIRTH PANGS came on her early the next morning, but Rhona continued with her ordinary chores until midday when the pains grew severe. I ran to alert my lady mother, who came with one of the older women of the settlement who often served as midwife, and one of her serving-maids to help. They took matters in hand, and Ragna sent me off to the church to help Murdo with the building, promising to fetch me as soon as the birth drew near.
    I was still there when Ingrid, the serving-maid, came running a short while later. “Lord Duncan, you must hurry.”
    â€œWhat,” I said, climbing down from the scaffolding, “is my son born already?”
    â€œMy lady said you were to come as fast as you can,” she replied, wringing her hands in her apron.
    I took her by the shoulders to steady her. “Tell me what has happened.”
    â€œIt is your lady wife,” she said. “Oh, please, come now. Hurry.”
    My father heard the commotion below and called down to know what was happening. I explained quickly, and he sent me off, saying he would find Abbot Emlyn and follow as soon as he could.
    I raced down the hill to the dún, through the gate, into the yard, and to our house. There were several women standing outside the door; I pushed through them and went in. Ragnamet me at the bedside, her face grave and sad. “There is not much time, my son,” she said softly, taking my hand. “She wanted to see you.”
    I heard the words but could make no sense of what she was saying. “What is wrong, Mother?”
    â€œThe birth has torn something inside Rhona,” she replied gently. “She will not live.”
    â€œB-But—,” I stammered. “But she will be well. And the child—we were going to—”
    â€œThere will be time to speak later,” she said, leading me toward the bed. “Pluck up your courage, my son, and go to your wife.”
    I stepped to the side of the bed and Rhona, her face gray-white with the pallor of death, opened her eyes and smiled weakly. I stared in disbelief. Only a short while ago that same lovely face had been glowing with love and life. How was it possible that such a change could occur so swiftly?
    She lifted a finger and motioned me closer. I bent to place my ear near her lips. “So sorry…my soul,” she said, her voice the merest breath of a whisper. “I tried to get a son for you…”
    â€œShh,” I whispered, trying to soothe. “Rest now. We will talk about it later.”
    â€œI love you,” she said, her lips barely moving. “Kiss me.”
    I pressed my lips to hers—they were dry as husks, and cold.
    â€œFarewell, my heart…,” she sighed.
    A tremor passed through her body. I took her hand and clasped it tight. Her breath went out in a long, slow exhalation, and she lay still.
    â€œFarewell,” I said, my throat closing on the word as the tears came. I raised her hand to my lips and held it there. Then I took her in my arms for the last time. I bent my head and put my face next to hers, and held her close—until I felt my mother’s hands on my shoulders, drawing me gently away. I allowed myself to be gathered into my mother’s embrace, and we stood for a time, motionless, while she spoke words of comfort and