Page 75 of Haunted

“Uh, yes. It is.” Niawen’s surprised I’m asking her about the needlework.

I am too, but I plow on, attempting conversation. “I haven’t the patience.”

“You’re ill at ease,” she says. “Sit down, or you’ll have the countryside in an uproar.”

My head jerks; I’m considering the multiple insinuations of her words, knowing I’m reading into them too much. “Are you offering comfort?”

“What comfort I could offer snarled in the storm you’re brewing,” she snaps.

Ouch. Biting. “You wouldn’t want me to sit and stew. Storms that turn on themselves are the most catastrophic.”

She drops the fabric into her lap. Her agitation grows along with my own. “Storms that collide clash with raucous thunder.”

“And deadly lightning,” I say. Stop yourself before it’s too late.

She grips the hoop, with both her hands, and stares down at it.

You pompous fool. Now look what you’ve done! I resume my pacing, furious with myself.

“It does no good to fret,” she hisses. “Fix whatever you’re fuming about.”

I halt and jerk my head in her direction. “Since you cannot abide my company tonight, then perhaps you should retire.”

She stands and tosses her work onto the sofa. “Enjoy your solitude.”

As she blows out of the room, with Lowri following, I cringe. Unbelievable cad. At least any anger she has toward me will keep her at arm’s length and safe from the demon that I am.

54

Deiniol ushers me outside, with a guard trailing after us. Despite the cold, the snow has a magical glow. The falling flakes are peaceful, and I soak up the tranquility. I will need it. I’ve never delivered a baby before. Deiniol informs me the midwife is stuck between two other labors. The snowstorm must have brought them on.

Within a few minutes, we approach a tiny house at the end of an alley. Inside, moaning rises into an all-out wail.

Pain. Tremendous pain. Deiniol rushes inside, but I brace myself on the frame and call to the Master of Light. It’s his power I will use. It’s his power to save. Deiniol hollers for me, and I rush inside.

After I examine Siwan, my temporary hopes fall. The baby has turned again, and the child is breech. Sweat beads on my forehead in the sweltering room. How will I deliver their child?

My nervousness, dread, and anxiety are as tangible as the flames in the hearth licking the logs. My emotions are overwhelming my nerves. I can’t run from this.

Siwan sits up in the bed, with the help of her sister. “Please, save my baby.”

I nod.

“I have faith in you,” she says.

“What do you need?” Deiniol asks.

I mumble something about clean linens and water. I place my hands on Siwan’s stomach and look with my light. The babe is breathing, and its heart rate is steady. I could try to deliver naturally, or maybe I should surgically remove the babe.

Master of Light, any guidance would be welcome about now!

I let the labor progress. The baby’s feet present after just a few minutes.

“Easy, Siwan,” I say. “You’re so close.”

“I can’t do this,” she moans.

“Yes, you can.” I push my hair out of my face and settle onto the stool at the foot of her bed.

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