The dawn, after the Battle of Culloden.
Connor MacDonald, chieftain – to those
of the clan who still breathed:
“In times of conflict the horse is
called brother,
In peace he is friend.
The clans are lost, torn asunder by the
hand of the English.
The blood of the horseman will survive.
A daughter of the highlands will be
born
and the ways of the horseman will be
restored;
long after our ways have been
desecrated by the enemy.
Remember the ways of the highlands,
for she will come.”
Prologue
Nimerlin Horse Stud,
Australia
1986
“Fuck!”
Marie MacDonald gripped
her enormous belly and grimaced as a gush of warm fluid flowed down her legs
onto her newly polished kitchen floor.
“Hmmmmp! Bloody typical
bairn! Could ye not have come yesterday before I set to polishin’ the floor?”
Another
pain. So fast. “Cameron! Cameron!
Get your da! The bairn is comin’.”
Marie heard china scrape
across the table as her son pushed his breakfast plate away. She grimaced
seeing her ten year son’s face was deathly white. The door slammed as he bolted
out the back door yelling for his father.
“Da! Da! Come now! Mam is in the kitchen and
there is water and stuff leakin’ oot of her everywhere!”
* * *
Angus Macdonald, a
traditional Scot who, like his forebears, lived by the ways and laws of the
highland clans. Calmly, he undid the buckle of the halter and slid the straps
free of the three year old mare’s head. Giving her a heavy rub on her long,
thick neck, she leaned into his hand. “Well, lass, it seems we are to have a
birthin.” The horse nuzzled his hand and snorted as if to acknowledge the legitimacy
of the interruption to her ground work session.
He found Marie leaning
over the kitchen table, sweating and snorting heavily. Jesus! He could see the labour was hard and she was struggling to
cope with the relentless waves of pain.
“Come lass,” he crooned in his horse-quieting
way, “’tis time we went to the hospital, the bairn will be here soon.”
Marie looked up, pain
etched across her beautiful face. “Angus, ’tis different this time, the pains
are comin’ verra fast.”
He kissed her forehead as
he gently tried to propel her forward – towards the front door ... the car ...
the hospital...
She refused to
budge.
“Angus, Christ mon,” she
grabbed a handful of his shirt,” I’ll no be goin’ anywhere – this bairn is
comin now!”
Another pain! She buckled
at the knees, overwhelmed by the contraction. He grabbed her arms before she
hit the floor. She clung to him screaming in time to the rhythm of her womb. He
heard her growl and felt her bear down!
He lifted her into his arms, when he passed
his son while leaving a trail of fluid in their wake. “Cameron, have a care for
the bairn and say a prayer for your mam.” He winced when he saw his son’s wide
eyed pallid face. “All will be well lad, ’tis the way of birthin’.” Turning his
back on the little boy he mounted the first step on the stair case and carried
his wife up to their marriage bed.
Undressing quickly
between contractions, he watched as she surrendered herself to surreality and
introspection – the private place where women go when the rhythm of the pain
and the desire to birth becomes absolute.
Angus marvelled at her
beauty. Even after four bairns, she was slender and well formed. Her breasts,
normally big, round and heavy, were engorged, lined with the blue veins of a
woman who soon would suckle a babe.
Sitting quietly, he
rubbed her gravid belly and whispered words meant only for her while he
reminisced about the last four times he had been in this situation. All of his
sons had been safely delivered by a midwife within the walls of a hospital. His job had been to keep the ice chips
coming, wipe her brow and reassure her that she was not going to die. Today
however, it was just the good Lord, his beautiful wife and Himself!
Angus was jerked back to
the present by Marie who held his hand in a death grip which threatened to
dislocate his thumb as she pushed this latest baby out into the world.
“Holy
God, please keep her safe. Please
help her to birth my bairn safely.”
Marie’s eyes flew open
and she screamed.
He pulled her up in the bed and propped her
forward on pillows, positioning her to push. Christ! What in the name of God
do I do now?
Marie
sucked in an enormous
breath, spread her legs wide and pushed again; her face red with sweat and
effort.
Angus could see a scrap
of wet hair protruding past her womanly folds. “One more push lass and I think
you’ll be done.”
She turned and glared -
eyes like slits and drew her lips back over her teeth, looking for all the
world as though she would like nothing better than to take a piece out of him!
“I doona want to do this any fucking more, do ye hear me Angus
MacDonald, it bloody hurts and it is all your fault. I am not going to do this
anymore!”
He smiled recalling the
fact that he had heard Marie say fuck precisely four times before - each
time when the latest babe, in the act of birthing, stretched her vagina beyond
the point of impossibility. He chuckled at the memory and snatched his fingers
back – way, way back from those teeth. “Aye lass, it does hurt. Now push and
let’s have our bairn.”
Marie groaned and pushed
again. The baby crowned and the head delivered with a wet pop. “Angus. Hurry!
Check there’s no cord aroond the neck.”
Deftly but gently, he
pushed his large index finger into her vagina and along the nape of his babe --
no cord. “Nay lass, all is well.”
Marie smiled and gave a
final push.
Angus gasped “Oh, sweet
Jesus.”
“What? Angus? Is summat
wrong?” “Tell me!” She grabbed his arms and dragged herself up from the ruined
bed; staring at the child that lay between her blood-stained thighs. “Angus!
Sweet Jesus, Mary and Bride! It’s a lass!” Marie fell back to the bed as the
last contraction forced the afterbirth from her body. She looked up at Angus –
her tears greeting his.
“Aye my beauty, a lass it
is, and she is named for her many times great grandsire – Connor.”
Angus waited until the
cord had stopped beating to the cadence of his wife’s heart. He tied and double
knotted two lengths of clean string; the first an inch away from his daughter’s
belly and another spaced about one and half inches down the length of the cord.
Reaching over he picked up Marie’s gold embroidery scissors and with a clean snip freed the child of her biological
lifeline.
The little girl filled
her lungs and roared; mouthing her hands frantically in the primal response of
all mammals – seek and suck.
Marie looked tenderly at
her babe, lifting the child to her already dripping nipple while cuddling her
in her arms.
Later, sleeping in her
mother’s arms, Angus cradled the daughter who shared his blood and the blood of
his highlander ancestors. The course of her veins thrummed and sang to him – he
felt it! Then he heard the thunder
boom outside and recognised it for what it was. He knew…the one the clan awaited had come.
In the far distant sky a low grumbling
was felt rather than heard as the blood of the ancient horse masters stirred
and woke from their almost three-century slumber. The girl child of their blood
in her first cry had summonsed them, awakened them, and they smiled.
Thanks very much Kathrine for sharing.
Good luck with it!
