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A knock at the door interrupts my reverie and announces the entrance of Ewan.
“Pardon me, sir. Breakfast will be served shortly. Lady Galloway has requested it in yer private parlor upstairs.”
“Thank ye, Ewan. I’m starved.”
“Aye, I bet ye are. ’Tis common fer a pregnant woman’s mate to take on the same intense hunger that she is experiencing. That’s why men tend to gain weight when their wives are wi’ child,” he explains nonchalantly.
“Is that so? Ye never cease to educate me on the nuances shared between a man and a woman. Ye are quite the plethora of knowledge. And might I ask, does it appear that I have gained weight?” I know that I have but wonder if it has become noticeable to others.
“Oh, aye. That is fer certain. But it’s easy to understand considering the size of the seed ye planted. Yer sweet bride has a ferocious appetite, and you do as well.”
I feel my head tip to the side, and my eyes squint slightly as I try to decide if he means what I think he means. “The size of the seed I planted?”
“Weel, you would clearly know more than I, but ’tis impossible not to notice that yer lady is carrying a rather hefty-sized lad in her womb. And, as I’m sure ye know, there are plenty more seeds where that one came from, but it’s no’ guaranteed that the others will be the same. The next seed ye plant could be a scrawny lit'l fella if it’s even a boy. But this one—oh aye, ye’ll be lookin’ up at him one day,” he finishes with a laugh.
“Simply out of curiosity, how do ye know i’tis a boy?”
“It’s as obvious as the glow on Lady Galloway’s lovely face, m’lord, if a may be so bold. The babe is sittin’ low in her belly,” he explains while his hands mimic holding onto the underside of a large belly. “That’s how the lads lie in the womb. The lasses sit higher, ye see.” His hands move to signify his explanation. “’Tis a simple formula and quite accurate. I’ve never been wrong, not once, in determining the sex of a wee bairn before it slips out o’ the chute and is suckling its mamma’s teat.” He finishes proudly.
“Well, ye certainly have a unique way of explaining yerself, Ewan. And I have no doubt of yer accuracy, as the midwife is of the same opinion.”
“Thank ye, m’lord,” he says with a genuine smile. “I must say, I’m as excited as a kitten that caught his first mouse about havin’ a lit'l one in the house. Gonna bring new life to this ould castle, an’ I can’t wait to spoil the wee lad. He’s gonna love ol’ Uncle Ewan, teachin’ him all about mischief and how to give his da gray hair.” With that comment, his smile turns from genuine to devilish.
“Ye’ll do nothing of the such, ol’ Uncle Ewan,” I assure him.
“Ah, I’m only teasin’ ye. You know I’ll be keeping an eye on the little bugger, makin’ sure he does’na getintomischief.” He pauses for a moment. “Yer going to be an excellent father, m’lord, and the lad will grow to be as admirable as you.”
“I thank ye, Ewan. I must admit, I’m damn excited to meet him and even more excited to watch him grow. And his siblings too,” I add with a wink.
Ewan laughs, then pats me on the shoulder as we head toward the door. “Before we know it, there’ll be wee lit'l Stewarts runnin’ all over Galloway Castle, givin’ us all gray hair.”
Arriving in our parlor, I find Ella already seated, putting butter on a small piece of bread.
“Good morning, dear. How are ye feeling?” I ask, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
“Oh! Hello,” she says, seeming somewhat startled. “I am fine. Although I thought I was famished, now that I am sitting here in front of food, I’m not so sure.”
“Are ye sure yer alright, then? Perhaps ye should lie down,” I suggest, feeling a twinge of concern.
“No. It’s fine. I am not comfortable sitting or lying down at this point, and I keep having those false contractions that are terribly uncomfortable. I don’t think it will be long now, Alasdair.” The fatigue in her eyes does not go unnoticed.
“Is there any place that is comfortable fer ye to get some rest? Perhaps the settee by the window in yer room wi’ a few extra pillows to prop ye up? Ye’ll be needin’ all the rest ye can get if the bairn is arriving soon,” I suggest, walking over to grab the bed pillows.
“It’s alright, Alasdair. Truly.”
I prepare the settee, regardless, and encourage her to come lie down.
“Come. Let’s get ye comfortable so ye can rest fer a while,” I say, taking her hand and helping her over to the settee. She is noticeably slower on her feet, and her gait is wide and awkward. Once she takes a seat, I help her lean back against the soft pillows and watch her eyes instantly close as a content smile widens her mouth.
“You were right. This feels amazing.” Her eyes open. “Thank you. I think I will rest for a while.”
And so, she does, instantly falling into a deep slumber with her hands resting atop her round belly. I eat breakfast slowly, happy to watch her sleep and taking the time to memorize how beautiful she is at this moment, knowing that she will soon be cradling the babe in her arms.
I hear the door open and see Beatrice come in. I wave to her and put my finger up to my lips so she knows to be quiet and have her follow me out to the hallway.
“She thought she was fine and did’na need to rest until I got her comfortable. She was asleep in less than a minute,” I tell her through a chuckle.
“I’m sure she was. Poor thing hasn’t been sleeping well. ’Tis the way it always is at this stage of the pregnancy, though. I haven’t experienced it myself, but every mother I know has said the same thing—in the last few weeks, the baby takes up so much room you can barely walk, sit, lie down, eat, or even take a deep breath!”
