She Stole My Baby
Back to the present
“Mom?” Ciaran stutters out as he drops Quinn’s hand and stares in disbelief. “Mom?” he repeats.
“My love,” Branna approaches Ciaran and he scoots away from her.
What is this thing approaching him? It cannot be his mother? He watched her die. He scoured the ashes for any remains. She was gone. So how is she here, standing in front of him? This must be something else, something unnatural.
Branna halts her approach and softens her words, “Ciaran, it is really me, love.” She extends her hand towards him. He reaches out his hand to touch hers and recoils when he feels solid skin.
“How?” Ciaran manages to get the words from his mouth.
Ainmire chuckles, “I asked the same thing.”
Ciaran turns his head towards Ainmire. He blinks his eyes and gives his head a quick shake, as if just noticing his father is in the room. He focuses his attention back to Branna. Again he asks, “How?”
“That’s a story for a better time, my love.” She stands next to Quinn’s bed. “Right now, we need to get your lady out of distress.”
“Mom,” tears accumulate on Ciaran’s collar. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where the doctor is. All of a sudden, she started convulsing. Then the blood.” Ciaran glances down at the bed. “All the blood.”
Branna runs a hand over the top of Ciaran’s hand, trying to comfort him. “She will be alright. They both will.” She then says, “You did ask for a blessing?”
Ciaran looks at his mother, shock in his eyes. “Of course. She is my everything. I do not want to continue in this world without her.” He pauses for a moment, then thinks of something. “Do you think she wished not to live?”
Branna can see the disappointment in his eyes. Her eyes fill with guilt. “She has every reason to live. I am sure she did not wish for that.” Branna begins to look over Quinn’s body. In her life in the mortal realm, she was a healer and midwife. She knows if Quinn does not wake up, the baby will have to be removed through other means. In her day, this meant death to the mother. She hopes Quinn wakes up, but wonders if someone blessed would die in childbirth.
Branna glances around the room and notices Ainmire is no longer in the room. She can hear his voice in the hallway, speaking to himself. Ciaran is still staring at her. She smiles at him and asks him to find her some smelling salts and warm, wet rags. When Ciaran steps out of the room, she begins to clean the blood from Quinn’s legs with the sheet. She carefully removes her undergarments. Branna hopes to determine the reason for the bleeding.
Ainmire returns to the room, with Ciaran in tow. Ciaran hands the salts and rags to his mother, then steps to the other side of the bed. “What do you need me to do?” he anxiously asks.
“Hold her hand and try to keep her calm when she comes to,” Branna advises.
“I tried to call the doctor, but he is not answering.” Ainmire explains. “I called a friend at Brigham. He’s a surgeon. I sent the helicopter to get him.”
Branna turns her attention to Ainmire, “Though we may be in need of a barber-surgeon, a physician would be a better choice.”
Ainmire chuckles, “Things are not quite as you remember, Anna.” He steps beside her and helps her tip Quinn’s head forward. “Surgeons are now highly regarded. He will probably bring an anesthesiologist with him. We have the medical means here, just need someone to administer the anesthesia if needed.”
“Anesthesiologist?” Branna fumbles the large word in her mouth.
“Someone to knock her out, Mom.” Ciaran remarks.
Branna waves the salts under Quinn’s nose. Quinn’s head bucks up and her eyes blink open. She coughs and sucks in air.
“My baby!” Quinn screams when her voice returns. She clutches frantically at her stomach.
Ciaran cradles her hands in his and makes a shushing sound with his mouth. Quinn’s eyes grow wide and she tries to pull away from him.
“The baby is fine,” Ciaran says, more trying to convince himself. He continues to make the shushing sound.
“Do not shush me, Mr. Magee.” A stern and worried look settles on Quinn’s face. She then cries out, “That woman took my baby.”
Branna steps into Quinn’s view. “It was only a dream, dear. The baby is fine,” she hopes.
“Who are you?” Quinn asks Branna.
“Branna, Ciaran’s mom.” Branna replies.
Quinn’s mouth drops open and she turns her head between Branna and Ciaran. “Huh? Am I dead?”
“No, love. I will tell you the story later.” Branna wipes Quinn’s brow with a damp cloth. “Right now, we need to focus on delivering your baby. Are you having any contractions?”
Quinn stares at Branna, then draws in a long breath. “There is no baby. That woman stole it.” Her voice adamant regarding the reality.
“It was…,” Branna starts but Ainmire cuts her off.
“What woman, Quinn?” He asks.
“The one with the silver hair and purple eyes. She took my baby.” Quinn presses her hands to her face. Her voice strangles her words. She swallows and tries to regain her composure.
“Silver hair and purple eyes?” The three other people in the room repeat in unison.
“You don’t think…,” Ciaran begins but stifles his words.
“Did she say anything when she took the baby?” Ainmire asks. He holds Quinn’s hands. He can tell by her trembling, she still believes her baby is gone.
“She said,” Quinn chokes. “That he cannot be heir to the throne, only her son is.” Quinn shakes and coughs. “Then she ripped my baby out of my stomach.”
Quinn glances down at her stomach expecting to see a hole. She sees the bloody sheets and gasps. She pulls them away and focuses on the blood between her legs. She feels her abdomen and sighs when she discovers no tear.
“My stomach, it’s still intact.” Quinn says, unsure.
“As I said, it was all a dream, dear. But we need to get this baby out of you,” Branna soothes.
“It felt so real.” Quinn blinks and then her mouth falls open. A silent scream escapes and she grabs her stomach. Her breath becomes ragged. She looks in horror at Ciaran, the pain unbearable. Then, the pain subsides.
“Well, that hurt.” Quinn states, sarcastically.
“That, my dear, was a contraction.” Branna rubs her hand over Quinn’s stomach. “The baby is on his way.”