Scarlett’s eyes widened with distress. “Um, Emmy, I don’t think it’ll be a month.”
“What? Why?”
“I think my water just broke.” The admission was barely a whisper, choked by shock. A tremor worked its way out from the core of her chest, radiating through her body.
Emmy glared at Donell across the room. “That old fart. He knew and said nothing. I oughta—”
“Perhaps berating him can wait?”
Scarlett’s wince drew Emmy’s attention. She hopped to her feet but quickly dropped down to her knees next to Scarlett. “Are you in pain? Contractions?”
“No, not really. Just uncomfortable all of the sudden.”
With calm efficiency, Emmy hauled Scarlett to her feet. “No problem. Just breathe. Let’s get you to your bed so I can do a quick examination, okay?”
Scarlett nodded numbly, still stunned by the sudden turn of events. “You know, I haven’t heard anyone say okay like that in a long time. I rather miss modern speech sometimes.”
“Now you’re just getting loopy,” Emmy teased, though there was a fresh level of stress in her inflection. “Of course, some studies have shown pregnancy causes the brain to shrink, so…” Her shoulder lifted as she trailed off.
“Really? That would explain a lot.” A bizarre, misdirected hope shot through Scarlett. So trivial in the face of her more urgent situation.
“Might be true. Who knows? I haven’t read a new medical journal i—”
Scarlett didn’t hear the rest. Her frantic gaze found Laird, who as if feeling her eyes upon him, turned immediately. The laughter dancing in his sparkling silver eyes slipped away, the light color dimming immediately.
“What is it, mo chroí?” He rushed to her side, slipping a strong arm around her waist. Without waiting for an answer, he turned a vicious glare on Donell. “What have ye done, ye puny lout?”
“It’s too soon, Laird.” Fear tightened Scarlett’s throat. She leaned against him, taking comfort in his solid strength. All the times he’d been there for her, supported her, she’d never needed his strength more. God, her baby was going to die. “The baby’s too early.”
“I ken ‘tis so, mo chroí,” he crooned softly, mournfully in her ear, but his following demand of Donell held no kindness as he growled, “Explain yerself, auld man, before I tear ye to shreds. What hae ye done to her?”
“Och, nothing, lad. No’ a thing.” Donell held up his hands; in defense or surrender, Scarlett wasn’t sure. As it had been years since she’d seen such a fierce scowl on Laird’s face, he was smart to do either. “I saw this. ‘Tis why I brought Emmy to ye. To help.”
“Help who?” Emmy jumped in. “I hope you didn’t bring me here expecting miracles.”
Emmy
Emmy regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. Scarlett gaped in horror at the unprofessional exclamation. Being put in the unexpected position of savior had thrown Emmy for a loop.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Scarlett. Maybe I should have a moment with Donell while Laird makes you comfortable?”
“No, whatever you have to say, I want to hear it.”
She wanted to ignore Scarlett’s shaky demand. A mother in labor was never in the best state of mind to hear bad news. The Scarlett Thomas of her time had always seemed so bold and cool when faced with pressure in the form of a frenzied fan base and merciless paparazzi.
This Scarlett, though, with her light Scottish accent and aura of mellowed contentment seemed more fragile, as soft as the fur trimming her gown. Emmy didn’t want to be the bearer of ill tidings. Not in a time and place where there was no qualified medical support system.
Childbirth alone she could handle, but premature labor presented a whole different array of difficulties. She wondered if Scarlett had been here long enough to understand some things were just beyond the advancement of the time. One successful birth might lead her to expect another without incident.
“Are you certain you’re early, Scarlett?” Emmy asked. “You couldn’t have made any miscalculation?”
“I’m positive. Take it from the person who’s been through this entire pregnancy, it’s definitely early.”
“You could be wrong. It’s okay, people make mistakes all the time.”
“Unless there’s a new way to do math I don’t know about.” Scarlett shook her head insistently. “Laird was at Crichton for over a month last summer and there’s no chance I’m weeks over due. I’m four weeks early at best.”
Well, shit.
In her best obstetrician manner, Emmy presented the candid facts. “I will do everything I can, Scarlett. The birth itself, however, may not be our greatest challenge. Depending on how premature, your baby may need medical attention I’m not specialized in. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Scarlett’s face fell and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, but Emmy could see she understood what was at stake. “What are our options?”
“In a perfect world, we’d have a neonatologist on hand to care for the baby.”
“And in an imperfect one?” A sheen of tears glazed the former actress’s eyes, but there was no denial in them. Even a casual observer in the future learned enough about preemies from television shows to know there were risks.
A clench of her own belly stabbed at Emmy with remorse. “We do what we can. I wish I could make guarantees, but I can’t.”
Laird obviously wasn’t as clear on the matter. “What do ye mean? Ye’re the doctor, are ye no’?”
“I am, but my specialty is—”
Scarlett touched Emmy’s hand and shook her head in a don’t-even-try manner.
“I’m sorry,” Emmy choked out. Her heart ached for Scarlett but burned with regret for her own inadequacies.
“What do yer mean ye’re sorry, lass?” Donell barked out. “I brought ye here to help.”
“And I plan to,” Emmy snapped back. She’d forgotten
