“I’m with child again,” Jolenna said to her husband Harold Cuthway.

  “But, I thought you ate the wild carrot seeds? You said –”

  “I know what I ate and I know what I said. I tell you true Harold, I am with child.”

  Jolenna’s big green eyes met her husband’s dark brown’s with a tinge of sadness and a lot of fear, “I’m scared Harold.”

  Harold took her small delicate ivory white hand into his; tan, strong, and calloused. “You were fine when we had Haroldson. The midwife claimed it was the swiftest baby she

  ever delivered. Haroldson is perfect and this son shall be too,” Harold finished with his best reassuring smile.

  Jolenna squeezed her husband’s hand, “How do you know it will be a boy?” she asked with a devilish grin.

  Harold’s brow raised and he puffed his chest in confidence, “A father knows.”

  And Harold was almost entirely correct.

  * * *

  Jolenna’s screams set the hounds to barking in the cold pale night. Haroldson’s cries

  could be heard two rooms away.

  “Oh Harold, it’s not like before! He’s going to rip me apart!”

  “Jolenna, listen my love, you’ll be fine. You are so strong and our son is just eager to see his –”

  Jolenna’s cries cut his sentence short. In the kennel the four hounds barked in unison as Haroldson continued to cry out for his ma.

  “Gods be damned!” Harold exclaimed. He looked at the nearest servant, “Go shut the fecking hounds up,” and then he scanned the room his eyes stopping on the first

  female, “and Dalia please be a dear and see to Haroldson.”

  “There, I’ve got his head centered!” Olagh said triumphantly.

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  Harold was at Jolenna’s right side, hand in hand, his eyes locked onto hers.

  Olagh’s hands were covered in blood. “Lord Harold, might I ask you to leave now. This is the messy bit m’lord.”

  “You can go to the hells woman! I will stay where I feckin please. And someone silence those damn hounds this instant!” Another servant scurried from the door.

  “Of course m’lord. Appologies m’lord.” Olagh looked at Jolenna, her face was covered in sweat, her eyes were red and tired from crying. Olagh had delivered Haroldson

  three summers ago. There is always blood and in pain in childbirth, but it was true that Jolenna had given birth to Haroldson in the shortest amount of time Olagh had ever seen

  and she’d been part of well over a hundred births. Olagh knew Jolenna was strong and her hips were a perfect size for childbirth.

  It shouldn’t be like this.

  She had delivered babies that were breech, it was awful painful to the mother, but this was worse. This baby wasn’t breeched, it was moving around like a rabbit trapped in a

  badger’s den. She had to reach inside Jolenna to center the baby’s head for delivery, try to make the baby be still and when she felt the baby’s head she felt something that

  shouldn’t have been there.

  “M’lady you’re going to push now, okay? Now push m’lady!”

  Jolenna pushed and the baby seemed to catch the cue that it was time to exit its mother.

  Jolenna’s face was so twisted in pain and her scream was so loud that even Lord Harold, a hardened soldier of many battles, had to close his eyes because he could bear no

  more.

  Jolenna ripped as the baby exited her and passed out from the pain. Harold was certain that his wife was dead. “Jolenna!” he screamed in panic.

  “She’s just fainted from the whole ordeal my m’lord,” said Olagh.

  Haroldson’s cries were joined by the high pitch squeal of his new sibling. Olagh quickly wrapped the baby in woolen swaddling, making sure to cover the top of the baby’s head.

  She presented the baby to Harold, “Would you like to meet your new son m’lord?”

  Harold took the swaddled babe, a smile crossed his face as his eye went to meet Olagh’s, but the midwife quickly looked down and returned to her business with the afterbirth

  and cutting the cord with a bone handled knife.

  “He’s perfect. He’s perfect Jolenna, just as I told you.” Jolenna was breathing heavily but still unconscious. Harold went to look to Olagh, his eyes were relieved and he

  wanted to say thank you and to tell the midwife he was sorry for snapping at her, but she would not meet his gaze. She was busy with needle and thread.

  Harold’s fingers caressed his son’s rosy pink cheek. He wondered whose hair color the babe would have: dark brown like his own or red like Jolenna’s? His pointer finger

  began to inch the swaddling away from the babe’s head, “He’s perfect Jolenna just like –”

  And for second time Harold was not entirely correct about his son – who had two little horns.