His Flame, Her Viking

Prologue: The Bairn and the Hearth

Inverness, Scotland-860 AD

Fire burned in the hearth, filling every corner of the little cottage with its warmth and orange glow. Its light danced along the brick stone walls. Only two tiny square windows welcomed the outside light into the darkness of the cottage. The rest of the light came from the fire in the hearth and sparse candlelight.

This cottage, like the others of the village, did not have separate rooms-only one whole room open for all to see. On the far side, the dining table stood situated near the hearth with a tub of well water, jars of salted meats, pickled vegetables, and dried fruits. The other side of the cottage consisted of only a bed and a trunk filled with clothes and other possessions.

Laying on the bed, a woman struggled to breathe between the contractions that became more powerful by the minute. Her auburn hair clung to her neck with sweat that glistened in the candlelight. Situated between her legs was the midwife Ciorsdan (Ci-orz-dan), a mouse of a woman, waiting for the bairn to crown.

"Come on lass," Ciorsdan encouraged the struggling mother. Meanwhile, the soon-to-be father paced outside the cottage, tortured by the pained screams of his wife and the helplessness he felt. It wasn't commonplace for him to be in the room.

"I can't!" The woman protested with a cry as tears welled up in her blue eyes. "I'm so tired..." She suddenly raised her head to the ceiling to release a screech of pain.

"Nay, don't give up, Aileas (Ay-lus)," Ciorsdan urged with a crease of worry lining her brow. "The bairn's near crowned. You're almost there!"

Aileas groaned from the pain as each contraction moved through her like the unforgiving waves that crashed against the cliffs of their village. She could feel that her bairn was nearly ready to enter the world. In her mind, she prayed to give her husband a son. A girl would bring disgrace upon her as wife. Her family needed a son to pass on the family name.

"There!" Ciorsdan cried excitedly. "I can see the bairn's head! One last push!"

Aileas pushed with all her might. Her scream echoed in the cottage followed by the bairn's first cry. Almost immediately, Aileas relaxed a little as the pain began to subside. Ciorsdan took the bairn in her arms and severed the umbilical cord. She wrapped the bairn in cloth, but not before taking note of its gender.

"Pray," Aileas gasped as she tried to catch her breath, "Tell me I have a son." Her eyes pleaded desperately for the news to be what she'd hoped.

Ciorsdan hesitated as she moved forward to place the swaddled bairn into its mother's arms. "Nay, you have a daughter."

Aileas paled. "I've disgraced my husband," She muttered. How would she face him knowing that she's failed to give him an heir?

At that moment, the door opened and her husband entered the cottage. He stood tall for a Scot with a lanky frame, dark brown hair with a matching, trimmed beard, and eyes like molten gold. Aileas met her husband's stare with reservation.

"Where is he?" Griogair pressed, his eyes meeting those of his wife, then moving down to the little bundle in her arms. "Is he...?"

Aileas shook her head with disappointment. "Nay, it's a daughter."

Griogair strode across the room in three long strides to arrive at Aileas' bedside. He looked down upon their child, but not with scorn as Aileas had. His amber eyes glistened with admiration as he'd never seen such a small human before. The atmosphere in the room brightened as Aileas realized her husband wasn't distraught that they had a daughter, not a son. She relaxed.

"Do you want to hold her?" Aileas offered.

Griogair eagerly held out his hands to take his daughter from the protective arms of his wife. He stared at the bairn's sweet face, he mused at the little red hairs atop her head, the rosy flush of her cheeks. It was already clear that she took after her mother.

Ciorsdan wiped the brow of the new mother with a dampened cloth. In her thirty years as a midwife, she's delivered over half the bairns in the village. She never grew tired of it and each birth held a special place in her memory. Why, she had even been at Giorgair's birth.

"A beautiful lass," Ciorsdan commented proudly while peering down at the newborn. "What will you call her?"

Aileas studied their daughter nestled in the strong arms of her husband. She's never seen him hold something so delicately, so carefully. Her heart immediately swelled at the sight. Their daughter indeed needed a name.

"What about Iseabail?" Aileas wondered. "Or Slàine? Those are both names fitting a lass."

Griogair shook his head, his brows furrowed with thought. "Nay, she needs a strong name. One befitting the strong woman I foresee." He gave some thought. "The hearth burns hot with fire. Her hair is the color of flame."

"So what did you have in mind?" Aileas wondered where her husband was going with this. She hoped he didn't want to give her a man's name like Àed.

Griogair smiled as he looked upon his daughter's face. "Let's name her McKenna."

"Born of fire," Ciorsdan murmured with approval.

Aileas smiled softly. "It's fitting." She reached up to grasp her daughter's hand. "Welcome to the family, McKenna."