A/N: You knew I couldn't keep you in suspense for too long! Here's the chap you've been waiting for. R&R please!

Chapter Thirty-six; The Birth

At first, Allan had been loath to learn to play the lap harp his mother in-law had sent to her daughter for Christmas. The last time he had attempted anything musical had been the previous Christmas, when he and Deirdre, accompanied by Guy and Marian, had attended services together. Guy's rich baritone and Deirdre's soft tenor had been a fitting tribute to the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ; he almost felt like he and Marian would burn in Hell for their own pitiful attempts at singing. Deirdre had insisted he learn, though, and had set herself the task of teaching him.

Allan's first attempts had Much complaining that it felt like his ears were bleeding, but he kept his mouth shut after a quelling look from Deirdre. She had told Allan to close his eyes and just feel the rhythms of the world around him, to which he had raised a dubious eyebrow at first, only submitting when Deirdre had glared at him. He had found, to his surprise, that with practice, closing his eyes and quieting his mind opened his soul to things he had not realized were there. Ideas flowed, pushed along a current of music that began to guide his fingers as they danced over the strings. As Deirdre had helped him to learn a lullaby that Brianna had sung to her as a child—a song of obstacles overcome, and magic, where a Faerie king rescues the poor but beautiful maid and takes her away to be his bride amongst the fair folk where they live happily forever—Allan had found the music becoming a part of him. Soon, he found that when he settled in with the harp resting on his lap and his shoulder, a peace the likes of which he had only come close to when he was alone with Deirdre draped him like a mantle.

He felt in desperate need of that peace now as Will handed him the harp. He positioned his fingers on the strings, plucking each one to see if they were in tune and turning the levers at the top accordingly for those that were not. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the soft walnut body of the harp and gave himself over, his deft fingers dancing over the strings, coaxing the music from the instrument. The haunting notes of the cláirseach seemed to ease the anxiety of the men around the fire; Allan envisioned the music wrapping throughout the cave, enveloping his wife and child in its gentle embrace.

Normally, such an otherworldly vision as the one in his head would have unmanned him, but Deirdre always managed to balance the extraordinary with the christian, claiming that since all things came from God, it made sense that the supernatural did too, and was therefore nothing to be afraid of. He was still hard-pressed to hide that fear, but he had learned much from his complex wife in the months of their marriage, and now was not the time to be frightened of his vision. He continued to play, praying that his music would somehow help Deirdre and the baby.

Dimly, through the pain and the blood, Deirdre heard the ubiquitous sound of harp music as it took over her mind, body, and soul. It was calming, a soothing balm against the unending agony that was wracking her. She swam up out of the depths of unconsciousness to find Marian staring at her wide-eyed, Djaq holding her hand as Madeline worked between her legs, pushing the baby back and turning its head.

"Ah, so you're back. Give me just one more moment and we'll have you two ready. Do not push until I tell you to, understand?"

Deirdre nodded mutely and began to pant, pulling on the cloth and squeezing Djaq's hand as another contraction rolled over her. Somehow, the pain did not seem as bad as it had before.

Madeline worked quickly, waiting for the contraction to finish, then reaching in and hooking two fingers under the cord. Gently, she tugged the cord up and around the baby's arm. She reached her entire hand into Deirdre's birth canal to find the part of the cord she suspected was wrapped around the baby's neck, once more hooking her fingers under the cord and lifting it up and over the baby's head this time. Madeline groped around, ensuring that the baby was safe, nodding her head in satisfaction.

"Next contraction, you push hard, do you hear me?"

Deirdre smiled. "Aye." The next contraction soon came, and Deirdre bore down, pushing with all her might to help her child into the world. Her hair was mostly pulled back, but a few strands clung to the sweat of her brow. Her face turned red, her eyes determined.

"There's his head coming now!" Madeline smiled in satisfaction, watching the child appear. The miracle of it never ceased to amaze her, and the tears stung her eyes as she laid her arms out between Deirdre's legs to catch the child as it exited its mother.

"Push!" she exorted. The wee little shoulders were next and as Deirdre bore down once more, the child's torso and legs slid out into Madeline's waiting arms.

"Marian, grab me that knife in the pot on the fire. Mind the handle, it may be hot as well."

Madeline was rubbing the baby down with a blanket. She reached a finger into his mouth to clean out the mucus and allow him to breath—him, she noted with amusement, thinking how sure Deirdre had been that it was a girl. The little body began to squirm and suddenly cried out lustily, affronted by the cold and the light of his new world. Quickly, Madeline cut the cord, the red-hot knife cauterizing the wound as it made it. She handed the baby to his mother.

"A fine son you've given to your husband," she claimed, watching Deirdre's eyes widen in surprise. Always stubborn, the new mother pulled aside the blanket, counting in the extra appendage while she counted digits.

"You're a naughty lad, you know that? Just like your Da already." Deirdre smiled and kissed the boy on the forehead as she re-wrapped him in the warmth of the blanket.

"Hand him up to Marian now, you've one more push to give me and then you're done," Madeline commanded.

Deirdre stared at the midwife in consternation a moment, then her eyes widened.

"Another baby? I told you there was a girl!" Deirdre had no more time for gloating as the next, smaller contraction took her. Madeline wrapped the bundle up and tossed it in the corner to Deirdre's horror.

"It's the afterbirth, you daft lass!" Madeline declared, pushing one hand into Deirdre's entrance, massaging her abdomen with the other one.

"You might've told me before you went flinging it away, you old witch!"

Madeline raised an imperious eyebrow at her charge.

"I'll ignore that for now, you stubborn Gael, but I'd suggest you mind yer manners from here out."

Deirdre looked more peeved than chagrined. "What are you doing anyway? The babe's out—aren't I done?"

"Do you plan on ever having any fun with your husband again?"

Deirdre glared at the midwife.

"At present, no. That man will have to just suffer. If he thinks he'll ever lay a finger on me again…"

"Yes, yes, yes. We all feel that way at first. Before long, you'll be wantin' him back in yer bed and if you plan on having any feelin' at that time, I've got to put things back to rights. Besides, this stops yer bleedin'."

Deirdre harumphed, but subsided, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Later, we'll find a nice strong oak tree and plant the afterbirth at the base. It'll make the boy strong. For now, let's get you two cleaned up and fed, so Allan can come meet his son," Madeline declared, removing her fingers from Deirdre's birth canal and washing them in a nearby bowl of water.

The women set to the task of cleaning mother and child, throwing the bedding straw on the fire to burn while they were at it. Before long, Deirdre was dressed in a clean gown, the child in one of the receiving garments his mother had sewn for him. She sat on a pallet, the baby nuzzling at her breast, then crying out as he smelled the milk, but could not seem to find its source. Deirdre smiled indulgently, then moved aside the cloth of her gown and guided her nipple to his mouth. He stopped mid-cry and snuffled contentedly as he pulled, eating his first meal outside of his mother's body.

Allan had been totally involved in the lullaby when he heard the frightening silence broken by the cry of a baby—his son, his son was alive, but what of his wife? He continued to play after a brief hesitation, praying with all he had that Deirdre was all right too. Djaq emerged from the back of the cave, her face glowing as she looked toward where Allan sat.

"It's a boy!" she declared.

Allan jumped up, clutching the harp. "Deirdre?" he demanded. His body resonated with his fear for her, eyes wide, muscles taut.

"Arguing with Madeline already," Djaq smiled.

Allan laughed in relief, putting the harp down to head toward the back of the cave. He stopped, looking down in consternation at Djaq's small hands on his chest, her body blocking his path.

"Uh uh uh. No visitors until we've cleaned up a bit and your son has had his first meal. Soon," she told him as he looked pitifully at her. She smiled shyly at Will before turning to go back and help the women.

Robin and the others came up, clapping Allan on the back, all of the men smiling and laughing in relief. True to her word, Djaq soon returned, calling to the men to follow her. Allan led the way, pausing by the entrance to the little cave he shared with his wife, suddenly nervous. He had never been much of a family man—his mother had died when he was young, his father had betrayed both Allan and his brother Tom, and even Tom had stolen from him on numerous occasions. Even the gang he had come to view as family had betrayed him, turning on him when he had needed their help instead of trying to understand what had made him sell information to Gisbourne. So many people had proven unworthy of his trust until he had met Deirdre, and now that they had a baby as well, she would be relying on him. He felt unworthy and totally unprepared for the task.

He knew he would be a better father than his own father had been; it would be easy to not fall into a drunken stupor every night, to not beat the child black and blue, to not turn on him for money. As Djaq gently nudged him in the back, pushing him into the room, and he saw his son sleeping at Deirdre's breast, his beautiful long lashes feathering his apple cheeks, he wanted more for him. His eyes met Deirdre's and they smiled proudly at each other.

"Well, what's his name?" Madeline demanded, breaking the couple's reverie.

Deirdre continued to hold Allan's gaze.

"Tom. Tom Ruarc* A' Dale."

Allan's grin lit his face—it was a fitting tribute to the little brother he had loved despite his flaws. Behind him, he heard Much sniffle.

"Who is Ruarc?" Djaq asked.

Deirdre turned and smiled at the little Saracen who had been such a help during the birth.

"I knew him as a child. He was my older brother when my da first brought me and Mum to Meath. I've not seen him since we left Ireland." She turned her gaze back to Allan, pleading with him to accept the name.

Allan smiled warmly at her as he moved to crouch next to her; at this moment, he would give her the world if she asked for it. He sat, reaching for the baby and heard the indrawn breaths from those who had seen him "quiet" little Seth so long ago.

"Don't worry, I ain't gonna turn 'im upside down. It ain't like 'e's cryin' or anythin'," he reasoned, his grin broadening as little Tom reached a hand from his swaddling to grab his father's outstretched finger.

"He's a strong one, that's certain." Madeline beamed proudly, almost as if she was the one who had birthed the lad.

"Just like 'is mother," Allan added.

"Lord, help us," Much rolled his eyes skyward, putting on his most pious face as Deirdre stuck out her tongue and the others laughed.

*Pronounced "Roarke."