A Nighean Ruadh

A Yule Bairn

Featured Gaelic and Pronunciations:

- a toll-tòine (ah tohl toyn-nyeh) - asshole

- A luidse (ah lood-sheh) - idiot, dolt

- A luidsean (ah lood-shehn) - idiots (pl)

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21 December, 1743

Wentworth Prison, The Highlands, Scotland

I was now leaning against Murtagh, who sat behind me while I grimaced with each contraction. It was evident that I was most certainly in labour now, as the pains came just about every five minutes or so. "I thought women kent when the bairns were coming!" Angus exclaimed, wondering how on earth I hadn't known before.

"Perhaps I was, but it is impossible fer me te ken the pain and recognise it as early labour, ye daft gabbot," I snapped at him through gritted teeth. "If ye want te take over, go ahead."

"Women have it easy," said Rupert stupidly, and I sent up a nasty glare at him. "What? It's the truth of the matter! All ye have te do is push a bairn out of yer cunny!"

"Aye, and do ye ken how small that 'cunny' is and how large the bairn is?" I said to him. "Do ye ken what makes the bairn even come out?"

"Ye push it, dinnae ye?" asked young Willie.

"Well, yes, tha' helps, but the muscles inside contract and push the wee bairn out," I said, trying to come up with an example they would understand. "It's like... pushing out a jobby, only yer no' doin' the work, yer colon is."

"What's a colon?" asked Angus.

"It's where yer shit ends up before it comes out yer arse," I explained. I gripped Cailean's hand tightly as another pain came on. It had been about two hours since my waters had gone, and I had no experienced midwife - or even a woman - to help me deliver this bairn. No, just five idiot men who were staring at me with their maws open like fish.

"Easy, breathe... tha's it," Cailean told me as I powered through the contraction.

"I hear gettin' kicked in the bollocks is much more painful," Rupert said, and I growled at him through my contraction.

"Ye dinnae want te be sayin' that te me right now, a toll-tòine ," I said through gritted teeth. "And... fer the record..." I puffed once the contraction passed. "...childbirth is much... more painful than... than getting kicked in the bollocks..."

"How do you ken? Ever had it done to ye?" Rupert asked through chuckles.

"Angus," I said, "kick him in the bollocks."

"I'll do no such thing!" Angus said, covering his own bollocks with his hand.

"I ken one thing fer sure. Ye dinnae see any men going around askin' fer a kick te the bollocks, and yet ye see many a woman with several bairns," Rupert said, clearly amused with himself.

"Most of the time, it's forced on them," I said. I leaned back against Murtagh, who was grasping my other hand.

"Dinnae listen te these cloberheads, lass. They dinnae understand what yer goin' through. None of them's been close enough te a woman long enough te ken this," he told me rather affectionately, or at least, affectionately for his standards.

"Well, they're aboot te find out, aren't they?" I said, and was overtaken by another contraction. I continued that way for quite a while, with one of the men feeding me whisky or a piece of a bannock every so often and another dabbing my forehead with cool water. It helped that the air was so cold, and there was a hint of snow in the air. I began to wonder as I laboured exactly when the pains started. I'd been sore in my back for most of the journey already, and sitting on the horse made it no better. It's possible I'd gone into labour a while ago but was so sore, I didn't even notice. Sometimes, a woman could be in labour for hours or even days before her waters broke, and for all I knew, that was the case for me. It was evident that something wasn't right, though - this bairn was coming two months early, and bairns didn't come early unless there was a problem. Great - a dangerous childbirth surrounded by five idiots who wouldn't know the urethra from the vaginal entrance.