"I think we're too late. Her pelvis is narrow and the babe is lodged in the birth canal.”

Rory hugged her elbows. "Is she going to die?"

"I have to get the baby out. If I don't act now, we'll lose them both."

Isabelle crawled onto the bed between Jane's legs and her arms disappeared beneath the linen. Mournful wails split the air in the silent room. Bile rose in Rory's throat. Until now, never in her life had she wanted to evaporate like mist. Her heart ached for Isabelle, and the woman, unable to control her gut–wrenching screams.

Jon's voice came to Rory through a tunnel. "Don't open that door, lad. They're doing everything they can to help her."

Isabelle drew in a gulp of air, pushed it from her lungs and drove in deeper. "I feel the baby's head now. I need a shoulder, an arm. Dear, God, help me."

"Is the child alive?" Rory asked.

"I don't know."

The child emerged. "It's a boy! Is he breathing?"

"Praise the Lord, he's breathing."

Feeling faint, Rory clutched the nearest poster of the bed. Blood seeped between Jane's thighs like a scarlet river. She'd never seen so much blood. The taste of rusty metal spiraled up her nose.

"Take the baby, Rory.”

Rory took the child with an anguished sob. "Jane’s face is the color of gun metal."

Isabelle leaned over Jane's lifeless body and placed two red–stained fingers against her throat. "We lost her, lass. She's gone." Folding her hands, she said a quiet prayer, climbed from the bed and collapsed into a chair. "What will I say to Hiram?"

"You did everything possible."

"Except spare her a wretched death."

Jane looked serene, peaceful. One might think she'd drifted off into blissful slumber. "You can't bring Hiram into this room until you remove the bed linen."

Isabelle rose from the chair, removed the blood–soaked linen and replaced them with the clean sheets. "Open the door. Let him hold his son and say goodbye to his wife."