by Sakwa, Kim
“What’s in the satchel?” he asked, hoping the turn in conversation would ease her distress.
“Not enough, Greylen.” She shook her head.
“Shh. No more worries.” He soothed her, wiping another tear as it slipped through her lashes. “Come now, I wish to see what my amazing wife has thought to bring with her.” She started to scoot from his lap, but he pulled her back, lifting her chin again. “I am proud of you, Gwen. For all that you have accomplished. And I would have told you so often, I would have.” He would have given her everything she needed, love and affection, things that she obviously lacked from her parents. He understood her vulnerability now. Why she hid behind her bluster. “I am sorry you were alone while I was not.”
Gwen lost it then. She threw herself against Greylen, sobbing openly as he whispered soothing words in her ear. She’d kept it in for so long and sharing her feelings with him—and that he understood—seemed to make everything better. Greylen loved her and he made her feel safe.
She finally stopped making a complete idiot of herself and left the comfort of his lap. She reached for the plaid at the end of their bed and with shaky hands opened the Gore-Tex bag. She was terrified that if water had somehow seeped inside, her instruments could be ruined. Her fears, however, were unfounded.
She ran her fingers over everything and could only imagine what her collection of essentials looked like to Greylen. There were shiny instruments in leather cases, glass vials of varying sizes, and an old iPhone and speaker. Something caught her eye, and she reached back inside the bag. Stunned, Gwen held up the garment she’d retrieved, staring at it, truly confused.
“Trust me,” he hissed. “You couldn’t be more bothered than I.”
“These are my marathon shorts, Greylen. I don’t remember packing them.” She couldn’t imagine how they go inside, but there they were folded, neatly at the bottom.
“Tell me ’tis an undergarment.”
“Sorry,” she said, scrunching her face. He seemed angry she’d ever worn them. “I wear them when I run a race. They bring me luck,” she added in justification.
“You run races in those? With others present?”
She barely looked up. “I’m sorry, Greylen, but they were made from my favorite pair of jeans, and I’ve worn them every time I’ve needed to feel alive again.”
“We’ll discuss this later,” he bit out in an angry tone. “What of the other things?” Gwen knew her husband was trying to control his rage, but he was failing miserably.
“They’re instruments my aunt gave me when I started med school. She called it the quick-fix kit.” Gwen smiled as she ran her fingers over all of the items again. “I can numb your pain, stitch you up, and I can even listen to your heart, but that’s about all,” she said, shaking her head. “This is my old iPhone,” she explained, holding it up along with her mini speaker. “I kept it just so I could use it for the music. These are extra battery packs since I always seemed to have a problem with charging cords. And this, Greylen,” she said, holding up a mini bottle and removing the top, “is vodka, sweet blessed vodka.”
Greylen stopped her before she could drink. “What is it, Gwendolyn?” he demanded.
“It’s a strong liquor, and the ones I have happen to be top of the line. You’ve never tasted anything like it.”
He watched as she drained half the mini bottle and then closed her eyes. “Much better.” She sighed, holding it out to him. “Try it.”
Greylen took it from her hand, smelling the drink before taking a sip. “I’ve tasted it before. But not so refined.”
“Well, we have twelve more.” She counted. “Oh God, I packed thirteen.” She groaned, reaching for another bottle before crawling into his lap.
Greylen held her, rubbing her back. “Do you feel better?”
“No. Do you?”
“Nay.”
She reached up to brush the hair from his face. “Well,” she said, then sighed. “I’m getting drunk.”
“Drunk? As in sotted?” he asked. “You can’t be serious?”
“Oh, but I am,” she said, finishing the bottle. “Join me, Greylen. It’ll be our last party before, whatever.”
Greylen must have sensed she was trying to stop the endless, horrid possibilities running through her mind. His large hands engulfed her frame, bringing her close enough to rub his lips against her. He sighed and said, “Give me a bottle.”
“How about some music?” she asked.
“You wish to go below stairs now?”
“I have another surprise, Greylen.”
“I’ve truly had enough already, Gwen.” He shook his head.
Gwen could feel for him, she really could. Here he was once again confronted with things he couldn’t quite understand, or things that should be beyond his compression, and the man stood firm. Actually, he stood proud and tall, and she found herself ridiculously lucky to be married to him. She picked out a playlist, said a quick prayer, and waited.
He was smart, that husband of hers. He grabbed the phone out of her hand first and then the speaker, somehow knowing they were connected. “Never leave home without it.” Gwen laughed as she watched him turn both in his hands.
“How does this operate?” he asked.
“I don’t have a clue.” She shrugged. “It would take me days to even try.”
Gwen took back her iPhone and the speaker, then stood and held out her hand. “Come by the fire, Greylen.”
He picked up the remaining bottles and followed her to the sitting area. Gwen placed the speaker on the hearth while Greylen sat on the floor, leaning against one of the chairs. She could tell he enjoyed the music she chose. She watched as he listened to the lyrics, obviously hearing tones and sounds he’d never been exposed to before. They had eight bottles of vodka left, and Gwen finished the last in her hand.
“Come on, catch up,” she prodded. “In fact, you’re bigger than me. Drink two.”
Her pout must have been infectious because he smiled before draining the one in his hand and then another. She sat in his lap, holding his free hand. “I’m scared, Greylen,” she whispered.
“I’ve told you, Gwen, I’ll always keep you safe.” “But I need to keep you safe too.”
He didn’t seem to have a ready answer, other than to hold her. And strangely, the night turned pleasant. They remained by the fire, drinking and listening to music. Gwen excused herself for a moment before returning.
“Will you dance with me?” she asked, holding out her hand.
“Don’t you know?” he asked, shaking his head. “Anything, Gwendolyn, anything.”
He stood and opened the seventh bottle, drinking half before holding it to her lips. “Open, love,” he whispered, watching as it emptied in her mouth. He kissed her, only to stop a moment later. “What’s rock and roll?” he questioned in reference to the lyrics.
The Uncle Kracker version of “Drift Away” was playing now, one of her favorites. “It’s a type of music. I’m not sure if they were referring to getting lost in music literally, or if they meant it more metaphorically, like getting lost in the music of someone’s soul. I’d choose the latter, Greylen. I want to get lost in you.” She took his hands and showed him how to dance to the beat of her music.
They remained in front of the fire it seemed like forever. Gwen was having the time of her life, her worries forgotten as she enjoyed a night she had only dreamed of—dancing with her husband and listening to her favorite songs by a roaring fire. And the alcohol, well it was definitely beginning to impair her judgment.
“I must call for a guard,” Greylen said, shaking his head. He was watching her as she danced on the hearth to “You Sexy Thing” by Hot Chocolate. She bit her lip as he walked backward, obviously unwilling to take his eyes from her. Opening the door, he bellowed in demand. “Guards.” Not happy with the response, he called again, “GUARDS!”
Obviously satisfied by slamming doors, he gave her his full attention now, kneeling in front of the chair as
he drained another bottle. Then he crawled, as a predator before her, growling as he untied her belt with his teeth and dragged her beneath him. She laughed and he smiled, then he gave her a look that indisputably took her breath away.
They enjoyed a night as never before and stayed awake for hours, laughing, dancing, and drinking in between the most incredible sex they'd had to date.
Gwen ran shrieking from Greylen’s clutches so many times she finally lost count of how often he playfully wrestled her beneath him. Every inch of their chamber was subjected to explicit carnal knowledge by the time they lay exhausted by the fire.
They awoke hours later, holding their heads, knowing smiles given and returned.
“I’ll be useless today, wife.”
“We have to run, Greylen. It’s the only thing that will help,” she croaked, her throat sore from screeching and laughing so much.
“You are so incredibly, terribly, terribly daft.” He groaned, closing his eyes again.
“So I’ve been told,” she muttered as she stood.
“Good God, Gwendolyn,” he cried. “Are you in pain?”
“No, just my head,” she assured him before looking down. “Greylen!” Her arms and thighs were covered with hickeys where he’d feasted on her skin. She looked at him now and saw that he too was covered with red marks. From her own display of feasting.
They walked to the bathing chamber together, shaking their heads as they looked in the mirror. Then they fell to the floor in painful laughter.
“Mother will have my head, wife. I beg you, cover yourself completely till they’re gone.”
“Anything, Greylen,” she replied, using the words he so often told her last night. “Anything.”
“Play nice, boys,” Gwen teased from her perch a few days later as Greylen and his men headed outside.
Greylen stopped when he reached the doors. Turning, he called back to her, “Don’t cook tonight, love. I’ll pick up Chinese on the way home.” She smiled as he winked at her, then left to join his men.
Gwen stayed on the steps long after Greylen left. She leaned against the railing, wishing she could laugh at his comment, but she was nauseated and so dizzy that the entire stairway spun around her. She suspected she was pregnant. Oh, you’re brilliant, genius. Of course she was pregnant. She was late and had the worst case of morning sickness ever.
She couldn’t believe she had the energy to run with Greylen that morning, but she had. Now, however, all she wanted to do was go back to bed. And she did.
Anna checked on her throughout the day, bringing her tea infusions every couple of hours. Gwen started using the new brew the morning of her hangover. She’d found the mixture in one of the gift baskets from their wedding. Cook kept the canister next to the coffee beans on the island, ensuring no one else touched it. It was hers alone.
Lady Madelyn came in at some point, too, looking into her eyes and inspecting the color of her skin. “How many days have you missed your flow, Gwendolyn?” she asked, seeming confounded by the intensity of her sickness.
“Five, maybe six,” Gwen answered with a smile.
“It seems appropriate,” she said. “Your color, however, concerns me.”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Gwen said, reaching for her hand. “Please don’t tell Greylen. I’d like to tell him myself, tonight.”
“Gwendolyn, if Greylen comes home before supper and you’re still abed, you’d best tell him quickly. He’ll have a fright otherwise.”
Luckily, Greylen didn’t return early, and Gwen was able to rest for the entire day. She dressed for dinner with Anna’s help and waited for Greylen in the great hall. They enjoyed a wonderful meal, but at her incessant yawning, Greylen took her upstairs.
“Gwen, are you ill, love? You barely touched your dinner?” he asked.
She smiled, then blurted out, “I’m pregnant, Greylen.”
“With child?”
“No, with a horse, you fool,” she replied, rolling her eyes.
Greylen threw his head back in laughter. He picked her up and spun her around. He must have felt her tense and quickly set her down. “I’m sorry. I only—I’m—”
“Ha. Who’s the stammering idiot now?”
“Shut up, Gwendolyn. Your husband’s going to kiss you. Quite senseless, I fear.”
She rewarded him by batting her lashes and smiling, and he did kiss her senseless…slowly, sweetly senseless…until she swayed. “You’re not well, are you?” he asked.
“I’m so happy, Greylen, but I feel horrible.” She tried to make light of her symptoms. Greylen, however, took them very seriously. He helped her undress, then carried her to bed. It was the first night they didn’t make love, but he covered her stomach protectively with his hand, and she fell asleep in seconds.
When Gwen awoke, he was already gone, but he’d left a note upon the table. It simply said “I love you.” She tried to get up but couldn’t move. Anna found her in bed when she came to tidy their chamber and cared for her throughout the day again.
Anna continued to bring the tea infusions, which seemed to be the only thing that eased her nausea. But as the day turned to night, Gwen started to think that something else was causing her sickness and knew that she had to talk to Greylen.
But she never awoke when Greylen entered the chamber that night. And the next day, she actually felt better. She made it to the great hall and had a light meal with Isabelle and Lady Madelyn. And by the later part of the week, her strength began to return, probably because she was eating more and drinking less.
On the seventh night, she awoke to pain. Pain like she’d never felt before. Her body was racked with cramps, and she was so weak she could barely cry out.
“Gwen?” Greylen came awake instantly. “Gwen, what’s wrong?”
“Your mother…please,” she somehow managed to say, tears streaming down her face.
Greylen pulled back the covers to do as she asked. His expression masked but a second after he took in the sight of his wife’s body atop a small, but growing, pool of blood. He hadn’t noticed how much weight she’d lost, nor had he suspected anything amiss—until now.
“I need to lift you, love. I know you’re in pain,” he said softly. He’d not leave her, not even for the seconds ’twould take to fetch his mother. He cradled her shaking body and carried her to his mother’s chamber.
He stood by his mother’s bedside, calling to her in the calmest voice he could muster. And considering the rage and terror he felt, it took everything he had.
Lady Madelyn came awake, her hands covering her mouth. “Lay her on the bed, Greylen,” she ordered as she stood. “Fetch Anna, tell her to bring my bag and have the servants prepare a bath. Quickly, Greylen.”
She’d needn’t have said quickly, he was already halfway down the hall as she yelled the last of it.
Anna almost screamed when she came awake. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her, his light-colored breeches were soiled with blood, and the look on his face was obviously one she had never seen before. “Dear God, Greylen, what’s happened?”
“Gwen’s in Mother’s chamber,” he told her. “I think she’s dying, Anna.”
Wanting Anna to help his mother as soon as possible, Greylen saw to the servants himself. Then he called for his men.
He placed his personal guards by the entrance doors, Kevin and Hugh outside, and Duncan within. Ian and Connell stood just beyond his mother’s chamber, and Gavin all but tore his mother’s door from the frame as he stormed inside.
Greylen was only a step behind him as they entered. Their first sight was his mother and Anna forcing a liquid down Gwen’s throat. In her current state, she could barely push them away. Gavin went right to the bed, taking in the color of Gwen’s skin, and opened each of her lids as he inspected her eyes. Greylen glanced up to Gavin, who then shook his head and said in a whisper, “She’s wasted away before our eyes, and
we’ve not been the wiser.”
“Greylen, carry her to the tub,” his mother ordered, not commenting on Gavin’s admission.
Greylen did more than carry his wife. He climbed in with her, holding her as Anna and his mother gently scrubbed the blood from her body. Tears leaked from his eyes as he held her, knowing if she died from his negligence, he’d beg Gavin for his death.
He heard sheets being torn from the bed and looked over. Gavin was ripping the soiled coverings and wadding them before throwing them to the floor. He left the room, and Greylen had no doubt where ’twas that he went. Gavin’s anger and fear were as close to his own. They would both carry the blame.
When Gwen was washed, Greylen lifted her from the tub while the women swaddled her in a towel.
“Her bleeding should stop for now, Greylen. The babe was so new—”
“I care not about the babe, Mother. ’Tis my wife for whom I fear.”
“I gave her a strong dose of elixir. With luck, it should reverse the damage of what she’s been ingesting.” She pulled the covers around Gwendolyn after he laid her in bed. Then he sat next to her, stroking her forehead.
“How long, Mother?” he asked, looking only at his wife.
“Seven days, mayhap longer,” she said and shook her head.
“I’ll return as soon as possible. Call for me if she awakens.”
Just as he’d suspected, he found Gavin within his chamber, tearing the sheets from their bed.
“’Tis poison,” Gavin spat, anger causing his entire body to shake.
“I know,” Greylen answered. “Tighten our patrols and account for each of our men’s actions over the past two weeks.”
As they headed for the door, Gavin said, “I won’t be far behind. Where?”
“The well,” Greylen called, taking the stairs.
Gavin signaled to Duncan as he left the keep. Greylen and Gavin awoke their soldiers and increased their guard. Careful not to inform them what was amiss, they placed within each group two men they trusted implicitly. Then they headed toward the well.