Nineteen
Saxan grimaced, tugging her cloak more tightly around herself, but it did little to ward off the chill of the rain. No one complained, but their displeasure reached out through the rain and the dark to touch her. She sat on Midnight in front of Botolf, but he had not yet noticed that she was already in labor. Saxan suspected it was another one of those things a man would not notice simply because he was so ignorant of the whole process.
In fact, she thought with a touch of humor, she could not have chosen a more unsuitable group of people to attend her on her childbed. A contraction tore through her that nearly caused her to cry out. She was not going to reach Regenford in time. The contractions were too strong and too close together. Ahead was a crofter’s hut, and she knew she was going to have to stop there. She also knew that Botolf would be furious.
Botolf arranged his cloak around her, trying to shelter her from the cold and the wind. “The weather worsens. Are you all right?”
“Nay,” she said between gritted teeth as another contraction rolled over her. “We must stop.”
“You were hurt,” he said, slowing the pace of his horse as he tried fruitlessly to see her in the dark.
“Nay, I fear our child does not wish to wait until we reach Regenford.” There was a long silence, and Botolf felt rigid behind her. “Botolf?”
“You are having the baby? Now?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Well, not right here in this saddle, although I might well do so if I do not find somewhere else soon.”
“We should have stayed at Collinburn.”
“Nay, I could not have my child in that place of death. ’Tis bad enough that we must carry the man with us, but I can accept that for Lady Mary’s sake.” She could not fully suppress a low moan as the next contraction wracked her body. “I believe an old crofter’s hut lies just ahead. It will be shelter enough.”
“Are you certain you cannot reach Regenford?”
“Very certain.”
“I did not know this could happen with such swiftness.”
“It may not be that quick. I could have begun my labor while I was still a captive. I was too upset to notice the contractions until they grew too strong to ignore.”
The next few moments were hectic. Botolf sent three of his men ahead to do whatever they could to prepare the crofter’s hut for Saxan. Despite her pain, Saxan found the men’s horror at this turn of events somewhat amusing. Childbirth was not something they knew much about, and they definitely wanted no part of it
When they reached the crofter’s battered cottage, the light shining from it was welcoming. Botolf carried her inside, and she could see that his men had tried hard to make the deteriorating place comfortable, finding a dry comer and preparing a soft pallet for her near a fire. Once she was settled on the pallet, she looked up to see Botolf, his three knights, and four of her five brothers staring down at her in ill-disguised horror. They were going to be useless. She was not only the mother-to-be, but she would have to be her own midwife as well.
“I will need hot water,” she said and almost laughed as her four brothers scrambled to get it.
“I think we should help them,” mumbled Roger as he, Wesley, and Talbot hurried after the Todds.
“ ’Tis raining. It will not be that difficult to find water,” Botolf called after them, then looked at Saxan in astonishment when she giggled. “How can you laugh?”
“ ’Tis funny.” She tried to relax and not fight the contraction rippling through her. “Now, I fear you must listen closely, Botolf. ’Tis painfully clear that not one of you men knows much about childbirth.”
“It is something best left to the women,” he murmured as he crouched by her side and took her hand in his, wincing when she tightened her grip as she suffered through another contraction. “I do not feel at ease doing this.”
“Mayhap one of my brothers will help. First, take the bag I have tied to the girdle of my skirts.”
Botolf was not surprised to see his hands tremble as he fumbled to untie her bag. When Hunter entered with the others and began to heat some water, he ordered him to come and help. Since the storm had worsened and he could not force all the men to wait outside, Botolf had his men string a rope across the room and hang blankets from it so that Saxan could have some privacy. He then helped her undress to her chemise.
Saxan told Botolf and Hunter everything she could think of about the birthing process and what she would require them to do. She found it amusing that men who thought nothing of wading into the blood-shed of battle, sword in hand, should look so squeamish about this. Her contractions were growing so strong and continuous, however, she feared she might soon lose the ability to direct them step by step. She had Hunter mix her a hot drink of basil, honey, and nutmeg to ease the birth. He bathed her face with a cloth soaked in cool water and gently scented with lavender even as he helped her sip her drink.
“Is there anything you think I have not told you?” she asked, still panting from the strength of her last contraction.
“Aye. Where can we find a woman round here so that we may hand this duty o’er to her?” asked Hunter, smiling at her.
She laughed weakly. “Men—so quick to put the babe in there and so reluctant to help get it out.”
“I do not like to see you suffer so,” said Botolf.
“ ’Tis a pain that will soon be gone and which brings great rewards. I hope you two men have paid close attention to all I said, for I think I am going to be too busy to help you.”
A blindingly painful contraction swept over Saxan, but she struggled to hold back a scream. She gulped the herbal honied brew Hunter served her and savored the feel of the cool lavender-scented cloth, but doubted that any of her potions had the strength to ease the pain rippling through her almost constantly now. Despite her blurred vision she looked up at her husband and brother, wishing she could ease the fear they so clearly felt. Then the need to bring her child into the world stole all thought from her mind.
Through the fog of pain enfolding her, Saxan was faintly aware of Hunter’s and Botolf’s words of encouragement. Soon the pain blended into one all-encompassing need to push, the strain of it on her body frightening her. Through a haze she heard a scream and realized it was hers. She started to give into a tempting blackness, but a sharp cry pulled her back to consciousness.
“My baby is alive?” she asked.
“Aye, sweeting,” Botolf replied, his voice hoarse with emotion. “We have a son.”
Saxan turned her head to look at the squawling child Botolf held warily. She only caught a brief look, however, before her body demanded her full attention. Although she had suspected it for months, she was caught off guard when fierce contractions ripped through her body. She heard herself curse and caught a fleeting glimpse of both Botolf and Hunter going white.
“Saxan? What is wrong?” Botolf cried.
“Nothing is wrong” she said through gritted teeth. “Best to put your first child down, Botolf.”
Hunter laughed. “She has not finished. Surely you must have considered this possibility?”
“What possibility?” Botolf snapped, terrified for Saxan.
“Twins, you fool. Our family is rife with them. Pitney,” Hunter cried.
Botolf had suspected Pitney had been lurking on the other side of the blanket wall, and his suspicion was proven by the speed with which the youth stuck his head in when Hunter called. Still stunned from the news that he would be the father of twins, Botolf watched blindly as, following Hunter’s orders, Pitney took his firstborn from the earl’s arms.
“Bathe him, swaddle him, and try to mark him as the firstborn,” Hunter told Pitney.
“Mark him?” Botolf asked, struggling to shake free of his stunned immobility because Saxan was going to need him.
“Just a bit of cloth about his wrist for now,” Hunter said. “Your next child may be a girl or look nothing like his brother, so any other marking may be unnecessary.”
&n
bsp; “Just a tiny cut meant to leave a small scar, Botolf,” Saxan said, hoping she could ease Botolf’s confusion and worry before she lost the ability to do so. “We speak from experience when we tell you that if the children are too much alike, even the parents can grow confused at first. Long ago our family learned that, for all it pains the parents to do so, ’tis best to mark the firstborn so that all doubt can be eased by one quick look.”
Botolf grimaced when, as another contraction tore through her, she tightened her grip on his hand. He suspected it would be a few days before his hand recovered from the birth of his children. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pitney slip away with the baby and looked at Hunter.
“Does he know how to tend to it?” he asked.
“There are very few in our large family who are not familiar with babies.”
Reassured, Botolf turned all his attention back to the heavily laboring Saxan. Nothing appeared to have gone wrong, yet his fear for her was still strong. She was so tiny, so delicately built; he did not understand how she could endure. Although she seemed oblivious to him as she fought to bring their second child into the world, he continued to offer words of encouragement.
His second son was smaller, but the strength of his first cry eased Botolf’s concerns. He worked to clean Saxan, change her bedding, and even used the moss as padding to absorb the blood as she had instructed him to. Hunter and Pitney took care of the babies, marking the firstborn, bathing and swaddling them. Saxan barely stirred as each child was put to her breast for the first time, and that frightened him.
Saxan fought to push aside the heavy exhaustion she felt. Her whole body ached. Slowly, she opened her eyes to look at her babies, Hunter holding one out for her to see and then Botolf showing her the other. For months she had seriously considered the possibility that she carried twins, but seeing them was still a shock. She mustered enough strength to kiss each baby before Hunter and Pitney took them away.
Despite Botolf’s efforts to make her, Saxan could not eat. She did not have the strength or appetite. The smile she gave Botolf as he crawled beneath the blanket with her was not enough to smooth the worry lines from his face. He took her into his arms, his hold so gentle and tender she was prompted to look at him. The expression on his face as he brushed a few wisps of hair from her cheeks made her heart beat faster.
“I am fine, Botolf,” she said and felt his arms tighten around her.
“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice soft and hoarse.
“Aye, very certain. I am just very, very tired.” She frowned when he gave a shaky laugh. Botolf was clearly emotional, and she wished she were not too exhausted to try to judge exactly what he was feeling.
“I am not surprised. You are so small,” he whispered and touched a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for my sons.”
“You are very welcome, m’lord.”
“Although I was deeply moved to share in their birth, I think I prefer leaving such things to the women.” He smoothed his hand down her thick braid. “I cannot abide watching you suffer, knowing I can do nothing for you.”
“You proved to be very skilled.”
“And you proved to be far stronger than anyone would expect. I do not think you can ever understand how grateful I am that you would endure that for me when I can give you so little.”
“You give me a lot,” she said and knew she was losing the battle against the need to sleep, for her words were faintly slurred.
“Nay, I deny you a lot and for no other reason than I am a complete coward.”
“You are no coward, Botolf.”
“Aye, sweeting, I am a very great coward, but now is not the time to discuss that. You need to rest.”
Saxan did not want to sleep now when he was speaking so openly, but she had no choice. Sleep was pulling at her so strongly she could not fight it any longer, no matter how desperately she wanted to hear Botolf say more. Men picked the worst times to be open and reveal their emotions! She vowed not to let him forget the heart-to-heart talk he had vaguely promised her.
Botolf entered the bedchamber, and Saxan watched as he washed up for bed. It had been almost three months since the twins had entered the world in the dark crofter’s hut. She was bathed, strong, and ready to renew the more intimate side of their married life.
It was also time to have that long, intimate talk Botolf had tentatively begun after their birth. He had never been cold or too distant; but since that night, he had definitely been more affectionate, more open, and there was a much more tender expression in his eyes when he looked at her. Something had changed and she was tired of trying to guess what that was. She took a sip of cider from the lovely silver tankard Sir Bretton Graeme had sent her and eyed Botolf closely as he shed the last of his clothes and slid into bed beside her.
“I am still not sure we ought to be accepting gifts from that Scotsman,” Botolf murmured as he frowned at her tankard before taking a drink from it.
“ ’Tis just the one,” she said, retrieving the tankard, finishing her drink and setting it on the bedside table. “A small gift in the way of an apology, although none was really needed, and a thank you for naming our son Bretton.”
“Naming a marcher lord’s son after a Scot must be a sign of madness.”
“We needed a second name. We had only the one and could not name both boys Leofric after your father. And, Sir Bretton did not have to help us, but he did.” She settled herself into his arms, smiling crookedly when he gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “What troubles me about it all is that he insisted Thylda be the one to meet him and that she was a little too eager to do so. Now, I do not wish to talk about them.”
“Oh? And what do you wish to talk about?”
“I do not wish to talk at all,” she murmured, sliding her hand down his stomach.
When her small hand inched lower and she curled her long, soft fingers around his manhood, Botolf groaned as his barely controlled passion immediately flared to life. He had been fighting to subdue his desire for her since only days after the birth. That whole sequence of events, from her capture to the birth of the twins, had made him face how much she meant to him. Despite this efforts to fight it, the need for her had grown and deepened within him. He had faced those emotions, freed them, and they had made his desire even harder to control. He ached to make love to her and try to convey all the emotions he was too afraid to speak of.
“Is this wise so soon after a hard birth?” he asked, but gave in to the temptation to stroke her sides, lingering over the curve of her hip.
“It was no harder than many another birth, just a little more exhausting. I am fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“More than sure,” she whispered as she traced the shape of his ear with her tongue.
Botolf growled softly as he rolled so that she was sprawled beneath him. “When you tempt a man so, you had best be prepared to pay the consequences, m’lady”
“I am quite eager to pay a few of those particular consequences, my lord.” She rubbed her feet up and down his calves.
“They could be fierce and exacted several times during the night.” He unlaced her thin night rail and tossed it aside.
“Mayhap it is your strength we should worry about.”
“Oh—ho! A dare, is it? You have thrown down a gauntlet I must pick up. What man could resist such a challenge?”
“None, I should think.” She grinned as he kissed the tip of her nose. “Howbeit, I begin to think there are one or two who would keep talking about meeting the challenge until the one who made it falls asleep.”
Botolf laughed and kissed her, his amusement immediately swept away by desire. He struggled to rein in his passion enough to enjoy the reuniting of their bodies. It had only been a few months, but it felt like it had been years. He stroked and kissed her, trying to leave no place on her slim frame untouched before he lost all control. The fierce passion Saxan was openly displaying was quickly severing his restraints. When she dragged he
r nails lightly up the backs of his thighs as she rubbed her body invitingly against him, he could wait no longer.
Saxan met his fierce possession with an equal greed. Botolf cupped her face in his hands, kissing her hungrily, matching the thrust of his body with the strokes of his tongue. When he felt her crest nearing, he grasped her by her slim hips and held her tightly against him. Their cries of release blended perfectly as they reached passion’s heights as one. For a long time after he collapsed in her arms, he held her close, dotting her neck with kisses. When he finally moved, it was only to roll onto his back; Saxan still held close to him.
“I have missed that,” he murmured, combing his fingers through her hair.
“A high price to pay for a child?” she asked as she lifted her head to look at him.
He laughed when he saw the glint of mischief in her beautiful eyes. “That is a difficult question to answer.” He frowned as if considering it, then chuckled when she struck him playfully on the chest. “Nay, nay. Have mercy, woman.”
“Your sons are going to look like you,” she said, smoothing his tousled black hair off his face.
“With your eyes. ’Tis actually a striking combination.”
“A handsome one.”
“Aye, of course.” He exchanged a grin with her.
He stared up at her, suddenly serious, and Saxan saw that tender look in his eyes again. She knew that now was the time to have the talk they had almost begun three months ago. An attack of cowardice grabbed her by the throat, choking back the words she had planned to say. What if she were misreading his expressions, seeing more in a slight change than there actually was? What if he really had not wanted to say anything about his feelings that night in the crofter’s hut? She knew she would feel dreadful if she exposed her feelings and asked things of him he was not ready to give, only to discover that he had just wanted to discuss their children that night. Or that the tender looks were no more than a natural softening of a man toward the mother of his children.
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