Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03

by Beleaguered

  Alyse sighed and sat up in bed. Geoffrey bolted up, instantly awake. “What is wrong, sweetheart? Is it the…”

  “Nay, my love. I lay on my back, and now I need the chamberpot again.”

  Geoffrey chuckled. “Do you need my assistance, madam?”

  “Hah.” She slowly slid off the bed. “I hardly think so at this point.” She reached for the pot then stopped.

  “Geoffrey?”

  “Can you not find it, my love? I placed it right near the foot of the bed.”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean…” She stopped midsentence, her hand going to her belly.

  “Alyse? What was that sound? Did you miss the pot, love?”

  “Geoffrey.” The sharp pain wrenched a gasp from Alyse.

  A light flared, showing a naked Geoffrey beside the bed. “What is wrong, sweetheart? What happened?” He took a step toward her then backed up. “The floor is wet.” She looked down at the drenched fabric clinging to her legs. “See, you did need my assistance. All you had to do was ask, my love.”

  Alyse stared at him, unable to speak as she adjusted to the new sensations in her body. She panted as another pain rippled across her stomach.

  “Let me take this wet shift off you. There.” He expertly stripped it from her swollen body and dropped it to the floor to absorb the water still at her feet. “Where are your other shifts?” He rummaged in her chest until he pulled out another and brought it to her, sliding it over her head and arranging the soft folds over her. Proudly, he stood back. “All better now, my sweet?”

  The pains eased, and Alyse found her tongue. “Geoffrey! I did not miss the chamberpot. I am—” She stopped abruptly, the pain once more drawing down her back and around her belly to end, mercifully, as it reached the bottom of her abdomen. She gasped and started to breathe again.

  Geoffrey froze, his mouth working without sound until finally he bellowed, “God’s death! The baby. Alyse, why didn’t you tell me?” With shaking hand, he set the candlestick onto the floor and snatched her into his arms. He whirled in a perfect circle until darting finally for the bed. After placing her carefully in the center, he raced out the door, shouting for Joan. A moment later he ran back in, grabbed his chausses and tunic, and hastily pulled them on. He knelt beside her and pressed her hand to his mouth.

  Raw, passionate love showed in his face, his voice, his eyes. However, fear lurked there as well.

  She stroked his head. Strange that now the time was nigh, her fear had receded.

  Truth to tell, the pain had erased all else as it built again. ’Twould be a struggle, yet she looked forward to having this work done, to holding their child in her arms.

  Joan entered the room, and immediately frowned at Geoffrey. Pippa trailed in, yawning and straightening her gown. Joan’s attention shifted to the girl as she began her instructions to her assistant.

  Alyse feared her time with Geoffrey would be short. Let her comfort him while she might. “’Twill be all right, my love. When next I see you ’twill be with your babe in my arms.” She broke off as another pain hit, and she clamped down on his hand while she weathered the pang. When it was through, she lay back panting, ready to reassure him.

  His face had turned chalky white in the flickering candlelight, his mouth set in strained lines as though he had suffered the pain as well. The torment there gave her the courage to release him. “You must go now, my love. This is woman’s work for a while. Pippa will call you to come see your son.”

  “’Tis no matter if it be son or daughter.” He clutched her face, peered into her eyes, and whispered, “’Tis no matter if ’tis mine or Thomas’s. Nothing matters, save that you and the babe live.”

  “I do love you so much.” She closed her eyes, relieved that he had not forgotten his word.

  “God’s truth, madam, I love you.” He kissed her so deeply she scarce could draw breath.

  “Lord Longford!” Joan grabbed Geoffrey by the elbow and dragged him away. “You must leave now, my lord. Now.” The woman flew at him like a wren, small and unrelenting. “I must tend to Lady Longford, and I cannot do it with you still here. You will be sent for when you are needed.”

  Geoffrey staggered out of the room. The last sight Alyse had of him, he was standing in the hallway, trying to peer in as Pippa shut the door.

  “Now, my lady,” Joan said, pulling Alyse’s shift up above her hips and pushing her knees up. “Let’s see what we’re about.”

  * * * *

  Geoffrey glimpsed the midwife standing at the foot of the bed when Pippa closed the door in his face. He slumped and glanced around, expecting to see others awake and busy, bustling with tasks to aid Joan and his wife. But the house remained silent in the middle of the night.

  He started down the steps, still unsure where to go or what to do. If ’twas light he could saddle Saracen and ride out. Doing something, anything, would surely take his mind off this damnable business.

  His feet carried him into the butlery. If activity was not available, by God, wine was. He chose a full skin and took it outside, to the central courtyard of the manor. Geoffrey found the small bench he had had placed in a corner of the courtyard, a subtle reminder of the first passionate embrace he had shared with Alyse. Later in the summer, roses would cover the trellis, until they had their own bower to flee to when the mood struck them. He tipped the wineskin up and welcomed a mouthful of the rich French wine. Was it Bordeaux? He must ask John.

  How long would this birthing take? Why had he not asked such an important question while he had had the chance? Waiting was ever the worst thing. Especially waiting alone. He took another pull on the wineskin. What he would not give to have Thomas here at his side right now. He shook his head.

  If Thomas were here, ’twould be me comforting him, and we would be in Castile. Or Thomas would be here, and Alyse and I would be in Castile.

  “I am here, Thomas,” he spoke out loud in the darkness, “and you are not, but God help me, I need you now as I never have before.” Another mouthful of wine. Geoffrey leaned his head back against the bower’s wall.

  “She is strong, my friend. You need have no fear for her.” Geoffrey could hear the familiar voice in his mind as though Thomas indeed sat beside him.

  “But she has been through so much. So much that she did not have to suffer, but for me.”

  “Playing the martyr now, Geoffrey? The role hardly suits you.” That mocking tone rang true, irritating as always. “Why not simply the loving husband, a part you were destined to play? You were besotted with her from the first. I could scarcely watch the two of you.”

  “Jealous, were you, Thomas?”

  “Nay, my friend. That too was your part. The jealous friend or lover or husband. Mayhap you have finally learned there was no call for such behavior?”

  Geoffrey shook his head. “Aye. There was never any call, was there? Except…”

  “Aye. Except when she was married to me.”

  Geoffrey grunted and tipped the skin again. “And then the tables turned.”

  “Aye, then I was the jealous one. I cannot say I did not know how you felt. She was worth fighting for. Worth dying for.”

  Pain tore through him. “You did die, Thomas. Just not for her.”

  “Oh, but Geoffrey, I did die for her. I would have taken the sickness for her if that would have kept her safe. But I died for her so that she would be free to return to you.”

  Geoffrey snorted. “So then I suppose Mary died for me, so that I would be free to seek Alyse?”

  Another indulgent chuckle. “Geoffrey, look at all that has happened over the past year. Can you not see the pattern? It fits together, my friend, like a stained glass window, made up of many small bits of brightly colored glass. If you look at those bits one by one, they do not mean anything. But taken as a whole, from a far enough distance, ’tis a beautiful sight, with life, and meaning, and wonder.” Thomas’s voice grew more resolute. “That window is not yet complete, Geoffrey. You but wait for the final bit
to be placed in the frame. Go see what he looks like, my friend. Go now.”

  Geoffrey awoke in the bower, the wineskin beside him on the bench empty, the dawn just lighting the eastern sky pink. What the devil was he doing here? He picked up the wineskin and the night’s business all came flooding back. He jumped and ran into the manor house, taking the stairs two and sometimes three at time. He landed in front of their chamber door just in time to hear an ear-piercing shriek erupt from within.

  Alyse.

  His legs wobbled, and he slumped to the floor. He gripped his head in his hands, agonized that he could have heard his wife’s dying wail.

  Until the next one came, longer and more shrill than the last.

  “God’s death!” He glanced around the corridor, but there was nowhere to retreat to. Nothing to do but see the bloody business through. Slowly, he got to his feet, steeling himself for the next scream. What came, however, was no scream, but a cry. A lusty cry from an upset babe. Geoffrey leaned against the door, gathering his strength to knock, and almost fell into the room when Pippa opened it.

  He gazed around the room, trying to see the whole chamber at once. His attention lighted on Alyse, sitting on a strange chair, her gown around her hips, breathing heavily and looking tired, but oh so satisfied. A bundle wriggled at her breast.

  She tried to smile as she said, “Geoffrey, come look…”

  “He’s got all ten fingers and ten toes, my lord,” Joan said as she removed a bloody basin. “And all the other trappings a boy child should have.”

  A son.

  His heart thumped, and he took a halting step into the chamber, afraid to make a quick movement or a sound.

  Alyse pushed the swaddling off the baby’s head, and he lurched forward, eager now to see him.

  Joan grabbed his arm and broke in before he moved closer. “Coloring in families is sometimes a chancy thing, my lord. Sometimes the child looks like neither ma nor da, but later has the look of a grandma or grandda. Have you any light hair in your family, my lady?”

  Alyse looked up at Geoffrey and shook her head. “Nay, I have not heard of any who were not dark.” The excitement in her face was tempered with sadness. “Geoffrey? Have you any in yours?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, I know not. My father and brother were dark like me.”

  “Geoffrey? Do you think…”

  He peeped over her hand at the fine blond fuzz that covered her son’s head. The small babe opened his eyes long enough to look at her, yawn, and settle back to sleep. Long enough to see that his eyes were a deep, murky blue. A blue that might even turn brown one day.

  “Aye. I think it may be.” A pang rippled through his chest. He had so wanted a son. But God knew Thomas needed one more. “Time may tell for sure, but the babe is small and blond.” He ran a hand through his hair and nodded. “’Tis my belief he is Thomas’s son.”

  “What?” Both Joan and Pippa screeched so loud the baby jerked awake and began to wail.

  “Shhh, hush, Thomas.” Alyse crooned to the tiny bundle.

  Well, that question seemed settled. ’Twas fitting, after all.

  Alyse shifted him to her shoulder, bouncing and soothing him. “Ladies, please.” She settled the babe back to sleep. “Thomas was my first husband. Pippa, you must have heard. You may have too, Joan. We married ere the princess sailed.”

  “Oh, aye, Alyse.” Pippa nodded. “I heard when I went to court.”

  Joan cocked her head. “You were the one whose betrothal was broken and then married Lord Braeton.” Alyse nodded. “He were much different than my lord here.”

  “Aye, he was smaller than Geoffrey and had blond hair and light brown eyes. He died of the pestilence after we arrived in Bordeaux.” She paused. “And five days later I married Lord Longford.”

  “You married five days after your first husband was buried?” Joan looked from Alyse to him. “Were you in a hurry, begging your pardon, my lord?”

  Geoffrey laughed. “That we were, Joan, for the plague was all around us, and we knew we were not promised the morrow. But then neither did we know who the sire of this wee one would be.” He sighed again, and Thomas’s words from his dream echoed in his mind. ’Tis a beautiful sight, with life, and meaning, and wonder.

  “It may be that this was God’s plan all along. Had Thomas stayed in England, he might have died before marrying and producing an heir.” Geoffrey gazed at the small bundle, where his friend lived on still. ’Twould serve.

  He poked his finger into the swaddling blankets and ran it along the soft small cheek. The babe made a short cooing noise then grasped his finger. A firm grip, at that. “Welcome, young Thomas. Your father would be very proud indeed.” He gazed at Alyse, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “As we all are.”

  Epilogue

  Longford Manor

  Summer 1352

  The summer wheat was waist high in the field. In the distance, white wooly shapes dotted the high pasture, while the low pasture saw a small herd of seven horses, two of them young foals, frisking about in the warm afternoon sunlight. Three years after the arrival of the great pestilence, much had changed, although some things had remained constant.

  Geoffrey strode forward through the golden field, working to assess the acreage and how much yield he could expect from this crop. Behind him, aping him almost perfectly, ran young Geoff. Tall for a toddler just over two years old, he was all but inseparable from his father, which was as much his father’s doing as his. A good distance behind, but not so much as to be called a sluggard, Thomas walked in the wake of the other two, just as pleased to have the way marked for him as to blaze a trail himself. Noticeably smaller than Geoff, though a year older, he could usually hold his own against his younger brother with his fast wits and quick movements.

  Alyse brought up the rear, heavy with child again this summer, but smiling indulgently at all three of her boys. She idly stroked her belly.

  This one will be a daughter. Just for me. Well, Geoffrey may have the right to show her off now and then, but she will be mine. My Joanna.

  Alyse sighed. Joanna had shifted lower in her belly. She must send Geoffrey for Joan by the end of this week. So many things to do to get ready.

  She smiled as she thought again of the days when there were more servants than one knew what to do with. Those days had been wiped out by the plague. Without servants, all the work fell on the shoulders of the lady of the house. They were down to four servants now, including John. But she and Geoffrey had learned to do their own work, and it gave satisfaction. In years to come, mayhap they could hire new ones, but for now they had sufficient.

  If only Mistress Macy does not leave the kitchen. Anything but that.

  She still believed her own cooking skills were one step above starvation, so as long as Hannah Macy was content, she would take on any other chore to appease her.

  “Thomas! Geoff! Come back now. ’Tis time to go in.”

  Thomas stopped immediately and turned toward her. He was always such a good boy. Geoff was good, but too much like his father, headstrong to a fault. Thankfully, Geoffrey took a firm hand in raising the boy—both boys, in fact, although he seemed to treat Thomas a bit less strictly than Geoff. Perhaps because Thomas had never given either one of them a minute’s trouble.

  Thomas reached her first. “Pick me up, Mama?”

  Smiling as always at his somber face, Alyse settled the slight child onto her hip. She cuddled him close. “That is my sweet boy. You came right to Mama when she called, did you not?”

  Thomas nodded. “My Papa told me to be a good boy for my mother. And I should do what my Papa says to do, should I not, Mama?”

  Something about his words triggered a memory of a dim room and a sick man with his hand to her flat belly. Alyse drew in a sharp breath and searched her child’s face. “When did Papa tell you to be a good boy, Thomas? Was it just now? Or a few days ago?”

  The small boy smiled, a rather lazy smile for one so young, and fixed his mother wit
h his warm, brown eyes. “I do not know when he told me, Mama. A long time ago. I have always known that is what he wants me to do.”

  Alyse’s eyes flooded with tears as she set Thomas on the ground. She sat down beside him and pulled him into her lap.

  “Why are you crying, Mama?”

  “I was just remembering something about your Papa. Something that happened a very long time ago, long before you were even born.”

  “That is a long time,” Thomas agreed. “I am already more than three years old.”

  “Aye, my love. It was a lifetime ago.” Alyse’s tears stopped, but the pain of the loss was still sharp. “Before you were born, when you were here,” Alyse put his small hand on her belly, “your Papa was very, very sick. And he did not think he would get better, so he bid me tell you how much he loved you. Even when he was dying, he wanted to be part of your life, and so he put his hand on you in my belly and told you to be a good boy for your mother.” The tears had started again, but she cared not. “And you heard him, my love, you heard him, and you have always been my good boy, have you not, Thomas?”

  “Aye, Mama. I am a good boy, like Papa said. But, Mama,” Thomas looked at her with concern, “why are you crying? Papa did not die, did he? He must have gotten better because now he is coming through the wheat field to us.”

  Alyse fought for control, for Thomas’s sake as well as hers. He would understand all one day. But not now. “Aye, love, Papa was sick and then he got better and he is coming home to us through the wheat field. Why do you not run back to him? See if he will carry you.”

  He gave her a quick squeeze then wiggled loose and took off at a run. His thin legs pumped hard as he hurtled toward Geoffrey, toward the only Papa he had ever known. She was so grateful God had seen fit to give her this one precious piece of Thomas. With the one man willing to accept the cost. She smiled through her tears as Thomas reached Geoffrey. He swung the small boy up through the air and settled him on his shoulders, a dizzying height for such a mite.