A Time for Love

by Lynn Kurland

  Her pacing brought her his way, and he remained perfectly still as she clutched his arms and rested her head on his chest. He didn’t dare touch her.

  “Gwen?”

  His only answer was something of a grunt.

  “Shall you have a potion from Master Socrates? It might ease your pains.”

  She grunted again and pushed away from him to resume her slow, deliberate pacing.

  This at least was something he could do. He walked toward the door, wishing his mother had been in attendance at least. Much as he might have wanted to believe that he alone would suffice Gwen in her times of need, he was fast beginning to believe that birthing was women’s work. A pity he didn’t trust any of Ayre’s ladies, else he would have called for them. Perhaps a softer touch would have soothed Gwen.

  He opened it to find Rollan leaning against the far wall of the passageway. Rollan’s eyes widened as he caught sight of Rhys.

  “What are you—”

  “Saving her life,” Rhys said shortly. He looked about the passageway and espied Master Socrates and his granddaughter. He’d had John fetch them earlier that afternoon, should Gwen need them. “She has need of one of your potions.”

  “I should be unsurprised to find you here,” Rollan said with a snort. “I suppose you would have the skills to do this thing, seeing as how your father’s skills lay there. Son of a healer,” he sneered. “How you came to earn your spurs is a mystery to m—”

  Which just went to show how little Rollan knew of Rhys’s family. His father had healing skills, ’twas true, but he’d also earned his spurs. It just hadn’t served him to let others know the like.

  Rhys retreated inside the chamber with Master Socrates and his granddaughter, then slammed the door shut. The last thing any of them needed that eve was to listen to any more of Rollan’s spite.

  Rhys turned to Master Socrates, “Can you ease her pain?”

  “Aye, Sir Rhys. I have brought with me all things needful.”

  “And can you birth the babe?”

  Master Socrates looked down at his gnarled hands, then met Rhys’s eyes. “My wife and daughter were midwives. But I do not know—”

  “Better you than me,” Rhys said grimly. He intercepted Gwen in the midst of the chamber. He was surely no midwife, but even he could tell there was a change in his lady.

  “Gwen?”

  “My time is upon me,” she said with a gasp.

  And so, apparently, it was. Rhys found that now the moment had come, he felt as if he shouldn’t be near her. Surely she would be better off in the company of women.

  He shook himself. There were no women to be had. He would have to suffice.

  He stood behind the birthing stool and put his hands on her shoulders. At least she wasn’t cursing him anymore. She was, however, coming close to drawing blood on his hands with every wave of labor that came over her. He didn’t care. ’Twas surely the least he could do for her.

  Not a handful of moments had passed before the chamber door burst open and Alain himself stood there. He looked at Rhys, his mouth working furiously. Rhys only returned the stare, unruffled.

  “Y-you!” Alain managed finally.

  “Aye, my lord?”

  “Who do you think you are?” Alain bellowed.

  “I am the one charged with protecting her life,” Rhys said calmly. “And so here I am.”

  Alain frowned, as if he knew there was something amiss with that, but couldn’t divine what. He turned his attentions on Master Socrates. “Him!” he said, pointing furiously. “I told you I wanted nothing to do with that filthy old man!”

  ’Twas obvious Master Socrates had heard this before, for he took no notice of Ayre, but continued to speak to Gwen in soothing tones.

  “The babe comes,” Rhys said shortly, “and he can keep both the child and its mother alive.”

  “Then why are you here?” Rollan said from where he had come up behind his brother. He smiled coldly. “Gazing upon what you can never have?”

  “I was protecting my lady from that,” Rhys said, jerking his head toward where the surgeon lay in a heap against the wall. “It is my duty.”

  Alain looked at Rollan for aid. Rollan’s returning look was one of grave concern.

  “I would worry, my lord,” Rollan began, “about Sir Rhys’s parentage. You know what a poor reputation his sire had. Never amounted to much, or so I remember.”

  Alain blinked. “I thought his sire was a healer. Roamed the countryside plying his craft.”

  Rhys didn’t stir himself to comment.

  “Or was he a minstrel?” Alain asked, sounding very unsure of his information. “I’ve heard both tales.”

  “Does it matter if he was both?” Rollan asked. “The man was burned as a heretic, accused of using witchcraft to heal his victims.”

  “Ah,” Alain said, nodding. He turned to Rhys. “Leave.”

  Rhys clenched his jaw. “Nay.”

  Alain’s expression darkened. “I’ll not have your reputation tainting my son!”

  “My sire was unjustly accused.”

  “Was he?” Alain asked, frowning. He looked at Rollan. “Was he?”

  Rollan shrugged. “Who’s to say? Perhaps ’tis the truth. And perhaps I spoke out of turn. Considering Sir Rhys’s heritage, perhaps this is the place for him.”

  Alain waited, seemingly for enlightenment.

  “Birthing is peasants’ work, after all,” Rollan said.

  “The lady of Ayre is no peasant,” Rhys said, wishing he had the right to throw the lot of them off the parapet. “Rollan insults both her and your son.”

  Alain looked to be working that out in his head. He finally pushed Rollan toward the door.

  “You insulted my son,” he said sternly. He shot Rhys a final look. “The babe dies and you die, understood?”

  Rhys nodded and breathed a sigh of relief when the chamber door closed behind Ayre’s lord and his brother.

  “Finally,” Gwen gasped. “I learn some of the tale. Why—” Another pain shook her and left her breathless. “Why I had to be suffering this before I heard of it I surely do not know.”

  “Ugly rumors,” Rhys said shortly. “My sire was no heretic.”

  “Healers are ofttimes misunderstood,” Master Socrates informed them. “Add a pinch of something unusual to a potion, and one becomes labeled a witch.”

  “And here I thought . . . your sire . . . was a knight,” Gwen said, gasping for air. “Or so . . . I’d heard.”

  “He was several things,” Rhys muttered. “Push, Gwen. Let us have this babe out.”

  The candle on the hearth had not burned down but another hour before Ayre’s son had indeed made his entrance into the world. Rhys watched Gwen weep with relief. He watched Master Socrates pull the babe from beneath Gwen’s gown.

  Socrates’ face drained of all color.

  Rhys looked at the babe.

  It wasn’t breathing.

  20

  The child stood in the corner of the chamber and watched the babe come into the world. Her grandfather’s hands shook as he held the lad. The babe was still.

  The knight took the babe in his hands. He rubbed the tiny body, crooning to it in soft tones of command, bidding the child to take his place in the world.

  Yet the child did not respond.

  And then she watched as the knight leaned over, brushed aside the matter that covered the babe’s face, then put his own mouth over the tiny nose and mouth that had not yet moved.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times the knight gave the babe his own breath, his own means of life, as if he strove to breathe into the wee one his own will to live.

  The tiny chest moved.

  And then it moved again.

  And then, to the child’s relief, the lad set up a weak wail.

  The child watched the lady take her firstborn son and cradle him close to her breast. She watched the young woman’s tears and felt tears course down her own cheeks at
the sight.

  Then she looked at the knight kneeling at his lady’s feet and saw that he wept as well.

  The child looked at his hands and saw that they were full of healing. His heart was full of love for both mother and son, unlike Ayre’s lord. The child wished she could have changed things, but that was far beyond her modest arts.

  The breath of life. Aye, ’twas what she would have done as well in his place. Her own mother had done it often enough. The knight was powerfully wise to have thought of it.

  “Come, granddaughter. Our work is done here.”

  The child obeyed the whispered command of her grandsire. She cast one last look behind her as she walked to the chamber door, saw the knight lift his lady’s hand and kiss it tenderly.

  Ah, that she could have changed things!

  She suspected the pair behind her likely felt the same.

  Gwen lay back against the pillows of the bed, exhausted in body and spirit. Aye, the laboring had been hard, but ’twas almost losing her son that had stretched her to the very limits of her endurance and reason. At least the babe was safe. And she had Rhys to thank for that.

  There was a sudden commotion by the doorway. Gwen looked up to see Alain and Rollan entering the chamber, shoving aside Master Socrates and his granddaughter in the process. As tempted as she was to chastise her husband for his ill treatment of the old man, she found she had little energy to do aught but lie where she was and cradle her son close.

  “Let me see the babe,” Alain said, reaching for him.

  Gwen reluctantly allowed Alain to have the boy. Much as she would have liked to deny it, Alain was the father and had every right to at least hold his son.

  “Ah,” he said, looking at the boy with satisfaction, “a healthy son.”

  “No thanks to you,” Gwen whispered. “’Twas Rhys who saved the babe.”

  Alain frowned at that, then looked back at his son. “I did my work well with this one,” he said, sounding supremely satisfied. “He resembles me, don’t you think?” he asked his brother.

  “Oh, aye,” Rollan said, bobbing his head obediently. “Very strongly.”

  Alain contemplated the babe in his arms. “Fragile little beast,” he said, hefting him. “What if I lose him?”

  “Surely you won’t,” Rollan said gently.

  “But if I did,” Alain argued. “Damnation, but I had thought not to need to sire any more on her.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose I’ll need another, in case something happens to this one.”

  “Perhaps you should make certain nothing happens to this babe,” Rollan suggested. “If he were mine, I would give thought to who might best care for the lad.”

  “Aye,” Alain said, seemingly giving that what he thought to be an appropriate amount of thought. He smiled suddenly at his brother. “I’ll take him to Canfield to be raised by someone with experience.”

  Gwen felt a coldness rush over her. “Nay,” she croaked. “You’ll not take him from me.”

  “I’ll do what I like—”

  “I am his mother,” Gwen said, sitting up with great effort, “and I will be the one to care for him.”

  Alain looked at his brother. “What think you?”

  Rollan smiled. “Take him to Canfield. That is a most sensible plan. Indeed, I’ll find a wet nurse immediately, and perhaps we could take up our journey this afternoon.”

  “Nay,” Gwen said, reaching for the babe.

  “Rachel would care well for the child,” Rollan continued.

  “Aye, my thought as well,” Alain said. “Let us be off then—”

  Gwen found herself on her feet, reaching for the dagger in Rhys’s belt almost before she knew what she had intended. She rushed at her husband with blade bared. And if she hadn’t been so enraged at his cheek, she might have found the way he and Rollan both squeaked and stumbled backward to be somewhat amusing.

  But there was nothing humorous about their plan.

  “Give me the child,” she commanded.

  Alain hesitated.

  Gwen brandished the knife, and Alain promptly handed the swaddled babe over to her.

  “I’ll kill you if you try,” she said hoarsely.

  “I doubt very much—” Alain spluttered.

  “I’ll kill you if you try,” she repeated, dropping the dagger and clutching her son to her. “And if you think I won’t turn over every stone on the isle to find you and end your life, consider it again, my lord. You will not take my son from me.”

  Alain looked rather startled. Then he seemed to gather what wits he possessed around himself.

  “I’ll give it more thought,” he promised.

  “Begone from my chamber,” Gwen rasped. “You have your son, but you’ll take him from me at the peril of your own life. And if you slay me, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your days until you’re driven mad.”

  Alain was, if nothing else, a superstitious soul. Without another word, he turned on his heel and scurried from the chamber. Rollan, however, was slow to follow his brother. He lingered at the doorway. When he opened his mouth to speak, Gwen pointed her finger at him.

  “Don’t,” she warned. “Say nothing at all, if you value your sorry life.”

  He shut his lips around the saints only knew what kind of foolishness, then inclined his head.

  “Hearty congratulations on the birth of your son,” he said simply.

  Gwen looked at him narrowly. “That is all? Just congratulations?”

  Rollan shrugged. “I could not be happier for you. If there is anything I can do . . . ?”

  “You can leave,” Gwen said shortly. “I need to rest.”

  Rollan made her a low bow. “As my lady wishes.” He straightened and looked at Rhys. “Surely your presence here is no longer required, Sir Rhys.”

  Gwen watched Rhys pick up the dagger she had filched from his belt, resheath it carefully, then incline his head to Rollan.

  “My place is, as always, outside her door as captain of her guard,” he said with a grim smile. “After you, my lord.”

  Gwen gingerly sat back down on the bed, clutching her son close. Rhys waited until Rollan had departed, then went down on one knee in front of her.

  “I know of a trustworthy woman or two from the village,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you would care to have them attend you rather than your ladies?”

  “I daresay I could use the aid,” she admitted.

  “Then I will see to it. Once I am returned, if you have need of me, I will be immediately without your chamber. All you must needs do is call.”

  Gwen nodded and bent over her newborn son. She knew she should have been thinking a score of other more uplifting thoughts, but all she could think was how she wished this child had a different father than Alain.

  Rhys, for instance.

  A short while later a pair of women appeared at her door, waiting hesitantly for permission to enter. Gwen was grateful for them. The very last thing she wanted was to have any of Alain’s whores in attendance.

  Once she was made comfortable and had made her first fumbling attempts at nursing the babe, Gwen laid him by her side and watched him sleep. It was a miracle the babe lived. If Rhys hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have. The thought of that caught her tight around the heart and wrung grief from her she didn’t realize she had.

  And then as relentlessly as sleep had claimed her babe, it began to claim her. She fought it, knowing there were things she had to consider before much more time passed. Already ten months of Rhys’s service to Alain was fulfilled. What would she do when he left?

  It was surely nothing she could bear to think on at present. Perhaps it was best that weariness was so heavy upon her. Rhys would be keeping watch outside her door, and for the moment both she and her son were safe.

  It was enough.

  Rhys knocked softly upon the door, and one of the women he had fetched opened it hesitantly.

  “She sleeps, Sir Knight,” the woman whispered.

  “And the babe?”r />
  “He sleeps as well.”

  “You made them both comfortable?”

  “Aye, good sir. Will you have us remain?”

  “Yet a while, if you will.”

  The woman nodded and withdrew back into the chamber. Rhys lingered at the doorway, unable to tear himself away.

  Gwen slept with her babe cradled in her arms. The sight was such a peaceful one, nay, ’twas a sacred one. Rhys looked at the tiny babe and blessed his father wherever he currently resided—heaven or hell—for having passed on if not his gift for healing, his gift for quick thinking. Rhys had seen life breathed into a body before, but had also watched his father be carried away by furious envoys from the church after having done such a thing. A flimsy excuse to put him to death, of course, but no one had seemed to find it unreasonable. One life had been saved, the other destroyed as a result. At least Rhys, hadn’t had to watch his sire die.

  And at least he’d avoided the same fate. The saints be praised Alain hadn’t seen what he’d done to the boy.

  Nay, it had been worth the risk. Gwen was delivered safely, and her son breathed on his own now. Rhys could ask for no better end to the day.

  Unless, of course, he were to have the right to shoo the women from the room and lie down next to his lady, wrapping his arms about both mother and child.

  It was what he wanted more than anything else. More than land. More than the saving of Gwen’s reputation from scandal. More than his own honor, truth be told. He wanted these two as his.

  It would take a miracle for that to come to pass.

  His vision blurred and he dragged the back of his hand across his eyes. It was then he realized Gwen was watching him. Her own eyes filled with tears, but she made no move to brush them from her cheeks.

  It was an intolerable situation.

  He made her a low bow and backed from the chamber before he broke down and wept. He closed the door softly, then turned and leaned back against it.

  The rest of Gwen’s guard was leaning against the opposite wall. They looked at him in silence for several moments, then Montgomery cleared his throat.

  “What say you,” he said roughly, “to seeking out a full keg in the cellar?”