By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2)

by Stephanie Laurens

  Abruptly the man went down on one knee, pressed his palms together and raised them to Lucilla in supplication. “Please, Lady—please help.”

  “Yes, of course.” Lucilla couldn’t imagine doing anything else. “How far is your cottage?”

  The man rose to his feet, hope washing some of the stark panic from his face. He pointed down the slope, north and a little west. “It’s a little ways along that way. I heard your party on the main track and prayed…I ran as fast as I could.”

  “Lucilla?” Sebastian caught her eye. “The storm.”

  She nodded. “Yes. You and the others should get back, but I have to help…” She glanced at the man. “What’s your name?”

  “Jeb, m’lady—Jeb Fields.”

  Jeb was tall, thin, and gangly; his very long legs could have covered a fair distance in the ten minutes or more he must have run.

  Sebastian glanced around as all the younger boys and Christopher came back along the track. Sebastian briefly met Michael’s eyes, then exchanged a glance with Marcus, then Sebastian sighed and nudged his mount forward. “We all stay together until we see what the situation is.” Freeing one boot from his stirrup, Sebastian halted his mount alongside Jeb; leaning from the saddle, he held out his hand. “We’ll get there faster if we ride. Come up, and you can show me the way.”

  To Lucilla’s mind, it spoke volumes of Jeb’s panic, of how completely his worry for his wife dominated his mind, that he didn’t even blink, just grasped the hand of the Marquess of Earith and swung up behind Sebastian.

  Gathering his reins, the instant Jeb had settled, Sebastian asked, “Which way?”

  Jeb pointed over Sebastian’s shoulder back along the bridle path. “There’s a little track leading off just around that curve. On horseback, that’s the fastest way.”

  Without further ado, Sebastian set his horse trotting.

  Lucilla wheeled her mount and followed. The others fell in behind.

  * * *

  One didn’t argue with Lucilla when she was on her Lady’s business. Sebastian had learned that truth a long time ago; in such circumstances, arguing was always wasted effort, and, worse, he would lose.

  He never liked to lose, so he’d learned not to argue.

  He didn’t have to like it. And he liked this particular situation even less when he caught his first glimpse of their destination through the thinning trees.

  The crofter’s cottage was little more than a rude hut built of split logs and roofed with shingles. The cottage stood in a clearing at the top of a narrow valley opening to the north; the front of the cottage faced west, into the clearing, while the rear was protected by the thick forest that bordered the clearing on three sides. A thin trail of smoke rose from the single chimney.

  Jeb had directed them onto the track, then had proceeded to fill Sebastian’s ears with a litany of panicked gibberish; the man was so clearly unhinged by worry over his wife and imminent child that despite the irritation, Sebastian felt sorry for the poor sod. Sorry enough to push the pace. Even so, it was a good ten minutes after they’d left the ridge when he drew rein before the cottage door.

  Jeb tumbled off Sebastian’s horse and ran to hold Lucilla’s mount.

  Unnecessary, but Lucilla thanked Jeb with a nod; she slipped her boots free of the stirrups and slid to the ground before Sebastian or any of her other male kin could help her.

  Prudence was on the ground a second later. Grabbing her saddlebags, Lucilla shot her cousin a summoning glance. Reaching for her own saddlebags, Prudence waved her on. “I’m right behind you.”

  Leaving Sebastian doing what he did best and organizing everyone else—admittedly, in this instance, with Marcus’s input—juggling her saddlebags, Lucilla swept up the skirts of her riding habit and marched through the snow to the cottage door. With the clearing being on the north face of the ridge and at higher elevation than the manor, the covering was already a solid six inches deep.

  There’d be more after the storm hit.

  Having handed her mount’s reins to Marcus, Jeb came racing up to open the door.

  When he lifted the latch, thrust the simple wooden door wide, and awkwardly half bowed, Lucilla waved at him to precede her. “Tell Lottie I’m here.” She had no idea what she would find in the cottage, what state Lottie would be in, much less what she might need to do, but barging in unannounced on a pregnant woman in extremis was not a good move on any number of counts.

  Jeb bobbed his head and stepped inside.

  Lucilla paused on the threshold; eyes adjusting to the low level of light—indeed, gloom—inside the cottage, she saw a rectangular deal table, and beyond it a crude but solid stone fireplace built into the wall directly opposite the main door. Although the fire in the grate was presently feeble, the hearth was swept, and split logs were neatly stacked to either side. A quick scan of the implements in the hearth and the pots, pans, and bowls arrayed on the surrounding shelves confirmed that she would have all she might need in that regard; Jeb and Lottie Fields might be poor crofters, but they possessed at least the necessities of life.

  Hearing low voices from the shadows to her left, Lucilla could tell from the female tones that Lottie was still very much aware—and that she, too, was eaten with fear for her babe and herself. Lucilla stepped into the cottage and turned to face the young couple.

  Lottie proved to be as pale as Jeb, but not quite as thin. She lay on a bed comprised of a rough timber frame supporting a decently plump, straw-filled pallet placed with its head against the cottage’s front wall. Panting, her hugely distended belly covered by several thin blankets, Lottie lay propped up by two pillows. Her wide, shadowed eyes locked on Lucilla’s face, then Lottie let out a sigh of relief—that hitched into a whimper as her eyes closed and her face contorted with pain.

  “Let me see.” Setting her saddlebags on the table, Lucilla went quickly to the nearer side of the pallet. Aware that Prudence had followed her inside, Lucilla said, “I need better light.” She glanced at Jeb, and caught his still wide eyes. “Do you have any lamps? Or even candles?”

  They had one good lamp and a handful of tallow candles. Prudence helped Jeb to clean and fill the lamp, then trim the wick and light it.

  Meanwhile, Lucilla knelt beside the pallet and took one of Lottie’s limp hands in hers. “How long have the pains been coming?”

  Lottie glanced briefly at Jeb; reassured he was occupied, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Since yesterday. I didn’t want to say and worry him—I thought maybe they’d pass. But they haven’t.”

  Lucilla smiled and poured comfort into her expression. “I’ll know more in a moment, but have the pains been steadily building since then?” When, biting her lip, Lottie nodded, Lucilla calmly continued, “Then I suspect that there’s nothing actually wrong—it’s just that your baby is ready to make his or her appearance and isn’t about to wait.”

  Lottie’s fine brown lashes swept down, then rose; her pale blue eyes searched Lucilla’s face, then some of the tension tightening her features eased. Her fingers curled and gripped Lucilla’s hand. “I do so hope it’s just that, and praise be Jeb found you and you came.”

  Light suddenly bloomed and came nearer; Lucilla glanced around as Jeb carried the lamp toward them.

  At the same time, faint shadows slanted in through the open door.

  Leaving the table, Prudence made for the door. Catching hold of the panel, she spoke to whoever stood outside. “We don’t need you at the moment—stay outside.” With that, she shut the door.

  Stifling a grin, Lucilla turned back to her patient. Jeb had halted at the foot of the pallet. Lucilla waved him to the spot opposite where she knelt. “Stand there and hold the lamp directly over Lottie.”

  While Jeb moved to obey, Lucilla smiled at Lottie and reached to free the rough blankets. “I’ll be able to tell what’s happening if I look. Is that all right?”

  Lips compressed, Lottie nodded. She held still, tense and nervous, as Lucilla swiftly examined her,
but she responded readily to Lucilla’s directions and instructions.

  Several minutes later, having seen enough to confirm her suspicions, Lucilla resettled the blankets, then sat back on her heels and met Jeb’s anxious gaze, then Lottie’s. Lucilla smiled as confidently as she could. “It’s as I thought—the baby’s coming.” She glanced at Jeb. “Quite aside from the storm that’s blowing in, it’s too late to even think about moving Lottie down to your laird’s house. This baby is going to be born here.”

  Lottie reached out and gripped Lucilla’s hand. “Will you stay?”

  Lucilla met Lottie’s eyes and returned the pressure of her fingers. “Yes, of course. That’s why I’m here.”

  The latter words had spilled from her lips without conscious thought, but, hearing them, she knew they were true. The Lady had sent Jeb to find her and lead her here—here was where she was supposed to be, bringing this child into the world.

  “I’ve assisted at many births—it’s part of my training.” Lucilla squeezed Lottie’s hand and set it back on the blanket-covered mound. “So yes, I’ll be staying, and although the baby’s appearance is some way off, we’ll use the time to get ready.” Rising, she looked down at Lottie. “Rest. Doze if you can, in between pangs. Meanwhile, Jeb and I and my cousin will sort things out.”

  Lottie’s smile was wan but real. “Thank you, Lady.” Her eyes drifted shut.

  Satisfied, Lucilla turned away.

  Across the cottage, she met Prudence’s gaze. Lucilla raised her brows. “You’ll stay?”

  “Of course. I’ve assisted at any number of foalings, and although humans and horses aren’t entirely the same, the basics aren’t that different.”

  “Indeed.” Lucilla hesitated, then looked at Jeb as, leaving Lottie’s side, he brought the lamp to the table. “My cousin and I”—Lucilla glanced at Prudence—“will need to talk to the others. While we’re doing that, Jeb, can you find a length of rope we can use to stretch across the cottage so we can hang up some blankets and give Lottie a bit of privacy?”

  Jeb blinked at the notion, but nodded. “I’ve got some rope in the stable-barn.” With his head, he indicated a narrow door set into the cottage’s rear wall.

  Lucilla realized she’d been hearing the shuffling of hooves and the occasional soft bleat from beyond the rear wall; until now, she hadn’t paid attention to the sounds. Crofters in these parts were usually shepherds to flocks of sheep belonging to their lairds; presumably Jeb’s stable-barn was home to his flock through the harsh winter. “Good. You sort out the rope and find us some blankets or sheets. Meanwhile, we’ll sort out the rest.”

  Specifically their male relatives, who, if she knew anything of them, were even now contemplating hammering on the door and demanding to be told what was going on; she reached the door and opened it before they could.

  Sure enough, Marcus, Sebastian, Michael, and Christopher stood in a group mere feet from the door. Stepping outside, Lucilla waited until Prudence joined her and shut the door firmly before looking first at Marcus, then Sebastian. “I need to stay until the baby’s born.”

  “And I need to stay with Lucilla,” Prudence said. Her tone, even more than Lucilla’s, somewhat belligerently stated that argument was futile.

  His hands in his breeches pockets, Sebastian met Lucilla’s steady gaze, then Prudence’s blue eyes, then he glanced at Marcus. Finding no comfort there, lips compressing, jaw setting, Sebastian half turned and looked at the trees. The strong features he’d inherited from his father were relatively easy to read; he wanted to simply say no, but he knew very well that there was no point.

  With patience born of unshakeable confidence, Lucilla waited for his capitulation, but she, along with Prudence, was too wise to prod him.

  At eighteen the eldest by a full year, Sebastian was invariably—inevitably—viewed by their parents as principally responsible for any decisions they made. He was their leader, and that was, in fact, never in doubt. Yet in situations such as this…leadership came in many guises.

  After half a minute of communing with the trees, his pale green eyes narrow, Sebastian looked back at Lucilla and, his features set, nodded. “In that case, I’ll be staying, too.” He barely spared a glance for Prudence before looking at Marcus and arching a brow.

  Marcus nodded. “I’ll remain, too, of course.”

  “And me,” Michael said. When Sebastian directed a questioning look his way, Michael said, “If this storm settles in and you need to send for help, you’ll need to send two of us.” He nodded at Marcus. “Me and Marcus—it’d be madness to send either one of us alone.”

  Marcus grunted in agreement. “That’s a possibility that might turn into a reality, so yes, there should be at least three of us males all told.”

  “Very well.” Sebastian turned to the last member of their group.

  Christopher grinned. “And that leaves me to lead the younger crew”—with a jerk of his thumb, he indicated the five younger boys still sitting their horses—“back to the manor and explain where you are and why.”

  Sebastian read Christopher’s expression and raised his brows. “You don’t mind?”

  “Actually, no.” Christopher tipped his head toward the cottage. “If there’s a baby going to be born in there in the next few hours, I really would rather be elsewhere.”

  Lucilla watched as that point sank home with Sebastian, Marcus, and Michael. All three unquestionably shared Christopher’s aversion, yet although they shifted and frowned, none were, she judged, remotely likely to change their minds about staying.

  “Very well. Now that’s settled”—Lucilla looked at Christopher—“you need to get moving. Ride as hard as you can.” Both she and Marcus glanced to the northwest, to where a brooding gray-white mass was roiling and spilling over the peaks.

  “If you leave now,” Marcus said, his narrowed gaze on the clouds, “you should make it back to the manor without difficulty, but that storm will be on your heels.”

  “In that case, we’ll get going.” With a general nod and a breezy salute, Christopher walked off to where his brother Gregory held Christopher’s mount’s reins.

  The five cousins left before the cottage door watched as Christopher mounted, then gathered the group and led them back up the track to the ridge.

  Lucilla stirred and caught Michael’s eye. “Jeb has what he calls a stable-barn at the rear—the horses need to be taken in, tended, and secured. The winds coming with the storm are going to be ferocious, I think.”

  Marcus nodded. “I think so, too. And we won’t have that much time before they hit.”

  Prudence shifted from foot to foot, then gave up and headed for her mount. “I’ll take care of Gypsy.”

  Knowing Prudence’s attachment to horses—all horses—Lucilla merely nodded. “Jeb and I can handle putting up a screen.” With the others collecting their horses and hers, too, she turned to the cottage door. “I’ll unlatch the door between the cottage and the stable-barn so you won’t have to come outside to get in.”

  Opening the door, she went into the cottage, leaving the other four leading the five horses to the barn.

  CHAPTER 5

  Louisa, Therese, Annabelle, and Juliet crept silently down the main stairs and, valiantly suppressing the urge to giggle, tiptoed through the front foyer and slipped into the Great Hall.

  It was early evening; outside, the sky had darkened. Thick gray-white clouds were closing in, shrouding the surrounding hills and sending the temperature plummeting from icy to freezing.

  And as the girls had hoped, in the half hour before dinner, the huge hall was deserted.

  They were already dressed for the evening, had rushed and hurried and helped each other neaten their hair and hunt out their evening slippers.

  “We’ll need to be quick.” Louisa led the way to their festive log-basket.

  The other three followed. Donning the leather gloves they’d stuffed into their pockets, they fell to, lifting out the upper layer of holly and piling i
t to one side.

  As soon as they uncovered the mistletoe beneath, Therese stopped and looked at Annabelle. “Let’s go and get those stepladders.”

  Annabelle nodded. She and Therese left Louisa and Juliet carefully lifting out the more delicate mistletoe, separating the individual branchlets, with their drooping leaves and clusters of white berries.

  Hurrying through one of the archways into the corridor that ultimately led to the kitchen, Annabelle and Therese turned into the cluttered alcove where the footmen who had earlier helped deck the hall with evergreens had left the pair of stepladders. “I hope we’re tall enough to reach with these.” Annabelle hefted one of the ladders.

  “We will be.” Therese grabbed the second ladder. “We’re nearly as tall as the footmen, and they were only using the second step of the three—I watched.”

  “That’s true.” Annabelle huffed as she carried the heavy ladder back to the hall. “And anyway, we’re only going to be hanging the mistletoe under the archways, not above them.”

  Louisa and Juliet, both all but jigging with impatience, met Annabelle and Therese as they re-entered the hall. Juliet went with Annabelle to the archway leading to the library.

  Louisa halted Therese under the archway through which the girls had returned. “Let’s do this one first.”

  Therese obligingly set the stepladder beneath the archway. Lifting her skirts with one hand and carrying a bunch of mistletoe branchlets in the other, Louisa climbed the ladder. Using the strings she’d left hanging when she’d tied up the bunch, she quickly tied the mistletoe to the evergreens on either side of the archway’s apex.

  Carefully, she released the mistletoe—as they’d hoped, it hung in the center of the archway.

  “Yes!” Therese crowed. She took a step back, eyed the archway measuringly, then nodded. “It’s still high enough that not even Uncle Sylvester will have it drag over his head.”

  “Excellent!” Eyes bright, Louisa quickly backed down the ladder. She glanced to where Juliet was still fiddling with the bunch she was attaching to the library archway. “Let’s do the archway into the front foyer—we saved the biggest bunch for there.”