by Anne Stuart
Not that Elizabeth would have wanted him against his will. But it still smarted, painfully, and while she was determined to do her Christian duty and help Margery through the dangerous journey of labor and delivery, she didn't have to like it or her.
There were no loud screams as the servant led her through the winding halls of the small castle to the room where Margery lay. Which was either a good sign or a bad one. Perhaps all was silent because the pain had lessened and things were progressing as they ought to.
More likely Lady Margery was probably too weak to make much noise. The servant pushed open the door and Elizabeth stood still, surveying the tableau. A fire was burning brightly, so that the room was miserably hot, and a crowd of people huddled around the bed so that the occupant couldn't be seen. There were at least of dozen of them, maybe more, including Thomas of Wakebryght, and they were arguing noisily over the bed. The smell of blood was ominous in the room. Perhaps it was already too late for mother and child.
And then the crowd parted, revealing Margery in the center of the huge bed. She was no longer the great beauty that Thomas had chosen. Her belly was swollen, her face tear-streaked, puffy and totally without color. The ankles protruding from her shift were swollen, as well, and her blond hair was a dark, tangled mess.
There was no blood on the shift or the bed, praise God. The man who was presumably the doctor was bleeding her, only making matters worse. Before the night was through the lady would be losing more blood, and she was so pale she didn't look as if she had much to spare.
"Get out of here!" Elizabeth said in her firmest voice. "The poor woman can't breathe, and all this noise must be driving her mad. One of the women can stay, but the rest of you must leave."
Thomas looked at her, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, and for a moment he didn't seem to recognize her. "I won't leave my wife," he said simply, turning back to Margery.
He was holding her hand, looking down at her pale, wretched figure with total adoration mixed with deep fear. He knew he might lose her, Elizabeth thought. It might already be too late.
But that didn't mean she wouldn't try. "This is women's work, Thomas," she said in the kind of voice her nurse used to use with her. "She wouldn't want you seeing her like this…"
"I don't care! She's beautiful to me no matter what!" he cried.
The beauteous Lady Margery looked like a sow in labor, miserable and bloated, and the last trace of bitterness vanished from Elizabeth's heart.
"Of course she is," she said in a kinder voice. "But you'll be in the way. Go and get something to eat, and take the rest of these people with you. I promise I'll send for you if… if you need to be here." Tact had never been her strong point, but she couldn't come right out and discuss the awful possibility that each childbirth brought.
For a moment Thomas didn't move. And then he brought his wife's pale hand to his mouth and kissed it, and Elizabeth could see the impressive ruby ring that had, for a few short hours, belonged to her. And then he set it back down on the bed.
"You'll save her for me, Bethy?" he said in a pleading voice. He was the only one who'd ever called her that, and she had actually found it quite annoying, but now she simply nodded.
"I'll do everything I can, Thomas. Just take these people out of here and let me work in peace."
"I'm staying, my lady," a stout, aproned woman announced in a forbidding voice. "She's been in my care since the day she was born and I'm not leaving her now."
"Have you any experience with childbirth?"
The woman laughed derisively. "Eleven of my own, all living, and I'm none the worse for it. And I've helped with countless others. If anyone can help my lady it'll be me."
"Let Berta help," one of the other women spoke in a measured voice. "She has more wits than the rest of the household women put together."
Elizabeth surveyed the woman who'd spoken. She was a stranger to her, a newcomer to the household since her aborted marriage, but judging by the fineness of her silken garments she was one of the family. Not in her first youth, and so beautiful she put Lady Margery, in her prime, to shame.
"She may stay," Elizabeth agreed. "And you, my lady. You seem to be possessed of calm good sense, as well."
The faint smile on the woman's beautiful mouth was faintly sorrowful. "You'd be the first to say so, Lady Elizabeth."
"I don't think my mother would approve…" Thomas began, but Elizabeth interrupted him, taking secret pleasure in her ability to order him about.
"Your mother's wishes in the matter have nothing to do with it. Between Berta and this lady we may just save your wife and child. But if we're to have any chance of it, the rest of you need to leave here. Immediately!"
They scampered away like mice, some clearly relieved, some disappointed at missing the high drama.
Thomas was the last to leave, and he stood in the open door, lingering.
Elizabeth went up to him, putting her hands on his arm and pushing him gently out the door. "I'll do my best, Thomas," she said. "Go and pray."
"Save her, Bethy," he whispered. "If it's a choice between her and the babe, save her. I can't live without her."
Elizabeth didn't blink. "We won't have to make such a choice, Thomas. Go." She closed the heavy door behind him, turning to survey the scene.
The room was bigger than it had appeared with all those people in it, but Margery lay pale and still in the bed, too weary to even cry out at the pain that was lashing her body.
"Open the window a bit, Berta," Elizabeth ordered, stripping off her cloak and rolling up the sleeves of her gown. "We need fresh air in this place. If she's cold we'll layer more covers on her."
She half expected the nurse to object, but Berta did her bidding without comment as Elizabeth approached the bed. "How long has she been like this?"
"In labor?" the well-dressed woman asked. "Two days. She stopped crying out this morning. I'm afraid the baby's dead."
Elizabeth put her hands on Margery's distended belly, and felt the flutter of life within. "It's not dead. I've seen worse than this and both mother and child survived." Not many, but she wasn't going to admit that. Her tiny army needed courage going into the battle.
"Then let us pray you'll work your magic this time, as well," the woman said.
"Not my magic. God's," Elizabeth said.
"That's right, you're on your way to becoming a nun," the woman said in a cool voice. "I'm Dame Joanna. I belong to Thomas's uncle Owen."
"He married?" Elizabeth murmured in surprise. Owen of Wakebryght was a rough, lecherous man in his fifties who'd shown no inclination to marry in all his years.
"I'm his leman, Lady Elizabeth," Joanna said calmly. "His whore. Would you rather I found someone else to help you?"
Elizabeth took a closer look at her. The dress was cut too close to her body, and jewels glittered on her hands and throat. She was well kept, very beautiful, with a distant look in her fine blue eyes that Elizabeth couldn't quite read. And couldn't waste the time trying.
"Take off your rings," she said, stripping her own modest ones off her hands. "We won't want them getting in the way of our work." She half expected the woman to blanch, but Joanna simply stripped off the heavy rings as if they were tin and dumped them in the small bag tied to her waist.
"Tell me what to do," she said, some of her distance vanishing. "I have a fondness for Lady Margery, and I'd as soon save her."
Elizabeth looked down at the still, wretched figure.
Margery had taken everything that should have been hers, but it hadn't been her choice, it had been Thomas's. And Elizabeth could have fought, but instead she'd simply run away, back to her father's wrath.
She might be too tall, too clever, too tactless, and have hair like the Devil, Elizabeth thought, but she could save lives. She'd seen five stepmothers give up their lives bringing sons into the world, and she was determined to learn what she could to save those she could. And she would save this one, and the child within her, if she had to die
trying.
It was a long night. Endless, it seemed, after the day Elizabeth had already endured. Margery emerged from her exhausted torpor to scream in unrelenting pain, and the three women at her side fought grimly.
"You'll have to cut the baby free," Berta said at one point, her eyes dark with desperation. "She'll die, anyway, if you don't, and this way you might save the baby. Some women survive such an ordeal."
"Not many," Elizabeth said. "I'm saving them both."
"You said it was God's will, not yours, my lady," Berta admonished her.
"His will is that we fight for their lives and not give in," Elizabeth snapped back. "If you have nothing more to offer you may leave."
Berta subsided in silence. Joanna looked up at Elizabeth from across Margery's thrashing body, and her expression was faintly amused. "God explained that to you, did He?" she said.
Elizabeth was too weary to watch her tongue. "I assume that God has the good sense to think as I do in these matters."
She heard Berta's indrawn breath of shock at such blasphemy, but Joanna only smiled. "We can only pray that that is so, my lady. The God I know is capricious and cruel. He would not think twice of destroying the only happy marriage I've ever seen."
Not even a twinge, Elizabeth thought, marveling. It no longer mattered that Margery and Thomas were happy in their marriage. In truth, it made her only more determined that she shouldn't lose this battle.
She almost thought she'd lost. It was dawn, the early light spearing into the room, and she was so weary she could barely move. The babe was coming, face down, feet first, and there was nothing she could do to turn it. The movements were getting weaker, Lady Margery had barely life left in her, and there was no choice but to try.
"Push, Margery," Elizabeth ordered, but Margery simply shook her head, dazed with pain and exhaustion, not listening.
Joanna was holding tightly to her hands, Berta was at her feet, trying to help the baby, but the last of Margery's energy had left her, and if she didn't push there was no chance for either.
Elizabeth moved up to the top of the bed, bent down and whispered in Margery's ear. "If you don't deliver this babe and live I'll take Thomas back and make his life a living hell. I'm a vengeful woman, and I'll make him sorry he ever chose you."
Margery's eyes fluttered open to focus on Elizabeth's determined face. In her exhausted state she believed her, and she summoned her last ounce of strength, rising up in the bed, gripping Joanna's hands and pushing.
The scream that rent the air was awe-inspiring. Almost as much as the sound of a strong baby's cry that followed. Lady Margery was delivered of a healthy baby boy.
Elizabeth gave the babe a swift glance. He kicked his tiny legs, as strong a baby as she'd ever seen, even after such a hard, long labor. God willing, Margery would survive in as good condition. There was no way to tell if the baby had torn her inside, beyond repair, or whether she'd survive in the same miraculous manner her child had. They could only hope.
Joanna was busy cleaning her up with a calm efficiency that belied her beauty, and Berta was cooing at her new charge as she washed the blood from him. Elizabeth turned back to look at the new mother, and saw a faint blush of color had begun to tinge her deathly pale face. There were tears flowing from her closed eyes, another good sign, and her lips were moving in silent prayer.
Elizabeth leaned closer, to make certain she wasn't making her last confession or offering her soul up to God or some such nonsense, and her thick braid brushed against Lady Margery's face.
Her eyes flew open, swimming in tears, but there was no spectre of death in their depths. "You can't have either of them!" she whispered fiercely.
Elizabeth laughed, too tired to hide her feelings. "Your son and Thomas are yours with my blessing. Just stay strong enough to keep them." And then she left the room, closing the door behind her and collapsing against the thick stone wall, closing her eyes as weariness washed over her.
They would make her get on a horse in a matter of hours. Perhaps she could find an open window and jump from it. Anything was preferable to another day riding, with no sleep, no rest to smooth her way.
The hall was deserted. Maybe no one would know where to find her, and she could just slump to the floor and sleep. Sooner or later someone would come in search of her, but right now they were probably all too terrified to hear what they were certain would be tragic news.
She closed her eyes, sinking back against the cold, hard stone. She could sleep standing up, like a horse, if no one came to disturb her. Just a few moments…
The door beside her opened, and she jerked upright to face Dame Joanna's calm, beautiful face. "Let me take you away from here," Joanna said, surveying her. "You'll need to wash, and a few hours' sleep wouldn't come amiss. I'll tell them you're not to be disturbed."
"You'll tell Prince William? And you think he'll listen?"
Dame Joanna smiled. "I don't usually have trouble making men do what I want. Within reason. If need be I'll offer him up a few hours' distraction while you rest. Owen won't object—he's already shared me with lesser worthies."
"No!" Elizabeth said, horrified. "You don't have to do that."
"I have to do it every night, my lady. And your prince is very striking. He would be if he were just a stable boy."
"Not my prince!" Elizabeth corrected her, then realized how ridiculous that sounded. "And you wouldn't want to bed him. Perhaps you haven't heard, but he kills women for sport. During the act of love."
"No, he doesn't."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your party spent the night here before they went on to Bredon, and I had a conversation with the prince. There are men who equate pleasure with pain, both in the giving and the taking, but he is not one of them."
"He told you so? And you chose to believe him?"
"He told me no such thing. You think a prince would confide in a whore? But I know men, my lady, far better than I would wish. Prince William is not the man people say he is."
Elizabeth shook her head. "That is always a possibility, I suppose. I really don't care to find out what kind of man he is."
"Don't you?" Joanna's voice was faintly disbelieving. "I know women, as well. Don't look at me like that, child. Concentrate on happier things. Such as how powerful you feel, having wrested Margery and her child from the grip of death."
"It was God's hand…" she began dutifully, but Joanna interrupted her.
"You and I both know it was your skill, and whether you choose to admit it or not, you're filled with triumph. The convent will be good for you, my lady. You'll be out of the reach of men's stratagems, and you'll learn to use your power."
"But I don't—"
"Don't bother trying to argue with me, Lady Elizabeth, you're too tired. You're a clever girl, but I'm a wise woman, and right now you're no match for me. Just come along and let me get you settled, and then I'll tell Lord Thomas he's a father. Unless you'd rather be the one who imparted that particular news? There's old business between you and the two of them, though the gossips at Wakebryght Castle haven't been as efficient as they usually are or I'd know all about it."
"It's not of much interest, even to gossips," Elizabeth said. "And I'd be happy never to see Thomas of Wakebryght again."
"Indeed," Joanna said in an approving voice. "Thomas is pretty enough in a pleasant manner, but he's nowhere near the man your prince is. I don't blame you for choosing danger over safety."
"I didn't make any choices! And he's not my prince!" Elizabeth said again, too loudly, ready to weep.
"But you'd like him to be, would you not? I know men, and I know women, and I think you'd gladly toss your habit to the four winds for him."
Elizabeth managed a rusty laugh. "You're mad. You've never even seen the two of us together."
Joanna pushed open a door set deep in the wall, holding it for Elizabeth to precede her. "I don't need to. I've seen him, and I've seen your reaction every time his name is mentioned. You'd quite happi
ly bed the dark prince, wouldn't you?" she said.
"Would she?" Prince William asked, clearly curious.
He was seated by the fire in the luxuriously appointed room, and Thomas's uncle Owen was standing near the window. He was a heavy set man, and food stained his overly embellished tunic. He looked at the two of them in the doorway, and there was no missing the possessiveness in his small eyes as they roamed over Dame Joanna.
"Phaugh!" he said. "The two of you look like you've been to a hog butchering. I presume my niece is no longer on this earth. Are you planning to take her place, Lady Elizabeth, as you once longed to?"
If that was the first time the prince had heard of her previous connection to the household, he didn't seem surprised. "Didn't you hear your lady, Owen?" he asked lazily, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "It's me she wants."
Elizabeth was not amused. "Lady Margery was delivered of a healthy son."
"Praise be," Owen muttered piously. "Then maybe this household can get back to normal. If my lord will give me leave, I'll bring the happy word to the rest of the family."
Prince William waved a hand in airy dismissal, and Owen backed out of the room, a model of obsequiousness. He paused at the door, surveying his leman. "Go make yourself presentable," he said—an order, not a request. "I've no great liking to see my woman drenched in the blood of childbed. I'll join you as soon as our guests leave."
Dame Joanna inclined her elegant head. "As you wish, my lord." She bowed low, to both the prince and Elizabeth. "God speed, my lady. Prince William." There was no missing the trace of deviltry in her voice that almost overshadowed the bleakness that had settled over her perfect features once more.
And she left the two of them alone in the small bedroom.
* * *
Chapter 5
"You're a pretty sight," the dark prince observed lazily. "You look almost as bloody as a soldier at the end of a long battle."