“I just don’t understand why she . . .” Juliette finished her sentence, but he was beyond listening. It was all he could do to stay his hands at his side. He was sitting, and she stood so her face was parallel to his. He had to keep shutting his eyes, otherwise he’d reach for her mouth and then kiss her, ravage her, and show her how a man liked to be kissed. How he yearned to taste her, to heat her blood just as she did his. She smelt so intoxicating. No smell on earth beat warm woman. His lips ached with the need to devour her. He stretched out his legs, desperate to distract himself.
She followed his cue and began bathing his thighs, pressing her fingers hard into his corded muscles. He’d rarely known such bliss.
“She could at least be modest in her actions.”
“Aah?” Oh, she was on about Isabel again. “Forget her, Lass. She’s of no concern.” He rolled his head back and closed his eyes again.
He could tell she was agitated because her actions were bolder than he’d come to expect from her. Her hand was still on his leg, but this time she moved above his thigh. Dear Lord. He was as hard as a standing stone. He didn’t want to terrify the wee lassie, so he shifted and prayed his sword would sink.
It stayed put.
She moved her cloth onto his other thigh then, and she even ventured along the inside of his upper leg. She rubbed with vigour, acting as if Isabel’s name was written on his skin, and she was determined to wipe it off. But if she didn’t stop her rubbing soon, he’d lose himself.
“Oohh, Lass,” he sighed and rolled his head to the side.
She said something about a whorehouse being a more fitting place for Isabel, but in truth, he could no longer hear. Suddenly, Juliette’s fingers reached up a little too far. Her fingertips brushed against his sacks of seed. She jumped back and stared.
“Lassie, as pleasurable as this is, I’m only a man after all. I can nay take much more of this pleasure.”
“Oh,” she said, her mouth forming a perfect oval.
He couldn’t help himself. He grabbed her then and pressed his lips hard against hers.
Juliette held still for a moment and then gently opened her mouth. His temperature soared. He tasted her with his tongue. Did a sweeter creature exist? She melted into his chest, and that was all the encouragement he needed. He savoured and nibbled her lips and wallowed in their heat and succulence. He had to stop, now, before he dragged her to the earth and showed her what a man and a woman do best together.
With his heart fighting against his ribs, he said, “Lass, time to head back.” How was he to walk with his body so flooded with desire? Damnation. He wanted this woman and wanted her badly. He needed her, even.
She nodded, her face downcast. Her cheeks were pinked, and he could see she was mortified. He hoped she didn’t feel rejected. There was nothing he wanted more than to take her. He stole another look at her flushed skin. On second thought, it wasn’t mortification he saw. If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d wager the wee lass had enjoyed their intimacy too. Heaven’s gate, that only made walking away all the harder.
Silently, she wound a fresh bandage over his head, and then he donned his shirt. As they walked back, he slipped his hand into hers. It had been a long while since he held hands with anyone. How was it that such a simple gesture felt so good? It hadn’t been like this with Helena. He’d never craved her touch, not in this way. Juliette was almost a stranger to him, yet, already they shared a deep connection. She felt right.
“Oh, I forgot to assure you. I had a good scout around whilst out hunting, and I saw no sign of the Irish outlaws. I think we’ve lost them.”
She looked up at him, and her eyes held a dreamy, faraway look. She took a moment before nodding. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d forgotten all about the outlaws.
“Oh, they’re the least of my worries,” she said.
He halted and made her face him. “What worries you, Juliette? Tell me. Tis my job to look out for you and to keep you safe.”
When her smile came, ‘twas slow and sad. “You worry me, Tam.”
Aye, he’d acted shamefully. But he was nay made of stone. The girl was mighty tempting to look at, and sassy and spirited to boot. And she had a heart the size of Scotland. How many red-blooded Highlanders would have acted any better? Mayhap the English gentlemen she hankered after were cold like lizards. But he was a red-blooded Scot, and he liked, nay, he loved women. Particularly this one. That was when the truth hit him. He loved her.
When they entered camp, he smelt the cooked meat and smiled in appreciation. But truth was, his appetite was all but gone. He was in love with Juliette. What was he to do?
Isabel raced up to him. “I have a plate of meat put aside and cooling for you, Tam.”
He looked away.
Mariot chimed in, “How was your bath?”
His face heated with pleasure. “‘Twas the best bath I’ve ever had, no exception.”
Juliette beamed back at him, reminding him of a burst peach. Mayhap he’d better sleep by the hearth this eve and let all four ladies slumber inside the cave. He looked back at his beloved. How divine she looked, lush and full of promise. The love in his heart swelled, and his seed-sack ached with longing. Nay, he would not risk curling up beside her this eve. He was no saint.
As he spread his mattress of leaves beside the glowing embers, he heard the cry of the grey wolf in the distance. He looked about at the others, but they seemed oblivious to the sound. Instead they busied themselves rinsing pots and hanging leftover meat to smoke. None of them heard a threat. The cry was a long way off. But, still, he pulled Joscelin’s bow a few feet closer. Best to have it within reach at all times.
~ ~ ~
It was still the earliest hours of the morn, and the dawn was just beginning to break, but the women inside the cave had not slept much. They were already up and beginning the day. Florie had spent most of the pre-dawn hours tossing and groaning in the dark.
Juliette leant close to her ear. “Have your waters broken yet, sweetheart?”
Mariot was holding Florie’s hand. “She thinks so, but she can’t be sure. She’s never birthed before. There is a slow trickle of water.”
Juliette bit her thumb. They were a long way from any village, so they really were on their own. Should anything go wrong, poor Florie had only them to turn to.
Joscelin blurted into the darkness, “I’ve sent Tam and Isabel to collect firewood. I’ve suggested they bring back willow bark. We can boil it up and make tea. The willow bark should ease her pains.”
Florie had her eyes shut, so Juliette took the chance to mouth, “But is willow bark safe to give to a birthing mother?”
“I’m concerned for Florie, not for the bastard in her womb.”
Juliette shook her head. She hoped they returned empty-handed or that the babe came before they found any bark from the willow tree. She wiped sweat from Florie’s brow. “Joscelin, have you ever attended a birth before?”
Joscelin scooped up the bundle of swaddling clothes that were to be used to clean and wrap the baby. “There is a first time for everything.”
“Have you been having pains all night, Florie?”
She reluctantly opened her eyes. “Aye, for a long while now. I didn’t want to say ought at first.”
“A whole day?” Mariot prompted.
She nodded and closed her eyes again.
Joscelin fussed around the fire. Juliette recognised avoidance when she saw it. Joscelin liked to be in charge, but she clearly didn’t have a clue.
“Is it alright if I feel your stomach, Florie?” Juliette asked. “When my cousin was close to giving birth, her stomach changed shape. My cousin used to carry the child high under her breasts, and then when her time drew near, the baby moved downwards, and there was a gap between her breasts and her babe.”
She n
odded. Juliette laid her hand just under the woman’s cloak. “Yes,” she said with a smile, “the baby has moved down, and there is a gap. Don’t you worry, this will all be over before noon.”
The poor woman smiled, obviously grateful for the smallest amount of help. What was Joscelin thinking? Why would she lead an ill-prepared group of English women, novice nuns, into Scotland, and, worse still, into a forest miles from help? Juliette had heard the stories: runaway nuns were not welcomed in many places, but these were novices, not yet at the end of their fourth year of training. They had yet to take final vows. Strictly speaking, they weren’t nuns at all. Once their hair grew back, they could marry, or live their lives as holy women, or any way they chose.
Joscelin’s plan was to begin a religious order like the Beguines in Belgium. Her band of novices were to be the beginnings of a new way of life for women. The idea was that once the women became Beguines, they would live a pious, charitable life, but they would never take final vows. Of course, Joscelin would head this new order. This charade in the woods was more about Joscelin than it was about the welfare of the others. Trouble was, Florie was unwed, so her pregnancy was considered shameful in everyone’s eyes. All they should have done was hide Florie until her babe was born. Why did they flee to the remote Scottish forest?
“I’m so tired.” Florie sighed. “I just want to sleep.”
“Let’s wash her belly with the betony mix. It might help ease the pain.”
Florie shook her head. “Nay, I need to sleep instead.”
“We’ll pray.” Mariot led them all in Paternoster prayers.
While Florie slept, Tam and Isabel returned with armfuls of wood. They stoked the fire into a fierce inferno. They also set much water to boil since they didn’t know what else to do and waiting was a troublesome business.
Tam produced a square of bark. “Tis from the goat willow tree. I’ll boil it up and make a nice wee drink.”
“Do you have some sort of twine?” Juliette asked the women. “We’ll need it to tie around the cord when the babe arrives.”
They looked back with blank faces. So, she set the task of procuring twine to Tam. “Best heat your knife in the flames, too. We’ll need it fired clean.”
Isabel came in to check on Florie. The quickening mother smiled up at her friend. “I think I’d like to sit up now, please.”
The four women pulled her to a sitting position and positioned a smooth stump behind her back to support her weight.
“When your baby is here, Florie,” Isabel said in her cheeriest voice, “we will take the wee tot down to the stream and show your babe the woods. We must show your child how beautiful our world is.”
Florie’s face relaxed. “That would be nice.”
“This place is bountiful in berries, and wildflowers, and birds too. Just this morn, Tam and I saw two red fox cubs play, and in the distance, we saw a beautiful roe deer. We also heard a wolf howl, but he sounded far off.”
Florie nodded and looked excited by her words. Juliette had not seen Isabel like this afore. She was encouraging Florie, helping her to see a time beyond her pain. She was reminding her that a huge beautiful world awaited her babe. Isabel was giving her something to fight for. Mayhap Isabel wasn’t so bad after all.
Tam called out, and Juliette left the others to seek him. “Will this do?” he asked, holding up lengths of flax-like grass he’d roped together for strength. She nodded. “Perfect.”
“How’s it going in there?”
“Hard to say.”
He looked at his boots. “Hate to rush things, but it’s best if we don’t remain in one spot for too long. The smoke from our fire will be alerting our location to all. And another thing, there are grey wolves in the forest. I’ve heard them several times now.”
“I think the babe will be born before noon, and then we might leave on the morrow, all going well.”
Tam seemed satisfied with that answer, but Juliette felt strangely dispirited. She was getting to like having the others around. She’d grown up in a family of women and was missing her sisters.
“Joscelin has this notion that she and the others are heading north to set up a Beguine-style community. She thinks she’ll run the place as abbess and encourage other lone women to join her. Apparently, her idea is that they will tend the sick and live a pious, devout life without the need to take vows. Oh, and they’ll earn their keep through weaving or some such thing.”
Tam scowled. “She’ll need some sort of benefactor to get all that started, not to mention a house for these women to live in.”
“She just wants to be abbess. That’s all she really cares about.”
“And the other women, do they share the same vision?”
Juliette poured them both a bowl of peppermint tea. “I don’t think they do. They’ve all had enough of being pious. I think they’d prefer to marry and have children of their own.”
He accepted the tea. “Joscelin enticed them on this journey, offering an alternative to the convent. If they haven’t taken final vows, then surely they’re all free to marry?”
“Don’t see why not,” Juliette said. “I’ll go offer the others tea.” When she neared Florie, she heard gasps and moaning.
Joscelin and Mariot were holding Florie, and Isabel was peering between her legs. Juliette couldn’t help but notice the pool of blood on the greenery beneath Florie’s skirt.
“I think I can see the tip of the baby’s head.” Isabel’s words were high-pitched and excited.
Florie groaned in response.
“Can I look, Florie?” Juliette asked. “I attended a birth once afore. My cousin had a babe. I know what it looks like when a babe is on its way down.”
Florie cried out and rolled her head from side to side. The two women struggled to hold her up.
She went rigid and silent. Then she sighed. “There, the pain has eased. You look now, Juliette, quick, before the pain rushes back.”
Mariot started another paternoster while Juliette lifted her skirts. “Yes, tis the tip of the babe’s head. Not long now, sweetheart.”
They all smiled in unison.
“I feel the need to bear down.”
“I cannot see anything baring the way. I think you are fully open, and you could push your babe out now if you feel it is time.”
Florie strained till her face went red. Then she rested and strained some more. This went on for a long while, and after each strain, Florie rested and closed her eyes. The poor woman was exhausted.
Juliette looked at the growing pool of blood on the greenery beneath her skirts. She didn’t remember so much blood from her cousin’s birthing process.
It was Joscelin’s idea that Florie stand up and move. Florie was reluctant, but she obeyed all the same. She’s taken no more than a half dozen paces before she screamed, “Lay me down, the babe is on its way out.”
It was a flurry of activity from then on. After another almighty straining, the babe’s head was clear. The head looked healthy and normal, albeit covered in blood. Juliette grabbed a damp cloth and cleaned the mucus away. She had no time to do aught else before Florie gave one last push, and the babe slid out into her awaiting arms.
“Tis a boy,” she announced, “with arms and legs and everything. He’s perfect, Florie.”
They beamed at each other, and the baby took his first breath and cried. Juliette carried the babe to Florie and placed him on her chest. She then covered the both of them in an old blanket.
A while later, Florie pushed again, and the afterbirth was expelled. They left the placenta intact with the baby. Juliette knew she needed to wait to cut the cord till it lost its blue colour and went white. After an hour, it whitened, and she deemed it safe to cut. Juliette got the others to tie the twine around the cord in two places, each a few inches apart. Sh
e fetched Tam’s heated knife, and when she was satisfied they’d tied their knots as tightly as possible, Juliette said a small prayer and sliced the cord between the ties. The afterbirth slithered to the ground with other blood and debris. Much to her delight, the cord barely bled. Florie already had her son to her breast, and the babe managed to suckle for a short while.
Mariot fetched a bowl of tea for Florie, and while she drank, they washed her legs and stomach with the betony water. Soon enough, Florie drifted to sleep. The babe slept for a short while before waking and crying. They washed him and wrapped him in swaddling, and they put him back onto Florrie’s breast.
Juliette could barely contain her relief. ‘Twas pure joy being part of the birthing miracle. She rushed to Tam and flung her arms about him. “It was wonderful in the end. Florie is safe, and the baby boy is healthy too. I praise God for what He has done.”
“You too, for what you have done.” Tam hugged her back tightly, and she felt his relief. “When you are ready, we should burn all the soiled cloths and afterbirth. The smell of blood travels far in a forest,” he warned.
She nodded.
“Shall I heat us some supper?” he offered.
“Yes, please.”
Back in the cave, the women whispered together about the distressing amount of blood. “Is that normal?” Mariot asked, being careful to keep their concerns from Florie’s ear.
“My cousin bled afterwards but nay as much. We should let Florie sleep and as soon as she awakens, offer her broth. We will insist she eat it. She will need the nourishment to repair herself. In the meanwhile, let us burn all that blood, those branches, and the afterbirth.”
They scooped up the bloodied greenery and carried it to the fire. But Joscelin refused to give up the placenta. She wouldn’t say what she wanted it for, and Juliette feared to ask.
Chapter 20
The weak dawn light dappled over Joscelin’s eyes. She awoke and listened to the breathing sounds of the others in the cave. The fire still smouldered at the mouth. Tam must have fed the flames during the night. He was still asleep, but she doubted she’d manage to sneak past him without being seen. He was one of the most able men she’d ever come across.
Thistles and Thieves Page 16