“If Nyssa cannot come to me, why can I not go to her?” the queen persisted. She did not easily relinquish what she wanted. “Are we not planning a progress through the Midlands next summer, my lord? Could I not see her then?”
Henry Tudor sighed, and then said, “You might be with child yourself then, Catherine, and unable to accompany me.”
Children! Children! Children! ’Twas all men ever talked about, the queen thought irritably. Her uncle, Duke Thomas, was always importuning her to have a child. Another son for England, they all begged her. And Henry could not stop nattering on about it either, even in the midst of their most intimate moments as he grunted and sweated over her body. Was she to be allowed no time to be young? To have fun? “I want to see my friend,” she told him stubbornly, “and I do not want to wait years to do so.”
The king took his wife upon his ample lap and began to fondle her breasts. His bride, he had discovered, had a most prodigious appetite for lovemaking. Whenever she was angry, he had but to distract her in this delightful manner. Catherine would immediately forget whatever it was that had irritated her in the first place.
“Perhaps next summer it can somehow be arranged,” he soothed her. “The hunting is good in that area. There are several great houses that could entertain us and our court. Next summer, my rose.”
He kissed her hard, finding his own desire beginning to rise to the occasion. The Earl and Countess of March had been married but three months ahead of their king and queen. Catherine would soon begin to blossom with their own child, he was certain. He was still capable of siring a child. Why, he felt like twenty again.
On Christmas morning Nyssa awoke dispiritedly. The day was cold, yet absolutely beautiful. Tillie seemed unduly excited as she helped her mistress to dress for mass. But of course Tillie would be excited; everyone else was, but how could she be? A year ago she had been at court awaiting the arrival of the new queen. She had missed the wonderful Christmas celebrations that her mother always held at RiversEdge, but she had managed to bear her disappointment in her excitement over being at court.
Now she was a married woman, enormous with child, in a strange house that had no customs. She wanted to go home! She wanted to be Nyssa Wyndham again. Young and free to do as she pleased. The invader within her kicked and turned itself about, reminding her sharply that those days were over forever. Several tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Why, m’lady, what is the matter?” Tillie asked her.
Nyssa shook her head. Tillie would never understand how she felt. Why should she? She was young, and free yet. “Nothing fits,” she muttered. “Practically everything Mama gave me is too tight now.”
“You are carrying big,” Tillie admitted. “I’ve seen me ma the same way, and then the baby is just the littlest bit of a thing. ’Tis all the waters, m’lady. As long as he’s active, he’s healthy.”
“He is very active, Tillie,” Nyssa grumbled. “As active as one of those tumblers one sees at the fair. I barely slept last night.”
“Just a few more weeks, m’lady,” Tillie soothed her mistress. “Why, spring will be here before you know it,” she promised.
“ ’Tis Christmas Day, Tillie,” Nyssa said gloomily. “Spring is weeks and weeks away.” She sighed piteously.
Tillie said nothing more. Carefully she brushed her mistress’s lovely dark hair, braiding it into a single plait with a red ribbon through the strands. She helped Nyssa into a velvet breeding gown of dark green, noting the laces barely tied now. Her lady’s bosom had greatly enlarged over the last few months, and swelled quite dangerously over the edge of the bodice. The skirt was divided, and the underskirt was of silver and green brocade.
Nyssa looked at her belly straining beneath the fabric, and fell into a fit of giggles. “I wonder if this is how a heifer would look if you dressed her up in a fine gown.” She chuckled.
“She would be the best-dressed heifer in all of England,” Tillie said, laughing, pleased to see Nyssa’s good humor restored. One never knew these days if she would laugh or cry, or shout over some little thing.
The two women joined the earl in the chapel of Winterhaven for the morning mass. Nyssa grew weepy again. They were all alone, just the two of them. She wondered why she had even bothered to decorate the Great Hall with greens and candles. Who would appreciate them? There was no one. She sniffled softly.
When the mass ended, Varian de Winter took his wife’s hand. “Let us go into the Great Hall and break our fast. Young Mistress Browning tells me that the kitchen staff have prepared a special holiday feast for us this day.” He kissed her softly. “Happy Christmas, sweeting.”
“I am not hungry,” Nyssa said. “I think I shall return to my chamber to rest.” She looked so woebegone.
“Nay, Nyssa, you shall not,” he said adamantly. She glanced up at him, surprised. “You shall not disappoint the servants who have worked so hard to make this day a special one for you. I am sorry you cannot be at RiversEdge, sweeting, but it would not have been safe for you to go in your condition. That is no reason, however, to mope about and spoil Christmas for the rest of us at Winterhaven.”
He had never spoken to her that way. He had always been so gentle, and so considerate of her. How could he possibly understand her feelings? He had never had the kind of family she had. But before the protest might even form upon her lips, he was leading her firmly from the chapel to the Great Hall. She could smell the pine and the bay as they approached. There was a low hum coming from the hall. What was it? She had certainly never heard that noise before. They entered the room, and she gasped with surprise, her eyes flying to his smiling face.
“Merry Christmas, Nyssa!” her family chorused as one.
Nyssa burst into tears. “Oh!” she sobbed. “Oh, I am so happy! Mama! Papa! Grandmama Doro! Philip! Giles! Richard! Edward! Henry! And, ohh, look at the girls. Annie and Jane have grown so since I saw them last!” She turned to her husband. “Thank you, Varian,” was all she could manage to say before she began sobbing against his velvet-clad chest. How could she have ever believed the terrible gossip surrounding his earlier life, or his actions toward her? A man so thoughtful of his wife couldn’t be wicked or untrustworthy. How could she have ever thought it?
“She is just like her mother,” Anthony Wyndham told his son-in-law calmly. “They weep at the drop of a bonnet, these women. Do not look so distressed, Varian. She is delighted with your little surprise.”
“Ohhh, I am!” Nyssa sobbed. “I have never been happier in my entire life, my lord.” She reached for her handkerchief, wiping her eyes and noisily blowing her nose. “Mama!” She and Blaze embraced.
“You are enormous,” her mother noted. “Are you certain this baby is not due until the end of March? Perhaps I was mistaken about the dates. After all, you were married at the end of April. The child could be here sooner. Sometimes a woman’s flow does not stop right away. It is unusual, but it has been known to happen.
“I had meant to return home in just a few days’ time,” Blaze continued, “but I think now that I may remain with you until after the baby comes, Nyssa. If there were to be a bad storm and I could not get back, I should be most distressed. I shall keep Henry and the girls with me.” She looked to her son-in-law. “Will you mind, Varian?”
“Nay, madame, you are most welcome to remain as long as you desire. Indeed I would be hard-pressed to help Nyssa when the child comes. I am glad for your company, I assure you.”
“You may not be glad for the company of these rascals,” the Countess of Langford said, a twinkle in her eyes, as she watched her twin daughters toddling with determination after one of the hounds.
The morning meal was served, and Nyssa was astounded. Entirely on their own the kitchen staff had set a menu and prepared it. There was a large country ham, pink and sweet; dishes of eggs in a sauce of cream and marsala wine, sprinkled with cinnamon. Hot wheat cereal with bits of dried apple and pear was served up in fresh trenchers of bread. Trout, poached in
white wine with dill and lemon, caught the men’s fancy. There was a platter of large stewed apples floating in a mixture of hot honey, raisins, and nutmeg, with a companion pitcher of thick, clotted cream. There was a small wheel of sharp cheese, hot cottage loaves, silver dishes of newly churned butter, and pitchers of both October ale and red wine.
Outside it was still dark, for the dawn came late at this time of year and the days were short. The family trooped to the high board and, seating themselves, began to eat with enthusiasm.
“How did you get here, and when did you arrive?” Nyssa asked her parents. “I did not hear you, and my ears are sharp.”
“Old Rumford ferried us across early this morning. The road to Winterhaven is a clear one, and the moon was high,” Anthony told her. “We traveled easily, my dear.”
“And we arrived while you were at mass,” Blaze said, taking up the explanation. “Our timing was quite perfect, I think.” She smiled at her daughter.
It was suddenly the best Christmas Nyssa could ever remember. She was surrounded by so many who loved her—her parents, her siblings, her husband. Aye, he really did love her, and he never wavered in his devotion to her. Yet although she cared for him more than when they had first been wed, she still did not think she loved him. It was a puzzle, but she realized she was not unhappy, and surely that was all to the good.
Her family celebrated her nineteenth birthday with her, and they stayed until after Twelfth Night. Her Morgan grandparents, her aunts, her uncles, and her cousins all came to visit during those days. When they finally had all departed but for her mother and the three youngest of her siblings, she felt relief to have her home to herself again, though she had been so happy to see everyone.
The winter set in at last with the coming of February. Varian fretted about his flocks, for the lambing was upon them, and as always in lambing season, the weather was stormy. Old Lord Morgan rode over from Ashby to advise his granddaughter’s husband, for he had once had enormous flocks of his own.
They had heard nothing of the court since the royal messenger’s visit on St. Thomas’s Day, when they had learned that the king and the queen would celebrate Christmas at Hampton Court. They had no visitors but an occasional family member. Nyssa was growing more and more short-tempered with her expanding girth. Nothing was remotely comfortable these days, neither sitting, nor standing, nor lying upon her bed.
February passed, and on the first day of March, Nyssa went into labor. “It is too soon,” she fretted, frightened.
“From the look of you,” her mother said with a smile, “it is none too soon. You are like a ripe peach ready to burst.”
“I am bursting,” wailed the Countess of March, “and it hurts!”
Her mother ignored her, instead ordering that the birthing table be brought into the countess’s bedchamber and set by the fire, where it was warm. Kettles of hot water boiled over the fire. A large stack of clean cloths was prepared. The infant’s cradle was brought, along with the swaddling clothes. The nursemaid was called to ready herself for her new duties.
Outside, gray, icy sleet was flinging itself against the glass windowpanes, and the wind was beginning to rise. Blaze made her daughter walk about until finally her waters broke. Only then did the Countess of Langford allow Nyssa to get onto the birthing table.
In the Great Hall, Varian de Winter paced nervously. His father-in-law, just arrived, sat calmly by the fire, sipping at his wine and chatting with his youngest son, who was playing with a puppy at his feet.
“Var, can I take puppy home with me?” little Henry Wyndham asked his brother-in-law. Henry would shortly be four. His big violet-blue eyes reminded Lord de Winter of his wife. The boy smiled up ingenuously at the man, his baby teeth like small freshwater pearls.
“Aye, ’tis yours, Hal. What will you call him?”
“Puppy,” the little boy said with perfect logic.
The two men chuckled at the child, and he grinned good-naturedly back at them.
Blaze could not believe the ease with which Nyssa was delivering her child. She remembered how she herself had labored lightly for an entire day. Then her labor had become harder and harder, until finally, just before midnight, Nyssa had been born. Nyssa, however, was having quite an easy time of it. Blaze bent to peer between her daughter’s legs, and saw that the child’s head was quite visible.
“At the next pain, I want you to bear down as hard as you can and push,” she told Nyssa. “It will take very little to birth this child.”
The young Countess of March obeyed her mother, and as she was wracked by a hard pain, bore down, pushing with all her might. The child began to slip forth from her body. “Ohhh, I can feel it, Mama!”
“Push again, Nyssa,” her mother ordered.
The young woman pushed, and suddenly a howl broke the virtual stillness of the room. Blaze Wyndham smiled broadly as she lifted her firstborn grandchild up and lay the wailing infant upon his mother’s body.
“You have a son,” she told her daughter, and then sought for the afterbirth. It had not yet emerged. Taking a small, sharp knife set aside for the purpose, she cut the cord and knotted it tightly in the baby’s navel. Ohh, he was a fine boy!
“Mama!” Nyssa’s voice was sharp. “The pain is beginning again.”
“ ’Tis the afterbirth,” Blaze said, disposing of it.
“No,” Nyssa told her. “I feel the same way I felt just a moment ago, when Edmund was born.”
Blaze looked down again and gasped with surprise. “Heartha, take Lord Edmund and clean him up,” she called to her tiring woman. “Tillie, I will want you to stand by. Your mistress is about to deliver another baby. ’Tis twins, Nyssa! Why did I not realize it before now? You come from a family known for its twin births! That is why you were so big, and that is why your babies are being born today instead of at the end of the month. Twins always come early.”
Within a brief few moments Nyssa had delivered her second child. “What is it?” she demanded. “Do not mix it up with Edmund. He is the heir. I do not want him to lose his birthright.”
“No fear of that,” her mother said. “This one is a daughter. Ohh, I don’t envy the poor little queen when Henry Tudor learns you have given Varian de Winter not just one, but two children. He will be so envious.”
“Let me see her,” Nyssa demanded, and Blaze put the baby on her daughter’s chest. The infant’s eyes were open, and she appeared to focus quite clearly upon her mother. She made small noises that absolutely fascinated Nyssa.
“What will you call Edmund’s sister?” Lady Wyndham asked.
“I had not considered a daughter, but I think if it is all right with Varian, I shall call her Sabrina. Lady Sabrina Mary de Winter. What think you, Mama?”
“ ’Tis a lovely name,” Blaze said, “and now I think we had best cleanse Lady Sabrina free of her birthing blood so she may be swaddled and presented to her father, along with her brother.”
The two infants were quickly cleansed with warmed, scented oil, and then swaddled in clean clothes. Heartha held the heir to Winterhaven, and Tillie proudly cradled his sister.
“Go and introduce them to their father and grandfather while I attend to my daughter,” Blaze said, and the two servants hurried from the bedchamber while Lady Wyndham made Nyssa presentable for the husband who would surely be coming to visit her within a short time.
Slowly Tillie and Heartha made their way down the stairs and into the Great Hall.
“My lord!” said Heartha. “You have a son.”
Varian de Winter leapt to his feet and strode toward her.
“And a daughter, my lord,” Tillie told him.
The Earl of March stopped in his tracks. “A son and a daughter?” He looked nonplussed.
“Runs in the family,” Anthony Wyndham said matter-of-factly, coming to look at his first two grandchildren. “Old Lady Morgan birthed four sets of twins, y’know. Two sets were girls. One was a mixed pair like these two, and the last set was boys.” He pe
ered down at the babies. “Which one’s the lad?” he asked the two women.
“This one here, m’lord,” Heartha said, beaming. “Lord Edmund Anthony de Winter’s ’is name, Mistress Nyssa says.”
“Is it?” Anthony Wyndham felt a bit misty-eyed. “Is that all right with you, my lord?” he asked his son-in-law.
Varian nodded, fascinated by the miniature of himself cradled in the tiring woman’s arms. “Aye. I bred them, but according to Nyssa, I do not get to name them.” He looked up with a grin and then said to Tillie, “What is my daughter to be called?”
“She’s Lady Sabrina Mary de Winter, m’lord,” Tillie replied.
“Is my wife well?” he queried her.
“Oh, aye, m’lord. My mistress is quite well. Lady Wyndham says her labor was a very easy one,” Tillie informed him.
The earl left the hall and hurried to his wife’s chamber. Nyssa was already newly bathed and in a fresh chamber robe.
“Did you see them?” she asked him impatiently as he entered. “Are they not the most perfect and beautiful babies, my lord?”
“Sabrina is bald,” he noted, “but,” he added, seeing his wife’s outraged look, “she is the most beautiful little girl I have ever seen.”
“And Edmund? I have given you an heir, sir. Are you not pleased with me? What is my reward to be? When I was born, my father gave my mother a manor, and I was but one baby. What shall I have for two?”
“Nyssa! Such greed,” Blaze said, but she was laughing.
“This,” the earl said, slipping a beautiful gold chain with a large pear-shaped diamond from his doublet, “is your reward for giving me an heir, madame. Since I was not expecting a second baby, I must beg your indulgence. What would you like?”
Love, Remember Me Page 28