Heartbeat of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  “I’m sorry.”

  She kissed him. “I have seen you in the throes of your affliction and would not have you suffer so.”

  “Here.” He lifted her, and seated her between his spread legs, laid her thick hair to one side. “Black silk.”

  She sighed at his compliment. How she had missed hearing his flights of fancy. His thighs were so hard, his muscles bigger from what she remembered. How much he’d changed, but he was the same—tender, passionate. Soon, thoughts left her head as his strong fingers kneaded her shoulder. The vibration from his humming resonated on her back.

  He paused. “Am I hurting you?”

  “It feels wonderful.”

  Vigor radiated from his body. “To continue our discussion, I did find all manner of interesting herbs and medicines, spices too. And several ancient tomes I cannot wait to delve into, but…”

  So much he had experienced, so many places he had gone, and she, serviceable Maggie, stayed the same. Would he not tire of her? And soon his child would tie him down.

  He kissed her, his eyes glowing into hers. “But there are other things I would like to delve into, just now. Do you want me, Maggie?”

  He waited, clenching his jaw. She did. But was it not indecent to admit it?

  “A part of me says it is shameful to be with child and still yearn for you so.” She averted her eyes.

  “Does it feel shameful?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “We bring each other joy, Maggie, and there is no shame in it.”

  She could not argue with him, not when he touched her there, just so.

  Later, as she dressed, she said, “It is frightfully late.”

  He stood in front of the window in broad daylight, not a bit of clothing on, his hands loosely propped upon his narrow hips, as powerful as a knight of old. Foolish! She’d become such a fanciful midwife. But she could not resist a feeling of pride and fierce joy.

  “Ian, what are you doing? Someone might see you standing there naked.”

  “What? I was just thinking how much I missed not having you by my side. Mayhap a combination of things will make this litio. I was thinking next time you could come with me on my trip.”

  His eyes were iridescent green, like the wings of a dragonfly.

  “We could be like gypsies, sleeping upon the ground at night in summer, wandering the countryside, dining on wine, cheese, bread and berries, making love in the mountain meadows in the soft grass, wildflowers in your hair.” He tied her shift, fingers trembling with his excitement. “We could camp by the sea, mist cooling our skin.”

  Was he raving mad? “I have never been truly idle, except for our wedding night.”

  “And what a night,” he sang, and she laughed despite herself at the enthusiasm of his delivery.

  “Might I remind you, we were quite busy.” His eyes burned up and down her body, making her breasts tingle.

  Something about him seemed almost feral, and she found herself drawn into it. She smirked at him to hide her confusion. “I really don’t know if it would suit me.”

  “You should find out. I will ply you with enough wine it shouldn’t be a struggle at all.” He tucked a stray piece of hair into her cap, standing very close. “Unless you’d like to struggle—a bit.”

  She broke away. “We have work to do, wicked man. Besides, I cannot leave the town. I am way too busy birthing its babies to wander about like a wanton.”

  “Someday, Maggie. You will see.”

  ****

  After a hasty breakfast, Maggie sipped a cup of tea in the apothecary shoppe and watched Ian open his steamer trunk. He had shaved, his high cheekbones glistening with the bayberry shaving lotion he used. Ah, she had missed the smell of him, the sound of him.

  Ian knelt and flung open the trunk. A most unusual scent wafted to her: spices, incense, bitter and unpleasant musty smells as well, the odor of dead plants.

  “Oh, I have something for you,” he said. “But it’s for later.” He waggled his sandy eyebrows. In usual breakneck speed, he rummaged around and pulled something out of the bottom of the trunk. “Ah! Here it is.”

  It was square and wrapped in crimson silk, tied with a ribbon. He shot over to the wooden counter and before he set the package down, wiped the counter with a rag. And then slowly—oh it must be special indeed for him to unwrap it so slowly. “I still cannot believe I have this. Surely the old man selling it did not know its worth.”

  As she suspected, it was a book, ancient and discolored.

  She looked over his shoulder. “What is it?”

  “It is Galen’s book. The great Greek doctor and philosopher. Not the original of course, but a fair copy.”

  She blinked.

  “He is indeed one of the fathers of modern science.”

  She could not help but be wrapped up in his enthusiasm. “How interesting. I will look forward to reading it, when I am not so busy.”

  He cocked his head. “I will read it to you later.”

  She scowled. “Read it to me? Am I a child of five? You know I can read, well or better than you.” The old woman who had schooled her in midwifery had also taught her to read. “Do you think I am not intelligent enough to understand it?”

  He grinned, tapping his fingers on the counter.

  Aggravation prickled her skin like stinging nettles.

  His eyes followed the blush burning from her cheeks to her bosom. He stepped back in mock alarm, and she gave in to her rage. Insufferable man!

  “Do you think you are far smarter than I? Do you think because you have travelled to the ends of the earth, seeing more in one trip than I have seen in my life, you can lord it over me?”

  His lips quivered. God help him if he smiled. He reached out his hand, and she backed away.

  “I will not be patronized like a child. Read it to me?”

  He grasped her hands and brought them to his lips, despite her struggle. “Maggie.”

  Did he think her nothing but a lowly midwife from London’s slums? What kind of rare women did he meet, travelling so far away from her, for him to think of her in such a way?

  “Maggie.”

  His voice caressed her inside with long, slow strokes. His lips lingered enticingly near, firm, long, and tilting at the corners. He had a small nick on his chin from shaving.

  “What?” God curse her, she squeaked.

  “It is written in Greek.”

  “Oh.” She had to admire his composure. She could not blame him if he laughed. She was such a fool. What had gotten into her, yelling at him like a shrew? “You speak Greek?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She laughed. “Of course.” How was it he could speak so many languages? Mandarin, German, Greek. Unnatural man. She pulled away from him and went behind the counter to cover her embarrassment. He joined her, yet suddenly she felt so far away from him. Due to their sudden marriage last year and his frequent trips abroad, at times he still seemed like a stranger. She had no more control over him than she did the cycles of the moon, the timing of her women’s trials. Or how she wanted him.

  But dear God. He stood in front of her with not a trace of anger at her outburst. He held her hands at her sides and kissed her very softly, as if in question. “Have I offended you somehow? What can I do to make you feel better?”

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, because she could not ask for forgiveness. Why did he move her so, make the warmth flow through her, squeeze her heart with pain and joy combined, and the only way to soothe her was his lips, his body upon hers? She felt his smile under her lips.

  In the silence of the room, their ragged breaths mingled, became one and his tongue found hers until she broke away.

  “I’m sorry if I seemed boastful,” he said.

  “No, it is just that you were gone for so long. I thought I knew you, but there is so much about you I do not know.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “I love you, and we have time to learn the rest.”
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  She kissed him, and he put his arms around her, long fingers splayed over her bottom.

  They didn’t hear the door open and close, but remained in their embrace until Ian said, “Why do we not go upstairs, sweeting? Let me quench the fire I started.”

  A hawking and resultant splat on the floor cooled Maggie’s ardor.

  She started and pulled away. “Captain Jacobs.” Maggie faced away from the door and retied her bodice, smoothed down her overskirt. How did she manage to let Ian get her in this condition?

  Another hawk and splat upon the floor.

  She turned. “Captain Jacobs, with respect, sir, how many times have I told you not to spit on our floor?”

  The captain was stooped at the shoulders and wiry thin, with bushy white eyebrows perched over bloodshot blue eyes. A brown bit of snuff hung from his bushy white beard. “My apologies, mistress,” he graveled. “But to tell the truth, I walk in here and think I’m in a bordello, the way you two are carrying on.” He blinked, a wide grin creasing his weathered face.

  Ian came out from behind the counter and bowed to the old man. “Good to see you, Captain. And my apologies, for I did just return last eve after such a long absence, and she is so beautiful I cannot…”

  “Never mind,” Maggie interrupted. “Look at what the man has done to our floor.”

  “I will take care of it, love.”

  “I tell you I didn’t come here to watch the two of you cavorting like two pigs in heat,” he rasped. “Just got in yestermorning myself.”

  Maggie opened her mouth but only air came out.

  “What can I do for you?” Ian motioned for the fisherman, as Maggie gathered the necessary supplies for her rounds. “Come to the counter, man, and I’ll take care of you.”

  “Me bones ache something fierce since I woke this morn.”

  “Let me see if I can find you something to ease your pain a bit.” Ian wrapped his hand around his chin and tapped his cheek. “I’ll wager you’ve a headache as well.”

  Captain Jacobs nodded.

  “Show me a sailor whose head’s not pounding after the long journey, and I’ll show you…oh!” He opened a drawer and pulled out a vial. “Wood betony for your head.” He reached under the counter and brought out a mortar and pestle, well worn, with a chip out of the side at the top. “I use this one,” he stage whispered to Maggie, “because it looks more impressive.”

  He ground the wood betony. “Put a teaspoonful into a glass of water.”

  The captain harrumphed. “Why drink water when there’s wine or ale, young fool?”

  “Well then.” Ian grinned and handed the packet to the old man. “It might help your rheumatism as well. But in addition, I will give you horsetail and wintergreen.”

  He set the two items in the mortar and pestle and began to scrape a rhythm with the pestle inside the mortar.

  “I came upon a mermaid,

  Her hair as white as pearl.

  It swirled around the water,

  She was a buxom girl.

  Her eyes they looked upon me

  And softened up my soul,

  But hardened up my nether parts,

  And therein was the goal.

  Captain Jacobs nodded his head to the rhythm, then guffawed. “So you heard it on your trip, did ye?”

  “No, but it came to me on the boat from Boulogne.”

  He set to humming again to the rhythm of the pestle against the stone, as if everyone composed a shanty while concocting herbal remedies. She could not seem to tear her eyes away from him, or leave the shoppe. She sighed. She had duties she must attend.

  “Ay, it’s a good’un.” The old man chortled. “My crew will thank me when I sing it to ’em.”

  “You must use the horsetail and wintergreen in a tea,” Ian said. “I will mix it up for you. Why do you not sit down and rest yourself, my good man? I’ll fetch you a cup of ale. Your remedy will take a bit of time.”

  He guided Captain Jacobs to one of the chairs lining the wall, gave him his ale, and met Maggie in the doorway to their private living area. He slipped one arm around her back and cradled her neck in his other hand, while the old man leaned his head against the wall and sipped the ale, a beatific look upon his face.

  Ian bent to kiss her, running two fingers in a circular pattern on the base of her skull, sending a rush of heat to her center, like a waterfall to a deep pool of desire. He released her to fetch her cloak and wrapped it around her. “Where are you going today, Maggie mine?”

  “I’m going out to the McCall’s.”

  The McCall family lived a mile outside the Landgate, and the roads were some of the worst in the county.

  He knit his brows. “You’re going all the way out there?”

  “Yes, believe it or not, I have continued to make my rounds, in town and out of town, while you were away. The world did not stop because you left.”

  “I did not think it did. I would accompany you, but I fear I must make my presence known. I have some new remedies I learned from the gypsies and must unpack my trunk. I have a combination of herbs I’ll bring to Lena for her morning sickness. Poor thing. I am glad you do not suffer from it.” His eyes darkened. “I do not like the idea of you walking alone.”

  “May I remind you, I travel most places day or night without harassment? There is nothing to fear, for even the smugglers have women who give birth. As long as I keep my mouth shut, I’m fine. And I have my knife, which has come in handy before.”

  He nodded. “I don’t like it.”

  “I’ve been fine without you,” she said.

  He winced, then sprang over to his steamer trunk. She had forgotten how active he was.

  “I have a gift for you, unique as you are.”

  He bowed and presented the wrapped object to her, as if she, plain, serviceable Maggie, was a queen.

  Her unwrapping revealed a cloth ball of sorts, with a slit-like opening. She spread the slit open. Inside of the opening lay a panel of cloth, and above it, another opening, where a baby’s head waited. As gently as if she attended a real birth, she guided the head out of the cloth womb, and then the babe emerged, legs drawn up and arms folded across its knees. There was even an umbilical cord! She pulled on the cord, and the afterbirth emerged, attached of course to the babe’s belly. It had thick threads throughout, resembling the veins and arteries.

  Maggie gasped, realizing she had been holding her breath. “Ian, a model of a babe inside its mother’s womb. It’s amazing. To be able to show my birthing mothers what is going on inside their bodies.”

  He grinned. “So I have pleased you?”

  “Oh yes! How many of my mothers are afraid, because they don’t know what is happening?” She carefully placed the baby back in the womb and pulled it out again. “I can explain to them the pains have a purpose, to help bring the baby out.”

  He handed her another object, a cloth ball, resembling a large nut, but with the privy passage at one end. Inside the womb, twins lay curled together, a thin partition separating them, the cords draped around their bodies. One had its feet at the mouth of the womb, and the other its head facing down, so they fit perfectly together.

  “Twins, often fraught with difficulty,” she murmured. “See how the babe by the privy passage is going to be delivered feet first, unless they change position? And look at the cords, which could so easily be around their necks. But see how God has made them fit together just so, making room for each other to grow.”

  “As do we.” He kissed her forehead.

  “My husband, thank you!” She blushed. “No one has ever given me gifts before.”

  “More’s the pity. It is my mission to make you happy, and I would do anything to bring the glow of joy to your face. Of course, upstairs lies my favorite way.” He trailed his fingers down her neck and along the line of her bodice. Maggie’s breathing quickened.

  Just then, Full-Pocket Pete Stowe’s mother walked in. According to rumors, Margaret Stowe had once been a great beauty
. Even now, her face was smooth and pale, but for two deep groves around her mouth. She held her tall frame straight as a boat paddle.

  She must spend hours upon her hair in the morning, Maggie mused. Her faded blonde hair was streaked with grey and powdered. It lay in neatly curled rolls around her face, her cap pinned just so behind the curls. She glanced at Maggie, blue eyes glinting like a crow’s.

  Maggie nodded. “Good morning, Mistress Stowe.”

  “I require some pennyroyal and be quick about it, Mr. Pierce.”

  She cast a withered look in the direction of Captain Jacobs, who had fallen asleep with his chin on his chest, clutching his empty mug of ale like a long lost dolly. Ian tried to wrest it out of his hand, and the old man started, jumped to his feet with surprising agility, looking around frantically. “Man the masts,” he yelled. “Step lively, lads!”

  Ian laughed and guided him back to the chair. Has the medicine done you any good, sir?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I will fetch myself summat to eat now. Thank ye, young Ian.” He nodded to the two women and exited the shoppe, whistling Ian’s mermaid tune as he went.

  Maggie shook her head. The medicine had done the old man wonders. Or was it Ian’s solicitude? It certainly worked for her.

  Mrs. Stowe huffed and marched to the counter. Ian leaned forward over the counter and smiled at the older woman, the same smile he used on market day to sell his wares. No one seemed able to resist it, except Mrs. Stowe, apparently.

  “Now then,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “It’s not for me. It’s for my poor boy.”

  Maggie inwardly scoffed. Poor boy? Full-Pocket Pete was five and thirty years old.

  “Pete?” Ian winked at Maggie. Poor man. He was still trying to charm the sour woman.

  “Well, who else?” Mrs. Stowe’s voice was sharp enough to cut a mutton chop.

  “The lad has been in pain, ever since his unfortunate beating last year, and the loss of his thumb.” Mrs. Stowe pointed her sharp nose at Maggie, as if she were responsible.