For a moment, they enjoyed the memory of their quiet, but kind friend. A few people began filing in, perhaps for mutual company and remembrances of Josef.
Henry clapped Ian on the back, causing him to spit out a mouthful of his winter ale. “Go home, man. Tend to your wife.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“I’m not tired,” Henry said. “We have no rounds tonight, so George and I will stay here, to watch over the place.”
At this, Vicar shot Henry a look and stood. “I must go home and prepare for tomorrow.”
“Get some sleep,” Ian said. “You have done a hard day’s work.”
Ian helped Maggie with her cloak. “There’s another one who sleeps the sleep of the innocent, I wager.”
Maggie smiled. Even in the depths of sorrow and exhaustion, he could bring her a glimmer of joy, of hope, of a future free of strife, for however long it lasted.
A short while later, Maggie sat in front of a roaring fire. Ian stood before her, awaiting her approval. She stared, open-mouthed. He should have looked silly, in this below the knee-length silk nightgown. But he looked resplendent. He bowed, and through the opening of the robe she glimpsed a muscular thigh covered with light brown curls.
“What are you wearing?”
“It’s called a banyan. Do you like it?”
“Yes.” She surprised even herself. “I do.”
His pleasure was apparent underneath his robe, where his manhood celebrated the success of pleasing his wife. “Men in the Orient wear this type of robe during the day as well. It is their custom.”
Her breasts tingled at the intensity of his gaze. “Come, husband. Sit down with me. Tell me the story of where you got this banyan.” Was it so wrong of them to retreat into the comfort of their love?
She slipped open his robe, enjoyed the smooth feel of the silk on her fingers, and the hot skin of his powerful shoulders. He closed his eyes, and she stared at the pulse beating in his throat. Her center tightened at his power, and he put his hands in her hair and kissed her, the heat of him making her gasp in his mouth.
The cottage shook with the pounding of the door. “Let me in, Pierce!”
“Damn him,” Ian growled. “It’s Reginald.”
“A little help, please! The bastard’s heavy.”
Maggie pushed him off and tightened her robe, her ardor cooling like sheets on the line. She stood in the doorway to the shoppe.
Ian opened the door. Reginald half carried, half dragged Pete Stowe across the floor, and Ian rushed to help him into a chair. He leaned against the wall, eyes half open, mouth twisted in pain. His red, festered hand, swollen to twice its size, lay against his torn, mud-soaked linen shirt.
“I found this poor sot lying in the alley. Don’t say I never gave you anything, friend. The man reeks, by the way.”
Stowe opened his eyes for a moment, then his head lolled back against the wall.
Ian rushed up to examine him. “Good God, Stowe. You should have let me treat this hand. You’re burning up with fever.”
Reginald bowed to Maggie. “Good evening, madame. So sorry to disturb you.” His hooded eyes roved over her attire.
“Yes, um.” A most nauseating smell permeated the air. Sickeningly sweet, and foul. Maggie opened the window.
“I must take my leave, Pierce.”
“No you don’t, Reggie. Make yourself useful for once and bring me the straight-backed chair from the parlor. We will need to tie him.” He sniffed. “I smell opium. He’s been trying to dull the pain, no doubt.”
The two men soon had him settled. Ian gave him a dose of willow bark for pain and fever, and tied his suppurating hand to the wide chair arm.
Ian shook him. “Pete, wake up. If there’s a chance to save this hand, I must lance it, and release the purulence.”
“Lance?”
The willow bark seemed to revive him a bit. His pupils were huge. He shook with fever and fear. “Oh God.”
“We must do this. It’s the only way, and indeed I do not know if I can save your hand.”
“But…”
“There’s no sense belaboring it now, but I could have prevented this.”
Maggie saw the effort it took him to hold his temper. He stood very still for a moment, breathing deeply, as she had seen him do before, and the trembling in his hands stilled.
“Are you ready?” Ian grasped a lancet. “Reggie, hold him.”
With a deft hand, Ian sliced a three-inch long incision into the space between his missing thumb and index finger.
Pete screamed, legs scraping against the floor and moving the chair forward.
“Reggie, hold him still, I said. I have a knife in my hand.”
Maggie held a hand over her mouth against the putrid smell and shut the window. They’d have the neighbors waking up if they didn’t watch out.
The poison began to flow in a yellow river out of Pete’s hand. Ian rinsed it with hot water, while Reggie gagged. At the sound, Maggie responded in kind.
Ian glanced up. “Maggie? Okay, sweeting?”
She nodded. When had she gotten so squeamish? “I will make some tea.”
He smiled. “Yes, I think it’s best.”
Her timing was fortuitous, as she overheard Ian saying, “I must lance it again, Stowe. I’m sorry.”
“No doubt you’re enjoying it, hurting me.”
This garnered a stifled laugh from Reggie.
“I am not your enemy, Pete, and never have been. I will fetch you some brandy before we start again.”
Ian strode into the parlor, his gown flowing behind him. He poured some brandy and soaked a clean rag in the herbs simmering beside the fire. “Messy business. You look a little green around the gills. Here.” He poured her some of the golden liquid. “Sit down.” And he was gone again, taking the brandy with him.
Relieved, she plopped down on the divan and sipped her brandy.
“Here, man. Swallow this, and I will put another poultice on your wound.”
“Ah! Yes,” Pete mumbled.
“You know I am only trying to help you, right?”
“Uh huh. Damn fine brandy.”
“Obviously, by my actions, I mean you no harm. In lieu of payment, I would ask you some questions.” A pause. “The hand is draining, but we must cut again.”
Reggie groaned.
“Go pour yourself a glass, Reggie, you great big girl.”
“Now then.” Ian’s tone softened, as if he talked to a young boy. “Will you answer my questions as best you can, Pete?”
“More brandy?”
“Answers first, brandy after. What do you know about the disappearance of the body of Nikolaus, Josef’s nephew?”
“N-nothing.”
“Did you move the body, Pete?”
“I said it was wrong.”
“Answer me.”
“It’s wrong.”
Ian removed the poultice. “It’s draining the poison, but not enough.”
“He’s fainted,” Reginald said unnecessarily.
“Damn,” Ian said. “Pete! Wake up. I must lance the hand again.”
He cringed. “Don’t hurt me.”
“I’m sorry. Reggie, hold him. Put down the glass, you imbecile.”
“Shut up.”
Stowe giggled and then belched.
“Let me just say, this is not how I imagined I’d be spending the evening,” Ian drawled.
“Oh, by the by, old friend. I like your attire. I remember it from our travels together. Quite the fetching outfit with the apron.”
“Yes, ha ha. Let’s get this done, and you can be on your way.”
“Ready, Pete?”
The poor man screamed.
“Yes, there’s the spot.”
“Holy hell.” Reginald gasped.
“Reggie, don’t you dare faint on me. There, now. It’s draining as it should. How is it feeling, Pete? Any better?”
“A bit. The cut hurts, but there’s less pressure.”
Maggie heard Ian’s footsteps, the opening and shutting of drawers. “Take these poultices with you. Do you want to bide here awhile and rest?”
“No, I must go home. Mother will be wondering where I am. Mayhap.”
Ian washed his hands and face at the basin. “After I dress, we’ll take him home, Reggie.”
“Why don’t you take him home, and I’ll stay and keep your wife safe and warm.” Reggie sidled next to Maggie, hand hovering above her shoulder.
Before she could blink, Ian grabbed Reggie by his cravat and slammed him against the wall. “Keep a safe distance from my wife,” he rasped. “Now, do as I say and help me take him home. And then I can return to my beloved and continue what we started.” He released Reggie and whispered in Maggie’s ear. “Go upstairs, sweeting. I will return soon.” His hoarse voice resonated deep within her belly.
They were soon out the door, Pete between them, poor bastard. She climbed the stairs to their bedchamber, where Ian had left a candle burning for her. Despite her fatigue, she craved the touch of his fingers upon her, his lips reverent upon her breasts. She climbed into bed, curled on her side, and fell promptly asleep.
Later, Ian’s breath tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. “Ah, Maggie,” he murmured. “May I wake you? I long to be one with you, to sink myself into your bounty.”
She nestled her bottom against him in assent. He reached his long arms around her and lifted up her nightgown, his fingers sliding up her legs, and she begged of him, hurry, and he paid her no heed when he reached her secret place and slowly slid his fingers into her warm, slick center. His manhood bulged against her buttocks.
In one swift movement, he turned her on her back, rose above her, and sank himself into her. She tightened around him, enclosing him in her warmth. Flames licked her passage, carrying her up and over the edge when she heard his cry.
“Oh, Maggie, you soothe me so. And bring me such pleasure. But did I pleasure you?”
She quivered with helpless laughter. He knew. But he wanted to hear it.
“You enlighten me, Ian.”
His kiss upon her lips was the last thing she remembered before she fell asleep. Later, she reached out for him to entwine her limbs with his but found his side of the bed cold.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The strings of Ian’s lute echoed through the cottage, plaintive and urgent, grasping at Maggie’s heart. His husky baritone joined the lute, keening without words, and spread its dark wings to shelter her from the night’s sorrow.
Later, when dawn began to lighten the sky, she listened for him, but the cottage lay silent and empty. Why must he go? He said she was everything to him, but why could he not abide with her for even one short night? Surely he found her lacking, how she went to bed with the chickens and ached like an old woman. This Charlotte was a night owl like him. Did she ever sleep? Even as the thoughts ground into her, she cursed her doubts. Had he not just made love to her as if she was the only woman who existed? But God knew he had the vigor of two men. Perhaps he needed more. Perhaps he got tired of singing alone.
As she lay in bed, a prickling of foreboding spread over her. Something’s amiss. The prickling spread throughout her body. She sat up, reeling as if she’d been thrown spinning into the air. A smell of incense permeated the room. A voice resounded through her body, like an echo, gentle yet urgent.
The holy nun.
“What is it you want?”
“She is doubly blessed, midwife, but in distress.”
The pains sliced deep within her belly. Doubly blessed. She must go to Polly McCall. And she felt the warmth of approval from the holy nun.
She gathered her materials in haste and walked toward the Landgate as the sky began to lighten. No birdsong as yet, but the faint sound of singing from the Shipwreck Inn, Ian’s voice heard above the rest. She had guessed correctly where he preferred his company, singing with the butterflies instead of home with the moth. No matter. She gathered her cloak around her, shivering.
She had not taken time to break her fast, not when the holy nun urged her to take action. The roads outside the Landgate were littered with potholes full of water from the rain last night. She made her way over the bridge, picking her way carefully over the soft spot.
When Ian returned, he would not know where she was. She couldn’t help a momentary flash of satisfaction; mayhap he would know how she felt. But more important were the urgings of the nun.
As she turned down the lane, the figure of Adam McCall raced toward her, the smaller figures of the oldest boys behind him. “I was just coming to fetch you. How did you know? It’s time.”
She bowed her head in thanksgiving and prayed God and the holy nun would bless Polly, the babes, and her hands in service.
The door to the cottage hung wide open. Bethan, Polly’s sister knelt with the youngest child in one arm. She had her other hand upon Katherine’s head. “I promise you, darling, your mother will be fine.”
“But two babies! Two!” Little Katherine cried.
“She has done this many times. Now, enjoy this bright morning and play some games with your brothers. Mayhap you’ll have some sisters born today.”
The sheepdog licked Katherine’s face, and a wrestling match ensued with the other two boys joining in.
“How extraordinary!” Bethan smiled down at Maggie. “You’re here.”
Maggie’s moral dilemma lasted only a few minutes: normally, a maiden would not be privy to the secrets of the birthing chamber, but she needed an extra pair of hands.
“Where’s Elunid?” Maggie asked.
“She is…” Bethan jerked her head toward the field. “She took herself off before dawn and hasn’t been seen from since. There will be no budging her.”
“She must be cold,” Maggie said.
“She doesn’t seem to feel it,” Bethan said.
“Bethan, I need your help birthing the babies. Can you do it?”
She nodded. “Yes, I believe so. I think I might like bringing new life into the world, although I have never done so. They are so fresh and untouched, free of troubles.” A wistful look made her appear years older.
“Well, then. Let’s be about it.”
“I will engage the children in an activity.” Bethan clapped her hands and the little ones came running.
Polly grabbed Maggie’s hand and whispered, “Something is wrong. I can feel it. This doesn’t feel like the others.”
“Has your water broken?”
She smiled. “Yes, like a dam. Elunid took to the fields upon seeing it.”
Bethan snorted. “The children thought she pissed herself. They had a jolly laugh about it.”
“How does it feel different, Polly?”
The pains, they’re more intense.”
Maggie soaked a cloth in the essence of lavender she’d brought in her bag and laid it gently upon the woman’s brow.
Just then, another pain doubled her over. Maggie lowered the blanket and put her hands upon her stomach, feeling the tightness of the womb. A limb kicked her palm. Good, at least one of the babes still moved.
When Polly’s pain abated, Maggie said, “Polly, would you like to use the birthing chair? Some women find it to be helpful.”
Polly smirked. “As you can see, Katherine saw fit to decorate it. Does it not look festive?”
Maggie hadn’t noticed upon entering. She chuckled. “Maybe next time.”
“Ha ha.” Polly smiled, and then a fresh pain came on.
“That’s right, Polly. Slow, deep breaths. This will not last forever.”
“Cold comfort,” Polly gasped.
When the contraction was over, Polly repeated, “Something is wrong.”
�
�I am going to take a look, dearie. But remember, you have never given birth to twins before.”
“I pray I never will again.”
Polly’s brave attempt at humor buoyed Maggie. This was no inexperienced mother. But could anyone ever be prepared for the trial awaiting them? Would she when the time came?
The sound of the children playing with their father outside put the slightest of smiles on Polly’s face, as Maggie applied the almond oil to her hands and pulled up Polly’s skirts, noting the bloody show. She gently inserted two fingers into her birthing passage.
Bethan stood at Maggie’s side. “What should I do?”
“I will need you later, but for now just try and make her comfortable.”
Bethan nodded.
She turned back to her patient. “Polly, you will be happy to hear you are almost ready for the babes to emerge. Your pains are doing a fine job of opening you up to receive your children.” She soothed the woman’s hair back from her flushed face.
“I cannot wait until you deliver your first, Mistress Maggie. I wonder what you’ll be saying then.” Polly’s mouth quirked on one side.
“I hope you will be there to help me, dear Polly.”
Bethan snorted in amusement. “Are you comfortable, sister?”
“Do I look like I am comfortable?” She cast Bethan a withered look.
“Here, take a sip of this.” Bethan held the wine to her lips.
Polly nodded gratefully. Just then another pain hit, and the remaining bloody fluid of the membrane sac soaked Maggie. “There’s the other one. Well done. It will help speed things along.”
She did not need to tell Polly to lie back and rest between pains. They were increasing in frequency, and Polly needed every minute to rebuild her strength from the last ordeal.
Maggie prayed for a safe delivery.
Holy Mother, please do not forsake me. I do not understand your ways, but I have felt your presence, and pray you be with me, here and now.
She checked her materials, noting Bethan’s bright interest. She had already laid them out: a sharp knife for cutting the cord, a clean string for tying it, and linen, to wrap the babies in. Polly groaned as her womb shifted dramatically. In all her days of delivering babes, Maggie had never seen anything so massive.
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