by E. B. Brown
Thrilled to see him, Kyra moved toward him, but Benjamin held her firm. She was glad at that moment, because Morgan glared at her in a way he had never looked upon her before, and it tore what was left of her childlike heart into tiny pieces.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll help ye return her,” Morgan muttered and turned sharply to her. “Yer father will have yer hide, ye little fool. Why would ye defy him? He’ll kill ye when he finds out, be sure of that!” Morgan brushed past Kyra without another glance and readied his horse. Benjamin lifted her easily onto a second ready horse and then mounted behind her, and they took off in a brisk lope toward the outskirts of town. They did not slow until they reached the seclusion of the wood line and the lights of the town were just dim glimmers through the trees when she looked back.
They looked longingly back at Morgan as they rode, but he refused to meet her gaze. She didn’t understand why he was so angry at her, and how her plan had spiraled so horribly out of control. She had only wanted to assure him they would always be friends, that there was no other who could replace him in her heart of hearts. Even when separated, that is what it meant to be friends, and she would stand by that vow until she grew old enough for him.
“I meant no harm,” she said. She saw Morgan stiffen upright in his saddle.
“Ye never do. Yer a spoilt child,” Morgan replied.
“I’m not that much younger than ye, Morgan White!”
“Yes, ye are! And I doona want to see ye anymore. I’ll never turn a lady’s eye with ye following me about. It’s best ye listen to yer Da.”
Kyra felt the warmth of tears as they slid down her cheeks, and she turned her face away so Morgan could not see. She choked back a sob, and she felt Benjamin’s arms tighten around her.
“That’s enough, lad. She knows she’s done wrong. No need to be so harsh,” Benjamin admonished the youth. Morgan uttered something low she could not decipher, and then pushed his horse forward to ride ahead of them.
“Yer broken heart will mend, lass. I promise ye that,” Benjamin commented. Kyra sighed.
“Why is he mad at me?” she asked.
“Because he’s a young man and yer only a girl, and he doesn’t need ye following him about. He doesn’t want to hurt ye.”
“How do ye know so much? And how do ye know my parents?”
“Well,” he replied. “Ye look like a ghost of yer mother at the same age, there’s no mistaking who yer ma is. And I happen to be well acquainted with yer Da, ye wee hellion.”
“He never speaks of ye,” she replied. At that she felt his arms stiffen, and she bounced with the stilted gait of the horse.
“No, he wouldna. Nor would yer ma.”
Benjamin fell silent after that, and she relaxed enough to close her eyes a bit. It was well past her bedtime, and the excitement of the day wore heavy on her.
Finally they arrived in a meadow near the Norse town, which she knew was only up over the next ridge. They dismounted, and Benjamin spoke quietly to Morgan.
“Take her into the village, and see her back to her Da. Make sure she goes in, make no doubt of it,” he ordered Morgan. Kyra had scarce time to wonder why Morgan took Benjamin’s instruction without issue, as if he knew Benjamin as well and had cause to respect the man. “And you. Don’t let me find ye in town again, or it willna be yer father tanning yer hide. Bide my word, Kwetii. Yer place is here, with yer kin.”
She didn’t know how to answer his demand other than to nod in agreement. Benjamin put his hands on her waist to lift her onto Morgan’s horse, when suddenly the air grew still. Only the sound of a snort from the horse punctured the silence, and Kyra felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand at attention. Benjamin froze, his hands tight on her waist, then pushed her behind him as if to shield her. An arrow whizzed by her, clearing her by a good foot to impale in the grass at her feet, and Kyra knew with certainty that the archer had meant to miss.
The tall grass at the edge of the meadow rustled, and every Norseman she knew then stood up from the cover. Chetan had his bow poised for another shot; Erich held a flink-lock musket perched in aim on his shoulder.
And then her father parted from the men and strode toward them, his face an echo of a legion of hell unleashed as he raised his bryntroll.
Chief Winn stopped a few paces away, his eyes darting back and forth between Benjamin and Kyra. Kyra kept behind her new protector, putting off the inevitable of facing her father as long as she could. Benjamin stood up straighter and met Winn’s gaze. For two men who were friends, surely they were acting right barmy, Kyra thought.
“My daughter. Was she harmed?” Winn said evenly. Kyra had never heard her father utter such strangled words before, and it sickened her. She instantly regretted her rash actions.
“I found her in the tavern. She’s fine,” Benjamin replied tersely.
The two men were silent for a moment, and then Benjamin broke the pause by pulling her forward. He bent down on one knee and gently wiped the remnants of tears from her face.
“Go on, lass. Go to yer Da,” he said softly. She was utterly confused but she did as he bid her, walking dutifully to her father’s side. Once she reached Winn and he had a hand on her shoulder, she saw her father lift his bryntroll and then gently lower it. The Norsemen behind him lining the meadow lowered their drawn weapons.
“Her pony returned without her. I feared–I feared she was hurt…or worse,” Winn said quietly. Benjamin broke the standoff by taking a few paces toward them, and Kyra heard the rustle of the Norsemen in the trees behind them.
“She came to no harm, and no one followed us here,” Benjamin replied.
She saw some unspoken message between the two men, and she suddenly knew there was much more to this encounter than the issue of her return. Who was Benjamin, and why did he speak to her father so boldly, as if the Englishman had no fear of him? Other than her uncles, she had never seen a man confront her father without fear, yet Benjamin stood straight and sure in front of them as if he had some secret assurance Winn meant him no harm.
Benjamin was either a fool or the bravest Englishman she had ever known. She was not sure which.
“My thanks for her safe return,” Winn said, his fingers tightening on her shoulder. “I give you safe passage to leave. None of my men will harm you.”
Benjamin’s gaze did not waver from Winn’s at that moment, but Kyra saw the way the Englishman’s fists tightened at his sides. She looked up at her father, and then to Benjamin, confused at the threat lying beneath her father’s words.
“Da, he helped me, he’s done no wrong!” Kyra interrupted. At her protest, her father snapped. He grabbed her by her chin and turned her face upwards, his face awash with a mixture of fear and fury she had never witnessed before.
“This man is our enemy. Be glad your heart still beats, and that he took pity on a foolish child!” her father growled. She squirmed to break the hold he had on her chin, but he was relentless, his blue eyes boring through her until tears coursed down her cheeks. Finally, he released her chin and she looked up at Benjamin through her misty eyes.
Her savior’s face held no shelter. Fixed as if carved from stone, there was no more trace of the kindness she had seen in him.
“Your father speaks true. Do not return to town. Ever. And be glad I am the only enemy who knows who ye are,” Benjamin said, staring down at her. His voice slanted to a coarse octave when he raised his eyes back to Winn’s. “Your secret is safe. For now.”
Winn nodded, and Benjamin returned the gesture. Before Kyra could utter another word, Winn turned abruptly and hauled her back to the village. As they reached the safety of the trees, she turned her head.
The pounding of hooves thudded like thunder across the damp earth, and she could only see the haunches of two horses as Benjamin and Morgan galloped out of sight.
CHAPTER 3
Maggie
“You have to push now! Push!” Gwen demanded. Maggie’s aunt took a firm hold of Rebecca’s knees, urging on the you
nger woman in the midst of labor. Sweat dappled Rebecca’s forehead and the mop of blond curls on her head lay limp and plastered to the skin around her face. As Gwen shook her Rebecca let out a long sigh, more of a sob than anything. The desperate sound caused Maggie’s toes to curl in her boots.
Something was wrong. Rebecca’s pains had started before the sun graced the sky that day, yet still there was no baby as the moon rose above them. Gwen, always the stalwart one, suddenly appeared unsettled and her directions to Rebecca seemed more frantic than direct. Maggie swallowed hard at the sight of Gwen’s hands covered in bright red blood.
As Rebecca collapsed back against the pillows, Maggie grabbed Gwen’s wrist. When Gwen’s sad green eyes met her own, Maggie knew her suspicion was correct. Rebecca had been bleeding for the last hour, and the trickling flow showed no sign of stopping.
“She needs to push. The babe must come out, it’s right there!” Gwen said to Maggie’s unasked question. “You sit behind her, make her sit up. Hold her legs, it’ll help the wean come down.”
Maggie pushed herself behind Rebecca and did as Gwen commanded. She put her hands on Rebecca’s knees and drew them back, despite the moan of resistance Rebecca offered. Rebecca’s head lolled back onto Maggie’s shoulder, her eyes staring blankly up at her friend.
“Only a few more pushes, the baby’s almost here,” Maggie murmured. She felt Rebecca’s body shudder with the onset of another contraction.
“Again! Oh, I see the head, one more push, girl!” Gwen shouted.
Rebecca leaned forward suddenly as if she regained her strength, screaming long and hard with the last push she could tolerate. Tears coursed down Gwen’s face as the babe slid into her arms, and when they heard the throaty cry of healthy newborn they all broke into sobs.
“I did it,” Rebecca whispered, a smile creasing her lips. Maggie kissed her cheek, hugging her tightly as she helped her friend lay back in the bed. Gwen cleaned and wrapped the squealing babe then placed the infant gently in Rebecca’s arms.
“A boy. A fine son fer yer man,” Gwen announced.
“He’s perfect,” Maggie added. She tucked the blanket down at the babe’s chin so they could look properly at his face. He had large round eyes, staring up calmly at them as if he wondered what all the fuss was about. When he opened his mouth to yawn, tears streaked down Rebecca’s face.
“Do ye know how much I wanted ye?” Rebecca said softly as she stared at her son. Maggie helped her put the boy to her breast, and Rebecca smiled when he latched on with a hearty suck. The babe made soft snoring sounds as he fed, taking his fill for some time before Rebecca laid her head back on her pillow. “You look just like your father,” she whispered.
She was right. With a swatch of thick black hair and a set of the darkest eyes Maggie had ever seen on a newborn, the boy was the image of his father. The infant stared solemnly up at his mother, eyes wide and soulful beyond what a newborn should possess.
Maggie drew back away from the bed, giving her friend some space with her child. She knew better than anyone how little time a woman actually could keep her son beside her. Now that Malcolm was weaned, it would not be long before he joined the men in their duties and learned the ways of the village. If Makedewa was anything like his brother, Maggie knew Rebecca would be seeing her son grow up faster than she could blink.
Gwen remained at the end of the bed, delivering the afterbirth and massaging the new mother’s belly. Maggie assumed her aunt was just cleaning up, but when Gwen’s face tightened and her lips pursed into a line a surge of unease shivered over her skin. Gwen should be happy now that the babe had arrived healthy, shouldn’t she?
“What is it?” Maggie asked. Gwen shook her head, as if to herself, then pushed a bundle of bloody furs onto the floor. Blood pooled on the bed beneath Rebecca, so much that it dripped off the side onto the soiled pile at Gwen’s feet.
“Sister, would ye take him for a bit? I think I shake too much, I might drop him,” Rebecca asked with a tiny laugh. “I doona see myself having as many weans as ye, if this is what one wee mite does to me,” she added. Her head fell back onto the pillows and her lids closed over her weary eyes as Maggie took the babe from her.
“Of course I’ll hold him. Just until you’re steady again,” Maggie replied. Rebecca smiled at that, and Maggie could not help but notice her lips had taken on a bluish tinge. In fact, her once rosy skin seemed flat and much too pale, as if the life was draining from her with each moment.
And it was.
When Gwen met her gaze again over Rebecca’s still body, the reality of what was about to happen numbed her.
“It willna stop. There’s too much blood,” Gwen said softly. Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut at Gwen’s declaration, and a tear streaked down her cheek.
“I know,” Rebecca whispered in return. Gwen continued to massage Rebecca’s belly with long strokes, pushing her fists into the new mother’s soft skin. It did little to stem the bleeding.
“It will stop, it will,” Maggie said, clutching the newborn in her arms. Gwen shook her head, tears staining her cheeks.
“We must send fer her husband. Stay here, I’ll find him,” Gwen muttered. She clutched her arms around her full waist as she rose as if comforting herself to the task. The older woman wiped her bloodied hands on her apron and left without another glance at Rebecca.
“Shh now, sister. Bring him to me. I should like to see him again,” Rebecca said. Her face seemed caught in a grimace, her teeth biting down into her lower lip as tears continued to fall from her shining eyes. She tried to lift her hand, but it fell weakly to her side. “Please…wipe my face. I canna let my husband see me so.”
Maggie dutifully sat down next to her friend, blotting at her pale skin to dry the dampness. Even as her fingers were tinged blue, and her neck looked mottled with splotches along the collar of her shift. Rebecca knew she was fading, and it tore at Maggie’s heart to see her friend so calm as she faced the other side.
“Put him next to me, so I might warm him,” Rebecca asked. Maggie placed the swaddled babe gently beside her, tucking the child in next to his mother.
“Here, he’s right here,” Maggie replied.
“Make sure he’s warm. Ye’ll see to it, won’t ye? That he’s always warm?” she asked. Maggie pressed her face into Rebecca’s hair and clutched her tight. Did Rebecca truly understand she was bleeding too much? Did she accept there was nothing they could do to stop it?
“Of course. Of course I will,” she promised. Maggie wondered what was keeping Gwen from finding Makedewa as her resolve to be strong broke into tiny fragments. When Rebecca let out a long sigh and grew quiet Maggie bit her own lip to muffle her sob, yet Rebecca’s chest continued to rise and fall with her shallow breaths.
How could this be happening? Women didn’t have to die in childbirth! Why did they have to sit back and watch it happen, without interference? 52 What was the good of having magical blood if she could do nothing with it?
Malcolm’s blood was too old to help Rebecca.
There was nothing in her power to do to help her friend.
Maggie looked up when Winn pushed open the door. He glanced down briefly at the tangle of bloodied furs at her feet and then shifted his blue eyes to hers. His throat was tight, his face carefully composed as Makedewa came into the room with Chetan.
Makedewa shrugged off the hand that Winn placed on his shoulder and sank down onto his knees beside Rebecca. He stared silently at her for a long moment until her eyes fluttered open and he kissed her gently on her clasped hands.
Maggie felt Winn’s hand at her waist and she let him lead her from the room. Chetan nodded as they passed by, crouched down on his haunches by the doorway as he watched Makedewa. The sound of Rebecca’s voice was too faint to hear, only a whisper left between the two lovers as they held each other.
CHAPTER 4
Makedewa
HE PLACED HIS HANDS over hers. Although there was sweat on her brow, her skin was not warm, but
she smiled at him despite any discomfort she felt. He felt her attempt to squeeze his hand, so he gathered her fingers between his palms and shook his head.
“Rest, chulentet,” he said. “Close your eyes, I will stay here with you.”
Her body relaxed, her head falling back onto the pillow as she uttered a sigh. Strands of her golden hair stuck to her face, so he gently brushed the tendrils away. He needed to see her clearly, every bit of her sweet heart-shaped face. If ever he had known another’s soul, it was hers, and if by looking into her eyes he might find some truth, then he must look.
Gwen said Rebecca was too far gone.
Gwen must be wrong.
“Our son is perfect,” she said softly.
Makedewa did not look at the babe. There would be time for that later, when her strength returned and they could tend to the child together. Until then he could not bear to consider the boy in her arms, lest he linger on the anger at that small spirit for draining the life from the woman he loved.
“Let Gwen take him,” Makedewa said, his voice more gruff that he intended. “Gwen –”
“No, leave him. Please,” Rebecca insisted. She tried to sit up, causing his heart to clench as she faltered and fell back down. He took her in his arms, ignoring the little beast swaddled at her side.
“Let him stay, but you must rest. I need my wife at my side again.”
“Husband,” she whispered. “I must tell ye –”
“Tell me nothing –”
“The life we have, this life we have made – it is so precious to me. When I was broken, ye made me whole. I have lived a beautiful life,” she whispered, “Because of ye.”
When she grimaced, he realized he clutched her too hard, so he slid down onto the bed beside her. Her body surrendered, molding against his, tucked into his chest where she belonged. Slick with sweat, her forehead rested in the crook of his arm, her flesh clammy despite his efforts to warm her. She hated being cold. He must make her warm, and then she would feel better.