“Easy now, Virginia.” The doctor laid his hand on my heaving stomach. “I want you to listen to me. Breathe with the pain, my dear, and when I tell you to, push with all your strength. I can see the child’s head; he is ready to be born.”
Why were they all staring? Another pain. I screamed. I panted. Why did they not just all go away and leave me alone with my count? Another pain. I screamed. I panted. I pushed. Where are you, my love? I cannot see you! Another pain. I screamed.
“Again, Virginia. One more push. Now, girl! Push!” The doctor was shouting at me. The horrid chanting would not stop!
I gulped in another deep breath. Again the pain, like a scalpel, tore through my body. I yelled and then pushed with everything I could muster. The assault on my body forced me to rise onto my elbows. I felt as though I was being ripped open. I heard a crash of thunder from somewhere beyond the walls. Lightning flashed across the curtainless windows. Pellets of rain drove hard on the glass panes. I broke into a cold sweat and dropped back onto the table.
“Virginia,” the doctor was speaking again. His hands were busy with something—the baby, I presumed. “Breathe again, my dear, breathe ... okay now, there are just the shoulders to come out, and then the worst is over. Give me another big push,” he ordered.
I obeyed. I felt a warm gush, and then an ambience of relief enveloped me. The chanting ceased. The room was filled with out-of-control shadows, dancing with the candles.
Then I heard the cry. At first small and plaintive, it grew stronger until it filled the room with the glorious sound of a new life. I began to cry—from relief, from fear, from pain—from whatever. I wanted to pray, to thank God, but I was not sure where God was at the moment. My arms reached out for the count ... he was there, close, embracing me ... covering my face with warm affection. But it was only a hallucination, for there he really stood, off to the side. He was cradling my baby in his arms. There was a content smile upon his face. Teresa stood by his side, sharing with him, and with my child, the moment that should have been mine!
The Count Basarab turned to me. “You see, my dear little bird, you have given me a son, just as I foretold you would do.” He was smiling at me. My heart rejoiced. I had won! Even if she was the one standing beside him at the moment, I had won! It was a son! And he was smiling upon me!
I returned his smile through my tears. Inside, I rejoiced. I reached out my arms for the baby. “Please, allow me to hold him,” I begged. Someone, I did not notice who, lifted my shoulders and propped some pillows under me. The count placed our son in my arms.
His hand slipped my dress off my right shoulder, and the material fell away, revealing a firm breast waiting to be suckled. At that point, I was beyond worrying who might be staring at my partial nakedness. I raised my infant son to the breast and guided his tiny lips to the nipple. He searched frantically, finally grasped hold of it, and began to suck greedily. My body relaxed as I smiled down at the bunting head of my newborn son.
His head was crowned with a thick mass of black hair. He was beautiful. I ran a finger, gently, down his cheek. He looked like his father. I smiled contentedly, forgetting everything around me as I basked in the warmth of this new life that had just come from my body. I became oblivious to everyone in the room.
The baby cries as he suckles at my breast,
I am a loving mother; have I passed the test?
He catches on greedily, pulls with delight,
But my eyes are aghast at the horrid sight!
The smile froze on my lips when I noticed what was oozing from my breast. All around my son’s mouth was a reddish-coloured liquid. I began shaking. I looked up at the count. He smiled at me.
“What is this?” I asked, taking my finger and wiping a drip of the red liquid from my son’s chin. It felt sticky and warm.
“It is what you have already guessed it to be, Virginia; it is blood,” the Count Basarab answered.
My ever-present flock of butterflies took flight in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to vomit! I was on the verge of hysteria. “But how can this be?” I screamed out.
“The drink Max has been serving you since the beginning of your pregnancy, has been mixed especially for this purpose. My son must be given a combination of blood and milk in these early weeks in order for him to grow strong and healthy.” The count pushed me gently back onto the pillows. “Relax, Virginia. Just relax, and feed our son.” He turned to Teresa, who was standing silently at his side. “He is magnificent, is he not, my dearest Teresa?”
Teresa nodded her head. “Yes, my beloved husband, he is. But now, I think we must let Count Balenti and Countess Emelia finish with Virginia and then take her back to her room. Surely she is in need of rest after such an ordeal.” Teresa paused. I detected a lack of sympathy for me in her voice. I heard only sarcasm. “And as for us, Basarab darling, we have something to celebrate with your family—our family—the birth of our son.”
Count Basarab Musat threw back his head and roared in laughter. The counts Vlad and Mihail joined in the merriment. Atilla and Vacaresti watched, with smiles on their faces; one was a grandfather, one a great-uncle. I sensed an aura of ungodly omnipotence creep into the room. Even the flames on the candles seemed to freeze on their wicks as their diabolic laughter filled the room.
The count pulled Teresa to him, and she bent her head back, waiting in anticipation for his lips to join hers. He leaned down and kissed her passionately, right there in front of me. In front of me, in front of his son, he kissed her! She cast a look toward me. It was a look that verified the magnitude of the evil within her.
I knew she was fighting for her place with the count. My trump card had been played; she was flushing it away. Even though I was the woman who had presented the Count Basarab Musat with the son he had so desired, Teresa was still his wife, his queen! She was the one in his arms, celebrating the birth of my son!
The two of them departed, arm in arm, chuckling with joy. The rest followed, leaving me alone with the doctor, Emelia, and my son. My son. His son. Our son. Surely the count would not forget that it was I who had given him this ultimate gift? Surely not!
I shut my eyes and dozed. Emelia took the baby from my arms. There would be plenty of time to think about things tomorrow, when I was not quite so exhausted. Tomorrow I would fight for what was rightfully mine! Yes, that is what I would do. Tomorrow would be another day, and surely the sun would shine again on me.
I could give more, much more than a son;
He should know; our bodies have been one.
I have tasted his delicacies, basked in his lust,
I have given my all, yet still there is no trust.
And what is to happen to my precious son?
God, forgive me, for I know they have won!
Woman Scorned
Chapter Nineteen
I awoke to the patter of rain on my window. Every muscle in my body ached. I felt sticky all over. My mind was hazy, but as it began to clear, I looked around the room for my baby. My hands caressed my flattened stomach. Yes, I really had given birth last night, and just as the count had foretold, it had been a son!
I eased out of bed. I was still wearing the white gown I had worn while giving birth. It was damp with blood. Even the blankets on the bed were bloody. I wondered why no one had taken the time to help me clean up properly last night. I wondered where they all were. I wondered where my baby was. I gazed toward the window. Of course—it was daylight; they would be sleeping.
I walked over to the door. To my surprise, the doorknob turned easily. I gave the door a little push, hoping that this was my opportunity for a sprint to freedom. My spirits fell as I looked down at my clothes. Where would I flee to, covered in blood as I was? However, as the door swung open, my illusion of freedom was quickly shattered by another obstacle. Max was dozing in a chair positioned just outside my room. I took a moment to study him. Had he aged since my arrival? He appeared so tired and drawn. His skin had a grey tinge, and the veins on his skele
tal fingers were like thin spiderwebs. He sat slumped in the chair. His breathing was shallow and sporadic. His shoulder bones protruded from his shirt, forming minuscule hills and valleys in the cloth. Even his knees looked as though they were going to poke through the material of his pants.
“What a cruel fate he has been dealt,” I mumbled to myself. He was a grandfather now—would he ever be allowed to bounce the child on his knees as most grandfathers would do?
Max must have heard either the shuffle of my feet or my opening of the door, for his eyes fluttered open. “Miss Virginia, how do you feel this morning? May I fetch you something to eat,” Max paused a moment and took a good look at me. “Or would you prefer to freshen up first? You fell asleep last night before we had time to clean you up, and the doctor refused to allow you to be awakened,” Max informed me.
My stomach growled, notifying me of its preference. However, I knew I would not be able to eat a thing until I got freshened up. “Yes, I believe I would prefer to bathe first,” I finally answered. Then, as an afterthought: “Max, where is my son?”
“Sleeping.” He paused. “The count asked me to inform you that you will have to begin switching your personal schedule. Your days will become your nights, and vice versa. The baby’s eyes will be sensitive to light.” Max cleared his throat. “He will do most of his sleeping during daylight hours, as does his father.” Max turned and headed toward the bathing room.
“I shall prepare some water for you, Miss Virginia, and while you clean up, I will change the bedding and lay out some clean clothing for you. I have ordered some new apparel for you, clothing that will make it convenient for you to feed the child. Times have changed since I was a lad. How they have changed ... newfangled clothing that conceals the beauty of a babe openly suckling upon its mother’s breast.”
Max disappeared into the bathroom, still mumbling away to himself about the changing times. I wondered if he was dreaming of his Lilly, who had suckled his child many years ago. I wondered if he had visions of her firm breasts giving nourishment to Teresa, and if he ever thought long and hard about how the count had stolen away, and then destroyed, that beauty. I tried to imagine how Max had looked back then. He and Lilly must have been quite a dashing couple to have produced the likes of Teresa.
I gazed around the empty hallway. All I had to do to flee this place was turn in the opposite direction, away from the bathing room. Why should I care about the state of my clothing? I would manage somehow to procure a proper covering. I could hear the water running. Max would not realize I was gone until it was too late. Then again, there was my child to consider. Who would feed my son? Feed my son! Oh God! The scene from the previous night flashed before my eyes, striking me with the force of a harsh gale.
I reached my hands to my breasts. They ached from the fullness of milk. My mind tried desperately to obliterate the other ingredient, an unnatural ingredient to flow from the breast of a woman. It was an unnatural ingredient to be consumed by a suckling child. Blood! How was that possible? The count had informed me that the drink had been responsible for this transformation. He had also disclosed that the drink was an ancient formula created especially for the purpose of nursing a child such as would be conceived by him. It was the drink spoken of in the journal, only the journal had not allowed me any detailed knowledge on how the drink actually transformed the natural production of a mother’s milk.
So this was the way it was. The reality of these events finally penetrated my crusty shell, forcing me to accept that there was no possible way to save my son. The count was not only his father, he had also made sure, without me even knowing what was happening, the child would never be an ordinary human being!
“Oh, God, help me,” I cried under my breath. “God help my son! If there is a way out of this mess, please reveal it to me. Help us to escape the path that fate has ushered us on!” I turned to follow Max. As I entered the room, he was just turning off the taps. A couple of towels and a facecloth had been set out on a chair beside the large sink.
“There you go, Miss Virginia. This will have to do until you are able to bathe.” He smiled. “If you need any assistance, just call. I shall be waiting outside the doorway as soon as I have set out your clothing,” Max informed me before he left the room.
How foolish of me to hope I would be left alone for too long. I was sure the linens and clothing were close at hand. I slipped out of the soiled white gown, letting it drop to the floor. I swished the facecloth in the water and then pressed it to my face. It felt so revitalizing. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to dream.
I dreamed of the night—the first night. I dreamed of the passion—Basarab’s passion. I dreamed of the other passion—mine. I dreamed of all the times after that night—the times I had hated him, the times I had loved him, the times I had needed him so badly that it hurt! I dreamed of all our debates, of how he always seemed to love talking with me, and of how I thought I could see a look of melancholy in his eyes each time he had to leave me and return to her. I dreamed of the night in the garden, when he had been so kind and tender, and he had shared so much with me—more personal things. I dreamed of our lovemaking in the bathtub which now sat empty behind me. I dreamed of his tender words and of his strong arms as he had carried me to the table where I had given birth to our son. I dreamed of the smile on his face as he had cradled our son in his arms. I dreamed of the love in his eyes as he had gazed upon me ...
Then I dreamed of her—of Teresa! I saw Basarab kissing her passionately, right in front of me, both of them appearing to taunt me. I heard their evil laughter. I dreamed of the blood pouring from my breast into my baby’s mouth.
Disheartening nightmares had invaded my beautiful dreams. I came out of my stupor with tears raining from my heart and seeping from my eyes. The bubbles in the sink dissipated as the salty tears touched them. I rinsed the facecloth in the sink; the water turned pink. I wretched what meagre contents were in my stomach into the nearby wastebasket.
~
The days passed slowly for me. I slept. I paced. I slept again. Waiting. Waiting for the night to come. Waiting to hold my son in my arms. Waiting to see Basarab. Waiting for Basarab to come and sweep me into his arms and consume me as I knew only he could do.
Then the night would arrive, and Max would bring my son to me for feedings, and then he would take him away again. I was not allowed to hold my son any longer than it took to nurse him. I was not allowed to talk to him or to play with him. Max would hover over me to make sure I did not step over the line that appeared to have been drawn for me. I realized that I was not going to be allowed to get close to my son’s heart. I began to wonder if my child would even be allowed to have a heart!
I could hear the laughter and festivities from rooms beyond my door, but I was never allowed to join in. Teresa stayed away. Everyone, except Max, stayed away. Count Balenti Danesti had checked in on me during the first few days, but when he felt assured that I was recovering nicely, he ceased coming. I was totally alone, more than ever before. I had to break out of this prison they had me in—either to flee or to make an attempt to win the count over to my side. I needed to find the opportunity to claim the Count Basarab Musat for myself, so I could save my life and be with my son. In order to do that, I had to be able to confront him.
An opportunity arose about six days after the birth. Max forgot to lock the door one night after bringing the baby to me for his feeding, and unlike the other times, he had also left my son with me. I had been about to call out to him but had quickly shut my mouth. I wanted to bask in the extra unsupervised moments I had with my child. For some reason, Max did not return to fetch the child or to lock the door. Chance had finally smiled upon me.
I gathered my son in my arms, slipped out of the room, and followed the sound of the voices coming from the dining room. I marched in, clutching the baby to my chest. I could feel his heartbeat strong against my own. I became aware of footsteps behind me, hurried steps, and I detected Max’s heavy brea
thing. He burst through the doorway and was reaching to pull me away, just as everyone in the room turned and noticed me standing there. Fleetingly, I feared for him, but at that moment, I had other more urgent matters to attend to.
I held my stance. I wanted to present a picture they would never forget. I raised my head and stared straight into their eyes. I am sure it was an epic shot of defiance and victory! I wished someone had been there with a camera to catch the moment. However, it would be a fair guess that none of the others would have shown up in the picture, with the possible exception of Max. I wondered if my child would even show up—probably not. Technically, it would most likely be nothing more than a shot of a foolish woman staring at nothing and looking totally ridiculous!
“Count,” Max stammered. “I am sorry. I never thought she would try to leave the room with the child. I thought I heard someone calling me. In my haste, I not only left the child alone with her, I also failed to lock the door. I was running late to serve your meals, and I thought one of the guests might be anxious to sup ... but I ...” Max stammered over his words. He seemed to have lost track of what he was saying; he looked scared stiff as he stood before the count. His face had turned a pasty white; the blue veins that ribboned through his skin took on a pinkish tone.
The Count Basarab Musat strode toward us, toward the frightened Max and toward me. I glanced at Max from the corner of my eye. Every inch of his body was trembling. I directed my attention to the fast-approaching count and dared to step between him and Max. My moment had arrived—I needed to make the best of it!
“Good evening, Count. I thought I would join you tonight ... with our son. I have been bored, and I am in need of adult conversation.” I paused and gazed into his eyes. I parted my lips slightly and moistened them with my tongue. “You don’t mind, do you?” I whispered huskily. “I am glad Max was careless, but you must forgive him, my dear Count. He actually did us ... I mean me ... a favour by allowing me to come here tonight.”
Night's Gift: Book One of the Night's Vampire Trilogy Page 20