The Dark Lady

by Dawn Chandler

  Coming awkwardly toward them, stopping every few steps to grab her swollen and massive stomach, was his beautiful wife. Her pregnancy, the reason she had been forbidden to come to the lists, was well into its final stages. “Speaking of stubborn,” he said irritably as he started toward her.

  The boys were released as the two knights that had held them stepped toward their lady, concern thick in their eyes. The men, pages, and squires watched as Lady Van leaned heavily on the massive frame of Verges.

  Peter paused and watched as Verges shook his head vigorously, once, and then twice. Whatever it was, she seemed to be insisting on obedience.

  It did not look good and, if Peter knew his wife, more than likely it would be worse for him.

  Verges supported her, her trembling frame leaning heavily in his embrace. Panic set in as Peter took in the pain contorting her face. Labor had begun. “Verges, what is the meaning of this? She should not be here in her condition.” His voice was edged with anger and fear.

  “I am so sorry, my lord. This was not my idea.” Verges released her, pulling Peter into a massive and painful bear hug. As the men came forward, the big warrior called a halt to the rescue by placing his dagger to Peter’s throat.

  All swords drew forth with an ear ringing chime, steel slipping from the tight leather scabbards. A deep sigh came from Verges.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” he repeated.

  Van, taking first Verges’s sword and then Peter’s, walked toward Raymond, no sign of the pain or the labor that had plagued her only moments ago. It had been a trick, Peter thought.

  “So sorry, my lord,” Verges repeated.

  “Stop saying that and let me loose. She will be hurt.” He struggled in vain, helpless to do anything but watch. “What is she doing?” he asked, but he already knew.

  Van had told him that Raymond would always think himself above everyone until someone showed him differently, but she had agreed he could not just throw Daniel at him.

  He cursed himself for not realizing she had told him last night of her plans. She had said, “He needs to be beaten by someone unexpected, not one he would think a challenge, but it has to be someone of experience.”

  He had just laughed, saying Raymond would be well prepared for anyone with skill. He remembered her knowing smile. When suspicion had started to bud in his mind, she had kissed it away.

  He had been wrong. And he was angry at her for her distracting him, for her ability to do so. “Verges, she will be hurt. What if he hurts the baby?”

  “She, at least, has chain mail under her gown. It is long and is some protection for the child.” His voice was a mere whisper. “I am sorry, my lord, I must do as she says. I do not believe she will be hurt.” His voice shook with uncertainty. He then added with conviction. “Besides, if it looks as if she may be even slightly fatigued, I will release you, no matter her anger at me for doing so.”

  “I know,” Peter said and ceased his struggles. “I also know I am going to beat her as soon as she has that baby. It cannot protect her much longer. Yes, as soon as she has the child, I will blister her sweet little bottom till she cannot sit. This is too much. She is taking years off my life.”

  Van looked across the boys and recognized Raymond on sight. She had dealt with his kind often enough to know the look.

  She threw Peter’s sword to the sixteen year old boy. He reached up and grabbed it. She smiled. “You are Donlay. I have heard about you.”

  “I am. Who are you?” he snarled at her. “Are you the wife of that menacing giant who hit me within an hour of meeting me?” He sent a scathing scowl toward Verges. “I am the son of the Duke of Blightly and you do not know who you are messing with.”

  There was a look of surprise as the heavy sword came down at him without a word. His reflexes brought his up, steel sparking against steel.

  Much to her disappointment, there would be no playing with this mouse as she would have liked to. That would risk the baby, and she would not do that. She knew she had to end it quickly.

  She swung hard against him. He was quick with his returning thrusts, but not quick enough. She watched with a growing grin as he began to take on a panicked, harried look.

  Less than a dozen swift swings on her part left him struggling for breath and looking confused at how he could possibly be losing. One more swing took the sword out of his hand, flinging it to the grass beyond them.

  Van lunged toward him quickly bringing the deadly tip of the long blade to his throat. Off balance, Raymond fell.

  Van smiled.

  With a bewildered Raymond lying on the ground, sword still at his throat, Van looked around the group of awe-eyed boys. She ignored the angry looks from the men-at-arms and the knights.

  They all looked ready to take a switch to her, Verges included. There was nothing she could do about that now. She had to finish it.

  She cringed, thinking of Verges’ anger when he found out that her pains of labor had not been falsified for show as she had claimed.

  Her deep, graveled growl echoed as she shouted, pointing the sword at the assembled company. “What is the first rule of battle?” She fought nausea and a quickly passing light-headedness.

  Everyone responded. “Never underestimate your opponent.”

  Turning the sword back to the embarrassed boy sprawled on the ground, she posed the same question to him. She got the same answer.

  “Never underestimate your opponent,” she repeated, her voice loud and strong, the pain hidden for now, but not for long.

  She motioned for Raymond to rise. He swiftly complied. Pointing her weapon at the assembly her voice faltered as her abdomen rippled, pain driving through it.

  “Never! Whether it be a known enemy.”

  Her sword swung to Verges. “A loyal friend.”

  Her searching sword found Daniel. “A smaller combatant.”

  She thrust the sword into the soft earth, the hilt quivering. “Or a very pregnant woman.”

  A soft wave of her delicate hand and Verges released his prisoner. Peter was to her side in a moment. “Are you stupid, or do you just not care about our child?” Despite the anger in his voice his hands were gentle as he caressed her stomach. The roughness of the chain mail caught at his fingers.

  “I told him you would be all right. That you were just acting,” Verges said.

  She dropped her head guiltily.

  “Van?” Verges growled out the question with quiet anger. “You said...” He gave a sharp laugh. “Careful wording and you can say anything and get away with it.” His voice was tight, strained.

  “Van, you were acting, were you not?” Peter, his hands still on her, already knew the answer as her stomach heaved beneath his fingers. It infuriated him. “You went against another blade when you were in labor. You are stupid.” He sucked in a tight breath. “I am lucky although, you will not be pregnant much longer. With the baby coming, it will not be long now.”

  “What will not be long?” Her voice was a shadow of itself and fear enveloped Peter as the contractions came once again.

  He cringed at the pain that rippled through her features. “Nothing, but I am sure Verges will help me with it.” His threats were forgotten as she suddenly clung to him, collapsing fully into his embrace.

  Her arms wrapped her stomach, her teeth cut into her lip, blood oozing, as her stomach heaved in another contraction.

  She shuddered in his arms. “Please, do not let me scream here.”

  His heart wrenched as a tear slipped from her tightly closed lids.

  “Did you walk here?” Was that his voice, so thin and full of terror and uncertainty?

  “Nay, we have the wagon just on the other side of the trees,” Verges said and before anyone could speak Raymond ran in the direction Verges and Van had come from.

  Peter watched him race away and smiled. He figured the boy had to do something instead of standing there with the realization that a pregnant lady of the castle had beaten him in sword play.

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sp; In moments the carriage, Raymond driving it, was racing toward them.

  Peter quickly got her into the carriage and Verges took charge of the reins. The carriage lurched and soon they were flying back to the manor.

  Peter heard the sounds of horses behind the carriage. Then a contraction ripped through Van, and he was aware of nothing but the terrible pain his beloved wife was in.

  “Hold on, we will be there in a moment. We will get a midwife, you will be fine—”

  His breath caught and his heart stopped at the quick shake of her head. Her hands clung desperately to him, drawing him close. “Nay.”

  “Aye, you will be f–fine.” He stumbled on the words. His tongue seemed big enough for two people.

  “Aye, I will be fine with you by my side. I meant, that we will not get to a midwife. I will not make it to the castle.” Her voice strained with pain and she clenched her eyes tightly shut. “I have to lie down. It is coming now.” Her voice was starting to pick up a slight slur.

  “You will make it fine. It will only be a minute. Labor I am told takes all day.” He told himself that she could not have the baby in a rolling carriage. No, that was impossible. They would make it.

  She began to struggle off the seat and he saw two options, try to stop her or help her. He helped her onto the floor of the carriage. She lay back and refused to meet his eyes.

  “It has been all day. Do not be ma—” A quick cry was ripped from her as she bore down, the contraction the worst yet. “Please, it is coming.” His face drained of color and his breath felt ripped from his lungs.

  Her moans grew closer together as the contractions came one on top of another. Peter’s stomach clenched as he saw a thick gush of fluid spread beneath Van.

  Frantically she scooted against the wall of the rocking conveyance, drawing her knees up and apart to allow room on the floor for Peter. Not an easy task for two large people, but Peter thought nothing of the cramped space as she ripped the long skirt of her kirtle up and out of the way.

  Peter groaned, feeling faint at the sight of the red tinged liquid pooling beneath her quivering bottom.

  He could see her fighting a scream, her lip bleeding in several places where she had bitten into it. Small crescents cut into her palms, the blood seeping in rivulets.

  He shook his head, knowing her reasoning. She felt it was not honorable to scream, to show weakness, and she would not as long as she could possible hold it off.

  “Hold on.” Peter crammed himself between her knees, gently rubbing her thighs. He pushed the chain mail up her rippling stomach and shuddered. He had only been this frightened once before, when she was so sick with fever. And that had been years ago.

  “Peter, help me, it’s coming.” Her soft gasping whisper scared him far more than the screams he had heard when other women gave birth.

  As a man he had never occupied a room when the process took place. He didn’t know anything about delivery. Questions swirled in his addled brain.

  Should there be blood? Was she supposed to be this pale? What was all the water from? Was it a bad sign?

  “Please, Van. Hold on. I cannot live without you. Please do not leave me. I love you.” He massaged her heaving belly gently, clutching at her trembling thighs as contraction after contraction slammed through her.

  He was the one to scream when he realized the strain on her face, the tightness in her muscles. She was pushing, God help him. “Verges, hurry.” They had to be almost there, they seemed to have traveled for hours, not just the few minutes they had.

  Peter felt relief as the carriage came to a jerky stop. It swayed precariously to the side as Verges jumped hard to the ground, screaming orders for hot water, clean linens and a midwife.

  His relief was short lived as the rounded belly under his hands tightened, harder than a rock. A ripple roved just below the skin. A head appeared, a soft cry of pain escaping Van’s pale lips. Her hair was plastered to her head with sweat and tears. One more swift push and she collapsed back. The baby came in a gush of blood and fluids.

  Peter barely registered when the door was ripped open behind him, barely took note of Verges’ curse, followed by a call for the midwife to come to the carriage.

  All Peter could see was the perfect miracle that rested in his arms. His son, a small version of himself, began screaming at the intrusion of cold air against the warm wet skin. His healthy cries were wondrous to hear.

  “Van. We have a son.” His voice was full of wonder.

  She smiled at him through weary eyes. “Father will be pleased when he knows he has a grandson.”

  Peter laughed. “Even more so when he learns you have named the boy after him.” Peter laid the child on her chest and wrapped his arms around her to hold his family to him.

  He had never been happier or more loved.

  About the Author

  Dawn Chandler was born in Coffeyville, Kansas but doesn’t remember much about it. Though she recently had the opportunity to visit there with her husband, and she very much enjoyed the Dalton Museum. She always thought she should have been born in the Wild West. She moved to Idaho when she was 6 and grew up on Murtaugh Lake, where her father was the dam keeper and the ditch rider. She spent her days in the lake, swimming, catching fish and tadpoles, from sunup to sundown most days. Not hard to imagine that her first full length novel was about a mermaid. At nights she would spend her time watching football with her dad or cooking with her mom. In 8th grade she had a teacher, Mrs. Smith, who wanted her to publish one of her short stories. Looking back on it she says she should have done so. If she had, she would have been an author before now, but she was not ready to be published back then. When she first started writing in school she hated it. She had to write their way and only their way—in the correct process, outline, rough draft, and so on. Chandler has learned in the progressing years that she is a seat-of-the-pants author, but in the beginning she just thought that writing was not for her. She could not, no matter how she tried, get the outline done. She could not sit and sketch out a whole story from beginning to end. She found quickly that if she just sat and wrote, she could get the first draft out without a problem, but the teachers didn't want her to do it that way. She really began to love writing when she met Mrs. Smith and she told Chandler that she could write it in whichever order she wanted. She understood her as a writer and didn't push her to be something she wasn't. She has been writing ever since.

  She is grateful to have the support of her husband and children. Together they have 7, Charles, Cynthia, Kara, Mary, Tina, Pam, and Richie. She loves them all dearly and is happy to have them in her life. Now that her kids are all grown up, she likes to spend time on the semi-truck with my husband, Rod, seeing the country. She loves visiting all the small towns and is grateful to all the nice people she has met. She enjoys swimming, camping, four wheeling with her 4 X 4 group, spending time with family and friends, hiking, writing (of course), drawing, painting, reading (a vastly wide list of authors, her favorite though is Stephen King), and she loves taking pictures as she travels the countryside (if she is lucky and they are not in a big hurry and can even stop to take them). Today she is busily writing her novels, The Dark Lady, to be released in 2013, through Black Opal Books, The Infamous A.H. to follow shortly (fingers crossed), and about 50 more started in the computer that will be released as time and her muse allows.

  Genre: Historical Romance/Steamy Romance

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, businesses, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. The publisher does not have any control over or assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents.

  THE DARK LADY

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sp; Copyright © 2013 by Dawn Chandler

  Cover Design by Dawn Chandler

  All cover art copyright © 2013

  All Rights Reserved

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-626940-12-3

  First Publication: May 25, 2013

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