by Gail Link
Duvessa replied, "Etain will not let anything untoward happen to my daughter or the babe that she carries. I have complete trust in her. I only wish that Rolf were here."
"The message meant for him was sent, my lady. 'Tis for the Wolf to decide if he wishes to be witness to the birth of his child."
"I had thought," Duvessa said sadly, "that he would have been here ere now."
"Do not fear, my lady."
"My concern is for Sybelle."
Another moan from the bed drew Duvessa's attention to the woman lying there. A cold cloth was placed on Sybelle's forehead.
Oh God, she thought in a haze of agony, please let this be finished soon. I needher thoughts were interrupted by a sharper shaft of pain.
Clare, holding her sister's hand, squeezed it tightly. "Belle, scream if you must. Do not try to be brave."
Sybelle managed a weak smile before her mind clouded. She was being given a drink of something. She felt the mist sweep over her, and from the mist she heard a faint voice calling to her. It was her name, repeated over and over, followed by, "Do not fear. Be strong, my love." She couldn't see a face, heard only the voice. Somehow it soothed her, gave her the comfort that she so desperately needed. She took another deep breath.
Clare wondered how much longer her sister could be expected to suffer through this unending anguish. And the stray thought crossed her mind: how could any woman look forward to this torment? She didn't know if she would welcome this or should pray that she would prove barren. And soon Duvessa would go through this same torture, all to provide her husband with another child, perchance a son. Clare was afraid that she would lose both her sister and the mother she had grown to love. And there was no surety that the babe they struggled to bring into this world would survive.
Below stairs, those same thoughts also crossed the mind of Hugh Fitzgerald. He was unable to concentrate on anything else this day. He paced back and forth like a caged animal without hope of being free. He had heard the last scream from the direction of his daughter's room. Anger had flooded through his system when he heard that. He wanted to throttle the beast responsible for her misery. He wished that she had not proved so fertile. Damn that Irish bastard for his virility.
And what about his own feelings regarding his wife? Her time was almost upon her. Thoughts of his own eagerness to bed her came crashing back into his consciousness. He was responsible for her bearing his child, and the consequent pain that she would experience. He was a man, unable to take any of the burden of the physical pain onto his own person even if he wanted to, and he would have given whatever he possessed to spare the women he loved this torment.
A painful thought speared his brain. Suppose his daughter were to give her life for this child? Did that Irishwoman know what she was doing? Could she help his child to survive? What if? loomed large in his thoughts. What if Sybelle perished and only the babe remained? What would he do? Would he rid himself of the bitter living memory, or keep it?
He slammed his fist into the open palm of his right hand repeatedly. Could he bear to have around the reminder of the loss of his child? No, by God's blood! He couldn't allow himself to think such despairing thoughts. Sybelle would survive, as would Duvessa. They had to. And as for Sybelle's child . . . Hugh finally realized that it mattered little who had fathered the babe; this child was part of his blood, a Fitzgerald. It was Sybelle's legacy, her flesh, and through her, his. His first grandchild.
Sir John poked his head around the door of the library, wondering if he should disturb Hugh, and seeing the look of abject despair on his lord's face, he risked it. "Any news, my lord?"
Hugh stopped his pacing. "No, my friend. And it has been ever so long. I fear for her."
"She's a fighter, my lord, is Lady Sybelle."
"'Tis the only thing that keeps me sane, I think."
"How about a mug of ale?"
"No. I want my wits about me, and I fear that if I start drinking I may want to continue till my mind is a blur." He resumed his restless pacing again. "I only wish I knew what was happening."
Sybelle was moving restlessly herself, trying to find a comfortable position. She had marked Clare's hand as she dug her fingernails into her sister's palm. Clare made no demur, and signaled Alyce to wipe Sybelle's brow once again. Yseult handed Sybelle a glass of wine and held it to her lips so that she could drink. Sybelle nodded her thanks.
Another hour or more had passed since they had gotten Sybelle to bed. Clare looked at the faces of the assembled women. Concern was on everyone's features.
Sybelle uttered a sharp gasp. Only Clare and Alyce heard the name she mentioned on a moan. "Rolf." They traded glances over Sybelle's head.
Etain lifted the gown of white lawn that Sybelle wore, and made a quick examination. She pronounced, "'Tis begun." She went to the basin of water again and washed her hands, looking for something she had brought with her. She said an ancient prayer in Gaelic for the safe delivery of the child and its mother. "Warm some more water and pour it into that small tub," she ordered Drusilla, who hastened to do her bidding even though she couldn't imagine what they needed with a basin reserved for washing.
Etain began to talk to Sybelle, her soft, lilting voice crooning encouragement.
Sybelle could hear her through the soft mist. She pushed as she was instructed, and gave all her effort into seeing that her child was brought into this world. She fought to stiffle her pain and concentrated on her task with the singlemindedness of a battlefield general. She bore down and was finally relieved of her burden. She could hear the sighs, feel the child slip eagerly through her legs. Alyce sponged her face once again. Sybelle heaved a deep breath, and felt another sharp pain grip her belly, just as she thought it was finished.
Etain held up the child and it began to wail, loudly. "'Tis a fine, healthy son," she said and gave the child to Drucilla. "Place the child in warm water and clean it," she instructed and the maid obeyed, taking great care. Yseult held open her arms and wrapped the infant in a dry cloth. Just as she was about to show Sybelle her child Sybelle gave another audible gasp of pain.
Etain bent to assist, thinking it was the afterbirth, but found instead the head of another infant peeping through. "Push once more, my lady" she said and the child slid onto the bloody sheets. Etain picked it up as Sybelle lifted her eyelids. She focused hazily, and thought that she saw another child.
"You have a daughter also, my lady," Etain said, and all crowded around to see the second child.
Sybelle blinked in surprise. Twins! She had mothered a son and a daughter. The girl was washed and wrapped up, and Drusilla began to remove the sheets, taking all the remnants of the birth. Alyce found a clean gown for Sybelle to put on and proceeded to wash her mistress and make her as comfortable as possible.
A broth containing healing herbs and beef juices was spooned into Sybelle's mouth by Audrey. Meanwhile, Duvessa was examining the children carefully, checking for any signs of blemish or disfigurement, while Sybelle was being prepared. Two babies. And each, one held by Yseult, the other by Clare, looked perfect. They both had hair as black as the Wolf's. It was too early to tell what shade their eyes would be, but they were indeed Killroone's babes. Oh, dearest cousin, where are you? Duvessa thought as she placed a kiss on the brow of each child. She hoped that her own babe would be blessed with Hugh's hair. She wanted a child with his reddish-blond locks, and as thick.
"Hugh should be informed," she said, and motioned for Yseult to give the babe to Audrey, who was thrilled to be holding her niece.
Sybelle was dozing for the moment, and Etain suggested that they let her sleep for as long as possible. "She needs the rest," Etain announced, "for she has been through much. And to have produced two such fine babes." She touched each as they were shown to her. "They are a welcome addition to any family." And worthy children of Ireland, she added to herself.
Yseult hurried down the steps and faced the Earl of Derran in his study. Since her return from Ireland, she had kept as mu
ch distance as she was able from him, for fear of retaliation for her part in delivering the message to his enemy. "My Lord . . . " she began.
"What?" he asked, jumping up from his seat by the fire. It had begun to snow heavily again, and he thought how beautiful and cleansing it was.
"Your daughter, the Lady Sybelle, has been safely delivered of her babes." She kept her eyes averted.
Little use that was as Hugh placed one hand beneath her chin and asked, "Babes?"
"Aye, my lord. She has borne a daughter and a son."
"Twins!" he said, astonished. Sybelle had twins!"
"Your lady wife requests your presence in my Lady Sybelle's room, my lord."
Hugh made for the door, but before he left he said, "Yseult, what is past remains there, for my lady's sake. Understood?"
She dropped him a deep curtsey in gratitude. "Thank you for your generosity, my lord."
Hugh took the stairs two at a time, eager to see his grandchildren. Two. He still couldn't believe it. 'Twas his reaction also fourteen years ago on the birth of his daughters.
He entered the room, saw his wife, daughters, and assorted servants cooing over the children.
He approached the bed, for by now Sybelle had awakened from her short nap, and she sat up, a child in each arm.
She looks radiant, Hugh thought. He stood next to the bed, gazing down until Sybelle said, "Father, come sit. Meet your grandchildren."
He eased himself down, careful not to jar the bed and disturb her or the babes.
She smiled with motherly pride. "Are they not beautiful?"
Hugh looked at the face of his grandson, saw the crown of thick black hair, touched one long finger to the lad's cheek. He examined his granddaughter the same way, and Sybelle saw the misty film of tears form in his eyes. "They are unique, my dear." He picked the boy up and kissed him. The child opened his tiny eyelids and stared at his grandfather. He blinked in contentment and closed his lids, secure in his grandfather's love. Hugh took the girl. She too opened her eyes and her rosebud lips formed a slight movement. A smile, Hugh thought. She smiled at me. His heart was truly captured by them.
"They are indeed fine," he said, cupping Sybelle's cheek and leaning over to put his lips to her brow. "You have much to be thankful for."
Sybelle murmured a sleepy answer and her eyelids drifted close.
Just as Etain was ushering everyone out of the room, and seeing to the twins being placed in a crowded cradle, she heard the startled gasp from Duvessa.
Duvessa, her hand gripped in Hugh's, looked at the floor in astonishment. Her gown was soaked; the wood bore traces of fluid. "Hugh," she said, her eyes wide with fear.
He scooped her up into his arms.
"Bring her to your room, my lord," Etain instructed.
"Is it her time?" he asked.
"Aye, 'twould appear so. It seems that your child is most eager to meet this world and his kin."
Duvessa laid her head against her husband's chest and could hear the rapid beat of his heart. "Hugh," she said, "promise me that you will not leave me."
"Nothing shall induce me from your side, my dearest love."
He entered their chambers and laid her down gently on the bed, as Drucilla and Yseult pulled away the covers of the bed.
Etain was once again the general in command of this encounter. She rapped out orders briskly. She didn't have time to administer the potion for the pain as Duvessa went into labor, trying to deliver her child.
Hugh held his wife's hand, begging God to keep her safe. He couldn't lose her. She was the love of his heart, the love which filled the empty spaces. He brought her hand to his lips. "Mavoureen dheelish," he whispered and he thought he saw her faint smile through her panting breaths.
In little time, Duvessa was delivered of her own child.
Hugh was awed by the process that brought his son into the world. A son. He couldn't fathom it. And his wife was smiling, her full mouth in a bowshaped curve.
When the babe was cleaned up, he was given to his mother, who kissed him. Her wish had been granted. On his head he sported a fuzz of reddish-blond. "He is your son, my lord."
Hugh held the child and stood up from the bed. He presented their brother to the twins, who were brought into the room to admire their new brother. Hugh felt a rush of love and tenderness, and extreme pride. He cared not that his eyes were awash with tears. He had witnessed the miracle that was life, and felt truly awed.
"What shall we name him, love?" Hugh asked, coming back to the bed.
Duvessa, her own eyes wet with tears of gratitude, looked at the twins. "Clare, I shall leave your brother's naming to you, with your permission, Hugh."
Hugh smiled his agreement.
Clare was nonplussed. This was quite a surprise. It was a mark of honor to chose the name of the heir of the earldom of Derran. Her mouth curved in a shared smile with Duvessa. "Aidan."
Hugh recognized the name. "Duvessa?"
She held out her arms for the child. "Aidan Hugh O'Neill Fitzgerald." She clasped the babe to her heart. '''Tis a grand name. May he grow up to be the man that his father is."
The rest of the women, their tasks completed, filtered from the room, closing the door on the couple and their child.
"I can never express my gratitude, my love," Hugh said, kissing her deeply, tenderly.
"You have given me all that I have ever wanted, or needed, my love," she whispered. "This day we are doubly blessed. Three births, and all healthy. God has been generous." At the contented look on Hugh's face, she thought wickedly, God wouldn't dare to disappoint her husband, for he was too formidable an enemy.
She only wished that Sybelle could have had her babies' father with her. Duvessa remembered how she had depended on Hugh's strength when the pain almost overwhelmed her, though she was most grateful that she had been spared what her daughter had undergone. What was Sybelle feeling now?
Sybelle was feeling happy and sad. Happy that her labor was over, that the unbearable pain was gone, and in its place were her children. A miracle. How could anyone ever think they weren't a gift from God?
Sadness touched her when she thought of their father. They were his children, too, for she couldn't really discount the part he had played in their conception. She realized the depth of her feelings for him as she recalled that it was his voice which gave her the added strength she needed. It was as if, even though he wasn't physically there, he had willed her his thoughts. And she found that she wanted the man, not the ethereal presence. She loved him, desired him, needed himbut did she trust him? Enough to give him her heart, her life, her honor?
Chapter 31
Rolf found an inn that catered to travelers. It was clean and, for a few extra coins, provided him with a hot meal and a private room. He, along with Auliffe, had decided to stop there for the night rather than continue on for Dorset. He cursed his luck that he had found so late the news that Duvessa sent him.
He had decided to remain with his brother in Wales for what was left of December, and on through January. The weather had been rough, with snowstorms upon snowstorms. The wooded landscape was beautiful, affording numerous opportunities for hunting and further time for reflecting. His skills as a hunter were sharp, honed to perfection. He would need all he possessed to capture the most elusive prey he soughtfor he meant to pursue Sybelle Fitzgerald, and to obtain his goal. He had said as much to Bran.
When she left him, he was angry and hurt. He'd decided that he had allowed himself to be trapped by an emotion that he deemed love. It was only lust. He hadn't yet had his fill of the wench, 'twas all. Nothing more. He should have been the one to dismiss her when he was sated with her body. As the weeks passed, he told himself that he was well rid of her, a lying, scheming woman. Only the nights ached with loneliness and the days all seemed somehow flat and dull. It started small, this feeling in his heart. And then he understood: he was in love with her, and always had been. This was no temporary descent into the fields of lust; no, she was his
and always would be. There was no way he could sever the bonds between them. For as surely as he had captured her, she had done the same to him.
He recalled the self-satisfied grin on Bran's face when he explained what he was intent on doing. He would regain her love, for now he fully understood that had there been no love on her part, there would have been no forgiveness.
Then, Duvessa's note, delivered by Auliffe, found him.
That message still haunted him. Why had Sybelle deemed it necessary to let him remain in ignorance of his child? Was she ashamed? Or was this a way to strike back at him, to deny him his own flesh? Doubts tore at his mind after receiving the communication. It had taken Auliffe time to find him, and the harsh winter storms had prevented their leaving earlier. Weather and distance separated him from his child, and from the woman who would bear it.
It was now early in April. Sybelle would have been delivered of the babe by now. Had she fared well? The horrific realization struck him that he could be hurrying only to find that she was lost to him. Or the child might not have survived.
He threw a glance at the man sleeping on a pallet at the bottom of the bed that he occupied. Auliffe thought him mad to be pursuing the lady to her father's domain. He cautioned Roll that such a move was not the wisest course of action.
Rolf cared not. He only knew that he must see Sybelle, and his child. Derran would not welcome him. Would Sybelle? And how to get them back to Ireland? He had no intention of returning to his keep without her and the child. They belonged to him. He must plan what he was to do. He could not afford to be caught unawares by Derran or his men. He must establish a course of action and be prepared for anything.