Autumn's Flame

by Denise Domning

  "If that were so, then you should have been forthcoming when Lord Coudray first asked," the young knight snarled into her ear. "It’s a dismaying lack of honesty you own, bitch. My lord," Martin said to him, regret now coloring his features, "I have seen her give draft after draft to Lady Freyne and never thought to ask after them. Pray God, it isn’t too late."

  "No harm's been done," the woman cried, trying to kneel as her face flooded with tears. Martin wouldn't let her knees reach the floor. "Bring any midwife you wish, and she'll say the same. The lady but rests against the next stage of her delivery."

  Geoffrey subdued his urge toward simple murder. "We shall soon see. If she dies, I vow you'll die for murder." The woman moaned, hanging limp from Martin's grasp as she sobbed. "Tell Osbert that this one should spend her night with the rest of my prisoners," he told his undersheriff. "Send the porter to Robert the Smith begging that he send to his lord sheriff the town's best midwife. There can be no delay in her coming. If she's here within the quarter hour, I'll pay four times her fee."

  "Aye, my lord." Martin exited, dragging the weeping woman with him as the midwife sobbed out yet another plea against her innocence.

  The door closed, and Geoffrey turned to Clare. Elyssa's cousin cried softly, her face buried in her hands. "Lady Clare, you must take heart. Your cousin will be needing both of us if she's to survive."

  Clare caught back her sobs then looked up at him. Her face twisted in a hurt that went deeper than grief for her relative. In the woman's soft features, Geoff saw the breaking of her heart.

  "My lord, I am at fault for this. I am the one who wrote to Sir Reginald, requesting he send us Freyne's midwife. I never understood," her voice broke and she bent beneath her grief. "Oh, but I am such an idiot, foolishly believing what I waited a lifetime to hear, when I should have stoppered my ears."

  Although confused by her words, there was no mistaking that she blamed herself for what happened to her cousin. Geoffrey caught her by the shoulders. "You meant only good with what you did, and there's no wrong in that. Come now and help me disarm. Between us, we'll see she stays in this world awhile longer."

  "Aye, but if she goes, I vow I'll go with her," Clare muttered to herself as she reached for the tails of his mail shirt.

  Elyssa drifted in a timeless place, dark and blessedly safe from the unending pains. Dying had turned out to be a far more difficult and lengthy ordeal than she'd expected. Then, from deep within her rose a flicker of relief. There was no longer a need to die. Geoffrey had vowed on his own life that Jocelyn was content and safe. Even as one corner of her depression lifted, the fear of producing naught but a dead babe at the end of this travail dragged her down once again. It was all too much to face.

  Someone threw back the bedclothes then forced her to lie upon her back. Her shift was lifted. She managed a cry against an intrusive hand, but it took more energy than she owned to open her eyes. After a moment the inspection was finished, and her shift was pulled down around her knees once more.

  Words flowed around her, the tone brusque and efficient. She listened, not certain if she dreamed them or if there truly was someone new in the room. "… not as hopeless as you might think…none of the discharge that says the babe suffers…labored more than a day … we'll need to be swift in wresting the infant from her." This was spoken in a husky voice, one that defied identification as either male or female.

  "Was this done apurpose?" At Geoffrey's fluid tones, Elyssa sighed in the memory of his calm strength. He would keep her safe from what hurt her.

  "Apurpose?" The other voice freed a bark of laugh. "If stupidity is intentional, then it was, my lord. I swear rural folk have the strangest practices. Even when I can show them a better way, they cling to things as they've always done them. No respect for learning or progress, my lord. Here, make her drink this."

  Elyssa was lifted into an upright position. She let her head fall back against a shoulder. A strong arm came to brace her into this position as a cup was set to her lips. Thirst plagued her, but this stuff was foul, worse even than the other. She tried to turn her head aside, but her chin was caught and would not move.

  "Come now, drink it. All of it." Geoffrey poured his words softly into her ear, his lips nigh on brushing her cheek.

  She relaxed and tried to swallow. The stuff hit her stomach and made it lift in complaint. "Nay, no more," she protested, barely able to force her mouth to make words.

  Good," the other voice said, "now, she'll spew what's in her."

  As if her stomach had been listening it now twisted in protest, threatening to do just that. Elyssa groaned. Where pain and fear couldn't rouse her from her lethargy, her dislike of spilling her gullet where anyone could see did. She gathered her energy and forced her eyes open.

  Geoffrey sat beside her, wearing only a shirt and a rough pair of chausses. He smiled at her. Damn, but she'd not empty what was in her stomach before him.

  "Not while you look on." This simple sentence cost her dearly. She had to close her eyes and rest when it was out. He gave vent to an irritated breath, but called to Clare.

  Although the jostling made her stomach's ache worse, Elyssa sighed in relief as Clare took Geoffrey's place on the bed. A basin was set in her lap. This was followed by the scrape of closing bedcurtains. She leaned her head against Clare's shoulder.

  Her cousin trembled and freed a muffled sob. Elyssa opened her eyes. Even in the darkness of the bed's cloaked interior, she could see Clare's tears.

  "Do not cry for me," she breathed, "only vow that if this babe lives, and I do not, you'll love him as I have loved Jocelyn."

  "With all my heart I so vow," Clare managed to reply, her voice breaking. "But know you make a blind idiot your child's caretaker."

  The need to spill her stomach made it impossible to ask after Clare's meaning. Once purged, Elyssa gratefully let her cousin wash her face and hand her a cup of watered wine. Long moments passed as she sipped the tart liquid. Slowly, her thoughts began to steady, and her mind began to focus. Clare set about opening her plaits as another cup was thrust through the curtains.

  Elyssa caught it in her yet-trembling hands. This potion was sweeter than either of the others, and she drank it easily. She sighed and leaned back into Clare's embrace.

  It came on her, like darkness's creep at sunset, until her whole body was tight against the ache. Only then, did she make sense of all she'd heard. This midwife was going to force the babe to come swiftly. Elyssa groaned against what hurt in her, clutching at Clare until it passed.

  "Ah," the husky-voiced midwife said, "I think me this babe is eager to leave his mama. Bring her out of the bed, my lady. Your noble cousin must walk."

  The bedcurtains were thrown open. Geoffrey leaned into the interior and aided Clare in easing Elyssa toward the mattress's edge. He took hold of her waist, meaning to help her to rise.

  "Come now, Elyssa of Freyne, it’s time you released your hold on my ward. Walk with me so I can take him." He smiled at her.

  Irritation woke at his jest. She was dying here, already exhausted beyond belief. Be damned if she was going to leave her bed. If she hadn't the strength to escape Geoffrey's grasp, she resisted as best she could his efforts to pull her from the mattress. "Leave me."

  The new midwife came to stand beside him. Hair gleaming silver over a wrinkled face, the woman's eyes were like unto bright amber beads. "Berta’s my name, my lady. If you want that babe, you'll walk."

  "I didn't walk with my first two," Elyssa argued, confounded by this Berta's unnatural request. "I but lay still and waited on them to come."

  "You've had two before?" Berta said in pleased surprise. "Then, this one should come all the easier. Heed me now, my lady. The potion I just gave you is meant to make your pains come closer and harder. You can writhe and scream against them, or rise and walk to ease them. If you walk, your babe will come all the sooner, putting an end to all your aches."

  "You don't know what you've done," Elyssa protested, even
more loudly. "I nearly died with my first two, and they came slowly. What you want will tear me in two." She caught at Geoffrey's sleeve. "Tell her she cannot do this. Help me, she's trying to kill me." Another pain welled up in her, and she tensed against it, clutching at Geoffrey's arm as it overtook her.

  "What a coward you are," Berta scoffed, then turned on Crosswell's sheriff. "Pay her no heed, my lord. Birthing women are all the same, needing to be driven into doing what's in their own good. She's been lazy long enough. Make her walk."

  Geoffrey laughed at that. "Prepare yourself, good-wife, this woman's difficult even when she doesn't labor. She'll fight us every step of the way. Lady Clare, push your cousin off the bed and into my arms."

  There wasn't enough strength in Elyssa to stop them. When her feet met the floor, Geoffrey caught her in his embrace then turned her. "Walk, Elyssa, walk for your babe."

  She moaned, but he forced her across the short room. Yet another pain came over her. Elyssa arched against it as it settled in her back. Geoffrey held her close to his side, his hand massaging at what hurt her.

  "Try not to battle the pains so, my lady," Berta suggested as she came to support Elyssa on her other side. "Relax rather than tensing."

  "And just how am I supposed to do that?" she cried, then anger roared through her. "Damn you both. If you want me dead, leave me in my bed to die in comfort." Another pain hit her, and she sagged between them to moan. "It was never like this before. I want Freyne's midwife back. She understands I cannot bear the pain."

  Berta made a scornful sound. "Aye, so understanding is she that she gives you sleeping drafts. It’s a miracle you didn't lose your first two babes." Crosswell's midwife fixed her with a superior look.

  Elyssa straightened and stared at the woman. "I did lose my daughter," she whispered. "And my son nearly died."

  "Well, you'll not lose this one." Berta offered a grin so gap-toothed that it suggested she'd birthed herself a goodly number of children. "What will it be, a daughter or a son?"

  "Son," Elyssa replied without hesitation.

  "If you want him, you'll work for him, my lady. Walk her, my lord," the midwife said to Geoffrey.

  "Come, Lyssa," he said, dragging her once more across the room. "Give me my new ward."

  "I cannot walk," Elyssa hissed, fighting to free herself from Geoffrey's embrace. "I hurt, do you not understand? Now, touch me no more. I was wrong to wish for your presence. You are a cruel man."

  "You idiot, just do what she says and you'll have both life and son," he snapped at her. "Just this once, do not fight me."

  "I hate you," she cried, trying to grasp at the bed post to keep him from moving her any farther.

  "She doesn't mean it, my lord,” Berta cried quickly. “It’s just the babe and her pains talking." There was a cautious, worried tone in her voice, saying she feared the nobleman's reaction to the lady's spiteful pronouncement. It startled Elyssa to realize how confident she was that Geoffrey would never abuse her.

  He didn't disappoint her. With a laugh, Geoffrey caught her close once more, setting his lips near her ear again. "Hatred, is it now? What a shame, since I've decided I love you.” Then pushing her to his side, he started forward, and speaking in more normal tones, said, “Come now, my love, short steps or long ones?"

  ***

  "Once more and push," the midwife commanded. "Tuck your chin, my lady. My lord, force her to do so, else she'll hurt herself."

  Geoff lifted Elyssa once again. Good God, but birthing was no coward's job. Seated behind her to brace her into a semi-sitting position, he put a hand to her nape and bent her head as the midwife commanded him. It was now the deepest portion of the night, dawn yet hours away. Clare, having watched over her cousin for longer than a full day's time, had dropped in her exhaustion and joined Cecilia in her corner. Elyssa, who had taken her rest in drugged slumber, now struggled against her own exhaustion, brought on by her continuing labor.

  "Come now, Lyssa, give him to me." His voice had grown hoarse over the past hours, but Elyssa vowed his words calmed and soothed her. He tensed for her as she strained to force the babe from her body.

  "Rest," the midwife commanded.

  Elyssa freed her breath in a great gust, and Geoff released his hold on her neck. Instantly, she threw back her head, letting it rest against his shoulder as she cried out in wordless complaint. He leaned his cheek against hers, rocking her slightly in his embrace.

  "Not much longer, my love," he breathed into her ear. She murmured in reply as Geoff worked at the stiff muscles in her back.

  "Again," the midwife commanded.

  "I'm done for," Elyssa moaned.

  "You cannot quit now. Release Aymer's heir for me," Geoff urged her. "Do you not want to see your son, my love?”

  "I am not your love," Elyssa muttered, but breathed deeply in preparation.

  Geoff only laughed, tucking her head for her once more. Over this night's span, speaking this endearment aloud had made it the truth. Now, as his love for her grew steadily in him, so did the disappointment that Elyssa saw his words only as a goad.

  "I have his head," the midwife called in triumph. "Another push and we'll have the rest of him."

  Elyssa cried out in sudden excitement, finding strength in some hidden reserve as tears filled her eyes. "Help me, Geoffrey," she demanded, remembering to tuck her head on her own this time.

  "I've got him," the midwife crowed. "You were right, my lady. It’s a son you've got here. Big one with a tuft of red hair lighter than your own. Breathe for me, lad," the woman commanded of the child. A moment passed without a sound.

  "Nay," Elyssa gasped, grasping behind her for a handful of Geoffrey's shirt. "He cannot die," she begged of him. "Geoff, I want my son." She tucked her head into his shoulder, sobbing against her fear.

  Geoff caught her close, his grief matching hers. Somehow, participating in this babe's coming had made the child dear to him. He stroked her arm as a still-weeping Elyssa straightened to watch the midwife work on her babe. "Do not look, love," he urged.

  "Cecilia," Elyssa gasped. "Geoff, fetch her away I'll not have her see another child die."

  Geoffrey came upright with a start. The midwife had shifted in her efforts. Behind her stood Cecilia dress rumpled and hair wild with sleep. His daughter was watching in fascination as the woman turned the babe upside down, seeking to expell what blocked his lungs. Love grew. Dear God, but Elyssa was precious, her fear for his daughter equal to her fear for her own babe. But how was he supposed to fetch his daughter when she ran from him?

  He arose from the bed, letting Elyssa lean back against the headboard. "Cecilia, lass, come to me," he said quietly, fearing her rejection as deeply as he feared Lyssa's babe wouldn't breathe.

  "Aye, Papa," his daughter replied, crossing the room to his side. "Hold me," she demanded sleepily.

  Geoffrey rocked against her request, but reached for his child. Cecilia caught him around the neck, wrapping her legs around his waist as he lifted her. She turned her face until she could lean a cheek against his shoulder.

  It was too sweet to bear. His arms around his daughter tightened against his heart's pressure as his knees trembled. He braced himself against the wall and gloried in the feel of Cecilia. She had grown, lengthening substantially in the time span between Maud's death and this day.

  "Come, lad, you're a big, strong boy. Show me those lungs work," the midwife crooned. There was a tiny gagging sound then the infant gave way to her command and freed an irate cry.

  "Geoffrey!" Elyssa cried with a sob, "he lives."

  Her son lived; his daughter was his once more. The joy was too great to hold as his alone. Geoff laughed, the sound ringing with his heart’s new life. This only fed the babe's angry squalling.

  "Listen to him. He’s as contentious as his dam." His voice trembled.

  In the bed Elyssa thrust out her arms. "Give him to me," she demanded of the midwife. The woman set the babe into her arms.

  Geoffrey sat upo
n the mattress beside her, still holding Cecilia close to him. It was indeed a brawny lad who filled Elyssa's arms, with a coppery swatch atop his head and a healthy set of lungs. His squalling and squirming ceased as his maman crooned to him, making soothing sounds.

  "Elyssa of Freyne, may you take as great a pride in this son as you do in his older brother," Geoffrey said quietly, incapable of banishing his smile. "What will you name him?"

  Elyssa looked up at him, her joy making her eyes shine. "Simon. I'll call him for my sire."

  Then, as Geoffrey watched, he saw her love for her new son tangle with her need to hold every child she claimed as hers alone, defying all others to wrench them from her. Deeper still lurked the knowledge that she would someday have to let this son go, just as she'd freed Jocelyn.

  "I see your thoughts in your eyes, my love," Geoffrey said, smiling at this strange need of hers. He leaned over Cecilia until he could touch his lips to hers. With his kiss, he promised her that, if she'd have him, she'd not have to face these partings on her own.

  Her mouth clung to his, moving slightly. As their kiss continued, what had begun in innocence was quickly tainted with the embers of Christmas past. He breathed deeply in wonder at the sort of heat they could make between them.

  "My pardon," the midwife said, speaking as if she viewed this sort of exchange between unmarried folk every day, "but we're not quite finished here. I'll be needing the afterbirth now, my lady. Give me the babe."

  Elyssa gasped against his lips as she realized the midwife looked on. When she pulled away, her face was bright red. Embarrassed or not, when the midwife reached for the babe, she clutched her Simon to her. "Nay, I'll keep him."

  "She's not one to easily let her sons escape her embrace," Geoffrey laughed, "so best you make do, Berta."

  It was finished in only moments. While the midwife examined the afterbith, Geoffrey reached out to lift the babe's tiny hand with his finger. "It never ceases to amaze me that we were all once this small."