Echoes of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  He broke away. “We should stop, before…and George and I must make our rounds.”

  She nodded and put herself to rights, avoiding his eyes. “And I must check on Elunid.”

  “Look at me, sweeting.”

  She met his dark gaze and he kissed her again. “I would begin and end every day with your kiss.”

  He took her arm, and they returned to their responsibilities. How could it be otherwise?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I’m so tired, Da.”

  “One step at a time, George. When we play, we must pay.”

  “My legs ache.”

  “What would happen if the cesspits overflowed because we didn’t feel like emptying them? How would we have the coin for food if we didn’t do our job?”

  “All right.”

  “Heave ho. We’ll be done before you know it. How about a song? ’Twill make the time go faster.”

  “Look at the moon.”

  “It will be full tomorrow. Do we know a song about the moon?”

  He’d like to write a song about the moonlight on Bethan’s face. She’d be alarmed if she knew how close he’d come to giving in to his animal urges, to take her there in the moonlight, raising her skirts, running his hands up the long length of her white thighs…

  “Da, what should we sing?”

  “How about ‘My Golden Moon’?”

  Bethan in his arms and in his bed would be a reality, but he would marry her first. Could he give her more in his other life? Not without sacrificing George.

  ****

  Bethan checked on Elunid, who could not be persuaded to go to bed. She walked into her own room, undressed, and climbed into bed, limbs thrumming with fatigue, yet she couldn’t settle. If she ran her tongue on her lips she could still taste him. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his arms strong and banded about her body, the hard bulge of his manhood against her thighs. She wanted…she didn’t know exactly what she wanted.

  Her mind drifted. They were alone with only the moon for company. He stood by the water’s edge, removed his linen shirt, his eyes intent upon her all the while. He’d taken off his shirt with a slight smile on his face. She took in his powerful shoulders, the banded strength of his chest, curly dark hair covering his chest and tapering to a place beyond his waistband.

  With his eyes still on her, he removed his breeches, and stood, tall, proud. He beckoned to her, and she followed without question. His eyes wandered down her bodice, he lifted his brows in question, waited until she nodded, then slowly unlaced it, letting it drop to the floor. He untied the string to her shift, and it slipped off her like a spirit leaving a body. He led her into the water, the waist-deep warmth rippling upon her naked body, the chill of the night air making her nipples harden.

  He pulled her against him so she could feel the rough texture of his hair, the hard planes of muscle, smooth, hard manhood between her legs.

  “Bethan!”

  Elunid stood at the head of her bed, hair tousled, eyes wide. “They are merciful. The sun is up.” She peered at her. “You’re all red. Are you feverish?”

  Yes, but not with sickness. “I’m fine.” How long had it been since her twin had shown concern for her?

  “They are wrong.”

  “Who?” She grabbed her robe and splashed her face with cool water from the basin.

  Elunid stamped her foot. “The plumed lady.”

  “What?”

  “Plumed.” She gestured about her head. “Tiny. Sharp voice. Blonde.”

  “Charlotte?”

  “Yes, Charlotte the harlot. And the pockmarked chit.”

  “Isadora.”

  “Yes, who cares?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about.”

  Elunid opened the curtains, her pale face radiant. “Look, the sun has risen. The pockmarked chit and harlot said this morning would be the day the sun would not rise, and it would be my fault, as I’d suspected. But they were wrong. They were wrong, Bethan.”

  “Of course they were wrong, Elunid. They were just trying to confuse you, encourage your…ideas.”

  “I’ve been given an extra day.”

  “No, Elunid. They were only trying to upset you. Isadora had overheard you the other day, and the two women wanted to upset you, that’s all.”

  What could they hope to accomplish? She needed to talk to Henry about this, ask his advice.

  And then, as if the conversation had never happened, Elunid rushed from the room. “I must get to work. I may only have the day, before darkness falls evermore.”

  Elunid would need watching over today. She knew the signs well enough by now.

  She fixed her tea and opened the door to the inn. She couldn’t begin to fathom the troubled sea of her sister’s mind. Better she recall her dream, feel his lips upon hers again. Why shouldn’t she snatch whatever happiness she could? She’d be a damn fool to deny the urgings of her body, the way he made her feel treasured and protected. And alive.

  She opened the inn door and stood sipping her tea. Like any other morning, the creak of the wagon and the soft singing voices of Henry and George carried up the street, as much a part of the dawn as birdsong.

  Henry approached, standing at a distance.

  “Come closer,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  He stood a few feet in front of her. How strange-whatever revulsion she had about his job had disappeared like fog in sunlight.

  He grinned. “I’ve a question to ask you, Bethan.”

  She nodded.

  “Would you accompany me on a moonlight picnic tonight? The moon is full, like last night.” He glanced at her lips.

  She forced herself to inhale. “Yes, yes, of course.” So eager. He must think her the biggest fool. And moonlight? She blushed, thinking of her dream.

  “Excellent. I will have a picnic made: cheese, wine, bread.”

  “I’ve never had a picnic under the moon.”

  “Neither have I,” he said. “It will be a memorable night for thee and me.”

  She must snatch happiness where she could.

  “I must go, but I’ll see you tonight.”

  She wished he would kiss her, occupation be damned.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The morning flew by, and Bethan kept one eye open for the appearance of Isadora or Charlotte, and an eye out for Elunid, who’d been sewing all day without ceasing.

  “Elunid. Stop for a while. Come and have a bite to eat.”

  “I dare not.” Her face was white as whey, and her fingers trembled as she held the cloth. Thank God Ian had given her more medicine. She would wait and see if her condition worsened.

  She went about her duties, spent some time in Elunid’s room, studying the midwife book Maggie had loaned her. So many puzzling and unsettling instructions. How would she ever know what to do?

  Later that afternoon, she watched Lena make beer when Ian’s messenger boy came to tell her Maggie was in labor.

  “Go, Liebchen. Sabine and I will watch over your sister.”

  “Come quickly,” the boy said.

  Trepidation filled Bethan as she made her way over to the cottage, midwife basket in hand. She knew so little, she’d wager she didn’t even know all the things that could go wrong. Ignorance. She should have studied more. No, this would not do. She must have faith. She must pray. She’d already delivered two babes; she would deliver Maggie’s safely. She lifted her shoulders and soon arrived at the cottage.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Ian whispered. “She has a fierce headache, and nothing I give her will relieve it.”

  Was such a severe headache normal?

  He tried to make light of it in his usual fashion. “She wants to kill something. Me. I deserve it, for I got her in this condition. The headache could just be the goldenrod blooming, which she said has often bedeviled her in the past. I don’t know.”

  With more confidence than she felt, Bethan put a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be
fine, Ian.”

  “Ack!”

  Bethan rushed into the parlor.

  “Yes, Maggie. How can I help you?”

  Maggie stood in the middle of the parlor, one palm holding her forehead, one hand holding up her skirts. “You can fetch me some towels. My waters just broke.”

  “Holy hell!” Ian grabbed a stack of linen on the divan and handed one to Maggie.

  “Time to get your dress off. Let’s make you comfortable.”

  “That’s what he said nine months ago, and look at me now.”

  “I didn’t hear you complain about it then, my love.”

  Bethan burst out laughing, and her nervousness disappeared. She could do this. As she helped Maggie out of her dress, Maggie bent with a pain. “Oh, they really are stronger once the waters break! You see, nature has planned it so, Bethan.”

  “Stop instructing. You’re the patient,” Ian said.

  “He’s right. Now, lie down in front of the fire, and I’ll take off your stockings.” Bethan shook her head at the grossly swollen ankles and feet. She exchanged a worried glance with Ian.

  “It’s the strangest sensation, breaking your waters,” Maggie murmured.

  “I got the pallet prepared just in time,” Ian exclaimed.

  “Oh, my head,” Maggie moaned.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t give you anything else, Maggie. I’ll fetch a cold cloth.”

  “How far apart are the pains?” Bethan asked.

  “About three minutes.”

  “I must put a closed sign on the door,” Ian said.

  “Yes, I don’t need an audience.”

  A few minutes later, Maggie cast a glance at Ian, who was still in the shoppe room.

  “Something is wrong, Bethan,” she whispered.

  “I’m sure every mother thinks so at this point.”

  “No, you must call on the Holy Nun. She will help us.” She grasped Bethan’s hand.

  “Promise me.”

  “I will, Maggie.” If it helped her friend to hear it.

  “Believe in her, Bethan.”

  She felt like a hypocrite, for how could she believe in this Holy Nun, when she wasn’t even sure about God’s mercy? But nevertheless, she bowed her head. “Be with us, Holy Mother, as we bring another child in the world. Keep Maggie and the babe safe.”

  Maggie nodded, the wrinkled furrows in her forehead lessening a bit.

  “Thank you, Bethan.”

  She nodded. “Are you ready to bring your child into the world?”

  Maggie grunted. “I want it to be over.”

  She’d gone very pale all of a sudden. “My head, it hurts so. God help me.”

  “It’s a little soon, but I’ll give you a dose of willow bark.” Ian wheeled into the shoppe.

  Bethan reached into her basket and brought out a flask of white wine boiled with mugwort. She had learned it would fortify Maggie and hopefully ease the delivery.

  She handed the flask to Ian. “Give her a teaspoonful every so often.”

  A vein beat in Maggie’s forehead, fast and out of measure. Unease prickled down Bethan’s spine. The sooner she delivered the child, the better.

  Please, dear Holy Nun, if you’re with us, help her.

  “I’ll check you now, and we will see how your sweet babe is doing.”

  Maggie nodded.

  Bethan put oil of almonds on her hands and examined the passage, “Maggie, you’re progressing well. This is much faster than little Emma’s delivery. You don’t have far to go until your passage is fully open for the babe.”

  “Anything could happen, Bethan.”

  “Take heart, my Maggie.” Ian had gotten out of his wheelchair and sat by Maggie’s head, leaning against the wooden makeshift bed for support.

  She didn’t know much, but she knew men didn’t stay for the delivery. “Ian, why don’t you go over to the Siren Inn to wait?”

  “No. I won’t leave her.”

  “But Ian,” Maggie pleaded. “It’s not done.”

  There was no mistaking the steel in his voice. “I will be right here with you, Maggie. I will see my child safely into this world, and see you through your travail.”

  She could tell there would be no persuading him.

  Well then. She would put him to work. “Does your back ache, Maggie?”

  “What do you think?” she snapped.

  Without Bethan having to instruct him, Ian rubbed Maggie’s lower back.

  Another contraction hit Maggie.

  “Breathe, sweeting. It will abate soon. It’s a good, strong one.” Bethan tried to keep her voice calm, but her heart beat so loud she could barely think.

  “My sweet warrior,” Ian murmured, his voice knife-edged with rust. “You are brave beyond measure.”

  The pain abated.

  “Has your headache lessened at all, Maggie?”

  She didn’t answer Bethan. At this time in her travails, a woman goes inside herself to seek communion with her child, to both give and receive the strength to endure.

  An hour passed, and the intensity and strength of the labor pains increased. Ian fed her the white wine with mugwort between pains. When the pains abated, Maggie sank back onto the pillow and all but fainted.

  Bethan checked her progress. “It is almost time for you to push. A few more pains, and you’ll be ready. You’ve been very brave. I think I would scream loud enough to raise the roof.”

  “Give me time,” Maggie whispered.

  The two women laughed, and Ian winced.

  A new onslaught of pain came, and Maggie sought Bethan’s gaze, eyes imploring her to take the pain away. Bethan wanted to look away from such suffering, but she could not, for it was her duty to bear witness.

  “Lie on your side, Maggie. I’ll massage your back.”

  Bethan helped Maggie roll over, and Ian used his thumbs to apply pressure on her lower back.

  “Ah.”

  Another pain came on, and Maggie slapped his hands away, then reached for them.

  “Right, love. Squeeze my hands.”

  “Breathe, Maggie. Don’t hold your breath. This pain will not last forever, and you will soon have the babe in your arms.”

  Bethan wiped the sweat from her friend’s face with a cold cloth soaked in lavender. Her unease began to lessen. Maggie was doing fine, and it seemed to help having Ian there. He leaned close and murmured words of comfort in her ear.

  After the next pain, Bethan checked her progress. She was ready to push.

  “Your passage is open. You can push with the next contraction. Close your eyes and ready yourself.”

  No sooner had Maggie closed her eyes than another pain barreled into her. Ian got behind her to help her sit.

  “You must take a deep breath and push this time. Push with all your might.”

  A few more pushes.

  “I see the head, Maggie.”

  “I cannot do this,” she moaned.

  “You can, my brave warrior,” Ian crooned. “You will be holding our babe in your arms soon.”

  There was scarcely time for Maggie to catch her breath before the assault of another contraction.

  Bethan’s hands shook with excitement and fear. “The head is emerging, Maggie. Nutmeg-colored hair like Ian’s. Take a deep breath, and hold it now. Push.”

  My God, she didn’t even scream.

  “The head is out. Well done.” She cradled the slick head, covered with a white substance.

  Another pain came. It would be the shoulders next. Turn them, Bethan.

  “Oh God, Ian!” Maggie had hold of his hands.

  “I see the head, Maggie. A fine head! It will be over soon.”

  Then, with a huge, ragged breath, and a strangled cry, Maggie bore down.

  Bethan braced the slick little head and turned the shoulders to ease their way out. One more push and the rest of the body slid out so quickly she had to rush to hold it.

  “Ah,” Maggie cried.

  “It’s a boy.”

  Th
e baby cried, a low, husky keening. Bethan wiped the white matter off his face and wrapped him in a blanket.

  Ian reached over and grasped the bundle. “Oh, my sweet boy. Oh God.” He placed it into Maggie’s arms, while Bethan tied off the cord, waiting to cut it until it stopped pulsing.

  “He is beautiful. My boy.” Maggie crooned.

  Ian encircled his arms around her and the child. “My love. Thank you.” The tension washed from Bethan’s body at the scene.

  “More pains as the afterburden comes out,” Bethan said.

  When the afterburden emerged, Bethan placed it in a basin and examined it carefully. It was intact. She fetched a basin and readied to clean Maggie up, relief washing the tension from her body.

  “No.” Ian took the basin and cloth from her. “Let me.” As he saw the bloody results of childbirth, his face went slack. “Oh God. What she has done for me.”

  Maggie put the baby to breast. “My sweeting. You’re finally here.”

  Ian set to work cleaning her with the utmost tenderness.

  Suddenly, Maggie closed her eyes, her face contorted. “Oh, sweet Jesus. My head.”

  “I’ll fetch you something.” Ian broke away.

  Then Maggie’s head fell back on the pillow and she convulsed, great tremors quaking her body.

  Ian dropped the basin. “Maggie!”

  Bethan rescued the babe from her arms and placed him in the cradle.

  Maggie had turned the color of a gravestone, and her pulse beat at an unholy rate. She convulsed again, back arching.

  Bethan held her arms down. “No, Maggie.”

  As quickly as it had come on, the spasms left her body and she struggled for breath. “The baby?”

  “The baby is fine, Maggie,” Ian said.

  Another convulsion took hold.

  “Maggie!” Ian struggled to hold her.

  With everything she possessed, Bethan cried, “Holy Mother, please save this woman, this giver of life. Please. Save her.”

  But another great tremor ripped through Maggie, and her eyes rolled back into her head.

  “Please, Holy Mother,” Bethan pleaded.

  “Maggie!”

  They would lose her. They could do nothing to help her.

  Without warning, a woman’s voice resounded inside Bethan’s body. “Lay your hands on her, midwife.”