“Lord Harold had guests arrive. They were headed to a wedding and stopped for a day and night at Vauville to break up their journey. One of them . . . he . . . came to my bedchamber. I had seen him in the great hall when we supped. He kept staring at me as we ate and while the troubadour entertained.” She shivered. “I didn’t like him. His eyes. They were hard. Cold. As if he assessed me and found me lacking in every way.”
She lifted her hand to her mouth and sank her teeth into what was left of her thumbnail. After the incident, she’d begun biting her nails until they were down to the quick. It seemed the one thing she could manage when everything else had spiraled out of control. She drew blood now and pushed her hand into her lap, pressing tightly to stop the bleeding.
“I woke and found him atop me. His hand covered my mouth, muffling my screams. He told me he only liked pretty girls and that I wasn’t one of them. That what he did to me was a favor for no man would like coupling with me.”
Daralys found her insides churning as she spoke, much as they had when the babe had started growing months ago. She’d had trouble keeping food down and a burning in her chest caused a foul taste to back up her throat into her mouth. She swallowed and waited out the feeling. It passed and she continued.
“He hurt me, Griselda. I thought I was being torn in half. He climbed off me and warned me never to say a word about what had occurred between us, as if I would. Shame filled me. I worried what I had done to make him think I wanted him to do that to me.” She shrugged. “I washed away the traces of blood between my legs and never mentioned it to anyone. The party left the next morning after mass.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I never even knew his name.”
She wrapped her arms tightly about her. “So, you see, there is no father. Even if I knew who this man was, I would never tell him—much less let him claim the babe as his. He was evil and I want this child to only know good.”
“You will keep it?” Griselda asked gently.
“Nay. I head to a place called Kinwick Castle. Someone there will add this child to their family.”
“All in this area have heard of Kinwick. ’Tis a great estate that lies just to the south of here, no more than half a day’s ride. Its countess, Lady Merryn, is a healer of some renown.”
“Kinwick is near my own father’s estate. I suppose I shall return there after I give this babe away.”
Griselda stood. “You are welcome to stay the night and share my blanket, Daralys Marillac.”
Chapter Four
Merryn reached the cottage and climbed from Destiny’s back. Ellison must have heard her arrive for the abode’s door swung open immediately. He rushed over and untied the case hanging from the saddle.
“Thank you for coming, my lady. Riola’s pains are great. I’ve put the water on to boil as you did last time.”
“It’s a good sign that she has carried the baby for this long.”
“Will it be all right?” he asked worriedly.
“I cannot promise anything, Ellison. You know that.”
His head bobbed up and down. “I do. It’s just that we want a child so much. Riola and I both come from large families. We love one another but still have so much love to give. If we had a child . . .” His voice trailed off.
She squeezed his arm. “We must accept God’s will. He has a plan for you and Riola. Now, I want you to stay outside.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me?” he asked, anxiety causing his left eye to twitch.
In truth, Merryn could use an extra pair of hands but Ellison was already nervous. His fears would merely cause Riola to worry—and she would already be suffering enough pain and doubt as it was.
“Nay, Ellison. I will summon you if that changes.”
He handed over the satchel that contained her herbs and supplies and she entered the cozy cottage. She removed her cloak and draped it over a chair and then crossed the room to where Riola lay atop a blanket resting on a bed of straw. The peasant’s face was flushed with exertion and possibly a fever. Sweat glistened along her forehead and cheeks and dampened her limp hair.
“My lady! You came.”
“Aye, Riola. You know I help deliver all babies born at Kinwick.”
The woman groaned, her face scrunching up. Her hands flew to her swollen belly and a cry erupted. Merryn held Riola’s wrist firmly with one hand and stroked her arm with the other.
When the labor pain subsided, she said, “I need to see if you’ve made any progress.”
Merryn lifted the heavy skirts the woman wore and saw no crown had appeared.
“It’s just the two of us. Let’s get these clothes off you. You must be burning up.”
Helping Riola to her feet, she undressed the peasant and then guided her back to the ground. The woman lay down and Merryn covered her with the chemise they’d just removed.
“This will keep you from getting cold. I’m going to give you something to drink. Do you have any vinegar?”
Riola told her where it was and Merryn mixed sugar into it and had the woman sip on it while she rubbed rose oil onto her flanks and belly. Several times, Riola tensed up, her belly going rock hard, and her cries grew louder. Over the next several hours, Merryn bathed Riola’s face and used some of the boiled water to steep yarrow. She had Riola drink the concoction, hoping the medicinal herb would bring down the woman’s fever.
The two women held hands and prayed to Saint Margaret, the patron saint of childbirth, asking her to ease the labor pains and bring about a safe delivery. As the hours wore on and no progress was evident, Merryn begin to doubt the child would be born alive. Twice, Ellison stuck his head inside the room and she shook her head. He’d shut the door quickly but she’d still seen the growing sadness on his face.
Finally, Riola’s screams softened, becoming like a mewling kitten as she grew weak. Merryn lifted the chemise again. Riola’s feet were flat and Merryn parted the woman’s thighs.
“I see the head. The babe is crowning,” she said, tempering her enthusiasm. “You need to push.”
Riola looked at her with glassy eyes. “I am too tired, my lady.”
As Merryn massaged the swollen belly, she said, “You must. Think of how you and Ellison want this child. Push, Riola.”
“I can’t,” she sobbed.
Merryn rose and went to the door. Ellison lurked just outside. “I need your help.”
He followed her into the cottage. “What should I do, my lady?”
“Kneel behind her,” she instructed. “Lift her slightly and let her back rest against your thighs.”
He did as she asked, holding his wife’s hands and brushing a kiss upon her brow.
“Ellison is here. He is holding your hands, Riola. Feel his strength flow into you. You must do this. Push. Push as hard as you can. Push!” Merryn commanded.
Both Merryn and Ellison urged Riola on and she rallied, bearing down, grunting as she did so. The babe’s head slipped out and Merryn placed her hands under it.
“A little more, Riola. That’s all I ask.”
“AAAYYIIOOWW!” she screeched.
The shoulders emerged. Merryn took a clean cloth and pinched it about them with her thumbs and forefingers and gently pulled. The babe slid out and she wrapped the cloth about it and set about cutting the cord. No noise had come from the infant and she held him against her and tweaked him with three fingers on his backside.
Nothing happened.
She moved to a chair and sat, spreading the babe into her lap and thumped it again, tears forming in her eyes as dread filled her. The babe lay lifeless. She gave a sharp slap to his bottom, hoping that a cry would erupt. Still, nothing.
Her gaze met Ellison’s and she shook her head. Grief filled his face.
Riola began to sob. “Why can’t I have a child? What have I done to anger God?”
Merryn wrapped the cloth around the dead child and brought it to the couple.
“I know you wanted nothing to do with the babe the last time, Riola. I think
you should hold your child this time. True, ’tis stillborn, but he is still yours. You should hold him and kiss him and tell him how much he will always be loved.”
She passed the babe to the weeping woman, whose tears splattered the still infant’s face. Merryn watched as Ellison took a tiny hand and pressed a soft kiss to it. Riola cried harder but brushed her lips against the boy’s brow.
“We love you, my son,” she said fervently. “We do love you. Please, please wait in Heaven for us. We will be a family there.”
Ellison looked at Merryn. “He’s perfect in every way, my lady. Why did he not live?”
Her heart ached as she said, “’Tis for God to know. Not us. Mayhap He saw what a precious angel this babe was and wanted him in Heaven to watch over you and Riola.”
Riola hugged the child to her breast. After some moments, she lifted the babe away. “Take him,” she ordered Merryn.
Merryn took the tiny infant and held him close. “I will take him to Father Dannet. He will say mass for his soul and we’ll bury him.”
“The milk? It will come again?” Riola asked, her mouth trembling.
“Aye. I cannot prevent that. It will come in two or three days’ time. I will leave some sage with you. Brew it in hot water and drink it three times a day once the milk appears. It will help to dry it up.”
Riola gasped and groaned.
“Push again,” Merryn urged. “’Tis your afterbirth. Ellison, would you hold your son?”
“Aye,” he said through his tears and took the babe from her.
Merryn removed the afterbirth and tended to Riola, cleaning her and dressing her in a fresh chemise. She bundled the blanket up and would dispose of it.
“I’ll come look in on you in three days,” she said as she settled the woman back onto her pallet. “That’s the day after Christmas. Until then, rest as much as you can. Drink plenty of weak ale and eat what you can.” She brushed Riola’s hair from her face. “I know you won’t feel like it but you must try.”
Riola turned her face away to the wall.
Ellison walked Merryn to the door, handing her the case. “Give me the blanket. I’ll burn it. You can have my son.” He handed her the tiny bundle. “Thank you for all you did, my lady. I know how hard it must be for you, being with child yourself.”
“I’ll see you in a few days,” she said, swallowing her sorrow at this fine couple’s loss.
The peasant opened the door for her. Merryn said goodbye and turned to go to Destiny.
Geoffrey waited for her.
All the weight of sadness that blanketed her lifted as he strode toward her. His arms went about her loosely as he looked down at what she carried.
“Stillborn again?”
“Aye,” she said, her voice breaking.
His lips pressed against her brow, bringing comfort. This man was her rock. He steadied her. He balanced her. He kept her safe.
“Let me have the babe,” he said, taking the infant. Geoffrey looked down. “He looks as if he’s sleeping.”
“He is. For eternity.”
Her husband took her arm. “Come. Let me take you home.”
Merryn secured her satchel to the horse and Geoffrey helped her mount Destiny. He swung up on Mystery’s back and they walked their horses side-by-side back to the castle.
Geoffrey dismounted, careful of the stillborn he carried, and assisted Merryn from her mount. Two stable lads rushed over as Merryn untied her case of herbs and took the reins of the horses, leading them away.
He slipped an arm about her waist and pressed a kiss against her temple. “Go inside. It’s late. You look exhausted.”
She rested a hand atop her belly. “I want to go with you to Father Dannet.”
“All right.”
He took her hand, their fingers entwining, and led her across the bailey from the stables to the stone chapel. The wind had picked up after darkness fell and he wanted nothing more than to see his wife in a hot bath, with wine warmed for her. Geoffrey should’ve known Merryn would have none of it. In the years of his absence, when his father lay sick and then passed, Merryn had stepped up and run Kinwick by herself. She already had gained experience in how to run a keep, thanks to her mother passing at a young age and her father placing his trust in her. She applied the same determination as she learned about when to plant and harvest crops and how to manage the accounts. She’d become knowledgeable about sowing, reaping, and weaving. She knew when to send men out to hunt and how many animals should be butchered, the meat salted and stored to see them through the cold months of winter.
Merryn had even taken over the monthly judgment day, hearing cases where tenants had disputes, and settling them with a firm, steady hand. No wonder his wife wanted to see today’s horrible events through.
Geoffrey had been concerned when he left the training yard and went to the solar to wash up before the evening meal. Merryn usually greeted him with a kiss and a cup of wine and they would share bits of their day with one another. Her absence troubled him. When he’d gone to the great hall, he sought out Tilda. The longtime servant told him about Riola going into labor. How she’d lost several babes and the last one had been born dead.
Hearing that, Geoffrey immediately set out to meet Merryn. If the birth had gone well, she would be drained. He planned to sweep her onto Mystery and ride home with his arms about her. If Riola’s child was stillborn again, he knew the sadness that would come over Merryn. She would feel responsible despite knowing it was beyond her skill to bring a dead child back to life. In that case, she would definitely need comfort.
They arrived at the stone chapel. Geoffrey released her hand in order to push open the heavy door. As expected, he saw Father Dannet kneeling at the altar, lost in prayer. Taking Merryn’s hand again, they walked together to see the priest.
Father Dannet glanced over his shoulder and rose, concern appearing on his features.
“Is it Riola’s babe?” he asked.
“Aye,” Geoffrey said. “He was stillborn.”
The priest made the Sign of the Cross. “God’s will is hard to understand at times, much less accept.” He held out his hands and Geoffrey passed the infant to him.
“I promised Riola and Ellison that you would say mass for their son,” Merryn revealed. “Would you do so now?”
“Aye, my lady.” He paused. “You wish to stay?”
Geoffrey’s fingers tightened around hers. “We do.”
The priest offered mass, the familiar Latin bringing Geoffrey solace. Merryn lay her head against his shoulder. Her tears spilled onto his gypon.
When it ended, they thanked Father Dannet and went to the keep. As they entered, Tilda hovered nearby. With a glance, Geoffrey told the servant what needed to be done and she hurried off. He swept Merryn into his arms. They passed the silent great hall and he carried her upstairs. He knew Merryn would want to look in on the children so he paused at Ancel’s door and lowered her to her feet.
They tiptoed in, the room in darkness except for the faint light from the sconce that burned in the corridor. Merryn went to Ancel and knelt next to his bed. She kissed his cheek and rested her palm against it.
Geoffrey helped her to her feet as she said, “Ancel has always slept well. I believe if I could have glimpsed into my womb, I would have seen Alys doing all of the kicking for the both of them.”
He smiled, pulling her close. “I would rather our daughter be spirited than meek. You have raised her to be independent. Ancel, too. They are sweet, good children. We are blessed with them and our blessings will continue.”
Geoffrey placed his hand against her belly. As if answering him, a soft nudge pushed against where his palm rested.
They left and stopped at Alys’ room. Again, Merryn kissed her child but, this time, their daughter awoke, full of questions, as always.
“How is Riola, Mother? Did the birth go well? You look very tired. You need to eat something and get to bed. Was it a boy or girl? What did they name the babe?”
Alys touched her mother’s hands. “I’m sorry. They would make good parents. They are very kind people. How are you? How is your babe?” She patted Merryn’s stomach. “Oh! Did you feel that? Is that the babe kicking?”
“Aye. It started this morning and will only get stronger in the months to come.”
“Has Ancel felt it kick?” Alys asked. “I hope not. I’m the oldest. I should be first.”
Geoffrey chuckled. Alys may have only been the older twin by a minute or two but she would never let her brother forget she arrived in the world before he did.
“You are first but we must share this with Ancel tomorrow,” Merryn said firmly.
Alys climbed to her knees and placed her palms on her mother’s belly. She leaned in and said, “I am your sister, Alys. I cannot wait to meet you.” She kissed the belly and lay back in bed. “Goodnight, Mother. Goodnight, Father.”
Geoffrey bent and brushed a kiss upon her cheek. “Go to sleep, little love,” he ordered.
They went to the solar and found Tilda had already brought food and mulled wine. She poured Merryn a cup and handed it over.
“Drink this, my lady. ’Twill warm you. Hot water is on its way.”
Tilda left them to eat. Merryn looked as if she might fall asleep at any moment. Geoffrey touched her arm twice and told her to eat and drink.
By the time they finished, servants brought in buckets of hot and cold water, filling the tub with a mixture of both. Tilda dropped in a bit of vanilla, the scent wafting up from the heated water. It was a smell Geoffrey always associated with Merryn. He loved running his nose along her satin skin and inhaling it as it rose from her warm skin.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said, and Tilda shooed out all of the servants.
He undressed his wife and guided her into the hot water.
“Oh, that feels heavenly,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
He draped her hair over the edge of the tub. “I shall wait on you, love.”
A smile turned her lips up. “I shall let you.”
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