“Captain Trayhern!” the sergeant cried.
Too late, Vaughn twisted toward the man’s voice. Pistol shots broke the calm of the morning and Vaughn felt a white-hot sting as a ball grazed his upper arm. He jerked his horse around, shouting orders for his men to form a battle line and drawing his own pistol. Two riders dressed in black cloaks appeared on the other side of the stream to his left, galloping wildly up across a sloping hill and quickly disappearing.
Angered, Vaughn glanced down at his left arm. Blood! The bastards had tried to ambush them!
“After them!” he thundered, sinking his heels into the horse. He guided the gelding down through the brush, the branches swatting and stinging at his lower legs as they raced by. At the stream, Vaughn leaned forward, giving the gelding his head. The black easily cleared the water, his hooves sinking deeply into the mud and grass on the other side. Several more soldiers followed on his heels and Vaughn whipped his horse unmercifully. The animal clawed its way up the slope. Just as Vaughn crested the hill, another shot rang out. The gelding grunted, its knees buckling beneath him.
Vaughn threw up his hands as the gelding crashed to the earth. He was thrown over the horse’s head and landed heavily on the lush grass, rolling away from the flailing, deadly hooves. The column circled back to Vaughn as he slowly got to his feet. His eyes were black with rage as he saw the two riders fleeing over another hill to the west. Cursing soundly, Vaughn walked over and picked up his pistol. He then mounted behind the sergeant and ordered pursuit.
Alyssa heard the shots, their echo reeling through the valley and up the slopes of the mountain. She stood outside the hut, wondering if Dev had killed Vaughn. Or if Vaughn had discovered them before the ambush and both her brothers were now prisoners. The agony of not knowing only increased her sense of desolation. She had to keep busy, to keep her mind off the future.
Sunlight filtered through the bare branches of the oak next to the hut, sending warming streamers all around her. Alyssa pulled her well-worn black wool cloak more tightly around her shoulders. The Barrow Valley was beautiful in the morning light, the hills a verdant green from the recent rain. Here and there, woolly white dots denoted sheep grazing. Again, poignant memories of lambing season rose in her mind. And Tray…She shut her eyes tightly, feeling the sting of tears against her lids.
A cramping pain began low and worked its way up across her belly. Alyssa gasped, her hand going to her abdomen. The pain, coming and going at first, was like nothing she had ever encountered. She slowly made her way back inside. As her labor intensified, she wouldn’t be able to leave the hut. She had to ensure that enough water was available.
Walking into the hut, Alyssa pulled her pallet, now stuffed with straw, close enough to the peat fire so that she could throw extra fuel on it when necessary. The nights were cold; winds whipped across the mountain, draining the hut of warmth unless the fire was kept going. Thick smoke hung in the air toward the ceiling, slowly finding escape at the edges of the curtain draped over the dwelling’s entrance. Her eyes darkened as another achy pain began. Alyssa had to lie down, finding no position comfortable.
The melodic call of birds seemed to welcome the sun back to the land. From time to time, Alyssa would leave the hut and gaze at the valley below her. Were Dev and Gavin safe? She looked overhead at the azure sky, fondly recalling how desolate Shadowhawk had appeared, set high on the rocky cliffs overlooking the Irish Sea. A small thread of hope found its way into her heart as she watched several birds float on the invisible wings of the breeze. Each time she experienced a labor contraction, she was that much closer to holding Tray’s child in her arms. Alyssa took a deep, unsteady breath. If only Tray were here. If only…
* * *
Wearily, Tray stared up at the dark, almost forbidding Blackstairs Mountains that rose above them. He had scoured every inch of the other two mountain chains, searching for Alyssa. This was his last hope. Had Dev brought Aly here? He squeezed his calves to Rasheed’s barrel and the stallion began the climb up the lower slopes covered with thick brush and budding purple heather. The last of the sun’s rays shot up above the range’s highest peak, Mount Leinster.
Tray missed little as they climbed a more steeply wooded slope, gazing methodically from right to left. Sean had said there was a small mud hut hidden deep on the slopes of a high peak, near a stream. He had found several likely candidates in the other mountain chains. Sometimes he found squatters living in them, sometimes they had been empty. He leaned over, giving Rasheed a well-deserved pat on the neck. The stallion responded by snorting and flicking his ears.
By dusk, the shadows were deep and gray. Tray had come to realize that much could hide in the waning light. There were no huts in sight; he would have to camp out beneath the spreading arms of the many oak trees. It wouldn’t be the first time he had slept out in the open and probably wouldn’t be the last. At least it wasn’t going to rain tonight. At first light he would again begin to circle the eighteen-hundred-foot mountain in search of that hut.
* * *
Alyssa tensed, lying on her side and gripping her belly. Sweat gleamed off the taut planes of her face as she let out a low groan. Ordinarily, darkness didn’t frighten her. But now, unreasonably, she was scared. Only the dull red glow of the peat fire broke the inky blackness of the hut’s interior.
The labor contractions were closer together now, and she knew that her time was drawing near. Already, her chemise was damp with milk leaking from her nipples. At least she would have milk for her baby. Alyssa recalled that some women were dry because they were so close to starvation. It was a wonder they had even carried their babies to term.
She lay there, waiting for the next pain, trying to relax, trying not to tense, because then it hurt even more. Breathing deeply seemed to alleviate some of the pain. With her arms wrapped around her swollen body, she lay exhausted, ceasing to think.
By the time the morning sun showed through the tattered cloth over the doorway, Alyssa was in constant agony. She rolled her head from side to side as the pain bore down on her almost incessantly. It hurt to touch her belly, and yet all she wanted to do was hold herself against the undulating throes. Sweat rolled down her pale, drawn face, her hair long ago dampened and snarled by her movements. She was scared, more scared than she had ever been. Earlier, toward dawn, there had been a rush of warm fluid between her legs. She tried to rise and change the cloth beneath her but could not.
She had no concept of time, only of stitching, gut-wrenching pain moving unendingly across her abdomen. Her body was completely bathed in sweat, and whimpers of pain tore from her tightly clasped lips. The pressure in her lower body was increasing minute by minute. Alyssa kept pushing, hoping to help expel the child from her body, but nothing happened.
By dusk, she could not move from her position on her side. To move was agony. To lie still was to feel the knife-cutting pain shearing her apart. Drained and dehydrated, she lay there, her eyes glazed, staring blindly into the encroaching darkness. For the first time, Alyssa wondered if she were going to die. Somewhere in her numbed mind, she knew a long labor was dangerous. The longer the labor, the greater the potential for her to die. She tried to lick her chapped lips, thirst clawing up her throat. She had long ago consumed the rainwater she had collected in the small tin cups, but she was too helpless to walk to the stream and drink. Or even to feed the dying fire.
Chapter Eighteen
Tray awoke with a start. The gray dawn lurked on the horizon as he stiffly threw off the wool blanket. What had awakened him? Rasheed stood nearby, his nostrils flared, drinking in the surrounding still, early morning air, his ears pricked forward. Pushing a lock of hair off his brow, Tray noticed that the gray mare, staked farther up the hill, was also listening to something with equal intensity.
He slowly got to his feet and began to pack his saddle bag. Rasheed nickered softly. Tray looked up from folding his blankets. The stallion heard something. People? Animals? A new sense of urgency filled Tray and he hurriedly saddled
his stallion. Whatever the horses were hearing was in the direction of the mountaintop. His heart began beating more rapidly as he swung into the saddle.
The ground became firmer as they climbed up toward the ridge that formed the back of the small cluster of mountains. Sean’s directions pounded insistently through Tray’s head as he angled his stallion up a steeper climb. The hut, Sean had said, faced east, toward the rising sun. He was on the eastern slope. But there was so much brush and heather between the mighty oaks, ash and occasional beech trees that a mud hut could blend into the shadows and be hidden.
Tray was grateful when he came upon a gurgling stream with sweet, succulent grass on both banks. His stallion was breathing hard from the climb, flanks heaving. Tray placed his hand on the horse’s shoulder, giving him a pat. Suddenly a weakened scream tore through the dense oak. Rasheed jerked his head up, whinnying. Tray’s heart slammed into his throat. To the left! He stood up in his stirrups, craning to catch a glimpse of anything in the direction of the scream. His eyes narrowed. There! A mud hut sitting at the edge of a small clearing of oak.
“Come on!” he called to his stallion, leaning forward. The horse needed no encouragement, lifting his legs and easily clearing the stream. Mud and rock flew from beneath the stallion’s hooves as he scrambled madly up the slope toward the hut that sat no more than a quarter of a mile away.
* * *
Alyssa groaned, the sound coming out low and deep from within her. The last pain had nearly made her faint. Her body was bathed in sweat and her thrashing movements had pushed the straw from inside the pallet, so that a thin blanket was now the only barrier between her and the dirt floor. It was chilly in the hut, although strong beams of sunlight edged the curtain in front of the doorway. She panted, feeling the blackness begin to claim her again. She was dying. She could feel the weakness stalking her limbs and her will to live trickling away with each savage labor convulsion. Eyes glazed with pain and exhaustion, Alyssa remained on her side, her arms wrapped around her swollen belly. Desolation entwined with grief as she realized with icy finality that she was too small for the babe to pass through her.
Shivering, she sobbed for breath as she felt another knifing contraction begin. Her body jerked convulsively, her spine bowing, and she threw back her head, a hoarse scream tearing from her raw throat. Blackness danced before her widened eyes. Oh, please, she begged, let me faint. I can’t take any more pain. Let me faint again…God, have mercy on me…I can’t…Her vision blurred and she felt the blessed blackness beginning to close in on her again. Her body went limp and she felt her arms dropping to her side, her head lolling back. Yes, merciful unconsciousness. Sweat dribbled from her brow into her eyes. It didn’t matter.
Just as the numbing feeling was sweeping up from her chest to engulf her into the welcoming blackness, Alyssa became aware of another noise. Horses. Horses? Her brow wrinkled as she tried to catalog the various movements outside the hut.
Sunlight spilled blindingly into the hut as someone jerked the curtain aside. Alyssa stared uncomprehendingly at the huge form of a man’s body lighted from behind by the brilliance of the sun. Darkness rimmed her vision as she stared at him through dazed eyes. Tray? Tray was here? She recognized his frame, his broad, powerful shoulders. Tray had come for her. Alyssa fought off the faintness pulling at her. She heard him utter her name in a low cry. She heard Tray calling her. She was dying.
As she closed her eyes, a wobbly smile crossed her chapped and cracked lips. His arms went around her and she felt herself being gently lifted upward. As her dirt-smudged cheek met the wrinkled cotton of the shirt that spanned his deep chest, Alyssa sobbed his name, too weak to fight off the stalking darkness. Her lashes fell against her cheeks and she capitulated to the unconsciousness, knowing at last that Tray would be there. Love did conquer all. It had conquered death. He was holding her as she slipped over the edge into oblivion.
* * *
Jagged, tearing pain brought her awake. She began to roll her head from side to side, whimpering.
“Easy, Aly. Try to relax. It’s going to be all right, little one.”
Her brow wrinkled and she forced her lashes upward. Brightness seemed to vibrate from everywhere within the hut. Pain tore away the last shreds of her faintness. Blinking, Alyssa turned her head as she felt someone’s hand on the blanket across her shoulder. Her pupils dilated as she stared up into the face of the man she had loved without reserve. A cry tore from her lips and her eyes widened in shock.
“Tray?” she whispered.
He was kneeling at her side, his face taut. His fingers trembled as they touched her glistening brow. “Yes, beloved. I’m here.”
Bewilderment entwined with hope surged through her. “B-but, you’re dead…you’re dead….”
“No, Aly. I almost died. I’ve been searching for you since September, when I landed in Ireland.” His smile was tender as he leaned over, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I’ve found you.”
Tears crowded into her eyes. The touch of his hand was real upon her flesh. Alyssa could feel his rough skin as he stroked her brow. He hadn’t died. Tray was alive. Alive! She sobbed, the effort creating even more agony in her body. “Oh, God…Tray…”
“I know, I know, beloved,” he soothed, taking a cloth and pressing it against her cheek. “How long have you been in labor?” There was fear behind his words. Judging by the waxen color of her thin features, Tray was afraid of her answer. Bits of straw were tangled in her once beautiful hair, now hanging in damp ropes around her contorted face.
“Days. Oh God, days…The baby, Tray…he’s yours, not Vaughn’s.”
“Shh, don’t talk, Aly. I know he’s our baby. Just try to rest between the contractions. I’ll help you.”
“I’m dying, Tray. I’m so thirsty….”
His eyes grew dark, her sobs tearing at his heart. “Don’t say that! You aren’t going to die.” He lifted her shoulders, placing a tin cup to her lips. She drank in gulps, water dribbling from the corners of her mouth. He refilled the cup four times before her thirst was slaked and he carefully laid her back down on the clean pallet.
Weakly, Alyssa’s fingers sought and found his strong, powerful hand. “I’m too small…too small….”
He gripped her fragile hand in his. “No! You aren’t going to die, Aly. Not when I’ve just found you. Hang on! Listen to me. You’re going to have our baby and then I’m taking you home. Do you hear me?”
Tears trickled down her cheeks and she sobbed harder. Home. Shadowhawk. Tray. She felt him rubbing her hand between his own, giving her the warmth she so desperately needed. If only…if only she could go home with Tray. His voice felt like a balm across her shattered senses.
“Listen to me, Aly. I’ve got hot water and clean towels with me. This is just like any other animal giving birth. I can help you, little one. Have you been able to get up into a kneeling position?”
She garnered strength from his fervent, low voice and the pressure of his large, warm hand on her own damp fingers. “N-no. Too…weak…”
Grimly, Tray released her hand. He had built up the peat fire and placed a lantern inside the chilled hut. Sunshine flooded through the opened doorway. “I’m going to take the blankets off you, Aly. And then I’m going to pull you up. Up to your knees. You’re ready to birth. You need to push, like any ewe would when she’s ready to deliver her lamb. Can you do that for me if I hold you? Can you push?”
Alyssa nodded. She had been too weak to get to her knees without help. And she knew that most women birthed in that position. Opening her eyes, she allowed Tray to take her into his arms. As he brought her up, a tearing pain lacerated her. Biting down hard on her lip until she tasted blood, Alyssa rested against Tray, who helped her to settle to her knees. The downward pressure of the baby made her start panting.
“Aly, remember the animals. They take deep breaths and then push,” he said hoarsely, his lips near her ear. He tightened his arm beneath her breasts. She had absolutely no str
ength left with which to support herself. “Come, little one, take a deep breath. That’s it, one more…one more…”
Blackness rimmed her vision, the agony constant now. And yet, just the steady drone of Tray’s voice, his strength and belief in her, kept Alyssa clinging to a thread of hope. Sweat ran in small rivulets down her face and through the tangled strands of hair clinging to her brow and cheeks. She leaned heavily against him. With each breath and each push, the pressure between her legs became greater and greater.
“Good, good, Aly. He’s coming. I can feel his head. Come, beloved, deliver him into my hands. I won’t let him fall. I’ll catch him and hold you. Push…push hard, Aly. Do this for us. Because I love you. God, how I love you….”
Every muscle in her body strained; Alyssa clenched her teeth, her body taut as she gave one final push. Hot, ripping fire tore up through her and a scream clawed at her throat, but she kept pushing, pushing. Finally, blackness overtook her, and the last thing she heard was Tray’s voice soothing her, making her believe that she would live, telling her that their baby was born.
Tray gently deposited the baby on the pallet as he repositioned Alyssa so that she was lying down again. His eyes were wide with fear and welling emotion as he drew the blanket across Alyssa. He reached down, picking up the slick baby with trembling hands.
From his years of experience delivering foal and lambs, he quickly wiped the mucus from the baby’s face. The child was listless, his color far from normal. Tray brought the baby’s face to his own and blew small puffs of air into his nostrils, as he had done many times before with weakened lambs who had endured long, hard labor. Gradually, the infant responded, the bluish cast fading from his flesh. His heart thudded with elation as the child lifted his tiny arm and gave a weak cry. A smile broke Tray’s tense, sweaty features and his gaze moved downward. The boy was perfect. Perfect. His tiny feet were perfect. Tears blurred Tray’s vision as he laid down his black-haired son and cleaned him off, then tenderly wrapped him in a blanket.
Lord of Shadowhawk Page 23
