"Of course," she murmured back, sighing with pleasure as he eased into her from behind. Her belly was too big now for the frenzied lovemaking of their first nights together, or even on their wedding night, but still he'd found a way to fulfil his promise of making love to her every night, and every morning, too. His hands knew her body so well he soon had her gasping, then crying out his name, as the first wave of pleasure crashed over her. As ever, he waited for the third time before his shout for joy drowned out hers. An amazing lover and a loving husband – Molina could not ask for more.
He withdrew from her and helped her wash, before cleaning himself up, too. Lubos set a fresh log on the fire, warming the wintry room so that she would not take another chill. Then he crept back into bed and stroked her belly, eliciting an angry kick from the child inside.
"Do you think he will come today?" he asked.
"I hope she will," Molina replied, as she always did.
Lubos laughed then, and rose to dress for the day. He might be the crown prince and not the king, but the king's mind was definitely slipping, and more and more duties fell to Lubos now, for no one wanted to risk his head by going to the king with anything the king might consider bad news. And there was no rhyme or reason for the things he decided constituted bad news. Why, the courier who had brought word of Lubos' younger sister, Guinevere's marriage to a neighbouring king was accused of lying and hanged for his supposed crime, despite bearing a scroll that bore both Guinevere and her husband's seal, for the king had no memory of agreeing to such a marriage.
"Bar the door, until I knock," Lubos warned her as he left. Molina rose to do as he commanded, for that was the only way to protect her from the king, and the guards who were still loyal to him. The only times she opened the door were to allow a maid inside to bring her meals, or to let Lubos back in once his day was done.
Thirty-Nine
Small pains had bothered her for days now, but when her contractions truly started, Molina knew without a doubt that her baby was coming. She seized the bell rope and yanked on it, hearing the jangle of alarm bells summoning the servant who stood watch outside her room, ready to bring the midwife. She heard the patter of running feet as another contraction gripped her, leaving her gasping.
When the pain had eased, Molina turned her attention to the door. She needed to unbar it to let the midwife in. It took her two tries before she managed to heft the bar from its brackets, and a third to tip it onto the floor so that the door could open. Then another contraction seized her, and she fell to her knees.
For a long moment, she knew nothing but pain, and then, she was free. She staggered to her feet, headed for the bed.
"Molina? My lady, are you all right?" Lubos' voice had never sounded so heavenly as it did right now.
She fell heavily into bed, landing on her side so she didn't hurt the baby. "No. Your baby is determined to escape today."
The door flew open, and his eyes shone as bright and eager as the morning sun. "It is time?"
Molina attempted to nod, but all she could manage was a grimace as the pain came again.
Huge hands gripped hers, strong and reassuring. "The midwife is coming, and I have told the physician to stay away on pain of death. What do you wish me to do?"
Molina managed a smile. "Have the baby for me?"
"If I could take the pain from you, I would, but only a woman can bear a child. Men were not made for such things, I fear. But seeing as you will do all the hard work, you must name him. I hope you have some suitable names for a future king picked out."
"Daughter," she bit out before crying out in pain.
When she opened her eyes again, the midwife was there, accompanied by several maids carrying armloads of linen and buckets of water.
"Time to go, for this is no place for men," the midwife said, attempting to shoo Lubos from the room.
As Lubos' hand slipped from hers, Molina only gripped it tighter. The strange man's words came to Molina again, reminding her that she might not live to see or name her child.
She waited for the next pain to pass, before gasping out, "What if I do not survive the birth? Many women die. What if this is the last time I ever see you?"
Lubos leaned down to kiss her forehead, lowering his voice so only Molina could hear him. "I swear to you, both you and the child will survive. When you were ill and I feared you would not live another night, I went to a witch for your lamb's lettuce. She bespelled the leaves, promising you and the child a long and healthy life. So worry not. Today is not your time."
A witch? For such a powerful spell, she would have exacted a terrible price. All the gold in the tithing barn, perhaps, though witches were not known for their fondness for gold. No, her price would be far higher.
"What did it cost…" she began, before another cry of pain was all she could utter.
Lubos bowed, blew a kiss to her, and departed.
And Molina descended into what could only be described as hell, a realm of pain and pushing and panting that went on for an eternity, until she heard a lusty wail that had not come from her own throat.
"She's perfect, the little princess," someone said.
Molina felt a surge of triumph. She was right, and the baby was a girl.
Forty
"Sir? The midwife has been called up to the castle."
Abraham blinked. He couldn't have slept away half the day, could he? He just felt so tired all the time, and the pain in his chest was constant now. He didn't have long left. So to lose a day to sleep…
"You promised a copper coin, sir, if I brought you news," the small boy reminded him.
Abraham fished in his pocket and pulled out a silver coin. "Thank you. Now, go back to the midwife's house and tell me when she returns, and I will turn that coin into a gold one."
The boy's eyes grew round. "Truly?"
Abraham nodded gravely. "Truly."
The boy raced back toward the city.
Childbirth took a long time, or so Abraham believed, so he would have time to take the pain draught he'd bought from the apothecary before he had to head into the castle to claim the child. The stuff was terribly bitter, so it was best drunk mixed with wine, and he would need a clear head when he confronted the princess, for the girl had married her prince now.
He poured the powder into a cup, then waited for the wine to warm over the fire. He'd thought his castle was cold, but it had nothing on this cottage. Even with the fire blazing, the tips of his fingers were blue.
When steam curled up from the pot, he poured the wine into his cup, stirring it with his finger until the bitter medicine dissolved. Then he drank it down and lay back against the wall. He could hear the thump of Chase's arrows hitting the target in rapid succession. His brother in law had always been an expert marksman. Why, he could shoot the very flies from the air. He hoped Chase would teach Isaak to shoot, when the boy was old enough to draw a bow.
Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Abraham drifted off into sleep again.
Forty-One
"The princess has given birth to a beautiful baby girl," the midwife said, rousing Lubos from his doze. He wasn't sure what day it was, or when he'd chosen to lay down to sleep on the cathedral floor, before the very altar, but he had enough sense to know he should get up before one of the priests discovered him and kicked him out of the house of God.
"Is she well?" he asked, scrambling to his feet. Despite his words to Molina, he still didn't trust the witch. Not when he had yet to pay her price. If she chose not to honour their bargain…
"Princess Molina is very tired, for she has been in labour a day and a night, but once she has rested, she should be well. It was an easy birth."
The cries she'd uttered said otherwise, but Lubos did not correct the midwife. Molina would tell him the truth of it, and whether she wanted the same midwife again next time. For there would be a next time. There had to be, for he would need an heir.
"Can I see her?" he asked timidly. It had been a long time since h
e'd asked anyone for anything, but the realm of women and babies was new to him. He didn't want to do something wrong.
"She is sleeping, and should not be disturbed," the midwife said.
His heart sank, but only for a moment, as he realised she hadn't actually refused him. Could a midwife give orders to the crown prince?
He rose to his full height, hoping he could manage to look regal despite not having shaved after sleeping on the floor. "I must see her, and the child."
The midwife sighed. "Yes, Your Highness. But for only a moment."
Lubos had not run through the castle so fast since he was a boy. He startled several servants, but today he did not care. He was a father, and Molina lived.
He found her tucked up in his bed, amid layers of fresh linen. The faint smell of blood lingered, but a maid brought in a fresh basket of rushes and proceeded to lay them on the floor, and then he could smell only the aroma of summer hay, as out of place in the heart of winter as he was in the women's domain this room had been, only hours earlier.
The cradle moved, just the tiniest bit, though no hand or breeze had touched it. Lubos held his breath and approached.
The baby's eyes were closed, her head crowned with an abundance of dark curls. She lifted a tiny fist from the blankets and waved it in the air, as if cursing something in her dream, before lowering it again.
"So tiny. So perfect," he breathed.
"Isn't she?"
Lubos started. Molina's eyes were open, and she wore a tired smile. Yet her expression glowed with happiness.
"I wished for a girl," she said softly. "But you must protect her. Swear to me that you will not let the strange man have her. You must take her away, hide her from him, and stand guard over her, until I tell you it is safe. Please, Lubos."
The words came easily. "I swear no strange man shall steal her from you."
"Take her. Take her now, for surely the whole kingdom knows about the birth, and he will come for her soon." Molina reached into the cradle and scooped out the little bundle, no larger than a loaf of bread. A tiny person. "Take her!"
Still Lubos hesitated as the baby was thrust into his arms. "I'm afraid I will drop her," he admitted. "She's so tiny."
Molina's eyes burned with determination, despite the dark circles framing them. "You are her father, and you will neither drop her nor allow her to come to harm. You swore an oath, Lubos, and you will not break it."
He held the child tightly, his heart sinking. Yes, he had sworn many oaths, and he would break none of them. Even if it broke his own heart to do so.
"She will be safe," he promised himself as much as Molina. He had to believe it.
Forty-Two
Every hoofbeat felt like a nail hammered into his own coffin, but still Lubos rode on. He had sworn he would give anything in exchange for Molina's life, and he could not lose her now.
The massive stone walls rose up sooner than before, or so it seemed. The gates swung open for him today, though he saw no one who might have pushed them. Magic, he told himself, and shivered. This made the child squirm against his chest, as though she felt his fear. Lubos wrapped a protective arm around her, though the swaddling wraps bound her securely to him. He would fulfil his oaths to Molina and to the witch, for he was a man of his word. Even if Molina hated him for it when she found out.
"Enter, Your Highness," the witch called, emerging from a tiny cottage Lubos had not seen nestled under four huge trees. A sacred grove from ancient times, his brain supplied, and he shivered again.
He stepped forward, refusing to give in to his fear. He was a prince, and not a coward. "I come to fulfil the bargain we made. You promised that my wife and child will live long and healthy lives."
She seemed younger than the first time he'd seen her, barely more than a girl, but her eyes glittered with the same ancient secrets he'd glimpsed on his first visit. "And they will. Your queen will outlive you, and hold her son's heir in her arms when your son takes the throne."
Lubos let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "And the child? Our daughter?"
The witch grinned. "The little weaver. I have waited a long time for this moment." She held out her arms. "Give her to me."
Lubos crossed his arms over his chest. "Not until you swear to me she will be treated like the princess she is, and cared for as well as her mother might."
The witch laughed. "Princesses are raised to be pawns in a much larger game, married off at the convenience of their fathers to cement this or that alliance. Much like your sister Guinevere, married to a man she does not love. Your daughter will be much more than a bedwarmer and broodmare for one of your allies. She will shape the future of many kingdoms, like one of the ancient queens of legend. I will take her to a place so safe, no one will ever find her to steal or harm her. She will outlive her mother, though she will not bring any kings into the world."
"I will have your word." Lubos would not give her the child without it.
"Yes, you are a man of words, when there is so much more to the world. Yet you shall have mine. I swear upon my own life that I will do everything in my power to prolong her life and health. No other girl child will be as precious to her mother as your child will be to me."
Lubos wanted to trust her, if only because she promised so much of what she wanted. Yet even as he untied the baby from her bindings, taking her weight in his arms for what might be the last time, he did not want to surrender her.
"Give her to me!" the witch demanded, her eyes glowing blue.
Unwillingly, Lubos held out the child.
It took only a moment, and his arms were empty. The next moment, he blinked and both the witch and the baby were gone, leaving him alone in the garden.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, and Lubos longed to throw himself to the ground and weep, but he dared not. He had done what he had to, and there was more to come.
He had to tell Molina that in order to keep the girl safe, she could never see her daughter again. So he forced himself back on his horse, and it felt like every hoofbeat landed on his chest, breaking through his ribs and crushing his heart beneath them.
Molina would never forgive him for such a betrayal.
Forty-Three
Abraham took the stairs slowly, but he was still out of breath when he reached the top, so he took his time to recover before he entered the princess's chamber. When he no longer felt dizzy, he tried the door, which opened at a touch.
He stepped inside, then stopped to survey the sleeping girl in the bed. Only her face was visible, but it was no longer skeleton pale, like he remembered it. The dark circles were there beneath her eyes, but she'd been in labour for a day or more, so the sleeplessness was to be expected.
How he could have believed she was a witch, capable of breaking the curse…he had taken the seer's words too seriously, and it was not his fault he'd mistaken her for the princess she would become. A capable woman whose courage knew no bounds. Yet she was not a witch, but an ordinary woman. Her husband was a lucky man.
But a man who would have to beget another daughter, for his firstborn was promised to Abraham. Abraham took a deep breath, and crept deeper into the room. To the cradle that stood beside the princess's bed, within easy reach. All he had to do was reach in, take the child, and leave, but he could not bring himself to steal her.
The princess had gone through so much…she deserved to know the truth, all of it, about why he needed her daughter. And…where the child would be, and that the girl would be safe. For she was no friend of the king's, and if the princess ever needed a place to shelter from the king's wrath, then his home was open to her.
And perhaps she wanted to say farewell to her daughter. Abraham owed the young mother that much.
He slid his gloved hands into the cradle, intending to pull out the child with all her blankets to insulate her from the cold, but the blankets were empty. The child was not here.
Abraham closed his eyes. He had failed. Failed himself, and failed his son. All t
hose days and nights spinning straw into gold to placate a mad king…wasted. He might as well have stayed home with Maja.
"She is gone where you cannot reach her," the princess said.
Abraham's eyes snapped open, to meet her gaze. "You promised her to me. She is the only one who can save my son. I spun you a king's ransom in gold, ten times over, so that you would help me. Faithless woman!"
Her eyes widened and he realised he'd raised a hand to strike her. He lowered it quickly. He had never struck a woman, and he had no intention of doing so now. She could live with the shame of breaking her oath.
"I am Sir Abraham von Rumpelstiltskin, and my son Isaak will be the last of my line, because of you. Many years ago, my ancestor was cursed with the Touch, and he passed it down, father to son, until it came to me. I know not what my ancestor's crime was, but I have done nothing to deserve this fate. My son is but a baby – a few weeks older than your own daughter – and he is innocent. He does not deserve to die young, and see everything he touches turn to cold metal. I beg you, Princess, have pity on a father who only wishes to save his son." Abraham fell to his knees in supplication.
Tears trickled down the princess's cheeks as she shook her head. "I am sorry, Sir Abraham, but I cannot. My husband has taken her I know not where, and he will defend her with his life. I could never save you or your son, no matter how much I wish I could. I am merely Molina, a miller's daughter from a barony far to the south of here, with no special powers and no title until the prince married me. My only skill is with a spinning wheel. If I could spin a wheel and change your fate, I would, but fate is a weaver and I have no skill in that. I thank you for everything you have done for me. If not for you, both my daughter and I would be dead at the king's hand. I only wish I could return the favour."
"Then we are lost." He rose to his feet, waiting until the light-headedness faded, before heading for the door. He had pinned all his hopes on the princess, and she had dashed them in one blow.
Spin- Rumpelstiltskin Retold Page 11
