Pregnant With Their Babes

by Kelex

  “Respects? Ha!” she spat before stalking back to the door. “Respects, he says.”

  Dagr frowned. He was used to her icy composure. Perhaps old age had changed her.

  A groom appeared and took the reins to his horse. Dagr was almost leery of handing the mount over. It was his escape.

  “Well, are you coming or not?” his grandmother snapped from the door.

  He paused a moment longer, struggling to decide. Finally, he removed his hat and gloves, walking toward the entrance of the home that had never truly been his home.

  No, that had been Oz.

  His Polaris Star.

  Dagr handed his hat and gloves to the maid once inside the foyer before following his grandmother into the parlor. A small fire smoldered in the hearth, taking away the day’s chill.

  “Evelyn… bring tea,” his grandmother instructed before taking a seat in what he could only call a throne. She looked up at him expectantly. “Have a seat.”

  Dagr sighed before sitting down opposite her. “Where is grandfather?”

  “Abed. He’s not well. For some months now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Dagr said and meant it. Of the two, his grandfather had been a little more open with his affections—but it still had been too little for an orphaned boy starving for attention. “Is there anything that can be done?”

  “The doctors have said no… no more than to keep him comfortable. It could be days… perhaps months. We have no way to know.”

  “I’d like to see him before I go… if that’s possible.”

  “Already thinking about leaving us again, are you?”

  Dagr paused, unsure what she sought from him. “It’s not as if I belong here. We both recognize that.”

  She frowned. “Why would you not belong here? This was your home.”

  “This was never my home,” Dagr replied. “It was a roof over my head. One I am appreciative of, of course. You could’ve turned me away and left me to beg in the streets.”

  His grandmother stared down her nose at him. “Is that how you remember your years here?”

  “I grasp that I was an embarrassment to you and grandfather—the mixed-blood boy born to a foreign mother. I apologize for the misfortune of my birth and your subsequent task of being forced to care for me.”

  His grandmother’s face fell. “I was forced to do nothing.”

  Dagr eyed her, confused at her answer.

  “We loved you,” his grandmother shot back.

  “Love? That’s news to me. It seemed more like you wished I never existed.”

  “Yes. It was a shock when you landed on our doorstep—and I suppose we were embarrassed to some degree. I won’t lie. We were the subject of gossip for many, many years after.” She shook her head. “It was difficult. Here I was mourning a son I loved so very much… and handed a babe born of a witch.” She spoke the last word with heavy disdain.

  “You knew she was a witch?”

  His grandmother nodded, scowling. “Your father had sent letters home, telling us of his marriage to that woman.”

  Dagr shook his head. “That woman was my mother. I can hear the hatred now, just as I did then. You wonder why I ran when I first had the chance? That is it. And I never looked back.” He scoffed. “I’ll leave again… as soon as I can.”

  His grandmother’s eyes widened. “No… Dagr, please no. You can’t.” She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth, tears in her eyes. It was more emotion than he’d ever seen from the woman. “I can’t bear the thought of you leaving us again.”

  Dagr sat stock-still. He was unsure of how to react. This wasn’t the grandmother he remembered. Not at all.

  “I don’t hate you. Not at all, my boy.” A tear slipped down her cheek. She paused. “I’m aware that I was incapable of being as good a mother as you deserved… but it was difficult to gaze upon you and see the boy I lost.” She took a step closer and cupped his cheek. “You seem so very much like my Christophe. More now than ever—now that you’ve grown into a man.” His grandmother sighed, her eyes dampening with tears again. “You’ve got his eyes. I can see him regarding me every time you look my way.” Another tear fell. “And I’m sure he’s not happy with the way I’ve handled things between you and I. Nor am I. I have much to atone for.”

  Dagr could only sit there, speechless. The fire crackled.

  His world fell off its axis.

  “I sent a man out to gauge your whereabouts and learned you’d taken off with Prince Oswald, sailing the high seas. I wrote you hundreds of letters—once I found which ports you frequented I had copies sent to all. I never heard a reply back.”

  “I got some. Not hundreds, but some,” Dagr admitted. The letters had always seemed angry, and he’d wondered why she’d bothered. “You talked of me returning and learning to run the estates. I couldn’t fathom why.”

  “How are you supposed to run things once we’re gone if you haven’t been shown what it all entails? Your grandfather’s holdings are vast. They’ve grown by leaps and bounds since you’ve been away.”

  Dagr frowned. “I’m not his heir.”

  “Not his heir? Of course you are!” She seemed to shake off her surprise. “You have much to learn and only a short time to do it.”

  Dagr frowned, more confused. “I overheard you at a party when I was about twelve. The Countess of Aeryn asked if a muddle-blood would be the next duke. You clearly told her no.”

  “I told her no because I was angry that she’d called you a muddle-blood! Obviously, you neglected to stay and listen as I cut her down after that remark.”

  “Oh? You never let me come down for another party after that one. You hid me.”

  His grandmother shook her head. “Not because of you! Because of them.” She sighed. “Many attended our fetes and balls simply to observe you—as if you were an exhibit at some museum. They’d whisper behind their fans… so crass. I was trying to protect you.” Her hands fisted on a handkerchief in her lap. She gazed down at it before spreading it out. When she lifted her face to him, she appeared to be barely holding on to her emotions. “I made mistakes, Dagr. I know. I loved you, and I wanted what was best for you in my heart. I was never very good at showing it.”

  Words failed Dagr. Their relationship had always been distant. Seeing her now like this… it seemed unsteady in some way. His antipathy was the bedrock of his whole world view. Having that whipped away made his footing shaky, at best.

  Everything would crumble beneath his feet, at worst.

  In that moment, he craved Oz by his side.

  His rock.

  Llyr’s words whispered in his mind. How he never took a moment to see the other side. “I never realized.”

  The duchess pressed the handkerchief to the corner of her eyes. She seemed to pull her emotions back into the firm mask he was more accustomed to. “From the very day you arrived, you have always been the heir apparent. Nothing has changed. Someday soon you’ll be the Grand Duke of Clyffsyde. If you desire it.”

  He remained silent. His life had changed so much in the last two decades.

  “You have nothing to say? You’re to be a rich, powerful man soon. Although, from the stories I’ve heard from your exploits with Prince Oswald, you’ve already become quite the swashbuckling hero.”

  Dagr swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

  “Some stories made it to the local papers,” she said before crossing the room to the bookcase. She pulled down one of her many scrapbooks and opened it. His grandmother came back to sit beside him, showing clippings detailing his and Oz’s journeys. Page after page was cut and pressed into her book.

  “My grandson, the infamous Commander Dagr von Burgstaller—a dashing conqueror traveling the globe. What stories you must be able to tell now.”

  Dagr spun his gaze toward his grandmother, seeing her in a wholly new light. “I should’ve answered your letters.”

  She never lifted her regard—only continued to contemplate her clippings. But he saw the
duchess purse her lips, as if she held back emotion. “Yes. You should have.”

  “I’ve recently been told I’m unyielding. Unable to bend. That I don’t see other sides to the story… and that I miss out on so much because of that,” he murmured.

  “I’d say that whomever expressed that was an astute judge of character,” she answered before lifting her shining stare. “Had you answered any one of those letters… or ever returned home… we could’ve had this talk long, long ago.” She smiled wanly. “Though, I will admit that my increasing age has allowed me to look back on my life with new perspective in recent years. Had you come back sooner, I’m unsure if I’d have been as willing to admit my failings as a parent.” She chuckled. “Maybe I see who taught you to be so unyielding, hmm?”

  He smiled. “Perhaps.”

  “I’d like a chance to leave a little more of a legacy than that. If you’ll stay… and give me and your grandfather an opportunity to learn about the man you’ve now become? And to teach you about this place you’ll someday inherit?”

  Dagr nodded, attempting to keep a stiff upper lip. His plans to sail away swirled in his mind, calling to him. Yet he couldn’t turn away from this opportunity to know the family he always assumed never wanted him. “I would love that.”

  His grandmother laid down the scrapbook. She rose, wobbling on her feet at first, and held out her arms. “I’ve waited so long to do this.”

  Dagr climbed to his feet and wrapped his arms around her. He hugged her frail body tight. “I’ve waited my whole life.”

  His mind again drifted to Llyr as she held him…

  Would he have been so accepting had it not been for his merman? He had considered not visiting and simply returning to sea—but something Llyr had said outside the witch’s cottage had stuck with him.

  And Llyr had been right.

  His heart stuttered in his chest, the loss of Llyr somehow more profound now. How he could feel so strongly after only a few days spent with their merman… he struggled to understand. Dagr closed his eyes. There was no doubt in his mind. Now he’d not only mourn the loss of Oz… but Llyr, too.

  At least he had something to focus his attentions on—a family welcoming him with open arms. A new beginning. He drew away from his grandmother and smiled down at her. “So what can you tell me about my mother, the enchantress extraordinaire?”

  “I don’t know much, but I’m equally curious how you found out.”

  “How about I tell you—once I’ve had a chance to see grandfather?”

  Her smile faded some. “He’s not well, Dagr. I’m unsure if he would understand who you were, in fact. He barely remembers who I am these days—and he’s gazed upon this old, tired face for more years than not.”

  Dagr steeled himself. “I understand.”

  “But you should go to him. And see for yourself. Who knows how much longer we’ll have him?” She smiled, pain in her eyes. “Do you remember the way to his room? I would go with you, but I try not to climb those stairs more than once each day.”

  Dagr nodded. “I remember the way.”

  “He has a nurse there with him.”

  After another squeeze, he raced up the stairs, passing several of the maids on the way up. His footfalls were silent on the thick padded carpets covering the second story floors. He stopped at his grandfather’s door and waited a moment before knocking.

  A nurse opened the door.

  “I’m the duke’s grandson.”

  The older woman nodded before letting him in. “He only awoke a few moments ago. He’s not been very clear minded today, I’m afraid—so be gentle with him, please.” She walked over to the bed. “Sir, your grandson is here to see you.”

  Dagr sauntered closer and saw a gaunt man lying in the place of his larger than life grandfather. He bit his tongue to avoid showing his shock and surprise.

  “My grandson?” the duke mumbled, frowning. “I have no grandson.”

  The duke’s words stung Dagr, but he attempted to hide the shame of not being recognized. Why would the man remember him, when so many years had passed?

  “Yes you do, sir. And he’s here to visit. Isn’t that nice of him?”

  It was far from nice. Dagr should’ve come home long ago, before disease had ravaged his grandfather.

  His grandfather stared down the bed at him, his vision appearing to go misty. “Christophe?”

  Dagr stepped closer to the side of the bed. “No, grandfather. It’s Dagr.”

  “Dagr?” The duke glanced up at him, confused. But then it was as if a light turned on. “Dagr… you’ve come home to us.”

  Dagr’s chest ached. He sat down on the side of the bed. “I have.”

  “I have so much to share with you. The days grow short, and soon you’ll have so many responsibilities. I have no idea where to begin. But we will figure it out.” He looked down at where he lay in the bed. “Why am I still abed? It’s late in the day, and we have much to do.” His grandfather struggled to sit. “We should go to my study.”

  “You’ve been unwell,” the nurse said. “You need your rest, sir.”

  “I feel perfectly fine,” his grandfather assured her. “And I have to tell my grandson about the new mines I wish to dig on the Larchmont crest.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time for that… once you’re feeling stronger,” Dagr assured his grandfather. Though, from his grandmother’s comments, he was unsure that would happen. The duke had no need to hear negativity, though. Not in his final days.

  His grandfather smiled. “I cannot believe you’ve finally come home. How we’ve missed you, my boy.”

  Dagr smiled, attempting to mask his pain.

  “We wasted so much time,” the Duke said. “We never told you how much we loved you when we had the chance… and we chased you away.”

  Dagr glanced over his shoulder.

  “I’ll give you two some time alone,” the nurse said. “I’ll be outside. Yell if you need me.”

  “Thank you,” Dagr murmured and watched a moment as she headed for the door. Once it clicked closed, he spun to face his grandfather. “I know now. That’s all that matters.”

  His grandfather clutched his arms. “I was so busy, struggling to recover the estate’s losses after losing that ship and its cargo. I focused on that instead of the pain of losing my son. I should’ve strived harder, especially as I recognized Catherine was in so much pain from Christophe’s loss, too. Both our hearts were broken. And you suffered because of that.”

  “But it crafted me into the man I am today… and I refuse to imagine being anyone else.”

  “I’ve heard the tales,” his grandfather murmured with a smile and a wink. But then that smile faded. His grandfather blinked a few times, and the fog seemed to return to his eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?”

  A stabbing pain sliced through Dagr. He gasped at the depth of it. He rose quickly. “I’m your grandson.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  Dagr took a step away before calling the nurse back in. She reappeared as his grandfather grew anxious and demanded Dagr leave his room. He left, struggling with the emotions of that sudden shift and the loss of his grandfather before his very eyes.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs, his grandmother was waiting for him.

  “How was he?”

  “He remembered me.” Dagr sighed. “And then it was like he was lost.”

  “It comes in spells,” she said. “Some days are better than others. The most recent ones have not been good… so it’s a small miracle he remembered you at all. Hold on to that.” She took his arm. “How about that tea? I’ve got Evelyn cleaning your room and readying it for you. I’m aware you have no trunk with you, but we can send one of the footmen to fetch it from the castle.” She paused mid-step and gazed up at him. “Beouf de Burgundy was your favorite. I’ll see if chef can prepare it tomorrow night. We’ll have venison tonight. Perhaps you and Mr. Briggsby can catch a few fish while out surveying the lan
ds for the night after.”

  Dagr chuckled. “Mr. Briggsby?”

  “Our estate manager, of course. You don’t think I can handle everything myself, do you?”

  “I’d say you were more than formidable enough to do it, grandmother.”

  She smiled, clucking her tongue. “I once was. Not so much these days.” She cocked her head and eyed him. “Not meaning I’m easy to push over, mind you. I can be quite shrewd when I need to be.”

  “I don’t doubt it. Not for one second.”

  His grandmother grinned and led him back to her parlor and the waiting tea.

  A few weeks later…

  Llyr swam through the passageways of the castle, numb. He blindly floated through the current within, not seeing anyone or anything he passed. After two weeks of lying abed, he simply needed to do something other than sleep and cry. He looked at nothing—neither merfolk nor object—as he swam within his prison walls.

  Until he reached a familiar passageway, a few metres away from where mermen labored. His heart clenched as he watched stone by stone filling the chasm behind the statue—the one that had afforded him one small ounce of freedom. Knowing it was there, hidden away, had kept him sane over the years. His and Ryland’s secret. Since his homecoming, there had been a guard there, to prevent his escape, but somehow it was still there. Potential untapped. Now that potential was lost and the castle truly was his prison.

  How many times had he and Ryland snuck out over his lifetime. He could still remember the exhilaration he’d had upon exiting that labyrinth the first time. A whole new world had spread out before him in that moment. His mind drifted to his friend. Llyr still hadn’t unearthed where Ryland was or what had happened to the alpha. What price had the male paid for assisting Llyr? He bit back the tears stinging the backs of his eyes, too numb to allow any more to fall.

  “What are you doing floating out here?”

  Llyr ignored Prawnsby’s question. He continued to stare, the masochist that he was.

  “Your Highness? This pouting of yours is only harming you, no one else. You realize you cannot be with those humans. Move on. You’ll soon have a troth to the son of one of the sea’s most powerful families. Give Alphonse a chance.”