by Jeanne Hardt
“Daughter?” The baby bawled loud enough for the sound to carry through the bakery walls.
Dane let out a nervous-sounding laugh, hugged Sebastian, then flew inside. The baker’s cottage would not produce any loaves of bread anytime soon, but the people of Padrida would understand.
“A girl?” Sebastian asked.
“Yes. Olive, after me.”
“I like it. Though, it has me thinking …” He put his arms around her and peered downward. “We have not chosen a name for our child. Boy or girl.”
“Our minds have been occupied with other things.” She gestured to the door. “Would you like to see little Olive?”
“Not now. This moment should be cherished by them alone. We can come again later.” Smiling broadly, he lifted his face to the sun. “Two weeks of blissful quiet. Maybe all our worries have been for naught.”
The baby’s wailing continued.
Olivia laughed. “Not so quiet now, but that is a sound I treasure.”
“Treasure? Rosalie and Dane shall not sleep anytime soon. I imagine we have that to anticipate as well. We should treasure our lack of current responsibility.” With a wink, he took her hand and led her along the pathway to the orchard.
She loved seeing him untroubled and at ease. Yet she knew boredom had led him to her all those months ago. Hopefully, their baby would offer him enough adventure to satisfy his needs.
She gave his hand a little squeeze. “Our child will change the way we live.”
“A change I gladly anticipate.”
They walked along, carefree. Birds chirped in the trees, and a slight breeze rustled the leaves. As lovely as her surroundings were, unpleasant memories rushed in.
She stopped and faced Sebastian. “Do you recall when I told you about Justine being Donovan’s lover?”
“His name is one I prefer unheard, but yes, I remember.”
“I kept a small detail from you.”
He tipped his head to one side. “One you want to share now?”
She nodded. “Justine told me she was carrying his child. But because of the shame her family already endured over her relationship with Donovan, when the child is born, they intend to pass it off as her sister’s.”
“Donovan’s seed,” Sebastian muttered under his breath.
“Yes. I have prayed the child will not have his evil spirit.”
“Has it been born?”
“Not yet. Rosalie said Jacqueline, Justine’s sister, has not gone out as of late, and it is rumored she has been put to bed rest. Of course, I know full well, it is Justine who is about to give birth. She and Rosalie were due to deliver around the same time.”
He motioned to a patch of grass, and they sat.
“How do the people here not know which woman actually carries the child? Can they not see it?”
“Justine told me Jacqueline was to pad her clothing. And since Justine was banished from the evening meal, no one has seen her in all these months. I promised her I would see to it she is allowed to return after her delivery. Her child must not view her as an outcast, even though it will not be told she is its mother.”
He scooted over to the trunk of an apple tree, leaned against it, and frowned.
Olivia moved to his side. “Are you upset because I did not tell you this sooner?”
“There was no need, but I confess, it troubles me.” He beckoned her closer, and she lay against his chest. “If Donovan lives and is aware he has a child, he would have even greater reason to come here.”
“How could he know? Justine told me he was unaware of her condition.”
“We have been gone many months. Donovan may have found a way to enter Padrida undetected. We should consider visiting Justine.”
Olivia sat upright. The thought of Donovan anywhere close sent unpleasant chills over her skin. His potential presence alone gave her a good reason to learn how to wield a blade. “Not we. I alone should go to her. You must go along with the ruse, because I promised to keep her secret safe.”
“Very well. However, a secret of this magnitude is bound to come out eventually. And if Justine perishes in childbirth …”
“Then her family will burn her remains and the kingdom will be nonethe-wiser.” Olivia mindlessly plucked at the blades of grass, saddened by the thought.
“Do not let your fears for her replace the joy of Rosalie’s birthing. Today is to be celebrated.” He pointed upward. “Tonight, the moon will be full, and if all goes as planned, Jonah will be knighted.”
Olivia pushed herself up from the ground and peered skyward. No clouds hovered anywhere close, and the brilliant blue hue went on endlessly. “I am sorry you will not be there for him. I only wish we would receive some kind of word from Basilia. I feel as if we are completely detached from the rest of the world.” She looked down at Sebastian. “Just as I used to be.”
He shielded his eyes from the sun, gazing up at her. “Are you not happy here?”
“Yes, and no.” She found his simple question complex and difficult to answer. “Though complicated, freedom has its virtues. But, until our child is born, I want to remain where we are safe, and that is here.”
“And yet, you long for news, as do I. Perhaps I should venture out and seek answers.”
“No.” She knelt beside him. “I do not want you to leave and risk losing you forever.”
Nodding, he drew her into his arms and lay flat back, bringing her with him. “We shall wait as patiently as we can for word from Basilia. Jonah vowed to keep me informed.”
“And in the meantime?” She locked eyes with him. “While we wait?”
“We love.” He rolled her onto her back and kissed her.
She made no objections.
It took some doing for Olivia to convince her mother that she could go off on her own to visit Jacqueline. For a brief moment, Olivia had feared her mother would suggest she go with her, which would ruin everything.
But, her mother had not consorted with the common folk since she became queen. She preferred to remain in the castle, and that had not changed—even with Olivia in her delicate condition. Once Olivia vowed to keep her visit short, her mother agreed to let her go.
Sebastian and Severin were busy observing the guards, as well as taking stock of all the able men in the realm to see who they wanted to train first. Her father had insisted they not alarm their people, and they did all they could to pass off their persistent scrutiny as an attempt to hone the king’s sentries and increase their number. The men of the realm deemed it an honor to be considered, so they questioned nothing.
Olivia had filled a basket with items for Justine’s baby. She procured several diapers, a few blankets, and a tiny gown. Several of the Padridan seamstresses had been sewing abundant infant clothing, what with all the coming babies. The woman Olivia had obtained the gown from found it commendable that Olivia would take the time to look in on Jacqueline.
The closer Olivia came to Justine’s cottage, the harder her heart pounded.
The wee cry of a newborn reached her ears, long before she drew close enough to rap on the door. She almost turned and fled, but she forced herself to continue on. It was silly to fear a child.
Her hand hovered for several seconds in midair, then she knocked hard. The crying grew louder, along with numerous shuffling footsteps.
The door inched open a crack. “Your Highness?” Justine’s mother, Jena, poked her face through the opening. “Why have you come?”
Olivia held her head high and lifted the basket. “I was told Jacqueline’s baby was soon to arrive, and I brought some things for the child. From the sound I hear, it would seem I have impeccable timing.”
Jena eyed her suspiciously. “How did you know to come here and not to Jacqueline and Reginald’s dwelling?”
“Will you not invite me in?” Olivia had no intention of discussing her reasoning, while on the stoop of the woman’s home.
Jena glanced nervously over her shoulder, then slowly opened the door. “Forgive me, Highness. Bu
t in all our days, we have not had a visit from anyone in the royal family.”
“Then it is overdue.” Olivia smiled and walked in.
The woman’s husband, Baylor, paced on the far side of the room, wringing his hands. He stopped abruptly and bowed to her. “Welcome, Highness.”
“Thank you.”
A fire crackled in their meager fireplace, where what looked to be a pot of stew hung simmering. But what truly caught Olivia’s eyes was the small bundle held by Jacqueline, who sat in a rocking chair beside the fire.
Lovely in her own right, yet nowhere close to the beauty of her sister, Jacqueline lifted her fear-filled eyes and met Olivia’s gaze. “Your Highness.”
“Good day, Jacqueline. Forgive my intrusion. I was unaware your child had already come.”
“He was born last night,” she whispered, as if she feared revealing it.
He.
Donovan had a son. The child writhed in her arms, painfully crying.
“I believe he is hungry.” Olivia smiled, then handed the basket to Jena. “In all honesty, I came to see Justine. I assume she is here.”
The woman rapidly licked her lips. “She has been unwell. She is resting.” She pointed at a closed door.
Olivia decided to end this charade. “I should take the child to her and allow it to be fed.”
“What?” Jena almost dropped the basket, and Baylor rushed to her side.
“How could Justine tend the babe?” His face paled, as if he might be ill. “Jacqueline is his mother.”
Olivia shook her head. “You have nothing to fear. I know the truth, but I will not reveal it. Now please, let me take the child to Justine, before he sickens himself from crying.”
They nodded at her, frowning.
As Jacqueline relinquished the baby boy, she whimpered.
“I will not hurt him.” Olivia carefully took the newborn into her arms and held him close. Such a warm, tiny creature to be in the middle of such a mess.
Rosalie’s baby had been born with tufts of red hair, but nothing like the mass of black on the top of this boy’s head. He craned his neck and his tiny lips puckered, searching.
Baylor opened the closed door and bowed as Olivia passed.
Being a royal had its advantages. No one would dare challenge her wishes.
She shut the door behind her, so they would not be disturbed.
Justine lay abed. Her eyes drooped half shut. Upon seeing Olivia, they held questions, but otherwise, scarcely a glimmer of life. The birthing must have been terribly hard on her.
Olivia went to the side of the bed. “Your son needs to nurse. Are you able?”
Grunting, Justine carefully pushed herself into a seated position, then opened her gown and reached for the child.
Olivia gently set him in the crook of her arm. He wiggled and squirmed, but latched onto his mother’s breast almost instantly. His tiny body finally stilled as he contented himself against her.
Justine said nothing, and silent tears trickled from her eyes.
A wooden stool sat in the corner of the room, so Olivia grabbed it, moved it close to the bed, and sat. “I can see you love him.”
Justine sniffled and stroked the boy’s small head. “More than I ever thought possible.”
“Have you given him a name?”
She swallowed hard. “Randal. Jacqueline chose it.”
“It is a fine name and fitting. Does it not mean secretive?”
Justine’s face puckered, and she cried harder.
“Forgive me. I fear I am not thinking clearly. If I had been, I would not have said it. But the child looks so much like his father, and …”
Olivia pushed aside her own tears. She would not cry over Donovan.
Aside from the sound of the suckling babe, silence hung around them like a dark, deadly void.
Justine readjusted herself and sat higher against the pillows. She dabbed at her tears with the corner of Randal’s blanket. “Reginald is Randal’s father.” Her words held conviction, but even so, Olivia could tell Justine hated saying them. She stared longingly at her baby. “Donovan will never know he has a son.”
A sense of comfort flooded over Olivia. Justine would not have voiced such a claim if she had made contact with Donovan.
“You will always hold the truth in your heart,” Olivia said. “An opportunity may one day arise, when you are able to reveal it to the child.”
“No.” Justine looked away. “It would hurt my sister. She needs this baby, as does Reginald. Once Randal is weaned, I will have little contact with him. It will be best for all of us.”
“Maybe so.” Olivia stood, having heard all she needed to know. “I will abide by my promise and beseech my mother to allow your entry to the evening meal. You have suffered long enough.”
Justine’s eyes slowly lifted. “My suffering will never end. A shattered heart cannot be mended.” She shifted her gaze to Olivia’s belly. “You are fortunate. Nothing will prevent you from sharing every blessed moment with your child.”
Olivia could think of nothing to say in response. Justine’s obvious pain also held jealousy, and perhaps a bit of blame cast on Olivia for Donovan’s absence.
“I pray you recover quickly,” Olivia finally said, then stood and walked out of the room.
She passed by the others and left the cottage without uttering another word.
Even in absence, Donovan rendered pain.
Chapter 30
Mirella shuffled into the kitchen, staring at the floor. Frederick needed to remind her to hold her head high. If she went about acting ashamed, the other servants might suspect something. He could not have that, or he would be forced to send her away.
Even now, Ercilia was eyeing the girl.
Frederick strode across the floor. “Did you lose something, Mirella?”
“Sire?” She lifted her head, questioning with her eyes.
“You gaze at the floor as if searching.” He smiled and chuckled. “It is best to keep your eyes up, otherwise you might stumble into something.”
He glanced at Ercilia, whose own eyes now focused downward on the bread she kneaded.
“Yes, Highness.” Mirella pointed behind her. “There is a man at our door. He asked to speak with you.”
“Who is he?”
“I do not know. I have never seen him before. N-Not that I look at the men who come here.”
Her foible in front of Ercilia would not go unpunished.
“Such a silly child,” Frederick said, laughing. “Go to the man and tell him I will be there momentarily.”
She dipped her head and backed from the room. No wonder. Had Ercilia not been present, Frederick would have soundly smacked the girl’s behind in a manner that was anything but playful. Mirella knew she had blundered. Though young, she was not ignorant. He had punished her failings before.
Once the girl left, Frederick wandered close to Ercilia. “Have you something you wish to say?”
“No, Highness.” She kept her attention on the dough, beating it with her fist a bit harder than necessary.
“When I am king, I shall move into my uncle’s castle. He has many cooks. If you want to retain your position, I suggest you keep your lips sealed in my regard.” He lifted a knife from the chopping block, then plunged it into the wood, close to the mound of dough.
Ercilia gasped, but kept kneading. “I know nothing but serving you, Highness.”
“Yes. You and your boys would not do well cast out like stray dogs. As you are aware, dogs that run amok and disturb me, do not live to fetch scraps.” He clapped his hands together a single time and chuckled when she once again startled. “You should get more rest, Ercilia. You seem a little on edge.” He poked a finger into the dough, then patted her fat face.
Her lips twitched into a crooked, forced smile. “Shall I cook more for your guest?”
“Until I am certain he is a guest, no. I will send Mirella to tell you otherwise if I find it necessary.”
“Yes,
sire.” She bowed her head, then dusted more flour over the dough.
Ercilia might soon have to be overcome in a misfortunate accident. She had seen and heard too much over the past months, and Frederick could not risk being betrayed. Threats only went so far. He had to be certain she would not speak, but he would ponder how to carry it out later. After he discovered who was at his door.
Before going to the main entry, Frederick went to his bedchamber. He secured a knife to a strap on his boot, then attached his sheathed sword in place on his hip. He could never be too careful.
With confidence and caution, he approached the stranger.
The rugged-looking man dressed scarcely better than a commoner and reeked of horse dung.
Upon seeing Frederick, he bowed low. “Good day, Highness,” he mumbled and stood erect.
“We shall see. Who are you, and what brings you here?”
The vile man smirked. “My name is Roderick. I serve King Roland as a stable hand.”
“That explains your offensive smell.” Frederick rubbed his fingers over his nose, eyeing him even closer. “A man with your fortitude should be working as a guard, not shoveling dung.”
“I was a sentry for King Boden of Padrida, but I was brought here to serve your king.” Roderick’s grin broadened. “I attend whoever I am forced to, but I have only one true master.”
“So, you are a Crenian.” Frederick grunted. “I should have known. You all reek.”
Roderick’s smug expression practically melted off his face, turning into something more spiteful. “I came to offer what I know you want, and yet you insult me. You should be falling at my feet in gratitude.”
The man intrigued him. “Let me guess. Your one true master is God, and you have come to offer your deepest sympathy over the passing of my wife and child. Have I determined your purpose?”
“I thought you were more intelligent.” Roderick shook his head. “Ever since I arrived in Basilia, my eyes have been on you. I see and hear everything that goes on in this blasted kingdom.”
In two quick strides, Frederick had the man in his grasp and pinned him against the wall. Oddly, Roderick did not struggle.
Frederick put his face close to his. “Tell me why I should not run you through with my sword?”
