A Stranger's Touch

by Anne Herries

  ‘Yes, my love, you have but I shall forgive you. You did not know how much I loved you, for I did not make myself plain. I used you at first and I deserted you after I thought you one of the wreckers. My love and trust grew more slowly than yours, because I had never truly known love. Loving you was a new experience and at first it frightened me.’

  ‘Nothing frightens you,’ she challenged.

  ‘The thought of losing you terrifies me. I was afraid of falling in love, and then, when I did, my mother almost destroyed what we had. I do not pity you, Morwenna. I ask you to take pity on me, for if you will not have me I must live alone. I could never risk my heart again. It hurts too much when you are not by.’

  ‘Rupert.’ She reached up to touch his face, looking at him in wonder. ‘Do you truly love me so much, my darling?’

  ‘With my heart, my soul, my body I thee worship,’ he said. ‘I would have you to love and to hold all my life long, if you will have me?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said and the sob was almost laughter. ‘Forgive me for hurting you. I did not think my leaving would trouble you so much.’

  ‘You almost killed me,’ he said. ‘I thought I might have lost your love and trust.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said and tangled her fingers in his hair, bringing his face down to hers. ‘Kiss me, Rupert. Love me now and there is nothing in the world that matters outside this room, this bed, except our love.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘Are you well, Morwenna?’ Jacques asked as he came upon her sitting in the garden at Melford Hall. ‘Rupert charged me to take care of you while he was gone. You are very close to your time.’

  It was almost the beginning of June and the sun was shining in the sheltered garden. The rain of the previous night had left everything smelling fresh and clean, and the showers had brought on the spring flowers.

  ‘I am quite well for the moment, though my back was aching terribly a short time ago.’ She smiled as her brother sat beside her on the wooden bench. ‘Where is May?’

  ‘She is talking to the cook, I think. She wanted to make sure they prepared something light and tasty to please you, Morwenna, because she knows anything rich upsets you at the moment.’

  ‘She is such a thoughtful girl and so kind to me,’ Morwenna said and reached out to take his hand. ‘I think you like her very well, Jacques.’

  ‘Who would not like May? She is such a sweet, gentle girl.’

  ‘Not at all like your sister?’ Morwenna laughed as he hesitated, arching one eyebrow. ‘I know, I know. My temper hath been pushed too far of late. I do not know why Rupert puts up with me.’

  ‘Because he loves you, of course. Good grief, he has only left you now because there was an urgent message from the castle saying his mother was ill and wished to see him before she died. He was in two minds whether to go, but felt it his duty to see her if she was truly ill.’

  ‘I know. He is the best husband any woman could have,’ she said and smiled. ‘I am foolish but at times.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘It is just my silly fancy. I suppose at such times women are entitled to be a little apprehensive. If the child comes too soon and he is not here …’

  ‘Rupert will return as soon as he can,’ Jacques said. ‘You are not due for another two weeks—are you?’

  ‘I know. Yet I have been feeling so odd and I keep wishing Rupert was here with me.’

  ‘You have May—and me, dearest.’

  ‘I suppose I am anxious about Rupert. His mother … I am worried, Jacques. Worried that she might do him some harm. He believes she still hates him, because of what happened to his brother.’

  ‘You worry needlessly. Rupert is a strong man, what harm could she do him? Since she asked to see him to beg his pardon and make her peace before she dies it is most unlikely that she wishes him harm. He will be home before the child is born.’

  ‘Yes, I know I am foolish.’ Morwenna rose to her feet, took a step forwards and twisted her foot. As she fell, Jacques tried to catch her, but was too late. She caught at him and steadied herself, landing on her knees. He knelt by her side, looking down at her anxiously. ‘How silly of me …’

  ‘Here, let me help you, dear heart.’ Jacques lifted her to her feet and held her as she swayed. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

  ‘My ankle caught. It was just a little tumble. A shock, no more. I shall be perfectly fine in a few moments.’

  ‘Take my arm. We shall go in together. I will help you to your room. I think perhaps you should rest this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, I shall.’ Morwenna smiled at him. ‘Forgive me for worrying you. I know Rupert will be safe enough. It was just a queasy feeling inside—perhaps the berry tart I had earlier.’

  ‘You will feel better soon,’ Jacques told her. ‘Look, May has come to meet us—perhaps she has some news.’

  ‘A letter has come from Rupert,’ May said as she came up to them. ‘I think it must be grave news for the courier had ridden hard to bring it. Shall I open it for you, Morwenna?’

  ‘I will open it.’ Morwenna took it with shaking fingers. She saw at once that it was not Rupert’s writing, but that of his agent. ‘He says …’ She gave a little cry and clutched at Jacques’s arm. ‘Rupert is hurt! There was a fire in the castle tower and he tried to save his mother.’

  Jacques put his arm about her as she swayed. He took the paper from her nerveless fingers and read the last paragraph aloud.

  ‘The Dowager Marchioness is dead. She had been ill of a fever and we think she turned dizzy on rising and knocked over a candle, setting fire to the bedding. The alarm was raised and the Marquis tried to save her. He managed to carry her down to the great hall, but she died soon after. My lord received some burns to his hands and asked me to send this letter. You are not to worry and he will be home as soon as he is able to travel.’

  ‘I must go to him,’ Morwenna moaned. ‘He may be dying. I knew. I knew something bad had happened …’ She clutched at her brother. ‘I must go to him. You must take me to him at once.’

  ‘Are you sure, Morwenna? You are so close to your time. Rupert would not forgive me if anything should happen to you or the child.’

  ‘If you will not take me, I shall go alone.’

  ‘Morwenna, you can’t travel alone,’ May protested, horrified. ‘If you go we shall go with you, to care for you.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear sister,’ Morwenna said and smiled at her. ‘Let us go in and pack.’ She started towards the stairs and then gave a little scream as the pain ripped through her. ‘No … no … not now. It must not happen now.’ She looked down at the skirt of her gown and saw the wet stain. ‘My waters have broken.’

  ‘That settles it,’ Jacques said grimly. ‘Up to your chamber. I’ll send for the physician and the midwife immediately. You must give birth to your child before you think of travelling to Rupert’s side.’

  Morwenna gasped and clutched at herself as the pain swept through her. ‘I fear you are right, Brother. My child would be born before I could reach him—but you must go. You must go and discover how he is and send word as soon as you can.’

  ‘I cannot leave you at such a time,’ Jacques began to protest, but May smiled and placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘You must go, sir. Morwenna has me to care for her and her servants. I swear to you on my life that I will tend her and love her in your place. She will worry—we shall all worry about Rupert until we have more news.’

  Jacques inclined his head. ‘Very well, I shall do as you ask. Forgive me that I must leave you in such distress.’

  Morwenna shook her head, biting her lip as the pain increased. ‘Go and bring me news, for I cannot bear that he should be alone.’

  ‘He has servants.’ Jacques saw the look in her eyes. ‘But he needs a friend at such a time and he will be anxious for news of you. At least I can tell him your child will soon be born.’

  Morwenna gasped, but did not reply. May took her arm, urging her up the stairs to her chamber. The pain
was terrible, but she would not cry out until her brother was on his way, for if he guessed how she suffered he would not leave her.

  They had thought the birth would be soon after her waters broke, but to Morwenna her ordeal seemed to go on and on, as wave after of wave of pain shuddered through her. She could no longer hold her screams and May encouraged her to pull hard on the rope that had been tied to the bedposts.

  ‘You are a good brave lady,’ May told her as she bathed her forehead with a cool cloth. ‘I wish I had something to give you, but I do not think a tisane would help. Besides, you must not sleep for you need to push when the pain comes.’

  ‘Something is wrong. Why does my baby not come?’

  Morwenna arched, tossing on the pillow as she felt the pain once more. She did not know how much more she could bear and the physician had not yet come to her.

  Even as she screamed out again, the door opened and he entered, a small man with a pointed beard, long dark gown and a grave face.

  ‘Your waters broke an hour gone,’ he said. ‘Yet the child hath not come. I shall examine you, but I think it may be that I must turn the child—or cut you.’

  ‘Help her, sir, for she is in much pain,’ May said, hovering anxiously as he approached the bed.

  The physician bent over her and lifted her night chemise, his hands gentle and sure as they carried out a brief examination. He shook his head, looking from the young woman in the bed to her companion and the servant hovering near by with pans of hot water and cloths.

  ‘Where is the Marquis? I need to talk with him.’

  ‘My brother is not here. He has had an accident. You may talk to me in his place.’

  The physician looked at Morwenna, then led May aside to give her his opinion. ‘I shall try to turn the babe, but if it will not come I may have to use forceps—or, as a last resort, cut the Marchioness. At such times I would normally ask the husband if he wished the child or his wife to be saved.’

  ‘What?’ May gave a cry of distress. ‘Why must there be a choice? You must save both of them.’

  ‘That may not be possible.’

  ‘Then you must save Morwenna. She is more important than the child. They can have more children …’ She saw the doubts in his face and caught back a sob. ‘It must be her, for my brother would not forgive you if you let her die.’

  ‘What are you whispering about?’ Morwenna said, reared up and looked at them, then put her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, taking a step towards them. ‘Save my child, sir. I beg you to save my child at whatever cost.’

  ‘I shall do my best for both of you, madam. Lie down again or you may do yourself damage,’ the doctor said and came to the bed as Morwenna fell back against her pillows. ‘What I must do now will be painful for you, but it is the best chance for both. If I can turn the babe and then—’ He broke off as Morwenna screamed and arched wildly. ‘God be praised! ‘Tis a miracle. The babe hath turned itself. I can help you now without harm to either.’

  Morwenna was grunting as she pushed. Something must have happened when she moved so violently and the babe had turned and now its head was through and then, all in a rush, it came slithering into the world covered in mucus and blood.

  ‘Is the babe healthy?’ Morwenna asked weakly as she lay back, her strength gone as the doctor and May worked over her, making her comfortable and tidy. ‘Have we a son or a daughter?’

  ‘You have a son,’ May said and smiled at her. ‘He has all his fingers and toes—and he is perfect. He looks much like you for his hair is reddish brown.’

  ‘Rupert has a son,’ Morwenna said and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. ‘Pray God he lives to see him.’

  She touched the babe’s head tenderly as he was placed in her arms. ‘I think we shall call him Edward Rupert Melford. He is beautiful and he has his father’s eyes.’

  ‘Yes, he is beautiful,’ May said, watching her suckle the babe. ‘As beautiful a child as I ever saw—just like his mother.’

  Morwenna reached out a hand to her. ‘Thank you, dear heart, for being with me and helping me through the pain.’

  ‘We are sisters and friends,’ May said. ‘I know that you would do the same for me if I were ever fortunate enough to wed and have a child.’

  Morwenna smiled. ‘I do not think it needs good fortune, May. Jacques loves you and I think you love him.’ She saw the heat in the younger girl’s cheeks. ‘If he has not spoken, it is because he thinks you are too far above him.’

  ‘How could he be so foolish? He is all I have ever hoped for.’ Her blush grew deeper. ‘Perhaps I should tell him how I feel.’ She bent down to take the babe as Morwenna finished suckling him. ‘You should rest now for a while.’

  ‘Yes, I am tired. I believe you should speak to—’ Morwenna was startled as she heard the sound of running feet, heavy feet—a man’s feet. As the door of her chamber was flung open, her heart was pounding. Was it Jacques? Had he come to tell her bad news?

  A man entered and her heart caught. Rupert had clearly ridden hard, for his boots and hose were covered in mud from the roads. She saw that he had a linen bandage across one eye and half his face—and his left hand was also swathed in bandages.

  ‘Morwenna! I met Jacques on the road and he told me you had begun your labour.’ His right eye went to the bundle of swaddling in his sister’s arms. ‘The child is born. We have a child.’

  ‘We have a son, Rupert,’ Morwenna said. ‘Show him, May. Show Rupert his son.’

  Tears caught her throat, because she could see that her beloved husband had been burned in the fire his mother had started. His right cheek was not covered, but there was a red burn mark across his nose and she knew that his injuries must be serious to be bandaged so heavily. Emotion tore at her. He should not have ridden so far and so hard when he was in such pain. He must be in pain, for it could not be otherwise.

  ‘You should not have tried to reach me yet, my love. You are hurt.’

  ‘It is nothing. The physician says the blindness in my left eye is temporary. No real damage has been done; it was just the heat. There may be some scars, but it doesn’t signify.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t signify,’ Morwenna said and a single tear escaped to trickle down her cheek. ‘You are alive and here with me. Nothing else matters to me.’

  He came to take her hand, sitting on the edge of the bed as his sister and the doctor left the room together. Rupert reached for her hand and held it. His eyes searched her face.

  ‘You are well? I feared for you because the child came early.’

  ‘I am well. I thought they might have to use forceps, but in the end the babe came itself. We have been lucky, Rupert.’

  ‘Very lucky,’ he said and bent down to slide his lips over hers. ‘I am lucky that my burns were no worse—and that the fall did not break my neck.’

  ‘You pushed yourself hard to come to me.’

  ‘When I learned what my steward had written I knew you would be distraught and so I came at once.’

  ‘Foolish one. Jacques was coming to you because I could not.’

  ‘He told me so, dearest. I could not bear that you should be in pain and I not with you. All is well now. I am here. We have our son and each other—what more could we need?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she whispered and reached out to touch his hand. ‘You, too, are in pain, my love. I wish I might tend your hurts, but May will do it in my stead until I am well. We have grown fond and she is dear to me.’

  ‘The pain will ease in time.’ He smiled and touched her hair, which was still damp with sweat. ‘As long as you are well nothing matters to me.’

  ‘Nothing matters but our love and those we love.’

  Rupert might bear scars where he had suffered burns to his face and hands, but it did not matter. His scars would not lessen her love for him. If anything, they would increase it, for she felt his suffering as if it were her own and wanted to ease him, to protect and bear his pain for him.

  ‘I love you, my d
earest one,’ she said. ‘I need a little time to recover, but then I would have another child. A daughter next time. I shall call her May after your sister.’

  ‘Jacques has asked my permission to speak to her about marriage. Do you think she will take him?’

  ‘I am certain of it,’ Morwenna said. ‘We shall be a true family. Rupert …’ She hesitated, then, ‘I am sorry that your mother died.’

  ‘At least she had made her peace with me. I think she might have learned to know and love you, dearest, had she lived. I regret her death in such a manner, but I know she could not have lived long. We shall mourn her for a time and then we’ll celebrate the wedding of your brother to my sister.’

  ‘You are happy that they will wed?’

  ‘Of course, dear heart. I am fond of Jacques. He has worked well here and I am thinking of giving them the estate as a wedding gift.’

  ‘Oh.’ A little frown touched her brow. ‘Where shall we live—not at the castle?’

  ‘The tower has burned down. I have decided not to replace it—and we shall not live there. I have already picked a favourable spot elsewhere on my estate. I shall set architects to work and a master builder; they will build us a fine manor house.’

  ‘I think I should like that,’ Morwenna said. ‘I love this house and something like it would be a real home for us.’

  ‘The castle was old when my father bought it. In winter we may be able to see its towers through the wood that separates it from our new house, but in summer we shall hardly know it is there. I intend to strip it of anything of value and let the walls crumble.’

  ‘In time it will become a mysterious ruin and tantalise our descendants as they puzzle over the people who once lived there.’

  ‘Yes, I dare say they will wonder why it became a ruin,’ Rupert said. ‘Now, I should leave you to sleep, my love, for you are tired.’

  ‘And you, too, should rest. Ask the physician to tend your hurts, Rupert. I am sure those burns must pain you.’

  ‘It is a pain I can bear,’ he said and leaned forwards to kiss her softly once more. ‘But I shall let him ease me if he can.’