They arrived in the Merricks’ tiny chamber on the ground floor. A big bed took up most of it, in which Catherine sat, rocking from side to side and holding her massive belly. The candle on the low table beside her was almost guttered, so Fay motioned for Batty to find more. There was no fire, but they were close enough to the kitchen to get a little residual warmth and the temperature wasn’t uncomfortable. There was nothing especially wrong with the chamber, just that it seemed shamefully small for two people.
She’d thought Mr. Merrick was a treasured worker at the castle, which was why he hadn’t left after he married, as the workers always did. Now she could see why they did, and also why Catherine had once complained about not living in the village. She wondered if she’d have enough clout with her father to beg a bigger chamber for them.
A guttural caterwauling tore her out of her home improvement thoughts. Catherine reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing hard enough to mash the bones together. Fay tried not to show any pain and sat on the edge of the bed, letting her hand get pulverized until the contraction stopped.
“How fast are the pains coming?” Fay asked, as if she had any idea what her answer would mean. It was just something she knew she should ask.
“Very bleeding fast,” Catherine ground out through gritted teeth. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to wake you.” She groaned miserably and collapsed against her pillows. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to rest a moment until the wee thing tries to kill me again.”
Fay looked at the giant rolling stomach. “I don’t think whoever’s in there is very wee.” She remembered something else she’d learned from her vast television watching experience. “Did your water break yet? I mean, was there a gush or anything?”
Catherine pointed weakly to a pile of linen stuffed in the corner. “Yes, it was a right mess, too.”
Fay couldn’t get over the fact that Catherine had apparently changed her bedding while in the midst of all that agony. “When was that, and when did you send for the midwife?”
“I sent for the midwife directly after supper, and that happened just a short while ago.” She pointed to the soiled sheets again. A moment later, she sat up, pressing on her back and grunting alarmingly.
Fay hurried to help her apply pressure to her lower back. “They really are coming very bleeding fast,” she said, then gasped. “But you said you sent for the midwife after supper? It’s got to be past midnight now. Why hasn’t she come yet?” Now wasn’t the time to be concerned with appearing ignorant, so she burst out with her next question. “How long should it take to get here from the village?”
She prayed it would be five hours, which was approximately how long ago supper had been. That would mean she’d be strolling through the gates at any moment. She felt terrible for forgetting to ask Sir Walter to have the midwife move in before Catherine’s time came. If she’d been more on top of things, both of them would be a lot more comfortable right now.
Catherine had to go through another contraction before she answered. “Not this long. She should have been here by now. I fear she’s not coming.”
“Then I have to get Great-uncle Edgar,” she said.
Catherine gripped her hand, eyes wide and fearful. “He hasn’t helped deliver a baby since you were born and, even then, your mother had the midwife with her.” Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook her head. “She told me about it herself the last time I saw her.”
“What about Mr. Merrick?” Fay thought this was a stroke of genius. As master of the horses, he must have had loads of experience delivering babies. How different could it be between the species? Fay was sure it was messy and painful for everyone.
“Ah, that’s a bit of an inconvenience, I’m afraid,” Catherine said, her voice rising in pain. “It turns out Sir Walter’s prized mare Artemus is foaling right now, and she’s quite a bit more valuable than I am.”
Batty returned with candles and more linen and puttered around, lighting the candles and fluffing Catherine’s pillow. If she was anywhere near as frazzled as Fay, she was hiding it well. Fay took a deep breath and wondered what was the worst thing that could happen. A million terrible things flooded her mind in the space of an instant. When Catherine had her next shrieking bout of pain, Fay pulled Batty aside.
“She doesn’t want the physician, but I think you should alert him anyway. He’s got to be better than just us. I don’t know why she’s so against him.”
By Fay’s standards, a lot of his cures seemed more harmful than good, but he’d helped Anne every time she had her coughing fits, he’d kept Tristan from getting an infection, and she herself hadn’t died from the foul water. Though that was at least partly because Anne had taken her at her word and hadn’t allowed her to be leeched. The main factor in wanting him there was that he’d had experience, albeit twenty odd years ago.
Batty looked embarrassed. “It’s probably because she heard what happened to you,” she said. They’d started out in low, secretive tones, but Catherine’s howls had reached wild dog pitch so they almost had to yell to hear each other.
“What happened?” Fay demanded.
Batty’s embarrassment turned to pity. “Well, he dropped you, didn’t he? Isn’t that why you’re so scatterbrained?”
“I am not scatterbrained,” Fay said, reining in her anger. The indignities of her curse just never ended. “And we won’t let him drop the baby. We can each stand on either side like this.” She dropped into a crouch with her hands held out in front of her, like an American football player waiting for a pass.
“I think it’s coming,” Catherine shouted, throwing one of the freshly lit candles across the room. It snuffed itself out midair and the holder landed with a clatter. “Dear God in heaven, someone please free me from this torment.”
Catherine continued to pray, or swear, or a combination of both, and Batty fled the room. Fay almost followed her, but knew she would never be able to live with herself. She prayed that Batty had gone for Great-uncle Edgar and not just abandoned them. Taking a deep breath, she tried to get Catherine to lie back so she could examine her.
Of course she had no idea if what she was looking at was normal, or the beginnings of a tragedy. The bloody mess would definitely haunt her nightmares until her final days.
“Oh, I really, really, do not know anything about birthing babies,” she muttered, pressing experimentally on Catherine’s belly. Someone kicked her from within and she grabbed Catherine’s knee to keep from passing out. “Do you feel like you need to push?”
“Yes,” Catherine panted. “I think I should do thaaaaaaaat …” the last got drawn out into another contraction as she sat up and heaved. This time, amazingly, Fay saw something that had to be a baby head.
“Oh my God, Catherine, keep doing what you’re doing. I can see your baby.”
She had goosebumps from head to toe, and broke out in a sweat to rival the poor woman doing all the work. Now she set to praying in earnest, trying not to recall what little she did from history class, involving the horrid mortality rate for infants in this time.
“I’ll try,” Catherine said, collapsing again.
Within seconds she was back to her sitting position, clinging to her knees and turning purple with exertion. Fay snapped to and propped up the extra linens and the couple’s two pillows so Catherine could rest more easily between contractions. She gave her sips of cider and kept checking for progress, but at least an hour passed with nothing more than Catherine’s continued suffering. Batty returned during that time, apologetic and teary. She’d alerted the physician and he’d said he’d be down when he could.
“What in the hell does that mean?” Fay growled, worn out from the screaming and stress.
“He says first babies take a long time. It might be tomorrow or the next day before he’s needed.”
“Then you must kill me now,” Catherine pleaded.
“Goodness,” Batty said with a shake of her head. “You must be brave. What if your little one can hear
you?”
Catherine lunged for Batty. When she jumped out of the way, another candle got chucked at her head, singeing her hair as it hurtled past. Before anyone could react to that outburst, Catherine lurched forward again, pushing with all her might.
“Tomorrow or the next day,” she panted. “I will be damned.” She continued to bear down and Fay took a peek.
“It’s coming!” she shrieked. “It’s really coming this time. I can see—”
Before she knew it, an entire infant gushed out onto the bed, along with a whole lot of blood and goo. Catherine made an animal noise of triumph and flopped backwards. Fay barely noticed through her tears as she reached for the silent baby. Hold it upside down? Smack it on the bottom?
“It’s a boy,” she sobbed, carefully picking him up.
She pushed the tip of her finger past his tiny bowed lips and gently prodded his chest. She turned him on his stomach, holding him a scant six inches above the bed, realizing now that it didn’t take a daft clumsy idiot to drop a brand new baby. The wee man was slippery. Finally, after an experimental tap on his miniature bum, he let out with an angry howl. Fay’s knees buckled in her relief and she hurriedly placed the baby on Catherine’s chest.
“A son. I’ve got a son.” The new mom’s arms enveloped him and Fay and Batty looked on, shaking and bawling with relief.
“So beautiful,” Fay gulped.
“It’s a miracle to be sure,” Batty cried.
Their shared joyous hysteria was short-lived. Catherine cringed and writhed in more pain, nearly dropping the newborn. Batty grabbed him and wrapped him in a cloth, placing him securely on the bed, wedging another cloth beside him for good measure.
“It’ll be the afterbirth, that’s all,” she said, now all of a sudden the wise expert.
Fay scowled at her and had a look. “Uh, I don’t think that’s afterbirth,” she said, dragging Batty around to see. Batty’s eyes bulged.
“Anne was right,” she said, clapping her hands. “It’s twins, Mrs. Merrick. You’ve got another on the way.”
“God help me,” Catherine groaned. “I give up. Bring the physician.”
Batty nodded and took off like a shot. Fay knelt beside the bed and reached for Catherine’s hand with one of hers, resting the other softly on the baby.
“Remind me never to do this,” Fay said, tears gathering again at the sight of the swaddled infant, all red and squished and perfect. “Whatever made you think this was a good idea?”
Catherine laughed weakly. “Foolish girl. The way you’re looking at wee Robert there makes me think it won’t be long at all before you go down this road yourself.”
“I think you just made yourself a bet,” Fay said, still shaking. “Made it and lost it, my friend.”
*
Fay fell face first into her bed. It was close to dawn and she didn’t want to fall asleep and miss her meeting with Tristan. She only wanted to rest a moment. She couldn’t wait to tell him about the babies and how, at first, she’d been a terrible coward. But then she’d been heroically brave. While waiting for the physician, she’d worked up a good bit of confidence thinking she could easily deliver the second baby. After all, the first one had practically delivered himself. It had been a good thing Great-uncle Edgar was finally dragged from his bed. The second one proved troublesome, wanting to come out backwards, and it had taken a great deal of prodding and twisting to get her to come out.
Fay squirmed with sympathy pains as she recalled the terror and anguish Catherine had gone through to get angelic little Mary into the world. No one would ever know it to look at her, but she’d very nearly killed her mother. Fay was glad it was over, overjoyed that everyone was alive and no one had been dropped, she’d seen to that.
The light at the window told her she had to get up and go down to meet Tristan, but her aching limbs and back begged her to stay lying down for another minute.
Another minute, then, she agreed. There would be plenty of time to get a good sleep in after her date, and she couldn’t wait to see him again. Just one more minute of rest first.
Chapter 18
Sir Tristan arose and dressed on his own, not wanting Brom to know more than he had to about his feelings for Lady Fay. He’d had to send his squire on an errand to the village, so Brom knew more than he should. But every time he asked an impertinent question about his relationship with her, Tristan shut him up with a look.
He turned the cloth bag over in his hand, feeling its contents rolling around inside. He hadn’t wanted to be so bold as to have a ring made for her, but he thought she might like the silver coil bracelet with three tiny rubies embedded in it. He’d been adamant about the rubies, telling Brom not to come back without something that had the red stones. She was so fiery and truly set him aflame every time she was near him, he felt the color suited her.
He still had his reservations about her oddness, but she seemed normal and coherent most of the time. He thought he could still save her from her proclivities if only she would allow him to ask for her hand in marriage. Once she was ensconced in Dernier Keep, he’d nip that reading habit in the bud. He didn’t want her to be unhappy, but hoped he could keep her busy enough that she wouldn’t miss that foul pastime of hers. He grinned, thinking about all the ways he’d like to entertain her, so eager to take her in his arms again.
Fortunately, no one was in the courtyard. But when he made his way back to the low, round door that led to the fishery, there was a lad that had his nets in a heap on the ground, readying to fish.
“Run along, lad, I wish to be alone here for a while.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir Tristan, but the cook will beat me later if I don’t bring him fish for breakfast.”
Tristan raised a brow. “And I shall beat you now if you don’t leave.”
The boy put his face in his hands, but the choice was clear. He left his net and took off. Tristan made a mental note to speak to the cook about not beating the boy and, in a moment of magnanimity, gathered up the net. There was no reason he couldn’t toss it in the stream while he had his visit with Lady Fay. When the boy returned, his work would mostly be done for him and he’d only have to pull in the catch.
He sat on the flat rock and looked at the gently running stream, counting the fish that jumped out and splashed back beneath the surface. He’d got to double digits when he started wondering how long he’d already been waiting. He paced along the creekside for a bit, then peeked out the small door. No one, not even a sign of the boy coming back for his net. The sun was getting high enough in the sky where he couldn’t wait much longer. The boys would be gathering on the training field and Sir Walter might be out again to watch. He loved rehashing his days on the battlefield with Tristan. And Tristan liked to think Sir Walter already thought of him as a son-in-law.
If the daughter ever showed up to be wooed. He paced around a bit more on the inside of the inner wall until the kitchen boy finally showed up again. He waved the lad through the door, knowing it was time to give up. Their rendezvous was not to be. He hoped she wasn’t ill again. It hadn’t been long since her recuperation. Maybe she had overexerted herself. He headed to the great hall to grab a bit of breakfast, knowing someone would let him know if Lady Fay were under the weather again.
While he prayed she was well, it would give him an excuse to visit her in her chamber if she wasn’t feeling well. It might be the only way to see her over the course of the next few days, with the way Sir Walter occupied his time, and the way that scoundrel Lord Drayton always snuck into supper early and stole the seat beside her.
None of the family sat at the high table, so he found a spot amongst the men, both his own and Lord Drayton’s and absentmindedly shoveled in enough bacon and bread to get him through the morning training. Brom wasn’t about or he would have any pertinent news already. A perusal of the rest of the hall revealed Batty wasn’t down yet, either. Now he was more worried than ever that Lady Fay was ill.
His appetite gone, he got up
to leave, running smack into Lord Drayton on his way out. It was the perfect end to an utterly dreadful morning. Tristan tried to ignore him, but the blustering buffoon loudly greeted him, actually holding him up with a hand on his chest.
Tristan put a stop to that familiarity with a look. “What is it, Drayton.” He caught himself from explaining he was late to practice, not owing that man any explanations.
“I wondered if you’d seen Sir Walter yet this morning,” Drayton answered, with a grin that set Tristan’s teeth on edge.
The man seemed to be taunting him without saying a word and he didn’t like it one bit. He imagined Lady Fay would like it if he was the bigger man in a situation such as this and merely shook his head.
“I have not,” he said.
He continued to block Tristan’s way, to the point where Tristan considered helping him out of it with force. “Not to worry,” Drayton said. Tristan shrugged. He hadn’t been worried. “I’m sure he’ll find me, as we have important plans to make.”
His worry level tipped slightly. “Is that so?” he said slowly, wishing he’d shoved past the man already. He could be halfway to the training field by now, or halfway to finding either Brom or Batty for news about Lady Fay.
“It, of course, won’t be made official for some time, I’m sure,” Drayton said, lowering his voice. “But I plan to ask for Lady Fay’s hand.” He paused, expecting Tristan to have something to say about that. Tristan had plenty he wanted to say, mostly with his fists.
“Is that so?” he asked again, feeling a twitch in his left eye. “You think he’ll be amenable to that?” He wanted to ask if she would be amenable and, to his horror, it was as if Lord Drayton read his mind.
“I’m certain, since I only spoke to Lady Fay about it last night. She gave me express permission to go ahead and approach Sir Walter. Now, if you’ll excuse me. As I said, I have important matters to attend.”
Drayton pushed passed Tristan as if he had been the one in the way. Tristan stood there, blindly gaping, then regained his composure enough to leave the great hall, sure every eye was on him. Drayton had spoken to Fay last night? He had spoken with her last night. Had Drayton met with her after they’d made their plans for this morning and made her a better offer?
Endearing (Knight Everlasting Book 1) Page 17
