And by then, it might very well be too late.
For her and her child.
Her heart surged, and determination steeled her against another onslaught of pain.
“Help me, Mama.” She whispered the words once again, this time clasping the talisman at her breast.
A’laya felt the pull to open her eyes, but the immense pain threatened to drag her back into the darkness. She was no longer on the floor or standing near her bed. She remembered making it into the hallway and screaming until she’d been reduced to gravely whimpers, but finally, an upstairs maid had discovered her collapsed against the wall.
The duchess had been summoned, and A’laya had been returned to her bed, the older woman mortified to see her in such a state.
She’d promised to send for the midwife, and she’d vowed to send a servant to London to collect Pierce. She’d sworn to A’laya the baby would survive the birth.
A’laya had made promises, too.
Without keeping them.
The warmth of the heavy blankets pulled up to her neck had perspiration breaking out along her forehead, and she longed to kick them from the bed and expose her overheated body to the cool winter air.
A whimper echoed from somewhere—close, yet so very far away.
Her baby?
Yes, A’laya remembered. The duchess had delayed, but eventually, the midwife had been sent for, arriving only moments before A’laya blacked out from the pain.
But her baby had lived. She heard her.
Yes, a girl.
Joy—immeasurable bliss—filled her at the thought of her tiny, delicate baby girl, waiting not far away for her mama.
How long had she been asleep? Minutes? Hours? Days?
Voices reached her despite the pounding in her head and the lingering ache in her body. “She survived?” The duchess sounded almost disappointed.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And the mother?” The duchess’s question cut through the fog in A’laya’s head as if she too needed to know the answer.
“Yes. She will awaken soon,” the midwife replied. “The babe will need to be fed. It has been too long…”
“Mayhap it would be best if Layla remained asleep and the girl followed.”
“Your Grace?” The same shock that filled the midwife’s voice laced through A’laya.
The duchess surely could not mean she would prefer her grandbaby pass from this world. The agony must be clouding A’laya’s understanding. The woman was cruel and dismissive to A’laya, but wishing her own blood dead? It was inconceivable. Unconscionable.
“Everything would have been much…simpler…had the pair died during the birth.”
A’laya pondered that. Perhaps it would have been.
But she hadn’t died, and her baby was crying somewhere close, needing her mama.
A’laya’s papa and mama were gone. Pierce had abandoned her months before.
The duchess might not want her granddaughter, but she was the only thing A’laya had left.
Panic rose up within her, and she parted her lips to call out for the midwife to return, to bring her the baby. But nothing came out. Licking her dry, cracked lips, she tried again.
“My baby.” It was little more than a whisper, but the whimpering halted.
Hope surged through A’laya, and her eyes sprang open. The drapes had been pulled, casting a deep gloom around the room, her baby’s cradle barely visible in the far corner. A shadow moved on the wall nearby, illuminated by the single candle on A’laya’s small table. The duchess and the midwife came into view—far too close to her baby.
A’laya pushed her elbows beneath her to lift herself; however, the pain tore at her lower body, and she gasped. The thick fog of unconsciousness wavered close, but she refused to succumb. She was needed here, even if she was not wanted.
Memories of a long-ago day in the market sprang unbidden to her thoughts.
Love in her heart and thoughts in her head.
She had those in abundance.
“My daughter.” Her forceful demand thundered in the quiet of the room. “Bring my daughter to me.”
A’laya pushed her head up off the bed a few inches. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to meet the duchess’s glare with a narrowed stare of her own. It wasn’t Henrietta who moved first, but the midwife who stepped toward the cradle and gathered the tiny babe before hurrying to A’laya’s bedside.
The swaddled infant was weightless in her arms, and A’laya swore in that moment never to allow her daughter from her sight. She pushed the woolen blanket aside to reveal her daughter’s delicate face. Her skin, several generations removed from their mother country, was lighter than A’laya’s, but when the babe’s eyes cracked open, she noted their bluish-grey tint.
Her mama’s eye color.
A’laya’s eye color.
Joy cut through all the pain, fear, and helplessness of her reality. A love she’d not known she possessed blossomed within her. This was her daughter. Her mama’s granddaughter.
A bond of eternal commitment coursed through her veins. In the years to come, A’laya would care for this babe, love this child, guide her—even if she must undertake the task alone.
But never would she allow the slightest hint of danger to come near her daughter, even if that meant fleeing Shrewbury Gardens and Pierce altogether. There was nothing A’laya couldn’t do, wouldn’t do, to keep her precious babe safe, healthy, and happy.
“What will you name her?” the midwife asked.
A’laya met the woman’s gaze, and her own eyes instantly watered. All the many months of writing to her mama with names, and she could not think of a single one. A strong name that would see her tiny, delicate daughter into the coming days—a future where she’d likely not only be cursed by her heritage but also scorned by her own blood.
“Katherina. Katherina Alleyne De Vere.” The instant the name crossed her lips, her daughter cooed and smiled as if she approved. “My dearest daughter will be known as Katherina.”
A’laya stalled herself from looking to the duchess for approval. It had become second-nature since she’d arrived at Shrewbury Gardens with Pierce, but on this matter she would make her own decision. Her daughter was not only of Barbadian descent, she was also English from A’laya’s grandfather and father. And despite his lack of interest, Katherina’s own blood father, Pierce.
The duchess’s approval mattered naught to A’laya or her daughter’s future.
Fate may hold folly for A’laya, but Katherina would be blessed with only good fortune.
Chapter 4
A’laya stared at the open windows, the deep, easy breathing of her daughter the only noise breaking the ever-present silence of their chamber. The sun had barely crested the horizon, and the morning breeze that caressed the room was still chilly but not unpleasantly so. It was a condition A’laya had grown accustomed to during the frigid winter months after Katherina had been born and the duchess denied her a fire in the hearth except for during the coldest hours of the night.
Three months. Three entire months, A’laya had spent caring for Katherina. The time was bittersweet, she and her daughter cast in shame and shadow at the continued absence of Pierce and the duchess’s hardening demeanor toward them. How could the days and nights brim with so much love, while at the same time a heaviness seemed to be growing so quickly it fairly suffocated A’laya?
The duchess continued to forbid A’laya from leaving her private chamber. Due to this, Katherina had yet to feel the budding spring warmth on her creamy skin. She’d yet to smell the scent of blossoming oranges in the garden when A’laya held her close to the citrus trees. And she’d yet to feel the touch of anyone but her mother.
A’laya’s resolve to never allow Katherina out of her sight had been unnecessary.
Henrietta never so much as looked at the tiny babe. The duke, Walter, wouldn’t dare enter the private chambers of a woman and had said no more than a few curt words to A’laya since she’d a
rrived at Shrewbury. And Pierce hadn’t seen fit to journey home to meet his daughter—or even ask after the welfare of his wife. At least as much as A’laya knew.
The months had done little to mend A’laya’s body, though her heart overflowed with love and a connection A’laya knew well.
The midwife had explained that the birth had been more traumatic than most, and it could take many months for the pain and discomfort to recede completely, and for A’laya’s body to fully heal. Though she knew she’d physically heal, A’laya wondered how many months, years, or decades it would take for her soul to mend.
Although her belly had returned to its normal size, sharp pains plagued her when she tried to stand.
Nothing seemed to help. One day, she’d managed to wrap some strips of linen around her midsection, thinking pressure might allow her to move about. After tying them off, she ignored the tearing sensation inside and attempted to propel herself across the room. But before she could reach the door, the world turned black, and she lost consciousness.
She’d awoken on the floor sometime later, Katherina screaming on the bed above her.
No maid had come. The child’s grandmother had not come.
A’laya had no one she could depend upon. Even her own body failed her.
Leaving Pierce’s family home would never be possible until she was recovered.
And leave she must.
Every nerve in her battered, aching body screamed at her to make her escape; to run as far and fast as she could.
She’d debated writing her distant cousin in London several times, offering to throw herself on his mercy and beg for his agreement in allowing her to move back to Nottinghamshire. However, she suspected the duchess was reading her correspondence, and while the woman did not appear to care if A’laya remained at Shrewbury Gardens, she could not take the risk of the duchess preventing her departure when she was ready.
Her heart screamed that she must be ready soon. Not only for herself, but also for Katherina.
“Wake up, Layla!” The harsh tone awakened her.
Why hadn’t Katherina awoken her this morning? A’laya felt around beside her and came instantly awake when she realized that her baby was not where she was supposed to be. Despite the cradle nestled across the room, A’laya had taken to sleeping with Katherina tucked close to her side. She needed her daughter near as much as Katherina needed her.
The voice she’d heard was that of the duchess.
“Katherina?” A’laya spoke the word aloud before forcing her body into an upright position, suddenly gripped by a fear she’d never experienced before, even during her difficult pregnancy and delivery.
“You’ve lain about enough.” Her mother-in-law addressed her in the same disdainful manner A’laya had become accustomed to. “It’s time to end this nonsense once and for all.”
A’laya blinked, glancing around the room in a searching manner, not understanding what the woman was going on about. “Where is Katherina?” Already, she missed her little cherub’s waving arms and legs that greeted her each morning.
Dawn had become her favorite time of the day: nursing her child and enjoying the quiet early morning hours with Katherina. Smiles, cuddles, murmured endearments…
Her arms already felt empty without her daughter. “Is the midwife with her?” she asked again as one of the maids opened an old carpet bag and began tossing A’laya’s meager belongings into it.
“The child has been dealt with.” The heartlessly spoken words horrified A’laya. What did the duchess mean? That her nappy was being changed? That they were feeding her goat’s milk? Wishful-thinking, A’laya knew, for the woman who’d become more her captor than any sort of comfort had a wicked and satisfied gleam in her eyes that turned A’laya’s heated blood to ice.
“Where is she?” Her demand came out raspy. “My daughter! Bring me my daughter. She needs me to feed her!” When the duchess refused to answer, A’laya turned to plead with the maid. “Where is she? My Katherina! Bring her back to me!”
But the maid remained mute. Aware that the duchess watched, the servant methodically emptied the last drawer containing A’laya’s belongings, her head down. However, A’laya noticed the girl’s hand shook as she refolded one of the garments and closed the bag.
“You’ll be going away from here today. I can no longer abide you taking advantage of my goodwill.”
“Where is Katherina?” A’laya would not be deterred.
“You’ll never mention this family again. Do you understand? Pierce has forgotten you already, and your marriage no longer stands. If you speak of the baby, others will consider you naught but a fallen woman.” The duchess had never cared about her. A’laya knew that, but she now comprehended she did not care for her own blood—for Katherina—either.
A’laya dropped her bare feet to the icy floor. She needed to find Katherina. Her baby.
The only remaining person in this world who mattered.
She grasped the bedpost with all her strength. She would stand. She would find her baby.
Tearing, ripping sensations seared through her womb, and the room began to tilt.
“Katherina!” She spoke her daughter’s name. And then, “Mama help me.”
When had the world turned against her? Had it been when her papa died? Or had it been long before, during that day in the market? More than likely, it was that evening at the country dance? She’d fallen for Pierce’s charm and given in to the desires of the flesh. She had chosen her path. She’d left her home to fulfill the craving Pierce represented. The need to belong. The desire for acceptance. Respect.
She’d thought she loved him. But had she? She’d ignored the emptiness that always lurked behind his gaze. She’d wanted to believe that he was a good man like her papa had been.
Even worse, she’d married him and abandoned the only person in the world who loved her—and then found herself caught in a desperate trap.
It was as though her mama had known but could not stop her headstrong daughter.
A’laya’s heart and mind had been set. Nothing could have stopped her.
And now, her mama was gone.
As was Katherina.
In a blind bid to bring her body under control, A’laya pushed away from the bedpost. She would retrieve her baby from wherever they’d taken her. She’d hear her cries and follow the sounds as they echoed through the cold and empty manor house—a place utterly devoid of love.
Her daughter would more than likely be crying for her mama by now. A’laya’s breasts were heavy with milk. Her daughter would be hungry.
A fire burned inside her. No. She wished it away.
A’laya pressed her fist into her belly where agony raged inside. Katherina, I’m coming.
She shuffled one foot, barely even a step, and then another, denying her body any relief. No one would help her. She must get to her baby.
The last she saw before tumbling to the floor was a satisfied smile dancing on the Duchess of Shrewbury’s lips. “Your precious babe is safe. For now. But if I glimpse you again, if I see your face or hear any hint of gossip pertaining to my family, I will have that child done away with. And I will have you silenced forever.”
A’laya’s instinct, her self-preservation told her to remain quiet and heed the duchess’s threat. But her heart quivered—and shattered—desiring the rhythmic beat of her daughter’s heart against her chest.
“Katherina.” A’laya whispered her daughter’s name. Unable to lift herself again, she brought one hand up to her chest and clasped it around the talisman she wore. She would find her daughter. They shared the same blood, along with the spirit of her mother and grandmother before her. Her ancestors would help her.
“Katherina.”
A’laya hurt all over. The surface she lay on rocked and bounced, exaggerating the pain in her head with each jolt. And she was cold. Empty. A shell of the woman she’d once been.
She tugged at the rough blanket covering her in an attempt to draw it u
pward, but then she felt cold air creep over her legs.
There was no small body pressed against her side. The memory of the gloating duchess taunted A’laya. She had taken Katherina away. And she would not say where, evil woman that she was.
A’laya had been half-crazed with terror and agony, but she remembered everything. She recalled thrashing against the manservants who’d been ordered to carry her to this old travelling coach. She remembered seeing mostly blank stares as she screamed for Katherina. Only a few troubled looks followed her.
She remembered being deposited onto the floor of the coach, where she now lay.
She’d drifted in and out of consciousness in the hours that followed.
With no light filtering through her eyelids, she presumed night had fallen. How long before they stopped? She’d given up on any sense of dignity when she was forced to relieve herself where she lay. She knew she must be covered in urine and blood, but it didn’t matter.
She’d likely have given up on life itself if not for Katherina.
For her child, A’laya used the last of her will to remain alive. She drank from the canteen of water that had been shoved beside her. She continued to breathe despite the ache in her heart and the burning pain in her abdomen.
The coarse blanket scratched her neck and chin, but it was the only warmth she could find. Even her tears eluded her as she hovered somewhere between life and death.
A’laya lay like a ragdoll, vaguely remembering her childhood and the happier times spent before she knew such sorrow was possible.
But then her fingers landed on smooth metal, worn and familiar—a reminder of her mama.
The paths are the circles. See the center rings?
Alaya’s fingers followed the comforting loops.
They go on forever. That is who you are. No matter what happens, you are always A’laya. Your mama’s daughter, your grandmother’s grandchild, and your father’s precious baby girl. You will make choices, little one. But know you are always loved for who you are.
Fortunes of Fate: Prequel Story Page 4
