“I am capable of just holding you. Even if you are dressed in my plaid.”
She stood. “I do not think you . . .”
He came to his feet, slipping his arms around her. Rhiannon stiffened momentarily, and then gave in, looping her unbound arm around his neck with a sigh.
“If you knew everything about me,” she said. “You will come to hate me for it.”
“You assume that you are the only person with a past they would like to forget.”
“Some things cannot be forgotten.”
William cupped the back of her head, fingers weaving through her damp hair, and then lifted her face to his. He lowered his forehead until it touched hers. He was grateful for her scabbed lip. It kept him at bay. Once it had fully healed, and he could remove the stitch, he wasn’t sure he would have the strength to stop himself. She’d be so perfect.
Stop it. Can you not think about something else?
“I want more for you,” she whispered, her fingers curling into his hair. Rhiannon kneaded the back of his neck, her eyes misty.
A knock at the door jarred her. Rhiannon pulled out of his arms before he could stop her. “That must be Alice,” she said.
She crossed the room and opened the door.
William considered throwing himself out the window.
Alice walked in, holding up Rhiannon’s petticoat. “This is a little damp, but I think you will be fine.” She saw William and stopped. Alice looked at Rhiannon, then back at him, blushing. “I should go.”
“Nay, Alice, stay.” Rhiannon took up her clothes, scrutinizing them. She looked at William. “How long before the evening meal?”
“Alice,” William ordered over Rhiannon’s head. “Go to my cousin’s solar. Tell her to choose three of her gowns for your lady, along with undergarments. Pick one for tonight and instruct a seamstress on how to alter it for her.”
“Aye, my laird.”
“Three?” Rhiannon turned to face him. “One is plenty.”
“Go on Alice.”
“I cannot take her clothes,” Rhiannon said.
“I dinna think you have any choice.” He kissed her forehead, then looked at the bathing cask. The water would be cold by now, but he didn’t care. “You might want to turn around. Not that I mind, but you might.”
Alice scurried from the chamber, closing the door behind her. William glanced at Rhiannon and saw her eyes widen.
“William,” she warned.
He set his weapons aside. “You are clean, and I’m not. Do you really want me like this?” He tossed his shirt aside. Rhiannon’s gaze flicked over his torso, her cheeks tinting pink. He loved that she could still blush after what had been done to her.
When he unbelted his plaid she turned around.
“I should leave,” she said, looking at the ceiling.
He slid into the water, fishing for the bar of soap she’d left behind. “Not dressed the way you are. Sorry, my lady, but you will just have to tolerate it.”
She sat on the bed, facing away from him. “Let me know when you are finished.”
Chapter Twelve
After supper, Rhiannon sat before the fire in the great hall with William, Triona, and Ronan. Shifting sideways in her seat, she tucked her knees against her chest and smoothed her hand over the soft blue wool of her new gown.
Triona stood, Ronan following. He had their baby in his arms, wrapped in a knitted blanket. Rhiannon marveled at the sight of it. If she had seen Ronan out on the street, she would have pegged him for a rogue, not a devoted father and husband.
“’Tis getting late,” Triona said. “We will see the both of you tomorrow.” She smiled.
Rhiannon watched them walk away together.
She took up her cup on the side table near her chair and forced herself to drink the herbs she’d secretly slipped into it. They tasted awful, but she had to take them. Renewing her determination, she forced the ground plants at the bottom past her gag reflex. Rhiannon hoped she’d put enough of the right herbs in. She’d taken them out of Alice’s collection, and didn’t exactly know what she was doing. But since there was little hope of her being brave enough to submit her body to William’s within the next few weeks, she hadn’t any choice but to try this.
William stood, holding out his hand for her. Rhiannon set her cup aside and unfolded her legs, rising to her feet. She wondered how she would hide the symptoms of her miscarriage from him. Biting her lower lip, she slipped her hand into his.
His solid warmth gave her strength.
She could do this, rid herself of Geoffrey once and for all. Somehow, she would make not a sound. William was travel-weary and would sleep well tonight in his own bed. He would never know what she’d done. They walked through the archway and up the stairs. Torchlight painted uneven shadows along the walls.
William stopped, not at his door, but at the one before it, then took her hand and turned it so that it was palm side up. He placed an iron key into her fingers.
Rhiannon looked up at him.
“This chamber adjoins mine. Your maid is already within. If you need anything, I am right next to you. No one needs to know about this save Alice.”
Tears stung her eyes and she closed her hand around the key. It was warm from his body heat. “Thank you.” He had no idea how perfect this truly was.
Slipping within the chamber, Rhiannon closed the door and leaned back against it. Once this was over, she would go to him and give back the key. Then she would sleep in his chamber with him. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t force her into anything she wasn’t ready for yet.
Alice crossed the chamber to her. “Are you well? You look pale?”
“I am fine. I have not been better in months.”
“I have two more gowns for you. They are very pretty. Would you like to see them?”
“Not tonight.” Rhiannon placed the key on the mantel over the fireplace. “I just want to sleep.” She looked around the room. It was about one third the size of William’s, with a smaller, but similarly designed, granite hearth and an arched window. The two rooms were connected by an oak door with iron filigree hinges. The bed was half the size of his.
A child’s room? Three bairns could snug into the smaller bed.
It seemed Triona and Ronan had plans for William. The expectations it must have put on him. She wondered how that made him feel. Then she realized that it no longer mattered. As Triona had said, they had been waiting for her. And Rhiannon was not going to disappoint.
Alice untied her sling, then unlaced Rhiannon and relieved her of her outer garments. Off came her leather latchet shoes.
Her stomach tightened and she rubbed her lower abdomen. “You can go now, Alice.”
Alice’s brow furrowed with concern. “You truly do look unwell.”
“I am tired is all.”
“Are you sure-”
“Yes, of course.” Rhiannon smiled through a burst of pain. “I shall see you in the morning.”
“Very well. Goodnight, my lady.”
Rhiannon stumbled to the bed, collapsing onto it, fear beginning to strangle her determination. What if she’d used the wrong herbs and poisoned herself? Or what if she’d taken too many and it caused permanent damage to her fertility?
* * *
William awoke to icy fingers on his bare flesh. He caught Rhiannon as her slender body collapsed against him.
She was in a chemise, her hair hanging half over her face and her warm breath bathing his skin. The initial shock of her chilled fingers burned immediately off, replaced by a healthy dose of excitement. Excitement was soon followed by an even healthier dose of reality. William knew she wasn’t throwing herself at him, no matter how much he might have wished for it.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to tell you. I hoped, maybe I hoped . . .” She cringed, her fingers scrabbling over his arms. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have.”
“Tell me.” His words held more of an edge than was necessary. He took a breath to
calm himself.
Rhiannon’s back arched, her face a mask of pain, her fingernails digging into his arms. “I’m miscarrying. No one told me it would feel like this.”
He let go of her. His throat closed and he had to swallow before he could speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t. I-I couldn’t.”
“What were you going to do once it became obvious?”
She turned away, stumbling onto the floor. “I took herbs from Alice’s collection.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I have heard that when used in the right combination, they can force a miscarriage.”
William watched her sitting there, doubled over with her arms around herself, and wanted nothing more than to take it all away. The pain, the doubt, the fear. “You should have told me.”
“That I carried another man’s child?” She looked up, her face streaked with tears.
“Aye.”
He almost got out of bed, hesitated, then did anyway. Rhiannon hid her face against bent knees so she wouldn’t have to look at his naked body. He tucked his arms around her and scooped her up, then laid her out on his bed.
Reaching for his shirt, William realized his arm was smeared with blood. He looked at her, on her side. Sakes, but she bled. It was soaked through her chemise.
William dressed. “I’m going to get Triona.”
Rhiannon nodded, her eyes wide and frightened. She reached out her hand and he took it, pressing his lips against the inside of her palm.
“I will be back,” he said, glancing at her lying in his bed, bleeding. Then he closed the door and continued down the corridor.
Why this?
Why?
And why couldn’t she have told him? Did she still understand nothing?
He pounded on Triona and Ronan’s chamber door and Ronan opened it. “William? What’s wrong?”
“Triona needs to go to Rhiannon,” he said, from between his teeth. “Now.”
Triona appeared at the door in her chemise, long blonde hair loose. “What happened?”
“She miscarries.” It was hard to say. He had to push the words past his raw throat. “There is a lot of blood.”
Triona paled. “I’m coming.” She wrapped her arisaid around her. Ronan dressed and followed, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes.
Triona stopped William at his door, her hand on his arm. “You stay out here.” She looked at Ronan. “Dinna let William in this room. Do you hear me?”
Ronan nodded. “Aye, I understand.”
“But I told her I would-”
Triona shut the door in William’s face. Ronan took him by the arm and dragged him away from it.
“Trust me,” Ronan said. “You dinna want to be there for this.”
William pulled away. “I need to get out of here.” He tore his hands through his hair. “Nay, I canna leave her. I . . .”
She was hurting, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He’d already lost his parents, as well as countless friends, to war or disease.
He felt like he was coming unhinged, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Turning, he slammed his fist into the wall. Stone was harder than a man’s jaw. He looked at his hand, watching as blood ebbed over his knuckles.
“’Tis Geoffrey’s, isn’t it?” Ronan said, quietly. He tore off the edge of his own plaid and gestured for William to hold out his hand.
“Aye.”
“I’m sorry.” Ronan wrapped William’s swelling hand with the strip of wool.
“Sorry, changes nothing.”
“Triona will know what to do.” Ronan tied it off. “Feel better now that you’ve abused my wall?”
“Nay.” William flexed his hand, wincing. “I should get Alice.” Ronan stopped him before he could leave.
“I will go. Stay here, just not in there.” He pointed at the door.
After Ronan left, William stood with his palms spread on the wood of his door and his head down. “Dinna let her die. Please, God, dinna let her die. Not her.”
The door opened and Triona looked up, her face wane.
“Let me in,” he breathed.
She shook her head, blocking his path. “Listen to me. I need you to fetch the midwife.”
“’Tis bad, then.”
“I do not want to discuss this with you. You need to get the midwife.”
Rhiannon whimpered, and Triona planted her palm on his chest, pushing. “Go!”
He took Triona by the upper arms and lifted the wee sprite up off the ground.
“Listen to me, please,” she said.
He ignored her, setting her down inside the corridor and turning back into his chamber.
Candles were lit now. He saw Rhiannon on her back, her hair tossed in wild red swirls around her head. Her fingers were bunched in the bottom sheet. Triona had torn the top sheet into strips and several were already discarded on the floor, soaked through with blood.
Triona kept her voice down. “I canna stop the bleeding. She needs the midwife.”
“Did she tell you what she did?”
“I can guess. Go and get Mora, please.”
* * *
William banged on the door of the midwife’s squat, stone cottage so hard that mortar fell away from the wall.
“Aye, I am coming.” Mora pulled it open. The age lines on her forehead deepened as she assessed him. “William? Is aught amiss with Triona?”
“Nay, something is amiss with my wife.”
“Your wife?” Mora’s brown eyes brightened in surprise.
“She’s miscarrying. There is too much blood.”
“Aye.” Mora gathered her riot of gray curls into a knot at the back of her head, then pushed supplies into a leather sack.
“Take my horse,” he said.
“You didna tell me you were wed, lad.”
“We only just arrived.”
“I should have seen her as soon . . .”
He silenced her with a look. Mora’s mouth worked, but she didn’t voice the rest of her opinions. William gave her a boost onto Jeremiah, then secured her bag to the saddle.
He slapped his stallion on the rump, sending them on their way.
If anyone could help Rhiannon, it would be Mora.
Mora’s cottage door was swinging wide open. William latched it. Then he ran back to the hall as hard as he could, his lungs burning from it.
* * *
Morning sun shot through arched windows as William sat on the floor, his back against the wall in the corridor outside his chamber. Ronan was next to him. He had the impression that Ronan had remained all night just to make sure he didn’t hurt himself again.
The usual morning bustle was absent, the maids having been asked not to be in the laird’s wing.
Rhiannon’s whimpers had quieted as the sun rose, and silence prevailed behind his door. William wanted to walk in, but he feared what he would find once he had.
“How long does this take?” he asked. His tongue thick in his mouth.
Ronan scrubbed his jaw with his hand. “Triona took days, but she wasna in the kind of pain Rhiannon is.”
Triona’s two miscarriages hadn’t been forced though. Rhiannon would bleed to death soon, if she hadn’t already.
And William would go insane without her.
The door opened and Triona stepped out, Mora behind her. Triona had circles under her eyes. She brushed her hair off her face with the back of her hand.
William stood, training his gaze on Mora, feeling powerless. It was just like when he was nine years old and his uncle told him his parents were dead. “My wife?” he asked.
“I need to speak with ye,” Mora said.
Rhiannon was dead.
She’d finally stopped fighting. Not that he really blamed her. A person only had so much to give. He’d wanted her to be strong enough to fight this last battle though. For him.
Ronan tucked his arm around Triona and they turned away, giving him space.
Will
iam lifted his chin at Mora, refusing to break down until he could do it alone.
“Dinna look at me thusly,” Mora said, her hands perched on her round hips. “Did ye think I would let your lady die as long as the Almighty granted me the ability to stop it?”
He let the trapped air out of his lungs. “Then she lives?”
“Aye. She is resting.”
William turned, ready to open the door and go to her.
“Come back here.”
He flexed his fingers. “You may have delivered me, Mora, but I dinna take orders from you.”
Her eyes narrowed, the skin around them crinkling. “Will ye let me tell you what your wife needs right now?”
“Aye,” he grunted.
“You’re a new husband, and there is no good way to go about this, so I will try and be easy on ye. She was . . . torn. A woman’s body is verra resilient, and she has healed, but I could tell that someone had taken her by force two months ago.”
William would have retched, had there been anything in his stomach. “She didna want anyone to know,” he said.
Mora touched his arm. “I am sorry. I will tell no one. She is lucky that she has you now.”
Not lucky enough. Maybe another man would have broken through her barriers by now.
“Your lady is weak from blood loss,” Mora said. “But she will recover. Keep her in bed until she is steady on her feet again. I removed the stitch from her lip. It was ready enough. I will be back to check on her progress.” Mora readjusted the sack on her shoulder.
“Have someone take you home,” William said.
“I had planned on it.” Mora walked off, looking a wee bit stiff but, all in all, ageless. He had no idea how old she was.
William took a moment to gather himself before he opened his chamber door. Rhiannon was alive. And she would recover. He’d spent the last night imagining what his vacant life would be like without her, and now everything had changed.
Rhiannon was in his bed, her eyes closed. Alice was with her, brushing out her burgundy hair so that it rippled over fresh linens. She wore an ivory chemise, one shoulder exposed where it had slid down.
Alice slipped off the bed and set Rhiannon’s silver hairbrush aside. “I do not know what to say.” Her throat sounded hoarse, and her eyes were puffy. “I never expected her to take such a risk.”
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