“It is almost over,” Maggie said. “The babe has a nice head of dark hair, like Josef.”
She would not tell Lena the babe was blue, the same color as the stillborn she’d delivered before. She prayed with every fiber of her body as she cradled the babe’s head with one hand, and the other splayed at the privy passage opening.
“Push, Lena.” Sarah had met Maggie’s panicked gaze.
With a huge, ragged breath and the fierce cry of a warrior, Lena bore down.
Maggie braced the slick little head and turned the shoulders to ease their passage. She raced to catch the slippery body as it slid out.
Maggie turned the babe on its side and cleared a plug of mucus out of his mouth with her index finger.
“It’s not crying,” Lena whispered.
Maggie pushed her fear away and rubbed the babe, none too gently, with the blanket. She held the babe downward, tapped it between the shoulder blades. Please, my lady. Help me. Still, the babe lay cold, lifeless. No. This could not happen to Lena. Not again.
She felt a surge of power flow through her, covered her mouth over the babe’s mouth and nose, and breathed. No. She waited. Breathed again and yet again.
The babe gasped. His chest rose, and he took a breath, and soon the blue turned to red. He opened his eyes and cried lustily.
Thank you, Holy Sister.
She quickly wiped the blood and white matter off Lena’s babe, loosely wrapped him in a blanket, and handed him to Lena. “It’s a boy, dear Lena.”
“My sweet boy,” Lena crooned hoarsely. She opened the blanket and ran her hands over his little body, felt his toes, and fingers. “You are perfect.”
Dear Lena was right. Though small, he was strong, judging by the volume of his cry.
“I must have him back for a short time, Lena. I promise it won’t be long.”
She cut the cord, cleaned him more thoroughly, and swaddled him in a warm blanket.
Sarah helped Lena put the child to her breast, and she soon had him suckling. Her face glowed with pride. “My sweet boy.” She winced as he clamped his jaw down upon her tender nipple.
“Lena, I must deliver the afterburden. You will feel some cramping.”
But her friend only had eyes for her babe and did not take notice.
Sarah fetched some warm water and pushed Maggie out of the way. “Let me clean her up. Catch your breath. And well done, sister.” Her eyes searched Maggie’s face.
Maggie glanced at Lena. “I was afraid she would lose the babe,” she whispered.
Sarah smoothed the hair from her sister’s face. “But she did not, for you revived it.”
Sarah efficiently cleaned Lena and pulled the covers around her.
“I had help from the Holy Sister. She warned me, and now I understand.”
Ruthie popped her head into the doorway. “Is the babe born? Not a long birth, was it?”
Sarah laughed. “You know too much, child. Would you like to see him?”
“Oh yes!”
“Maggie, you look done in. Sit down and put your feet up, for you must think of your own babe.”
Maggie obeyed and plopped down in the divan with a contented sigh, and enjoyed watching Lena nurse her new babe.
“My Josef must meet his son. He will be so proud.”
Maggie schooled her expression. Where had he gone? And what of his odd, combative behavior?
Sarah held her arms out for the baby. “Lena, we must get some food into you.” She smiled. “I notice you are not vomiting.”
Lena grinned. “I am hungry, ja.” She kissed the babe on the forehead and handed him to Sarah, who put him in a wooden crate lined with a soft quilt. He had pinked up nicely and had a dribble of milk on one side of his slack little mouth.
“We will feed you some chicken broth with an egg beaten into it to see how you do.”
Ruthie handed Lena the bowl. Sarah sat in the rocking chair with the babe and began to feed him a caudle made of sugar, milk, and gruel, using a pap boat, which had a linen-covered opening through which the child sucked. He scowled, a look so like Josef’s.
“Come on, wee boy,” Sarah crooned. “It is good for you. Then I will bathe you and swaddle you, and you can go back to your mother.”
“He is his father’s son.” Maggie laughed, then winced, for her shoulder throbbed and burned like hot coals. Suddenly even the teacup seemed too heavy.
Ian arrived shortly after Sarah had placed the babe back in Lena’s arms. His eyes widened at the sight of Lena in her makeshift bed. “What’s this?” His sincere look of shock made Maggie laugh again, and she involuntarily clutched her shoulder.
“What’s the matter, Maggie?”
“My shoulder. From the fall.”
He knitted his brows. “I will tend to it tonight.” He kissed her and approached Lena, kneeled beside her. “Well done, Lena!”
She parted the blanket to properly display her prize, her round cheeks glowing with pride.
“He is beautiful.”
Just then, the babe screwed up his face and cried.
“Oh ho, I did not mean to offend, your highness.” He placed a kiss on the top of Lena’s head. “He will rule the roost, will he not, good Lena?”
Lena chuckled. “Ja, I expect so.” A shadow fell over her face. “Where is my Josef?”
Ian’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Lena. We have not found him yet.” He met Maggie’s worried gaze. Self-reproach darkened his eyes.
Lena sat up. “I must go home. Josef will go there first when he returns.”
Maggie hesitated. “I would rather you not travel just yet, Lena. You had a fairly easy birth, but it is better if you rest.”
Lena gave her the gimlet eye. “You should have your baby and then tell me if it was easy.” She put the babe to her breast again with the ease of an experienced mother. Some midwives were against women nursing before their milk came in. But Maggie could not see the harm in letting the babe suckle for the next two days, and it helped cement the bond between mother and child. It seemed the early nursing made the womb contract, which helped the mother better recover from the birth.
Lena would rest better in her own bed. “Lena, I’m going to examine you and make sure you are not bleeding excessively. Then we will see, though I’d prefer you to spend the night.”
Ian stood. “I can take her in the wagon. It is good I acquired it, is it not?”
Though his face was haggard and pale, his eyes glowed like embers. “You must now admit it was a sage purchase.”
“No.” She set her jaw.
He came to her and whispered in her ear, his breath tickling the fine hairs on her neck. “There is no shame in admitting when you’re wrong, Maggie mine. I will not fault you for it.” He brushed his lips down her neck.
She pushed him away. “Annoying man. Let me see how she fares.”
“I’ll go ready the wagon,” Ian said.
Maggie did a quick check of Lena’s privities. “You seem fine. Do you think you’re strong enough?”
“Ja, of course I am strong enough, for my Josef.” Lena sat up. “He may have need of me when he returns.”
Dread filled Maggie as she took the baby, swaddled him, and laid him in the wooden crate. She helped Lena up, sat her in the divan, and wrapped her warmest cloak around her. “Are you feeling light-headed at all?”
Her friend shook her head. “No, but I am ravenous. I hope Sabine has made some chowder.”
“You must go straight to bed when you get home.”
“I will. Sabine can take care of the customers.”
They soon set off for the short ride to the inn. Maggie sat with Lena in the back, holding the babe, whose muffled cries from the depths of the blanket sounded indignant.
“Wee lad’s got a temper.”
Lena rested her head against the side of the wagon. “He will have to learn to control it as I did.”
Ian drove slowly to avoid jarring Lena and the babe, no doubt. It gave Maggie more time to look at
the opulent red velvet interior. She shook her head. Like she’d said before, they could have borrowed a wagon.
Before long, Ian and Maggie had Lena settled in bed. Sabine immediately fetched her a steaming bowl of chowder and a thick slice of buttered bread.
Maggie and Ian set off for home at dusk, Ian’s arm encircling her. Maggie flinched.
“I must tend to your shoulder immediately.”
She nodded. “What manner of thing knocked me down last night?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
As soon as they arrived home, Ian built up the fire and poured Maggie a measure of brandy. He had taken off her bodice, and untied her shift so it fell over the swell of her breasts.
“Shite blossoms! The swelling.”
She jumped. “What ails you?”
“This needed to be tended to straight away.” His labored breath raised the fine hairs on her back.
“Well, getting angry does not help.”
He leaned over and laid his cheek against hers. “I’m sorry. I am angry at myself for letting it happen.”
“Ian, it is not your fault, nor is it your fault Josef is missing.”
The fire hissed in the silent room.
Ian said, “In our youth, he looked after me, no matter my condition. And I can do naught for him now. Samuel and I could see nothing in the fog. Where could he have gone?”
Ian lifted the compress off.
“Oh God,” she gasped.
“I’m sorry. Am I hurting you?”
“Yes. No. Put it back on.”
He popped his head around with an exaggerated look of confusion. She laughed, which made her shoulder throb.
“I mean, it hurts, but it feels good.”
“Yes,” he rumbled. “Like a love bite.”
“Um, yes, I suppose.”
He anointed his hands with almond oil and placed them on top of her head. He spread his fingers and began to massage her, slowly working his way down to her neck. “You need rest, or this shoulder will not heal.”
“But what if I’m needed?”
“Should any woman need delivering, your sister will have to do it. Or I will.”
She laughed. As he ministered to her, she stared at the fire, and her vision blurred. Where was Josef? Lena needed him. His son needed him. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to his skilled fingers, let them carry her, drifting, to a place with no pain.
“I will put you to bed.”
He helped her upstairs. “Look at me, Maggie. The day is over. You have paid a price for it, and I am sorry.” He removed her clothing and helped her into bed.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“I don’t know.” She cried in great spasms, holding her shoulder as pain and bone deep exhaustion wracked her inside and out.
He held her and let her cry. The light touch of his fingers and roughness of the calluses awakened her skin. He kissed her.
“Love me, Ian.”
“But you’re in pain.”
“I want to go to sleep with the feel of you inside me.”
He caressed the insides of her thighs in long slow strokes. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
“Only when you stop.”
His wicked laugh sent a liquid rush to her center. He kissed her breasts, laid his head gently on her rounded belly.
“You are dressed.”
“Yes.”
“Take off your clothes.”
“No, I think not.”
He held her breast with one hand, covered her privities with his other palm. Her breath quickened at the rough feel of his shirtfront against her belly. One long finger circled her pleasure bud, slow and torturous, one finger plunging into her warm wet center. She arched against him, spasms of pleasure coursing through her.
“Oh, Maggie,” he whispered. “I do love to see you glow when I have brought you joy.”
She cleared her throat. “But what about you?”
“Tonight is for your enjoyment. It is enough for me to make you moan.”
He helped her on with her night rail and tucked her in. “I will go see how Lena fares and make myself useful at the inn. I won’t be long.”
She struggled to keep her eyes open. “Thank you…for your service.”
He laughed. “You are welcome.”
He kissed the top of her nose and tucked the covers up around her neck.
She drifted off, with one last lingering thought: why did he not seek his own release? Had he lost his desire for her?
****
Ian grinned with satisfaction, for he had left his wife limp and warm with pleasure, and drifting off to sleep, free of pain.
He had done all he could for Maggie. Rest would mend her body, but he could do nothing for Josef. Dread rose in his gorge, as the symptoms revealed what he had suspected. It was a disease as old as time itself, and there was no cure for Josef’s illness.
There had been no cases of hydrophobia in this region for years, but it mattered not. He remembered the nasty bruise and bite Josef had on his side when he helped him clean up for Lena. From Josef’s description, his nephew had exhibited the same symptoms, the fever, the animal-like behavior, the madness. Had Josef’s nephew bitten him? He must have.
Every fiber of his being railed against the realization: Josef was dying of hydrophobia. He could no longer deny it. He must find Josef and tell him he was dying, for there was no cure. He fought the bone deep trembling with deep breaths; he must tell Josef, for otherwise he would not go with him to a place of safety. He and Henry could secure him out of town, tie him up. They would have to watch him die.
Gentle Josef would not want to harm anyone, least of all Lena. He must protect the townspeople from Josef. He must remain calm, pretend nothing was amiss, and above all, keep his affliction at bay. He could not find his friend in the dark, so he might as well help Lena.
He arrived at the Siren Inn, where an impressive crowd gathered despite the late hour. He could barely edge his way to the bar, where Sabine stood with a row of mugs in front of her.
“Sabine, my dear! How are Lena and the babe?”
She set the mugs of ale and bowls on a tray. “She and baby sleep.” She grinned, displaying a set of dimples on each side of her mouth. “She eat much food.”
“Any sign of Josef?”
“No.” Her large almond eyes welled with tears.
“Wench. Where is our food?” A sailor yelled from a table in the corner. “And if you’ve anything else to offer, I’m happy to oblige you.” He looked to his comrades for approval. They guffawed and pulled him back down to sit.
Sabine blew a strand of hair out of her face and shot the sailors a flinty-eyed look.
Ian put his hand over hers. “Do not worry, Sabine. I will find Josef. And after I see Lena, I’ll help you with your customers.”
“Thank you.” She handed him a mug brimming with ale and wiped her hands on her apron. She paused to smile at old Widow Jenkins, who handed her an empty bowl.
“Xie’xie.”
“If ye say so.” She eyed Sabine with distrust.
“Oh. More stew?” She smiled.
The old woman nodded again, jowls shaking. The dear old crone could sure stow the food away. Ian bowed and took her bowl. “I will carry it for you.” He placed his hand upon her gnarled one. “Tell me, dear lady, what is the secret to your timeless beauty?”
She giggled and smacked his hand. “The secret be not taking bullshit from knaves like you. Go away.” The cock of her head and her smile belied her words.
He laughed, for he could no longer ignore the rush of white heat like flames licking through his veins. To amuse someone was another way to stave off the signs of his affliction, for ’twas better to be the butt of a joke than lose control. He helped her onto the stool. “You are still quite nimble, miss.” He wagged his eyebrows.
“Go on with you.” She hit him with her spoon.
Sabine headed over to the sailors, her tray heavy-laden. For such
a slip of a girl, she was strong.
He headed for the private quarters and knocked on Lena’s door. Upon her answer, he quietly walked in and stood beside the bed. “How are you feeling?”
She glanced up from the babe, eyes alight. “Did you find my Josef?”
“No, Lena. Not yet.” Should he tell her the nature of Josef’s terrible illness? No. Mayhap she would never have to know what a horrible death he would suffer.
“My poor Josef. Oh God.” Her face crumpled. “What am I to do? Where could he be?”
“I’m sorry, Lena. I don’t know.” Perhaps he’d been spotted by one of the townspeople? He would ask around. “I will search for him tonight. I have in mind a place I did not check this morning.”
She sobbed, a shaking hand shielding the babe from the rain of tears. She shook her head. “God knows what is happening to him.”
“Lena, I will do my utmost to find him. But now you must think of your child—Josef’s child.” There was a cup of tea on the bedside table. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a packet of herbs. “I have some herbs to ease the discomfort newly delivered mothers suffer.”
She thanked him.
He wiped her tears with a clean handkerchief. “You will do Josef no good by neglecting yourself.”
She sipped the liquid. “Thank you, good friend.”
“I will stay and help Sabine through the worst of the crowd, and then go search for Josef again.”
“Thank you.”
Mayhap Lena would never know the agony her husband would suffer.
He vowed to find Josef. What kind of a man was he if he could not protect the people he loved?
****
Several mugs of ale and plates of fried fish later, Ian’s old performing troupe entered singing. They were the last people he wanted to see tonight. He would not be pulled into their old association, traveling around the country, singing for their supper, dining with kings one day, cutthroats the next. He did not want the memories of self-indulgence, momentary pleasures of the latest conquest, the rush of pleasure a temporary remedy for his affliction.
The crowd grew silent and parted for the Wayfaring Wastrels. They stared with open-mouthed curiosity at Charlotte, who preened in response.
Reginald hailed for a drink. “So, there you are, Ian. What, you resorting to manual labor?”
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