Heartbeat of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  As she led Elunid inside, she felt his eyes upon her back.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Maggie shook her head. No. She would not let her petty resentments overshadow the joyful success of birthing two healthy babies. She pulled her shoulders back, wincing, and headed on the path toward home.

  She walked onto the bridge and lifted her eyes to the heavens.

  “Holy Nun, I do not understand your ways, why you let some women die during childbirth and another is doubly blessed. Why have you chosen me? Thank you.”

  All at once, the bridge gave way under her feet, and she tumbled down into darkness. Her arms and legs flailed in the air, and she dropped with a thud, the air leaving her lungs. She had landed with one leg under the other and a sharp, knife-slice of pain seared up her leg.

  She tried to rise from the hard, rocky ground, but could not. She held her stomach, felt it tighten. Oh God, do not let her lose the baby. It was pitch dark and dank. She lifted her head off the ground, fighting a wave of dizziness. She spat dirt from her mouth and pulled out a rock imbedded in her cheek. Clods of dirt fell from the narrow opening above.

  Her eyes adjusted to the light. She was in a cave, small, irregularly shaped, with bundles filled with something along the edges. Smugglers? There were the remains of a fire; if only she had a flint. The dank cold soaked into her bones. She flexed her foot. She could move it, but just barely.

  She kneeled, her vision spinning. The rocky surface of the floor bit into her knees. Where was her bag? Who would ever know what became of her? She lay there for a moment, gasping, leaned over, and vomited.

  Fighting her dizziness, she turned around. A cold draft hit her. Something, someone, watched.

  Maggie, calm yourself.

  She breathed through her nose gingerly, for every time she took a breath, her side hurt. Underneath the dank smell of the cave, a sweet, foul odor dominated. The smell of death. She closed her eyes, fighting the chill of panic. No one knew she was here, not even Ian. The McCall family no doubt assumed she was on her way home.

  Why did Ian not come for her? If he had returned to open up shoppe, wouldn’t he know she was gone? How stupid could she be, not leaving word?

  She was trapped. She could put a bit of weight on her leg, but when she tried to walk, dizziness overcame her. She crawled to the side of the cave, so at least she could rest her back against it. She shivered. Her foot swelled within her boot, and she bent to untie the laces.

  To her right was a narrow opening where the cave continued. Resounding within its depths, came a sound like a chorus of children clicking their tongues on the roofs of their mouth. Children with red eyes. Bats. She screamed, her terror echoing through the cave.

  An army of bats flew toward her. She crouched down, covered her head against the sound of flapping wings, as they flew past her and out the opening above.

  Later, she awoke lying on her side. She could see from the narrow opening that night was falling. She must have been unconscious for a while. Soon she could barely see her fingers in front of her. Her foot throbbed to the beat of her heart and she struggled to catch her breath. Drew a breath, pain radiating up her leg. Her cheek stung where the rock had been. At least I can feel pain. I’m not dead yet.

  The incessant chirping of the bats crawled into her ears; she could not think. Water dripped somewhere deep within the cave. Too bad she could not drink it.

  Ian. She would never again see the smile light his face, see his delight in the smallest of things. She would never be able to lay his head against her breast to comfort him, feel the warmth of his long arms around her and the heat of his lips upon hers.

  She would die here, for she was injured and could not even help herself. She had not her midwife bag, and no means of relieving the pain in her leg. It felt as if it had been severed with a dull knife, and indeed had swollen to twice its size. She closed her eyes and prayed. If not for herself, then for Ian and the child. Did he search for her?

  What would he do without her to center and comfort him? Or perhaps he would not miss her? Stop it. She would not just give up and submit to the pain and the cold. She would catch her breath despite the way her heart beat in her mouth and rushed in her ears.

  She crawled to the bundles in the corner. Perhaps the smugglers had left food, water. With shaking hands, she opened the bundle and found a bottle of wine, a jar of marmalade. A smooth, round stone. She grasped it in her hand. It seemed warm against the cold air. She would laugh at her silliness if it did not hurt so much.

  She opened the stopper on the wine and took a blessed swallow. She coughed, her ribs on fire. It was brandy, not wine, and it burned its way down her throat, but when it hit her stomach, it warmed her and reminded her she had not eaten in several hours. But after a few more swallows she did not care. If she died, she would not die sober.

  She laid her head down on the bundle and closed her eyes. How long would it be before someone found her? Would she be bare bones, or merely reek of death? Would Ian cover his nose and make someone else carry her home? Or would they bury her then and there? If she had the chance to love him again, she would not waste their time in petty jealousy.

  Her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness. The sweet, sickening odor had not abated, and she saw a bundle of clothing across the cave, against the other wall. At first she thought it a bundle of supplies, but no. It was a dead body, the body of Josef’s nephew, Nikolaus.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Last night, Ian had merely gone out to catch some air, perhaps to sing awhile with his old cohorts. But more than anything, he wished to join his Maggie in their warm bed, but his veins sang with the grief of all he had lost. He would not infect their marriage bed with his darkness, with the clashing tunes warring in his head, burning the backs of his eyes with their fire.

  He took himself in memory back to Varanasi, where the masters taught him to breathe, to fill himself with air and expel what plagued him. But breathing could not still his frenzy, the apparition of bloody Josef flashing in his mind like lightning. He would seek the company of others, ones who didn’t mind his darkness, who only wanted to be entertained by his madness.

  He did not return to the cottage until morning. He entered with misgiving. She would be angry with him, and who could blame her? He walked about, calling for her, but the cottage was empty. Why would she leave without telling him where she’d gone? Where else could she be but in service of a mother, unless she had grown weary of his disappearances and ever-changing moods? Mayhap she was at her sister’s. No need to panic. She would be making her rounds, seeing to the needs of her mothers and babies.

  Before he could leave the cottage to find her, Widow Jenkins hobbled in. Her kneecaps were so swollen with rheumatism she could scarcely walk. She kept him busy with one ailment or another.

  “I saw your wife walking out the Landgate this morning, over to Polly McCall’s place no doubt.”

  “Oh, you saw her?”

  “Do you not know where your own wife is, man?”

  The old woman shook her head. She had cause to be disgusted.

  It was late afternoon when he arrived with the wagon at the Siren Inn to fetch Lena and Sabine for the funeral, and Maggie was not there.

  He could not go to the McCall’s now, for he must witness the burial of his friend, escort Lena and Sabine so they might say goodbye. Vicar gave Josef the respect he deserved, and in no way did the hastiness of this burial belittle the memory of Josef.

  “Josef was a good man. In his quiet and generous way, he served the people of King’s Harbour, offering his hearth, his food, and ale. We will commend him to God’s spirit and pray for him.”

  Most of the town had come to the inn to pay their respects and share their memories of Josef, but Maggie was not there.

  “Don’t fret, man. It takes forever for babies to be born. And Adam would not let her leave in the dark. Surely she will spend the night.” Henry slapped him on the back.

  “You’re rig
ht.” Maggie might be stubborn, but she had plenty of common sense.

  Ian felt a measure of relief and at Henry’s urging, assisted him with serving the mourners. Shortly thereafter, young Billy Myers ran in with his index finger nearly severed. Ian carried him back to the cottage, and it took the better part of the night to sew him up.

  Before dawn, with an increasing sense of unease, he rode out the Landgate toward the McCall’s cottage.

  His mind raced. Perhaps she was finished with him. He would not blame her. He had sensed confusion in those grey eyes, a doubtfulness he had tried to dispel. When they’d gotten married precipitously last year, he had warned her he would be near impossible to live with. Perhaps finally she realized she deserved a whole man.

  Stubborn woman. He had told her before not to go to the McCall’s alone, three miles on bad roads and who knew who lurked there. She must have left before light yesterday, or the chandler’s wife would have seen her. She was always sweeping her storefront at dawn. But where had he been when Maggie needed him? Trying to sing his affliction away, and not succeeding.

  He forced himself to slow down. It would do no one good if the horse became lame or a wheel broke off. He swallowed his worry. No doubt she was safe and sound, and could still be delivering the babes. She would be tired, and the wagon would be faster. He could get her home and rub her shoulder, give her the care she needed.

  He parked the wagon near a patch of grass for the mare and walked down the road to McCall’s house.

  He knocked on the door. Little footsteps ran to answer it and grunting ensued at the effort of opening the door.

  “Hello there,” he smiled. Surely she was here.

  “We have two babies,” the little boy said, making a face. “They scream a lot.”

  “Adam, let Mr. Pierce in,” Adam McCall called.

  He entered into a peaceful family scene. Polly nursed one of the babes, the boy, their sister said. The other children sat at breakfast.

  He looked around for Maggie.

  “Mr. Pierce, we didn’t expect you here, so early.”

  “Where is my wife?”

  “She left yesterday, late afternoon.”

  Oh God. Where could she be?

  “She was on her way home,” Adam said. “I will help you search for her.”

  “I’ll go toward town, and you search the surrounding woods.”

  Adam nodded, and they set off.

  A cold dread washed through his veins. What had happened? It was well known the smugglers used the caves for hiding their stash, and much mischief could be wrought beyond the eyes of the law out in the countryside. Where could she be?

  She would have taken much the same path home. There was only one way to go back. He should have been with her. If anything had happened to her, it was his fault.

  Thankfully he had a lantern in the wagon, for the sun had not risen yet. He had parked the wagon before the bridge, and had not crossed it when he came, nor even looked in that direction.

  Perhaps she was in town, perhaps she had gotten called away straight from delivering the twins. It was like her not to think of herself. He started across the bridge without lighting the lantern, and then he saw it, her midwife basket.

  Had she been accosted? No trace of a struggle upon the ground, and robbers would have taken the bag. She carried opium in it. If anyone hurt her…his foot slid, and he saw it in the dim morning light. The narrow hole, from which seeped a dank cold.

  A faint moaning echoed from underground. He got on his belly and called to her. “Maggie, it’s me. I will get you out.”

  A weak, barely audible moan in answer.

  “Are you hurt?” Dolt. If she was not hurt, she would be answering him in her clear, sweet voice. “Maggie, can you hear me?”

  She was in a cave, and the only way to reach it was to go to the cliffs and travel through the cave tunnels.

  “Maggie, I am going to the cliffs. I know there is a cave, a tunnel that will lead me to you. Do you understand?”

  How badly was she hurt? He heard a faint croak, a raspy sound. “Hold on, Maggie. Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  Ian ran through the woods. He knew this cave, how to get there. He followed the river to the sea cliffs, climbed the rock wall, and crossed the tiny stretch of beach, nearly impossible to reach except by sea. The tide would soon be coming in. He must get her out. There was no other way. He must hurry, for God forbid she could have lost the babe and might be bleeding.

  He found the mouth of the cave, travelled by feel, by memory, through the narrow passageway, through the tunnels. He called to her. Her voice had sounded so weak. No answer.

  The bats swarmed around him. He brushed them away from his face and chest, and willed himself to ignore them. The pungent scent of bat guano and the dank cold sank into his skin. God, she had been down here all night. A cold sweat formed upon his brows. One of the little bastards latched onto his hand, and he brushed it off on his breeches.

  ****

  She heard him. His voice echoed through the darkness, and she tried to rise, but a sharp pain in her leg sucked the breath from her mouth.

  She called upon the holy nun. “Please help me, help our child. I promise I will do my best to honor my calling. Let me see Ian one more time, feel his fingers on my skin, his heart beat next to mine.” She closed her eyes against the dizziness. No. She must stay awake.

  Then live. Draw breath. Find your voice and call to him.

  His footsteps. Thank you, Holy Sister.

  “Ian,” she croaked. She willed her eyes to stay open, resisted the urge to sink into a world free of pain.

  “Maggie.”

  She opened her eyes. “Ian,” she whispered. “You’re here.”

  “You’re safe, Maggie. I will get you out of here.”

  “I can’t walk.”

  He took off his cloak and picked her up. “You don’t have to.”

  A groan escaped from her lips.

  “I’m sorry, my love.”

  “There’s treasure here, Ian. And a dead man.” She pointed across the cave.

  He stiffened against her. “I will send the constable out to take the body, for I must get you home. God, you’re so cold. I will have you in a warm bath before you know it.” He tucked the cloak around her. He headed for the mouth of the cave, toward the clicking sound of the bats, high-pitched and demanding. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  She shuddered. He held her with one arm and walked into the darkness. There was just enough room in the tunnel for them to walk through. She sensed, rather than saw, the walls closing in on them, dank and cold. Water dripped on the woolen cloak, and she screamed as bats butted against her.

  “We are almost out, sweeting.”

  What about Ian? Surely the bats assaulted him as well. She gave herself up to the wave of dizziness, succumbed to her terror, and fainted. She awakened when he carried her up the steep path from the beach.

  “I’m sorry to cause you so much pain.”

  “Ian. You saved my life. You found me.”

  They reached the wagon, and she passed out again. When she woke up, she found herself lying on the divan in front of a roaring fire, wrapped in a quilt.

  Ian bent over her. “You’re awake.”

  It hurt to inhale. There was a linen bandage wrapped around her middle.

  “Here.” He held a cup to her lips. “Drink. Something for the pain.”

  “I don’t feel horrible.”

  “You are still in shock. I’m afraid you’ll be sore tomorrow, and more so the next day.”

  She groaned. “There is much to do.”

  He smoothed the hair from her face. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yes. It feels so good to be home, warm, and with you. Ian, I didn’t think I would see you again.”

  He embraced her, and she reveled in the feel of his warm breath upon her neck.

  “You must eat, Maggie.”

  “I think the babe is unharmed,” she
said. “I have had no cramping, and I feel a…certainty within me telling me all is well.”

  “And you’ve had no bleeding. It’s nothing short of a miracle, considering how far you fell. You do, however, have a broken rib, and a very sprained and possibly broken ankle. So you, madame, will be resting for quite some time.” He held her face in his hands, gently palpating the sore spot on her cheek. “I cleaned it out as best I could. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you, but I’m glad you were spared the pain.”

  He went to the fire and brought back a bowl of soup, spooned it into her, and bid her to lie down again. He took off her bandage. “I’m going to put some warm compresses made with vinegar and marigold leaves, to draw the swelling out.”

  She gasped. “My foot is twice its size! No wonder it hurts.”

  “It will be more swollen tomorrow.”

  “I’d rather not think about it right now.”

  She laid her head back on the armrest and closed her eyes. “It is not the same foot as my bad foot, so I will limp on both. Mayhap it won’t look like limping at all now.” She chuckled, then winced.

  He smiled, and despite her fatigue, she saw the drawn look on his face, and his bloodshot eyes. “Maggie, my love. Thank God I found you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I wanted only to see you again before I died.”

  “Well, you’re not going to die.”

  “Are you sure? I feel quite wretched,” she croaked.

  “You need water.” He lifted up her head and put the cup to her mouth. She slurped greedily.

  “By the way, you reek of brandy.” He smiled and sniffed again. “And marmalade. Please tell me you weren’t drunk when you fell into the cave. I think you must have been, to consume those two items together.”

  “It was the only thing to drink or eat, you jackass.” She closed her eyes and longed to escape the pain with sleep.

  Ian carried her upstairs and dressed her in a woolen night rail. He placed warm bricks wrapped in flannel to warm the bed.

  “Feels good.” She moaned and grabbed his hand. “Oh, Ian. I love you.”