She jolted awake a few hours later. Arden could make out the shape of the large thatched farmhouse by the light of Danny’s lantern, but in the darkness she could not tell much about it.
“We’ll give you the tour in the morning, Arden,” said Danny. “For now, I’ll just light you children to your bed.”
Brian snuffed the candle on the dresser before Arden got a good look at their room. She wondered if Brian felt shame at its rusticity, and didn’t want her to see it yet. If so, from what she had glimpsed, his fears were needless. Plain, yes, but cozy. A good bed, at any rate, and the quilts they snuggled into held warmth and smelled clean. Oddly so, thought Arden, for a farmhouse whose chief source of domestic labor was a thirteen-year-old girl.
In wondering about her surroundings, Arden came fully awake. Reaching for Brian surprised her, because he had rolled all the way to the edge of the bed. She moved across the space, placed her hand upon his thigh, and began sliding it towards her goal.
Arden both felt and heard Brian’s sharp intake of breath. His hand closed upon hers, and gently, tenderly returned it to her side. After a long exhalation he said, in a deliberately steady voice: “Arden, I didn’t get any sleep in the wagon, and I’m exhausted. Good night, love.”
Chapter Twenty-One
In the morning, once Danny and Brian left to graze the Malley flocks, Arden expressed aloud her amazement at the way Esther kept things so neat and clean.
“Danny had the Quaker ladies from the neighboring farm come and put things right for your arrival,” the girl confessed. “Our dad used to get in a temper at the thought of us fraternizing with people even farther away from the True Church than ordinary Anglicans, but they were so kind to us after he passed away. After a while we found that except for all their ‘thees’ and ‘thous,’ they’re just like anyone else.”
“Yes, Brian mentioned them. He said they would probably be midwives to me,” said Arden. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
The hint taken, Esther ran out and invited their female neighbors to bring over their needlework and get acquainted. After introductions, the conversation naturally fell to Arden’s condition.
“If thou dost not mind,” said Sarah, “I would like to let my daughter Margaret serve as the midwife, so she might gain in experience. Thou art a fine, healthy young lass, and I am sure you will have no trouble. I shall be near enough to lend a hand, in any event.”
Arden looked at Margaret and smiled. Like her mother, she dressed in plain garb, much like that Arden had abandoned a few months ago. Her bonnet was white, and the face beneath it held not much more color. A high, clear brow, serious blue eyes, and a thin but upturned mouth made up Margaret’s countenance. “I think we’ll do just fine, Margaret,” Arden ventured.
After more pleasantries, and a bit more needlework, Sarah suggested Margaret give Arden a preliminary examination. “Never too soon to start learning what we may expect,” she said. Arden led the girl into the room she shared with Brian. Odd, she had just met Margaret, but she did not feel uncomfortable stripping down to her shift and lying down upon the bed. Though this was Arden’s first pregnancy, she sensed Margaret knew her way around the condition. Her touch was firm but gentle.
“Thou seemest hale, and well-proportioned,” Margaret said, helping Arden straighten her clothing afterwards. “Thou probably hast little to fear.” Though the girl was a year younger than Arden, she had a calmness and confidence about her that the actress liked. Arden liked Sarah, too, but Margaret’s youth seemed an asset, a bond between them.
*****
The days went on so, domesticity occasionally relieved by neighborly visits. Though Bonnie and Esther protested, Arden took her share of the household labor. This worked well enough until it became so comfortable, so routine, that the ladies of the house forgot to watch for Danny and Brian coming home with the flocks. Arden was stirring mutton stew in a large cast-iron pot hanging in the fireplace when Brian burst into the farmhouse. His older brother followed more sedately.
“Arden! What do you think you’re doing? Sit down at once!” he demanded. Fear so outweighed anger in his voice that Arden could not snap a retort at him. She quietly handed the wooden spoon to Esther, who’d been reading the lives of the saints to her elders, and took a chair.
Satisfied with Arden’s compliance, Brian turned upon his cousin. “Bonnie! I told you not to let her do anything. Can’t I trust you?”
“I didn’t think it’d do any harm,” Bonnie stammered. No one could possibly fear Brian, but his vehemence apparently shocked the young woman. “She insisted, and the Quakers say she is healthy.” She looked helplessly at her more reasonable cousin, but Danny returned a bewildered look and shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t give a bloody damn what the bloody Quakers say! She’s not to do any work.” Ignoring Esther’s gasp of shock at his language, Brian returned his attention to Arden. “I ought to get you a real physician, from Oxford, instead of those silly midwives.”
Arden, careful to remain seated, stretched out her hand to her husband. “Oh, no, Brian, please! I like Margaret! I’m sure she and her mother are as competent as any doctors. I promise I’ll stay off my feet,” she added.
Pacified by her vow, Brian relented. “And I’m sorry I shouted at you―and Bonnie.”
“May I at least help with the mending and sewing?” asked Arden. “I can do that seated, and I do so hate being useless to your family.”
“Useless! Arden, you are my heart, my inspiration! I’d die if anything happened to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Brian,” she mur-mured soothingly.
“Yes, you can sew,” he sighed.
*****
Emboldened by the evidence of his love for her, when night fell Arden tried again to coax her husband into marital embrace. She had not broached the subject for about a month, nor had Brian made any move towards her once they sought their bed in the evenings. He had usually sat up late working on his play. Though he had retired this night at a reasonable hour, Arden still met resistance.
“Oh, Arden, I can’t even think of such things after what happened today,” sighed Brian, sitting upright upon the mat-tress.
“Do you mean finding me cooking when you came home?” Arden rose to join him.
“No, not that, though it gave me a turn.”
“What, then?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do. I am your wife. If you can’t tell me, whom can you tell?”
“I would protect you from all the world’s ugliness.”
“And I you,” returned Arden, stroking the scant stubble of his cheek. “But since I can’t accompany you out with the flocks, I guess it’s not in my power. If you can bear seeing it, I can bear hearing it.”
“I was born on this farm,” Brian began, “raised here. I should be used to such things. But I never was. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I went to London to write.”
Arden sat beside him silently, holding his hand, waiting for him to speak.
“One of the lambs,” he said. “We noticed one missing. We searched, and we found it near the stream. Torn to death by a stray dog gone vicious; maybe a pack. Maybe even a wolf. Whatever the beast, it must’ve fed elsewhere first. Didn’t eat much, just killed it, opened the belly, and spread entrails all over the ground. Such an innocent thing, so bloody and ruined.”
Nausea Arden thought long vanished rose in her throat. She conquered it swiftly. “I’m sure it was awful, Brian.” She patted his hand. “But―Brian, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, Arden.”
“Have you ever actually seen a wolf?”
“Well―no, but...”
“That’s because no one has. For years. At least not in England. There may be a few left, over the border in Scotland ―but here, they’ve all gone away.”
Brian managed a weak laugh. “How do you know so much about wolves, then?”
“My papa told me―who else?�
�
“A very nasty dog, then,” said Brian, darkening again. “Whatever it is, Danny and I will have to take the blunderbuss out with us tomorrow and hope we put an end to it.”
“I hope you do,” agreed Arden. “But in the meantime, Brian, let me ease these thoughts from your mind.” She took his lips in a deep kiss. He returned it, but broke from her quickly.
“No, Arden, I can’t wipe the sight from my eyes!”
Arden looked into those eyes, and saw a lie. She did not doubt her husband had found a slaughtered lamb that day, but somehow she knew he didn’t see it now. Knew a lamb did not keep him from giving her the loving affection she craved. She craved it more deeply, it seemed, the more her body bloomed with new life. But how ugly that body’s growing bulges must appear to Brian, the more so caused by another man’s child! He must find her so hideous! He must find the thought of touching her repugnant, no matter how much his love for her soul made him worry over her health! Arden had tried to stifle these thoughts since they’d come to Oxfordshire, but in her pregnant state she could repress her fears no longer.
“You don’t want me anymore!” she sobbed, as the tears leaked from her eyes. “I’m too swollen and ugly for you to want to hold me, to kiss me, to—”
“No, no, Arden!” Brian protested, putting his arms around her. “You’re beautiful! I want nothing more than to make love to you, believe me!”
“Then prove it,” she wept, clinging to him. “Prove it to me.”
In his arms, Arden could feel his hesitance, his restraint. Yet she could also feel, finally, the tension of his desire. He did want her, as much as she wanted him, or more. “Why?” she whispered, her sobs easing with the realization, and with curiosity. “Why do you deny yourself as well as me?”
She might have gotten an answer from him, had she not traced the line of his mouth lightly with her finger. He kissed it, grabbed her hand and kissed her palm, lips urgent. Then he let go her hand in favor of her mouth, her throat, the place where the division of her breasts began.
“Yes, yes!” cried Arden, as Brian pushed her down on the bed beneath him and threw her gown up over her waist. “I’ve missed you so,” she breathed, as he hurriedly freed himself of his simple underclothes and thrust his hardness into her. The shock of him took her breath away. Arden had been in need so long, and her pregnant body become so sensitive that a few strokes from her husband brought her gasping to a climax. Long need, however, had a different effect upon Brian. Perhaps because he had been holding back for so long he could not stop holding back, Brian stayed rock hard, pumping into Arden. Her pleasure continued as well, yet after her initial hunger had been sated, she grew mindful of the others asleep in the farmhouse. She had no wish to draw them with her own screams, heard as cries of distress rather than fulfillment. So she forced her moans into whispers.
“Oh, Brian,” she sighed, as one of the waves of sensation gently ebbed. Still, she felt the strength and intensity of her husband’s love for her. Still, he moved forward into her, straining to bury himself as deeply as possible in her. Arden knew he would never be satisfied until he had completely melded with her, completely lost his soul within her body. His solid devotion, the wholeness of his love humbled Arden, and she began to hope. Such a love might someday erase her memories of Lord Robert.
Finally, finally, Brian found his release as Arden held him tight to her. Afterwards, she stroked his ruffled, dark hair and asked again. “Why, Brian? Why did you deprive us of this for so long?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I was just frightened,” Brian began to explain, afterwards. He squeezed her affectionately before rolling off her. He raised himself upon his pillows so that he half-sat, half-reclined beside her. “And I still am.”
“Frightened of what?” Arden pulled herself to the same position.
“Ever since we left London, I can’t help remembering my mother,” Brian replied. “She died, giving birth to a stillborn baby, long before it was supposed to come. Esther was a year old; I was about ten. I thought I’d never stop crying. I thought I’d never stop hearing her screams―or the gradually increasing silence that followed them. But I’m sorry, Arden. I shouldn’t speak of such things to you. No use in both of us being frightened.”
“I’m all right, Brian,” she assured him. “And I’m going to be all right. I just know it.” Then, tenderly, Arden inquired: “Why did she die?”
“My dad told us she couldn’t stop bleeding. And I remember, he carried out the sheets afterwards. He tried not to let me see, but I looked. Arden, I shouldn’t tell y―Arden! My God! What is that?”
Brian pointed to a bright red spot blooming on the cream-colored sheet between Arden’s legs. Blood. Not much, but definitely blood. Arden’s heart chilled at the sight, her bravery of moments before flying away like the quick flutter of moths’ wings. “The baby,” she whispered. Looking up at her husband’s face scared her even more. Brian had lost all color, as if it were his own blood―and a lot more of it― staining their sheets.
“Arden, stay still,” he ordered, leaping from the bed and struggling into his clothes. “Stay quiet. I’ll ride to Oxford and bring you a physician.”
“Just get Margaret and Sarah―”
“They’re not good enough!” Brian yelled, not stopping to turn as he ran through the bedroom door.
Arden tried to obey Brian’s instructions, but a few moments after she heard him slam the door of the farmhouse, a realization came. She felt no pain. Perhaps a little soreness ―it had been a long time, and the lovemaking had been vigorous, enthusiastic, and of great length. But no pain like what she had heard about in childbirth, premature or otherwise.
She tidied herself up, finding some spare rags in one of the drawers. She used them as she would have for her monthly courses, but the bleeding had already slowed to a trickle. She still had her nightgown on, so she walked over to the window, throwing it open.
By the full moon's light, Arden saw Brian running towards the barn. “I’m all right,” she called. “Come back!” Either he did not hear her, or did not believe her, for he swung open one of the big doors, and entered. Shortly afterwards, she saw him come charging out. He straddled one of the ponderous grey draft horses, bareback―the Malleys owned no animals truly suited to the saddle. “Brian! No! This is foolish!”
Her pleas had no effect upon her husband, but as Brian reached the road, Arden felt another human presence at her elbow. “What’s the matter, Arden?” asked Bonnie. “We all heard the row―Danny and Esther are in the parlor, waiting in case you weren’t decent.”
As Bonnie moved closer to the window to see for herself, Arden saw a large, tawny shape crawl out from under-neath the Quakers’ hedge. She stared, then blinked. Yes―it was indeed a lion, fully maned. The King’s lion! How did it get all the way here? Arden barely had time to wonder before the great beast trotted boldly into the road. The attitude of its proud body seemed to indicate smug anticipation of the effect it had upon Brian’s mount. The usually placid horse shrieked its fear and reared upon its massive haunches, tossing Brian flat on his back behind it. The lion roared its triumph.
By the time Arden and Bonnie ran out to the road, with Danny and Esther tagging behind them, the horse had danced over Brian in its shying frenzy. The lion saw the group of humans approaching, and turned back the way it came. Ambling rather quickly across the road, it looked back over its shoulder before seeking the cover of shrubs and shadows. Danny grabbed the horse’s reins and calmed the gelding, after shouting to Esther to run fetch both Sarah and a light. Arden knelt beside her fallen husband, patting his face, trying to rouse him. Bonnie, beside her, said quietly: “He still breathes, but more I can’t say. I hope Sarah brings a torch soon.”
Brian’s eyes opened, and pain contorted his face. Yet when he saw Arden, he demanded she go back to bed.
“The blood has stopped,” she told him. “I’m fine. Can you say where you are hurt?”
“Holdest thou the torch n
igh him, so that I may see him well,” commanded Sarah. She passed the light to Esther as she, too, knelt beside the fallen man.
“Sarah?” asked Brian, weakly. “Look at Arden first.”
“Wast thou hurt as well, Arden?” the midwife asked. The torchlight revealed confusion upon her bonnet-framed face.
“No, I bled a little bit. Brian saw it, and thought I needed a doctor,” Arden explained, quickly. “We had been—”
“Say thou no more, child,” Sarah said. “’Tis quite common. The bleeding has ceased now, has it not? There is no pain?”
“No, there is no pain,” agreed Arden.
“There, Brian, thy wife is well,” said Sarah, soothingly. She laid her fingers upon his neck, turning his head gently. “He has not broken his neck,” she said to Arden, “but I cannot speak for his back. He is exceeding white of face. What painest thou, Brian?” Sarah questioned, as she saw him fighting not to cry out.
When he answered, “My belly,” a dark trickle of blood ran from his mouth. Arden wiped it away with her hand, then found Brian’s hand and held it in her own. The dark fear gripping her since she’d seen the horse standing two-legged intensified.
Sarah lifted his shirt from his abdomen. The Quaker woman tried to hide her dismay, but Arden saw it. Then she saw what Sarah had. A dark, ugly bruise in the shape of a large horse’s hoof; a swollen dark mass. Arden watched Sarah lay hands upon it, and close her eyes. She appeared to pray, but said no words with her mouth.
Brian interrupted her. “You are sure Arden is well?” Sarah opened her eyes and nodded at him, but it did not satisfy him. “Danny!” Brian called.
Bonnie took the horse from her eldest cousin, and let him take her place beside his younger brother. “Yes, Brian?”
Arden's Act Page 14
