Microsoft Word - Jenny dreamed

by kps

  "No, child, ye didna do wrong, but ye must stay calm now. Though 'tis too early, I fear the lady's labor has started. I want ye to go find Sir Raddock and send him to the crypt, then see Janet is fetched to my own room, for tha's where we'll be takin' the Lady Jennifer."

  "But Janet's wi' Meg, -m'lady," Shiona said.

  The steward Dughal's young daughter had been overdue to deliver her first child for three weeks now, and even as Shiona had hurried back from the crypt, she'd heard a shrill scream coming from the servants' quarters, indicating that Meg's bairn would wait no longer.

  "Well, leave word wi' her, then. "Twill be some time anyway, 'til Jennifer's wean is birthed.

  Go now, quickly, dearie," Mara urged, already starting down the hall. "I canna leave the girl alone longer!"

  But Jenny was not alone. Dev stood in the shadows to the far left of Thomas's bier, silently watching the odd behavior of his wife. To his right, the hidden door that led down into the caverns was still half open, as he'd left it when he'd slipped back into the crypt to douse the torch that had been left burning. The guns and ammunition that were used for their daily target practice were stored here, out of the dampness of the caverns. Now, though, the carelessness of leaving a light in the seldom-visited shrine was forgotten.

  He'd seen her only once, from the window of his room, when she'd arrived and even though he'd accepted the fact that she was carrying his child, the sight of her belly rounded by her condition still came as a shock. Somehow she had looked even more beautiful and he'd turned away, fighting his old feelings, feelings he'd thought had died.

  But it wasn't Jenny he heard speaking now, as she looked up, staring straight ahead at something he couldn't see. In profile her face was soft and yearning, radiating a luminance of its own. To Jenny, there were no thick stone walls surrounding her, no shadows. She stood in a glen, in a bright wash of spring sunlight filtering through the trees, looking up at the strongly sculpted, craggy features of the man she'd loved for the past nine years. The meadow was green with waving grass, sweet with the scent of wildflowers, and the birds and small animals that inhabited it moved freely around them, un alarmed by their presence.

  She had taught Thomas how to keep so still that the wild things accepted him as one more among their company. But after today, she and they would never again see him. "Nae, m'love," she answered him now, "I canna go, ye know tha'!" Though he had not voiced it, Elainn knew that he was jealous and confused by her decision to stay with her people. She tried to keep that in mind now as she reached up tenderly to smooth the taut lines of stubborn resistance that were drawn about his full, sensual mouth. He was so handsome, her Tom, with his curls of burnished copper and eyes that reflected the color of the sky at dawn.

  " 'Twill be but a whisper of time, the shadow of a night's sleep. 'Twill pass like minutes, Thomas. And soon after our eyes open, 'twill be twice the joy to gaze upon each other once again!" She hugged him close, unwilling to let him see the tears she'd sworn to herself she would not cry and against the comfort of his hard-muscled chest, whispered, "Oh, I promise, Tommie ... do ye nae believe it's true?"

  Then his hands gripped her shoulders, and Thomas lowered his head to touch his lips to hers, gently at first, then with such a yearning that she knew he'd accepted the finality of their parting and meant to go with the sweet memory of her kiss to see him through the loneliness of the future. Once before he'd left her to return to Erceldoune, but this time he would not come back.

  She had something more to stave off the emptiness of a life without him, though, something more lasting than a lover's kiss. Elainn carried his child, and even if it would be months before her body blossomed with the planted seed, she knew and rejoiced in knowing. In that last minute, when he pulled away from her and turned to go, she almost betrayed the secret. But he would have stayed, and Thomas had his dream to chase; she loved him too much to make him abandon it.

  She'd seen much-in the crystal before handing it over to his keeping today, and her own destiny lay on a path different from his. There would be loneliness and pain in her future and a great joy in the son she would bear, a son with his sire's fiery hair and her own, meadow-green eyes. Eventually she would die a fiery death, but in a good and just cause, for the freedom of Scotland, leaving her young stripling of a son in the care of her father's relatives, the Woodvilles.

  But all that was in her future now, as she watched Thomas disappear beyond the trees of the glen. His long legs carried him away from her, but not forever; their love was too strong to die a mortal death. Her eyes were glazed with tears as she turned away and felt a stab of pain that was almost physical. The sun was no longer bright, and the wall of trees surrounding the deep, cool glade had changed to dark, cold stone. In a place that was as silent and shadowed as death, the birds could no more be heard warbling their spring-songs; there was no sound but a low, moaning whimper of pain.

  The tight, drawing contractions within her abdomen chased away all remembrance of the high emotions Jenny had felt through her regression to Elainn. She found herself clutching at the carved lid of a gravestone, panting for breath as she looked around in dazed fright at the ominous, dancing shadows that seemed to threaten her from the corners of the room. There was a sound to her left, the shuffle of a footstep against the stone floor. Jenny was afraid to look, afraid not to. She held her breath, slowly turning her head, catching only a glimpse of a man's figure before another contraction hardened her belly. Her eyes shuttightly, her fingers losing their grip as she felt her body and mind slipping into a deep pit of blackness.

  Dev caught Jenny as she slipped toward the floor, lifting her into his arms as she lost consciousness. Despite the additional weight of her pregnancy, she seemed light as a feather, and he stood there a second looking down at her face. Now at least he had an inkling of the identity of the man who'd haunted her dreams, though he was still mystified by what he'd witnessed. He had to get her back to the house, to Mara's care. Though the baby wasn't due yet, he'd seen enough Indian women in labor to recognize that his own wife was too far into her delivery for it to cease now.

  Turning toward the door, Dev found Mara staring at him. His first reaction was relief, then he found himself wondering how long she'd stood there, watching. There was a shouted hail from behind her, and Raddock came up to the door and peered in, apparently surprised only by finding Dev at the scene. In a tone of gentle command Mara asked Dev to give Jenny over to Raddock's care.

  "He'll see she's safe into the house, lad. Ye do na want to add to her burden by lettin' her wake and see a man she thought was dead these past months."

  Dev was reluctant to release Jenny, but as Raddock came up, she moaned, starting to rouse and he laid her carefully in the cradle of the knight's large, muscular arms, adding a warning in a harsh, low whisper. "Be gentle, Raddock, and watch where your big feet carry you ...

  that's my child about to be born!"

  "M'big feet know the path well, e'en in the darkness, lad," Raddock snapped with a whisper of his usual roar, then he softened his answer by adding, "I'll take a bit o'extra care, though.

  Tend to yerself; ye look na'ne too steady." Then, with a fussing, nervous Shiona carrying a torch to light the path, Raddock carried Jenny toward the manor.

  Dev started toward the crypt door, but Mara caught his arm, tugging at him with a hand whose frail-looking fingers had a surprising strength. "Do na be in such a hurry, Devlan.

  Babies take their own sweet time comin' and especially the first. It'll be hours yet, 'til dawn most likely, afore ye know whether ye're the father of a lass or laddie. I want to have a wee talk wi' ye-I wouldna ask if it were na' important."

  "About Jenny," Dev guessed, "about what she was saying?" He looked reluctant to discuss it, his gaze straying to the door, his mind obviously on Jenny and how she was faring.

  Despite the bitterness he'd revealed to her that day they'd discussed his past with Jenny, it was perfectly clear to Mara that he loved her still. But of
course he would, she chided herself silently, after five centuries of separation. "She's a good, strong girl, Devlan," she reassured him now in a cheerful tone, hooking her arm within his as she led him back, toward Thomas's bier. "'Tis an agony to bring forth a bairn, but I've had one m'self and watched many another come squallin' into the world and, believe me, son, 'tis na' only worth the pain ten times o'er but 'tis also a sufferin' tha's soon forgot!

  "Now, I only heard the last sentence she spoke, lad, 'bout a promise. I should very much like to hear the rest while 'tis fresh in ye'r memory." So that she would not influence what he told her, Mara kept the reason for her inquiry to herself and then, when he was through, rvealed what she'd earlier told her granddaughter. "This proves it, ye see," she insisted in a tone of suppressed excitement. "Jennifer's ne'r seen the diary. She had nae way of knowin'

  about the promise Elainn did make to her love that they'd be reunited!" She glanced at Dev's face and saw the doubt in his eyes. "Pshaw! Men're always so accursed logical, always believin' only after proof's been gi'en them! Well, lad, come back wi' me to the house and I'll show ye the chronicles ... then ye decide for ye'rself how close ye'r Jenny came to quotin'

  Elainn."

  But later, when he and Mara were in the solar and trying to pass the long hours of waiting together, Dev was still only partially convinced. Obviously Jenny'd had some kind of vision, imagined or real, but he'd never dreamed of anyone named Elainn or felt that he was anyone other than Devlan Cantrell. Now, as he tried to give his attention to the backgammon game Mara had suggested to pass the time, Shiona peeked through the door as she had several times in the past few hours to give a report on Jenny's progress.

  Dev's face again lit with expectation and hope; after nearly eight hours, this nervous, interminable waiting had worn him down to the weakness of a kitten, and he wasn't even experiencing the pain Jenny was subject to ... how could she bear up under it? "Wel ?" he heard Mara ask.

  "Na' yet, m'lady," Shiona reported, giving Dev a quick, sympathetic glance. "Janet says another six hours at least, but she was able to turn the babe from the breech, so at least the poor girl does na' have to go through tha'!"

  "And Jenny," Dev asked, pale at the idea of so long a wait, "how's she doing?"

  "Hoidin' up better'n ye, but tha's to be expected!" came the pert reply. "All fathers look like they been through a siege o' two winters' length when 'tis the mother who bears the brunt of it all." Mara gave her a stern look, disapproving of the observations at such a time, and Shiona blushed. "The lady is exhausted, sir, but holding up well. Between the pains she slips off to sleep for a few minutes."

  "And has she said anything …unusual during the times she is na' awake?" Mara asked quietly, expecting to hear that Jenny'd spoken Thomas's name or mumbled more of the phrases from the diary.

  "Nae, m'lady, she did but cry out several times when the pains woke her, but 'twas na'

  unusual wha' she said."

  "Which was, girl?" Mara snapped impatiently, tensely leaning forward in her chair.

  "Why, she called out Master Devlan's name, Lady Mara." Shiona tilted her head, her large cornflower-blue eyes a bit wounded by her lady's sharpness. Dev grinned, vastly relieved that it had not been Thomas Jenny'd called for, and his expression was a bit smug as he sat back, folded his arms, and sent a significant look toward Mara.

  Mara gave in gracefully enough, thanking the girl and dismissing her before she lowered her head and smiled at Dev. "We'd have both been a bit surprised if she'd spoken Rodrigo's name, ah, m'boy?"

  "Not a chance in the world, Mara," came Dev's confident reply, and he grinned again as he nodded toward the board. "I believe I'm headed for a gammon unless by some miracle you throw nothing but doubles from here on."

  Mara returned his grin, picking up the dice. "Oh, I believe in miracles, Devlan, so I'll na' bow t'defeat yet." And amazingly enough, Mara rolled the dice in eight consecutive doubles, robbing Dev of his gammon and the game.

  Many hours later, when the two of them had both nodded off at the table, Fiona came to announce that the lady had "finally" been delivered of her child, implying in a rude way that Jenny had purposely disrupted the household with her labor. "A boy, a red and howlin' lad wi' a lusty pair o' lungs to his credit," she answered to her grandmother's question, jealous of the pride in Dev's face as well as the congratulations Mara gave him. She'd earlier heard an account of what had happened in the crypt and now brought up a point she had grappled with all night.

  "Lady Jennifer is asleep now, she but saw the bairn once. Have ye gi'en thought, Granddam, to the threat she'll be once she takes the bairn back to the castle? Ye're convinced she's Elainn and so must have her powers of propecy and sight. Wha' would ye think to be her reaction if she saw our plot afoot in the crystal? Would she gi' us away?"

  "Nae, haven't I spent enough time wi' her to know she'd na' betray us?" Mara retorted in rising anger. Fiona was going to continue to be a problem, that much was clear. "The girl does na' have it in her heart to do such a thing. Y'r envy of her is showing, lass, and it does na' look nice!"

  "Envy, is't? 'Tis na' envy tha' guides m' tongue, but a wonder at wha' ye'd do in her place."

  Fiona had set this up deliberately, drawing her grandmother into a verbal trap from which there was no escape. "If ye were the mother of a newborn and faced wi' a threat from wicked Rodrigo tha' ye'r bairn would come to harm, where would ye'r loyalty lie, m'Iady?"

  Mara looked stricken, and inwardly she cursed the fact that she'd been too tired to consider that aspect. Dev was still groggy with sleep, though his pale brown brows were furrowed at the problem Fiona had laid in their laps. "Much as I hate to admit it, Fiona's right, Devlan. If we allow the child t'fall into tha' divil's control, who can tell what may come of it?"

  "Jenny wouldn't tum me ... or any of us in. I know her too well," Dev insisted, but Fiona saw, and pounced upon, the vague flicker of doubt in his eyes.

  "Ah, but do ye know her as a woman or the new mother she now is? A woman will do much tha' goes against the grain when out to protect her own, Dev."

  "So what are you suggesting," he asked with an irritated glare, "that we ask Jenny if she wouldn't mind leaving the boy here, because we just don't happen to trust her?"

  Fiona's smile was sly. "Nae, I suggest we tell her, when at last she comes awake, tha' the babe was too weak to live. She will be sleeping for hours and hours yet, aware of nothing.

  Meg, our steward's daughter was delivered of a stillborn bairn na' more than ten hours past.

  She can wet-nurse the lad and her boy can be carried, most sorrowfully, to the castle and buried, proof to Rodrigo tha' Jennifer's child didna live."

  Mara had held her breath, listening with a kind of horror to the callous recital, a detailed plan that must have taken her granddaughter many hours to perfect. She was seeing a side of Fiona that grieved her and wondered to herself whether it was a new twist of her personality, or whether it had always been there and she'd been too blind to see it.

  Dev came to his feet, equally angry with Fiona's attitude. "You have it all laid out so neatly,"

  he said, "but have you thought of explaining this to Jenny, trying to get her to see it's for the baby's welfare that he stay here?"

  "Nae," Mara answered for Fiona, and she saw the shock in Dev's face and regretted it. "Fiona would have an answer for that, too, and I'm afraid I must concur." Dev slid back into his seat.

  "If ye try and persuade her, and she does na' agree, ye have spoiled the chance to succeed wi' a charade. I find this distressingly cold-hearted and a brutal thing t'do to a girl I've come to love; but for Rodrigo to be vanquished, Jennifer must suffer a short while of misery so tha'

  others do na suffer interminably!" She reached out to touch Dev's arm and he looked up, scowling at her gesture. "She will have her child back safe once we have succeeded against Rodrigo. She may someday thank us for savin' the lad physical harm through tha' tyrant."

  "All right, I'll agr
ee," Dev growled, "but I can tell you one thing right now." He looked up at Fiona's smug, satisfied expression and grimaced in disgust, then turned to face Mara. "She'll never understand any reason you give her and never forgive the deception." He stood up, determined to have a look at his new son and take a peek at Jenny while she slept. "And I'll be damned if I'll blame her for feeling that way!"

  And four doors away, down the hall, Jenny slept peacefully on, freed now from pain and resting tranquilly in the knowledge that her son was sound and 'healthy, that she'd held him once before exhaustion claimed her. She was; as yet, spared the aching sorrow that would be worse than her labor pains, and the despair and disbelief that would be hers when, upon waking, she was informed by a distraught Mara that the baby had died and already rested in a tiny grave in the castle gardens, escorted there by herself in a rare departure from her island home. Of course, Jenny would, after the first shock, believe Mara ... for she trusted her, and Mara had no reason to fabricate such a tale.

  Twenty-Two

  It had been over a month since she'd given birth, and Jenny still could not accept the fact that her little boy had died. After the two weeks she'd spent recuperating on the island, she'd come back to the castle and a solicitous Rodrigo who had offered his condolences, then left her alone to mourn her loss in privacy.

  Lady Mara had come once for a visit and had held Jenny close as she wept out the pain and utter frustration of losing a child she'd cradled only once in her arms before awakening to be told the baby had not survived. Now Jenny knelt and placed a bouquet of wildflowers she'd picked on the painfully small grave. A simple cross marked the spot where Lady Mara had insisted they bury him, a secluded, tree-shaded section of the garden near the postern gate of the castle. Even now the stonecutter from the town was at work on a gravestone, a thin slab of granite that would read, as Jenny requested, Nicholas, beloved son of Jennifer, and the date of September seventh, eighteen seventy-four. Nothing else, for Rodrigo had refused to let her put the name of Cantrell on the stone and Jenny had rejected using his surname.