The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “A charlatan,” Gowen said firmly. “I cannot stand her near Deborah, but the old crone is very convincing and tells the women what they want to hear.”

  Christopher was growing increasingly concerned. “Then I will refuse the woman admittance to my keep,” he said. “There are no other midwives in the village?”

  “A few with lesser reputations,” Gowen replied. “None that I would trust with Deborah’s life or the life of our child, yet the choice is nil.”

  “Like hell,” Christopher grumbled. “There was a woman who took care of my wife when she had her accident last year, an excellent midwife. I will send one of my knights to Windsor to retrieve her. I will trust the life of my wife and child to no sorceress.”

  “A wise decision, baron,” Gowen said, relieved. “How fortunate I am that my brother-in-law can command even mighty Windsor to do his bidding.”

  Christopher lifted an eyebrow in agreement; angry Dustin could be so naive as to believe the tales of a witch. He was greatly concerned for the child now, knowing the midwife to be an imposter, but resisted the urge to awaken and scold his wife. With Deborah’s injuries, it would not be wise to upset her further. But he would bide his time until the moment was right.

  Christopher and Gowen spent a great deal of time alone together, watching their respective sleeping wives, speaking of things small and large. They grew to know each other bit by bit, and even after David joined them with the morning meal, continued their deeply philosophical conversation about the morality of Hadrian’s invasion. David, way out of his league, dozed off in a chair.

  Christopher discovered rapidly that his new brother-in-law was indeed a sharp man. Well-read and opinionated, Christopher found himself greatly enjoying the intellectual conversation. Of his knights, Edward and mayhap Leeton were the only two he could hold a truly intelligent conversation with, for the rest, including his brother, were not as bright. David was an outstanding soldier and lived for the battlefield, but he was lacking in deep intelligence. Christopher thought at one point, with humor, that if he could combine David and Gowen into one man, he would have the greatest warrior in the world.

  Toward noon, Dustin awoke and began moving, groaning as she did so. Christopher looked at her with concern.

  “What is wrong?” he demanded.

  “Ohhh,” she groaned again, twisting her body gingerly. “My entire body is sore. I can hardly move.”

  Grinning with relief, Christopher held out his hand. “Let me help you, then.”

  He pulled her out of the chair, steadying her as she gazed over at Deborah. “Has she awoken?” she asked.

  “Nay,” Christopher replied. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little,” she said. “But I would rather have a bath.”

  “Go take one, then,” he said gently. “I shall join you in a few minutes.”

  Dustin nodded wearily, straightening her surcoat and moving for the door. She passed by David, unconscious in a chair and snoring like thunder. With an irritated purse of the lips, she smacked him on the side of the head.

  David jumped, disoriented, until he saw his sister-in-law’s scowling face. “What was that for?” he demanded.

  “For waking me up, you lout,” she snapped. “Good lord, you snore louder than anyone I have ever had the misfortune to hear.”

  “Ha!” David sneered. “Look who is accusing me of snoring? You would wake the dead with your snoring.”

  Outraged, Dustin slugged him in the arm hard enough to make him wince. “I do not snore,” she cried. “What a terrible thing to say.”

  David rubbed his arm, looking to his brother for support. “Am I wrong? Am I wrong?”

  Christopher turned away, a smirk on his face. “ ’Twas a most unsavory thing to say, David, right or wrong.”

  Dustin punched him again for good measure and quit the room.

  David rubbed his arm where Dustin had smacked him, eyeing his brother. “As always, your support is appreciated, brother,” he said sarcastically.

  Christopher snorted. “She only slugged you. If I were to have agreed with you, ’tis more than likely she would do a great deal more to me.”

  “And you fear retribution?” David asked. “Since when?”

  “Since I married her,” he said, glancing at Gowen who smirked knowingly.

  David shook his head, standing up to stretch the stiffness out of his sculpted body. “And I say I have had enough of both of you. I am going down to the practice field.”

  Christopher waved him off, feeling pretty damn tired and stiff himself with an entire night of standing. Deborah’s breathing was even and her pulse steady, but she had yet to wake. He pondered whether or not she ever would.

  “I shall leave you here with my sis…..your wife, then,” he said, crossing for the door. “I will not go far and expect to be notified immediately if she awakens.”

  “As you wish, sire,” Gowen replied, sinking wearily into the nearest chair.

  Christopher paused at the door. “You may address me as Christopher in private. To call me sire seems stiffly formal, and I would hope that tonight we have gone beyond such prescribed standards.”

  Gowen nodded. “It has been an eventful night, I will concur. And I appreciate the gesture.”

  Christopher nodded weakly and left to join his wife.

  *

  Griselda Warwick and Burwell rode in with Sir Nicholas and Anthony exactly eleven days later. Darren, the young squire, had also ridden escort. His mother had been thrilled to see her only son, but his visit was concluded and he, too, was anxious to return to Christopher. He was positive his liege could not get along without him.

  Dustin was in the bailey with the dogs when the party rode in. She smiled at Anthony and Darren, flirting with the young man as he dismounted until his face was as red as a beet. She laughed at him, glad to have him in their midst again. Griselda, seeing Dustin’s advanced state, hopped off her wagon faster than she should have and scolded her for being out and about.

  Dustin laughed at the old woman. “I have got two more months to go, Griselda. I feel fine.”

  Griselda passed a well-practiced eye over Dustin’s body. “If I did not know better, I would say you had two or three weeks to go at the very most. You are far too large for only six and a half months.”

  Dustin’s smile faded, turning into simmering horror. It simply wasn’t poss….No. She stepped back from the woman, suddenly seized with apprehension such as she had never known. She had to be only six and a half months pregnant, for that is when she and Christopher had made love for the first time after her accident. But her encounter with Marcus had been a full five weeks before that. Try as she might to suppress the knowledge, in the recesses of her mind, Marcus Burton fought to make himself known. It could not be Marcus’ child!

  “Nay!” Dustin burst, drawing looks from everyone around her. “This child is due around the first of November and you shall not say otherwise.”

  Griselda, undaunted, took Dustin’s arm and noticed she was shaking. “Come inside now, my lady. I shall make you a soothing brew of chamomile and rosehips. Come on, now.”

  Burwell eyed Lady de Lohr as well, stretching the stiffness out of his fat body. Behind him, his assistant dismounted and deftly gathered their baggage.

  “My lady is looking far better than when I last saw you,” Burwell said. “Two months, did you say? If that is true, then the baron’s child will come out as big as he is.”

  Dustin was growing overwhelmed with their comments, but the more she tried to ignore them, the more they slammed into her. If she were forced to admit it, then she would have realized that the thought had been with her all along, but she had convinced herself early on that such probability was impossible. But the midwife’s innocent comment had her entire world crashing in around her.

  Christopher met them at the front door of the castle. “Ah, Burwell, Mistress Griselda, I see that…..what’s wrong with my wife?”

  “Fatigue, sire, of course,” G
riselda replied. “She should rest as much as possible now.”

  Christopher looked at Dustin, his face furrowing with concern. “Do you feel all right, Dustin?”

  She snapped out of her train of horrid thoughts when she realized he was talking to her. One look at his face and she burst into tears.

  “Here, here, sweetheart.” He took her from the old woman, cuddling her tenderly. “What is the matter now?”

  “Now?” Dustin sobbed. “What do you mean ‘now’?”

  He silently cursed himself for the slip; he hadn’t meant it to sound as it did, although it wasn’t far from the truth. Everything upset her these days.

  “I did not mean it that way,” he assured her quickly. “Let us go upstairs. Mistress Griselda says that you must rest.”

  “I do not want to rest,” she wept.

  “Yes, you do,” Christopher insisted firmly as he took her up the stairs. “And I want Mistress Griselda to examine you.”

  “No!” Dustin snapped, trying to jerk away from him. “I do not want anyone looking at me.”

  “That is foolish, Dustin,” he said calmly. “Let’s go lie down.”

  Burwell snorted as they wrestled with Dustin. “At least my patient isn’t fighting back,” he said. “If you would kindly direct me to your sister, baron, I shall be about my business.”

  Christopher jerked his head skyward. “Up the stairs, fourth door on the right. Her husband is in the room with her.”

  Burwell pushed past the three of them with his wispy little helper in tow. Dustin grumbled and muttered and sobbed the entire way back to their rooms, irritably slapping her husband away as he tried to help her off with her cloak. He stood back with his hands on his hips, greatly approving of the firm, matronly way Griselda handled his wife. It was obvious this woman was used to cranky, irritable, witchy pregnant woman. He, for one, wasn’t.

  Griselda managed to partially disrobe Dustin to get a good look at her belly. Her warm, expert hands probed and prodded gently, her old face glazed with concentration. Dustin snapped at the old woman, grunting when she probed near her tender groin.

  Christopher stood back and watched with anticipation, vastly relieved he had brought Griselda to Lioncross to care for his wife. He would sleep easier knowing the old woman was under his roof. After an impatient eternity, Griselda pulled Dustin’s skirt down to cover her belly.

  “The child is already head-down,” the old woman commented. “Even as I was feeling his position, he was active and moving. I’d say you are going to have a very large baby on your hands, my lady.”

  Dustin, now interested in what the woman had to say, looked concerned. “How big? Am I going to be able to birth the child without trouble?”

  Griselda prodded her pelvis, helping her lift her knees as she internally probed her passage. Dustin was uncomfortable with that part of the examination; only Christopher had truly touched her there, although after her accident she had been examined, but she jumped anyway when Griselda first tried to probe her. At her side, her husband murmured reassuringly and she calmed. After a few silent minutes of poking and grunting, Griselda moved to the basin to wash her hands.

  “Your hips are wide enough,” she commented. “Baron, might I have a word, please?”

  Relieved, Dustin let out a blustery sigh and pushed her skirts down. Christopher straightened her surcoat the rest of the way and helped her sit up. Patting the top of her head, he followed the old crone out into the corridor.

  “What is the matter?” he asked, dread filling him.

  “I do not want to alarm you, sire, but the child is already large enough to be born, and your wife says she has two months yet,” Griselda said quietly. “If she gets too much larger, and I have no reason to believe that she will not, then I may have to take… steps.”

  Christopher went cold with fear. “Christ, woman, what steps? Make yourself clear.”

  “I may have to take the child from her,” the old woman said as evenly as she could; an enraged, nervous father was not always the most rational of creatures. “ ’Tis not as horrible as it sounds, truly; I simply give her a potion to induce her pains and hope that it will take care of the problem. If not, then I may have to open her belly and remove the child that way.”

  “Open her belly?” Christopher raised his voice before he could stop himself, instantly mindful that his equally nervous wife was on the other side of the closed door, and he did not want her to hear him. “Explain yourself,” he said again, much more quietly.

  Griselda cocked an eyebrow. “Bank yourself, sire, for if it is the only way to save the life of your wife and child, then so be it,” she said. “I make an incision thusly in her belly and the child is quickly removed. Stitches will close your wife up and she will heal in a few months’ time. I have done it before, several times, when there is no other alternative.”

  Christopher was horrified at what the woman was suggesting, but fascinated as well. “And it is always successful?”

  Griselda shrugged modestly. “I have had more successes than failures, sire. But I will need your help in the matter should it come to that, as new mothers do not wish to be put under the blade for obvious reasons.”

  He raised an eyebrow dryly. “Obvious indeed. What help can I give?”

  “Comfort her, convince her it is necessary and, if required, hold her down while I complete the task,” she answered.

  “I shall knock her out myself before I allow her to feel the pain of a blade to her belly,” he snorted firmly. “But I will support whatever you feel is best, mistress.”

  “Thank you, sire,” Griselda replied. “Now, why do not you comfort your wife and make sure she rests. I will make her a soothing brew.”

  They went back into the bedchamber to find Dustin out cold on the bed, snoring softly in slumber. The midwife smiled and picked up her bag, quickly bobbing a curtsy for Christopher’s benefit before quitting the room.

  Christopher sat beside the bed and watched Dustin sleep for a long time, his mind mulling over many things. As much as he loved Dustin and as much as he desired this child, he would have the midwife save Dustin’s life over that of the babe. He had made that decision firmly before God, that over all else, Dustin should survive the births of their children. He’d rather be childless than lose his wife.

  His head ended up resting in his hand and he could hear noise from the bailey faintly wafting up through the windows. He ironically wondered who was having a more difficult time with this pregnancy, him or Dustin.

  Then he did something he hadn’t done since he had left the Holy Land; he prayed.

  Burwell tried a number of remedies to bring Deborah out of her state. He said she was no longer unconscious, merely in a very deep sleep as her body tried to regain some of its strength. But she needed to wake up and begin taking nourishment if she and the child were going to survive, so he opened a small vial and waved it in front of her nose a few times. After a moment, he tried once more and, miraculously, Deborah stirred. A third and a fourth time and Deborah’s blue eyes fluttered open, rolling back in her head as she tried to come around. Gowen called her name loudly a few times and eventually, she focused on him.

  Christopher stood and watched as his sister regained her senses, terribly relieved when she recognized all of them and began to cry weakly in Gowen’s arms. But Burwell broke up the tender moment by insisting she take some nourishment, and he stood over Gowen and watched him fed her several spoonfuls of beef broth. Deborah sputtered, coughed, but did as she was ordered in spite of the fact that she was weaker than a baby.

  “Chris,” she whispered. “I am so sorry to be such a bother.”

  He raised his eyebrow with mock sternness. “As well you should be, lady.”

  The tears started as Gowen tried to feed her. “I was so wrong and I humbly beg your forgiveness.” Her eyes gazed lovingly up at her husband. “When you took Gowen away, I was positive you were going to kill him and I did not want to live without him. I know my actions se
emed rash, but to me, they were necessary. Yet I see that your mercy is infinite, brother, and I shall always be grateful.”

  “I cannot forgive you for your attempt on your life, Deborah. Only God can pardon your sin,” he said. “As for marrying without my permission, we shall discuss that later. Right now I want you to become healthy and whole once again and bear me a strong nephew.”

  Her eyes widened a bit and she looked to Gowen in confusion, but he only smiled tenderly and spooned another bit of broth into her mouth. She was deeply ashamed that Christopher should know of her weaknesses, as she had so many. But, as she had always known, her brother had a heart as big as the heavens.

  In spite of the fact that she was unworthy to be a de Lohr, he acted as if it mattered not. A man who was feared by the entire realm for his fierceness and unforgiving manner was gentle and compassionate with his loved ones, and she was entirely undeserving in her opinion.

  “Thank you,” she whispered again, wishing she could demonstrate her thanks somehow.

  He waved her off with a slight smile, simply relieved she was back with them once again. Convinced his sister was in good hands, Christopher left her to those more knowledgeable and ordered a huge meal in celebration of his sister’s recovery.

  The day outside had grown black as coal and as he went to his bedchamber, he noticed that it had begun to rain.

  *

  And rain it did, for days on end. Deborah grew stronger, Dustin grew fatter, and between the two of them Christopher was quite possibly going insane. Neither one of them were in the best of moods, even in the best of times. Deborah’s strength returned and so did her pregnancy sickness. If she wasn’t vomiting, she was laying down. Gowen was miserable with her sickness and sought solace with the knights whenever he could.

  In spite of the fact that the man wasn’t a warrior, he fit in quite well with the knights and enjoyed their camaraderie. Christopher even began to trust him with the records of the estate as well as the records of the border revenues, and the keep ran more efficiently than it ever had.