Echoes of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  “Yes.”

  “She says your skill is intuitive.”

  Bethan took a sip of ale. “I have much to learn.”

  “She has faith in you. I am glad.” He cocked his head toward Maggie. “For yon midwife will be putting her feet up until the child is born.” He straightened in his chair, looking no less powerful for being in it.

  She had no doubt. “During the birth, Maggie prayed to a ‘Holy Sister.’ Did she mean Mary? I didn’t know she was Catholic.”

  “She’s not.”

  He eyed the closed door of the birth room. “Maggie believes the spirit of Julian of Norwich aids her in her work.”

  “Julian of Norwich?”

  “She was an anchoress in the fourteenth century, a nun who kept herself secluded in a cell to pray and seek God’s guidance. She was besieged, or blessed, depending on your outlook, with visions.” He glanced toward the door again. “I’ll tell you more on the way home.”

  He wheeled over to the table and brought the pitcher of ale over to fill her glass. She nodded her thanks.

  He tilted his head in his wife’s direction. “She is exhausted, but will never admit it. I don’t think it will be long.” He grinned at her, and she had no problem seeing why the serious Maggie had fallen for him. The man teemed with energy.

  He then wheeled over to the hearth to a blackened pot hanging over the fire. He stood, legs trembling, and filled a bowl with the fragrant stew.

  “Thank you, Ian.”

  Just then, Maggie lifted her head and sniffed.

  “Ah, you awaken. Here, I’ll fetch you some.”

  To Bethan’s great surprise, Maggie nodded. “I must admit I’m done in.” As if to argue, her belly shifted and heaved. “Oh, hand it to me. I’m starving!”

  With a comically frantic speed, he handed her a bowl.

  “Eat, woman. Then I’ll take you home.” He ordered, in a tone brooking no argument.

  Just then, the bedroom door opened, and Emma’s parents emerged, beaming.

  “Most beautiful boy ever born,” Mistress Evans said, wiping tears from her ruddy face.

  “I’ve got some brandy I’ve been saving for the event. Would ye share a bit with us?” The proud grandfather went straightaway to the cupboard.

  “Of course,” Ian said. “But then I must get her home.” He took Maggie’s empty bowl and refilled it.

  She had color in her cheeks again and pointed with her empty spoon. “Mistress Evans, you look like you’ve been pulled through a knothole backward. Rest when you can, for your daughter and the babe will need you.”

  Mr. Evans pulled some fine goblets out of the cupboard and dusted off a bottle.

  “Would you care for some, Mistress Bethan?”

  “Uh…yes. I’ve never tried it.”

  “A better brandy you’ll never find. French,” he whispered.

  When they all had their glasses, Ian raised his.

  “To your fine new grandson. May he grow fat as a summer lamb.”

  “Hear hear!”

  Bethan took a tentative taste. The brandy burned down her gullet like liquid fire, then gushed through her body with warmth.

  Mr. Evans raised his glass. “To Mistress Bethan and midwife Maggie, for bringing our bonny grandson into this world.”

  “Hear hear!”

  “Bethan,” Maggie said, holding her belly. “Last night you showed strength, endurance, and natural ability. My mothers are in good hands with you, and so am I.”

  “Hear hear!”

  It was not just the brandy making Bethan glow from foot to toe.

  Ian reached for Maggie’s cloak. “Come, my lovely. We must get you to bed.”

  “Bethan here will return tomorrow to check on Emma and the baby.” She looked at Bethan expectantly.

  Bethan nodded.

  Before long, the three of them set off for Maggie and Ian’s cottage. Ian saw Maggie to bed and gave Bethan the herb poultice for Emma’s privities. Bethan and Ian made their way to the Siren Inn through a dense fog. The sound of revelers at the Landgate alehouse echoed down the street, accompanied by the rumble of Ian’s wheelchair.

  “Take care on the cobbles, Bethan.” He hummed along with the music.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Mind what?”

  “Not being able to walk? God, I’m sorry. What a tactless thing to ask.”

  “Yes, of course I mind, as much as anyone would, I guess. But I know I wouldn’t be alive if not for Maggie and the Holy Nun.”

  “I see.”

  He surveyed his legs thoughtfully. “The question I ask myself is not so much why I cannot walk, but why have I been given the gift of life. As impossible as it seems, I was the recipient of Julian of Norwich’s grace.”

  They’d stopped in the middle of Siren Street. It was quiet, but for the creaking of the mermaid sign.

  “You’ll have heard the story of her sister, Sarah, how she was buried alive and found in time,” Ian said.

  “By you.”

  “Yes.”

  “We believe the spirit of Julian of Norwich helped Sarah survive her time underground.”

  “What?”

  “I know, it sounds like an All Hallows’ Eve tale. Maggie believes the Holy Nun is her mentor.”

  “I see.”

  So implausible, yet from what she knew of the practical Maggie, how could she not believe?

  “Bethan, you would do well to respect the spirit of the nun.”

  “I will be open to her presence.”

  “Sarah is forever altered and is becoming increasingly strange.” He shivered. “She is no help to Maggie at this time.”

  They crossed the street and reached the door of the inn.

  She tamped down the anxiety licking flames up her throat. “I will take care of Maggie as if she were my own sister.”

  He nodded. “I’ll take leave of you now, Mistress Bethan. Congratulations. Rest your weary bones, for I expect my son or daughter will arrive soon.” He grinned and made his way up the street, singing under his breath.

  She paused before opening the door and let the memory of the evening’s events encircle her. She might not be able to do anything for Elunid, but she could be of service to the good women of this town. Elation rose within her, sang through her with music, erasing her fatigue. She couldn’t go inside, not just yet. If only she could share it with someone.

  She heard the creak of the wagon wheels as if she’d summoned Henry. And why should she not share her joy? Her whole body hummed with life, her fingers tingled with the desire to touch him, to celebrate the wonders of her skin with the one man who made it come alive.

  She threw off her cloak, took down her hair, and raised her arms, palms to the sky, enjoying the tiny droplets of moisture cooling her skin. But it did not cool the desire of wanting to touch someone. Henry. She let herself yearn.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Henry peered through the wisps of fog up Siren Street. The tall, proud figure of Bethan stood at the doorway. Her dark hair hung loose down her back, and she held her face up to the sky. He caught his breath at the sight of the white, translucent skin of her throat, the vulnerability and the strength of it. There was something different about her. She seemed brighter, more radiant. She lifted her palms to the sky, as if she could rise effortlessly into the air. She turned in his direction, dark blue eyes lit like a beacon. He lifted his hand to her without thought.

  “George, could you do the next few houses for me, lad? You’re ready to go it alone, don’t you think?”

  “Sure, Da!”

  As he shortened the distance between them, the brilliance of her smile rammed his heart into his throat. He approached her, swallowed hard, and cleared it. She was so radiant it took all his courage to look upon her. “Good morning, Bethan.” He bowed.

  She closed the gap and grasped his arms. “Oh, Henry! I brought a new life into the world.”

  Her long fingers curled around his upper arms, and he breathed in her earthy, s
alty scent. She had a bead of moisture upon her cheek, and he longed to place his lips upon it, take her essence into himself.

  “How extraordinary.” His own voice echoed in his ears.

  Without warning, she drew him against her body and kissed him, her lips soft and cool on his, arms encircling him. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand on the back of her head, one at the small of her back. He breathed in her spirit, and her heartbeat entered him, filling his emptiness with her joy.

  And then she broke loose. Had she come to her senses and realized her folly? No, for she searched his face, so close he could smell the scent of brandy on her breath.

  “I wanted to share. I wanted…” Her eyes welled with tears.

  “You wanted?”

  “I want to share with you.” She kissed him again, slowly.

  He ran his hands down the curve of her hips. Then she released him, a question in her eyes.

  He glanced to where George worked. All was well there. “Yes. Share with me, Bethan.” He took her arm and led her to the garden behind the inn, motioned for her to sit on the bench against the garden wall. He took her hands, kissed her again while he had the chance. Her lips were soft as the rose petals overhanging the arbor.

  “It was exhilarating, terrifying. I’ve never felt so alive!”

  He nodded.

  “There’s so much I don’t know, and soon Maggie will be having her child, and it will be up to me to deliver it safely.”

  He smoothed the crease of worry from her forehead.

  She brightened again. “But I’m meant to do this, I’m certain.”

  How brave she was. “You will do it, Bethan. You will learn and grow in skill. You are a giver of life, for you have surely given me mine.” He would tell her the secrets of his heart while he had the chance.

  “Yours?” She cocked her head, silken hair falling over one shoulder. She gazed down at his mouth, and he stroked her cheek.

  She met his gaze again. “Very forward of me to kiss you. But it seemed right.”

  “Yes.” He kissed her again, fingers trailing along her slender neck, gratified to feel the tiny shivers coursing through her. He longed to traverse the contours of her breasts, but he might frighten her away.

  “Da!”

  What he wouldn’t give to spend every early morning basking in her light.

  Her sigh of regret did much to cheer him, despite his reluctance to break their embrace.

  He stroked her cheek. “I’m sorry, but I must return to work.”

  He was afraid the mention of his occupation would make her recoil, but to his surprise she smiled, making his heart pound in his throat again.

  “Thank you for sharing my joy, Henry.”

  “I would share it every day, like this.” And hear his name spoken with such tenderness.

  He offered up his best bow, one he might give to the queen, for she was his queen. He kissed her hand, fingers lingering on the soft skin, turned it over, kissed her palm. He turned and walked away. If he looked back, would she be watching him?

  ****

  She viewed him until he disappeared, skin burning from his touch, the feel of his eyes dark upon her, and the soft, unfamiliar brush of his beard upon her face, the softness of his lips on hers. She’d never known a man’s lips could be so soft, yet so strong.

  She felt a jolt of recognition, then laughed. She cared not a whit about his occupation, not when he could make her glow all over.

  The back door squeaked open, and Lena stood, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  “Bethan?”

  She rose and spent an inordinate amount of time brushing herself off.

  “You’re so flushed, Liebchen. The air is cool still. Ah.” She chuckled. “I hear the night wagon going up the street.”

  Bethan shrugged and grinned. Why try to deny her feelings for Henry, especially to Lena?

  “Come, Bethan. You must be tired. So you are a midwife now. I am happy for you. Come in and have some pottage with fresh cream and sugar. And toast. I checked on your sister. She’s still asleep.”

  Lena soon had her settled in front of the fire. Who knew how delicious plain oatmeal could be?

  “You must tell me all about young Emma’s trials.”

  They spent a congenial time by the fire, and when Lena rose to tend to her babe, Bethan leaned her head back in the chair and closed her eyes. His lips, the hard feel of his body against hers. She wanted more of him. Her desire shocked her with its intensity.

  Much as she tried to block the memory from her mind, she couldn’t: his naked body against hers, and the sight of him, skin glistening, his member stiff against the tangle of dark curls. Yearning surged heat through her center, and for a moment, she imagined herself entwined with him.

  Elunid plopped into the seat beside her.

  Bethan glanced at her, dreams of Henry fading. “Good morrow, Sister.”

  Her twin sniffed, nose in the air like a hound. “You’ve lust all over you.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Of all the mornings for her sister to notice the world around her. She took a measured breath.

  Elunid surveyed her face as if she were a subject for her needlework. “Swollen lips, flushed cheeks. Hair in disarray.”

  Bethan smoothed her hair.

  Elunid placed cold fingers upon her arm. “You needn’t hide it from me, Sister. There’s no shame in it. If yon Hephaestus warms your blood, so be it…”

  Bethan sputtered, prepared to dress her down, but why bother? He did remind her of Hephaestus.

  Elunid stared into the fire, humming a song Bethan had heard George sing the day before.

  Suddenly the events of the night caught up with her, and her eyes grew heavy. “Elunid, I must have a lie down. Fetch me if you need to.”

  “Why would I need you?”

  She was too exhausted to puzzle over the changing weather of her sister’s mind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Later that afternoon, Bethan awakened refreshed and entered the common area to find a crowd had gathered in her absence. Lena appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with mollusks.

  “Oh Lena! I’m so sorry. Here, let me take it.”

  “Ach! You needed your rest, and look all the better for it.” She cocked her head toward Elunid, who sat at a table conversing gaily with Widow Jenkins. “She is well today, ja?”

  “Yes, but it won’t last.”

  She shoved Bethan gently toward her twin. “You’ve been given a gift. Go. Enjoy the moment.” She sniffed. “I wish I’d enjoyed every minute with my Josef.”

  Bethan hugged her. “Thank you, Lena. I’ll work hard for you today.”

  When she stood by the table next to Elunid, Widow Jenkins squealed and put her gnarly hand on her skinny chest. “Damn! Gave me a shock, you did. Look at the two of you together, looking so alike.”

  At rare times like these, Bethan had the sensation of looking at herself in a mirror.

  “Look at that,” the chandler said. “The touched one looks just like young Bethan.”

  “Her name is Elunid,” Bethan said, putting her hand on her arm. “And I can tell you, we caused our fair share of mischief in our younger days.”

  “Aye, Mother often said we raised her bile.”

  “And now I hear ye’re a fair good midwife, young Bethan.”

  A rush of excitement filled her at being so named.

  “I’m not sure it’s right, you being a virgin, and seeing the tail end of a man’s swiving,” Widow Jenkins bellowed.

  All present turned their heads. Unbidden, the image of Henry’s bare chest appeared. Bethan reddened. “Mrs. Jenkins!” How was it old women could say anything and get away with it?

  Elunid placed her hand atop the widow’s gnarled one. “She may be young, but she’s skilled beyond her years.”

  The old woman patted her hand. “If ye say so, dearie.”

  Could it be that Ian’s medicine had cured her sister? Just as quickly, she
rebuked herself for the foolish thought.

  “Don’t stand there gawping like a fish, fetch me some ale.” The widow squawked.

  At that moment, a group of sailors fresh off the boat wound their way in, landing at a table with a thunk.

  “I must get to work,” Bethan said. “Sister, I’m bringing you out a plate.”

  “Ye need fattening up, girl.”

  “I agree.” Bethan grinned.

  She took the sailors’ orders: ale of course, and enough food to feed a light brigade.

  She headed toward the bar, her eye still on Elunid. Suddenly, something hit her in the stomach, knocking the breath out of her.

  “Oof,” she grunted, knees buckling. She was dimly aware of liquid splashing on her arms.

  “Oh God!” Henry put his arm around her. “I’m so sorry, Bethan. I couldn’t see.”

  She slowly straightened. He helped her to a chair.

  “I’m an oaf,” he said. “I had the tray heaped high, and I turned my head, listening to Lena.”

  “No,” she gasped. “I’m fine. I wasn’t looking either.”

  He still had his hand upon her back and peered at her, concern creasing his forehead.

  Mayhap she should feign ill health often, in order to be the subject of his care! But it wasn’t her way.

  He smiled, and she caught her breath. Something different about him… “Your beard!”

  He had shaved it off. She let her fingers enjoy the square, smooth line of his jaw, the strong cheek bones.

  “Do you approve?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I did it for you, Bethan. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “Yes, I’m sturdy as a barge, as Mother used to say.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “A barge? Not how I’d describe you.” He lifted her chin. “Someday, Bethan, I will make sure you know how beautiful you are.”

  “Henry, my kippers, man!”

  “Hold on, James. You won’t starve to death in a minute’s time.”

  “I was fetching some ale for the sailors and Widow Jenkins. She’s in rare form tonight, as is Elunid. Where’s George?”