Claire Delacroix (41 page)

But Jacqueline laughed under her breath. “His presence is no aid in this time,” she said with a rueful smile. “Indeed, his incessant pacing only makes me more fearful than I am.”

“But he could hold your hand and whisper assurances to you.”

“Angus is a man, and worse, a man of war,” Jacqueline said firmly. She opened her eyes and held Esmeraude’s gaze. “’Tis his way to solve whatsoever is amiss and to solve it quickly.”

“And?”

Jacqueline’s lips quirked in reminiscence. “The sole time I allowed him to be with me for the labor, I was half-certain he would cut Fergus from my womb with his own blade, simply to see the matter done and my pain halted. The time it took that child to come into the world pushed him beyond reason.” She sighed and smiled, evidently not overly troubled with this trait of her spouse. “’Tis far simpler to let Angus be elsewhere, solving other matters as quickly as is his wont.”

“Does he come when ’tis over?”

“I have him summoned when the child is close. He can bear a few moments of my ordeal for the delight of seeing his son or daughter’s arrival.” Jacqueline caught her breath again and her voice tightened. “Indeed, it gives him uncommon pleasure to be the first to hold his own child, and it gives me as much pleasure to witness his happiness.”

Esmeraude guessed that Angus’ joy in the arrival of his child was what made the labor easier for Jacqueline. She bathed her sister’s brow and held fast to her hand until this contraction passed.

The midwife nodded with satisfaction. “’Tis as though you have done this afore, my lady,” she jested and Jacqueline smiled.

Jacqueline turned her bright gaze upon Esmeraude. “Your expectations of men have been colored by Duncan MacLaren.”

“And what is that to mean?”

“That our stepfather is an uncommon man.”

“Shall I tell Angus that he is common?” Esmeraude teased, pleased when her sister smiled.

“Duncan is a man who speaks readily of the contents of his heart, while men like Angus - and I suspect Bayard - are more reticent in such matters. Duncan is a poet first, while Angus and Bayard are warriors first.”

“Does Angus love you?”

Jacqueline’s smile was radiant. “Can you doubt it?”

“But has he ever told you as much?”

“Aye, he does so all the time, but that first confession was hard won indeed.” Jacqueline smiled in reminiscence. “Indeed, he confessed as much only after he thought he had lost me for all time, after I left him to join the convent.” She pressed Esmeraude’s hand. “Do not be so quick to accept that whatsoever your Bayard tells you of himself is true. His deeds speak loudest of all in this.”

Esmeraude’s agreement was cut short by another contraction, then the midwife hooted with victory. “It comes, my lady!”

“You will see, Esmeraude, you will see the truth of it when Bayard witnesses his own child’s entry into the world,” Jacqueline whispered.

Esmeraude glanced to her in astonishment. “There is naught that says I will see such an event.”

“Not if you do not wed the man, ’tis true.” Jacqueline smiled, confident of her claim. “But you bear his child, I know it.”

Esmeraude’s heart leapt. “You cannot know that so soon as this.”

“I know it. With my own, I know the moment they are conceived. I cannot explain this, but ’twas this way with Angus’ mother and when she died, I seem to have gained her gift.” Jacqueline squeezed Esmeraude’s fingers. “You bear his child and I would wager my own upon the truth of it.”

Bayard’s child. Esmeraude gripped her sister’s hand, marveling at this, even as Jacqueline labored to bring her own child to light.

The midwife grinned when the contraction passed, though Jacqueline breathed heavily. “I see the head! The child is nigh here, my lady. All is well!”

Jacqueline squeezed Esmeraude’s hand so tightly that she almost broke the bones. “Go! Go now and fetch Angus, wheresoever he is. I would not have him miss this moment.”

Esmeraude kissed her sister’s brow, then ran with all the speed she could muster.

* * *

Simon sat in the hall, virtually alone, huddled beneath the expanse of his plainest cloak. He was tired from his furtive observations of the night before, but he did little more than doze. He was in the corner of the hall, wreathed in shadows, and few even noticed his presence in the bustle of activity this day.

Simon sat there and simmered with his newfound hatred of the lord of Airdfinnan. Not one child, but four the man already had, and another came into the world on this very day. Simon should be so lucky as to have a wife so able to bear his seed, instead of the seven barren witches he had wed thus far.

He sat and brooded, toying with the idea of stealing one of this lord’s babes and claiming it as his own. Would such savages as lived in this hostile land even note the absence of the child? Would they care?

But there was only one son thus far, a tall and strong lad whose disappearance would be noted. Aye, Simon had seen that the lord favored the boy.

The portal to the solar was flung open even as the lady within screamed in pain, and Esmeraude ran across the hall. She was oblivious to Simon’s presence and he did naught to draw attention to himself. Indeed, he considered that this fertile lady of Airdfinnan had a sister, a sister whose womb might be as abundant as her own.

Simon had answered the summons to this bride quest because few fathers would trust their daughters to his hand these days and he had need of another bride. He had hoped that the fullness of rumor had not swept this far afield, but now Simon acknowledged that these barbarian women might have a certain allure.

Fertility was a powerful incentive to a man in desperate need of an heir.

Two serving women hastened from the solar in Esmeraude’s wake and Simon huddled more deeply in his cloak. He was thinking of how he should proceed to win Esmeraude himself when the gossip of the women caught his ear.

He listened shamelessly.

“How could you not have heard?” scolded one. The women carried pails of bloody rags and were headed toward the kitchen. “The lady herself said, just as clear as I am saying to you, that her sister was pregnant!”

“Pregnant? But how can that be? Esmeraude is not even wed as yet!”

The first woman laughed. “And what has that to do with the matter? Have you not seen the eyes she has cast at that knight, Bayard de Villonne? And I was not the only one to note that he came to the window of the solar last night to charm her.”

“He did?”

“You sleep too much, Berthe, ’tis why you miss all the meaty tales. And Esmeraude crept from the solar to pursue him, and not only that, but she did not come back all the night long.”

“Nay!”

“Aye. There is no mystery about who planted that babe in her belly. You may be certain that the lord of Airdfinnan will ensure that a marriage is made between Esmeraude and Bayard, at least he will if his lady tells him the truth of it. He is a good man, he is, and one who takes care of all his family, as is right and proper.”

With that, the women passed out of earshot, but Simon had heard enough to suit him well. He sat up in the empty hall and rubbed his hands together. What better bride for him than a woman already ripe? That Esmeraude would bear Bayard’s son to Simon was but an added treat.

Simon rose in haste and strode from the hall, anxious to set his scheme into place. Who knew how long the lady would labor? When she was finished, however, Simon would be poised to depart Airdfinnan with his prize.

Whether Esmeraude was agreeable or not.

* * *

Esmeraude was breathless by the time she found Angus in the smithy. He was pacing and looking troubled, paying no attention to the hammering of the smith. “Angus! Jacqueline calls for you!”

Smith, apprentice, and lord looked up in surprise.

“Is she well?” Angus demanded. “Is aught amiss?” He snatched her elbow and strode toward the hall without awaiting her answer. Indeed, he walked so hastily that Esmeraude had to take three steps for each one of his.

“The babe arrives and all seems to be well. Jacqueline would have you present for the last of it.”

“Praise be to God,” Angus muttered.

Esmeraude shook free of his grip, for she knew she slowed his pace. “Go,” she said and Angus did not need to be urged twice.

He quickly outpaced her and disappeared into the hall. Esmeraude ran behind, oblivious to the usual bustle of activity in the bailey. Simon bowed to her as she passed him but Esmeraude barely nodded in return. She arrived just in time to see Angus push aside the midwife to reach his wife.

“Jacqueline?” he whispered and the lady smiled for him, then lifted a languid hand.

“Angus, the babe comes,” Jacqueline whispered. He crouched beside her, one arm wrapped about her shoulders, his features taut as he whispered encouragement. Jacqueline tensed as another contraction came, then she screamed. ’Twas not easy upon Angus either, Esmeraude realized, but he did his best to let natural forces take their course.

After several contractions more, the midwife shouted and lifted the child free. The babe bellowed with evident health, Jacqueline fell back in relief, and the servants cheered.

Angus reached out and took his child, cradling it against Jacqueline’s chest so that she could see it. Esmeraude’s vision veiled with tears as he gently cleared the child’s face. He disregarded the blood that stained his chemise and the tears that ran down his cheeks.

He lay down beside his wife as the midwife clucked in disapproval of the mess, the child encircled by the two of them. “A son, Jacqueline,” he whispered hoarsely. “Another fine son.”

“A boy!” Célie cried with pleasure from the cluster of servants.

The babe tipped back his head and wailed, his face turning red with his efforts. Jacqueline smiled and reached up to touch her husband’s face. “His name is Ewen,” she said softly. “In memory of your brother.”

“Jacqueline!” Angus kissed her then, his relief and his love so evident that every woman in the chamber wiped away tears. He offered a finger to the babe, who gripped it firmly, prompting both parents to smile. Their voices dropped to whispers as they examined their new son with evident pride.

“The linens should be cleaned and the babe should be washed,” the midwife declared. “The mess should have been cleaned before the lord saw his child. ’Tis improper and inappropriate...”

“And ’twill wait a few moments.” Esmeraude touched her arm, then drew the curtains round the great bed. “Indeed, the afterbirth has yet to come and there is no need to clean the linens twice.”

Whispers and chuckles echoed from behind the drapes and Esmeraude was not the only one who smiled. Though Angus had spoken no words of love, ‘twas indeed true that his feelings were clear to all.

Esmeraude heaved a sigh, profoundly grateful that Ewen had shown such haste to arrive and that both babe and mother were well. She lent her aid to the cleaning, her thoughts whirling all the while. Indeed, she surreptitiously touched her own belly in wonderment. Bayard’s child! She instinctively knew that Jacqueline was right.

’Twas not her future alone that Esmeraude must consider now. She thought upon her sister’s match and how her warrior husband showed the fullness of his heart in his concern for her and his deeds more than by his words.

Esmeraude would wed Bayard, in the faith that he did love her. His confession, she prayed, would come in time. In the interval, she would be content with the honor and passion he showed her.

Esmeraude left the solar filled with purpose, intent upon telling Bayard of her decision without delay. She smiled to think how pleased he would be.

But Esmeraude had not anticipated that the hall would be uncommonly empty. Most of the women were in the solar and most of the men elsewhere, probably sufficiently far away that they could not hear the lady’s screams. She stepped out into the bailey again, noting this time that Simon seemed to be gathering his belongings and his steeds. She started to walk toward the stables, then happened to glance up to see Bayard on the summit of the wall.

He cut back the vine as though ’twas a fearsome foe and she smiled at the progress he had already made. No doubt he did this as a favor for Angus and she deemed it particularly thoughtful of him.

As Esmeraude was debating the merit of interrupting Bayard when he was so intent upon his task, Simon approached her. That knight smiled, looking far too content to be entirely trustworthy, and Esmeraude took a wary step back.

Simon, though, continued toward her undeterred. “I would assume that the lord has a new child.”

“Aye, a son,” Esmeraude admitted warily. “They have named him Ewen for Angus’ brother.”

“Such splendid fortune. How sad that I will be unable to linger and give my congratulations.”

Simon was leaving! This was fine news indeed. Esmeraude found herself warming to the man, for there was no need to be rude when he was so close to departing. “Sad indeed,” she agreed, then smiled. “Godspeed to you then.”

“Do you not wonder what compels me to make such a hasty departure?”

Esmeraude felt her smile cool. “What compels you to make such a hasty departure?”