Dark and Bright (9 page)

It took several days to reach Powwydd. Baudoin rested there only one day, anxious to get to Ellesmere for the birth of his third child.

“I wish I could accompany you,” Rhys said. “Annalise will be concerned. Please assure her I’m recovering. Tell her I’ll be there in a few days.”

***

Baudoin took his men-at-arms and the cartographers with him and made it to Ellesmere in a day and a half. Annalise hurried to meet him in the courtyard. Where was Rhys? Baudoin’s face showed his alarm that Carys hadn’t greeted him.

“
Milord
Baudoin,” she said before he could ask her where Carys was. “
Milady
Carys is abed. She hasn’t felt well for the last few days. She has been worried about you—and Rhys. Where is my husband? He’s not with you?”

Had he even heard her question? He was intent on getting to Carys. “He couldn’t travel yet,” he replied, walking away. “But his leg is improving. He’ll be here in a few days. Don’t worry.”

He hurried off.

“Don’t worry?” Annalise shrieked to the empty courtyard. The stone walls threw her anguish back, echoing her despair. “How can I not worry?” she whispered. “My beautiful Rhys is suffering and I’m powerless to help him.” She gathered her skirts and walked quickly to her chamber, where she collapsed onto the bed, weeping.

Baudoin entered his chamber quietly and walked over to the bed where Carys lay, her eyes closed. She looked pale. He’d never before seen her in anything but the best of health. A lump rose in his throat. “Carys, my love,” he whispered, taking hold of her hand.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled. “Baudoin—oh, Baudoin, hold me. I’ve missed you. I was worried. I knew you and Rhys were hurt. It has drained me. I have no energy. Poor Annalise. She has been obliged to take care of me, and she’s worried about Rhys.”

“I’m here now, Carys,” Baudoin whispered hoarsely, hugging his wife. She felt limp in his embrace. “I’ll take care of you. Rhys is still at Powwydd. He’ll come in a few days. His leg was badly broken and pains him. I feel terrible remorse that I dragged him into the gorge. It was an incredibly stupid accident.”

“Tell me what happened,” she said, lazily patting a spot on the bed next to her.

He sat beside her and recounted the details of the incident and the rescue. He took her hand and touched it to the back of his head. “I still have a lump. Had it not been for the strength and courage of your twin brothers we would have died in that crevice. But, enough of that, what’s happening with my third son?” He ran his hands over her swollen belly and kissed her there.

“Not ready to come yet, but soon,” she replied. “And I think your son is going to be a daughter. Will you mind?”

“Mind?” he exclaimed, smiling. “My heart is so full of the idea of a little girl, I can hardly speak.”

He kissed her lovingly, and she entwined her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you,” he breathed, cupping her heavy breasts in his hands, brushing a light kiss over each nipple barely visible through the fabric of her nightgown. “Be well, Carys. You look pale.”

“I’ll be well now you’ve returned,” she whispered.

He held her and she drifted off to sleep. He was terrified he might lose his Carys. Life would mean nothing without her at his side.

***

Two days later, Baudoin covered his ears to block out the pitiful moans that had hung in the air for a day and a night as Carys struggled to deliver his child. He couldn’t look at the worried faces of the two midwives and Carys’s apprentice healer as they scurried in and out of the chamber. He was convinced he would be facing the rest of his life without her. This was nothing like the first two birthings and he knew it.

He prayed that if it came to a choice between his wife and his child, he wanted his wife to survive. That brought on a bout of guilt, and he wept at his selfishness.

“
Dieu
,” he prayed on his knees in the chapel his father, Rambaud de Montbryce, had built. “Deliver them both whole from this torment. I beg of you.”

How selfish he’d been, assuming Carys would never have difficulties bearing children. “I thought only of myself and my desire for more and more children.”

Annalise offered comfort, but she was immersed in her worry for Rhys. Baudoin was lost in his despair. He worried for his sons. How Gallien and Etienne would miss their loving mother! He went to the nursery. His
maman,
Mabelle, had been a loving presence in his life. He wanted that for his own children. He forced a smile as he played with them.

“What’s wrong, Papa?” the always perceptive Gallien asked, taking his father’s hand. “You’re sad. Where is
Maman
?”

“
Maman
is in bed, little one.” He choked on the words. “She’s not feeling well.”

Thank the saints the nursery was far enough removed from his chamber they couldn’t hear their mother’s torment. His heart heavy with dread that when he returned, it would be to tell them their mother had died, he said, “I’m going to see how she fares.”

He made his way to the chamber where Carys’s life was ebbing away and hesitated at the door. Had he heard a baby’s cry?
Oui
, there it was again, more insistent this time. A child had been born. Would it live? Carys? Fear gripped him in its thrall.

Suddenly the door opened, the apprentice healer stepped out furtively and closed the door quickly. Her eyes widened when she turned and saw him. She took a deep breath. “My lord Earl,” she murmured. “You have a daughter. She’s very small and frail, but the midwife believes she’ll survive.”

Baudoin’s emotions warred within him. The girl wouldn’t look him in the eyes. He couldn’t speak. “My wife? My countess?”

The girl burst into tears. “My lady is dying. Pray for her, my lord.”

She rushed back into the chamber. A wave of nausea washed over him and he ran, fighting to keep from retching until he was out in the stables. An anxious stable boy approached him, but Baudoin shook his head and motioned him away. He sank to his hands and knees in the straw and vomited until he could retch no more. The nervous boy ran to the courtyard at the sound of horses. He took the reins of the lead horse that bore the Prince of Powwydd, his broken leg still encased in the stiffened binding Glain had wrapped it in. The boy steadied the horse and steward Tristan Bonhomme rushed forward to help Rhys dismount.

***

Rhys was suddenly smothered in his sobbing wife’s arms, her head pressed against his chest. He enfolded her in his cloak. She was speaking in such rapid French he could barely understand a word. Warmth spread through his veins. He held a woman who was distraught and worried about a man she loved. Could it be his Annalise loved him?

His attention wandered to the door of the stable, where Baudoin stood, swaying. He looked like he’d been retching. His hair was dishevelled. He mumbled as he staggered towards Rhys. “You’re a Norman Earl—a Montbryce. You’ll survive this.”

Rhys was alarmed. He kept an arm around Annalise and hobbled to Baudoin. “What ails you?” he asked.

Baudoin’s despair was evident as he explained to Rhys that his sister had given birth to a girl and now lay dying in her chamber. Annalise keened again for Rhys and his impending loss. “I feel useless and inadequate,” she said to them. “What can I do?”

Rhys’s heart thudded in his ears. Carys couldn’t die. He enfolded his pregnant wife in his arms, recognizing the fear in her eyes, and spoke to Baudoin. “Have you seen her? The child? How does she fare?”

Baudoin looked sheepish. “No,” he whimpered. “I thought only of Carys.”

Rhys shook Baudoin’s shoulder. “We must go to Carys. She needs you, and perhaps she needs me. Remember, I’m the son of Rhonwen Dda. I may not be a great healer like my mother and sisters, but I know a thing or two. Help me to your chambers. Annalise, go ahead and tell the midwives we’re coming. Time may be of the essence.”

His wife sped off to do his bidding. Baudoin seemed to rally. “It may not be conventional for a man to help save my wife’s life, but you’re her brother.”

He helped Rhys limp to their chambers. When they entered the room, the apprentice brought the newborn to Baudoin. He took the child in his arms and held her to his chest, brushing a kiss across her tiny forehead. “She’s like a flower,” he sniffled. “We’ll baptise her Fleurie.”

Annalise assisted Rhys to Carys’s bedside. He looked at his sister. Her tangled hair was plastered to her ashen face. The bloodstained linens heightened her pallor. He raised his eyes in question to the midwives. They shook their heads. He would need God’s help and every bit of lore his mother had passed on. Had he paid close enough attention?

The midwife wrung her hands. “We can’t stop the bleeding, my lord. We’ve given her a tea of lady’s mantle. When that didn’t work we followed it with a sage tea.”

“Teas won’t help her.” He bent over to whisper something in Welsh to Carys. She seemed barely awake, but looked at him and nodded.

He took a deep breath. “Ladies, we’ll try one more tea. Prepare it with dried shepherd’s purse steeped in hot water.”

They looked at him enquiringly, as though dumbfounded, but he waved them out. They scurried off to find the herb in the still room, evidently relieved to be doing something productive.

How to explain to Baudoin what he and Carys believed was the only way to save her? Never had he been more keenly aware of the difference in their cultures. “Baudoin, Carys agrees with me that what we need to do is massage her.”

Baudoin, still holding the sleeping Fleurie, looked at his brother-by-marriage, incomprehension evident on his frowning face. “Massage? I don’t understand.”

If only Rhys could get the weight off his leg. He too was feeling light-headed. He took a deep breath. “I’ll explain what my mother passed on to us. To stop the bleeding, Carys’s womb needs to be forced to go back to its usual size. That can only be achieved by massage if the womb fails to contract naturally. Carys doesn’t have the strength to do it. May I speak to the apprentice and attempt it?”

Baudoin stood open-mouthed. Rhys could tell he still didn’t understand. “Anything, Rhys. If it will save Carys.”

Rhys nodded grimly. “It may not work, but it’s her only hope.”

He went to the apprentice and explained to her calmly what must be done. “You’re the only person here who can help her now until the midwives return. This may take some time. Are you willing to try, Bronwynn?”

“I’ll try,” she stammered, but her trembling lip betrayed her trepidation.

He took her trembling hand and cupped it in his own, then pressed her fingers into her lady’s belly. Slowly, he moved her hand in deep, penetrating circles, squeezing the flesh repetitively. “This will help strengthen the womb. Don’t be afraid to press hard. It may pain her.”

The apprentice nodded, her eyes wide. He willed her to be calm. When he felt she had grasped the idea he removed his own hand. Carys’s eyes flew open. She took hold of Rhys’s hand and placed it back on her belly. He continued to help Bronwynn massage his sister, his hand firmly atop the apprentice’s.

After a while he turned to Baudoin. “Give the child to me. You can see what we’re doing here. It’s soothing her, if nothing else. Help your wife.”

He took Fleurie. Baudoin knelt to assist with the massaging. Carys opened her eyes and smiled weakly. The midwives returned and were taken aback, but Rhys told them to make the tea and give it to Carys. He explained what they were doing and bade one of the woman take Bronwynn’s place.

All this time, Annalise had knelt in prayer at the foot of the bed, her head bowed, her hand massaging her own swollen belly, probably without knowing it. His amber beads glowed around her neck. His heart jumped into his throat. He hadn’t paid attention to the changes in her slim body. Love and lust washed over him, despite his pain and exhaustion.

He limped to her side and placed Fleurie in her arms. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she beheld the child then looked at him. She swallowed hard and a sob escaped her lips. “I love you, Rhys. I was devastated that you might be dead and I hadn’t told you I love you. I know you can’t love me—that you chose me to save your brothers—but—”

“Annalise,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “Since the day we left here weeks ago I’ve been consumed with only one thought—of returning to your embrace. As I lay in the crevice I kept thinking how stupid it was of me to die without your knowing how much I love you.”

Her mouth fell open and she gasped. “You love me? I’ve never known love before.”

“I’ll love and cherish you for the rest of my life, Annalise—but for the moment I must get the weight off this cursed leg. Come, we’ll try to make the child suckle. That will help Carys.”

The midwife held the child to Carys’s breast, but she squirmed and balked, and had to be taken to the wet-nurse.

Rhys would have to ask more of his brother-by-marriage. “Baudoin, I’m going to speak to you man to man. You know as well as I what happens to a woman when you touch her breasts.”

His own arousal hardened as his glance strayed to his wife’s copious globes. She returned his gaze and smiled. The other women looked away, their faces red.

“You must do that for Carys now. Touch her breasts lovingly. She’ll know it’s you. It will help to contract the womb.”