Heaven's Fire (24 page)

“I see. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...” She put her arm around Corliss and said softly, “I didn’t mean to be so thoughtless. I was just so pleased to think he’d finally found someone—and someone so wonderful. He does seem happier, though. I can’t help but think it must have something to do with you.”

Corliss shrugged, remembering Father Gregory’s words:
It’s your influence, you know. Somehow you’ve managed to crack that armor of his.

Martine abruptly squeezed her eyes shut and massaged the small of her back with both hands.

“Are you all right, Martine? Are you sure you should be out here, working like this?”

“I’m fine. My back’s been troubling me, that’s all. It woke me up in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. ‘Twasn’t just the aching. I kept thinking I had to get all these weeds pulled before the baby came. It sounds silly, I know.”

“Not at all. When are you due?”

Martine smiled. “Any day now.”

“‘Twill be a big one, from the looks of you.”

The expectant mother patted her unwieldy belly and grinned. “And from the looks of the father, too, I should think. The midwife told me she doesn’t even have to see this babe to know it will be a giant.” Another back pain seized Martine, and this time a little startled breath escaped her.

“I’m taking you inside,” Corliss said. “You’ve overdone it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Martine conceded, her voice strangely weak.

Corliss rose and helped Martine to her feet. “Are you all right?”

Martine smiled and stretched her back. “Yes. I feel much...”

Both women stilled at a soft, damp sound, like something wet trickling onto the earth. Corliss glanced around, thinking perhaps the watering pot had gotten kicked over.

Lifting her tunic, Martine bent over to examine a dark, moist spot on the soil beneath her. “Oh.” A look of alarm crossed her features, and she pressed both hands to her bulging stomach and leaned over. “Oh.”

“Oh!” Corliss put an arm around her new friend and looked around wildly. Shielding her eyes, she made out Thorne and Rainulf talking at the gate to the outer bailey. She waved her arm free. “Oh! Oh!”

Still gripping her stomach, Martine laughed. “‘Oh?’ Is that all we two learned women can think of to say at a time like this?”

Corliss laughed, too, more from nerves, she knew, than any other reason. When she looked back toward the two men, she saw them running full-speed in their direction. By the time they arrived, Corliss and Martine were laughing so hard, they had to hold on to each other to keep from falling down.

Thorne and Rainulf exchanged a look of utter bewilderment. “What’s wrong?” asked Rainulf. “We thought perhaps...”

“Martine’s in labor,” Corliss managed.

Thorne turned white. “Oh!”

The women burst out laughing, much to Thorne and Rainulf’s evident puzzlement. Regaining his composure, Thorne swept Martine up in his massive arms. She groaned and clutched at his tunic. “Thorne! I think the baby’s coming!”

“Yes, I know. I’ll send Peter for the midwife...”

“No, I think” —she broke off, her body stiffening, her teeth clenched— “I think it’s coming
now
.”

“Oh, my God,” Corliss moaned, suddenly sobered. “She’s been in labor since last night and didn’t realize—”

“Can you help her?” Thorne asked. “Do you know anything about—”

“Me? Nay, I... I...” Corliss grabbed Martine’s hand and squeezed it tight, “But I won’t leave your side.”

“We’ve got to find someone who can help.”

“Felda,” Martine rasped. “Go fetch Felda, too.”

“Get her maid,” Thorne commanded as he wheeled around and carried his wife toward the keep. “Get Felda.” A whimper escaped Martine, and he added, over his shoulder, “Fast!”

*   *   *

“You did it, Martine!” Corliss held the baby—an enormous boy—to her chest for a moment and then placed him into the arms of his pale and trembling mother.

“
You
did it,” Martine corrected, with a look of affection that filled Corliss with pride and gladness. “And you, too, Felda,” she added quickly.

Felda shook her head. “I had nothin’ to do with it, milady. ‘Twas Lady Corliss saved that baby. The midwife couldn’t of done no better, even if she
had
gotten here in time.”

Martine, recovering from her trial with remarkable speed, pried the little mouth open and cleared it out, then briskly rubbed the bluish infant’s feet. “His collarbone is broken, but ‘twill heal on its own.” She massaged his back. “Come now, you troublesome little man. Have you nothing to say after this ordeal?”

Opening his mouth wide, the baby let loose with a loud and lusty howl.

The door flew open and Thorne burst into the room, his eyes, wide with wonder, riveted on his son. Rainulf, who’d been standing vigil outside the bedchamber door with him, froze in amazement, then beamed. Slumping against the doorframe, he crossed himself. Behind him, servants anxiously craned their necks to see into the room.

“Milord! Master Fairfax!” Felda hastily yanked the bedclothes over Martine as Thorne crossed the room in two swift strides; Rainulf stepped into the room and closed the door. “Go away! Wait till I’ve had a chance to get them both cleaned up—”

“I’ve waited long enough,” Thorne declared. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gathered his wife and child in his arms, rocking them and murmuring things—in
French
, Corliss noted with surprise—that she couldn’t make out. How touching, she mused, that he would think to comfort his wife in her native language, when he’d made such a point of banning it from his barony.

Rainulf leaned back against the wall as if he could no longer support his weight. He looked drained, but relieved. Catching Corliss’s eye, he smiled. A sweet tide of warmth spread through her, and she smiled back... until Rainulf’s gaze lowered to her bruised jaw. His smile faded, and hers followed suit.

“I need to bathe that baby,” Felda announced.

“In due time,” said Thorne, as he counted his son’s fingers and toes. The babe’s skin had turned a healthy pink, Corliss noted with relief. He blinked his puffy eyes open and grimaced, making him look like a small, angry man.

When Thorne had completed his inspection, Felda wrapped the infant in a length of linen. “Don’t want him to catch cold within minutes of being born.”

“Wulfric’s much too robust to get sick,” Martine said.

Corliss grinned. “A good Saxon name. Your inspiration, Thorne?”

He nodded. “‘Twas my father’s name.”

Martine untied her shift to expose a breast, seemingly indifferent to Rainulf’s presence, although he averted his gaze. She gently tickled Wulfric’s cheek with a fingertip. He instinctively turned toward it, mouth wide open, head shifting back and forth as he searched for the nipple. Thorne chuckled as his son latched on and began suckling with an expression of dreamy contentment, his eyes rolling up before they closed completely. “The boy knows what he wants,” he said, covering his wife’s bare shoulder and breast with a shawl.

Turning her back on the intimate tableau, Corliss helped Felda to arrange the soap and clean cloths and swaddling clothes next to the little, carved wooden bathtub.

A knock came, followed by Peter’s urgent voice: “I’ve got the midwife!”

“Bring her in,” Thorne said.

Peter guided a small, elderly woman into the chamber. When he saw the baby at Martine’s breast, he grinned delightedly and excused himself, closing the door behind him.

“Milady!” squawked the midwife. “What are you doing? You ought to let the wet nurse do that. It’ll only make it harder for your milk to dry up.”

Martine sighed. “I don’t intend for my milk to dry up, Hazel. I’m going to nurse him myself. I told you that.”

“Aye, but I naturally thought you’d change your mind. The idea! A baroness givin’ suck to her babe like a cow in the field. It ain’t natural.”

Martine exchanged a wry smile with Thorne as the old woman opened her satchel and began laying out tools and flasks and mysterious packets on a chest. “Did the babe come easy?” Hazel asked.

“Hardly,” Martine replied. “Wulfric’s got his father’s shoulders, and they got stuck inside me. Corliss reached in and freed them. He broke a collarbone, but if it weren’t for her, I think we both might have died.”

“Christ,” Thorne whispered as his face drained of color.

Rainulf stared at Corliss as if she had just sprouted wings and a halo.

“Tight swaddling will set that collarbone,” Hazel said.

Martine cradled the infant protectively. “Nay! No swaddling.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” the midwife growled. “I’ll just swaddle the one arm, then, to keep it still so the collarbone heals.”

Martine nodded grudgingly.

Rainulf still hadn’t taken his eyes off her.
It’s as if he’s never seen me before
, Corliss thought.

“Now, milady...” Hazel poured something that looked like wine into a cup and stirred a bit of whitish powder into it. “You realize you oughtn’t to have any more babes. They’re all bound to be just as brutish as that one, and you’ve obviously got too tight a womb. This here birthwort will help to bring away your afterbirth. Once it’s out, I can pour a handful of barley into it, and you’ll be barren as a stone.”

“Absolutely not!” Martine exclaimed.

“Martine,” Thorne began gently, “shouldn’t you consider it? I mean, not the barley, but something that might actually work?”

Hazel sputtered indignantly. “It works! Perhaps not every time, but often enough.”

“Is there something that
will
work every time?” Thorne asked, ignoring Martine’s furious glare.

“Aye. The most effective method is to cut the testicles from a weasel—leaving the weasel alive—and wrap them in the skin of a goose, tying them up tight. If milady wears that around her neck day and night, she’s guaranteed not to conceive.”

Thorne just stared at the midwife while a slow smile crept across Martine’s face. “You know,” she said, “I do believe that one
might
work.”

Thorne shot her a baleful look. She leaned forward carefully—so as not to disturb the nursing babe—and kissed him soundly. “I love you, Thorne Falconer. I intend to fill this castle with enormous baby boys who look just like you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“But, Martine,” he pleaded, “you could... you could die. And it would be my fault for letting it happen. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, knowing I’d sired a babe too big for you to give birth to.” He lowered his voice, but Corliss was close enough to hear. “We don’t have to rely on Hazel’s methods. I want to be certain this never happens to you again. I’ll do anything—do you understand?—
anything
, make any sacrifice—”

“Well, I won’t!” she declared, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I’m your wife, in more than just name. That means sharing your bed and giving you children.”

“But the danger—”

“Is far less than it might seem.” She grinned and looked in Corliss’s direction. “Especially if we make sure Corliss comes visiting when the babies are due.”

Thorne met Corliss’s gaze. “This is the second time I’ve come close to losing Martine,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I’m forever in your debt.”

There was a heavy moment of silence. Rainulf and Thorne and Martine were all looking at her. “I hardly know what to say,” Corliss murmured.

“Well, I do!” Hazel thrust the cup of dissolved birthwort at Martine, then turned to scowl at the onlookers. “Everyone out! Everyone but Felda. We’ve got to get milady and this babe tidied up.”

Thorne didn’t move. “I’m staying.”

An expression of outrage crossed the midwife’s face. “I beg your pardon, milord, but you are not! I’ve never heard of such a thing. You get out of here right now. Go!” She swatted at him with her bony little hand. “Shoo! Go!”

Corliss and Rainulf watched from the doorway as Thorne rose slowly, towering over the birdlike woman, who prodded him ineffectually in the chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

“You can get out, that’s what you can do!”

“It’s no use, Hazel,” said Felda. “If Thorne Falconer don’t want to do something, he don’t do it. You’d best give him a job so he keeps out of your way.”

Hazel grunted and rolled her eyes, then uncovered the baby and tied a piece of string around his umbilical cord. “Soon as I’ve cut young Master Wulfric loose from his mum, you can help Felda bathe him.”

The midwife produced a knife from the pouch on her belt. Rainulf closed the door and guided Corliss into the stairwell.

You’re alone with her now
, he thought.
Ask her. Just ask her, for God’s sake
.

She began descending the stairs, but he said, “Wait!” and she turned around. As he looked down on her, his gaze lit once again on her bruised jaw. He backed up a step, and when he spoke, his tone was formal, wary. “I don’t remember much of last night, but I’m deeply sorry if... if I did anything—”

“You needn’t apologize.”