Rise of the Defender (101 page)

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

     “Since I married her,” he glanced 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 December 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,” Griselda
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 not wanting
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 stood over Gowen as he 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
seemed 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, and she had so many. But, as she had always known, her brother
had a heart as big as the heavens.