Dauntless by Tamara Leigh
Chapter Thirty-Four
Castle D’Argent upon Valeur
Ascream. And it was not that of a babe shocked by trading the warmth of the womb for the cold of the world.
“Have mercy!” Godfroi rasped and would have more vigorously worked his crutches from door to dais had not Brother Johannes quickened his stride to sooner reach his friend.
Ignoring Hugh, the hermit said, “My son, your wife is in the hands of God who works through the hands of the midwife and Lady Chanson, but it is very bad. Your mother who sent your boys from the donjon tells Lady Robine did not suffer like this with them. For that—”
“What is wrong with her?” Godfroi interrupted.
He breathed deep. “The babe presents bottom first and will not be turned.”
Anger calmed throughout the ride rose again. The risk of birthing was great enough without the babe determined to come out the wrong way.
As if Johannes felt the dark seeping from Godfroi’s pores, he said, “The child is not to blame. If anything, it aids its mother by delivering early and being smaller for it.”
Godfroi set his teeth. “Of course you are right. It is just—”
Another scream exited the solar, making Godfroi long to shake his fists heavenward. Instead, more tightly he gripped the crutches and growled, “Almighty! Is there no end to this wilderness? Why keep me alive if He is going to continue taking from me all that is precious? Is this punishment?”
Johannes set a hand on his arm. “I do not believe that. Now join me at hearth and seek the still of prayer so you may know yourself and make order of what is required of you.”
A sound of disgust reminding both of Hugh’s presence, Godfroi’s brother pivoted and departed.
“If only he were more like you,” the hermit murmured.
“More like this cripple?” Godfroi scorned. “Pray not!”
Anger flashed across Johannes’ face. “You know I speak of the state of your heart and faith. Do not make a liar of me by sinking back into self-pity that corrodes both. You are here now because your family needs you—because they are better for a son, husband, and father who cannot move his legs than Michel Roche who can.”
Godfroi lowered his lids. “I want you to be right, but…”
“Come, my son. All we can do is beseech the Lord while waiting on Him to answer prayers as He wills.”
But is that all I can do? Godfroi wondered and looked to the curtains between him and his wife. Kneel distant from her when I could be beside her—when I could be with her should it be my last chance to tell her what she must know?
Though tempted to defy the conventions of a husband remaining outside the birthing chamber, he feared doing so could prove a mistake should he yield to emotions scraped raw by the possibility the babe would cost Robine her life.
“You could,” Johannes said.
Godfroi frowned. “Could?”
He nodded at the solar. “Methinks you wish to go to her.”
Feeling bared, and yet not vulnerable with this man, Godfroi said, “How do you know me so well?”
A slight smile. “Because you allow yourself to be known to me.”
Did he? He supposed so, conversations about—and with—God having revealed what few knew of the Baron of Valeur. “I am glad to be known by you, Johannes, and that you let yourself be known to me.”
Something sorrowful flitted across the man’s face, and his next smile was forced as told by a considerable show of teeth. “Go to her, Godfroi, and no matter the women’s squawking, be with her when the babe…” He trailed off as if questioning the strength of one who thought to be present for the birth of another man’s child, then said, “Whether son or daughter, I know you can be a father to it as you are to Guarin and Cyr.”
Godfroi was not certain of that, but he started for the dais, then paused. “I have not the words to say how grateful I am for all you have given me.”
“I am pleased to have been of aid,” Johannes said with what sounded finality.
“You think your work done with me?” Godfroi asked.
“Work is never done with anyone, my son, but one must know when what they have to offer is outweighed by what they take as payment.”
“You take naught, Johannes.”
After a hesitation, the man said, “As you know, I am too long gone from my cave. That is where my great purpose and peace lie.”
“I do know, just as I know I will miss you as once I did the sire lost to me.”
The hermit gave a sharp nod and turned away. As he moved toward the hearth, the hem of his worn robe stirred the rushes, causing the dry among them to spring up all around him.
“Heavenly Father,” Godfroi rasped, “I thank you for sending him to me.” Then he engaged his upper body.
When he entered the solar, it was to gasps from more women servants than ever he had seen in one place, next came the squawking Johannes predicted. However, his mother commanded them to silence as she hastened from where Robine lay with her head on her side of the bed, blanket-draped legs on his side, the midwife and Lady Chanson kneeling between her bent knees.
His mother’s tear-moistened face made Godfroi’s heart jump, and more painfully when he glimpsed no movement about his wife nor color in her face turned opposite. “Robine?”
She set a hand on his arm. “It is but one of those moments of rest between laborings.”
“She sleeps?”
“In a manner. She lost consciousness once before, but it made it easier to try turning the babe.”
“I do not believe it normal to lose consciousness,” he snapped, causing the servants near the brazier to catch their breath again and the midwife and his sister-in-law to look his way.
“It is not normal,” Maëlys conceded, “but the midwife tells it happens with difficult births. Blessedly, Robine came up out of it quickly and had more strength than when she went under. Unfortunately, the babe remains turned wrong.”
The chill beneath his skin surfaced. “Will I…?”
“My son?”
He looked to Robine whose cheek was exceedingly pale against a swath of hair darker for the damp of perspiration. “Will I lose my wife? Our sons their mother? Spare me no truth.”
Further her eyes brightened. “All I know is great the chance one or both will be lost. Now you should—”
“I will not. Like it or non, I will be at Robine’s side when she awakens.”
Amid more gasps, he could see his mother wished to argue—and not all because the birthing chamber was no place for a man—but she said, “Then be with your wife, and let us pray you are what she needs to ensure she remains at your side.”
“Be assured I will do all in my strength not to fail the one I love,” he said, rousing more gasps and causing his mother’s eyes to widen.
She swallowed loudly. “You will reveal your feelings?”
“Should the Lord provide another chance, I shall.” As Godfroi moved toward his wife, a feline groan drew his gaze to Cat who sat on the window ledge peering down at an ordeal that seemed far more natural to those of his species. Likely finding himself underfoot, he had ascended to keep watch over Robine at a distance acceptable to those here.
Halting alongside the bed, he saw his wife held the doll not seen since first they wed. It frightened it was here now with her so deathly still, but then her lids fluttered.
Though all must have expected him to lower to the chair his mother had perched upon, Godfroi maneuvered to sitting on the mattress where usually his wife slept, propped the crutches against the bedside table, and carefully raised the pillow supporting Robine’s head onto his thighs.
“My lord!” The midwife appeared above the blanket tenting bent knees. “This is unseemly.”
“And yet it is done,” he said. “Now attend to what is below while I attend to what is above.”
The woman grunted and dropped back down.
“Godfroi?” said his mother, and he knew what she asked. To get the rest of him onto the bed, he would have to reach past Robine and risk jostling her.
“Oui, aid me,” he said and, as he turned his hips, Maëlys raised his legs onto the mattress.
When he shifted his wife so her head rested against his lower abdomen, his mother slid a cup across the bedside table. “Water to wet her mouth.”
He nodded, then again at the chair. “Sit with us.”
As she eased down, Robine whimpered.
“Does the babe turn, Lady Chanson?” his mother entreated.
Red-rimmed eyes peered over the blanket. “It began to come around but slipped back.” She glanced at Godfroi and sank out of sight.
“Godfroi?” Robine whispered, and he thought her awakened, but her eyes remained closed.
“Oft she speaks your name,” his mother said. “I think it is good you are here.”
“God help us!” Robine cried and flung open her eyes.
The wide of them reminded him of a deer at the instant between realizing it is caught out in the open and desperate flight. Then she blinked. “You are here, Husband?”
He drew a hand from the damp hair at her crown to her jaw. “Oui, for you and the babe.”
Her cry was weak. “Both of us?”
“Both.”
She closed her lids and was so long in raising them he feared she returned to unconsciousness. “I am glad, Godfroi. It hurts so much it feels I shall die. And I…cannot until I give this child life beyond the womb.”
“Neither of you are leaving us,” he said harshly, then breathed deeply. “Soon this babe will be at your breast.”
“You…” Releasing the doll, she raised that hand toward his face, but it dropped back to the mattress. “You will let me keep the babe, oui?”
“As told, our family remains intact, four of us becoming five.” He managed a smile. “God willing, more.”
Her mouth curved, then eased as if it was too much strain. “My father? My brother?”
Determining details of what had transpired could wait—above all, her sire’s passing—he said, “Fear not, your family is free of Fitz Géré.”
“I thank you,” she said and gave a grunt of discomfort.
Godfroi retrieved her mother’s gift. “Here the doll, Robine. Hold to it.”
She touched it. “Non, as long as I have you to hold to, I need it not.”
Loving her more, he passed the doll to his mother, and moments later, Robine arched her back and cried, “Merciful God!”
“Midwife?” Godfroi demanded.
Once more, Chanson appeared above the tented blanket. “We try again to turn the babe, but…” She shook her head.
Please, Lord,he silently beseeched and stroked a thumb across Robine’s lower lip. Feeling how dry it was and heated her breath, he said, “I shall raise you, and you will drink.”
When he elevated the pillow and set the cup to her mouth, she sipped, but not for long. Turning her face into his abdomen, she clawed up handfuls of his tunic, and when she muffled a cry, he wondered if she would have screamed were he not with her.
“God in Heaven, still its bottom is there!” the midwife said with what sounded anger.
His wife’s response a groan, Godfroi loosened her hands from his tunic, closed his fingers around hers, and lowered his mouth near her ear. “You have my love, Robine.” His words so choked he feared they were not understood, he tried again. “I love you.”
With a pitiful mewl that caused Cat to answer in kind, she turned her face up. “Truly?”
“Oui, since recognizing what is inside me, I have not stopped loving you, not even when I assured myself I had put away those feelings. Can you forgive me for not speaking it sooner?”
With just enough voice to be heard, she said, “Your love is worth waiting for.” Then she arched again.
“Push, Lady!” the midwife commanded. “Now!”
Robine turned her hands up and gripped his fingers hard. As over and again she tried to birth the babe, her face flushed brighter, perspiration slicked her skin, and cries and sobs sounded all around. But to no avail.
Thinking how wrong it was she should hurt so much, wishing he could do the hurting for her, silently Godfroi beseeched the Lord to intervene, making a greater miracle of this miracle of life.
After what seemed hours, the midwife said, “There now, my lady. Rest whilst you can.”
Hands falling to her sides, Robine shuddered and opened eyes so red there remained little white about them. She stared at Godfroi as if to impress his face on her memory, looked sidelong at Maëlys who had set a hand on her shoulder, then breathed, “Hear me, Husband.”
Feeling returning to fingers she had seemed capable of breaking, he set them on her cheek. “I listen, Love.”
“Protect this babe.”
It sounded she lost hope of surviving its birth—had only enough hope for the little one, but before he could assure her otherwise, she continued, “The child is not at fault. Do you…give it a chance to love you as Guarin and Cyr…love you, it will.”
“Robine, you will not—”
“Tell me you will try!”
Anger billowed through him, but now it was more for the wrong of this than the babe. Feeling a hand on his arm, he glanced at his mother who nodded encouragement.
“I shall seek to gain its love, Robine. You have my word.”
She lowered her lids, but her respite was short-lived. The need to push causing her to whimper and moan, body to stiffen and jerk, he gave her his hand. And soon feeling once more fled as she labored to follow the midwife’s instructions.
At last, the woman said, “Rest, Lady. He shows well, and do you gather all your strength, soon he will be in your arms.”
He,Godfroi thought. As the midwife knew it was a boy, it must be very close to leaving the womb.
Panting amid sounds of misery, Robine eased but did not release her husband’s hand. Peering up at him, she whispered, “Love him.”
Determined to give her what she needed, he moved her hand with his to her belly and curved his palm over what seemed a very thin barrier between it and the babe trapped within.
“Godfroi?”
Feeling more movement than when he had done this as she slept, he said, “Stay with me—with us—and you will see the word I give is the word I keep.”
Tears flowing, she jerked her chin. “I will try.”
“Non, you are a D’Argent. For this babe and all to whom you are precious, you will more than try. You will stay with us!”
She opened her mouth, but a cry was loosed rather than words.
“Now, Lady!” the midwife commanded. “Push!”
As Robine returned to laboring, Godfroi lowered his mouth to her ear and entreated the Lord to keep mother and child from harm, quickly deliver them from this great trial, aid this husband, father, and lord in ensuring the place made for God upon Valeur was an encircling shield wall, requiring great effort to climb out were one tempted.
Amid his prayers, occasionally Robine repeated pieces of them, and so wondrous was the mingling of their voices, he knew for this the hermit had encouraged him to pray with her.
“Your work is nearly done, Lady!” Chanson proclaimed as Robine bore down but one of several last times, and when much of the bulge beneath Godfroi’s hand sank and his wife went limp, the young woman announced, “He is here!”
Where there should have been joyous cries, there were none, all awaiting confirmation there was cause to rejoice.
Keeping his head down, Godfroi touched his lips to Robine’s. “You did it.”
Narrowly, she opened her eyes. “Is the babe…?”
As he had no answer for her, he was grateful the midwife did. Remaining out of sight, she said, “Good color, my lady! And a healthy size though he be early!”
The servants gasped and murmured, but still no rejoicing as all awaited greater proof of life.
“Though I feared the cord was around his neck, making it impossible for him to turn,” the midwife continued, “methinks he was constricted because it is short.”
Feeling tension return to Robine’s body, Godfroi exercised patience so he not command the woman to make haste in assuring his wife the babe was well.
“So tired like your mama,” she crooned, then said, “Forgive me, but you must awaken, son of Godfroi and Robine D’Argent. It is time.”
A slap sounded, eliciting a high-pitched cry that seemed more triumph than wail—and nearly drowned out joy expressed by the women who surged forward to look upon this miracle.
“He lives,” Robine rasped.
Smile forced only because he had yet to be assured she would as well, Godfroi turned his hand from her belly up into her palm, drew her fingers to his mouth, and kissed them. “The Lord has been kind, my lady.”
“There is tearing as expected,” the midwife said when the babe’s cries began receding, “but it looks an easy stitching.”
Godfroi closed his eyes, murmured, “Praise You, Lord.”
“Praise,” Robine added gratitude to his, then a weak laugh when Cat pounced onto the mattress beside her.
Moments later, Lady Chanson rose holding a tiny figure whose bald pate was visible above a blanket. Smiling at the infant, she said, “First, we let your mother look upon you, next we clean you, then the breast, hmm?”
When the young woman came alongside and angled the babe in her arms, Robine reached and touched his cheek. “Oh, he is beautiful,” she crooned and lingered over him before turning her face to Godfroi and making her gaze felt.
He knew for what and could not resent it. Continuing to consider the babe, he marveled though here was another man’s son, more he saw a helpless innocent in need of protection—no different from what Guarin and Cyr required of him.
Not true,he corrected. Because of the circumstances of this one’s birth, more he would require, but it was possible he could overcome his illegitimacy just as Duke William had done, turning it into a strength—with proper care and guidance. And that Godfroi was determined to give, certain what the Lord thought of this was more important than what was thought by others able to hide their own sins.
“Is he not beautiful, Godfroi?” Robine pressed.
Recalling his response to the births of Guarin and Cyr when she had said the same of them, he gave her his gaze. “Not beautiful. Whether this child becomes one who fights or one who prays, better it is said he is handsome.”
A weary smile melted across her mouth. “You are right, our son is handsome.”
Feeling a pang, he assured himself this was the way forward. In time and with prayer, it would become natural.
Turning aside, Lady Chanson said, “Shortly I will return him to you.”
Godfroi’s mother rose and followed the one also made a daughter through marriage.
As she, Chanson, and the servants gathered at a table set with pitchers of water, basins, towels, and pots of ointment, the midwife appeared above Robine’s covered legs. “Now the needle.”
Robine gasped. “What of the afterbirth?”
“It is done, my lady.”
“But I felt it with my first sons.”
She smiled. “Then your body is so relieved to be finished with this birthing, all else feels small. Still, methinks much you will feel the needle and, ere long, great discomfort below. For that, I will prepare a medicine to aid in your rest these next days so sooner you heal.”
Amid Cat’s pacing and rumbles of displeasure, what followed was more misery, causing Robine to once more grip Godfroi’s hands, whimper, and tremble. And yet compared to the pain come before, it was little. Blessedly, the midwife was efficient and soon eased the bend from her patient’s knees and moved her legs from the side to the bottom of the mattress.
Godfroi had only enough time to pick back the hair clinging to his wife’s face, kiss her, and commend her for her bravery before Maëlys returned and instructed him to raise his wife to sitting.
Gently, he drew her up and settled her back against his chest. Then the little one looking wide at this world was placed in its mother’s arms. It took some prompting to set it to suckling, but with his grandmother’s aid, it began satisfying an appetite heretofore unknown.
“The chamber requires cleaning,” Maëlys said as she straightened, “but first privacy, during which we shall herald a healthy son is born into the house of D’Argent.” She smiled. “And you decide on a name.”
A name Godfroi believed would serve well providing Robine accepted her sire’s gift. “We thank you, Mother.”
After the midwife prepared a drink of herbs and Robine sipped a portion, at last the three were alone. As husband and wife watched the babe at the breast, Godfroi noticed its short, fine hair. He had thought it bald, but unlike Guarin and Cyr, it was blond. Here a reminder—were one needed—his blood did not course with Robine’s in this child. However, as marriage vows had made them one, hers must be enough. Despite mistakes he was sure to make in years to come that could require much grace, he would keep his word to her.
“Will you name him, Godfroi?” she returned him to the woman in his arms and the babe in hers that evidenced his most immediate prayers were answered in full.
Glimpsing wariness in eyes above a hopeful smile, he wondered if she thought it would be easier to raise the child as his own were he to name him. And knew he must endeavor to ease a heart that already loved this third son.
“I have a name, though it is not given by me.”
She frowned. “What name, and who gives it?”
“The name Dougray given by—”
“My sire’s name?” she exclaimed. “He would not like that.”
“Non, he would, Robine. He asked me to give it to you, and told were you well with it as I am, this child should bear it.”
More tears fell and a choked sob escaped. “I do not understand why he wishes it.”
“He may have found it hard to accept and speak of love the same as I, but surely it was felt, Robine.”
She sighed. “Then Dougray it is, and he will honor that fine name, making my sire proud and…” She trailed off, then warily said, “Is he dead?”
He had hoped for a better time to reveal it, but here it was. “It was not by the hand of Fitz Géré he passed. Shortly after gaining my word I would aid his heir in securing his birthright by giving counsel and your brother agreed, he breathed his last, secure in the knowledge his children will be well in his absence. I am sorry, Robine.”
She closed her eyes and quietly cried as he stroked her head.
When she settled, the babe was asleep at the breast, and there was so much fatigue about her he was surprised she could raise her lids. “I am grateful you gave my sire comfort in his last hours.”
“As am I.”
“What if Delphine tries again to displace my brother?”
“He comes a sennight hence, and among the things we shall discuss is the length of your stepmother’s leash—if it is decided she shall remain at Castle L’Épée with her children.”
“If not?”
“Has she not family to take her in, then the convent. In the meantime, the men I left behind to strengthen the ranks of those loyal to your brother will ensure the high seat remains his.”
She smiled weakly. “I thank you.”
He kissed her brow. “Gain your rest. I will watch over both of you.”
Godfroi held her for hours, during which she hardly stirred though the women returned and cleaned the chamber, including changing the bedclothes that forced him to temporarily leave Robine’s side and necessitated much repositioning of her and the babe. And just as she slept through Guarin and Cyr’s visit to meet their new brother, so she did when the babe awakened and rooted for sustenance and comfort that required Godfroi to position him so he disturb his mother as little as possible.
Strange it feels almost natural to do for him as once I did for Guarin and Cyr,he thought where he sat against the headboard watching the little one’s suckling slow as dusk fell. “We make progress, Dougray,” he murmured. “Good progress.”