A Scandalous Marriage (9 page)

Leah seemed to accept her words. Devon held her tight, her arm around his neck. “It will be all right,”

he said softly.

She didn’t answer but arched as if searching for a more comfortable position. Devon tried to help her.

His hand touched her belly—

He felt the baby move!

It was a miracle. He’d never imagined such a thing. It took him completely by surprise. He looked from one woman to another. “I felt it. I felt the baby.” It moved again. Beneath his palm, he could make out a limb. The baby shifted. “There it is.”

“Good! Good!” Old Edith declared, her renewed enthusiasm giving Devon hope. “This is a good sign.

Maybe the baby has decided to wake up and help us.” She gave Leah a toothy smile. “Do you think, Leah? Do you think this bairn is ready for the world?”

“I hope so,” Leah answered weakly.

“Aye. We all do,” Old Edith answered. “I pray we see his sweet little face soon.” She left to finish her tea.

Outside, the ice changed to cold, unforgiving rain.

Leah was completely lost in the chaos of her body. The baby didn’t move now, but the pains started coming closer together. Ruthless and hard, they drove her to exhaustion. But she didn’t complain. She’d never been one to complain.

Devon held her in his arms. He was accustomed to feeling the baby now. Old Edith said it was a good-sized child.

Leah’s moods changed rapidly. At one point, she started crying, a soft hiccuping sound.

“Leah?”

“I’m so sorry.” She started sobbing, her tears wetting the skin of his neck.

“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for—” He stopped speaking. He knew. She was apologizing for having taken a lover.

Devon enveloped her in his arms—even as he wanted to push her away. “It doesn’t matter, Leah,” he heard himself say roughly. “It’s the past. Don’t think about the past.”

A contraction took hold of her. Her muscles tensed. “Easy,” he said gently.

In answer, she practically snarled at him, a reversal of her behavior only seconds before.

“Aye, don’t fight it,” Old Edith said from her post at the end of the bed.

“I don’t want to fight,” Leah ground out. “In fact, I don’t want any of this. The baby can stay the way it is.”

To Devon’s surprise, she kicked out at Old Edith and made as if to rise from the bed.

“Hold her down,” the midwife snapped. “It’s a phase they all go through. It’s a good sign.”

It took a surprising amount of strength to keep Leah from climbing out of the bed. She arched her back, her hair flying loose and free around her.

Old Edith leaned forward. Her Scot accent gave her voice authority as she said, “Now listen, missy, and listen well. If you want this baby, you stay right here.”

Leah appeared stricken with remorse. She fell back against Devon. “I want the baby. You don’t know how much I want my baby.”

“I know, I know,” Old Edith answered. “Now sit up best you can. Bend your legs.”

Leah was crying again, the silent tears streaming down her face. She did as Old Edith said, bracing her back against Devon’s chest.

“Be ready, lass. Be brave.”

Leah nodded. Another contraction ripped through her. She dug her heels into the bed. Old Edith was whispering, “Come on, come on, you bairn,” as if encouraging a racehorse to reach the line.

The pain subsided.

“Relax, lass. Save your strength. Your bairn is not ready yet… but it will be soon.”

Leah collapsed. Old Edith stood, rubbing the back of her neck. “I need to reheat the water in this bucket. Soon,” she promised Leah. “It’ll be soon.” She left the room.

“You’re doing fine,” Devon whispered.

Leah nodded, but her breathing was too fast, too shallow.

“Slow down,” he warned. “Take deep breaths. Try and relax.” He pressed his lips against the skin of her neck. She was going to make it. She could not die—

“I love you.”

Devon went very still, not sure if she’d spoken, or if he’d imagined those words out of his deepest desires.

She looked up at him. “I’ve always loved you.”

At one time, he’d ached to hear her say those words. Now his gladness mingled with jealousy, searing hot jealousy.

“I didn’t mean it when I said I hated you,” she whispered. “I was angry. Confused.”

He didn’t know if he wanted to talk about this. Not now. “We both were,” he said curtly.

The next contraction started building again. She tried to talk in spite of it. “You weren’t. I should have gone… with you.”

Devon glanced into the other room, where Old Edith puttered with cloths and kettles. He wished she would get back into the bedroom.

This contraction didn’t seem to grip her like the others. She drew a deep breath. “Mother wanted me to marry Lord Tiebauld, but I couldn’t if I had a baby in me.”

“Leah.” It had been common knowledge that the Carrolltons had decided on Lord Tiebauld. When the news had reached Devon in Scotland, he’d gotten mind-numbing drunk for a week.

And it still hadn’t relieved his sense of loss.

“Mother wanted to take my baby from me, Devon. She wanted to kill it before it could be born.”

“Don’t think about it,” Devon said quickly. Her confessions roused too many contradictory emotions.

“Think about the baby.”

“Yes, the baby,” she repeated dreamily. “And Whitney’s. I always remember Whitney’s when times are bad.”

Suddenly, she stiffened. “I have to push.”

Her words sent Devon shouting for Old Edith. For the next hour, Leah pushed until she was beyond the point of exhaustion.

At last, Old Edith said, “Save your strength, lass. Relax a bit.” She walked into the other room.

Devon hated the midwife for her calmness. He followed. “Why did you tell her to stop pushing the baby out?”

“Because the baby is not coming out,” Old Edith said. She took a sip of the tea she had continued to drink as the evening had worn on.

Devon wasn’t certain he’d heard her correctly. He grabbed the cup from her and sampled a taste. “This tea has enough rum in it to intoxicate a sailor.” He dashed the contents into the hearth. The flames hissed and flared.

“I need a bit,” the midwife whined. “It’s hard losing a mother. Hard to watch them die.”

Her words tore through him. “She isn’t dying. You saw her in there. She’s making a valiant effort. We’re not going to lose her!”

“We are,” she assured him in a low voice. “I’ve seen it too often. For a while, you made me hope she’d make it, but she won’t. The baby’s not right.”

“What do you mean, ”not right“? I felt it move.”

Old Edith ignored his question, lost in her own thoughts. “Aye, but she was a bonny lass and was always kind to me. Some people aren’t kind to those of us who aren’t as lovely to look at, you ken?”

“We can’t lose her,” Devon repeated. He’d rather have a thousand shards of glass pushed into his body than accept what Old Edith was telling him.

“It happens, my lord,” she whispered sloppily. “It happens.”

In the other room, Leah called to him.

“Have a wee nip, my lord. I’m going to give the lass a bit. Help her relax. It’s a slow death.”

Devon couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. Suddenly he couldn’t even stand being in the cottage. He threw open the front door and ran out into the rain, slamming the door behind him.

It was darker than Hades outside. The storm seemed to drive right through him. Raising his fists to the heavens, he shouted, “No!” Once was not enough. He yelled it over and over until the air rang with his denial.

He lowered his arms. Rivulets of water ran down his face, over his shoulders, along the line of his back.

He couldn’t let her die.

He wasn’t going to lose her again.

Even if it meant fighting the devil himself.

Devon returned to the cottage. Old Edith was in with Leah. He overheard her trying to get Leah to drink from a cup. The two bedroom candles cast an eerie light around the room. Their flames danced as he closed the door.

He picked up a towel from the stack Old Edith had brought with her and dried himself off.

“Devon?” Leah called to him. Deep circles underlined her eyes. Her face was pale and waxy.

He stood in the doorway, feeling very much like a madman. “We’re going to have this baby, Leah. I’m going to help you. We’ll do it together.”

He nodded to the midwife. “Edith, put that cup down and take your position at the foot of the bed. I’ll hold Leah up while she pushes, and if you have to reach inside of her like a farmer would a calf, then do it. You pull that baby out of her. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” she answered, a slight tremor in her voice. “But I can’t see. It’s too dark.”

“Then place a candle on the floor where you can see,” he snapped.

Old Edith scurried to do his bidding. Devon gathered Leah up in his arms. “Do you understand what we are going to do? You must be brave, Leah. You must use all your courage.”

“Devon,” she whispered. “When you ran out, I grew so afraid.”

“But I’m here now.”

She nodded, almost too weak to respond.

“Are you ready, Edith?”

“Aye, my lord.”

He leaned his mouth close to Leah’s ear. “Come now. You can do it. You’ve already given up so much for this child. Let’s bring him into the world.”

His words were the impetus she needed. From a place he could only imagine, she found the strength to try again. Her body strained with the force of her pushing. Her face contorted.

Old Edith shouted encouragement. “Come on now. Bring that bairn out. You can do it, lass. You’re strong, healthy. Push!”

And yet the baby would not come.

Leah collapsed, exhausted.

“It has to happen,” Old Edith muttered. “She can’t go on much longer.”

“Let’s shift her,” Devon said, desperately. “Change her position.” He’d seen it work with the horse.

“Aye. Lift her up higher.”

Devon climbed up on the bed. He braced her back against his chest, placing his hands on her thighs, spreading them. He didn’t think of her nakedness. Her body was for a different purpose now. He raised her up.

“Wait,” Old Edith said and attempted to feel the baby. Her expression broke into a grin. “His head! I touched the bairn!” Her voice betrayed a hope that had been missing earlier. “The babe has a bonny head of hair!”

Leah was weary. She nodded, acknowledging Old Edith’s encouragement, but her breathing was ragged. Wrapping her arms around the arm Devon used to brace her, she whispered, “Promise me, Devon, if anything happens to me, you’ll take my baby. Promise you’ll raise him.”

She knew.

She was aware of how close to death she was.

He stared down into the face he’d loved, and he didn’t know what to say.

Her grip tightened. “Promise.”

“Don’t give up yet.” The words were hard to speak past the lump in his throat. They came out hoarse and guttural.

“Lift her again,” came the bossy Scottish voice. “I’m losing the baby. We must do it now.”

Leah leveraged herself up, using Devon’s arm. He could almost hate this baby for threatening her.

“Shake her!” came the midwife’s command.

“Shake her?” Devon had never heard of such a thing.

“Shake her.”

He did as ordered, gently.

“Harder,” Old Edith said.

Devon shook Leah’s whole body harder.

“Push, lass, push. Yes, that’s it!” Old Edith cried. “The babe is coming!”

Leah started trembling and laughing. “I can feel him! I can feel!”

“Push, push, push! Now’s not the time to stop,” Old Edith growled.

The superhuman strength Leah applied to the task humbled Devon. He was shouting with Old Edith now. He believed.

And then he saw the head emerge. Old Edith had been right. The baby had a full head of coal black hair.

The midwife’s orders were garbled with excitement and joy. Then suddenly, she shouted, “Stop. Don’t push!”

Leah froze. “I have to push. I need to.”

“Don’t.”

Devon leaned forward and saw the problem. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck like a noose. Old Edith unwrapped it. Once. Twice. Three times—and the baby slid out easily.

“It’s a boy!” Old Edith crowed. She tied the cord and cut it.

A boy.

Devon fell back on the bed, bringing Leah down with him. She was laughing and crying at the same time as he rained kisses of joy all over her face. She was braver and stronger than any man he’d ever known.

He hugged her with fierce pride.

Then, suddenly, Old Edith interrupted the celebration with a keening cry. “He’s dead. The babe’s dead.”

“De—” Leah couldn’t finish the word. Her body stiffened as reality struck. “No!” she cried out, that one word echoing the shattering of her very soul.

Devon rose from the bed, attacked by an irrational fury. “It can’t be!” He practically snatched the child from Old Edith’s hands.

The baby was a marvel. Legs, arms, feet with ten toes… a perfectly formed boy—save for the fact that its face, head, and body were blue.

“Devon? Please, tell me it isn’t so,” Leah begged.

He could not speak.

“Not my baby!” The words were ripped from her heart. They rang in the rafters of the cottage.

“It’s God’s will, child. God’s will,” Old Edith was repeating over and over even as she reached for her teacup.

Damn God’s will,
Devon wanted to cry. It was his fault. He’d bartered with God: the baby’s life for Leah’s… and now that he’d gotten what he wanted, he discovered it wasn’t enough.

How precious this baby was. How fragile.

Devon held the child with both hands. Behind him, the women sobbed. Leah was inconsolable. He’d failed her.

He fell to his knees, the guilt a weight he could not bear.

Dear God
—

He stared down at the quiet form in his hands. Outside, the winter wind blew with a force that seemed to find every crack in the cottage. They’d struggled so hard to bring this boy into the world, and now he would never grow to be a man. He would never know how much Leah had loved him.

Damn you, God. Damndamndamn! Why did You allow this to happen?