Kissed by Shadows (38 page)

Twenty-nine

The first day of May dawned hot and glorious. Pippa rose with the dawn chorus as she had done every morning of the last six months. She stood in her shift and contemplated the new day as absently she cradled her belly.

The child kicked and she chuckled softly. “You're busy on this May morn, little one.” She looked down and smiled ruefully at her inability to see her feet. She had indeed grown fat under Berthe's care. Berthe and Gilles spoke little, in fact none of these Breton folk were quick to give tongue, but they had all watched over her throughout the long, harsh winter months once Robin and Luisa had left to go to the Beaucaire estates in Burgundy.

No strangers ever came to this fishing village. The men fished together, occasionally teaming up with folk from a neighboring hamlet when they ventured far towards Iceland, and when the boats returned safe and laden there would be a mass of thanks and a great feast of celebration, with all the families gathered in the church. Pippa had hesitated to join them the first time but Berthe had come for her and she had been welcomed so naturally that she had never again felt awkward in their company.

She could hear Berthe moving around downstairs and quickly dressed in one of the loose linen gowns that her hostess had fashioned for her. Pippa smiled now to think that she had been concerned about having no money. She had had no need of any. No need of anything at all. At first it had felt strange, frightening almost, to be divested of all possessions, of the power of purchase, but it had not taken long before she had slipped into the rhythm of this life.

The long winter days she had spent curled up with the cat before the fire, sewing for the child growing big within her. Berthe had succeeded in teaching her to enjoy the art of the needle where her mother and her old nurse had signally failed. But now it was spring and Pippa felt herself throwing off the lethargy of winter like a snake sloughing its skin.

She edged down the ladder, an awkward maneuver these days, and greeted Berthe with a few words of Breton that she had managed to master. She took the bowl of new-drawn milk that Berthe insisted she drink every morning, and a chunk of warm crusty bread spread thickly with butter, and went out into the sunshine.

Gilles was whittling a toy for the baby. He had already carved two dolls and a horse with its own little cart. He nodded at Pippa as she came over to him, and showed her the wooden rattle he was carving.

“'Tis lovely, Gilles. The baby will be quite spoiled with so many beautiful toys.”

He cracked a pleased smile and took up his work again. Pippa, still eating her breakfast, continued on her regular morning walk, up to the clifftop where every day, regardless of the weather, she came to gaze out over the cold sea, looking for
Sea Dream.

She didn't know whether Lionel would come by sea or on horseback over the rough inhospitable landscape of Finistere. She had had no message, but she hadn't expected one. He would come when he would come.

She gazed out across the sea that today was a calm and glittering blue under the soft May sun. The grass at her feet gave off wonderful scents of sea pinks, clover, and lavender. She sat down on the grass to finish her bread and milk and then began idly to make a daisy chain.

The first twinge she ignored. She had had many in the last weeks and Berthe had told her not to be troubled by them. When delivery drew close the womb began to prepare. This twinge seemed no more severe than the others.

The next one, some ten minutes later, was very different. Pippa put her hands on her belly, feeling it harden then relax as the pain, and it was now a pain, not severe but definitely no longer a twinge, diminished.

She was not frightened but she rose to her feet slowly, picked up her empty bowl, and walked back to the village.

Berthe took one look at Pippa when she came into the cottage and said instantly, “Ah, 'tis time.”

She put her hand on Pippa's belly and kept it there throughout the next pain. She nodded. “'Tis good, but not strong yet. Go and sit in the sun. 'Tis too soon to take to the bed.”

She began to take herbs from the drying racks as Pippa went back outside, feeling curiously peaceful. Her body was in charge now and she could only leave it to do its work.

She sat down on a rough bench that Gilles had put beneath an oak tree whose branches were just beginning to show pale green foliage and closed her eyes. For six months she had waited here in what seemed to her almost a trance, her life suspended, but the waiting would soon now be over. Her mind turned inward, insulating her from the world around her as another wave of pain, a little stronger this time, tightened around her belly.

She didn't hear the horses' hooves on the grassy lane beyond the cottage. She opened her eyes only when a shadow fell across the dappled light that warmed her face.

Lionel stood above her.

“You have come,” she said, not moving, just looking up at him, drinking in the wonderful familiarity of his countenance. He seemed to have materialized out of her trance and fleetingly she wondered if he was indeed a figment of her longing.

He knelt on the grass beside her and touched her face. “I have missed you so,” he whispered. “Every minute of every day I have longed for you.”

“And I for you,” she replied as he cupped her cheek in his palm. “But I knew you would come.” She parted her lips for his kiss and tasted the sweetness of his tongue and his mouth and the long months of separation vanished as if with a magician's wand.

A bubble of energy burst within her and the strange trance evaporated. She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “You are come just in time. This babe is anxious to be born.”

“Now?” he asked in surprise. “Today?”

“I believe so,” she said, and kept her hand over his as her belly hardened again. His expression of confusion and alarm made her smile through the pain. “'Tis quite normal,” she reassured. “I thought you to be the expert on pregnancy.”

“I know little or nothing about birth,” he replied ruefully. “I was never in a birthing chamber.”

“There is a first time for everything.” She stood up as the pain receded and placed her hand on his arm. “I think I need to walk a little bit.”

“Then let us walk this way,” he said. “You must see what I have brought you.”

“I have no need of gifts,” Pippa replied. “You are all the gift I need.”

“Oh, I think you'll find this one pleasing,” he said with a complacent grin. “We will walk to the church, if you think you can manage to go that far.”

“'Tis but a few steps,” she said scornfully, taking his hand. Energy coursed through her and it was hard to remember her inertia of a few minutes ago. She no longer felt peaceful and passive, but vigorous and eager to resume her life, to be done with this birthing so that she could embrace her child.

She didn't at first believe her eyes when they rounded the corner. A man and a woman stood deep in conversation just outside the church, their tethered horses cropping the grass of the little churchyard.

“Pen?” Pippa breathed.
“Pen!”
She shouted her sister's name in wonder and delight.

“Pippa . . . dearest Pippa.” Pen gathered her skirts and came running towards her. “Oh, I am in time. I wanted so much to be with you for the birth. But we could not come before because of the winter and the roads were so bad.”

She hugged her sister, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, you're so big. I can't put my arms around you.”

Pippa was crying too. “I have had such need of you, Pen. Ever since—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Pen interrupted her, laying her wet cheek against her sister's. “Lionel told us the whole dreadful story. My poor Pippa.”

“No, not poor Pippa,” Pippa said, smiling through her tears. “I am as happy as 'tis possible for anyone to be. Lionel has come back and he has brought you to me, and this baby is about to be born and—” She broke off with a gasp, a spasm of pain twisting her face.

Lionel rushed over to her, Pen's husband, Owen d'Arcy, on his heels. “You shouldn't have walked,” he said. “Let me carry you back.”

Pippa merely shook her head and waited for the pain to lose its grip, then she straightened. “Do you remember Philip's birth?” she asked her sister with what was now a wan smile.

“'Tis all something of a blur,” Pen said vaguely. In fact she remembered those long hours of agony all too well. She would not wish such a birth upon her sister and she would not tell her of it. “You must go back to the house.”

“Let me carry you,” Lionel insisted.

Pippa managed a half laugh. “I am far too heavy. And I can walk the few steps well enough.” She turned to her brother-in-law. “Forgive me, Owen, I have neglected to greet you.”

“You are a little occupied at the moment,” he said in his low melodious voice that held a smile in its depths. “It seems we arrived just in time. Pen was most anxious to be with you.”

Pippa opened her mouth to speak and closed it abruptly. She clutched Lionel's hand, squeezing until the pain released her again.

“We had better go now before the next one,” Pen said.

Lionel nodded grimly and without a word lifted Pippa into his arms. He half ran with her, barely noticing the weight in his anxiety to get her back to Berthe.

Berthe regarded his precipitate arrival in the cottage with some surprise. She set down the pot of boiling water that she had just lifted off the fire. “I bid you welcome, Monsieur Ashton,” she said calmly.

“Where should I put her? The baby's coming,” he said urgently.

“It'll be a while yet,” she said with the same calmness. “No need for panic.”

“But she's in pain.”

“Aye, 'tis always thus. I have prepared the bed in the back. Put her down there and I'll see how she's getting along.”

Pippa could almost have laughed at Lionel's total lack of composure. He was always calm and in command of himself and events around him but now he was behaving like a chicken without a head.

The bed in the back was where Berthe and Gilles slept. It was separated from the rest of the cottage by a curtain. It had been stripped and coarse linen sheets spread upon the straw mattress.

Lionel laid Pippa down and stood helplessly as she struggled through another band of pain, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead.

“Go and pace around with Owen,” Pippa said when she could breathe again. “I think that's what men are supposed to do at these times. Pen will stay with me.”

“Yes, go,” Pen said, pushing him towards the curtain. “I don't think you're doing any good here.”

Berthe came in with a cup from which curled an aromatic herbal steam. She carried a pile of cloths beneath her arm. She waved Lionel towards the outer chamber, and reluctantly, yet with some relief, he obeyed the instructions and fled to the other side of the curtain.

Owen was pouring cider from a copper jug into two tankards. “I can't find anything stronger,” he said, handing one of the tankards to Lionel. “But enough of this should help.”

“My thanks.” Lionel drank deeply. A muffled cry came from behind the curtain and he paled.

“Outside,” Owen said quickly.

Lionel followed him into the noon sunlight.

“She won't die,” Owen said, reading his mind. “Mallory women are strong. Strong in mind as well as in body.”

Lionel nodded. He spoke softly and yet with a dreadful determination. “I could not bear it, Owen. If I should lose her giving birth to Philip's bastard I will kill him with my bare hands.”

“She will not die,” Owen repeated. “She will have a healthy child. A child that will be of no use to Philip once it is born out of his reach. There can be no clandestine substitution of a healthy infant for a dead one if he does not have the healthy one in his grasp.”

“Mary retired to keep her chamber in Easter week and there has been no news of a birth as yet.” Lionel forced himself to contentrate on this conversation when his ears were straining to catch a sound from the cottage.

“Noailles has it on the best authority that Mary is deceived and there is no pregnancy. The swelling of her belly is but a tumor of sorts,” Owen said. “But we will await events. Whatever the outcome of Mary's confinement Pippa and her child will no longer be under threat in France. Philip will not pursue them here.”

He glanced at his companion for verification and shook his head in sympathy. There was no topic that would distract Lionel.

He tipped up his empty tankard and said, “There has to be something stronger around here.”

As if he had heard him Gilles emerged from a shed carrying a stone jar. “Calvados,” he said, setting the jar on the ground beside the bench under the oak tree. “My own. This is what we drink at these times. Drink that and, as we say, you will drown the woman's pains.” He lifted the jar to his lips, then passed it to Lionel.

The three men sat on the bench under the tree as the afternoon wore on and the level of apple brandy in the stone jar went down. Berthe came out once, told them that everything was going as it should, and hurried into the village, returning within a very few minutes with another woman.

“Why does she need help?” Lionel demanded of Gilles.