Samantha James (23 page)

“Egan,” she cried softly. “Egan!”

Scorching heat filled her…as he filled her, hot and smooth and hard, his shaft buried so deep that she could take no more of him. His eyes glittering, he raised himself above her and whispered her name, a ragged harshness to his breath and a sound that betrayed a need as desperate as her own. When she reached for him, he caught her hands and locked their fingers in a searing clasp. She arched her back for the driving power of his thrust, and when it came, she cried out in glorious, fevered splendor.

He kissed her mouth, the arch of her throat. He praised her beauty, whispered of the longing that raged in his veins like a fever, the slaking of desire that only she could quench. And when she felt the pulsing spasms of his seed explode within her, pleasure surged, all the more intense because of his. Her body abrim, she hurtled toward that pinnacle of rapture, casting back her head, screaming her joy aloud.

When at last it was over, she opened her eyes to find his long form stretched beside her. A tender hand smoothed the damp tendrils of hair from her cheek. He peered at her oddly.

“What is it? Did I hurt you?”

She pressed her hot face against his shoulder, embarrassed at her abandon. “Nay,” she said, the sound half-strangled, “nay!” She caught his hand and pressed it to the hardness of her belly, where it seemed the babe had awoke from a sound sleep. Her skin rippled as he tumbled and surged.

Egan’s eyes widened, for there was an unmistakable kick. “Dear God! Does it not hurt?”

“Nay. He is often thus.”

He looked so astonished, she couldn’t help but smile. He bent his head, and laid his ear to her belly.

“His heart!” he said in wonderment. “I can hear it!”

She laughed. “’Tis mine you hear, not the babe’s.”

“It is not!”

So emphatic was his pronouncement that she began to doubt her own certainty. It struck her then…she felt as if a very great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Oh, but it felt good to laugh again! It felt so good to hear Egan laugh.

Her sleep the remainder of the night was blessedly undisturbed. Egan was gone when she arose, but he kissed her and ran a fingertip down her nose and whispered that she was to rest.

The day was a reflection of her mood, brighter than it had been for days. The hills were edged with a white, feathery fringe of clouds; though the air was crisp, the sky was a clear, brilliant blue. Humming, she decided to see the cook about the menu for the morrow’s meals—but first, she must check the spices. He’d been complaining that some were old and stale, and she decided she had best check for herself first.

It was then she felt it—a cool, sticky wetness between her thighs, there where they touched when she walked…it pulled her up short. She halted in the midst of her descent to the storeroom. Surely she hadn’t wet herself! True, nature’s call now came many a time throughout the day—and night—but
she had always been aware of it. Yet this seemed somehow different.

Frowning, she cast a look up and down the stairs. There was no one about, so she pulled up a corner of her gown and touched her fingertips to the inside of one thigh.

They came away sticky with blood.

Her breath came fast, then slow. “Egan,” she whispered, and then it was a scream: “
Egan
!”

As Egan left the smithy’s hut, the clang of metal upon metal resounded in his head. So it was that at first he thought he was hearing something that was not there…

Then it came again.

It was a frightened scream, a shivering scream of breath and body and sound. The world seemed to give way beneath his feet. All else faded to oblivion. His head came up. In but a heartbeat, he had sought and found his wife.

She was standing at the top of the stairs near the entrance to the hall. Her face was white as linen, her gaze frantic as it scanned the faces in the bailey.

He broke into a dead run.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He caught her by the elbows at the top of the stairs, and whisked her into the hall and out of the cold, for she was shaking from head to toe.

“I’m bleeding,” she said frantically. “I’m bleeding!” Her eyes huge, she raised a trembling hand for him to see. The other clutched protectively at her belly. She welded her thighs together, as if to keep the babe locked tight within her womb.

Egan stared numbly at the crimson that stained her fingertips. For an instant his mind was slow to fathom…a chill ran down the length of his spine.

“Christ,” he breathed. “Christ!” He bent and carefully lifted her in his arms. “Hold tight to me, sweet!” He bore her through the hall toward the tower stairs, barking over his shoulder for Nessa.

In her chamber, he deposited her gently onto the bed.

She reached for him. “Don’t go!”

Her little cry tore at his heart. Her hands were like ice. He warmed them between his own.

“It’s just like before,” she said tonelessly. “The blood…Soon the pains will begin…It’s too early. Too early!”

By then Nessa had appeared. “We need a midwife!” he growled the instant he saw her.

Wrinkled lips mashed together until none could be seen. Her sunken eyes blazed like coals. Aye, if looks could burn, he would be naught but a pile of ashes.

“There is no better midwife than me in all the Borderlands!” she hissed. “Now take yerself from this room that I may examine her!”

Egan’s jaw thrust out. A ready argument surged to the fore, yet was quickly supplanted. She was right. He must let her work.

Banished to the hallway, he could do naught but sag against the wall. He dragged a hand down his face, feeling haggard inside. He was a warrior, hale and whole and hearty. Yet never had he felt so weak and helpless.

Egan had little experience with childbirth. Oh, he had clapped other men on the shoulder in cheerful
congratulations; he’d shared a dram when their eyes darted fearfully to the place where their woman labored to bring forth their child. It was a woman’s domain, and like most men, he preferred to keep his distance. But Glenda’s reaction had told him all he needed to know.

She was right. It was too early. There were weeks to go before the babe should have been born, nearly two months.

No child who arrived so early could ever survive.

Every minute he waited was like a torment. A dozen times he nearly threw open the door and barged within. A dozen times he checked himself. Finally he began to pace in a tight circle, for it was the only way to leash his impatience.

When Nessa stepped outside, he pounced upon her.

“How is she? Does the babe come?”

“’Tis too soon to tell.”

“But she’s bleeding!”

“Not so much as I had feared,” Nessa admitted.

“Can you stop it?”

Nessa’s faded blue eyes slipped away. She shook her head. “’Tis not good when a woman with child bleeds like this,” she said.

Egan paled. A cold sweat dotted his forehead. “Is she in danger?”

“I think not,” the old woman said heavily. “But as for the babe…we can only pray the child decides to wait.”

Egan’s gaze bored into hers. “I don’t care about the babe. Just save her, Nessa.
Save her
.”

Neither realized the door was ajar. Both turned when Glenda let out a piercing cry.

Egan rushed to the bedside. She looked at him, her mouth tremulous. “No. No! Don’t let my babe die, Egan.” She began to cry, dry, wrenching sobs that tore him apart. “Don’t let my babe die!”

He was stunned and shaken. She was always so strong, to see her break down like this pierced him to the soul. Yet it shouldn’t have, he suddenly realized. For this was her deepest fear, to lose another child, even this one he’d been so convinced she did not want! He’d thought she didn’t care, that she didn’t want
his
child.

Guilt seized hold of him like a clamp. He should never have touched her last night, no matter that she was tempting beyond all reason, beyond all will! Desire ruled, and he’d cared not. He’d taken her. In lust. In love. God’s bones! What did it matter?

“Calm yourself, sweet,” he said raggedly. “This can do you no good, either of you. Nessa said the bleeding is not so much as she had feared.”

“This is how it began before,” she wept. She could say no more, for it was past all bearing—past all telling.

His arms encircled her. He gathered her close and tight against him. His mouth grazed the fine hairs of her temple, the curve of her cheeks, the dainty hollow just behind her ear. He whispered comfortingly, he knew not what.

She buried her face against the side of his neck. Hot tears trickled against his skin—his very heart.

The life in her womb fluttered.

They both felt it. In shock, their eyes locked.

It was Egan who reacted first. A strong hand tenderly imprisoned hers, urging it down to her belly. “Feel,” he said intently. He trapped her gaze with his—her hand with his. “This babe lives, Glenda. Our child still lives.”

Uncaring that Nessa stood near, he cradled her face between his palms and kissed her full on the lips. “You must rest,” he said softly. He ran his knuckles across the downy curve of her cheek, marveling at its softness. “I want you well again, you and the babe.”

“Will you be with me?”

“I am with you, sweet.”

“Nay,” she said, and her voice broke. “I mean when…”

Egan frowned, not understanding. “When the babe is born?”

She nodded. “I-I cannot bear to be alone again.” Her gaze slipped. Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear.

In that instant, Egan’s heart surely stopped beating. Comprehension washed through him. All at once he understood what he’d never truly understood before. The rending heartache she had felt, bearing Niall’s son alone, when her husband already lay still and cold.

With his thumbs, he brushed away the wetness from her cheeks. His tone was very grave. “Look at me, Glenda.”

Her eyes were huge and clouded, misted by the unmistakable glitter of tears. Egan nearly came undone.

“I will be there,” he said fervently.

He felt the deep, shuddering breath her lungs drew.

“Do you promise?”

“I do. I promise I will be with you when our child is born.”

The smile she returned was but a glimmer…a smile nonetheless.

Nessa silently nodded her approval. She’d been about to sniff indignantly that this was no place for a man. Indeed, her staff was half-raised, prepared to sweep him from the chamber! Yet seeing how this tall, lean Highlander was able to calm her lassie, she quickly banished the impulse. Instead she limped to the door and swung it shut. She suspected Egan would not be leaving soon.

Throughout the day and night they waited, the three of them, tense and silent. The child moved no more, but the pains Glenda had feared did not come.

The days passed. A sennight. Then a fortnight. The situation remained the same. The bleeding did not subside.

Yet neither did her body seek to expel the tiny life within her. A watchful caution was maintained.

They had discovered early on that when she arose, the bleeding worsened. Nessa’s voice cracked sharply as she ordered her back to bed; Glenda scurried to obey. Still, as the days dragged on, the inactivity chafed at her. She hated being dependent, but she would do whatever was required of her. She forced herself to eat, though the constant worry stole her appetite. It was not the matters of the household that concerned her; she knew they would be tended to, perhaps not in the same, careful way that she was
wont to do, but tended to nonetheless. Nay, it was the babe that commanded her concern…and Egan’s.

He came and sat with her daily, yet he seemed…not distant, mayhap, but she sensed a kind of reserve. Oh, he held her hand; he kissed her chastely on the cheek. But Glenda wanted more. She wished desperately that he would return to their bed, for she longed to feel his arms steal around her in the night, warm and sheltering. She ached to hear the drum of his heart echo beneath her ear in the quiet of the dawn. Oh, she knew there could be no passionate pursuits of the flesh. Though she almost hated herself for the uncertainty, she wondered if it was because she was no longer slim and desirable.

He looked so tired. There were deep grooves etched into his cheeks. When she inquired about the raids, he tried to put her off, but she was insistent. He confided that there had been several more. He had doubled the men on night patrols and spent long hours on the watch tower himself.

She did not know that despite his assurances, Egan was horribly afraid, in a way that transcended all others, knowing their babe might still die…that she could die! All of a sudden, he remembered every tale he’d ever heard of women who had died in childbed. Though he was loath to admit it, this was a matter that resided solely in God’s hands, and he was powerless to do aught but stand by. She was pale and wan, yet the babe in her belly continued to grow. There were deep mauve shadows beneath her eyes—at times he had to force himself to meet her gaze! She
did not complain nor rage nor cry, but he knew her fear was never completely assuaged.

The guilt that swamped him was like a red-hot sword twisting in his belly, again and again. If this babe died, she would blame him. She had never really wanted him, not really. He had cast aside her wishes and taken her, planted his seed inside her. She had every right to blame him, for he had not been able to control his desire. If anything happened to her—to their child!—she would never forgive him.

He would never forgive himself.

He loved her. It was something he’d known for years.

He hadn’t known how much until now.

For in those days, Egan sealed a vow within his own heart. He swore that never again would he burden her with such worry, frighten her as she was afeared these many days. Never again would he place her in such danger. If it meant that never again would he lay with her—claim her as his own with lips and hands and body—then so be it.

It would be enough, he told himself. For he loved her…too much to lose her.

Glenda awoke one morning in late February to a commotion outside in the bailey. Though she longed to rise and peer out to see the cause of the din, she remained where she was. When Jeannine delivered the tray with her morning meal, Glenda queried her.

“I heard shouts in the bailey earlier, Jeannine. Is something amiss?”

Jeannine paled. “I know not, mistress.” Hastily she averted her gaze and fled.

An odd shiver played down Glenda’s spine.

Nessa was the next to enter. Glenda watched as she placed a basin of hot water on the bedside table for her bath.

“Nessa,” she said quietly. “Something happened this morning. What is it?” An awful fear gripped her heart. “Dear God, never say it is Egan!”

“He is well, child. Do not fret.”

“I cannot help it. There is something wrong. I feel it.”

Nessa said nothing. Her gnarled hands squeezed water from the sponge.

The soft line of Glenda’s mouth compressed. “No,” she said.

“But the water grows cold. Let me bathe you.”

“Not until I know what’s wrong.”

The old woman’s silence was stoic.

“Nessa, I have a right to know. If you will not tell me”—beneath her quiet tone lurked an unyielding, iron determination—“I shall rise and find out for myself.”

Nessa glared her disapproval. “’Tis for your own good. Ye need to rest, not worry.”

“Nessa—”

“There is naught ye can do!”

Glenda sat up and shoved the covers aside.

“Stop!” Nessa pressed her back. “I will tell ye, then. Two of the guards sent out on night patrol, Murphy and Holmes, have not yet returned.”

Her eyes closed, then opened. “God, no.” An ominous sense of foreboding slipped over her.

“Where is Egan?”

“Here.”

Bold as ever, her husband strode through the doorway, tall and vital and so strikingly masculine, an almost painful wave of pride washed through her just looking at him. But her heart constricted, for he was dressed for battle, his sword and dirk strapped to his waist.

One look at his wife’s distraught features and his gaze bounced to Nessa for confirmation. Nessa gave a slight nod and retreated, closing the door and leaving them alone.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He took both her hands in his. He said nothing, merely gazed at her.

Her eyes were wide and distressed. “Must you go?”

“Aye.”

“Can’t you send someone else?” A crushing dread settled on her chest. She couldn’t quell the sensation that if he left, something would happen, something terrible.

His gaze softened. “’Tis only right that I go,” he said gently. He shook his head. “Murphy and Holmes must be found.” He did not weigh the possibilities—that they could be hurt. Even dead.

Yet they both knew it. Deep inside, Glenda knew he had no choice. Deep inside, she raged against the fates that would take him from her.

She bent her head low. Her lips trembled. Tears scalded her throat. Somehow she held them back. “How long will you be gone?” she heard herself murmur.

“Until we find Murphy and Holmes.” As always, his reply was unerringly direct.

For the longest time she said nothing…

“Why did you never marry?” The question spilled from her lips before she could stop it; indeed, she knew not where it came from. Only that she had to know…

She’d startled him. She felt it in the way his big body had gone so very still.

She stared at the long brown fingers knotted around her own. “You could have, you know. Anna. Louise. Mary.” She wet her lips, her voice but a whisper. “All those years at Dunthorpe, and you never married…”