The Saxon Bride (The Norman Conquest Series) (20 page)

He gently caressed her leg as her hand continued its death grip.
"Shhhh, Rowena. Try not to push."

Rowena growled an answer that sounded like a word he would not have expected from her.

"The need to push does not come from me. I cannot stop." She finally answered. Leaning against the wall in exhaustion, the baby's head retreated. Her pain gone, she tried to ease her breathing.

"The child will not survive if it is born now."
He spoke quietly to her, his eyes again full of tears.

When she finally looked at him, her expression said it all.
She already knew. Still she shook her head in firm denial, her face wet with tears.

"Please, John, save our baby."
Her anguished request made his tears fall heavier.

He kissed her forehead and went to the small fire for the pot.
"We can try this."

She nodded, accepting the warmed pot of cramp bark tea.
"It may work."

After a few sips, John was relieved when she slumped against his side.
Thinking her asleep, he gently rubbed her side. Her swell bulged against his hand. He jumped at the sudden kick.

"That is a good sign." Rowena's voice was quiet but she started to rub the baby gently in her womb.
"She has not moved in quite awhile."

"Strong.
Like her mother, I'd say." John was assaulted with how little he actually knew about this woman. But strong, yes, he knew she was that. She had stood up to him. She had kept her home and tolerated treatment he could never have imagined.

"I am from strong stock."
The weak sound of her voice contradicted the statement.

"And so is our daughter."

"My father had wanted sons. I was a great disappointment."

"I don't know who my father was." Surprised at the admission, John's breath became unexpectedly shallow.
Why would he tell her that? He waited for her reply. She snuggled closer to him. The tea was doing its work. The cramps had subsided.

"I am sorry for you then.
Even though I was not what my father had wanted, I know that he loved me. His love ended too soon."

John saw again the blood dripping from her father's mouth, his eyes glazing over.
What a thing to have to live with.

"I'm sorry."
It just didn't seem enough. He waited again for her response. Her gentle snoring soothed his anxiety. He held her tighter to his side.

It was the ungodly moan that ripped him from his sleep.
The smell of death was in his nostrils, and he realized it was coming from Rowena. His own leg was stiff from the cold and dampness around him. Her body stiffened beside him again. John closed his eyes, his heart heavy with regret. Her labor had returned.

Gently pushing her back against the wall when the pain gripped her again, he prepared himself to accept the baby.
Rowena fought against the urge to push. It was all for naught. The perfect little body slipped into his hand with little effort. She gasped. Her wide-eyed look of horror seemed frozen on her face, afraid to look down. "Is it a girl?"

He lifted the baby up for her to see.
It fit in one hand. Ten fingers. Ten toes. A beautiful face with little bow lips. His tears dropped onto the still body of his daughter. Rowena sat forward and finally looked at her child. She shook her head as she carefully took the baby. Holding it to her breast, long sobs racked her body. "No. No." She resisted the truth as she gently held the lifeless body.

John wrapped his arm around his two girls.
Rowena leaned heavily against him. Her body shook with her heart-wrenching sobs. As if in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from, John looked into his daughter's beautiful face, memorizing every detail. His first fatherly instinct ripped through his body when he realized with absolute clarity that he would lay down his life without the slightest hesitation if his daughter could just have lived.

He would have gladly saved Rowena yet more pain.
She had been through enough. Alas, this he could not do. He could not bring his daughter back to life. He could, however, avenge their pain and loss and hunt down that bastard Arthur, treating him to a slow, painful death. For now and with great restraint, he would try to comfort Rowena over the loss.

Rowena's sobbing finally subsided.
Her voice was dead when she finally spoke. "I knew it would be a girl."

"She is beautiful."

Rowena stroked the little cheek with the tip of her finger. The baby's lips were tinged with blue. "I think she had your dimples."

John didn't realize he had dimples.
"My lady love, she is as beautiful as you." Kissing her cheek softly, they leaned their heads together and mourned together the loss of their first child.

It was midday when Perceval finally arrived with Claire and Joan in tow.
Stiff from sitting on the cold, hard floor, John knew that Rowena was much worse off. Claire gently took the child from Rowena's arms and Joan came to replace John at her side.

Suddenly feeling awkward and helpless, John stood a few feet from the scene. It sickened
him to think that Arthur had somehow brought all of this about. Ah, revenge gave him a purpose. Something to do. He didn't want to bother his wife with the details, but he needed to know.

"How did you get here?" His voice sounded loud in the small cavern against the quieter reassuring womanly words being exchanged.

Rowena's eyes bore into him but there were no tears when she answered. "Arthur." Joan was seeing to her needs, and John knew he should desist. There was so much blood everywhere. He had gone through the whole night without asking what was most on his mind. How had she come to be with Arthur…here? When she spoke again, he was surprised by the loathing in her voice. "He called me a whore."

Joan's gasp reflected what all present felt.
"Did he take you from the garden, my lady?"

Rowena nodded slowly.
The anger closed in on Rowena, and John's rage only deepened. "What did he say?" He forced his voice to sound calm. He did not need to upset her any further. He didn't dare breathe as he waited for her answer.

"He told me you were near death."
Perceval had been correct. Arthur had coerced her into leaving willingly with him. "He lied. He called me a whore and hit me. I fell to the ground from the blow." Her voice was dead. "I fell too hard for the baby to stay inside."

Many woman survived childbirth
by sheer determination. He prayed she had that.

Perceval came down the stairs again with a litter to lay Rowena on.
Claire packed her up to staunch the bleeding. Joan tucked Rowena in with her cape once she was laid out on the makeshift bed. Tousled around as they moved her, Rowena did not open her eyes once.

"Will you see to her safety?"
John's voice was low so the women could not hear.

"What are you going to do?"
Perceval was clearly concerned for John.

"I will take care of Arthur."

Understanding, Perceval nodded. Each took an end and brought Rowena, no longer with child, up into the sunlight.

Rowena awoke from a deep sleep to an intense
burning sensation between her legs. She settled deeper into her bed, rocking gently. She watched the eerie shadows cast on the walls about her room while the wood crackled in the fire. Joan was the first to notice she was awake. She stooped close and talked softly to Rowena.

"How fare ye?"
Her wide eyes were full of concern.

Rowena gently cupped her blurring friend's cheek. "Will I survive?"

Joan nodded slowly. "But your beautiful daughter…she did not. I am so sorry, my lady."

Tears slipped down her face and into Rowena's hair but she tried to smile.
"I know. She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

"Oh, yes.
I have never seen such a perfect little baby." Joan sniffled loudly and Rowena took her into her arms.

"Shhh."
Rowena's body shook with her sobbing as they clung to each other in their sadness. "I am overcome with my grief, Joan."

"I know.
I know." Joan's voice was muffled in her hair.

Having spent her tears for the moment, Rowena's exhaustion quickly took hold. Her entire body ached.

Claire interrupted them.

"How do you feel?
Is there any pain?" the midwife asked as she poured freshly warmed water into the basin on the table.

"
Yes. Here." Rowena indicated the afflicted area then slid her hand along her stomach. The flatness felt strange, the precious swell no longer there. The gentle pressure no longer pushed against her hand. Her heart ached at the emptiness. "My belly has pain. Is it the loss of the child?"

Claire pulled down the covers to inspect Rowena
. "Does this hurt?" Claire pressed gently against her womb. Rowena winced in answer. "That may not be good."

Standing behind the
older woman, Joan wrung her hands helplessly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"That green bottle…" Claire pointed to her basket, "…yes, mix it with some warm water for her to drink."
She turned back to her patient. "It doesn't taste overly bad but it will help with your pain."

Rowena moved as if in a dream.
She watched Joan glide across the room and wondered why they both spoke so slowly. Claire's voice sounded as if she were very far away. "I feel dizzy." Rowena couldn't remember speaking yet she heard her own thoughts coming back to her. The world spun violently just before it ceased to exist.

§

The leaves on the trees hung heavy, soaked from the constant drizzle. John stared straight ahead as he rode back along the path to their camp. At least he knew the men he'd left in charge would protect the castle if he wasn't able to stop Arthur himself. They were good Saxon men and there was certainly some satisfaction in that knowledge. Rowena had loyal people around her but they were afraid to show any sign of it, afraid there would be repercussions.

The
horse jerked suddenly, nearly unseating John. He shook his head to clear his mind and was relieved to see his men coming toward him. How could he not have heard them coming? They were not very quiet.

"Hail, my lord."
Philip spoke first. "We have brought news."

The young boy came up on the smallest of the palfreys, pushing his way
ahead to stop beside John. He smiled at the boy before turning back to Philip.

"What news?"

"The enemy camp has been located. We have seen five men present. They seem to be waiting for something or someone."

John's lips curled with contempt.
Arthur. So he hasn't made it back to them. "Anything else?"

Philip
looked to the young boy, who seemed suddenly shy, unable to look John in the face. "Speak plain. Don't be afraid."

"It's the red
-haired man, me lord. He'd said he'd get his family land back, one way or another. I didn't understand what he meant until I heard your men talking."

"What is it he meant then?"

"He must have been Arthur the Red's son. The Normans slaughtered him and burned his lands. It was worse than anywhere else. He had fought against the Normans. He wouldn't pay homage."

John's mind went unbidden to the early days of their landing when William had looked for supporters among the villagers against King Harold.
Those who went against William were treated cruelly. None survived those early days. William slaughtered them all. Surprised by his own contempt for the behavior, John wondered why he had just gone along with such horrendous acts.

Philip
interrupted his thoughts. "Arthur had every reason to want to keep the fight against us going. He wanted his land back."

Every man there knew William's code for surrender
—swear fealty to him and survive—fight against him and lose everything.

"It must not have been enough for our greedy friend."

John tried to piece together the events that would have led to William giving Arthur the demesne. It didn't make sense. Why would William trust someone who had every reason to hate him?

"My lord, we believe we know where Arthur and his men have gone."

Philip and John looked at each other. "Their family lands," John stated.

§

It didn't take long to pick up Arthur's trail when they knew where he would be heading. The Roman ruins had been at the very farthest corner of his family lands. They had been extremely wealthy with many men at their disposal. John learned from Aldred that Arthur had sided with Tostig Godwinson over his more powerful brother. Arthur the elder and his son had traveled to the north to fight with him. Backed by the Danish Canute, they were sure that they would win. Instead, they were quickly beaten back. It was a setback for Arthur's future hopes for himself and his son. The news that William of Normandy was making his way across the channel had set them all at a run back to protect their homes.

Passing by the burned out shell of what was once Arthur's family home, John
saw the proof of Arthur's loss. The once well-maintained lands were overrun with tall, wild grass, brown from the miserable drought. The castle's only source of water, the stone well, had been smashed to pieces, the strewn rocks now interspersed with tall clumps of weeds. The wooden bucket hung forlornly from the winch, its wooden support nearly rotted in two.

John could imagine why Arthur would choose this place to finally face him. Here, Arthur had been someone of importance. Here, Arthur could finally stop running, surrounded by all that he had lost.
Perhaps even putting an end to the guilt that probably plagued him ever since his father's death. Today Arthur would be present to defend his family home against the Norman usurpers, John, and take back what was his or die in the battle.

The unnatural silence sent a cold shiver of anticipation through John's body.
Arthur was close by. He sensed it. Slowly approaching the fallow fields, little tufts of tall grass had taken over the once well-maintained path. The lingering death and destruction after all this time gave John a glimpse of what Arthur had lost when William had laid claim to the area.

John's horse snorted but kept its head low.
No imminent danger. His hands ached where they clenched the reins, the persistent cold drizzle saturating his leather gloves. The branches from the surrounding woods creaked sharply in the breeze. John scanned the distant tree line. He heard their horses before he saw their approach through the fog.

Arthur had four men with him, so this would be an easy fight. No, this was just a necessary fight.
The memory of Rowena's ashen face flashed in John's mind. She would be avenged. Arthur had to die. John's two men followed directly behind him, closing the distance across the uneven fields. The horses' approach was muffled by the damp earth. Each side stopped. Their breathing vaporized in the mist. At the sight of Arthur's smirking face, John's jaw clenched. He squared his shoulders. "Ready to end this?"

"You arrogant bastard!" Arthur shook his head, his nose crinkled in disgust.
"She never had any use for you."

Refusing to take the bait, John waited.
His horse shifted impatiently beneath him. John released his tight hold of the reins. The weight of his mace rested comfortably against his thigh. He caressed the worn handle of the formidable weapon. He would enjoy smashing this man's brains in. He smiled at Arthur.

Arthur sneered back, struggling to control his skittish mount.
"I have to say though…" He lifted his chin in defiance. "She wasn't really worth waiting for. Disappointing even."

John reached for the heavy mace at the same time his knees squeezed his
battle-ready horse beneath him. It reared slightly in anticipation of its target. Arthur did not hesitate as he, too, advanced his horse, closing the distance between them. As if on cue, Peter and Philip cut Arthur's men away from their leader. Their horses unequal to the task of warfare quickly turned tail and ran. They were easily chased into the dense forest.

Arthur continued toward John at full speed.
He leaned forward, his spear at the ready. John's eagerness increased as the distance closed between them. Arthur's horse unexpectedly broke the advance and made a wide arc around him. John snorted in frustration. With satisfaction, he heard his opponent's muffled curses at the animal's lack of training.

John laughed, bringing his horse
around with ease to face his opponent. "You can pretend to be Norman but you…and your mount… verily fall short!"

Arthur pulled up sharply on the reins, his
animal reared in distress. His face was a mask of fury. He pushed his horse forward. John smirked. He remained motionless. The horse would not come close. He was right. Arthur nearly unseated himself, his raised spear unable to make contact.

Turning his horse back around, Arthur faced him, huffing in his outrage.
John crossed his arms, leaned against the mace in front of him, and gave him a menacing smile. "Would you like to see how it is actually done?"

Arthur's nostrils flared in anger.
John spurred his horse forward, hunched low for speed. His body protected by his shield; his other arm honed into the rhythmic arc of his mace. He focused on Arthur's skull. Jerked at the reckless pace, Arthur's horse whinnied in distress. With a firm pull on the reins, John cut off their retreat. The weighted mace swung in a downward arc. His heels pushed into the stirrups. He prepared for the impact.

Arthur's skull
was cracked under the impact. Unseated, he dropped to the ground. The shaft of his spear snapped loudly beneath him. Arthur lay motionless, face down in the mud.

John dismounted
. The jolt of the ground ran up his body. The weight of the mace pulled at his arm. Exhaustion. Blood matted Arthur's hair to his head. John approached cautiously. Moaning, Arthur shifted his arms. Thrashing would begin soon if it had indeed been a death blow. John waited. Thick drops of rain started. It pounded against his helmet, against his throbbing head. His mace rested head down against the ground. He leaned slightly against its shaft. Arthur moaned again. There was little movement. Wiping the rain that dripped down his nose, John was caught off guard by the sudden movement. The mace flew away from his grasp. He struggled to remain standing. In one movement, Arthur swung the spear handle as he planted himself before John.

Unarmed, John was pressed backward by Arthur's quick advance.
His broken spear shaft whipped by, hissing near John's ear. Arthur's speed and accuracy surprised John, and he stumbled, unable to move fast enough. The ground beneath his feet turned to muck and oozed around him. He staggered back with one foot sucked into the mud, costing him precious seconds and Arthur was on him. He swung the shaft again. Contact.

The pain shot across John's upper body
. Arthur's smug smile spurred John to react. His foot now free, he charged at his body, just missing Arthur's swinging shaft, grabbing his chest. The rain pelted down on them. They fell to the ground. Arthur's soaked hauberk slipped easily through John's frozen fingers.

Air whooshed from John's
lungs, Arthur's knees squeezing as he straddled his body. Arthur steadily pushed the shaft across John's chest, closer and closer to his neck. The slivers pierced John's hand where he strained against the downward motion. Arthur's strength was far superior. John's injured arm dipped first. Fear shot through him like a hot iron. If he died here, Rowena would be forced into marrying this man. If he died here, this devil's spawn would rally the Saxons against the Normans. If he died here, the rest of Rowena's people would be caught up in a bloodbath not of their doing. No. That is not the way of it.

A sudden surge burst through his arm and the shaft came up unexpectedly cracking against Arthur's face
. Blood dripped from his nose as he pulled back in pain. John pushed and tumbled Arthur onto his back, John's elbow against his neck. Arthur's eyes were wide with fear. With his free hand, John grabbed the spear head and jabbed it into the unprotected inner thigh of his nemesis. His life's blood gushed onto the ground. John pushed the spear in deeper until the man struggled no more.