Chapter 24
Six months later…
If ever she met the gods of these river reaches, Gwen was going to have words about late summer weather.
Spring had been lovely, with its profusion of grasses and birds and flowers she’d never seen before. Her nausea had ended then, too, and as if that hadn’t been enough of a gift, she’d developed a lust for Elain unlike anything she’d felt to that point. As the babe inside her had grown, so had a sense of power and self-worth and sheer thirst such that often Gwen couldn’t wait until they were decently ensconced within their chambers before she tackled her. They had blessed any number of places under the broad, sunny sky. It had been a grand three months.
Then summer had arrived.
At first, it wasn’t so bad. The days grew a bit warmer, the trees fuller, and early berries came on, sticky and sweet. Soon, though, the nights were warm as well—too warm to bear a single blanket—and then a dry wind had brought weeks of blistering heat.
She’d thought it couldn’t get worse, but the heat that had baked them after the solstice had given way to an oppressive humidity that clung to the land day and night, leaving her feeling as heavy and sweaty as the river lands themselves.
Every time she’d asked Elain if summers were always like this, her loving wife gave some circumspect response that wasn’t precisely yes nor precisely no.
And Morien, who had moved to Ban’s for no other discernible reason than to annoy her, was replete with tales of how his childhood home was hotter. This was nothing, he liked to say, and then would claim to have fried a bird’s egg on a sun-warmed rock or watched a tree burst into spontaneous flame. And anyway, he would add smugly, one had to endure the hot months to appreciate the cool ones.
They were goat turds, both of them, and if she was ever again able to draw a full breath, she would tell them so.
If anything good could be said about the hot, dry midsummer—and she admitted this only grudgingly—the weather had accelerated Ban’s improvement. He was regaining his strength after months of slow poison. Everyone in the household had been questioned closely, and it seemed the steward had been working his scheme without anyone else’s knowing cooperation. If he’d been set to his vile task by someone more powerful, the knowledge had died with him. Gwen guessed it had been Ban’s heirless state that had prompted the attempt. With any luck, Elain’s return would deter anyone else.
Today found them in Ban’s hall. Now that he was able to meet with visitors, they did so here. Between the higher roof, and the doors and windows, it was far more pleasant than his stuffy bedchamber and even a bit of a relief from the misery out-of-doors.
She supposed.
Elain refilled Gwen’s cup from the water-beaded jug on the table. “Drink, love.”
“Too hot.”
“The water’s direct from the spring, I made sure.” She kissed Gwen’s cheek. “Please? For me?” she whispered.
“Fine.”
It felt glorious, chilling her throat and chest, and she was tempted to up-end the jug over her head, today’s visiting lord be damned. She seemed to recall that he appreciated plump women. Maybe he would be especially swayed by a plump-to-bursting woman whose clothing clung wetly to every heaving curve of her body.
As if reading her thoughts, Elain filled Gwen’s cup again and then set the jug out of reach.
Goat turds.
For all that she was miserable, the meeting went well. She had met Lord Pell during his spring visit. Though he couldn’t be part of the summer campaigns against the Saxons that most men of Cymru were still away for, he retained control of his lands and maintained his alliances himself. He greeted her cheerfully, asking after the babe’s imminent arrival.
“Any day now,” she said as she did so often now.
“Gerta sends her greetings as well,” he said and handed her a fold of fine cloth. “It’s a wee blanket, I believe.”
Gwen unfolded it to find its corners stitched with tiny red creatures of some sort. “What are these?”
“Oh, some beastie I glimpsed in a dream. Just a fancy, you know. Gerta thought it amusing.”
“Thank you, my lord. Please tell her we’ll use it every day.”
He beamed, then greeted Ban and Elain with similar warmth, and they all sat down to discuss cooperative efforts that would bind them during harvest and the subsequent winter.
As the others spoke, Gwen watched and listened, appreciating how Pell addressed Elain as often as he did Ban. Whether his respect for her position would continue through his own heirs remained to be seen. On this day, it gave Gwen hope. She felt quiet just now, content to observe. The little blanket felt soft and cool under her fingertips, and she caressed it, back and forth, back and forth.
A twinge under her lungs brought her out of her reverie. She took a breath and sat up straight, taking heed of the conversation again. Soon, though, she felt another pang, lower now. She had hoped to make it through the meeting without needing the latrine, but it wasn’t to be.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, standing, “I’m going to take some fresh air.”
Elain’s brow pinched. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Gwen managed a wink. “Nature calls.”
Pell chuckled, and he and Ban fell back into their exchange. Elain squeezed her hand. “Go on to our chambers. We’re almost finished. I’ll be along soon.”
Too weary to argue, Gwen made her way to the entrance of the hall. Morien, ever watchful, stood outside.
“To the latrine, my good man.”
“Of course.”
He was a good sort, Morien. He’d witnessed enough mortifying things in the past several months of Gwen’s company that she had lost count, and yet he appeared every day to escort her wherever she needed to go. He claimed to be doing it of his own volition, but since he was an able warrior who would have been of great value on campaign, she’d long suspected Rhys had assigned him to act as a sort of guard to her.
“Wouldn’t you rather be fighting right now?” she asked as he helped her around the outer corner of the hall.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “We quarrel every day, you and I.”
“Ha-ha.”
She used the pit house, for what it was worth, then rejoined him outside. They started toward the rooms she shared with Elain, but the prospect of any room smaller than the hall had her turning them down a different path. This one followed a stream and might—might—offer a breath of a breeze.
“What are these?” Morien asked after they’d walked a fair bit down the shaded track. He’d unfolded the gifted blanket and was frowning at the embroidery.
“Fanciful beasts. Pell’s wife stitched them.”
“To give the babe nightmares?”
Gwen took it from him and swatted him with it. “No, silly. Sweet dreams.”
“Then she should have stitched peaches on it.”
“You and your peaches. You should grow a tree.”
“No land.”
“Lord Rhys has masses of land. Surely you could have a single peach tree’s worth.”
“I’m waiting for someone to offer me an entire orchard.”
Gwen laughed. “Talk about fanciful. And what would you do if someone made you such an offer?”
“I’d marry him.”
She’d taken a few more steps before she realized what he’d said. Looking up at him, she found him gazing calmly ahead down the path. “Do you mean her?”
“No.” He turned to look at her. “And I’m very patient.”
She smiled and turned back to the path. Had Bedwyr been patient? Had Arthur? Had either of them thought it possible they’d find a partner, or even probable? Morien seemed confident—
A sharp pain gripped her lower belly, stealing her breath.
“Are you well?” Morien asked.
She gritted her teeth, clutching his arm. After a few seconds, the pain receded and she attempted a breath. “Yes,” she said, though she wasn’t certain. Nothing so far had felt like that. When she looked up to reassure Morien, he was scanning the path behind them, then ahead. “I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s contin—ah!”
Another pain, three times worse, bent her double. Morien caught her under the arms, or she would have dropped to her knees.
“The babe is coming,” he said.
Opening her eyes, she glared at their sultry surroundings. Heat wavered above the grass, making her feel dizzy. “Not here, it isn’t.”
A warm, wet gush of fluid washed down her thighs then, splattering the dry dirt of the path.
“Yes, here,” Morien said. “There’s a tree just ahead. Let’s get you under it.”
“I can make it back to Ban’s. Help me.” She stepped out of the mud she’d created but hadn’t gone four steps before another pain came. This one was long and unrelenting, and left her panting.
Morien lifted her in his arms and carried her swiftly to the tree. Once in its shade, he knelt and set her down in the grass.
“Get Elain.”
“There’s no time.”
“Please—ooohhhh…”
She chuffed harsh breaths, the only thing that seemed to help her survive these stabs to her belly.
“Do you trust me?”
“What?”
“Gwenhwyfar.”
She opened her eyes to Morien’s, bright and serious.
“I can deliver the babe. Do you trust me?”
She did, she realized. He’d earned it over months. “I do. Seems this babe is not as patient as you are.”
He chuckled. “Rest while you can. It is coming quickly, I think.”
He helped her settle back on her elbows. She drew deep breaths, as if she could store their calm strength for the next pain. Morien knelt between her feet and flipped her skirts up. “Going to feel for the babe.” He laid a hand to her belly, and then there came a pressure as his other fingers felt inside her. “You are almost ready.”
“What’s happening?”
They both turned toward the small, high voice to find a young boy standing on the path.
“Run to Lord Ban’s hall,” Morien told the lad. “Fetch Mistress Elain back here. Hurry.”
The boy took off at a run. Morien turned back to her, smoothing his hand over her swollen belly. “How are you faring?”
“I am the pinnacle of wellness and dignity,” she said and took another breath.
He smiled, his teeth sparkling in the dappled light. “A veritable queen.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Yes, my liege.”
The next pain felt as if her belly were clamped in a great vise. She chuffed and groaned and moaned for an interminable time. The end of the pain was a relief like no other she’d ever felt. She sank back onto the grass, the tips of its blades tickling her neck.
“The babe is crowning now,” said Morien. “When the next pain comes, you must push, hard.”
“Push, hard,” she repeated, dazed. It was happening. After months of carrying, of wondering, of despairing this child would never come, it was almost here. Maybe only minutes away. “Where is Elain?”
As if summoned, the rapid beat of running feet sounded on the path. “Gwen! Gods, Gwen, are you all right?” She arrived under the tree in a rush of air that felt sweet on Gwen’s brow, and then she was kneeling beside her. “I shouldn’t have let you leave the hall.”
“You can’t order me about,” Gwen said between breaths.
“Support her under the shoulders,” Morien said, and Elain shifted, lifting her to rest against her knees. She bent and kissed Gwen’s cheek. “Is it terrible?”
“The worst.” She smiled up at Elain. “Morien says I’m a queen.”
“Morien’s a wise man.” Elain looked at him. “What else can I do?”
“Just hold her. If she grips your hand, grip back or she could break it. She needs to push. Hard, Gwenhwyfar, and soon.”
Hard, she thought, and then it was on her, the great clamping sensation. Holding her breath, she pushed and pushed more, every muscle in her body rigid with the effort. Sounds receded to a muffle until all she could hear was the beat of her own blood in her ears. Her head felt as if it might burst, and her chest and her belly and her core, where the pressure was almost unbearable.
Then something broke through and the pressure eased a hair. She opened her eyes and gasped.
“The head is out,” Morien said, his voice low and calm. “On the next contraction, one more good push.”
Steeling herself, she squeezed Elain’s strong fingers. When it came, she bore down, groaning. After a few seconds of pressure, she felt a wonderful release.
She opened her eyes. Morien’s head was down as he worked intently, his brows drawn in concentration. The only sound about them was the chirr of grasshoppers in the tall grass.
“What is that?”
The lad who had fetched Elain stood near Gwen’s knee, staring.
“It’s a babe,” Morien said.
Gwen couldn’t see much past her belly. “Is it well?”
One of Morien’s arms was hooked low in the way of carrying something. His other hand came down with a firm pat-pat-pat, and then a squall filled the air around them. The sound sent a ripple of something cool and sweet across Gwen’s skin. Morien made some careful maneuver, and then he lifted a small, blanket-wrapped bundle onto Gwen’s chest. “It’s a boy,” he said. “You have a son.”
Gwen cupped a hand around the babe’s warm, damp head. He had so much hair, and it was dark as night. Wouldn’t her father boast about that? Pulling the bundle toward her, she kissed his head. He kicked and squawked, smelling of salt and copper, and Gwen fell completely, fiercely in love with him. She smiled up at Elain, stunned by it. “We have a son.”
Elain eased to the side and bent to kiss the babe. When she looked at Gwen, her eyes brimmed. “You’re magnificent. I love you.”
Gwen pulled her down into a kiss that felt like home.
The huff and puff of heavy breathing interrupted them, and they broke apart to find an older woman shuffling toward them, red-faced. Gwen recognized her as one of the midwives to Ban’s people. Stepping off the path, she assessed the situation, then clapped Morien on the shoulder. “Good work, young man. Would you like a position with me?”
“He has one with me,” Gwen said. “One of high esteem.”
Morien smiled at her.
“Let’s see how we’re faring, then, eh?” The midwife groaned as she lowered herself to one knee. She lifted the babe’s blanket, and her eyebrows rose. “Well, well. Aren’t you an interesting little lad?”
Morien said something. When Gwen looked at him, he was gazing at the babe.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I said, Be blessed by the love of your mothers. In my first tongue,” he added shyly.
“Mothers,” Gwen said.
Morien repeated his word.
She looked up at Elain. “What do you think?”
Elain pressed her lips to Gwen’s hair. “I think he has a name.”