Chapter 13
Sophie shook as she followed the two pages back to the castle, Leo following a little way behind them. It took all her willpower to keep from glancing back at him. Really to keep from punching the two boys in the sides of their heads so she could continue on from when she and Leo had been so rudely interrupted. If the pages were suspicious of why they’d been out in the woods, they weren’t showing it. The boys were far too excited about why they’d come looking for them in the first place.
“Are we under attack?” she asked, trying to get a straight answer from one of them.
“Not sure, Lady Sophie, but Sir Walter wants to lock the gates. A massive army was spotted just south of here. Could be here tonight if they mean to be.”
“But you don’t know who they are?” Leo had caught up with them.
He was also avoiding looking at her. She knew it was for the best, still finding it difficult to breathe whenever she thought about what they’d been about to do. Her skin still fairly bristled, unfulfilled and longing for more. Could this possible invasion have been a sign? If nothing else, perhaps it had kept her from making a terrible mistake. Her body scoffed at that thought, still wanting, no, needing Leo’s touch.
“The lookout didn’t see any flag,” one of the boys said. “They weren’t moving at a great speed and he didn’t see any siege weapons being dragged, but they were too far out still to be sure.”
“Could be an advance party as well,” Leo mused. “Sir Walter’s right in closing the gates. Especially with the nonsense up at Dernier.”
The boys seemed pleased that Leo was speaking to them like equals and she had to admit it was nice of him not to dismiss their opinions. She found herself reaching for his hand and snapped it back to her side. As soon as they were back inside the castle walls, the order was given to lock everything up tight. Sophie reluctantly wandered off to her room when she realized Leo was going to stay with the men and talk strategy. She tried to push away the sting of being blatantly ignored. She knew he had to do it or risk her reputation. It was already suspect that they were alone in the woods together. For the moment, she was grateful to the mysterious army for keeping everyone’s attention or she felt sure she’d be getting yelled at by Sir Walter or, at the very least, Anne.
It was Fay who did the yelling, as soon as she pushed open the door of their chamber.
“Where were you? You had everyone mad with terror. There’s a charging army just south of us.”
Sophie ignored her until she apologized then sat down across from her at the table, eager to share.
“I was with Sir Leo. Leo. We dropped the titles.” Sophie twisted the tablecloth, her stomach in knots over what had almost transpired.
“What else did you drop?” Fay asked, seeing right through her.
“It was awful. I mean, it was wonderful, but then gosh darned Little Sam and that one with the pointy ears came hollering for us.”
Fay’s eyes widened. “You didn’t get caught, did you? But maybe that would be for the best.”
Sophie pushed away from the table in disgust. “I’m not having a shotgun wedding. And no, we didn’t get caught because nothing happened.”
“Ah, so you don’t love him, after all?”
Feeling stupid, Sophie sat back down again. She was too full of nervous energy from her lust being denied to be still and tapped her fingers on the table. “How would I know? I’ve never had a proper boyfriend before, let alone been in love. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
Fay patted her twitching hands consolingly. “That’s exactly how I was. Questioning everything. But deep down, I knew all along. Just go with your gut, your heart, wherever it is you feel something.”
“I felt something,” Sophie said bitterly, then blushed. “But it wasn’t in either of those spots.”
Fay laughed. “Oh, I’m so envious of you. I wish Tristan was here and I was having all this angst again. I’d smack myself across the head and run to him.”
“You think?” Sophie closed her eyes and tried not to think, only to feel.
She envisioned Leo, from her first encounter when she’d thought he was a forest troll to that afternoon rolling in the leaves. She compared him to her other choices, those knights and squires who milled about downstairs and who would have jumped at the chance to be her husband. Some of them were handsome, young, strong, and a few seemed like they might be funny and kind if she spoke with them longer than two minutes. And she didn’t dislike those eager contenders, but they didn’t make her jittery and excited and overly warm. They would never get a syndrome named after them.
But, Leo. When she thought of him she was filled with a warmth and an ache from the tips of her toes to all the strands of her hair. She wanted him, yes, she knew that well enough. But this yearning was something different. Something more. Sir Leo Syndrome wasn’t an illness at all. It was… she popped open her eyes to find Fay staring at her worriedly.
“I do love him,” Sophie said. “It’s crazy and sudden and probably all sorts of weird, but I love him.”
“You don’t have to,” Fay said. “There are plenty of men here to choose from. You only just got here. We still have almost a year. I’m pretty sure. I hope.”
Sophie shook her head. There were no other men. The thought of other men was as foul to her as a cockroach swimming in her morning grits. She made a face and shook her head harder. “Nope, it’s him. It’s Leo.”
Fay clapped her hands once and leaned back in her chair. “Good. Now let’s hope we don’t all get killed by that army that’s about to attack us.”
“God, Fay,” Sophie groaned. “This should have been a joyous moment.”
Fay shrugged and looked away. Sophie tried not to judge her too harshly, but got up to find Batty who was positive in every situation. She was certain Batty would love to hear about her newfound feelings for Leo.
*
When she found Batty, it turned out to be the one situation in which the sweet maid was not positive.
“Mrs. Merrick’s in a terrible way,” she wailed, dragging on Sophie’s arm to make her keep up. “We can’t send for the midwife. Sir Walter won’t open the gates. Come with me to beg Edgar for help. She’s that desperate that she’s asking for him.”
“Okay.” Sophie ran after Batty up winding stairs and down a long hallway until they came to a rounded, wooden door.
Batty looked at it distastefully and knocked loudly before pushing it open. “You ask,” she hissed at Sophie, shoving her in first.
A withered old man was sprawled across a long, rectangular table, a bottle grasped in his hand, two bottles on the floor at his feet. The place reeked of something like turpentine. An array of rusty tools at the far end of the table caught Sophie’s attention. It was quickly drawn back to the old man.
“Is someone dying?” he barked, slamming the bottle on the table before taking a large swig. “If not, get on with you. Back, back.” He made sweeping motions with his empty hand as if to keep them at a distance. Sophie didn’t need to be cajoled and stayed where she was in the doorway.
“Mrs. Merrick might be in labor,” she said. Batty poked her and told her to speak up, he was half-deaf. She repeated it louder.
“Well, come and get me when you’re sure about it,” he slurred, taking another drink of whatever was in the bottle.
Batty found her courage and stepped around Sophie, yelling, “She’s in awful pain.”
Edgar stood up and staggered toward them before turning and swaying like a willow in a storm. “Pain, you say? That’s perfectly normal. Life is pain, you wicked brats.” He made it three steps to a cupboard and took out another bottle. “Let me celebrate in peace.” He shook the bottle at them, then his fist. They fled.
“What do you suppose he’s celebrating?” Sophie asked when they were a safe distance from the room. She now fully understood why everyone was so reluctant about receiving care from that man.
“Who knows?” Batty said. “Drunken old vulture. Mrs. Merrick’s better off without him in that state.”
They made their way back down to Catherine’s chamber and peeked in on her, not wanting to offer the news that no help was forthcoming. Before Sophie could ask if she was feeling any better, Catherine made a guttural, otherworldly noise, leaned over the side of her bed and vomited. A lot.
“We’re getting you some help,” Batty promised. “I’ll send a lad in to clean—”
Catherine threw a candlestick and they both ducked to safety.
“This isn’t good,” Batty said, wringing her hands. She grabbed a passing servant by the back of his shirt and shoved him into Catherine’s chamber, telling him to clean up and try and be comforting. They heard a clatter and the boy’s squeal a moment later. “This is really bad,” Batty upgraded her previous assessment of the situation.
“She can’t be in labor, can she?” Sophie asked. “Didn’t Catherine say she wasn’t due until spring?”
It wasn’t exactly a firm due date. Early spring was only a few weeks away. Could the babies survive if they were born early? Sophie mentally shook herself, assuming things would be the same as the first time Fay had gone through the cursed year at the castle. For all they knew, Catherine was right on time. Sophie had never liked the idea of relying on Fay’s past experience. There was simply no way to know what the curse would throw at them.
But one thing that would come in handy from Fay having gone through it once before was that Fay had said she had helped deliver the babies. Sophie breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed Batty’s arm.
“Fay can help,” she said, stopping herself before she said Fay had experience. Batty looked skeptical and said she would rather try to get Mr. Merrick. He’d helped deliver dozens of baby horses, after all.
“You find Fay and I’ll look for Mr. Merrick,” Batty said, already ten feet away as she took off running.
Sophie wondered why Catherine’s husband wasn’t already by her side but put it down to medieval shenanigans. When she got to her chamber, she found Fay curled up fast asleep though the sun could still be seen peeping over the treetops and they hadn’t had supper yet. Sophie tapped her shoulder, then shook it.
“Fay, wake up,” she said in a normal tone of voice. “Hey, wake up,” she repeated louder.
Fay cracked open groggy eyes. “What is it?”
“Catherine might be in labor. I think you should come down and check it out.”
Fay dragged herself to a sitting position and looked put upon. “It’s too early. It’s probably gas or something. Did someone send for the midwife?”
“Fay, what’s going on with you? We’re under a lockdown, don’t you remember?” Sophie leaned in close to see Fay’s eyes weren’t just groggy from sleep. “Were you glugging my pain elixir?”
“No,” she said. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping. I’m scared to death about Tristan. Not just that he doesn’t remember me but that he might be hurt. So maybe I had a few sips of your elixir.”
“You just said you didn’t, which is it?” Sophie shook her again but she was already drifting back into sleep. “Wake up,” she bellowed.
Fay sat up again. “I’m telling you. It’s too soon. She’s not having those babies tonight. Go find Edgar and leave me alone.”
Sophie realized Fay was as useless as Edgar was. All she could do was let Fay sleep for a while and try again later if things progressed badly with Catherine. Barely abstaining from pinching Fay, she went back downstairs. She stopped dead in her tracks as she passed the hall that led to Leo’s room and returned, banging on his door.
“Of course he’s not in there,” she grumbled. He would be with the men, planning and plotting and waiting to see if a fight was about to break out.
Batty caught up with her as she went to the outer bailey to try and find him, saying she’d found out Mr. Merrick had gone into the village that day.
“He’d spend the night, I’m sure. Even if he tried to come back, they wouldn’t open the gates. Not tonight anyway. Will Fay help?”
Sophie felt ashamed for Fay and didn’t want to admit she had refused to come. “I couldn’t find her,” she lied. “We can look for her again later. I was thinking Sir Leo can help. He knows about healing.”
“Oh, that’s good thinking.”
Batty took off as if she knew exactly where to find him and, within minutes, they were pushing their way through a group of knights to reach his side. Batty merely said there was a matter that required his healing knowledge and he immediately followed them. If Sophie hadn’t already been sure she loved him, that would have sealed the deal. The other knights, Lord Drayton’s men, had looked at them as if they were less consequential than the veils that covered their hair, but Sir Leo had listened seriously and respectfully.
“I don’t know anything about delivering babies,” he said outside Catherine’s door. His face paled when they heard her scream from within the chamber. “I know about knife wounds, arrow wounds, cannon wounds—”
“Cannon,” Sophie interrupted. “That’s about the size of a newborn baby’s head. Think of it as a cannon wound.”
Batty made a gagging noise and hurried into Catherine’s room at the next scream. Sophie gripped his hand but he shook his head.
“I’ve seen cows and horses give birth,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps…”
“You’re all she’s got. Edgar’s drunk, Fay’s too sad to stay conscious, and I haven’t even seen a farm animal give birth.”
Leo looked momentarily confused by her comment about Fay, but nodded decidedly. “I’ll do what I can. Perhaps you’re mistaken and she can hold out until that army identifies itself and the gates are reopened.”
“Yes, let’s hope for that,” Sophie said, hopes immediately dashed at the sound of a fresh scream. She gripped his hand and followed him into the room.