Kinwick Castle—1335
ELIA OPENED HER eyes. Something told her today would be the day she would bring another child into the world. As she listened to Ferand’s soft snores, she placed a hand on her swollen belly and said a silent prayer to the Virgin for a safe delivery. It had been so long since her daughters arrived. Elia couldn’t have asked for two sweeter girls. Both Mary and Eloisa had kind hearts and loved animals. Mary, in particular, had an affinity for horses, while her sister could spend hours in the barn playing with a new litter of kittens.
The babe kicked against Elia’s hand, causing her to smile. This child had to be strong. They needed a boy who would one day take his father’s place as lord of Kinwick. She still mourned the tiny babe that had come too early years ago. The boy only lived a few hours.
This time it must be different.
Ferand stirred, his hand reaching out for her. Lazily, he stretched as his hand found the curve of her hip and stroked it.
Elia’s heart quickened. It always had at this man’s touch. No one moved her as her husband did.
His gaze met hers. “Good morning, my love.” His hand moved to her belly, and she felt the babe kicking again.
Ferand chuckled. “I’d say this one is ready to make an appearance soon.” His other hand cupped her cheek and stroked it fondly.
“What if it’s another girl?” she asked.
Her husband gave her a soft kiss. “I was beyond happy when Mary came a dozen years ago. My happiness doubled when Eloisa arrived two years later. Whether it’s a boy or girl you carry, my love, it’s our child. We’ll be blessed by the Living Christ to add another de Montfort to our fold.”
“But if—”
“If it’s a girl, she will be loved.” Ferand’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “That means we’ll simply have to keep trying for a boy.” His lips brushed against hers. “I take pleasure in all the practice that goes into creating an infant.”
Elia lost herself in his kiss, enjoying his soothing fingers as they kneaded her scalp.
A sudden, fierce kick caused him to break the kiss.
Ferand chuckled. “This one will seek our attention more than the first two put together, I’ll wager.” He paused. “Don’t worry, love. If you give birth to a dozen more females, you’ll have made me the happiest man in the land. And if no male appears? You know my cousin already has a boy.”
“But Peter has proved to be a sickly child,” Elia pointed out.
“True,” Ferand agreed. “But she also gave birth last month to a strapping boy full of good health and strong lungs. If God wills it, then Raynor may one day be the earl here at Kinwick.”
Elia basked in her husband’s love, knowing he spoke the truth. She knew other men would be disappointed if their wives didn’t provide an heir, but Elia truly believed that it didn’t matter to Ferand. Still, she hoped, soon, she would hold their son in her arms.
“Oh!” she gasped as the warm flow gushed down her legs. “It’s time,” she told her husband. “Fetch the midwife.”
Ferand gave her one last kiss and climbed from the bed. He dressed quickly and left the solar.
Elia stood and moved about the chamber. Walking had helped during previous births, so she kept a steady pace up as she ambled around the bedchamber.
“My lady? Lord Ferand said the babe comes,” Gerta said.
“Aye,” Elia told the midwife. “It’s been a while since we’ve done this together.”
“Trust me, my lady. We will see this new babe born before you know it.”
Elia only nodded as the first birth pain cut through her. She bent over, remembering how sharp they would get.
“Let’s get you into the bed,” Gerta suggested. “Then I’ll be back with everything we’ll need.”
Mary and Eloisa arrived to help. Gerta put them to work.
The pains sharpened, coming more quickly than Elia had expected. Gerta continued to assure her that everything went well. Soon, Eloisa gripped her left hand as Mary held fast to her right and Gerta ordered her to push. Elia bore down as hard as she could, a guttural grunt escaping her lips as the babe finally came free. Immense relief coursed through her—but she couldn’t relax yet.
Straining to see, she asked, “Is it . . .” but her voice faded.
What if it was another girl? What if the babe was too weak to live?
Then a slap sounded, and a lusty cry filled the room. Hope stirred inside her.
“My lady, you have a boy. A fine, healthy boy,” exclaimed Gerta. “Eloisa, Mary, come here. I need your help.”
Elia watched as the cord was cut and the babe wiped and washed clean. Both girls smiled and cooed at the boy as Gerta swaddled him, humming away as she did in order to soothe the screaming babe. She handed the boy to his older sister.
“Let me see him,” Elia begged, wanting nothing more than to hold this new child to her breast.
Eloisa slowly came toward her, the wrapped bundle in her arms, her face radiant. “Here, Mother. He’s . . . oh, he’s beautiful, even if he is loud.”
Elia reached for the bellowing infant and brought him close. Unlike his sisters before him, who’d both been born bald, her son had plenty of dark hair. He quieted in her arms, his eyes almost quizzical as he studied her. Her daughter was right. The babe was beautiful in every way.
Mary leaned in and kissed her brother’s head. “You’re much sweeter when you’re quiet.” She looked at her mother. “What will his name be?”
She and Ferand hadn’t wanted to speak of names. Not after they’d lost their last son.
“Your father will decide upon the name.”
“We’ll send for Lord Ferand soon, my ladies. Let’s help your mother look presentable first.”
Gerta helped Elia from the bed, and her daughters removed the soiled bedclothes, replacing them with new ones. Mary rocked the babe while Gerta and Eloisa helped Elia from her sweat-soaked gown. They washed her gently and put another shift over her head. The soft material felt good against Elia’s clean skin.
Then the babe began to fuss. Mary brought him back to his mother, and Elia fed the child for the first time. As she looked into his contented face, she recognized the similarity between the babe and her grandfather, Patrick de Wolfe. It gave her immense pleasure that a bit of that beloved man lived on through this child.
Both girls hurried from the bedchamber when Gerta told them they could fetch their father.
Elia looked to Gerta. “You’re sure he’s fit?”
“Aye, my lady. Didn’t you hear his strong cry? His limbs are well formed. He has all his fingers and toes. You’ve produced the future Earl of Kinwick.”
Tears of joy slid down Elia’s cheeks. The babe still watched her in fascination. They stared into one another’s eyes as Gerta fussed about the chamber.
Suddenly, the door flew open. Ferand strode in, a hopeful look on his face.
“The girls tell me they have a brother. Is that correct, Wife?”
Elia gave him a brilliant smile. “It is indeed, Husband. Come meet your son.”
Ferand came to the bed and sat next to her. Elia handed him the babe. Holding his son for the first time, love radiated from Ferand.
She asked, “What do wish to name him, Ferand?”
“Geoffrey,” he said. “Geoffrey de Montfort. After my grandfather.” The father dropped a kiss upon his son’s head and gazed at him with reverence.
Elia was pleased that she’d finally produced an heir for Kinwick—and even more pleased that he resembled a de Wolfe.