Chapter Thirty-Seven
Pain on this magnitude was something entirely new for Dustin. Her pains had started slowly enough and she thought that mayhap giving birth was not such a terrible thing after all, but they quickly escalated and she rapidly decided she wanted no part of it.
As vocal as she was, it was no time before she was panting loudly with each contraction and cursing everyone she made eye contact with.
Burwell was simply in the room to view the birth; in his line of work he did not get much practice and Griselda was the very best to learn from.
Dustin did not want him in the room and nearly got out of bed to bodily remove him.
She cursed Christopher for not being at her side, for bringing the pain upon her, and for thinking that ridding the village of raiders was more important than the birth of his child.
She was fully prepared to slug him in the jaw for his priorities, but the moment his pale face entered the room, she broke down into sobs.
Griselda wouldn’t let him in the room with all of his armor on, and still wouldn’t let him near his wife without washing the grime off his hands. Then, and only then, was he allowed to comfort Dustin.
Christopher had never been around a laboring woman before and he was the first to admit it scared the hell out of him.
He was doubly terrified that the babe was almost five weeks early, but Griselda did not seem overly concerned.
She assured him that everything was progressing nicely and by the morning, he would be holding his son.
Dustin did not want to wait that long. She wanted the babe out that very minute and was rolling with the contractions as best she could. She then plead with them to tie a rope around the babe and pull him out. They had all laughed at her, but she did not think it was the least bit funny.
He rubbed his wife’s back and massaged her shaking legs, stopping every time she had a contraction and closing his eyes as if by sheer force of will he could absorb her pain.
He could not stand to see Dustin in so much pain, even though he had known full well what he had been in for.
Finally, toward midnight, Griselda gave Dustin a drink of poppy that seemed to take the edge off her contractions and make her very sleepy.
With her tensions relaxed, he was able to relax a bit, too.
Her contractions worked all night and into the morning, dissolving Griselda’s prediction that the babe would come by sunup.
Instead, the poppy potion was making Dustin sick and she would vomit it up every time she tried to take it, rendering her pains merciless and causing her to scream with agony every time a wave would roll over her.
Seventeen hours into her labor, Christopher was ready to climb the walls.
“What is taking so long?” he demanded in a harsh whisper, making sure his wife could not hear him.
“Patience, sire, patience,” Griselda assured him. “Some women take longer than others, that’s all. She is progressing slowly but everything appears fine. Why, I have seen women in labor for three days, and their children were perfectly healthy.”
Haggard and unshaven, Christopher glanced at his wife. “The child is early, mistress.”
The child wasn’t early and Griselda knew it, but obviously the baron did not. ’Twas not her place to involve herself in the puzzling situation.
“The child is large and I am sure will be fine, sire,” she said. “Now do not fret so. Why do not you go and eat something? We will still be here when you return.”
He started to refuse but Burwell clapped a meaty hand on him. “Come, baron, let the women do their work, and let you and I do ours on a plate of venison.”
Dustin had another contraction and moaned loudly, too weak to do the screaming she had been doing earlier. Christopher closed his eyes briefly, sickened with her necessary pain.
“All right,” his voice was a whisper, but then he said rapidly “but I shall be right back.”
Griselda nodded, waiting before the door was closed before moving back to Dustin and swabbing her clammy brow.
Christopher was met downstairs by every one of his knights and Gowen, all clamoring to pester him with questions.
Christopher ignored them for the most part, weary to the bone as a serving wench placed a trencher of food before him.
He did not even realize he was hungry until the smells filled his nostril, and then he ate everything on the plate.
His men and vassals were waiting quite impatiently as he finished the last of his bread and downed the remainder of his fruited water.
“How is she?” David could stand it no longer.
Christopher wiped his mouth and looked at his brother. “She is in labor, David. Not exactly a party atmosphere.”
“No babe?” Leeton asked, his face pale and Christopher suddenly remembered what had happened to the man’s wife in childbirth.
“Not yet,” he said, a little less snappish. “But Griselda assures me all is well. At any rate, Dustin is miserable but coping.”
“We could hear her screaming down here,” Leeton said. “It sounds as if she is being beaten.”
Christopher made a wry face. “Mayhap that would be preferable.”
The other knights began assaulting him with questions but Leeton simply looked away. He was reliving a nightmare and not at all pleased. He knew the screams of childbirth all too well, and he had seen what bearing a new life had done to his beloved Rachel. Abruptly, he quit the hall.
Christopher watched him leave, a twinge of sorrow for the man. Now that he was experiencing the same action that had taken Leeton’s wife from him, he could relate to the man’s pain completely. Leaving his men for a moment, he found Leeton in Gowen’s office.
The knight was sitting in a hide-covered chair, staring out across the dismal compound. A low fire crackled in the hearth, making the room rather cozy.
“Leeton,” he said quietly.
The knight turned to look at him, quickly dashing away the tears on his cheeks. Christopher was miserable for him. “What is it?”
“You asked me once, a long time ago, that if anything ever happened to Dustin, would I ever be the same. Do you remember?” he asked.
Leeton nodded, trying to compose himself. “I remember.”
Christopher fixed him with a gentle, unguarded look.
He seemed hesitant to go on, but he did.
“The answer is no. If my wife dies as a result of this, I will not be the same. For the fact that you have maintained your life and character in the face of the death of the woman you loved, I admire you greatly. I do not believe I am that strong.”
“Aye, you are,” Leeton said, his voice faint. “You are stronger than you know, Chris. You have no weaknesses.”
“Yes, I do,” Christopher looked up to the ceiling as if he could see his wife through the mortar and stone. “She’s a slip of a woman whom I love with all of my heart and soul.”
He turned and left, leaving Leeton coming to grips with his terrible memories yet, somehow, stronger with them.
Mayhap it was the fact that time was passing and easing his pain, or mayhap it was Christopher’s understanding.
Whatever the case, he did not feel quite as desolate as he had when he had entered the room.
Christopher fully intended to return to his wife when he came head-to-head with Burwell at the base of the stairs. The physician smiled at him, instantly throwing Christopher on his guard.
“Leave the women to their work, my lord,” he said firmly. “You shall be of no help up there now. Come, let’s enjoy a game of Fox and Hounds to pass the time.”
Christopher’s face was set. “I promised Dustin I would return, and I shall. Get out of my way.”
Burwell shook his head. “Son, at this point you will simply distract her, and she needs all of her concentration to birth that enormous child of yours.” He put his thick hands on Christopher and attempted to turn him around.
“You will do now as men have done for centuries; you will wait and drink and see your child after it is born. If you tend her now, you shall do more harm than good. You must allow Griselda to work.”
A shadow of a doubt crossed Christopher’s mind as he thought that Burwell’s words made sense.
He wanted to be with his wife; well, not really, but he was scared to leave her alone to face the impending birth, terrified that something would happen and he would not be there if she needed him.
But, in faith, he had had just about all of the pain and moaning he could take from her. He hated feeling so helpless.
Feeling like a dumb animal, he allowed Burwell to turn him around and steer him toward the grand hall.
The healer began bellowing for wine and the game pieces to be brought forward, and in spite of the misgivings tormenting his heart, Christopher allowed himself to be swallowed up by his company of knights as they sat around the massive table.
Christopher was very good at keeping track of time.
Although he played a couple of games with Burwell, he was acutely aware that the hours were passing and nothing was happening.
His anxiety was running rampant and he took to pacing the cold floor of the hall absently, listening to his men as they played their games to pass the time but not really hearing.
His heart, his mind, his soul, everything but his body, was up in the bedchamber with his wife.
Several times during the afternoon he tried to push his way upstairs, but he was thwarted every time by Burwell and a host of knights.
He tried threats, intimidation, reasoning, and finally pleading, but they would not let him pass the stairs.
Frustrated and frayed, he sank into a heavily padded chair by the hearth and put his head in his hands.
He knew without a doubt he was going insane with worry.