Chapter Fifteen
God have mercy…
It was a girl.
Unconscious, and badly injured from her fall down the stairs, Emmeline delivered a baby girl who didn’t live more than a few minutes shortly before dawn.
Aline was dead, and the physic that had been summoned from Penrith hadn’t arrived yet, so the cook and two female servants delivered the tiny infant that looked more like a hairless puppy than a human child.
Addax was present at the birth, and he’d taken the baby, holding her until she no longer moved.
She was far too small to survive, and he wanted to make sure the child, Emmeline’s longed-for child, did not die alone.
As the infant squirmed and struggled, he prayed to God for mercy, told her how beautiful she was, and then told her of a pet cat he’d had as a child.
He told her anything he could think of so she was comforted during her transition to the next world.
And then he wept.
God’s mercy hadn’t been meant for the infant.
Through it all, Maximilian was nowhere to be found.
They’d hunted for an hour until someone had the idea to ask the gate guards, who told them that Lord Rheged had ridden from the gates earlier than evening.
Right about the time a kitchen servant came in to bring Lady de Grey the boiled fruit juice that Aline had forgotten.
The gate guards hadn’t thought to stop Maximilian, of course, because he was in and out of Alston all of the time.
There was no reason to even mention his departure until they were asked.
Addax, who hadn’t left Emmeline’s side since she was found at the bottom of the stairs, had no doubt in his mind that Maximilian was responsible for what happened.
And he was going to kill him.
Meanwhile, Claudius was beside himself. His son was gone, his son’s wife had been injured in a brutal fall, and the child she was carrying had died.
Addax sent Adonis out to find Maximilian, telling him to bring him back by force if necessary, while Addax tore himself away from Emmeline’s side long enough to tightly wrap her tiny baby and tuck the child away in the cold vault of Alston until they could make a decision what to do with her.
But he quickly returned to Emmeline’s side, tending the enormous bump on her head carefully, until the physic finally arrived.
Pierre had gone for the physic personally because he knew the man—the same man who had been present when Ernest passed away.
The physic was surprisingly young, a former priest, with oily skin and messy hair, and smelled like a compost heap.
Addax smelled the man before he even saw him and was reluctant to let him near Emmeline, but Pierre assured him that the young physic was competent.
Only then did Addax step back and let the man work.
What he saw impressed him.
Addax had been around enough wounded men to know how things worked.
Truth be told, he probably would have made an excellent physic himself had he wanted to, so he stood over the young man as he inspected every inch of Emmeline’s limbs for signs of fracture.
He inspected her head and the enormous bump, seeing that they had already been treating it with arnica and cold water.
There was a bowl next to the bed with the crushed leaves and water, and he added white willow powder to it and instructed one of the kitchen servants, standing in the corner with the cook, to wring a rag out in it and keep it pressed to the bump.
Even if the man was smelly and young, he knew what he was doing.
That gave Addax some confidence.
“The lady was carrying a child when she fell,” he told the physic. “The child has since been born and has died.”
The physic looked up from inspecting a cut on her ear. “Where is the child?”
“I put her in the vault.”
The physic looked concerned. “I must inspect the child,” he said. “I also must see the nourishment sack that was born with it. Did you deliver this child?”
Addax motioned to the cook, who came forward. “I delivered the child, m’lord,” she said. “Everything came out that was supposed to.”
The physic frowned. “And how would you know that?” he said. “What do you know at all?”
The cook was an older woman with a big nose, red hair that she kept tied up on the top of her head, and a no-nonsense manner.
She wasn’t going to take any accusations from a man who was young enough to be her son and probably knew only half the things she did.
When it came to children and childbirth, she was an expert.
“Because I’ve given birth to twelve children myself,” she said as if he were in need of a lesson. “You cannot gain more experience than that. I know what it looks like to have a child, and if something was wrong, I’d tell you.”
The physic backed down a little in the face of a big, angry woman. “I see,” he said. “Then everything passed well with the mother?”
The cook’s name was Elza. She nodded, her gaze moving to Emmeline and her eyes tearing up. “Aye,” she said. “It was a little girl. She was so happy to bear a child, and now… now her little girl is gone.”
She wiped at her eyes, her nose, as the physic ignored the emotion and motioned to the coverlet. “Pull it back,” he said. “I want to inspect her belly.”
Addax stepped back to give them some privacy as Elza pulled back the coverlet, holding it up a little to block the view from the men in the room.
There was still blood on the mattress, on the shift Emmeline was wearing, all evidence of the trauma she had suffered.
The physic poked at her stomach through her shift, feeling for symptoms that might suggest there was a problem, but he seemed satisfied.
Elza covered Emmeline back up, and the physic looked her over as he scratched his head.
“Her hands are very bruised,” he said. “But, surprisingly, I cannot find any broken bones. I do not think anything else was terribly damaged, but she’s battered. It will take time for her to heal.”
Claudius came out of the shadows. He’d been watching everything very closely, quite upset by what had happened.
His Scots had departed, heading home quickly after such a disastrous day at Alston, but they’d left their money behind.
He’d been paid. That meant that he could focus his attention on Emmeline.
Perhaps the marriage he’d arranged wasn’t a great one, but he’d come to know his son’s wife a little over the months, and he’d discovered a bright young woman.
She was a good match for Maximilian, if only his son would see reason.
But Maximilian thought she was stubborn, whereas Claudius thought she had fire.
She wouldn’t let Maximilian abuse her, and Claudius respected that.
It wasn’t as if he could do anything with Maximilian anyway. He never could.
But, much like Addax, he thought the man’s absence in the face of this accident was clearly suspect.
He prayed he was wrong.
“Will there be more children?” he asked the physic. “Will she be able to bear a son?”
It was a tasteless question. Addax looked at Claudius and tried to hide his disgust, but he couldn’t quite manage it. The physic merely shrugged.
“I am not entirely sure she will even awaken, so I cannot speculate about another child,” he said. “Give her time, is all I can tell you. She needs time.”
“She has awakened.”
The words were mumbled, barely audible, but those around the bed heard them. That included Addax. Shocked, he looked down at Emmeline to see that her eyes were open. The left one was swollen where she’d fallen, but they were open and staring at the ceiling. Addax shifted closer to her.
“My lady?” he said softly. “You have had an accident. You fell down the stairs. Do you remember?”
Emmeline stared at the ceiling for the longest time.
She was trying to process what Addax had calmly told her, and he’d done that so she wouldn’t be frightened or confused about why she was in bed with people standing over her.
It worked—Emmeline wasn’t confused, but it was clear that she was muddled.
Slowly, her eyes moved in Addax’s direction.
Her head started to move, too, but the movement made her wince in pain.
“God,” she whispered.
The physic was on the other side of her. “Where does it hurt, my lady?” he asked. “Can you tell me?”
Her breathing had quickened, evidence of great pain. “My… my neck,” she said, fighting off tears. “My shoulder.”
The physic was trying to visually inspect the area, but he knew that wasn’t sufficient. “May I examine your neck, my lady?” he asked.
Emmeline looked at him, recognizing him as the same physic who had tended Ernest—so she whispered her consent, and he immediately ran his fingers along her neck and her left shoulder. When he came to her collarbone, he paused.
“Ah,” he said with certainty. “Her shoulder is cracked. I can feel it. My lady, you must not move your left arm or shoulder. I will have to wrap it.”
Emmeline drew in a deep, steadying breath. “I won’t,” she said. “My hands hurt also.”
“I suspect you may have broken a bone or two in your hands,” the physic said. “Can you move them sufficiently?”
Slowly, Emmeline moved her right hand, open and closed. “Mostly,” she said. “But it hurts.”
“Stabbing pain?”
“Not really. Just pain.”
“Then mayhap nothing is broken,” the physic replied. “But be careful with them. They will heal in time.”
Emmeline closed her eyes because, now that she was conscious, the pain in her shoulder and hands was beginning to take its toll.
There was also an aching pain in her belly, and she remembered what she’d heard as she was coming out of unconsciousness.
Claudius was asking about other children.
She was terrified to ask about her baby, but she knew she had to.
It took all of the strength she had in her to summon the courage.
“Addax?” she said softly.
He was right beside her. “My lady?”
“Is my child well? Please tell me the truth.”