Chapter Seventeen #2
He shouldered his way past Fortuity and marched into the room.
The first thing he noticed was the bloody rags piled in the buckets and bowls.
So very much blood. He felt as though he had stepped back onto the battlefield.
Ignoring the accoucheur and his aides, he went to the head of the bed and pushed his way in to see his precious angel.
“Joy Elizabeth Marigold, Richard and I need you to awaken. You are frightening us, my angel. Awaken and share in the happiness of this fine son. Awaken, Joy.”
Her long lashes were almost lost against the dark purple circles under her eyes. She was so pale. So still. So damned lifeless.
“Joy,” he whispered. “I beg you. Please open your eyes and live.”
“Sir Jansen.” The accoucheur appeared at his shoulder.
“The wet nurse needs to work with the babe. See if she can get him to eat. It will not be as good as his mother’s first milk, but it will be something to give him strength.
I must warn you, he is very weak, and I am not certain he will live longer than a few hours. ”
“My son will live long enough to cast a tall shadow across my grave,” Jansen said, “and I will not hear otherwise.” He kissed the baby’s forehead.
“I love you, my boy. Eat hearty and be strong so you can meet your mama when she awakens.” Reluctantly, he handed off the babe to the awaiting nurse, then turned back to the accoucheur. “My wife?”
The man released a heavy sigh and slowly shook his head. “It is in the hands of the Almighty. I have done all I can. This birth was most difficult.”
“She just needs some rest,” Blessing said from the other side of the bed.
She placed a cloth across Joy’s forehead, then bent and kissed her sister’s cheek.
“Joy is the most stubborn of us all. She will not leave us without holding her son.” Tears streamed down Blessing’s cheeks as she hiccupped and sniffed.
“She would never leave us without saying goodbye. It just is not done, and she knows it.”
Jansen glared across the room at the wet nurse. “Feed my child, then bring him back to me. Richard wishes to wait with me for his mother to awaken. We will not leave her side.”
The accoucheur cleared his throat. “I do not recommend—”
“I do not give a damn what you recommend. I will do as I see fit to care for my wife and son.” Just as the nurse went to leave with the child, he spoke louder. “Woman. Are my instructions clear to you?”
She nodded so hard that the ruffles on her bonnet quivered. “Yes, Sir Jansen. Once your son eats his fill, I shall bring him back to you. I swear it.”
“Very good.” Jansen settled into the chair beside the bed and took hold of Joy’s limp hand.
“I know you are weary, my darling, but if you could give us a sign, it would be most appreciated.” He squeezed her hand, then held his breath, waiting for her to squeeze his in return.
Nothing happened. His precious Joy had gone to a place where he could not follow.
The accoucheur approached him. After a long moment, he bowed. “Summon me if needed, Sir Jansen. The monthly nurse will assist in keeping your wife comfortable.”
Without taking his eyes off his angel, Jansen nodded. “Thank you for saving my son. I will send for you if my wife has further need of your services. Or perhaps I shall have the surgeon come by and see to her.”
“That might be wise,” the accoucheur said. “Good day to you, Sir Jansen.”
“Good day.”
*
Jansen didn’t care that Blessing had told him that most newborns had eyes of blue; Richard’s eyes were the deep yet startling blue of his mother’s, and they would never change.
The Abarough blood in this boy was strong, and for that, Jansen was exceedingly glad.
The tiny mite would need every ounce of Abarough stubbornness to survive.
The babe could barely cry. He squeaked more than cried, and Jansen worried that the cord that had nearly taken the child’s life had damaged the baby’s voice.
But he didn’t care. As long as his son lived, and as long as Joy awakened someday to behold him.
They would worry about the boy’s ability to speak at a later date.
For now, the tiny but mighty one lived, and that was enough.
“I can sit with her a while so you may rest,” Fortuity said as she entered the room. “If we let you fall ill, Joy will never forgive us.”
“I do not need rest. I need her.”
Fortuity took the baby from him and settled the infant in the cradle beside his chair. “Richard’s color is better, and the nurse said his appetite is hearty.”
“Praise God for that, but I am a greedy man, Fortuity. I want my wife healed as well.”
“Do not be greedy, sir. Be thankful.”
“I will—when she is healed.”
Blessing came into the room, bearing a tray with tea and a bottle of brandy. “I thought you might prefer brandy over milk in your tea.”
“Your mother named you wisely, Blessing.” Jansen rose to help her set the tray on the table at the end of the bed. “I wish Joy would awaken. I know she would enjoy some too.”
Fortuity looked up from where she was pressing a wet cloth against Joy’s mouth. “She is swallowing. I take that as a good sign.”
“A good sign, indeed.” Jansen accepted the cup of tea Blessing offered him and returned to his chair beside the bed. “She doesn’t know I added Lionheart to Richard’s name. Do you think she will mind?”
“I think she will love it,” Fortuity said.
“Yes,” Blessing agreed. “She always enjoyed the ballads of Robin Hood and good King Richard the Lionheart. I feel certain she will heartily approve.”
As Jansen sipped his tea, he studied his slumbering wife, willing her to open her beautiful eyes and join them in celebrating sweet Richard. But she remained still and deathly pale. “When will she awaken?” he muttered more to himself and God than Fortuity or Blessing.
“When she is ready,” Blessing said without hesitation. “Wherever she is, she is healing and will not return until she is strong enough to hold her own.”
“Didn’t Mama frighten Papa this way when Felicity came?” Fortuity asked. “Didn’t he tell us that?”
“I do not remember,” Blessing said. “He may have. Papa shared so many things after Mama passed.”
“Did she stir at all when the nurses changed her bedding?” Fortuity asked Jansen. “Even the slightest bit?”
He slowly shook his head, loath to admit the truth of it. “Not so much as a twinge.” He shuddered with a jaw-cracking yawn while settling more comfortably in the chair.
“Go rest,” Fortuity pleaded.
“No. Leave me here with her. I rest better when I can listen to every breath she takes.”
“Fine.” Blessing gathered up the tray from the teatime before last and headed for the door. “Ring for us when she awakens. Come, sister.”
“But I do not want to,” Fortuity said.
Blessing waited at the door with one brow arched higher than the other.
“Fine.” Fortuity hurried after her, fussing as she shut the door behind them.
Jansen huffed a sad laugh. “Your sisters remind me of you, my angel. Fussing all the time but ready to do battle for those they love.” He leaned over and brushed her hair back from her face, relieved at the coolness of her skin.
No fever. A blessing in and of itself. “Richard is a true gem. You did well with our son, but he needs you to awaken and hold him close. Every son needs a mother’s love, and Richard is no different. ”
Her breathing remained steady, and her eyelids never so much as twitched. Jansen blew out a heavy sigh. “I need you, my angel. Without you, I have lost the will to breathe. I only continue doing so for the sake of the babe. I know you would want that.”
He scooted the chair closer and laid his head beside her. Closing his eyes, he prayed, “Please, God. Thank you for granting life to our son, but I need her too. Please do not take her. Not yet.”
“Not yet.”
The words were faint and breathless, but he heard them just the same. At least, he prayed he did. Ever so cautiously, he lifted his head, but then his heart fell. She hadn’t moved or opened her eyes.
“Joy—I beg you. Speak to me again. Give me hope.”
“So tired,” she said with as little movement as possible. “Must rest.”
“Praise God!” Jansen kissed her forehead. “Yes. Rest, my darling. Rest.” He ran to the door and bellowed, “She spoke!” Then he leapt back to the bedside and squeezed her hand.
She moved the fingers of her right hand with the barest twitch. “Baby,” she whispered without opening her eyes.
“We have a fine son. Richard Lionheart Wager Winterstone. As soon as you are stronger, I shall place him in your arms.”
The right corner of her mouth quivered a bit higher in a valiant effort to give a lopsided smile. “Lionheart?”
“Yes. I took that liberty. Do you mind?”
“Love it.”
“I am glad. No. I am not merely glad. I am giddy.” Jansen kissed her hand again as Fortuity and Blessing exploded into the room. “She is extraordinarily weak and seeks rest. We must not tire her.”
They flitted and fluttered around her, cooing and murmuring like nesting doves. After a few moments, Jansen shooed them away. “Fetch the surgeon. He will know how we can best help her.”
They each kissed Joy, then scurried back out of the room.
“Jansen?” Joy kept her eyes closed, but her forehead puckered with the slightest frown.
“I am right here, my love.”
“Cannot move left,” she said, her speech slightly slurred.
“Cannot move what?”
“Left. Fingers. Hand. Arm. Left cannot move.”
“Rest easy, my darling. You are simply weary. The surgeon is on the way. I am certain he will tell us how to help you.”
“Sleep.”
“Yes, my dearest angel,” Jansen said. “Sleep and grow stronger.” But in his heart, a sickly sense, a gnawing dread, seeded itself and sprouted.
The weakness she complained of, the refusal of her left side to obey her, the way she spoke, smacked of apoplexy.
Heaven help them all if that dreaded attack had happened during the birth and left her permanently damaged.
His precious Joy would not only be furious, she would be despondent.
“Rest now, my love. When you awaken, I shall hold Richard close so you might see him.”
The right corner of her mouth twitched higher. “Yes. Richard.”
“Yes, my love. Richard the Lionheart.”
She barely squeezed his hand. “Little lion.”
“Yes, dearest. He is a little lion and his mother a true lioness.”