“I know, my dove. But my father needs me to return. I am his tánaiste, after all, and I’ve spent a great deal of time here of late. I may be his trusted representative, but I have duties there.”
“But how will you court me if you’re all the way at Hoppringle?” Emelie demanded. Her tone brought a glare to Henry’s face, and she had a moment of trepidation.
“The same way I have for the past moon.”
“But I didn’t hear from you at all during that time,” Emelie countered.
“But I returned, didn’t I? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
“Aye, but—”
“Enough.” The finality in Henry’s tone warned her not to press any further. She nodded as she adjusted her gown and pulled up her hood.
“I should return before Blythe wakes and finds me gone. Will you please write to me when you hear from my father? Will we marry here or at Hoppringle?”
“I don’t know yet. And yes, I’ll let you know.” Henry’s tone softened as he pulled her back into a gentle embrace. Emelie relaxed against him, the man she was familiar with having returned. She rested her head against his chest and sighed. Henry kissed her on the head before tipping her head back and brushing a kiss on her lips. “Hurry now before your sister discovers you’re gone. I will miss you once more, my little dove.”
Emelie nodded as she pressed a last kiss to Henry’s cheek before she hurried to the door. She looked back to find Henry adjusting himself and pulling the laces to his breeks tied. She grinned as her eyes darted to the wall where they’d just coupled. She was looking forward to being a wife.
One
One Moon Later
Emelie swallowed the bile in the back of her throat as her stomach churned once again. The smell of incense made her want to heave as she kneeled beside Blythe during morning Mass. The aroma had never bothered her until a sennight ago. Now every scent seemed to send her belly into turmoil. She glanced sideways at Blythe, who watched her closely. Emelie offered her younger sister a wan smile before bowing her head once more.
Emelie had felt ill mostly in the mornings, but for the past two days, she’d barely been able to look at food without wanting to run from the Great Hall. The nausea persisted, hour after hour, until she was fairly certain of her malady. As she kneeled before the holy crucifix suspended above the altar, she prayed her suspicions were wrong. She prayed she hadn’t made the gravest error a young, unmarried woman could make. She made her last sign of the cross and mumbled “Amen” as the service ended.
“Emelie?” Blythe whispered.
“Aye. I don’t know why the incense burns my nose and eyes these days. I seem to be developing an aversion to it.” Emelie hoped her preemptive explanation would placate her sister. Blythe said nothing more, but Emelie knew her sister as well as she knew herself. They were barely a year apart in age, so Emelie had no memory of a time without Blythe. While they were several years younger than their older sister, Isabella, they were practically twins. Their white-blonde hair and blue hazel eyes were mirror images. Their hair was only faintly darker than Isabella’s. The only way many people could tell Emelie and Blythe apart from a distance was Emelie’s petite stature. She was so short that many confused her for a child until they saw her face.
Emelie breathed deeply as they left the castle’s chapel and progressed along with the other ladies-in-waiting to the Great Hall. Emelie forced herself to choke down the morning meal, feeling somewhat better once her stomach was full. She wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed, exhaustion nipping at her in alternating waves with the nausea.
“You really don’t look well,” Blythe whispered, trying once more to gain her sister’s attention. “Should I summon the healer?”
“No. I feel a little poorly, but I don’t think there’s much to do aboot it. It will pass as easily as it came.” Emelie assumed she was telling the truth.
“Perhaps you should retire. I will make your excuses. I’ll say your courses have come,” Blythe offered.
If only they would. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.“I would appreciate that. I’m certain more rest is all I need.” Emelie squeezed her sister’s hand before slipping off their bench and turning to look at the queen, who sat beside King Robert the Bruce on the dais. Emelie wound her way through the crowd of people leaving after breaking their fast. She hurried to her chamber, where she waited half an hour to ensure no one came to check on her. She donned her cloak and hurried away from the keep and into town.
Keeping her head down, Emelie made her way to an apothecary she’d long ago heard of. The midwife there kept secrets and had assisted more than one woman from court who discovered herself with child. Attempting to draw as little attention as she could, she entered the small structure and passed her gaze over the array of bottles and powders. The midwife’s husband ran the apothecary, which was most convenient. Emelie spotted a woman she guessed was the midwife, but she was already talking to someone.
Emelie peered at the woman and twirled on her heel. The last thing she needed was Margaret Hay recognizing her. While neither would ever mention finding the other visiting a midwife, Emelie didn’t need Margaret knowing her secret. Margaret told her sister, Sarah Anne, everything; and in turn, Sarah Anne was merciless to the other ladies-in-waiting. There had been no courtier as vindictive as Sarah Anne since her distant cousin Mary Kerr set her sights on fellow lady-in-waiting Deirdre Fraser, who was now a Sinclair. Even Madeline MacLeod had seemed mild-mannered compared to Sarah Anne. When Emelie heard the door shut behind Margaret, she peeked over her shoulder at the woman who approached.
“Good morn, my lady,” the midwife greeted her. “What are you in need of today?”
“Good morn, Goody Thomas,” Emelie nodded with deference. “I am in need—I need—could you—”
“Ah. Come with me.” Goodwife Thomas motioned toward a staircase tucked away in the corner. She led Emelie in silence to a chamber and pointed toward a freshly made bed. Emelie looked around before approaching it. She stared at the furniture before taking a deep and fortifying breath. She toed off her slippers and reclined. Without speaking, the midwife eased Emelie’s skirts above her waist. She was efficient and gentle, setting Emelie at ease. The middle-aged woman palpated Emelie’s abdomen with her lips pressed into a thin line. “How far along do you think you are?”
“A moon or two,” Emelie murmured. She hadn’t had her courses since before Henry’s first departure from court, but she’d been due for them just after his return. She couldn’t know whether their first or second interlude resulted in pregnancy.
“I would have you use the chamber pot,” Goodwife Thomas stated. Emelie rose and made her way to it. There was no screen for her to step behind, but she figured any modesty dissolved the moment the midwife raised her skirts. When she finished—her cheeks heated to a cherry red—she stepped away and watched the woman pour the chamber pot’s contents into a bowl of wine. The midwife swirled the bowl and waited. Emelie fought not to fidget. “It’s so early that I cannot be completely certain, my lady. There is one other test that has been definitive since ancient times.”
Goodwife Thomas beckoned Emelie to follow her. As they left the chamber, Emelie glanced back, unsettled by how quickly the examination ended. She took the stairs back to the ground floor, moving just behind the midwife until the older woman stopped at a counter. She picked up a cluster of wheat and a cluster of barley. Emelie’s brow furrowed as she took what the midwife offered.
“If you can go again now, then I would have you do so over these. I can keep them for a few days, then you can return, or you can take them with you. If you can’t go now, then take them back to the castle.”
