Her mouth filled with warm saliva. She swallowed with difficulty. A moment later it happened. Her stomach clenched and roiled. With a curse, she quickly bent over the edge of the bed and yanked out the privy bucket just in time.
Hacon woke with a start. It took a moment to realize the wretched sounds he heard came from Jennet. He leapt from the bed and hurried to give her what aid he could. When she was done he bathed her face, gave her some wine with which to rinse her mouth, and tucked her back into bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he held her hand and felt her cheeks and forehead. There was still no hint of a fever, but she felt unpleasantly cold and damp.
“Do ye think it was bad meat or the like?”
“I dinnae ken. If it was bad food, wouldnae ye be feeling sick as weel? Ye ate the same foods I did.”
“Aye,” he muttered, frowning down at her. “I but sought some reason.”
Jennet was beginning to feel better when a new thought occurred to her. Last night had been her wedding night. It had also been the night her very regular menses should have begun. She had forgotten that. In fact, she had not thought about her menses for a very long time, since Hacon had found her in Boroughbridge. And the reason I havenae given them any thought is because I havenae had them, she realized, silently cursing her stupidity. Her last time had been shortly before Hacon had arrived to reclaim her. That meant she had conceived in Boroughbridge in mid-September, or shortly thereafter. By the time they had returned to Scotland she should certainly have had her woman’s time again, but it had never arrived.
Still a little groggy, it took her another moment to rethink all the facts, reach a conclusion, and make a guess at how far along she was. The sleepiness, the sour stomach, and the remarkably hearty appetite she had acquired of late all made sense now. All the rich food, the drink, and the excitement of her wedding could explain why she had gotten ill now and not before. She hoped the lack of previous sickness meant she was one of those fortunate few who suffered little during pregnancy, but she knew it was still too soon to be sure. Again it irritated her beyond words that she could have been so blind to her condition.
“Mayhaps,” Hacon said, interrupting her thoughts, “ye have some winter’s augue.”
She almost smiled, happy over her news yet at the same time a little nervous over how he might react to it. “Nay, ’tis not that.”
“Nay? Mayhaps I should fetch Elizabeth. She has gained a wide knowledge of the healing arts.”
“I dinnae need Elizabeth.”
“Jennet, something ails you. This isnae right.”
“Weel, sometimes it is.” She smiled at his look of confusion.
“Do ye ken what ails you?” he asked, a slight hesitation in his voice.
“Aye, I think . . . nay, Idoken what ails me. I cannae believe I dinnae guess it before now but”—she took a deep breath to steady herself and then announced—“I am with child.” When he just stared at her, she asked, “Hacon? Did ye hear what I just said? I am with child. In truth, I would guess I have been with child these last three, mayhaps four months. I wish I could say how long with more certainty.”
“With child?” His voice was little more than a hoarse, unsteady whisper.
“Aye, with child.”
He reached out one shaking hand to touch her cheek. “Are ye certain, Jennet?”
“Oh, aye, verra certain now.” She gave a soft cry of surprise when he suddenly pulled her into his arms.
Hacon released her, gently settling her back against the pillows. “Did I hurt you? I am sorry. In my happiness I forgot how gently ye should be treated now. Ye must take care and I—”
She placed her fingers against his lips. “Hacon, I can bear a hug from my husband. I was with child last night too and no harm came to me. Neither of us was verra gentle and ye did a lot more than hug me.”
His eyes widening in an expression of alarm, he asked, “Was that why ye were ill this morning?”
“I was ill because I ate a great deal of rich food, drank a lot of wine, and it was a verra busy day. And mayhaps ’tis just my time to start suffering the illness that so many other women do.” When he kissed her, then leapt to his feet to start toward the door, she asked, “Where are ye going?”
“To tell my parents the glad tidings.”
“They may still be abed.”
He sent her a crooked smile. “But I feel a need to tellsomeone.”
“Hacon,” she called when he reached for the door latch, “I can understand that.” She grinned when he looked her way. “Howbeit, dinnae ye think ye should at least put your braies on?” She giggled when, after a startled look at himself, he cursed and hurried to don his braies and undertunic.
Once he was modestly covered, he bent to give her a soft, tender kiss. “Ye couldnae have given me a dearer, more welcome gift,” he whispered. “I willnae be verra long and I will bring ye something to eat. Nothing too rich,” he added as he left.
Jennet laughed softly as the door shut behind him, then got snugly comfortable beneath the warm covers. She had no doubt that he was happy over her news, and that thought added to her own joy. For the moment all she could think of was what her aunt had told her the last time she had seen the woman. According to Sorcha, she was now in the perfect testing ground concerning Hacon and his feelings. Sorcha believed a man most revealed his heart when his wife was pregnant with his child. Often, he exposed his feelings in how he treated his wife. Now was when Jennet could settle her doubts and gain the courage to finally speak her heart. Sorcha had been right before. Jennet looked forward to seeing her aunt proven right again—hoped that as she and Hacon awaited the birth of their child, they would draw closer together and all that hung unsaid between them would finally be spoken aloud.
Chapter 21
