Mary half-laughed and half-sobbed, holding out her arms. Stephen sank onto the bed beside her, in the place Doug had vacated, pulling her very gently into his embrace.
Mary wept.
Stephen wept also, but soundlessly.
Silently Doug left the room.
“You have come,” Mary finally managed, clinging to him.
“But not soon enough,” Stephen said hoarsely. He was heavily bearded, his eyes bloodshot and shadowed, testimony to the fact that he had not slept more than a few hours in the past sennight. He cradled her face, scratched from bushes and branches, in his hands. “’Twas Duncan. I should have guessed.”
“H-How long were you standing there?” Mary asked with some trepidation.
“Long enough to know that Doug Mackinnon still loves you, and long enough to also know that you love me.”
Mary collapsed on his chest, in both exhaustion and relief. He held her, stroked her, his silent tears mingling with hers. “How, Mary?” Stephen finally asked when he could speak. His tone was as ravaged as his face. “How did you escape?”
“By a secret tunnel I have used since I was a wee bairn,” Mary told him, looking up at him. “B But he had hounds. I had to run from the hounds.”
Stephen embraced her again, far more gently than he wished to, soothing her with his big hands. “Never again, my love, never again will you face such evil. I failed to protect you once, but you shall always be safe, from this day forward, I swear it to you, Mary.”
“Do not blame yourself,” she cried passionately. Then she cried out again, blanching.
“The child?” Stephen asked urgently, their gazes locking.
Mary nodded, mute and tight-lipped, unable to speak.
Stephen pushed her slowly onto her back. “You must not wear yourself out with words. You must save your strength now in case the child decides to come early.”
Mary stared at him out of huge, unwavering eyes. When the spasm had passed, she said wonderingly, “Why were you crying?”
Stephen managed a slight smile. “’Tis not obvious? You are my life—and I almost lost you.” His voice lowered, he touched her cheek. “I told you once before, I cannot live without you, madame.”
Tears filled Mary’s eyes. “I love you, too, Stephen. I always have.”
Stephen fought more unmanly tears. Uncomfortable yet elated, he chided, “Really, madame, you go too far.Always?”
“Since I have first seen you,” Mary whispered. Then she blanched again, crying out, beating Stephen’s hands with her own bandaged fists.
When the spasm subsided and Mary finally relaxed, Stephen forced a smile. “When you first saw me, you hated me, sweetheart, do you not remember?” He wished to distract her from the pain.
Tears of agony filled Mary’s eyes, but she shook her head in negation stubbornly. When another cramp had passed, she gasped in relief. “No, s-sir, I beg to d-differ. You see, I first saw you almost three years ago at Abemathy, standing behind King Rufus while my father was on bended knee, swearing homage.”
Stephen started. “You were at Abemalhy then?!”
She smiled slightly. “I rode with Edgar, disguised as his squire.”
“You minx,” Stephen said softly. “So that beautiful lad who kept staring at me was you!”
“Y-You saw me?”
He actually blushed. “I saw you. I was most uncomfortable, thinking myself attracted to a boy.”
“Oh, Stephen!” They gazed at each other, awed, each wondering privately if their love had been born that winter day in such a strange way, each deciding that it was so.
Stephen leaned forward to brush her mouth with his. “Enough conversation, dear heart. You must rest now quietly.” He was smiling, his expression so tender that it was remarkable.
But Mary’s pleasure died. She moaned, long and low, her face as white as death. For a very long moment she was wracked with pain. Finally it began to subside, and then it was gone. “S-Stephen,” she said huskily. “Please fetch the midwife to me.”
