The sounds that came from beyond the closed door struck terror into her, and there was no way that she could bring herself to go inside.
She fell into a heap on the floor. Back against the wall. Knees into her chest. She rocked back and forth as she listened to Lucinda, her friend, screaming and crying and begging for mercy.
What are they doing to her… how can this be happening… please, please get through this… you must!
The labor went on for what felt like hours. Throughout, Yvette stayed right where she was. She had her eyes closed. She had her knees hugged to her chest. And she fought against the visions of blood and death that tried to destroy her.
Finally… after many hours… silence…
Yvette took a moment to recognize the silent din. She slowly lifted her head and found the closed door, her brow tight and furrowed as she listened for any sign of what had happened beyond. But the silence continued so that it was deafening, and Yvette forced herself back to her feet. She had to see for herself.
Slowly, hand shaking, she opened the door.
There were several lanterns placed across the floor, and their light cast the room in a soft orange glow. Beyond, she spied several of the maids crouched around Lucinda’s single cot. And past their shoulders, Yvette held her breath as she peered through…
Oh no…
Blood. It was everywhere. Yvette lurched back and nearly screamed. The room turned, and she stumbled and just about fled – she might have, were it not for her ankle.
It had happened again. Death, brought through childbirth, and just when she was finally starting to come to terms with it. Just when she was starting to consider that she might…
Yvette very nearly gave in then and there. On the verge of breaking, it was all she could do not to burst into tears when she was saved by a sound that she could not quite describe. She thought she imagined it, that her suffering had brought it on. But no… that sound… that heavenly cry… it was the soft wailing of a newborn babe.
She had never heard anything so perfect. It shattered the darkness, it broke through the misery, and it reached out, took hold of Yvette, and dragged her from her sorrow.
Yvette staggered forward, her heart soaring. The maids parted way to reveal Lucinda, very much alive. The sheets that covered her legs were stained in blood, but it was nowhere near as bad as Yvette had thought. And while Lucinda did indeed look on the verge of death, she wore such a bright and tremendous smile that it was like the sun rising over the darkest of night.
In her arms, tucked in nice and close, was her newborn child.
“There she is…” Lucinda beamed when she saw Yvette. “I thought I lost you.”
“Me?” Yvette’s laughter was broken and awkward.
Lucina chuckled along. “You see…” She gestured to her baby. “It’s not so bad. Might even say it was worth all the effort.”
Yvette could not agree more.
She stood over the bed and gazed upon the newborn child. She recognized the beauty of the moment, the purity and the innocence of this most wonderful event. She saw the love in Lucinda’s eyes, she saw the tears of happiness streaming down the maids’ faces, and she felt peace in her heart like she had no known was possible.
I was wrong. This is not a nightmare. This is not the end. This is not terror and pain and death like I imagined. It is… beautiful.
She wanted it for herself. She wanted a child of her own. She wanted someone to share it with. And she wanted the life that such a thing promised her. She wanted… her own happily ever after.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Wh -- where are we going?” Hugh asked, slightly nervous as he did, but also eager and even excited.
“Oh, nowhere that interesting,” Alistair chuckled. Hugh frowned and leaned back as if chastised, and Alistair sighed. “I wish to visit an old friend… of both of ours, in fact. You remember Vicar Norleigh?”
“I do…”
“There you have it.” Alistair smiled with encouragement. “He and I have things to discuss, and I thought it might be nice for you to see him again.”
Hugh nodded along, but his expression was serious and severe.
“You have something to say?” Alistair prompted.
“I… no.”
