By her quick assessment, August would equally benefit from spending time together and rekindling their friendship. He clearly needs more sunny people in his life, and she will desperately need company soon.
As their conversation quiets, a man and a woman rush toward them, their hands clutching the woman’s belly as though theirgrip is keeping her intact. The woman’s light gray dress is soaked in sweat, and the man is clenching his jaw to keep from shaking. He is tall enough to hide the sun with his frame, but he crouches over so that his face remains close to the woman’s.
“Oh, sweet Caoimhe,” Althea says, horrified. Her smile falls as she reaches for Caoimhe. Her gaze moves frantically from the woman’s eyes to her belly. Althea’s hands begin to tremble, and her eyes look as if winter has left them frozen.
“I—” Caoimhe begins, but a low moan overpowers the rest of her words. The man at her side takes a cloth from his back pocket and wipes the sweat from her forehead.
“Caoimhe is pregnant again,” the man says.
“But I don’t want to be,” Caoimhe says through labored breathing. Her whole body tenses until she collapses into his arms. “It will kill me this time.”
Marigold gasps and steps back, but Althea glares at her and shakes her head, warning her to keep calm.
Althea waves her hand, commanding August, Lottie, and Edmund to walk away. They take heed, and Marigold is left feeling panicked and lost.
“She’s been in pain for days, Althea. And this morning—” the man says, trying to swallow his sobs.
“What happened, Ronan?”
He shakes his head and looks at the sky. “There was so much blood.”
Althea nods calmly. She takes Caoimhe’s face into her hands and says, “You will not die for this, Caoimhe.” Turning to Ronan, she says, “Lift her into the carriage quickly and gently.”
As he does as instructed, her grandmother turns to Marigold and says, “I did not intend for you to see something like this so soon, but the world has other plans. You will help me save her.”
She shakes her head, not to say that she won’t help, but that shecan’thelp. “What’s happening to her?”
“Her pregnancy is unviable. It has moved to the wrong part of her body, and it is acting as a wound inside of her. We must healher.” Leaving no time for questions, Althea turns to Ronan as he helps her into the carriage. He offers his hand to Marigold, who, dazed, hardly has the wherewithal to take it.
“Now, Marigold!” Althea growls, and she quickly pulls herself together and into the carriage with Ronan right behind her. Mr. Benny yells to his horse, and the carriage takes off like a bullet from the barrel of a gun.
Chapter Six
Caoimhe groans at every bump across the uneven path, and as she turns on her side and curls into her husband, Marigold sees the blood that pools beneath her.
So much blood. It runs like a river through the cracks in the bench, seeping into the pores of the wood. Ronan looks over his wife to the puddle of blood by her side, and he chokes on a gasp.
“Ronan,” Althea says sharply. “Stay calm. Keep your eyes on me.”
He shakes his head. “Is she going to—?”
“No. Do not even say the word. She is going to live.”
Marigold clenches her fists as her eyes dart about the carriage. What can she do to help? What even is there to be done? This world is new, but the stakes are high. She cannot fail now, not when she has given up everything for this, not when another woman’s life is at risk. She gathers her skirt into her arms until she gets a grip on her petticoat. With one sharp tug, she tears off the ruffles around the hem. Althea glances at her with her brows raised.
“For the blood,” Marigold says. The fabric is white and useless, but it is all that she has to offer. She covers the bench as best she can and sits back in the tense silence that consumes the carriage. They tear through streets lined with a mixture of old white clapboard houses and new redbrick structures like that of the Claude estate. A few Gothic cathedrals scrape the sky withtheir dark spires. The ground becomes more uneven as they get closer to the water, and the lake’s coast comes into view.
Landvættir are still painting streaks of vibrant orange and pink around the golden glow of the rising sun, but there is no time to marvel at the world around her when death looms over them. Ronan carries his wife from the carriage and into a small boat that has ALTHEApainted in blue letters on the side. Marigold follows her grandmother, and Mr. Benny helps them into the boat as well before squeezing between her and the wooden edge. Without a word, Mr. Benny and her grandmother each begin to pull the oars in perfect time with each other. Water splashes over the sides but they do not slow.
She leans forward into her knees, trying to take up less space as they rip through the water. Caoimhe whimpers in Ronan’s arms, and his hold on her tightens. His frantic gaze lands on Marigold, and he sees the fear in her eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She blinks and softens her gaze as she understands her purpose in this moment. Althea will be the one to save Caoimhe—that much is clear. But she can serve as a comfort for Ronan as his entire world cants. She can keep him intact as her grandmother performs a miracle.
“You love her very much,” she says. He runs his hand over his face and nods.
“Caoimhe is my angel. I cannot live without her.”
Her gaze hardens, feigning certainty. “You won’t have to. I promise.” Althea quickly pats her on the back as they reach the dock.
