“What is the matter?” Brennan hissed.
Bridget put her hands on his chest, quieting him. “My question first,” she insisted softly. “Are you well?”
His face softened somewhat and he nodded. “I am well,” he whispered. “Most everyone is well.”
She smiled at him and he took one of her hands and kissed it gently. “What is happening with Lady de Russe?” he asked, her hand still against his lips. “The duke sent someone to fetch the midwife. I came to see if he needed anything else.”
She shook her head. “I will ask him,” she said. “Lady de Russe has been in pain since yesterday and we do not know what is wrong. He is understandably distraught.”
Brennan looked rather distressed himself as he nodded, kissing her hand again as she left him and went back into the room. Bridget left the door cracked as she quietly moved to Brandt.
“My lord,” she whispered. “Brennan is here. He wants to know if you require anything at all.”
Brandt was still staring at his wife, now fortified by three cups of strong wine, which was loosening him up. He thought a moment on the question.
“Have him see to my daughters,” he replied. Then, he glanced up at Bridget and Annabeth. “Please leave us alone. I would be grateful.”
Without another word, the ladies slipped out and closed the door. When Brandt heard the door shut and he was finally alone with Ellowyn in their comfortable chamber, his head sank face-first onto the mattress next to his wife. He could no longer control what he was feeling. He held her hand tightly. It was the worst thing he had ever experienced.
“Please, God,” he whispered, the tears flowing. “Please spare her. I shall never ask another thing from you ever again if you will only spare her.”
He lay there, face down, praying fervently until his exhaustion swamped him and he fell into a deep and troubled sleep.
*
“I cannot tellyou what is amiss with the child,” the midwife told Brandt. “Your wife is in pain but she is not ready to give birth. Her body is not in preparation.”
Brandt was pale, unshaven, and edgy as he listened to the old woman from the village speak of the things he loved most in the world. He expected more of an answer but when she didn’t elaborate, he lifted his eyebrows expectantly.
“And?” he demanded. “What do you intend to do about it?”
The old lady was little and wrinkled. She had also been in hiding from the siege along with most of the village when Brandt’s knight came looking for her. It had been hours before she had been located and brought back to the castle. Brandt’s army was ready and waiting below to pull out and follow the king’s army south, but they could do nothing more than mark time. Their liege wasn’t ready to leave until the midwife gave him a report.
But it wasn’t a report he wanted to hear. After an examination of a miserable Ellowyn, the woman didn’t have much to say about the situation and Brandt could feel his frustration mount.
“Only time will decide my course of action,” she replied, intimidated by the big warlord. “It could be something within her own body causing her pain and not something to do with the child. The pain seems to be located in her back more than inher belly, but it is difficult to know. We will have to wait and see which course the body takes.”
Brandt didn’t like that answer at all. “So we just wait?” he repeated. “Wait for what? Wait for her or my son to die?”
The old woman took a step back, fearful to tell him what more she suspected. In fact, she decided against telling him that the child’s movements were weak. It might not reflect well on her. She gave one last try in an attempt to give the man some hope.
“I can administer a potion that will cause her to have the child, my lord,” she said quietly. “It is early, that is true, but I have seen earlier children survive. Only when we purge the child from her body can we truly hope to discover the reasons behind her pain.”
Brandt didn’t like that answer, either. He was starting to feel sick. He sighed heavily and seemed to deflate, leaning up against the wall in the corridor outside of the chamber where Ellowyn was. Brennan and Magnus were with him, silent support for the duke with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had enough to worry over with the King of France, with the Prince of Wales, and with the winds of war that had now turned into more of a tornado. Now, with his wife’s illness, it was almost too much for the man to bear, but he had no choice.
“If we do not force her to deliver the child early, what are her chances?” he asked hoarsely.
The midwife didn’t want to lie to the man but she didn’t want to get her head cut off, either. “It is difficult to say without knowing what is wrong,” she said truthfully. “We could force her to deliver and discover that the child was not the issue. Or, we could let nature take its course and discover that the child was indeed the problem. There is just no way of knowing. I have seen your wife regularly over the course of the past few months andnever at any time did I see an indication of a problem. I am as concerned as you are.”
Brandt stared at the old woman a moment before running a weary hand over his face. He was indecisive and frustrated.
“The babe is not due until October,” he muttered.
“I realize that, my lord.”
He looked at the woman. “What would you recommend?”
The woman was in a tight spot. Either option could see the death of one or both of her patients, which would more than likely result in her own death at the hands of a distraught father. She knew the duke and knew his reputation; most in France did. He was the Black Angel, the Bringer of Death, and she had no desire to experience his reputation first hand. Still, she knew her job. She trusted her instincts.
