Immortal Warrior (36 page)

“Has your back been hurting, lamb?”

“Aye. All day.”

“Some women labor in their back instead of their belly. Likely you are further on than you think, and with your water broken, the babe should come quickly.” Bôte’s words encouraged Alaida. “Come, let’s get that wet gown off you.”

With so many hands to help, they had her stripped and into the soft old chainse Bôte had set aside before the next pain hit. Alaida was ready for it now, and tolerated it without so much as a groan. Perhaps she could manage this with some grace after all. Women started parading in with the things Bôte had ordered, and soon the room was ready and all there was to do was wait and labor and wait some more.

 

IVO DIDN’ T NEED to read Ari’s note to know the time had arrived: the eagle had seen Tom pelting toward Merewyn’s and the recollection was clear in Ivo’s mind as he climbed to his feet after changing. There was only one reason for the boy to ride for the healer.

Hands shaking, he began throwing on clothes. He barely took time to tighten the girths on both horses before he was on Fax and headed toward the rendezvous with Brand.

“It comes,” he said tersely as he reined to a stop at the edge of the dene. Brand looked blank for a moment, then understanding dawned. He swung up on Kraken and they took off, the dread so thick between them they couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t let Alaida see that dread, Ivo told himself. He had to pretend all was well, keep her calm through her labor and until morning, when they would know one way or the other.

They reached the gate well before dark. Ivo tossed Fax’s reins to the nearest man and ran for the solar.

“You cannot go up, my lord,” warned Geoffrey as Ivo hit the bottom step.

“Yes he can,” said Brand.

“But the Church forbids ...” The steward’s voice trailed off under Brand’s baleful glare, and Ivo continued upstairs. He met similar resistance from the woman at the door, but Alaida groaned, and he shouldered past, not caring what they thought.

She was standing before the fire, gripping Merewyn’s shoulders while Bôte rubbed her lower back. Her face was a mask of pain as she panted and moaned.

Ivo’s stomach twisted with concern beyond his fear for the child. “Why isn’t she abed?”

“Walking helps things go faster,” said Bôte from her side.

He looked to Merewyn, who nodded. “Bôte is right, my lord.”

“Of course I am,” grumbled Bôte. “Is that better, lamb?”

“Aaah. Much.” Alaida looked up to Ivo and smiled, but the skin around her mouth was taut and pale. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He drew on all his discipline to return her smile, and bent to kiss her as though nothing were wrong. “I came as soon as I was able. How is it?”

“Painful, but Father Theobald says it must be, as punishment for the sins of Eve.”

He was going to rip Theobald’s liver out through his mouth for that, but for now, he held on to the smile and pushed a lock of sweat-soaked hair off her cheek. “If I could bear this for you, I would, sweet leaf.”

“Unfortunately, you cannot, but knowing you would will give me strength.”

“You’re already strong. You’ll do fine.”

“You sound like Bôte,” she said. She grimaced as another pain beset her, dragging a moan out of her that made Ivo want to hit something to make it stop.

“You must go, my lord,” said Bôte.

“No. I want him here,” said Alaida. “Rub harder, Bôte.”

“He cannot stay.” The nurse pressed into her back, working the muscles.

“Harder!” said Alaida.

“I can do it no harder, lamb.”

Merewyn caught Ivo’s eye and motioned him toward Alaida. “A stronger hand will give her ease, my lord, and more so if it is yours.”

Grateful, Ivo nudged Bôte out of the way and fit his hands to Alaida’s back. Huge as she was, she seemed suddenly tiny. He’d never thought her fragile until this moment. How would she stand this, the labor and then . . . ?

“God’s knees, husband, I will not break. Harder!” cried Alaida. Ivo leaned into her so hard he thought he would crack her spine, but she only grunted and pushed back. “Ah, yes. That’s it. Better.”

She sighed as the spasm passed, and Ivo cocked an eyebrow at Merewyn over her shoulder. “Is this usual?”

“I see it enough to call it common, if not usual. She is fine.”

“Stop talking as though I’m not here,” said Alaida.

“Forgive us, sweet leaf.” He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck and asked Merewyn, “How long can I stay?”

“You should be gone already,” said Bôte. “’Tis sin, and you shame my lady.”

Ignoring her, Merewyn spread her fingers over Alaida’s belly. “Not long. You’ll know when you should leave, my lord.”

He helped Alaida through a half-dozen more pains, each coming faster than the last, each twisting him more than it did her. Then another one struck, worse than the others. Her groan grew louder, more animal, and would have become a scream if she hadn’t pressed her lips together so stubbornly. He rubbed as hard as he possibly could without hurting her. “Be at ease, sweet. Be at ease.”

She snarled and smacked his hands away. “At ease? Let me stick a pair of knives in your back and see if
you
are at ease.
God’s knees
, that you were having this thing! Get away from me.”

The women laughed, but Ivo drew back, stunned at this viciousness that had come out of nowhere. Merewyn shook her head and smiled sympathetically. “She does not mean it, my lord.”

“I do, too,” said Alaida earnestly. “He did this to me. I never wanted him.” She doubled over, clutching at her belly. Her eyes widened in panic. “Oh, God. Help me.”

“What is wrong?” demanded Ivo. “Why does it hurt her so much?”

“Because it is time,” said Bôte in a tone of impatient disgust. She bumped him out of the way with her wide hips and put her arm around Alaida. “Come, lamb, let’s get you settled.”

“I, uh, guess I should go,” said Ivo, and Merewyn nodded.

“Should never have been here,” grumbled Bôte as she coaxed Alaida over to the birthing stool.

He would have kissed Alaida once more, but neither she nor her nurse would have any part of it. As he backed out of the room, Merewyn reassured him. “This is what happens as the time nears, my lord. She will push now, and be done.”

“Take care of her,” he begged. “Both of them.”

He caught a glimpse of Bôte and Hadwisa stripping the gown over Alaida’s head as the door was slammed in his face, and then all he could do was go downstairs and make silent prayer to Frigga for Alaida’s well-being, and to Odin, to help him with what he must do after.

 

WHEN IT WAS all over, a little after midnight, Ivo had a daughter, a red-faced, copper-haired, slightly wrinkled miniature of Alaida, the terrifying result of her mother’s pain.

Ivo stared down at the infant in Merewyn’s arms with more fear than he’d ever felt in battle. He’d expected a boy, and that would have been bad enough, but a girl? How was he to raise a girl child in the forest? Half beast, half human, never to live among either kind. Impossible. It would be a blessing if the child died now, tonight, but if Ari’s vision were true, it could no more die than the rest of them.

“She is healthy and strong, my lord,” said Merewyn softly, news which should have been good. “Would you like to hold her?”

“I . . .”
I cannot.
He couldn’t even bring himself to touch it. He stepped past Merewyn. “I wish to see my wife first.”

“She is tired, my lord,” said Bôte, tucking the furs around Alaida. “Do not try her.”

“You fuss too much, old woman,” said Alaida. “I’m not tired at all.”

“She is,” said Bôte firmly. She looked at Ivo with meaning. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“I understand. I will only stay a little while.” It was like battle-heat, he guessed, all that effort and the elation of victory, then the sudden exhaustion after. He bent to kiss Alaida. “You taste of tears. Was it so terrible?”

“Not nearly as bad as I feared. The tears came only when I saw her. Isn’t she perfect?” Alaida beamed up at him, her happiness a golden glow around her that made Ivo suddenly understand the halos in paintings of the Christian Mother.

“I know little of infants.”

“You will learn. Now that I’ve discovered how easy it is, I intend to have many more,” said Alaida, twisting the knife in his heart without knowing it. “Merewyn, bring her, please.”

Merewyn came and laid the bundled child in Alaida’s arms. Gentle as she was, the shift woke the babe, and it mewed and opened eyes that startled Ivo with their paleness.

“They’re not brown.” He sat on the edge of the bed and bent to look more closely. “With that hair, I thought they would be brown like yours.”

“They all have blue eyes at first, my lord,” said Merewyn. “The true color comes later. Hers are so light, they may stay blue.”

“No, they will go gray, like her father’s, and she will have ten hundred freckles,” said Alaida, talking to the babe. She stroked a fingertip lightly across the baby’s nose and over her cheeks. “Right here, and here, and here, won’t you, sweeting? But we will worry about that later. Right now, it is time to meet your
papa
.” She tilted the babe a little and held her out to Ivo. “My lord, your daughter. Beatrice.”

Beatrice.
He stared at the infant, who blinked solemnly at some invisible thing a dozen feet behind him and burped.

“Go on, my lord,” urged Merewyn. “Hold her.”

“I . . . I will break her.”

“You won’t,” said Alaida. “Help him, Merewyn.”

“Like this.” Merewyn took his arms and curved them into a cradle, and he felt the calmness that Brand spoke of in her touch, a blessing just now. Alaida leaned forward and nestled Beatrice into the crook of his arm. She began to squall, and Ivo instinctively pulled her closer and jiggled her, just a little. She fussed a bit more, then quieted and settled against his chest, and something in him altered and it was as though he’d known all along how to hold a daughter.

A daughter.
His daughter, for better or worse. He stood and carried her nearer the fire, partly to keep her warm and partly to hide how hard he fought the tears wadding up in his throat. When he thought the women weren’t looking, he dipped his fingers into a bowl of water on the table and touched the liquid to the babe’s forehead as he whispered her name, welcoming her to the world in the old way.

“Hello, little one.” He brought Beatrice up to press a kiss to her forehead, and as his lips touched her soft, damp skin, he caught a whiff of something delicately salty. He turned in wonder. “Do they all smell like broth?”

Merewyn wore an amused look. “Only for a little. Until they begin to smell of something else.”

“What? Oh.”

“’Tis your fortune not to deal with that, my lord,” said Bôte.

But he would have to deal with it, and the panic as he realized he didn’t know how must have shown on his face, for Merewyn came over and touched his arm again to calm him. “I will show you, my lord, if you like. ’Tis good for a father to know.”

Bôte and Alaida both looked at her strangely, but Ivo said with relief, “I would appreciate the lesson, Healer. Now, if you please.”

“But I just swaddled her,” said Bôte.

“Then you will swaddle her again. I am her father and will know how to care for her even if I do not do it.” He held Beatrice out to Merewyn. “Show me.”

As Alaida watched, bemused, Merewyn laid the babe on the foot of the bed and unwrapped her. “This is her tail clout. It goes so.” She set the cloth in place and tucked the ends under to hold them around the ridiculously tiny bottom. “’Tis not difficult, but the cloths must be changed often to keep sores from forming, and she and them washed well between. The wrappings keep everything in place, like so.”

“Again,” said Ivo.

Merewyn obliged, unwrapping her again and stepping him through the process with no regard for Bôte’s huffing disapproval. “Those who have no clean cloths often use dry moss or handfuls of wool,” she said, anticipating his next question. “And be sure that when you pin the wrappings, the pins do not poke her.”

“Of course,” he said numbly. “My thanks.” He could never do this. Never.
Please, Odin, do not make me do this. Release my child from this horror that lies on me. I will do anything. Anything.

“My thanks also, Merewyn,” said Alaida. “I didn’t know either. I suspect Bôte would keep it all a secret, to assure her place for another year or two, because we all know how anxious I am to be rid of her.”

Bôte snorted and scooped up the babe. “’Tis no secret, but you will never have to do it, my lady, so there is no reason for you to know.”

“If I listened to you, there would be no reason to know anything about her at all, even to her name.” Alaida sighed heavily, almost a yawn.

“See, you do tire,” said Bôte, but she tucked the baby into Alaida’s arms. “Before you sleep, you must let her suckle a little, to help start your milk. Time for you to be gone, my lord. This is not a man’s business.”

“He’ll see nothing he hasn’t seen before,” said Alaida.

“No, she’s right. I’ll go. A moment,” he said to Bôte and Merewyn, and they stepped away, giving them a little privacy.

When he turned back to Alaida, it was with the painful knowledge that this might be the last time he saw her. If Ari’s vision came to pass, tomorrow at sunset he would be fleeing with the child, leaving Alaida to face the aftermath of what he had done to her.

As he stood there, she opened her gown and eased Beatrice to the breast that had been his alone until now. The baby nuzzled openmouthed, then found the teat and latched on, sucking as noisily as a cottar’s piglet.

“Good girl,” whispered Alaida. “See, we don’t need Bôte after all. She will just have to spend her time sewing for you and telling you stories.”

How was he to do this, when Alaida so clearly loved Beatrice already? How could she bear losing husband and child in one blow? How could he bear losing her?