Free Dark and Bright by Anna Markland Page B

the back of his head. “I still have a lump. Had it not been for the strength and courage of your twin brothers we would have died in that crevice. But, enough of that, what’s happening with my third son?” He ran his hands over her swollen belly and kissed her there.
    “Not ready to come yet, but soon,” she replied. “And I think your son is going to be a daughter. Will you mind?”
    “Mind?” he exclaimed, smiling. “My heart is so full of the idea of a little girl, I can hardly speak.”
    He kissed her lovingly, and she entwined her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you,” he breathed, cupping her heavy breasts in his hands, brushing a light kiss over each nipple barely visible through the fabric of her nightgown. “Be well, Carys. You look pale.”
    “I’ll be well now you’ve returned,” she whispered.
    He held her and she drifted off to sleep. He was terrified he might lose his Carys. Life would mean nothing without her at his side.
    ***
    Two days later, Baudoin covered his ears to block out the pitiful moans that had hung in the air for a day and a night as Carys struggled to deliver his child. He couldn’t look at the worried faces of the two midwives and Carys’s apprentice healer as they scurried in and out of the chamber. He was convinced he would be facing the rest of his life without her. This was nothing like the first two birthings and he knew it.
    He prayed that if it came to a choice between his wife and his child, he wanted his wife to survive. That brought on a bout of guilt, and he wept at his selfishness.
    “ Dieu ,” he prayed on his knees in the chapel his father, Rambaud de Montbryce, had built. “Deliver them both whole from this torment. I beg of you.”
    How selfish he’d been, assuming Carys would never have difficulties bearing children. “I thought only of myself and my desire for more and more children.”
    Annalise offered comfort, but she was immersed in her worry for Rhys. Baudoin was lost in his despair. He worried for his sons. How Gallien and Etienne would miss their loving mother! He went to the nursery. His maman, Mabelle, had been a loving presence in his life. He wanted that for his own children. He forced a smile as he played with them.
    “What’s wrong, Papa?” the always perceptive Gallien asked, taking his father’s hand. “You’re sad. Where is Maman ?”
    “ Maman is in bed, little one.” He choked on the words. “She’s not feeling well.”
    Thank the saints the nursery was far enough removed from his chamber they couldn’t hear their mother’s torment. His heart heavy with dread that when he returned, it would be to tell them their mother had died, he said, “I’m going to see how she fares.”
    He made his way to the chamber where Carys’s life was ebbing away and hesitated at the door. Had he heard a baby’s cry? Oui , there it was again, more insistent this time. A child had been born. Would it live? Carys? Fear gripped him in its thrall.
    Suddenly the door opened, the apprentice healer stepped out furtively and closed the door quickly. Her eyes widened when she turned and saw him. She took a deep breath. “My lord Earl,” she murmured. “You have a daughter. She’s very small and frail, but the midwife believes she’ll survive.”
    Baudoin’s emotions warred within him. The girl wouldn’t look him in the eyes. He couldn’t speak. “My wife? My countess?”
    The girl burst into tears. “My lady is dying. Pray for her, my lord.”
    She rushed back into the chamber. A wave of nausea washed over him and he ran, fighting to keep from retching until he was out in the stables. An anxious stable boy approached him, but Baudoin shook his head and motioned him away. He sank to his hands and knees in the straw and vomited until he could retch no more. The nervous boy ran to the courtyard at the sound of horses. He took the reins of the lead horse that bore the Prince of Powwydd, his broken leg still encased in the stiffened binding