The Wolfe (83 page)

She smiled, moving to him and
enveloping him in her embrace. “Aye, now that ye’re properly convinced that
outward appearances dunna matter, I would see no look of disgust in yer eye
when I get even fatter before this babe is born.”

He feigned shock. “My God, is that
possible? That you will get even fatter? I surely cannot share my bed with you,
then. ‘Twould be like sleeping with Kieran.”

Her brows drew together in
good-humored outrage. “Kieran is
not
fat. He has not a bit of fat on him.”

“And how would you know?” his eyes
narrowed.

She purposely looked away in an
exaggerated gesture. “I have touched the man, English. I do believe his arms
are bigger than yer’s.”

He raised a ravens-wing brow. “His
arm had better be all you have touched.”

She giggled as he whipped her back
into his grip, his lips clamping down on the soft white silk of her neck.

And thank God for Kieran. He seemed
to understand William’s dilemma perfectly, even without being told. The linen
patch William was wearing was most unattractive, adding to his
self-consciousness, so Kieran took it upon himself to take care of it.

He went into London to a tannery and
commissioned the tanner to make two eye patches for his liege, both of black
leather. One was plain but the second had silver studs on it. He thought
himself quite clever for thinking of it, even though it was not an uncommon
sight around London to see a man with an eye patch.

William had been reluctant to try
the patch on at first, examining the things closely for quite a while, but
finally relented. Gazing back at himself in the polished mirror, he immediately
thought he looked like the devil himself and moved to tear the thing off when
Jordan stopped him.

“Oh, English!” she exclaimed
happily. “Ye look positively dashing. Ye look like a pirate!”

He looked at her, noticing her
genuine delight. Then he looked at himself again. “Do I?”

“Aye!” she insisted, moving to get a
better look at him. “Ye look…wicked. And mysterious. I love it.”

He grinned at her enthusiasm. He
knew she would have told him that even had she hated it, but he could see from
her expression that she was true.

“Then so do I,” he looked up at
Kieran. “Hell, if I had known this would have been her reaction, I would have
gotten an eye patch long ago.”

Kieran picked up the other eye patch,
examining it before putting it on and looking at himself in the bronze mirror,
too. “Hell, I look damn good with this thing on. Can I keep it?”

“No,” William snapped as he ripped
it off Kieran’s head to gales of Jordan’s laughter. He looked at himself a
moment longer before turning to his second again.  There was warmth in his
expression. “Thank you, Kieran.”

“My pleasure,” he replied modestly. “But
I warn you, I am going to go have one made for me. Mayhap Jemma will think I
look wicked, too.”

Jordan’s smile faded at the mention
of her cousin. She missed her dreadfully and not knowing whether or not she had
had the child, whether or not she was all right, tore at her. But it was worse
for Kieran; he had stayed in London to aid William’s recovery unselfishly even
though his heart ached for his little wife. William had insisted he return to
Northwood several times, but he had refused.

Jordan went to sit down while the
men finished toying with the eye patch. Deinwald entered the room a few minutes
later and nearly ran off with the patch with the studs. Jordan’s depression was
somewhat eased as she watched her husband, enthusiastic for the first time in a
long while.

And she really did love the patch on
his eye; it gave him a sort of devil-may-care appearance. She was so pleased at
his recovery that she could now focus on bringing this child into the world. It
was taking all of her strength, day after day, and she was weary of it. She
prayed to God that it would be soon.

***

Jordan’s prayers were answered the
very next night.

Her contractions had started as
gentle twinges in her groin and quickly escalated into full-blown pains within
a couple of hours. William was still asleep next to her and she was reluctant
to wake him, for it could be hours yet but when the pains increased
dramatically, she decided she should rouse him.

“English,” she whispered, jabbing
him in the ribs.

He was immediately awake. His head
came up, looking at her.

“What’s wrong, love?”

She smiled weakly. “I think, mayhap,
that ye should fetch Byron and Analiese. I should not like to have yer son by
myself.”

His eye widened, but only for a
split-second and then he was in control again. Kissing her forehead, he swung
his massive legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his breeches. As he was
pulling on his boots, another pain hit her and she gasped before she could stop
herself.

He shot off the bed, his gaze boring
into her with concern. “Are you all right? How long have you been having them?”

She wished she hadn’t made any noise
for he looked positively frightened. “A few hours. Go, now, and get them for
me.”

He didn’t even put his tunic on. He
threw open the door, bellowing for the nearest soldier to fetch Kieran to him
and then turned swiftly back to his wife.

“I will be but a moment, I swear,”
he said hurriedly, his urgency picking up speed.

She nodded, waving him on, knowing
it was going to be sometime before the child arrived and wondering if she was
brave enough to bear this child. The thought of childbirth never particularly frightened
her until this very moment.

But it did not take hours. By the
time Byron and Analiese reached her rooms, her water had ruptured and she was
in agony. Analiese tried to chase William away, but he staunchly refused.

“I will not leave,” he said firmly,
although he was undecided as to whether or not he truly wanted to. Every time
Jordan had a contraction he felt as if he were having one, too. “My wife needs
me.”

“Your wife will do just fine without
you,” Analiese said stubbornly. “Get out of here and let us work.”

He looked over Analiese’s head and
sought out his wife. “Jordan, love, do you wish me to leave?”

Jordan was quickly falling into the
world of agony, where the only thing that mattered was making from one wave to
the next without screaming her head off. Byron was in the process of helping her
sit up to drink an ergot potion for the pain when another contraction hit her
and she yelped aloud before gritting her teeth against it.

“I dunna care what ye do,” she grunted.

He looked uncertain, preparing to
reason with her when Analiese put her hand on him. “If I were you, I would go
unless you are prepared to take on a barrage of insults,” she told him with a
faint smile. “Women in childbirth often do and say strange things, I have been
told. Go out and wait with Kieran and Deinwald. I will let you know when your
son arrives.”

He almost argued with her but
thought better of it. He was having difficulty seeing his wife in so much pain,
wanting so much to stop it but being entirely helpless against it. It would get
worse, he knew, and drive him mad with his impotency. He would do her no good in
that state. Sighing with great reluctance, he complied.

Two of the knights’ wives were at
the door when he opened it, respectfully explaining that their husbands had
requested they help attend the champion’s wife. William wasn’t about to let
anyone he didn’t know into the room, but he knew their husbands and they were good
men. With a wave of his hand, he ushered them in.

Kieran and Deinwald, as well as
several other knights he had come to know over months of battle service were in
the hall, all looking as if it were their wife who was expecting. When William came
from the room, a company of faces turned to him eagerly.

“No baby yet,” he told them. He
meandered over to where Kieran was standing and leaned heavily against the
wall.

“She will be fine,” Kieran said
calmly.

William looked at him. “How can you
be so composed when at this very minute your wife may be going through the same
thing and you are not there to comfort her?”

Kieran smiled. He had always been
the most collected of his knights, and certainly one of the wisest. The man
lent new meaning to the term ‘gentle giant’.

“Jemma would be using me as her
punching bag, so mayhap it is best I am not there when she gives birth,” he
quipped. “However, in all seriousness, I believe that I shall leave on the
morrow if you will not be needing me and make way back to Northwood.”

“Good,” William said thankfully. “I
am glad you have finally come to your senses. Jordan will be thrilled.”

The two men rested against the wall,
joined by Deinwald. Silently, they pondered their thoughts, each to his own,
waiting as patiently as they could muster as a new life was brought into the
world.

For as peaceful as it was in the
hall, Jordan was in a living hell. Unbelievable pain and pressure were doubling
her over, the instinct to push like nothing she had ever experienced. Byron was
bent over between her legs, his old face serious while Analiese stood over his
shoulder looking rather pale. Jordan would find out later that it was the first
birth she had ever attended.

“Push, my lady,” Byron’s voice never
rose above a normal speaking tone. “With your next pain I want you to bear down
as hard as you can.”

Jordan tried, but God’s honest
truth, she was exhausted. The pains had come so fast and so furiously that they
had nearly overwhelmed her and sapped all of her strength. She had only been in
labor a mere six hours but it seemed like six days.

Another pain came, tightening across
her mid-section.

“Push!” Byron told her.

“I am!” she yelled back as if she
were barking orders on the field of battle. Analiese looked startled that such
a delicate lady could use such a tone, but Byron didn’t blink. He was too busy
watching the baby’s head crown.

Analiese saw it, too. She was
overwhelmed with excitement.

“Jordan, I see it!” she blurted
happily.

Jordan flopped back onto her pillows
in misery. She was about to yell a nasty retort when another pain seized her
and she doubled up again, instinctively pushing as hard as she could.

Analiese left her post and went to
assist her, sitting behind her on the bed to better support her efforts. Jordan
was sweating profusely, her long hair clinging to her wet face. At Byron’s
instruction, Analiese put her hands on Jordan’s stomach to aid her in her pushing
when the next contraction came.

Jordan pushed and pushed. A half
hour later she was still pushing. Analiese was beginning to worry, but Jordan
was so oblivious to anything but the pain that she had lost track of time. The
knights’ wives, having birthed five children between them, hovered behind Byron
and looked quite composed, waiting to be called into service. When Analiese
looked into their older faces, she felt somewhat better because she deduced if
anything was wrong, the women would be reacting.

Byron was doing something neither Jordan
or Analiese could see, but that Jordan could certainly feel. He felt as if he was
trying to pull the baby free himself and she screamed at him to leave her alone.
After a few moments of twisting and tugging, a faint smile finally cracked his
face.

“Okay, ladies,” he said softly. “Push
harder than you ever have with the next pain and this babe should break free.”

The pain came. Jordan grunted with
the force of her pushing while Analiese bore down with her, all of her queasiness
forgotten with the immanency of the moment. Surely as Byron had predicted, the
infant slipped free and into Byron’s waiting hands.

A thin wail filled the stale air
almost immediately. Analiese hugged Jordan, who was panting heavily but still
managed to smile.

“Byron.” she gasped. “Is it…is
he…?”

Byron looked up at her, grinning. “Your
son is fine and as big as an ox.”

A son
. Jordan began to cry
and laugh at the same time as Analiese embraced her, both women emotional and
relieved. But as Byron was handing the infant to one of the waiting women,
Jordan was seized with another pain as fierce as the previous one that
propelled her son into the world and she cried out loudly in agony and
surprise.

Analiese stopped her laughing and
was panic-stricken. “Byron! What is wrong?”

Byron, however, remained entirely
calm. “Relax, Lady Analiese,” he said. “It is usually customary for the pain to
subside
after
the baby has been born.”

“But the baby has been born,” Analiese
reminded him as if he were completely daft.

His black eyes twinkled. “Not
this
baby.”

Analiese looked at him for a moment
before the truth settled in. “Twins?”

Jordan moaned, twisting a little
trying to ease her aching tailbone and body. “Aye, twins. Miserable little
whelps. They are making me daft.”