Rise of the Defender (104 page)

     As vocal as she was, it was no time before
she was panting loudly with each contraction and cursing everyone she made eye
contact with. Burwell was simply in the room to view the birth; in his line of
work, he did not get much practice and Griselda was the very best to learn
from. Dustin did not want him in the room and nearly got out of bed to bodily
remove him.

     She cursed Christopher for not being at her
side, for bringing the pain upon her, and for thinking that ridding the village
of raiders was more important than the birth of his child. She was fully
prepared to slug him in the jaw for his priorities, but the moment his pale
face entered the room, she broke down into sobs.

     Griselda wouldn't let him in the room with
all of his armor on, and still wouldn't let him near his wife without washing
his hands of the grime on them. Then, and only then, was he allowed to comfort
her.

     Christopher had never been around a
laboring woman before and he was the first to admit it scared the hell out of
him. He was doubly terrified that the babe was almost five weeks early, but
Griselda did not seem overly concerned. She assured him that everything was
progressing nicely and by the morning, he would be holding his son.

     Dustin did not want to wait that long. She
wanted the babe out that very minute, rolling with the contractions as best she
could and then pleading when they were over to tie a rope around the babe and
pull him out. They had all laughed at her, but she did not think it was the
least bit funny.

     He rubbed his wife's back and massaged her
shaking legs, stopping every time she had a contraction and closing his eyes as
if by sheer force of will he could absorb her pain. He could not stand to see
Dustin in so much pain, even though he had known full well what he had been in
for. Finally, toward midnight, Griselda gave Dustin a drink of poppy that
seemed to take the edge off her contractions and make her very sleepy. With her
tensions relaxed, he was able to relax a bit, too.

     Her contractions worked all night and into
the morning, dissolving Griselda's prediction that the babe would come by sun
up. Instead, the poppy potion was making Dustin sick and she would vomit it up
every time she tried to take it, rendering her pains merciless and causing her
to scream with agony every time a wave would roll over her. Seventeen hours
into her labor, Christopher was ready to climb the walls.

     “What is taking so long?” he demanded in a
harsh whisper, making sure his wife could not hear him.

     “Patience, sire, patience,” Griselda
assured him. “Some women take longer than others, that's all. She is
progressing slowly but everything appears fine. Why, I have seen women in labor
for three days, and their children were perfectly healthy.”

     Haggard and unshaven, Christopher glanced
at his wife. “The child is early, mistress.”

     The child wasn't early and Griselda knew
it, but obviously the baron did not. 'Twas not her place to involve herself in
the puzzling situation.

     “The child is large and I am sure will be
fine, sire,” she said. “Now do not fret so. Why do not you go and eat
something? We will still be here when you return.”

     He started to refuse but Burwell clapped a
meaty hand on him. “Come, baron, let the women do their work, and let you and I
do ours on a plate of venison.”

     Dustin had another contraction and moaned
loudly, too weak to do the screaming she had been doing earlier. Christopher
closed his eyes briefly, sickened with her necessary pain.

     “All right,” his voice was a whisper, but
then rapidly: “But I shall be right back.”

     Griselda nodded, waiting before the door
was closed before moving back to Dustin and swabbing her clammy brow.

     Christopher was met downstairs by every one
of his knights and Gowen, all clamoring to pester him with questions.
Christopher ignored them for the most part, weary to the bone as a serving
wench place a trencher of food before him. He did not even realize he was
hungry until the smells filled his nostril, and then he ate everything on the
plate.

     His men and vassals were waiting quite
impatiently as he finished the last of his bread and downed the remainder of
his fruited water.

     “How is she?” David could stand it no
longer.

     Christopher wiped his mouth and looked at
his brother. “She is in labor, David. Not exactly a party atmosphere.”

     “No babe?” Leeton asked, his face pale and
Christopher suddenly remembered what had happened to the man's wife in
childbirth.

     “Not yet,” he said, a little less snappish.
“But Griselda assures me all is well. At any rate, Dustin is miserable but
coping.”

     “We could hear her screaming down here,”
Leeton said. “It sounds as if she is being beaten.”

     Christopher made a wry face. “Mayhap that
would be preferable.”

     The other knights began assaulting him with
questions but Leeton simply looked away. He was reliving a nightmare and not at
all pleased. He knew the screams of childbirth all too well, and he had seen
what bearing a new life had done to his beloved Rachel. Abruptly, he quit the
hall.

     Christopher watched him leave, a twinge of
sorrow for the man. Now that he was experiencing the same action that had taken
Leeton's wife from him, he could relate to the man's pain completely. Leaving
his men for a moment, he found Leeton in Gowen's office.

     The knight was sitting in a hide-covered
chair, staring out across the dismal compound. A low fire crackled in the
hearth, making the room rather cozy.

     “Leeton,” he said quietly.

     The knight turned to look at him, quickly
dashing away the tears on his cheeks. Christopher was miserable for him. “What
is it?”

     “You asked me once, a long time ago, that
if anything ever happened to Dustin, would I ever be the same. Do you
remember?” he asked.

     Leeton nodded, trying to compose himself.
“I remember.”

     Christopher fixed him with a gentle,
unguarded look. He seemed hesitant to go on, but he did. “The answer is no. If
my wife dies as a result of this, I will not be the same. For the fact that you
have maintained your life and character in the face of the death of the woman
you loved, I admire you greatly. I do not believe I am that strong.”

     “Aye, you are,” Leeton said, his voice
faint. “You are stronger than you know, Chris. You have no weaknesses.”

     “Yes, I do,” Christopher looked up to the
ceiling as if he could see his wife through the mortar and stone. “A slip of a
woman whom I love with all of my heart and soul.”

     He turned and left, leaving Leeton coming
to grips with his terrible memories yet, somehow, stronger with them. Mayhap it
was the fact that time was passing and easing his pain, or mayhap it was
Christopher's understanding. Whatever the case, he did not feel quite as
desolate as he had when he had entered the room.

     Christopher was fully intending to return
to his wife when he came head-to-head with Burwell at the base of the stairs.
The physician smiled at him, instantly throwing Christopher on his guard.

     “Leave the women to their work, my lord,”
he said firmly. “You shall be of no help up there now. Come, let’s enjoy a game
of Fox and Hounds to pass the time.”

     Christopher's face was set. “I promised
Dustin I would return, and I shall. Get out of my way.”

     Burwell shook his head. “Son, at this point
you will simply distract her, and she needs all of her concentration to birth
that enormous child of yours,” he put his thick hands on Christopher and
attempted to turn him around. “You will do now as men have done for centuries;
you will wait and drink and see your child after it is born. If you tend her
now, you shall do more harm than good. You must allow Griselda to work.”

     A shadow of a doubt crossed Christopher's
mind as he thought that Burwell's words made sense. He wanted to be with his
wife; well, not really, but he was scared to leave her alone to face the
impending birth, terrified that something would happen and he would not be
there if she needed him. But, in faith, he had had just about all of the pain
and moaning he could take from her. He hated feeling so helpless.

     Feeling like a dumb animal, he allowed
Burwell to turn him around and steer him toward the grand hall. The healer
began bellowing for wine and the game pieces to be brought forward, and in
spite of the misgivings tormenting his heart, Christopher allowed himself to be
swallowed up by his company of knights as they sat around the massive table.

     Christopher was very good at keeping track
of time. Although he played a couple of games with Burwell, he was acutely
aware that the hours were passing and nothing was happening. His anxiety was
running rampant and he took to pacing the cold floor of the hall absently,
listening to his men as they played their game to pass the time but not really
hearing. His heart, his mind, his soul, everything but his body, was up in the
bedchamber with his wife.

     Several times during the afternoon he tried
to push his way upstairs, but he was thwarted every time by Burwell and a host
of knights. He tried threats, intimidation, reasoning, and finally pleading,
but they would not let him pass the stairs. Frustrated and frayed, he sank into
a heavily padded chair by the hearth and put his head in his hands. He knew
without a doubt he was going insane with worry.

     Dustin's two maids had joined in the
waiting, helping Griselda with her every need so that the midwife could focus
her complete attention on Dustin. Thirty-two hours into her labor, the baby's
head was finally beginning to crown. After two hours of hard pushing, even
Griselda was growing concerned, but when she saw the dark little head forcing
its way into the world, she felt a certain amount of relief.

     “The child's head is appearing, my lady,”
she encouraged Dustin. “Push as hard as you can with your next pain.”

     Dustin was spent. She had been spent for
hours and hours but there was no mercy for her weary body. She, the bedclothes,
and the mattress were absolutely soaked with perspiration and fluids and as the
next unbelievable pain hit, she grunted loudly and tried to push, but she
honestly did not think she could. She'd been pushing for hours, or was it days,
and nothing had happened. She was so very, very tired that she did not care at
this point if she died or not.

     But this contraction did not subside like
the others had, it continued until Dustin was shrieking with agony. She could
hear Griselda's matronly voice, light and reassuring, encouraging her onward,
but she has ceased to hear her words long ago. She was wrapped up in her own
world of agony until the pain suddenly subsided a bit and she felt a great,
slippery rush and the pressure diminished substantially.

     “Is...is it born yet?” she breathed
heavily, feeling one of the maids swab her clammy brow.

     “Almost,” Griselda said. “Another push and
‘twill be free.”

     Dustin seemed to snap out of her lethargy
then;
one more push
. She began to live for that one more push and when
the contraction came, she bore down with her remaining strength and was
rewarded with a tremendous sense of relief. Almost instantaneously, she heard a
thin wail.

     More alert than she had been in over a day,
she struggled to sit up and see the babe as Griselda and the maids fussed over
the infant.

     “Well? Is he all right? Is he healthy?” she
demanded.

     Griselda smiled and suddenly there was a
fat, squalling, red infant displayed for Dustin to see. “Your daughter is
fine,” she said. “Look how big and strong she is.”

     Dustin was immediately entranced. She
realized that did not care that it wasn't a boy; it was a beautiful, healthy
daughter and she reached out and touched the tiny, sticky fingers. Tears of
relief and joy coursed down her cheeks.

     “She is big, isn't she?” she whispered.
“Oh, give her to me, please.”

     Griselda cleaned the infant a bit and
wrapped her in warm, clean swaddling. Dustin had never experienced anything so
sweet as holding her daughter in her arms for the first time. She cooed to the
baby, examining her tiny hands and touching her little face, all the while
completely unaware that she was crying. All of the pain and exhaustion from the
past day and a half was suddenly worth the effort.

     Griselda and the maids stood back a moment,
watching the new mother with her new daughter, smiling happily between them.
But Dustin was very pale and very weak and needed her rest; the babe would
still be there when she awoke. Sending one of the maids for the wet nurse
enlisted from the village, she gently took the babe from Dustin and handed it
off to the other maid for more serious cleaning.

     Dustin protested weakly at her child being
taken away, but Griselda shushed her firmly. “You will be holding that child
for years to come, my lady. Now we must take care of you.”