Page 53 of Never Leave Me
The guard eyed her suspiciously. “But you said you were the Lady Marian’s sister—”
“And I’m a nurse.”
“Nurse?” The guard and Nicholas questioned her at the same time and eyed her as though she’d grown a pregnant belly herself. She guessed a noblewoman in the Middle Ages most likely did not have training in midwifery, much less any nursing skills.
“So which are you?” The guard’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “A midwife or wet nurse for the babe?”
Wet nurse? She almost laughed but then caught herself. Is that what the termnursemeant to them? That she was planning to breastfeed her sister’s newborn?
She shook her head. “No, bynurseI simply mean I intend to—well, I intend to take care of Marian. As the midwife. And if you don’t allow me inside, Marian will be very upset.”
The guard rubbed at the few whiskers on his chin before shaking his head. “’Tis Lord Durham’s anger I fear most, lady. And he said no one in.”
“He wouldn’t object to a midwife.” She turned pleading eyes upon Nicholas, praying he would support her.
Nicholas pinned a glare upon the guard. “You would be wise not to turn away the midwife, especially at a time like this.”
“The lady of the manor already has midwives attending her. How many durst she need?”
“I am needed. I assure you.”
After another moment of hesitation, the guard began to unlock the gate. “Aye, then. The lady can come in, but not you, sire.”
Ellen started to protest the rude dismissal. But Nicholas gave a curt nod. “Very well. I must be on my way. I have many other places to visit and shall delay no longer.”
She didn’t resist as he dismounted and assisted her down. When her feet were planted on the ground, she took a deep breath, more relieved than she’d realized to be away from Lord Worth and safe at Chesterfield Park. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me.”
He gave a slight bow. “Tell Lord Durham the news of the plague and fare well.”
She slipped through the gate. “You’ve been a godsend.”
The iron clanked closed and separated them. She was anxious to be off and see Marian, but she waited until he mounted before offering him a smile and waving. “Thank you again.”
He didn’t smile in return, but his gaze swept over her appreciatively with the kind of bold appraisal she’d received often in her life. He offered her a nod, then wordlessly nudged his steed onward.
Once he was on his way, she picked up her skirt and began to run as fast as her legs could carry her toward the house.
14
MARIANLIVEDHEREANDWASHAVINGABABY.
Ellen wanted to push past the maid leading her through the manor. The old Chesterfield Park was simpler and plainer, but the layout was similar, enough so that she could have found her way around unaided.
Nevertheless, she slowed her steps and tried to catch her breath and take in her surroundings. From the simple homespun garments the servants wore to the scuffed wood floors to the darkly elegant furnishings, she took in every detail with wonder coursing through her. For the first time since arriving in 1382, she was truly stunned. She was in the past, walking through Harrison’s home and seeing the home as it had once been.
“Oh Harrison,” she whispered as she stepped from a narrow stairway into the second-floor hallway. “If only you could see this. You’d be utterly amazed.”
“Do you need something, my lady?” The maidservant paused and raised a brow at Ellen.
At a faint scream echoing from one of the chambers, urgency prodded Ellen. “Let’s hurry.”
The maidservant nodded and then continued down the passageway until reaching the guest room Marian had stayed in last spring when she’d been in her coma at Chesterfield Park. More cries sounded from behind the closed door.
Although the voice was hoarse, it was Marian’s. And it contained a note of despair.
Ellen’s pulse sped into an erratic, panicked race, and she elbowed the servant aside, flung open the door, and barged into the room. Several women near the bed paused, clearly startled at her intrusion. But Ellen didn’t care. Her practiced eye captured the scene: the bloody towels, a washbasin, an assortment of herbs, a chalice of wine.
As she strode across the room, she took in Marian’s writhing form on the canopied bed, her distended abdomen covered by a thin sheet. Her red hair had been plaited into a thick braid, but strands were loose and plastered to her sweat-slickened and flushed face. Her eyes were closed tight, and her lips pinched together as she attempted to fight through another contraction.
