Page 64 of The Forsaken
“I feel a bit sick,” Kate replied. Her forehead grew clammy and a sour taste assaulted her mouth, which was suddenly full of saliva.
“Nurse,” Eleanor called to Joan, who happened to be passing by the Lady Chamber. “Kate’s unwell.”
Joan set down the basket of linens she’d been carrying and stepped into the room, her gaze fixed on Kate, who was now panting and grasping the armrests of the chair.
Joan’s eyes narrowed as she studied Kate’s face. “Come now. Let’s get ye to bed. I’ll make a brew of mint tea to settle yer stomach.”
“I hope it helps,” Kate moaned.
She thought she’d be sick before she reached the room, but she made it to her bedchamber and climbed into bed. Moments later, another wave of nausea assaulted her, and this time she couldn’t fight it. Joan pushed the chamber pot in front of her just in time. Kate wretched violently and lay back on the bed, gasping for air.
“How long have ye been feeling unwell?” Joan asked as she removed Kate’s shoes and pulled the counterpane over her. “Here, let me tuck ye in. Ye’re shivering. I’ll bring ye a hot brick in a tic.”
“I’ve felt a bit queasy these past few days,” Kate confessed.
Joan’s round face lit up with a joyful smile. “Hugh will be pleased as punch when he learns of yer condition. I was sick every day for the first three months with me first one, but she were a bonny wee lass when she finally arrived—healthy and strong. A little discomfort is a small price to pay for having a healthy bairn.”
Kate tried to focus on what Joan was saying. It had never occurred to her that Joan might have had her own children. She’d never mentioned any, and the three de Rosel boys seemed to be the loves of her life.
“You had children?” Kate muttered.
“Oh, aye. I had two girls,” Joan replied as she added a log to the fire. “They died of a fever, aged two and four.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Why would ye?” Joan shrugged. “Not like ye ever asked.”
Kate mentally acknowledged the truth of this. She’d never asked Joan about her life, partially because she had been raised not to get too personally involved with servants, and partially because there was something about Joan that put her on guard. Joan could be all softness and understanding one minute, and all sharp angles the next. She treated everyone that way, so at least Kate knew it wasn’t something she’d done to offend the woman.
“You must miss them very much,” Kate said in a conciliatory tone. She’d have to make an effort to be kinder to Joan, especially since she still had such a hold over Hugh and Guy.
“I did, but then William was born, followed by Hugh, and then Guy came along a few years later, and Margaret two years after him. They became me children, and still are.” Joan turned away from Kate. “Ye rest now. I’ll bring ye that mint tea, and then some broth later. Ye’re just about due for yer courses, so we’ll know for certain.”
Kate didn’t bother to ask how Joan knew it was nearly her time of the month. Joan knew everything, and kept tabs on everyone, which was at times comforting, and at times unnerving, but Kate did pray that Joan was right in her assumption that she was with child. She laid her hand on her flat stomach, wondering if Hugh’s seed had finally taken root. He would be so pleased. Kate allowed her thoughts to stray to Guy. She knew he’d be happy for her, and the thought of his blessing made her value him all the more. That was how Guy was—selfless and devoted.
Kate remained abed for three days, fighting nausea, weakness, and chills, but by the fourth day she began to feel better. The chills abated, the nausea passed, and she regained her appetite.She craved meat, which was unusual for her. Joan brought her some beef broth, but Kate wasn’t satisfied with that, so Joan made a rich stew that she flavored with onions, wild garlic, and carrots. She’d added bits of stale bread to the gravy to make the stew thicker and more filling. Kate had two bowls, and might have eaten a third had there been any left to spare. The stew had to feed everyone else in the castle.
“Ye’re looking better,” Joan remarked. “There’s color in yer cheeks, and yer ferocious appetite is a good sign.”
“I’ve been praying for you,” Eleanor said when Kate finally joined her in the Lady Chamber. “It’ll be such a pleasure to have a child about again, even if it isn’t mine,” she added sadly.
“It’s early days yet,” Kate replied.
She was brimming with joy, but at night, when she retired to her room, doubt set in. What if Joan was wrong and there was no baby after all?Joan knows what she’s talking about, Kate thought.My courses are nearly a week late and I’ve been unwell for days. It’s finally happened. Kate grinned in the darkness. She was so happy, and for the first time since marrying Hugh, she felt more at peace. Perhaps the good Lord had finally seen fit to reward her for her faith.
Kate’s courses came with a vengeance two days later, leaving her moaning with pain as severe gripes twisted her innards into knots and made her curl into a ball in an effort to alleviate the agony.
Joan gazed upon Kate with contempt when she brought more rags. “Good thing ye didn’t write to Hugh,” she said, ignoring Kate’s suffering. “Imagine his disappointment, the poor lamb. Ye’d best get with child, and soon,” she advised, glaring at Kate as if she’d somehow refused to allow herself to become pregnant.
“What can I do?” Kate moaned.
“I have some potions I can make up for ye. Helps make the womb more receptive to a man’s seed,” she replied knowledgeably. “Ye’d best let me help ye. I won’t have my Hugh left without an heir.”
Kate nodded miserably. She’d gladly take the potion. Now that she’d had a taste of maternal happiness, she felt an even greater emptiness than before. When Hugh returned, she’d try to be a better wife to him and not cringe inwardly when he reached for her in the night. She’d welcome his touch and pray that her resolve paid off.
THIRTY-EIGHT
DECEMBER 1462
