Page 200 of Historical Hotties
Carington closed her eyes and tears trickled down her temples. She was so weak that she could barely muster the strength to cry; the tears just fell of their own will. “My sweet bairn,” she whispered. “Where is she buried?”
Kristina was a weeping mess. “Lady Anne insisted she be buried in the d’Umfraville crypt in town,” she told her. “I remembered that you had told me once that your mother’s name was Dera, so Lady Anne and I named her Dera Carington de Reyne. I hope that is all right.”
Carington nodded, too overcome to reply. Kristina held her hand and wept with her. It was a painful moment for them both.
“Creed,” Carington finally murmured. “Is he all right?”
Kristina sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Father Massimo says he is safe with your father.”
“Thank God,” Carington whispered. Then her eyes opened and she weakly turned her head in Kristina’s direction. “Is Father Massimo still here?”
Kristina shook her head. “He went back to tell Creed of… of….”
She could not finish as sobs overtook her again. Carington sighed weakly. “I wish he wouldna,” she muttered. “It will only make him miserable that he is not here. There is nothing he could have done but he willna understand that.”
Kristina did not know what to say. She held Carington’s hand tightly. “There is so much more to tell you,” she said. “The king’s men have been here since the night you delivered Dera. They have not left.”
Carington did not remember much of the past few weeks but she did remember the king’s men. They had arrived when she was in labor and one of them, a knight named de La Londe, had been bold enough to try and question her. She had screamed at him. After that, she remembered little other than delivering a blue infant that she never had a chance to hold. But she knew, without anyone telling her at the time, that the baby was dead. Her conversation with Kristina only confirmed it. They had taken the infant away too quickly as the physic and Lady Anne struggled to keep her from bleeding to death. Her life was draining away and along with it, her consciousness.
After that, she remembered nothing until this moment. She felt strangely numb and exceedingly weak. She squeezed Kristina’s hand faintly.
“I am thirsty,” she whispered.
Kristina jumped out of her chair, wiping the remaining tears on her cheeks. She opened the chamber door into the mainroom beyond. “Lady Carington is awake,” she announced. “She is thirsty!”
Kristina said it as if it was the most amazing event in the world. Suddenly, bodies filled the small bedchamber and Lady Anne came into view. Her handsome face was weary but she smiled sweetly at Carington, running a gentle hand over her forehead.
“Greetings, my lady,” she said softly. “Welcome back.”
Carington was very comforted by the woman’s presence. The physic from Newcastle was standing beside her, his expression critical. He was a little man with a balding head.
“How do you feel, my lady?” he asked.
Carington sighed faintly. “Weak,” she said honestly. “But I think I am hungry.”
Lady Anne murmured a silent prayer of thanks and moved to get Carington some nourishment as the physic sat down beside the bed. He felt her pulse, put his hand on her head to determine her temperature, and a few other diagnostics. He pulled back the coverlet and gently pushed on her belly. As he did so, the milk from her swollen breasts stained her gown. Her body did not know there was no baby to feed. After several moments of analyzing his results, he covered her back up and fixed her in the eye.
“I was not sure you would awaken,” he said frankly.
Carington’s eyelids were growing heavy again, as if she had expended all of her energy from simply being awake. “We Scots are stronger than ye know,” she told him, her emerald eyes fixing on him. “But my daughter… was there nothing to be done?”
He shook his head. “She could not breathe, my lady. There was nothing to be done for her. She was born too early.”
The tears were returning but she fought them. “And me?” she whispered. “Will there be more bairns for my husband and I? He did so want a boy.”
The physic patted her arm. “I do not see any reason why there cannot be more children. Your bleeding was caused when the sack that attaches the infant to the womb tore. I had to work to get it out of you before you bled to death.”
She nodded, not particularly wanting to hear the details of the birth. The tears over her daughter’s fate fell softly again. “Then I thank ye for yer skill,” she whispered.
The physic watched her a moment, scratching his head wearily. He seemed lost in thought. Then he rose stiffly and quit the room just as Lady Anne entered with a bowl of beef broth. As Kristina stoked the blaze in the hearth to a ridiculous level, Lady Anne fed Carington nearly the entire bowl. Feeling warm and nourished, Carington realized that she was feeling a little better, a little stronger. As Lady Anne handed the bowl over to Kristina, the physic suddenly returned with a bundle in his arms.
Carington and Lady Anne looked at him curiously as the physic unwrapped the snow-dusted swaddling.
“This child has no mother,” he said, pulling away the blanket from the little face. “You are producing milk, my lady. It will do both you and the child well if you were to nurse her. I believe it will help heal your womb.”
Carington was shocked as she recognized the blond-headed child of Lady Vivian. Her heart sank. “Good lord,” she murmured. “Did Vivian not survive after all?”
Lady Anne, too, was momentarily shocked by the suggestion but quickly grew to support it. “She did not,” she touched Carington’s shoulder. “Stanton is beside himself with grief and the wetnurse has all she can handle with young Henry. Take the baby, Cari; take her and make her strong.”
