Page 122 of The Saxon Lord's Unwanted Bride
“My beautiful wife,” he whispered, “soon to give me a second child to love and cherish.”
A second child…
He loved Violette as his own. Finally, it was as if Ralph of Aquitaine had never existed, and Harald had sired her daughter. At last, Eloise’s nightmares, born from force and hatred, had been exorcised.
By love.
“Aye,” she whispered, safe, at last, in her husband’s arms.
Epilogue
Harald paced the length of the hall, as faint cries penetrated the night.
“You’ll wear out the floor,” Edwin said.
“I must go to her.”
“For a warrior, you show a distinct lack of courage,” Edwin chided. “She’s in the best of hands, and will need your strength when the time comes. You do her no favors pacing about like a caged beast.”
“You don’t understand,” Harald growled. “She’s in pain because of me!”
“I hadn’t marked you down as a weak-bellied pup, brother. Your wife has birthed a child before.”
“Women die.”
“So do men,” Edwin said, “but do you expect her to cling to your tunic and beg you to remain, each time you venture out? No—she understands you must do your duty, and she trusts you to return to her safe and well. It’s now your turn to trust that she’ll return to you.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Harald’s stomach tightened with fear. “I can’t bear the thought of losing her.”
Edwin took his hand. “Then we’ll pray for her, together.”
A shrill cry rang out. Panic coursed through Harald, magnifying into terror when Jeanette appeared in the hall, her apron smeared with blood.
Sweet heaven—what had happened to Eloise?
“You have a son, my lord.”
“And my wife?” His heart skipped as a tear rolled down her cheek. Then, she nodded.
“It was a difficult birth. But she is well. And the child is strong.”
As if in answer to her words another wail rose up. It called to him, bringing forth a visceral response as Harald’s skin tightened in recognition.
His son.
He sprinted to his wife’s chamber, and burst through the door, panting. The midwife, an iron-gray haired woman, stood at the bed holding a small bundle wrapped in a blanket. The glanced at him, then shook her head in irritation.
“Men!” she huffed. “They all turn into weaklings at a birthing—unable to bear a little bloodletting in their women.”
Eloise lay on the bed, eyes closed—the toll of bringing their child into the world evident in her pale face and the dark rings under her eyelids. Her chest rose and fell in a sigh.
Then she opened her eyes—their blue dull, at first, before a shimmer of recognition sparkled and they crinkled into a smile.
She held her arms out to him, and he lifted her into a sitting position and wrapped his arms round her.
“Harald,” she whispered.
“My love—are you well?”
