Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [138]
“Very simple, Hammond,” Wilkes called out. “She wasn’t out of his sight and wouldn’t be until your dear wife started her birthing pains. He would not allow his innocent wife to be present, of that I was certain.”
Brent cursed softly. Why had he imagined all sorts of wily, bizarre plots on Wilkes’s part? It was all so simple really. And Wilkes was right, completely right. It was the first time Saint had let Jules out of his sight. Saint and Thackery had dogged her every step.
“Now, as I figure it, Hammond, by the time you get back to that town of yours, your baby will be born, that or your precious wife will be dead. In any case, Saint Morris will be free to come after his wife. Give him my message.”
Brent felt his jaw tighten until pain seared his face. What the hell could he do? Byrony, no! You won’t die. Saint promised.
Jules felt her blood run cold. Wilkes not only wanted her, he also wanted to kill Michael. She couldn’t, wouldn’t allow it. She didn’t know what to do. Suddenly she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Brent, don’t get Michael! He wants to kill him. Don’t let him leave Byrony!”
“Jules, are you all right?” Brent yelled back. His horse shied sideways, and it took a moment of his concentration to get him back under control.
“I’m all right,” Jules shouted back. “Don’t let Michael come here!”
Wilkes was beside her, pulling her roughly back into the cave. He flung her to the dirt floor. “You keep your mouth shut, Juliana, or I’ll kill Hammond, and his niggers can deliver my message to your precious husband.”
She stared at him, hatred for him filling her. She wanted to spew her hatred out to him, but at that moment she saw his face pale, saw him clutch at his belly. My God, she thought, he’s ill!
“You stay put,” Wilkes said again, his voice low, his teeth gritted, “or I’ll plow your belly in front of your precious husband. You understand me?”
“I understand,” Jules said. She was silent a moment, then said very quietly, “Do you want my husband for revenge or do you want a doctor?”
“Interesting question,” Wilkes said, and laughed. “Don’t move, Juliana!” He walked from the cave, not looking back, for there was nothing she could do. Nothing.
Saint ripped off the sheet that covered Byrony. He couldn’t allow it to go on any longer. He had to do it. “Mammy,” he said curtly, “take her hands and hold her steady. Byrony, you’re not going to give up, you’re going to push with all your strength.”
She made a soft mewling sound. “No, I can’t,” she whispered.
“Damn you, Byrony, do as I tell you!”
He thought he saw a ghost of a smile on her white lips. He saw the contraction and splayed his hands over her belly. “Push!” he shouted at her, and bore down with his hands. Almost, he thought, hope welling up in him. “Again, Byrony!” This time he slipped his hand inside her. He felt the baby’s head, gently found the tiny shoulders and pulled. He shut his mind to Byrony’s screams and eased the baby from the birth canal. Damn him for a fool, he should have given her more chloroform, but there hadn’t been time.
“My God,” he said, cuddling the slippery little body against his chest, fierce joy filling him, “it’s a boy you’ve got, Byrony. A beautiful boy.”
Byrony was unconscious.
“Mammy, bathe our little fellow here. Ah, that’s it. A lusty cry. He’s ready for the world. Then wrap him in a warm blanket.”
“I know,” Mammy said, affronted, and Saint smiled. The old woman was as exhausted as he was, but still feisty as hell.
He worked over Byrony, more mechanically now, because she would be all right. He’d taken the risk and she’d survived. It was Jules who filled his thoughts. Had Brent found her? What had happened? “Damn,” he said softly. So many questions and no answers. He realized his hands were shaking, fear washing through him in great relentless waves.
Mammy Bath handed him the baby some minutes later. The child was a carbon copy of Byrony, not Brent. Honey-colored hair, fair-complexioned. Perhaps there was divine justice, he thought. Byrony had done all the work, suffered