To Love Again - Bertrice Small [69]
“Tell Piso to give you the fastest horse in the stable,” Antonia instructed him. “I want you back by dawn. If you are not, I shall whip you.” Her hand moved about to fondle his hardening manhood. “You are well-made,” she noted. “Did I buy you, Atticus? I do not remember.”
“Your father bought me, mistress,” he replied with more aplomb than he was feeling. He was as hard as iron within her hot hand.
“We shall have to find a suitable position for you shortly,” Antonia remarked, thinking that perhaps she would not kill him immediately. After all, he would not understand what she had done. “Now, go!” She turned away from the slave and hurried back to her patient.
All through the night, Cailin struggled to birth her baby. Her body was wet with perspiration. She strained under Antonia’s direction to bring forth the child. “Where is Wulf?” Cailin repeated over and over again to the older woman. “Why does he not come?”
“It is dark,” Antonia told her. “There is no moon. My messenger must go slowly over the fields to reach your hall. It is not as if he could simply gallop easily down the Fosse Way from my home to yours, Cailin. He must pick his way carefully. He will get there, but then he and your husband must come back just as slowly. Here.” She put her arm about Cailin’s shoulders. “Drink some of my Cyprian wine. You will feel better for it. I always do.”
“I don’t want it,” Cailin cried, pushing Antonia’s hand away.
“Do not be such a silly goose,” Antonia told her. “I have put some herbs in it that will ease your pain. I take them myself when I am in the throes of having a child. I see no reason to suffer.”
Cailin reached out, and taking the goblet from Antonia, drank it slowly down. She immediately felt better, but her head was also spinning. Another pain tore through her, and she cried out. Antonia knelt and examined her progress. She began to smile and hum to herself.
“Can you see the baby’s head?” Cailin asked her. “Ohh, I wish Ceara and Maeve were here with me. I need them!”
“They could do nothing for you that I cannot,” Antonia replied sharply, then her tone softened a bit. “I can see the baby’s head. Be brave, Cailin Drusus, just a few more minutes and your child will be born.”
“The gods!” Cailin groaned. “Where is Wulf? Antonia, I am very dizzy. What exactly did you put in that wine?” Another pain came.
Antonia ignored Cailin’s questions. “Push!” she commanded the straining girl. “Push hard. Harder.”
The infant’s head and shoulders appeared between its mother’s legs. Antonia smiled, well-pleased. Cailin did not realize it, but she was having an easy labor. The baby would be born in just another moment.
Cailin was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. Her head was whirling violently and she felt as if she were beginning to fall. Another terrible pain washed over her. She heard, if somewhat distantly, Antonia’s voice demanding she push again. Cailin struggled to obey. She couldn’t allow herself to become unconscious. Making a supreme effort, she pushed with all her might. She was rewarded by the sudden cry of a newborn baby, and her heart accelerated with excitement and joy. Then, as suddenly, the darkness rushed up to claim her. She fought valiantly against it, but it was no use. The last thing she remembered was Antonia saying, “She is so sweet. I have always wanted a little girl,” and then Cailin remembered no more.
When Wulf Ironfist arrived to reclaim his wife two days later, Antonia came slowly into the atrium to greet him. She was crying, the tears sliding down her fair skin. “What is it?” he asked, a sinking feeling overcoming him even as he put forth the question.
Antonia sobbed and threw herself into his startled embrace. “Cailin!” she wept piteously. “Cailin is dead, and the child—your son—with her! I could not save them. I tried! I swear I tried!”
“How?” he said,