To Love Again - Bertrice Small [70]
Antonia stepped from the shelter of his arms and, looking up at him with her wide blue eyes, said, “Your son was large. He was not properly positioned. A child is born head first, but this boy came feet first. He tore poor Cailin almost in two. Her suffering was a terrible thing to behold. She bled to death. The child, so long in birthing, did not survive her by more than an hour. I never imagined such a thing could happen. I am sorry, Wulf Ironfist.”
“Where is her body?” he demanded. His voice was hard and cold. Cailin! His beloved lambkin dead? It could not be! It could not be! He would not believe it! “I want to see my wife’s body,” he repeated. The pain in his chest was fierce. Could a heart break in two, he wondered, for he believed that it was happening to him now.
“She was so torn apart,” Antonia explained, “that we could not prepare her properly for burial. I had her cremated, the way our Celtic ancestors used to cremate their dead. I put the baby in her arms so that they would reach the gods together.”
He nodded, numb with grief. “I want her ashes,” he said stonily. “Surely you have her ashes. I will take her home and bury her on her land with the rest of her family. Cailin would want that.”
“Of course,” Antonia agreed softly, and turning about, she picked up a prettily decorated polished bronze urn from the atrium bench. “Cailin’s ashes, and those of your son, are within this vessel, Wulf Ironfist.” She handed it to him with a sympathetic smile. “I understand your grief, having just recently lost both a mate and a child myself,” she said.
He took the urn from her, almost reluctantly, as if he could still not believe what she had told him. Then he turned wordlessly away from her and started for the door.
Antonia silently exulted in his pain. Then a wicked thought came to her, and she acted impulsively upon it.
“Wulf.” Her voice was suddenly seductive.
He turned back to her, and was shocked to see that she had removed her robe and was stark naked. She was all pink and white, and plump. There was not a mark upon her to spoil the perfection of her smooth skin. He found her appallingly repulsive. For a moment he was rooted to the spot where he stood, staring at her repugnant nudity.
“I am lonely, Wulf Ironfist,” Antonia said softly. “So lonely.”
“Lady, put your robe back on,” he said.
“You killed my husband, Wulf Ironfist. Now I am lonely. Do you not think you should compensate me for the loss of Quintus Drusus?” Antonia purred to her horrified audience. She slipped her hands beneath her large breasts, with their deep rose nipples, and lifted them as if she were offering them to him. “Are you not tempted to sample these fine fruits, Wulf Ironfist? Is that weapon beneath your braccos not already hard with your longing for me?”
“Clothe yourself, lady,” he said coldly. “You disgust me.”
She launched herself at him, her naked body pressing against him. He was overpowered by the scent of musk. “You are the handsomest man in the province, Wulf Ironfist,” she said, panting with desire. “I always have the handsomest man in the province for my mate.” Her arms slipped tightly about his neck. “Kiss me, you Saxon brute, and then you must take me. Here! Where we stand on the floor of the atrium. Stuff me with your manhood and make me scream with pleasure. I am so hot for you!”
Wulf took her arms from him and thrust her away. He felt near to vomiting. “Lady, your grief has made you mad. First your husband and child, and then my wife and son. I am sorry for you, but I must master my own grief. It is already tearing me apart. I loved my wife. I do not know how I will go on without her. What is left for me? Nothing! Nothing!” He turned and stumbled from the atrium.
“Go!” Antonia shrieked after him. “Go, Wulf Ironfist! If you are in pain, I am glad! Now you will know how I felt when you butchered my Quintus! May the sorrow eat your heart out! I will be glad of it!” Bending down, she picked up her robe and slipped it back on. “I wish