rel="nofollow" href="#litres_trial_promo">Chapter Twenty-Four
Essex County, 1068 AD
“Push, milady, push!”
Though Clara had been the midwife in Dunmow, a small keep and village west of Colchester, for a few weeks only, she’d already learned Lady Ediva’s determined personality. But at this point in milady’s labor, the mother-to-be definitely needed strong encouragement. “Push harder! Harder!”
Lady Ediva scrunched up her face and glared down from the birthing chair. “I’m pushing as hard as I can! Stop shouting at me!” Her words ended with a growl and another hard push.
Already situated at milady’s feet, Clara gave her forehead a fast wipe with her forearm. She had long since pulled back her own thick red hair and now felt it start to slip free, but could do nothing at that moment. The babe’s head had crowned, and with deft movements, and more bearing down on the new mother’s part, she soon assisted in delivering a healthy son. “It’s a boy!”
Lady Ediva fell back against the chair. Clara knew their work was not yet complete, but for a few minutes they could revel in the joy of new life.
Clara prepared the babe for his mother, even though they weren’t finished with the birthing yet. All the while, Lady Ediva’s maid, Margaret, wiped her mistress’s face. Tears of joy streamed down each woman’s cheeks. Clara stopped a moment to admire the beautiful, squalling child in her arms.
Praise God! A new babe! New life when lately she had felt only the threat of death.
A surge of excitement washed over Clara as the indignant howl of the healthy babe bounced off the thick oak door of the solar. She knew that beyond, in the corridor, the father waited impatiently, along with his men.
As Margaret tended to Lady Ediva, Clara swaddled the babe in a soft cloth, snuggling him close as she walked over and opened the door.
Closer to the door, Kenneth d’Entremont, sergeant at arms for Dunmow Keep, whirled. Behind him, Lord Adrien stopped his pacing. Each man’s face split into a broad smile at the sight of the child in her arms.
“’Tis a good day, Lord Adrien!” Kenneth announced to the new father.
“Aye. Nothing can spoil it.”
Both men stepped toward Clara, a question on each face. “A boy or a girl?” Kenneth asked.
Adrien waved his hand. “I care not, but by the sound of that lusty wail, it’s a boy!”
They laughed together. Clara smiled tiredly as she pulled back the wrap to reveal the babe’s scrunched-up face. “You have a fine son, Lord Adrien.” Behind her, Margaret approached, and Clara handed her the child. “Your wife is ready to see you. Go spend time with your family.”
“I will!” Adrien turned to Kenneth. “The keep is yours, d’Entremont, as we discussed. Guard it well, for I do not wish to be disturbed.”
“You have my pledge,” Kenneth answered solemnly before Adrien disappeared into the solar. Clara smiled as she shut the door to stop any draft. ’Twas good to see a new father so eager to spend time with his wife while she recuperated. She hadn’t seen such devotion before. She would give them this moment of privacy before she returned to check on Lady Ediva. The birthing process was not quite finished.
Then came the sound of swift, pounding feet. Clara spun at the urgent tattoo, noticing Kenneth’s hand resting lightly on his blade as he stepped in front of her. It may have been the finest day for Lord Adrien, and one during which he would cast all other cares aside, but Clara knew Kenneth would not lower his guard. Not when he’d just given his promise to Adrien to mind the keep.
A man approached. ’Twas a courier, Clara noticed, a man who wore the crest of the Baron of Colchester—Lord Adrien’s brother—on his short, travel-worn tunic. His face ruddy, his leggings and surcoat splattered with mud from a hard, fast ride, he slowed his approach.
“I have a missive for the master of the keep,” the man panted out. “’Tis urgent, I’ve been told.”
Kenneth held out his hand. “I have control of this keep.”
The courier handed Kenneth the communiqué and departed. With only the dim, morning glow from a slit window in which to read the missive, Kenneth frowned as he held it close to scan the words.
In front of the closed door, Clara watched a black expression spreading across the young sergeant’s features. She swallowed. ’Twas not good news. Was someone sick?
Kenneth looked up, his mouth thinning as he drilled a brittle stare into her. “Are you finished with Lady Ediva?”
Clara frowned. “Aye, for now. Margaret has my complete confidence. She will care for mother and babe until I am needed again.”
“Good.” His jaw tightened. “Because you are headed for the dungeon.”
Stunned, Clara gaped at Kenneth, starting when he grabbed her arm. “The dungeon! Are you mad? Why should I go there?”
Kenneth called out and a guard met them on the curved stone stairs that led to the main floor.
“Let go of me!” Clara twisted, but to no avail.
Kenneth’s grip tightened. “Nay, woman. Not after what you’ve done!”
“I’ve done nothing wrong! I demand you release me!”
“You have no right to make any demands!”
Clara barely had time to lift her cyrtel to prevent tripping on it as he dragged her down the stairs into the kitchen and down more steps to the darkness below. With the door to the dungeon ahead, she fought back more fiercely and, for her effort, was pushed hard down the short corridor. She struggled to keep her balance in the murky maw around her.
The guard proceeded to unlock the solitary door. Clara tilted up her chin and threw back her shoulders. A thick wooden door, secured by long hinges and an iron lock, would soon imprison her. With her mouth pressed into a thin line, she told herself not to do something foolish.
And not to be scared.
She wrenched her arm free and turned to Kenneth. “Why am I here? I should be upstairs and available, for Lady Ediva’s birthing is not done! You had no right to drag me down here! What was in that missive that has prompted this ridiculous act?”
“’Twas from Colchester,
