King's Dragon (Crown of Stars 1)

“Well, surely, lass. Do you suppose you can bed with a man all winter and not become pregnant? Hadn’t you noticed that your courses had stopped?”

Liath just lay there. She felt Hanna’s warm hand come to rest on her hair. So comforting. Dear Hanna. “I’m so tired,” she said.

“You sleep, child,” said Mistress Birta. “Hanna will sit with you for a while.”

“Why did I never think of that?” Liath whispered. “Hugh’s child. I could not bear to have Hugh’s child.”

“Hush, Liath,” said Hanna. “I think you ought to sleep now. Lady and Lord, but he beat you. You’re all bruises. He must have gone mad.”

“I won’t be his slave,” whispered Liath.

When she woke again, much later, she felt a pleasant lassitude. The little attic room was dim, but some light leaked through the shutters. The old blanket draped over her was scratchy but warm. She was exhausted, but she was at least alone; Hugh was not here.

That counted for something.

Then she heard the pound of footsteps on the back stairs accompanied by raised voices.

“I will not let you wake her, Frater!”

“Let me by, Mistress, and this time I will ignore your impertinence.”

“Frater Hugh, it may not be my place to speak so to you, but I will, so help me God, send my husband with a message to the biscop at Freelas about this incident, if you do not listen to me now.”

“I am sure, Mistress, that the biscop has greater concerns than my taking a concubine.”

“I am sure she does,” replied Mistress Birta with astonishing curtness, “but I do not think she will look so mildly on your taking a concubine and then beating the young lass so brutally that she miscarries the child conceived of this illegal union.”

“It was no child. It had not yet quickened.”

“Nevertheless it would have become one—if the Lady willed—had you not beaten her.”

“I remind you that she is my slave, to do with as I please. You forget, or likely you do not know, Mistress, that the biscop of Freelas, though a noblewoman of good character, does not have powerful kin. But I do. Now stand aside.”

“But she is still a child of Our Lady and Lord, Frater Hugh. It is Her Will, and not yours, that chooses whether a child be lost before its time. For we women are the chosen vessel of Our Lady, and it is by Her Will that we have been granted the gift of giving birth, a gift accompanied by pain, for how else shall we know the truth of darkness in the world and the promise of the Chamber of Light? I have midwifed many a woman in these parts, and I have seen many a woman miscarry from illness or hunger or by the chance lifting of Her Hand, and I have watched women and their babes die in childbed. But I have never seen a woman beaten so badly that she lost her child, not until now. And I will testify so, before the biscop, if I must.”

There was a silence. Liath measured with her eyes the distance from the bed to the shutters, but she knew she hadn’t the strength to get there, to open them, to throw herself out in order to escape from him; and anyway, even now, she did not want to die. Light bled into the room and from the yard she heard the cock crow. It must be early morning. The silence made her skin crawl. She waited, shuddering, for the latch to lift.

er voice intruded. “Can you sit, Liath? You ought to, if you can.”

“Here,” said Hanna in that wonderful practical voice she had. “I’ll put my arms under you and hold you. Just lean on me, Liath.”

Rising up, even to a half sit, made her head throb. The pain in her abdomen came and went in waves. The clammy hand dropped away from her face, but it was only a cold rag. Through her good eye she saw Mistress Birta and, in the background, Dorit. Mistress Birta straightened up from her crouch at Liath’s feet. Her hands were blood red.

Dizziness swept Liath. “I have to lie down,” she gasped. Even as Hanna lowered her, she fell completely out of consciousness.

Came up again, still lying on the hard surface. Mistress Birta was speaking.

“We’ll move her upstairs. I’ve done all I can.”

“I’ve seen him hit her a few times, now and again,” said a new voice which Liath vaguely identified as Dorit’s, “but with that temper she has, and her his bonded slave, I’ve never blamed him. But this.” There was a heavy silence, followed by the clucking of tongues. “It’s a sin against Our Lady, it is. I couldn’t let her lie there, bleeding, when I saw she was losing a child.”

Hanna and Birta carried her upstairs. It took that long for Dorit’s words to sink in.

Losing a child.

They laid her on Hanna’s bed and padded her with moss to absorb the blood still flowing from her. Birta pulled a shift down over her hips, so she might rest modestly.

She choked out the words. “Is it true? Was I pregnant?”