A Stranger's Touch (19 page)

Her heart felt as if it would break apart. She had loved him so very much, but he was to marry and she must live her own life.

Morwenna was suddenly very tired. In a few moments she would begin her packing and she
must write a letter to Rupert, asking him if he would send the details of the money he would allow her for his child here to the house so that she could easily collect it. She was too tired to think now. A little nap on the bed until Mistress Janet brought up her posset would make her feel much better …

‘Is she still here?’ Rupert asked as Mistress Janet let him in and put a finger to her lips. ‘I was out when John came, but as soon as I returned I rushed straight here.’

‘She meant only to stay a short while, but she fell asleep on the bed. When I looked in a moment ago she was still sleeping.’

‘Is she ill? Did she look unwell?’

‘She looks as always, sir.’ Mistress Janet smiled. ‘A little tired, perhaps.’

‘Thank God,’ Rupert said. ‘You did just as you ought, Janet—you and John. I cannot thank you enough.’

‘Go up now, sir, but let her wake herself.’

‘Yes, I shall. I would not startle her for the world.’

Rupert walked slowly up the stairs, his heart pounding. His ruse had worked perfectly. He had resisted the temptation to snatch her from
her friends, hoping that news of his new house would bring her here. She had come as he’d hoped and now he had his chance to talk to her and make her understand.

She was still sound asleep as he opened the door and entered her chamber. Lying with her hair spread on the pillows, she looked so beautiful and sensual that his heart caught with need and desire. He loved her so. How could he bear it if he’d lost her?

Rupert knew that in taking her innocence and making her his mistress he had used her shamefully. She had deserved so much more and he was a fool to allow his past to come between them. After what his mother had told her she would believe that he had made her his mistress rather than wedding her because she was not his equal in birth—and because of her brother. Indeed, he had known some reservations regarding her brother, but it was not the reason he’d held back. His reasons went deeper and were more personal, a legacy of the scars he bore because of Richard’s death and his mother’s bitterness.

All he could do now was to pray that Morwenna would believe him when he told her that he loved her and would be proud to have her as his wife.

* * *

Morwenna yawned, her eyelids flickering. She stretched and then opened her eyes, staring up into the face of the man who sat beside her on the bed.

‘No!’ she cried. ‘Oh, Rupert, no. I thought …’

‘You thought I had deserted you,’ he said, reaching out to catch her as she would have run from him. Holding her wrist, he bent his head and kissed her lips. ‘Did you truly believe that I would marry another when I love you? Surely you know how much you mean to me?’

‘Please do not.’ Tears started to her eyes. ‘Your mother told me it would shame you to wed me. If you renounce your betrothed, you will be ruined.’

‘My mother had no right to say such things to you. My sister told me that she attacked you physically?’

‘It was nothing.’ She hunched her knees up to her chest protectively. ‘I made her angry, Rupert, because I said I would not give you up. That I would wed you if you wished …’

‘Did you allow her to believe that you might be carrying my child?’ Morwenna gave a little cry and turned her face away. ‘No, do not hide from me. Were you going to tell me?’

‘I would have told you when the babe was born after you were married.’

‘Have you so little faith in me?’

Morwenna lifted her head proudly. ‘I do not wish to be married out of pity or duty.’

‘You insult me, Morwenna. I do not offer you duty but I can hardly blame you for not believing me. I have behaved shamefully. I seduced you, took your innocence and then left you.’

‘I gave myself to you willingly, Rupert.’ Morwenna’s mouth trembled. ‘I love you, but I know I am not good enough for you.’

‘You are far above me. My mother has much to answer for! Had Jacques not guessed where you were I might have lost you.’

‘Your mother’s unkindness does not matter,’ Morwenna said. ‘Nothing would matter if you truly loved me.’ Her eyes met his in entreaty. ‘You say you love me and yet you made me your mistress and never spoke of marriage. Why? If you do not feel as your mother does, then why did you not wed me when we came to London?’

Rupert hesitated, then frowned. ‘Because I was afraid of loving you too much, I suppose. You shake your head, but you do not know my story. My brother died because I pushed him and he fell into the castle moat and later died of
a fever. After that my mother hated me, because Richard was her favourite. She made me promise I would marry well, as my brother might have had he lived. I wished to oblige her and was to have married a gentle girl of whom I was very fond, but she too died of a fever. It seems that I lose all those that I love.’

‘You are afraid to love?’ She stared at him, hardly daring to believe. ‘I thought it was because of Michael and his involvement with the plotters and because I am too far beneath you?’

‘That is what my mother feels and, I shall admit it, to my shame those things weighed with me for a time. I knew that my mother would never accept you into the family and, at first, I did not understand how much you meant to me. It was not until Michael snatched you and then you almost died …’ He stopped, his throat catching with emotion. ‘Yes, I know how unworthy that makes me sound, Morwenna. I treated you ill. Why should you love me? I do not deserve you.’ He turned his face away. ‘If you cannot forgive …’

‘Oh, Rupert.’ She stared in wonder as she saw tears on his cheeks. ‘Do you truly care so much?’

He turned to her, such entreaty in his eyes
that she caught her breath. ‘Can you doubt it? I adore you, Morwenna. If you will not have me, there is little left in life for me.’

‘Of course I forgive you,’ she said and scrambled across the bed towards him on her knees. ‘I love you and if we must part it will break my heart.’

Rupert turned and caught her close to his heart, holding her as if he would never let her go. ‘You’re mine,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘I want you, love you, need you. You must promise you will never leave me again. Promise me now, Morwenna.’

She gazed into his eyes for a moment in silence, then nodded. ‘I promise. I never want to leave you again, but the chairmen wait for me. I should not keep them longer and I must tell Sarah.’

‘I paid the chairmen and told them to let your friends know you were safe and would see them tomorrow. I shall take you there and you may introduce me—make me known to your friends. While we are in London we shall also visit your aunt and tell her of our coming marriage.’

‘You are quite certain you will not regret making me your wife? If your mother and friends will not know you …’ He touched his fingers to
her lips to hush her. ‘You may lose so much if you wed me, Rupert.’

‘If I lose fairweather friends, so be it. I have no desire to spend my life at court, dangling at the King’s pleasure for some favour. I want to be with you and our children, Morwenna. We shall find pleasure in the country life, though we may visit London from time to time if it suits us—and my sister will be our constant visitor. If my mother apologises to you, she may visit us now and then. If she chooses to remain a stranger, that is for her to decide. We shall be wed and nothing more matters to me.’

Morwenna looked at him uncertainly.

‘But you ordered silks for your new bride.’

‘Do you not wish your friends to receive the order for the curtains in our new house?’

‘Yes, of course—but how … why …?’ She stared up at him. ‘The new house is for me—for us?’

‘Yes, of course. I hoped it might bring you here, that you would act just as you have out of pride.’ He smiled and she glared at him, throwing off his hand. ‘Do not be angry. I could hardly drag you from your friend’s home.’

‘I thought you were to marry the Duke’s
daughter …’ She choked off and flushed. ‘It was not kind of you, Rupert.’

‘Would you have seen me had I asked for you at the merchant’s shop?’

‘No.’ Reluctantly, she smiled at him. ‘Perhaps I should not, though I was in sore distress …’

‘Your pride was nearly our undoing, Morwenna.’

‘I suppose Jacques told you where to find me?’

‘I threatened all manner of things if he had not.’

‘Did you harm him?’

‘No. Instead, I asked him to take my sister down to Melford Hall with him. I think they do well enough together.’

‘You suggest …’ Her eyes widened in surprise.

‘Your brother needs a home and she needs a kind husband. May will have more sense than to run away from him, I think.’ He ran a finger over her mouth. ‘You accuse me of unkindness. Do you know how it hurt me to hear that you had run away from me?’

‘Oh, Rupert.’ Tears choked her. ‘Have I been a fool?’

‘Yes, my love, you have but I shall forgive
you. You did not know how much I loved you, for I did not make myself plain. I used you at first and I deserted you after I thought you one of the wreckers. My love and trust grew more slowly than yours, because I had never truly known love. Loving you was a new experience and at first it frightened me.’

‘Nothing frightens you,’ she challenged.

‘The thought of losing you terrifies me. I was afraid of falling in love, and then, when I did, my mother almost destroyed what we had. I do not pity you, Morwenna. I ask you to take pity on me, for if you will not have me I must live alone. I could never risk my heart again. It hurts too much when you are not by.’

‘Rupert.’ She reached up to touch his face, looking at him in wonder. ‘Do you truly love me so much, my darling?’

‘With my heart, my soul, my body I thee worship,’ he said. ‘I would have you to love and to hold all my life long, if you will have me?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said and the sob was almost laughter. ‘Forgive me for hurting you. I did not think my leaving would trouble you so much.’

‘You almost killed me,’ he said. ‘I thought I might have lost your love and trust.’

‘Forgive me,’ she said and tangled her fingers
in his hair, bringing his face down to hers. ‘Kiss me, Rupert. Love me now and there is nothing in the world that matters outside this room, this bed, except our love.’

‘A
re you well, Morwenna?’ Jacques asked as he came upon her sitting in the garden at Melford Hall. ‘Rupert charged me to take care of you while he was gone. You are very close to your time.’

It was almost the beginning of June and the sun was shining in the sheltered garden. The rain of the previous night had left everything smelling fresh and clean, and the showers had brought on the spring flowers.

‘I am quite well for the moment, though my back was aching terribly a short time ago.’ She smiled as her brother sat beside her on the wooden bench. ‘Where is May?’

‘She is talking to the cook, I think. She wanted to make sure they prepared something
light and tasty to please you, Morwenna, because she knows anything rich upsets you at the moment.’

‘She is such a thoughtful girl and so kind to me,’ Morwenna said and reached out to take his hand. ‘I think you like her very well, Jacques.’

‘Who would not like May? She is such a sweet, gentle girl.’

‘Not at all like your sister?’ Morwenna laughed as he hesitated, arching one eyebrow. ‘I know, I know. My temper hath been pushed too far of late. I do not know why Rupert puts up with me.’

‘Because he loves you, of course. Good grief, he has only left you now because there was an urgent message from the castle saying his mother was ill and wished to see him before she died. He was in two minds whether to go, but felt it his duty to see her if she was truly ill.’

‘I know. He is the best husband any woman could have,’ she said and smiled. ‘I am foolish but at times.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘It is just my silly fancy. I suppose at such times women are entitled to be a little apprehensive. If the child comes too soon and he is not here …’

‘Rupert will return as soon as he can,’
Jacques said. ‘You are not due for another two weeks—are you?’

‘I know. Yet I have been feeling so odd and I keep wishing Rupert was here with me.’

‘You have May—and me, dearest.’

‘I suppose I am anxious about Rupert. His mother … I am worried, Jacques. Worried that she might do him some harm. He believes she still hates him, because of what happened to his brother.’

‘You worry needlessly. Rupert is a strong man, what harm could she do him? Since she asked to see him to beg his pardon and make her peace before she dies it is most unlikely that she wishes him harm. He will be home before the child is born.’

‘Yes, I know I am foolish.’ Morwenna rose to her feet, took a step forwards and twisted her foot. As she fell, Jacques tried to catch her, but was too late. She caught at him and steadied herself, landing on her knees. He knelt by her side, looking down at her anxiously. ‘How silly of me …’

‘Here, let me help you, dear heart.’ Jacques lifted her to her feet and held her as she swayed. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

‘My ankle caught. It was just a little tumble.
A shock, no more. I shall be perfectly fine in a few moments.’

‘Take my arm. We shall go in together. I will help you to your room. I think perhaps you should rest this afternoon.’

‘Yes, I shall.’ Morwenna smiled at him. ‘Forgive me for worrying you. I know Rupert will be safe enough. It was just a queasy feeling inside—perhaps the berry tart I had earlier.’

‘You will feel better soon,’ Jacques told her. ‘Look, May has come to meet us—perhaps she has some news.’

‘A letter has come from Rupert,’ May said as she came up to them. ‘I think it must be grave news for the courier had ridden hard to bring it. Shall I open it for you, Morwenna?’

‘I will open it.’ Morwenna took it with shaking fingers. She saw at once that it was not Rupert’s writing, but that of his agent. ‘He says …’ She gave a little cry and clutched at Jacques’s arm. ‘Rupert is hurt! There was a fire in the castle tower and he tried to save his mother.’

Jacques put his arm about her as she swayed. He took the paper from her nerveless fingers and read the last paragraph aloud.

‘The Dowager Marchioness is dead. She had
been ill of a fever and we think she turned dizzy on rising and knocked over a candle, setting fire to the bedding. The alarm was raised and the Marquis tried to save her. He managed to carry her down to the great hall, but she died soon after. My lord received some burns to his hands and asked me to send this letter. You are not to worry and he will be home as soon as he is able to travel.’

‘I must go to him,’ Morwenna moaned. ‘He may be dying. I knew. I knew something bad had happened …’ She clutched at her brother. ‘I must go to him. You must take me to him at once.’

‘Are you sure, Morwenna? You are so close to your time. Rupert would not forgive me if anything should happen to you or the child.’

‘If you will not take me, I shall go alone.’

‘Morwenna, you can’t travel alone,’ May protested, horrified. ‘If you go we shall go with you, to care for you.’

‘Thank you, my dear sister,’ Morwenna said and smiled at her. ‘Let us go in and pack.’ She started towards the stairs and then gave a little scream as the pain ripped through her. ‘No … no … not now. It must not happen now.’ She
looked down at the skirt of her gown and saw the wet stain. ‘My waters have broken.’

‘That settles it,’ Jacques said grimly. ‘Up to your chamber. I’ll send for the physician and the midwife immediately. You must give birth to your child before you think of travelling to Rupert’s side.’

Morwenna gasped and clutched at herself as the pain swept through her. ‘I fear you are right, Brother. My child would be born before I could reach him—but you must go. You must go and discover how he is and send word as soon as you can.’

‘I cannot leave you at such a time,’ Jacques began to protest, but May smiled and placed a hand on his arm.

‘You must go, sir. Morwenna has me to care for her and her servants. I swear to you on my life that I will tend her and love her in your place. She will worry—we shall all worry about Rupert until we have more news.’

Jacques inclined his head. ‘Very well, I shall do as you ask. Forgive me that I must leave you in such distress.’

Morwenna shook her head, biting her lip as the pain increased. ‘Go and bring me news, for I cannot bear that he should be alone.’

‘He has servants.’ Jacques saw the look in her eyes. ‘But he needs a friend at such a time and he will be anxious for news of you. At least I can tell him your child will soon be born.’

Morwenna gasped, but did not reply. May took her arm, urging her up the stairs to her chamber. The pain was terrible, but she would not cry out until her brother was on his way, for if he guessed how she suffered he would not leave her.

They had thought the birth would be soon after her waters broke, but to Morwenna her ordeal seemed to go on and on, as wave after of wave of pain shuddered through her. She could no longer hold her screams and May encouraged her to pull hard on the rope that had been tied to the bedposts.

‘You are a good brave lady,’ May told her as she bathed her forehead with a cool cloth. ‘I wish I had something to give you, but I do not think a tisane would help. Besides, you must not sleep for you need to push when the pain comes.’

‘Something is wrong. Why does my baby not come?’

Morwenna arched, tossing on the pillow as
she felt the pain once more. She did not know how much more she could bear and the physician had not yet come to her.

Even as she screamed out again, the door opened and he entered, a small man with a pointed beard, long dark gown and a grave face.

‘Your waters broke an hour gone,’ he said. ‘Yet the child hath not come. I shall examine you, but I think it may be that I must turn the child—or cut you.’

‘Help her, sir, for she is in much pain,’ May said, hovering anxiously as he approached the bed.

The physician bent over her and lifted her night chemise, his hands gentle and sure as they carried out a brief examination. He shook his head, looking from the young woman in the bed to her companion and the servant hovering near by with pans of hot water and cloths.

‘Where is the Marquis? I need to talk with him.’

‘My brother is not here. He has had an accident. You may talk to me in his place.’

The physician looked at Morwenna, then led May aside to give her his opinion. ‘I shall try to turn the babe, but if it will not come I may have to use forceps—or, as a last resort, cut the
Marchioness. At such times I would normally ask the husband if he wished the child or his wife to be saved.’

‘What?’ May gave a cry of distress. ‘Why must there be a choice? You must save both of them.’

‘That may not be possible.’

‘Then you must save Morwenna. She is more important than the child. They can have more children …’ She saw the doubts in his face and caught back a sob. ‘It must be her, for my brother would not forgive you if you let her die.’

‘What are you whispering about?’ Morwenna said, reared up and looked at them, then put her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, taking a step towards them. ‘Save my child, sir. I beg you to save my child at whatever cost.’

‘I shall do my best for both of you, madam. Lie down again or you may do yourself damage,’ the doctor said and came to the bed as Morwenna fell back against her pillows. ‘What I must do now will be painful for you, but it is the best chance for both. If I can turn the babe and then—’ He broke off as Morwenna screamed and arched wildly. ‘God be praised! ‘Tis a miracle. The babe hath turned itself. I can help you now without harm to either.’

Morwenna was grunting as she pushed. Something must have happened when she moved so violently and the babe had turned and now its head was through and then, all in a rush, it came slithering into the world covered in mucus and blood.

‘Is the babe healthy?’ Morwenna asked weakly as she lay back, her strength gone as the doctor and May worked over her, making her comfortable and tidy. ‘Have we a son or a daughter?’

‘You have a son,’ May said and smiled at her. ‘He has all his fingers and toes—and he is perfect. He looks much like you for his hair is reddish brown.’

‘Rupert has a son,’ Morwenna said and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek. ‘Pray God he lives to see him.’

She touched the babe’s head tenderly as he was placed in her arms. ‘I think we shall call him Edward Rupert Melford. He is beautiful and he has his father’s eyes.’

‘Yes, he is beautiful,’ May said, watching her suckle the babe. ‘As beautiful a child as I ever saw—just like his mother.’

Morwenna reached out a hand to her. ‘Thank
you, dear heart, for being with me and helping me through the pain.’

‘We are sisters and friends,’ May said. ‘I know that you would do the same for me if I were ever fortunate enough to wed and have a child.’

Morwenna smiled. ‘I do not think it needs good fortune, May. Jacques loves you and I think you love him.’ She saw the heat in the younger girl’s cheeks. ‘If he has not spoken, it is because he thinks you are too far above him.’

‘How could he be so foolish? He is all I have ever hoped for.’ Her blush grew deeper. ‘Perhaps I should tell him how I feel.’ She bent down to take the babe as Morwenna finished suckling him. ‘You should rest now for a while.’

‘Yes, I am tired. I believe you should speak to—’ Morwenna was startled as she heard the sound of running feet, heavy feet—a man’s feet. As the door of her chamber was flung open, her heart was pounding. Was it Jacques? Had he come to tell her bad news?

A man entered and her heart caught. Rupert had clearly ridden hard, for his boots and hose were covered in mud from the roads. She saw that he had a linen bandage across one eye
and half his face—and his left hand was also swathed in bandages.

‘Morwenna! I met Jacques on the road and he told me you had begun your labour.’ His right eye went to the bundle of swaddling in his sister’s arms. ‘The child is born. We have a child.’

‘We have a son, Rupert,’ Morwenna said. ‘Show him, May. Show Rupert his son.’

Tears caught her throat, because she could see that her beloved husband had been burned in the fire his mother had started. His right cheek was not covered, but there was a red burn mark across his nose and she knew that his injuries must be serious to be bandaged so heavily. Emotion tore at her. He should not have ridden so far and so hard when he was in such pain. He must be in pain, for it could not be otherwise.

‘You should not have tried to reach me yet, my love. You are hurt.’

‘It is nothing. The physician says the blindness in my left eye is temporary. No real damage has been done; it was just the heat. There may be some scars, but it doesn’t signify.’

‘No, it doesn’t signify,’ Morwenna said and a single tear escaped to trickle down her cheek. ‘You are alive and here with me. Nothing else matters to me.’

He came to take her hand, sitting on the edge of the bed as his sister and the doctor left the room together. Rupert reached for her hand and held it. His eyes searched her face.

‘You are well? I feared for you because the child came early.’

‘I am well. I thought they might have to use forceps, but in the end the babe came itself. We have been lucky, Rupert.’

‘Very lucky,’ he said and bent down to slide his lips over hers. ‘I am lucky that my burns were no worse—and that the fall did not break my neck.’

‘You pushed yourself hard to come to me.’

‘When I learned what my steward had written I knew you would be distraught and so I came at once.’

‘Foolish one. Jacques was coming to you because I could not.’

‘He told me so, dearest. I could not bear that you should be in pain and I not with you. All is well now. I am here. We have our son and each other—what more could we need?’

‘Nothing,’ she whispered and reached out to touch his hand. ‘You, too, are in pain, my love. I wish I might tend your hurts, but May will do
it in my stead until I am well. We have grown fond and she is dear to me.’

‘The pain will ease in time.’ He smiled and touched her hair, which was still damp with sweat. ‘As long as you are well nothing matters to me.’

‘Nothing matters but our love and those we love.’

Rupert might bear scars where he had suffered burns to his face and hands, but it did not matter. His scars would not lessen her love for him. If anything, they would increase it, for she felt his suffering as if it were her own and wanted to ease him, to protect and bear his pain for him.