“I know, and I don’t blame you. I was more eager to bed you than you were to take me.”
“I would not say that,” he replied, smiling slightly.
“Then let’s say that neither of us considered the possible consequences. Is that fairly stated?”
He said nothing.
“I had to do something to help myself. This is what I did, and I intend to fulfill my part of the bargain,” she said.
He studied her face, then looked away. “As stubborn as ever,” he said. “But this is the first time it has been turned against me.”
“I’m not against you, Kevin,” she said, willing herself not to cry. “I wish with every fiber of my being that I could do what you want. But I can’t.”
She would never forget the look on his face as he finally understood that she really, truly meant it. He stared hard at her, took a deep breath, and then bent his gaze upon the floor. In all the time she’d known him, he had not once looked defeated, but he did so in that moment.
“Do you want me to go now?”
“No!” she gasped, and stood, reaching out for him before she could stop herself.
He was at her side in two strides, pulling her into his arms and kissing her as she had wanted him to from her first sight of him that day. She responded helplessly, but as he grew wilder, trying to make up for their separation in these stolen moments, she pulled away, stumbling blindly a few steps until he caught her again.
“Don’t,” she moaned. “I haven’t the strength, don’t press me.”
He released her, easing her back onto her chair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to upset you. I’ll go.”
She caught his hand as he moved away. “You can stay in John’s room, Mrs. Curry made it up for you.”
“Can I see you in the morning?”
She shook her head, her eyes brimming. “It’s best this way.”
“All right. I’ll leave at first light.”
“Good-bye,” Alex whispered.
“I love you,” he said. “I always will.”
“Please go,” she murmured, raising her palm to her lips to seal them. She didn’t move until she heard the door close behind him, and then she buried her face in her hands.
* * * *
Alex awoke in the middle of the night with the worst backache she’d ever had in her life. She shifted position to get more comfortable and then realized the bed beneath her was soaking wet.
The fire was dying in the grate and the room was cold. She felt for the candle on her nightstand and lurched out of bed, wincing as pain spread outward through her abdomen. She lit the candle from the embers and made her way slowly to the hall, pausing every time a wave of pain engulfed her.
“Mary!” she hissed as she entered her friend’s room, sagging against the wall.
Mary stirred but didn’t wake.
Alex staggered a few more steps and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “Mary!” she said more loudly, shaking the other woman’s shoulder firmly.
“What is it?” Mary said thickly, rolling over and surveying Alex with her hair draped over one eye.
“I think the baby’s coming,” Alex said.
Mary sat bolt upright, instantly awake. “Are you sure?”
“Well, I have these pains, and I lost all this water...”
Mary threw off the covers, standing up in her shift and looking around for her robe. “Isn’t it too soon?”
“By a few weeks, but Mrs. Curry said the first one often comes early.”
“I was afraid his showing up here would bring this on,” Mary said, fastening her robe and taking the candle from Alex’s hand.
“Don’t blame Burke for this,” Alex said, seizing Mary’s arm. “Oh, my God, this can’t be happening with him here! Mary, you have to take charge of him, make sure he doesn’t do anything—” She gasped and bent double, her face going white.
“You leave him to me,” Mary said. “You must stay alone for a moment, I need to wake Mrs. Curry. Evans has to go for the midwife. Will you be all right?”
Alex nodded, unable to speak. Sweat was beading on her forehead and she could feel it running down her sides under her nightgown, despite the chill of the room.
Mary ran out, and Alex waited in a haze of pain for her return. When she came back Mrs. Curry was with her and both women hurried to settle Alex down on the bed.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, my lady,” Mrs. Curry said. “I’ve had five children of my own, and Mother Gansey, the midwife, has seen more children into the world than you have seen sunrises. You’ll be just fine, and before very long that bonny babe of yours will be sleeping in your arms.”
Alex bit her lip to keep from screaming. The pains were coming faster and stronger. She grabbed Mary’s hand and gasped, “Mary, remember what I said.”
“I will.”
“What did she say?” Mrs. Curry asked.
“It’s nothing, she was babbling,” Mary said.
“Can you stay with her? I want to see that Evans has gone.”
Mrs. Curry patted Alex’s hand. “We’ll be quite well, won’t we, my lady?”
Mary slipped from the room and scurried down the hall to Burke’s chamber. When she tapped he opened the door immediately, wearing John Selby’s too short riding breeches and nothing else.
“What’s going on?” he said. “I heard voices.”
“Burke, you must listen to me,” Mary said.
“What is it? Is Alex all right?”
“She’s started.”
“Started what?”
“The baby is coming.”
Comprehension dawned, and he thrust her aside to push past her, but Mary seized his arm and hung on for dear life. When he moved to shake her off she twined her leg with his to trip him.
“Leave off me!” he said, trying not to hurt her but still determined to proceed.
“If you burst in there now, Mrs. Curry will know that you’re the father. Is that what you want, after Alex has worked so hard to keep it a secret and ensure the child’s future?”
“But I have to see that she’s well!”
“I will keep you informed. You must stay here, and I promise I will report to you on her progress.”
They both looked up as a faint cry pierced the stillness of the winter night.
“She’s dying,” he said, agonized.
“She’s not dying, on my oath she is not dying. Birthing babies is a painful process. You must have seen your village women so engaged back home.”
“They weren’t Alex,” he said as if that explained everything. Then his expression darkened further. “Childbed fever is a great hazard, women expire of it all the time.”
“We will take strict loving care of her,” Mary said. “Most women have come through this experience as hale and hearty as combatants in a tilt-yard.”
“They weren’t having my child!”
“You must not say so!” Mary hissed. “To anyone!”
“And the infants often die, too. It is a common experience, is it not?” he said with a moan.
Mary took his hand and led him back into the room, and he followed as meekly as a child. He sank onto the edge of the bed and thrust his hands into his already disordered hair.
“You must cease this foolishness,” she said, kindly but sternly. “My care must be all for Alex. I can’t be worried about what you might do while I am attending her. I promised her that I would control you, but if I stay with you and indulge these fancies of yours, I cannot be with her. You must bear your concern in silence, and I must go to assist with the birth. Do you understand me?”
He nodded miserably, chastened.
“I’ll be back as soon as I am able. Give me your word that you will stay here and say nothing to anyone.”
“You have my word on it,” he said quietly.
When Mary left the room, Burke was overcome with loneliness. Fear for Alex produced such a longing to be with her that only Mary’s warning kept him where he was.
There was little mystery about childbirth for him; as Mary had said, village women had been having children practically under his nose for most of his life. But he had never been so emotionally involved before, and the thought that his love for Alex might be the indirect cause of her death drove him to distraction. The subdued cries and anxious voices floating down the hall did nothing to help his state of mind. There was a commotion when the midwife arrived, and Burke finally got up and shut the door completely to block out whatever he could of the sounds accompanying the drama.
The night seemed endless. He could not judge the time, but it seemed like weeks before dawn streaked the sky and he heard, or thought he heard, the thin, piercing cry of a newborn babe.
Mary finally appeared, and he seized her as she came through the door.
“What?” he demanded.
“You have a son,” Mary said, beaming.
“Alex?”
“She’ll be fine,” Mary said. “She’s a bit tired now, of course, but everything went splendidly well, and both she and the baby look to be very healthy.”
Tears of relief came to Burke’s eyes, and Mary patted his hand awkwardly. He seemed stunned, but that was only to be expected; women always took first parenthood more in stride.
“I want to see her,” he finally said.
Mary shook her head. “Mrs. Curry is still with her, and the wet nurse Mother Gansey brought.”
“Wet nurse? Why does she need a wet nurse?”
“Her milk has not come in yet. With the first one it sometimes takes a few days. There’s no cause for alarm.”
“But I must be able to see her.”
“She’s probably sleeping now, and in any case we’ll have to wait until Mrs. Curry goes to bed and everyone else has left. I suggest you try to get some rest, too. I’ll come back for you as soon as it’s safe for you to go in to see her.”
Burke wasn’t happy, but he saw the wisdom in what she was saying. “Lady Howard,” he began.
“Mary.”
“Mary. I can’t thank you enough for all that you have done for Alex and me.”
“Alex is a good friend, and when she told me the story of her time with you I could not help but have compassion for her situation.”
“Not mine?” he said.
“Yours as well.”
“You know that she wants me to leave her.”
Mary sighed.
“How can I do it?”
“Because you must.”
He shook his head. “What a tangle. My thoughts are like the knot garden at that house, the childhood home of your queen.”
“Hatfield?”
“The same.” He noticed Mary’s tired face and said, “Forgive me for keeping you. You must be depleted of strength. Please go and rest yourself.”
“I’ll come back for you when I can.”
He nodded and sagged back on the bed when she left. He stared at the ceiling as the sun rose, casting shafts of light across the wooden planks of the floor. Hampden Manor was a country house, not a castle, and wood and glass were much more in evidence than they were back home in Ireland. He did not miss the damp chill of stone floors and mossy walls, but he did miss Aidan and Rory, the comfort of their camaraderie in this pivotal moment of his life.
He had a son. His blood would endure, mixed with the fragile ichor of the child’s English mother, down through the generations to a time, perhaps, when their descendants would not be enemies and could live together in peace.
He did not think he could sleep, but he must have, for when Mary touched his shoulder the sun was higher, and its buttery light spread across the bed.
“She’s awake,” Mary said. “You can come and see her now.”
Burke leaped off the bed, stopping only to pull a shirt over his head, and then followed her down the hall to Alex’s room.
His first thought upon entering was that she looked very small and white in the large bed, the baby even tinier nestled into the curve of her arm. As he approached, her gaze lifted from the child to him and she smiled dreamily.
“What do you think of him?” she asked as Burke bent to kiss her forehead.
Burke gazed at the red, wrinkled face and said, “He looks like a monkey.”
“You’ve never seen a monkey!”
“A little old man, then. A little old man with apoplexy.”
“I think he’s beautiful. See his hair? The same lovely color as yours.”
“Poor little scrapper, he would have done much better to look like you.”
“I’m going to call him Michael. That was your father’s name, wasn’t it?”
Burke nodded mutely.
“It’s a good English name, too. No one will ever know,” she said softly.
“No one will ever know,” he repeated in a despairing tone, clutching her hand.
Alex’s eyes closed and Mary laid her hand on his shoulder. “Best to come away now,” she said.
Burke raised Alex’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, then put it gently back on the bedcover. He touched the baby’s eyes with his second and third fingers, said something in Gaelic and then abruptly left the room.
When Alex awoke again it was late afternoon, and Mary was sitting beside her bed.
“The baby?” she said.
“With the nurse.”