reddened. “I confess I like Richard’s hands on me,” she said haltingly, but she did not confide any more.
Cecily screwed up her face. “Ugh! I do not want to think of my brother—or indeed any of my brothers—naked and . . . and . . .” She frowned. “What did you call it?—fornicating?—riding you like a stallion. ’Tis too disgusting to contemplate.”
“But Dickon?” Alice asked. “What about with Dickon?” And she laughed, a rather loud laugh for such a tiny person, Cecily thought, but the sound always wanted to make her laugh too.
This time, however, Alice’s face suddenly tightened and the laugh turned into a groan of pain. She clutched her stomach and raised frightened brown eyes to Cecily.
“The babe!” she whispered. “Sweet Jesu, I think the babe is coming.”
Catching her foot in one of her long, dangling sleeves as she uncrossed her legs, Cecily almost toppled off the bed in her haste to fetch help.
“Quick, Rowena, call for the midwife. Lady Alice is having her baby!” she cried, pulling on her soft leather shoes. “I shall find my mother.”
She ran down the corridor to her mother’s solar, where Joan was taking her usual afternoon nap. Not stopping to knock—and hoping she would not beupbraided for it—she hurried to the bed to shake Joan awake before the attendants could stop her.
“Oh, do wake up, Mother,” Cecily pleaded, bending over the snoring woman. “Alice needs you. The babe is almost here.”
Joan’s eyes flew open and a slight frown creased her forehead when she saw Cecily’s unkempt hair falling around her face. She reached up and pushed an offending tress back behind Cecily’s ear and muttered, “’Tis time you began wearing a headdress, Daughter.” Then she sat up as Cecily’s announcement sank in. “The babe is almost here? How long has Alice been laboring, and why did someone not fetch me before?”
Cecily knelt and put slippers on her mother’s feet. “She had a pain a few minutes ago and told me the baby was coming. Hurry, Mother, or we shall be too late.”
Joan winked at her ladies, and they all laughed, irritating Cecily, who stood anxiously glaring at them. “Why do you laugh at me, pray? Should I not be respected as the countess’s daughter? My lady, tell them,” she demanded, wheeling round to Joan. “Tell them I am no longer a child to be mocked.”
Joan clicked her tongue and stood sternly in front of her, shooing the ladies away. “Know when to keep your pride in check, Cecily. You must not act so impulsively and you must learn when to assert your rank. You are still a child and, in front of my ladies, who at least deserve the respect due their age, you will never use such language or tone again, do you understand?” Joan held her youngest’s mutinous expression with her own unflinching gaze and waited.
“I am truly sorry, my lady,” Cecily said after a pause, “but one day you tell me to be proud of who I am and the next you scold me for it. Oh, it is too confusing. How can I ever please you?”
Joan softened. “It is a fine line, I grant you, but you will learn to walk it, I know you will. Now let us hurry to Alice.”
“My brown worsted cote, Mary,” she told the oldest woman, while the others busied themselves around their mistress, tying the neck of her chemise and slipping on the overdress.
“We were laughing, Cecily, because the likelihood of a child slipping into this world in five minutes after the first pain is one in a million. We all know how long it takes to birth a first or second child—oft-times a whole day—because we have either experienced it ourselves or been in attendance.” She gave a short laugh. “Although you, my dear, as the fourteenth, did catch us all napping. You were here within the hour!” she recalled. “But today you will watchand learn what happens so that you will not be surprised when your turn comes.” She held up her arms for the braided belt to be tied at her waist.
Cecily screwed up her face. “Ugh! I do not want to think of my brother—or indeed any of my brothers—naked and . . . and . . .” She frowned. “What did you call it?—fornicating?—riding you like a stallion. ’Tis too disgusting to contemplate.”
“But Dickon?” Alice asked. “What about with Dickon?” And she laughed, a rather loud laugh for such a tiny person, Cecily thought, but the sound always wanted to make her laugh too.
This time, however, Alice’s face suddenly tightened and the laugh turned into a groan of pain. She clutched her stomach and raised frightened brown eyes to Cecily.
“The babe!” she whispered. “Sweet Jesu, I think the babe is coming.”
Catching her foot in one of her long, dangling sleeves as she uncrossed her legs, Cecily almost toppled off the bed in her haste to fetch help.
“Quick, Rowena, call for the midwife. Lady Alice is having her baby!” she cried, pulling on her soft leather shoes. “I shall find my mother.”
She ran down the corridor to her mother’s solar, where Joan was taking her usual afternoon nap. Not stopping to knock—and hoping she would not beupbraided for it—she hurried to the bed to shake Joan awake before the attendants could stop her.
“Oh, do wake up, Mother,” Cecily pleaded, bending over the snoring woman. “Alice needs you. The babe is almost here.”
Joan’s eyes flew open and a slight frown creased her forehead when she saw Cecily’s unkempt hair falling around her face. She reached up and pushed an offending tress back behind Cecily’s ear and muttered, “’Tis time you began wearing a headdress, Daughter.” Then she sat up as Cecily’s announcement sank in. “The babe is almost here? How long has Alice been laboring, and why did someone not fetch me before?”
Cecily knelt and put slippers on her mother’s feet. “She had a pain a few minutes ago and told me the baby was coming. Hurry, Mother, or we shall be too late.”
Joan winked at her ladies, and they all laughed, irritating Cecily, who stood anxiously glaring at them. “Why do you laugh at me, pray? Should I not be respected as the countess’s daughter? My lady, tell them,” she demanded, wheeling round to Joan. “Tell them I am no longer a child to be mocked.”
Joan clicked her tongue and stood sternly in front of her, shooing the ladies away. “Know when to keep your pride in check, Cecily. You must not act so impulsively and you must learn when to assert your rank. You are still a child and, in front of my ladies, who at least deserve the respect due their age, you will never use such language or tone again, do you understand?” Joan held her youngest’s mutinous expression with her own unflinching gaze and waited.
“I am truly sorry, my lady,” Cecily said after a pause, “but one day you tell me to be proud of who I am and the next you scold me for it. Oh, it is too confusing. How can I ever please you?”
Joan softened. “It is a fine line, I grant you, but you will learn to walk it, I know you will. Now let us hurry to Alice.”
“My brown worsted cote, Mary,” she told the oldest woman, while the others busied themselves around their mistress, tying the neck of her chemise and slipping on the overdress.
“We were laughing, Cecily, because the likelihood of a child slipping into this world in five minutes after the first pain is one in a million. We all know how long it takes to birth a first or second child—oft-times a whole day—because we have either experienced it ourselves or been in attendance.” She gave a short laugh. “Although you, my dear, as the fourteenth, did catch us all napping. You were here within the hour!” she recalled. “But today you will watchand learn what happens so that you will not be surprised when your turn comes.” She held up her arms for the braided belt to be tied at her waist.
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