Lady of Valor Read online

  Thomas shook his head as he answered the big knight's question. “When last I checked, the forelegs were positioned as they should be. 'Tis as if Minerva has simply refused to deliver.” He looked to Emmalyn in concern. “I'm sorry, milady, but to delay much longer might well cost us the both of them.”

  A jolt of panic racked Emmalyn. “Oh, Thomas! Can't you help her? Can't you pull the foal free?”

  “I have already tried, milady. Without Minerva's help, I will only cause more damage in forcing the birth.”

  “Well, we have to do something!”

  Emmalyn's desperation was answered by Cabal's voice, deep and calm with gentle command. “My lady, the mare has been watching you since we arrived. Even still she listens for your voice. Go to her, talk to her. Perhaps she has been waiting all this time for you.”

  Emmalyn looked to Thomas for his opinion. “You don't think--”

  “Do as he says, milady,” Thomas encouraged. “She trusts me well enough, but that stubborn beast loves you beyond measure. Go to her; it can only help.”

  Emmalyn approached Minvera with care not to frighten her and knelt beside her in the hay. She spread her skirt out and lifted the bay's head onto the soft wool, stroking her muzzle. “Minnie, what's the matter with you?” she whispered soothingly. “Have you been waiting for me, you willful beast? Did you remember my promise to be here with you? Well, I am here now, Minnie. You've got a beautiful baby just waiting to be born. 'Tis time to be done with this.”

  The mare did indeed seem responsive to the sound of Emmalyn's voice, so she kept talking, kept encouraging. At last, to her delighted surprise, with the next contraction, Minerva began to push. Thomas called out that the foal was starting to show and Emmalyn sent a thankful prayer heavenward. When she opened her eyes, she found Cabal watching her from outside the stall, and, wholly caught up in the moment, she returned his smile.

  The sputtering candlelight played strange tricks with his penetrating gaze. It could not hide the desire still blazing in those compelling, silver depths, but the reflection of the soft flames seemed also to give the peculiar and tempting illusion that there was something more profound yet kindling in his gaze. She did not dare wonder what it might be. She glanced away, then Thomas's voice dragged her attention back to the task at hand.

  “The foal's forelegs and muzzle are passed, milady.”

  Exercising expedient, meticulous care, he cut away the membrane from around the newborn's head so it could breathe on its own. Relieved beyond measure, Emmalyn whispered gentling praises to Minerva as she stroked the mare's head and mane. Just three more waves of contractions, and at last, the foal was delivered.

  Healthy and strong, Minerva's glossy black colt was a stunning combination of both his parents: the proud features and strong carriage of his royal sire, and the gentle eyes and bright white blaze that marked him as his mother's offspring.

  “Isn't he the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?” Emmalyn breathed in a whisper of pure amazement, nearly moved to tears while Thomas rubbed the babe down with a dry sheet of toweling.

  Just moments into his strange new world and the colt was already testing his awkward legs: first his front legs, then several unsuccessful attempts to lift his hind quarters. He trembled and shook, collapsed a few times, but then, with a burst of determination that would surely mark his noble future, the black rose up on all fours.

  Emmalyn did not trifle with an attempt to contain her giggle of delighted awe. Even Cabal, chuckling at his place outside the stall, seemed moved beyond pretense by the colt's stouthearted resolve. The soft, reverent oath he whispered spoke volumes for the effect this experience had on him; indeed, Emmalyn reckoned, it spoke for all of them.

  For several glorious minutes, time ceased to exist and the stable pulsed with the wonderment of precious, newly given life. The soft glow of candlelight; the sweet, earthy smells of straw and linen and birth; the throaty sounds of the colt's curious grunts and rasping breathing as he became accustomed to his new world. Emmalyn had never experienced anything so remarkable, so incredibly inspiring. She might have stayed there all night, rooted to that very spot, if not for Cabal's quiet warning.

  “'Tis not over yet,” he said, his voice low with concern. “Look to the mare.”

  Minerva still lay on her side, panting softly, her eyes glazed with moisture. The bulge in her belly had lessened, but it retained a queer fullness that did not bode well. She gave a small moan and closed her eyes as a deep shudder racked her exhausted, sweat-soaked body.

  “Oh, mercy!” Emmalyn gasped. “What's wrong with her?”

  “She's delivering a second foal,” Cabal said, his voice grim as he stepped into the stall.

  “Twins?” Emmalyn asked in utter astonishment. “I have never heard of such a thing!”

  “'Tis rare,” Cabal told her, “but it happens.”

  He knelt down near Minerva and placed his hand on her midsection while Thomas rushed over from where he had been tending the colt. A contraction seized the mare, but she hardly responded to the pain, save to lift her head and lay it back down with a groan. Cabal glanced to Emmalyn, his gaze solemn.

  “This beast is too tired to go on,” said the stable master, confirming Emmalyn's worst fear. “We may well have to choose between either Minerva or her second foal, milady.”

  “No!” Emmalyn leaned forward and embraced her mare's strong neck, heartbroken to think of losing her and at the same time determined to do whatever she must to save the unborn foal. “We must help her somehow.”

  “Milady, even if we deliver the twin, it could be sickly or damaged in some way. Minerva will likely be unable to care for the both of them.”

  “We have to try.” She looked imploringly to Cabal when Thomas's sober expression gave her little hope.

  He held her gaze without saying a word, the emotion in his cool gray eyes unreadable, even at this close range. Emmalyn waited for him to shrug off her plea for help, not really expecting the cynical warrior to have a care for her feelings or for the fate of one humble beast.

  “Please,” she mouthed silently.

  Cabal scowled faintly, then he turned to the stable master. “How can I help, Thomas?”

  Emmalyn caressed Minerva's forehead and watched, warmed and wholly grateful, as Cabal went around to where Thomas stood assessing the mare's condition with a dubious eye. “'Twill be all right now, Minnie,” she whispered, trusting inexplicably that what she said was true.

  Thomas gave Cabal instructions for how to assist him in easing the foal from Minerva's taxed and uncooperative body. The babe would have to be guided out gently with the mare's contractions, a painstaking process that Thomas warned was all but certain to fail. Emmalyn prayed against the odds while the two men worked in concert, anticipating the proper time and then applying subtle pressure to position and guide the foal forth.

  “Can you see it yet?” Emmalyn asked hopefully, stroking Minnie's damp face and neck.

  “Aye,” Thomas answered. “'Tis coming, but we will need more toweling.” Emmalyn started to get up, but the stable master held her back with a small shake of his head. “I'll go, milady. Minerva needs you to remain with her.”

  He left the outbuilding, ambling into the night and leaving Emmalyn alone with Cabal. “Thank you,” she whispered when he looked up and caught her watching him, his answering grin warming her from the inside out.

  Another spasm racked Minerva in the next instant, more severe than the ones that had come before. Emmalyn pressed her cheek to the mare's neck, cooing soft assurances even though Cabal's expression had suddenly become grave. “'Tis coming breech,” he said, the words falling like daggers in the humid pall of the stable. He swore, stripping off his tunic and tossing it aside.

  Emmalyn held her breath as Cabal leaned in, attempting to turn the foal around. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow. He hissed a frustrated oath, his face schooled into an expression of utter determination, his eyes filled with genuine concern. He
spoke to Minerva as he worked, issuing gentling, coaxing assurances that she could do this, that she must help her foal, that everything would be all right.

  Emmalyn could scarcely believe what she was witnessing. Cabal was not sitting there in the dank stall in the middle of the night, sweating and swearing, striving to save a helpless beast and her unborn babe because Emmalyn had asked him to. He was doing it for himself. He was doing this because despite his harsh exterior and professed lack of interest...he cared.

  She had never seen anything quite so heroic.

  Emmalyn stared at him as if noticing him fully for the first time--the cold destroyer turned bringer of life. She watched him being so gentle with Minerva, so respectful, and she knew without the slightest inkling of doubt that he would succeed tonight. Minnie and her unborn foal were safe in Cabal's strong hands; in that moment, Emmalyn trusted him implicitly.

  Thomas came back, huffing from his trek to fetch more cloths. When he saw what Cabal was presently contending with, he sucked in his breath and threw the heap of linens to the ground.

  “'Tis all right,” Cabal assured him. “I've nearly gotten it turned about now.”

  Neither Emmalyn nor Thomas dared utter one sound in the tense moments that followed. Minerva made a couple more efforts to expel her misaligned babe, and then, with one last push, it was over. Cabal drew back, holding the small, chestnut filly tenderly in his arms.

  “Thank heaven!” Emmalyn gasped, relieved that the worst danger was behind them.

  But she could not allow herself to truly rejoice until Thomas and Cabal had made sure the foal was breathing and healthy. She soothed Minerva, mopping her neck and face with a dry cloth while the two men cleaned and rubbed down the new foal. Their vigorous massaging roused the filly's lungs to fill for the first time, but she was weak, and made no effort to stand.

  “She will need special care,” Thomas warned gently, turning to Emmalyn. “Even then, she may not be strong enough to survive...”

  “She will,” Emmalyn whispered fiercely, believing it with all her heart. “She only needed the chance.”

  Cabal was smiling at her as he scooped the foal into his arms. He carried it over to a nest of blankets that Thomas had fashioned in the corner of the stall and deposited it carefully onto the soft bedding. While the stable master commenced tending Minerva and her two babes, Emmalyn rose to gather the soiled linens and give him space enough to work. Cabal had since washed and was now putting his tunic back on.

  “There is much here yet to be done,” he said, coming to stand beside her. “Perhaps I should see you back to the keep now, my lady.”

  Emmalyn started to protest, wanting to remain near Minerva until she could be certain the mare and her new family would be all right, but she was also exhausted. She would likely be of little use to Thomas tonight, and the last thing she wanted was to be in his way.

  “If you wish, milady, I will send for you should there be any change for the worse,” he offered.

  Emmalyn nodded. With a final awestruck look at the horses, she turned and walked with Cabal out into the summer night air.

  “How incredible,” she said when they were halfway across the moonlit bailey. “Twin foals! Have you ever seen anything like it, Cabal?”

  “No,” he replied. “It was...extraordinary.”

  “Yes, it was. Extraordinary.”

  “Having seen this with mine own eyes,” he continued, his voice quiet and reflective, “I can only imagine that the birth of a child must seem all the more divine--it must seem something akin to a miracle, I reckon.”

  Remembering her own lost babe, Emmalyn's step faltered; she swallowed the lump of sorrow that lodged itself instantly in her throat.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “N-no.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head, uncertain whom she needed to assure more: him, or herself. “You are right, my lord. The birth of a child is indeed a divine, miraculous event.”

  Was her keen regret evident in her voice? she wondered, feeling the tears well in her eyes. She purposely said nothing more, praying as they neared the entry to the castle that she could make it safely into her chamber before she made a fool of herself by weeping before him. But at her side, Cabal's steps slowed until he stood unmoving. His hand brushed hers, a gentle request that she pause.

  “Emmalyn, what is wrong?” he asked softly.

  Though the urge to flee for solitude was strong, strangely, she found that some part of her wanted to stay with Cabal. Some aching part of her yearned for his comfort. Woodenly, Emmalyn turned to face him. He opened his arms to her and she stepped into his embrace, pressing her tear-soaked cheek against the warmth of his solid chest.

  Because he said nothing, because he did not pressure her or seem impatient with her weeping, Emmalyn was moved to explain. No matter how much it hurt to remember and to say the words.

  “There was to be a babe,” she whispered brokenly. “More than anything in this world, I yearned for my child. I didn't care about the things I did not have in my marriage, or the things I would never be; all I wanted was to love my baby and be a good mother. I didn't get the chance.”

  “Ah, Emmalyn. Sweeting, I'm sorry.” Cabal's voice was thick, his breath warm in her unbound hair.

  She took a strengthening breath, and before regret robbed her of her voice altogether, she said, “Three months before my baby would have been born, I...I suffered a miscarriage. She was all I had. She was all my hopes, all my love, and I lost her. I was granted the blessing of her precious little life, and I failed her.”

  Cabal held her tighter, his strong arms wrapped around her tenderly, keeping her safe. Shielding her from hurting alone.

  “I became pregnant the year before Garrett left on Crusade,” she heard herself say quietly. “I thought the baby would surely please him, for he had said often how much he wanted an heir. Of course, knowing my husband's lack of use for females, my prayers each morning, noon, and night were filled with wishes for a boy-child. I bargained with God that I would endeavor to be the best wife, that I would curb my willfulness and give Garrett no reasons to punish me, if only He would deliver me a healthy son.”

  “Jesu. Emmalyn, you deserved so much better,” Cabal whispered, pressing a soft kiss in her hair.

  “Garrett had gone off for several days of hunting with some influential young lords from the London court,” she continued, swallowing around a sob. “I had been sick the day he left and was still bed-ridden when he arrived home early, with two of the men accompanying him for an extended stay at Fallonmour. When Garrett saw me resting in the middle of the day, he called me lazy, ordering me to get up and make myself presentable to greet his guests. He threw one of my court gowns at me and told me to rouge my cheeks and cover my hair before I came downstairs.”

  “Bastard,” Cabal hissed, holding Emmalyn closer and caressing her back with a warm, gentle hand.

  “I'm sure I must have looked dreadful,” she said vacantly. “The gown no longer fit because of the babe and I could scarcely hold my brush, let alone braid and cover my hair. But I dragged myself to the stairwell and tried to act as if nothing was wrong because that's what Garrett expected me to do. I blacked out, and when I awoke two days later, Bertie told me I had fallen down the stairs. My babe was gone.” Emmalyn had to take a fortifying breath to tell him the rest, the part that hurt most of all, the cruelty that she would never forgive. “Afterward, when Garrett next saw me, he chided me for my grief. He said he didn't want to see me crying over it anymore...after all, 'twas just a smallish, useless baby girl.”

  “Emmalyn, I'm sorry,” Cabal whispered. “I'm sorry if I made you think on it now. I didn't know.”

  “No,” she said, drawing out of his embrace slightly. Already a bit of her pain was beginning to ebb. “I need to remember. And I'm glad I told you. It helps.”

  He caressed her cheek with aching tenderness, wiping away the last of her tears, his eyes soft in the moonlight. “You are not to blam
e for the loss of your child, my lady. You could not have seen misfortune coming, let alone protect her from it. No more than you by yourself can be expected to protect Fallonmour and its folk from Hugh de Wardeaux.”

  Emmalyn nodded weakly. “But these people are my family now, all of them. Perhaps where I could not protect my daughter, I have tried to make life better for everyone here,” she said, realizing the connection for the first time.

  “And now the boy from the orchard as well?”

  “He is just a child, my lord. A child in need of love and care. It breaks my heart to think he might be hurt and I could help him. If only I could see him to a safe place.”

  She could see the doubt in Cabal's eyes, even in the dark gloom of the bailey. But he did not deny her. “If it pleases you, I will ride out on the morrow to search for him.”

  Emmalyn smiled at him fondly, her sadness nearly replaced by the warmth of her gratitude toward Cabal. Wrapping her arms around his neck she clung to him in an impulsive, whole-hearted embrace. “Thank you,” she said, placing a quick kiss to the soft skin below his ear.

  As she released him and began to withdraw, Cabal's arms came down around her back. He held her there, pressed against the length of him, looking at her upturned face as if he debated whether to kiss her. As if he were weighing the prospect of picking up where they had left off in the armory. But he only smiled and brushed a wisp of hair from her brow.

  “It has been a long evening,” he told her as his grip relaxed. “Perhaps I should bid you good night.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, stepping out of the circle of his arms even though she would have gladly remained there, content to have him hold her beneath the watery moon for the rest of the eve. “Until tomorrow, my lord.” Then she turned and quit the bailey before he could see how much she longed to stay.

  * * *

  Cabal watched her go, feeling a potent mixture of relief and regret. Relief because he knew that only Emmalyn's leaving would have kept him from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her into his chamber where he would make love to her, slow and sweet, until morning. Regret, because it was what he so keenly wanted to do.