Page 89 of Bold Angel
The Arab came away from the wall and moved toward her in his graceful way. “Of course. I will get my things.”
“I will go with you.” Ral’s hand rode protectively at her waist and if her heart hadn’t lurched with such yearning, she might have been grateful to have him with her.
Gathering the supplies they would need, they ordered their horses readied. It was raining when they left the keep, the wind whipping the branches of overhanging trees, stirring leaves, and bending grasses. The temperature had dropped, and Caryn shivered within the folds of her cloak. When the fabric caught a gust of air and snagged against a tree, Ral rode up and freed it.
“I should have forbidden you to come. ’Tis cold and damp, an unfit night for you to be out.”
“I’m grateful for your worry, my lord, but I am fine. Hassan will be leaving soon. ’Tis important that I learn all I can.”
Ral grumbled but said nothing more.
They reached the cottar’s hut sometime later, a small black shape against the villein’s planted fields. Caryn was chilled to the bone, her clothes damp and clinging, but mostly she was anxious for the woman and unborn child struggling for life inside the small thatched cottage.
Hassan stopped her flight toward the door. “It is not believed that cleanliness affects the healing process, yetin my work, I have seen less putrifying of the wound, less infection and death when fresh linens and soap are applied.”
“I have brought them as you requested,” Caryn said.
The Arab washed his hands and so did Caryn, then they entered the small, airless room.
“’Tis too warm in here,” the Arab said. “The woman loses too much fluid. Lift the flap on the door.”
“But she is bound to catch a chill.” The midwife, Isolda, came up from the foot of Edmee’s straw pallet. “If the birthing does not kill her, ’tis certain the fever will.”
“I have learned that it is best to broach one problem at a time.”
“Do as he says,” Ral softly commanded. He flashed Caryn a supportive glance, then moved out of the way toward the door. He would wait with Edmee’s husband, Tosig, share a flask of wine to ward off the cold and help ease the poor man’s fears.
“What do you give her?” Caryn asked Hassan, once Ral had gone. It was amazing how much larger the room seemed without him, yet also it somehow seemed more bleak.
“A potion of rue, savin, southernwood, and iris.” He held it to the woman’s trembling lips. She was covered in perspiration, her hair clinging wetly to her shoulders. “It will help her to relax.”
“’Tis all right, Edmee,” Caryn said to her softly, pressing a damp cloth on her forehead. “Hassan knows what will help you.”
“I-I would save the child, if there must be a choice. My husband so badly wants a son.”
Caryn’s heart turned over. The girl would sacrifice herself for the man she loved. Caryn wondered how far she would go for Ral and knew in that moment, she would do almost anything. It wasn’t a comforting thought.
“It is your worry that inhibits the birthing,” Hassan said to Edmee. “Please, you must try to relax.” He waited for the potion she had drunk to begin its work, then parted her legs and reached inside her. “It is as the midwife says. The child is breached and somehow wedged.”
“Can you turn it?”
“I am not sure.” But his long arms worked with gentle pressure, moving the fetus around, trying to bring it into position. Every minute dragged, and the small room echoed with the woman’s shrieks of pain.
Still, Hassan bent to his task, working until his own body glistened with sweat. Edmee looked so pale Caryn feared she was moments from dying. Finally Hassan looked up.
“Ready the birthing chair. The head is now in position.”
“Thank God,” Caryn whispered, adding a silent prayer that the babe and its mother would live. Tosig would be wild with joy. Unbidden came the thought: How would Ral feel if she were the woman and the babe were his son?
Hassan mixed two drachms each of the juice of hyssop and dittany, along with two scruples of quicksilver. Edmee drank it as they propped her in the birthing chair. In minutes, the head of the babe slid through. With Hassan’s gentle instruction, the shoulders appeared and then the tiny, glistening body.
Isolda took the child from its mother’s womb, a wide smile on her face. “You have done it, foreign one. You have succeeded where I would have failed.”
“I will show Lady Caryn how to mix the potion and she can show you. Next time you will not fail.”
“She is all right?” Tosig asked, walking in behind Ral, searching his wife’s closed eyes and pale face as he moved toward her.
“Your wife and son are fine.” Isolda set the sleepingchild in the crook of its mother’s arm. Edmee slept as soundly as her babe.
