Anne lost her focus, losing track of what Helen was saying. Her stomach rolled violently, sweat beading her forehead. There was no mastering the nausea this morning. She flew towards the garderobe, the contents of her belly rising.
Anne was trembling when Helen gently pulled her off her knees.
“I don’t know what happened. I don’t feel ill.”
Helen led her back across the chamber, using a wet cloth to soothe her brow.
“I see now why ye had naught but stale bread in yer chamber.” Helen looked up, snapping her fingers at one of the maids. “Fetch some bread and be quick.”
The girl smiled so broadly all her teeth showed. “Aye, right away.”
Anne stared at the empty doorway, trying to understand why the girl was so happy. Sickness in the castle was cause for alarm.
“Such a shame the lord was called away.” Helen was practically dancing. “But better now than when yer time comes.”
“My time?”
Helen turned, confusion on her face. She stared at her for a moment before a similar bright smile covered her face. “Och now, I forget that yer so newly wed. But a blessed union it is. You havenae had any monthly curses since leaving England, have ye?”
She hadn’t.
Anne felt her eyes go wide. If she hadn’t just retched, she would now. Philipa’s ugly, evil, twisted face filled her thoughts. For sure she was breeding. Being a maiden didn’t mean she was ignorant of the facts surrounding a woman’s body. The kitchen at Warwickshire was often ripe with talk about pregnancy and its symptoms. How else had she learned of French kisses? Despair filled her because now there was an innocent babe to think of as well.
But it was replaced by the sight of Brodick waiting in the yard for her. The way he stood so proud and strong. Giving him a child was the greatest gift she might ever bestow on anyone. He was worthy of that.
But he wanted Mary’s child, not a bastard half-sibling’s child.
“Och now, look at ye. ’Tis a happy time. I’ve waited so long to see this day. I cannae wait until your belly is plump and round.”
Helen chattered away while Anne tried to feel the tiny life growing inside her.
“We needs get the seamstresses to plying their needles at once. No more long stays for you.”
Helen turned to reveal a creamy sheet of paper laid out squarely on the writing desk. The ink well was carefully placed in a small cutout made for it so that it would not spill while the cork was removed.
“You must write to the earl. Once a fortnight his messenger will bring you a letter and you may send yers back with him. He’ll be so very happy to learn of the babe.”
“I shall write, but not just this moment.”
Helen shook her head, turning to replace the cork in the jar of ink. “Och, listen to me. Yer belly is heaving. ’Twill pass. We’ll send the lads for Agnes.”
Anne placed a hand over her mouth, horror filling her. She could not condemn her child to being bastard born.
If she remained at Sterling, that would be what happened. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked at the writing desk. She could not confess who she was. Not now.
Not ever.
Two weeks later a letter arrived as Helen promised. Anne didn’t think she had ever been so happy to receive anything. To be sure, her sire never wrote to his wife when he was away at court. For that reason, she had tried not to expect a letter. Brodick was at court after all, and he had important things to attend to. All wives had to endure being second to the monarchs.
There was much to do and she threw herself into the fast pace of spring. There was planting and early harvest, lambs being birthed and soap to make now that the weather was good enough to use the large iron caldrons. They built fires beneath the huge pots and stirred the soap with boat paddles. Time had dragged on, in spite of her best efforts to fill it. She still awoke at night, searching the bed for Brodick. She told herself a hundred times to stop thinking about him, stop longing for him, that it was impractical and even insane to love him.
Her heart refused to listen.
Instead she impatiently saw to making sure the messenger was fed and new clothing brought up for him. She paced while he lingered in his bath, refusing to ask for the letter before she had shown the man good hospitality. When at last the night was creeping over Sterling, he untied his leather bag and handed a sealed parchment to her.
“Oh now, yer nae to read that here.”
Helen whisked it out of her grasp before she closed her fingers. “Helen!”
“Nay. Ye listen to me. Wait. ’Twill be much better if ye wait to read it in yer chamber.”
Anne frowned. She did not want to wait. Helen smiled gently at her.
“Follow me, mistress, and I’ll show you how to read a letter from yer true love.”