Medieval Master Swordsmen(353)
Davyss heard the plea through his desperate haze and he came to an unsteady halt, facing the man. “What is it, then?”
Lollardly knew he would only have his attention for a short amount of time before he was demanding to see his wife again, so he spoke quickly. “Your wife went into labor two weeks early,” he lowered his voice. “She labored for two days to bring forth your enormous children, Davyss, so much so that I believed I was going to have to cut into her to remove them. The physic from Great Yarmouth agreed with me. But finally, she gave birth to your first son and we were shocked to realize that there were two. Never did I feel two children when I examined her; only one. Your wife was so weak already by the time the first boy was born that it was nearly impossible for her to gather the strength to birth the second child. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”
Davyss’ expression was wrought with horror. “Dear God,” he breathed. “What happened?”
Lollardly sighed heavily, his manner turning gentle. “Your second son was born feet-first,” he murmured. “Your wife did not have any strength left to push so we were forced to… well, we had to pull the child out by his feet, Davyss. It was the only way. Then we could not detach the nourishment sack from her body and she bled profusely until we were able to pull it free. She lost a great deal of blood and the difficult birth seriously injured her.”
By this time, Davyss’ hand was at his mouth as if to hold in the gasps of horror. The hazel eyes filled with tears. “How is she now?”
Lollardly lifted his shoulders. “She lives,” he said honestly. “But she has not recovered. All she does is sleep. She barely eats. If she does not start showing more improvement soon, I am afraid we… well, we may lose her.”
Davyss blinked and the tears rolled down his cheeks, just as quickly wiped away. He took a deep breath, digesting Lollardly’s words, struggling to acclimate himself to the situation.
“May I see her?” he whispered.
Lollardly simply nodded. He followed Davyss up the stairs to the fourth floor. As Davyss approached, he could hear babies crying and his tears returned en force. As he stood at the top of the stairs, gazing into the chamber where both of his lusty sons were being tended, he sobbed deeply.
Lollardly stood behind him, his hand on Davyss’ shoulder as the man observed the activity of the room. It was a smaller chamber with a large bed in it, and Frances sat on the bed changing the swaddling of one twin while Lucy paced the floor with the second twin. Both boys were screaming at the top of their lungs and Lucy was attempting desperately to calm the baby in her arms until she saw Davyss.
The surprise on her face turned to joy before immediately turning to distress. The enormous man was filthy and exhausted as he stood at the top of the stairs, tears running down his face and dripping onto his dirty tunic. Lucy went to him.
“Davyss,” she was torn between being very glad to see him and deeply concerned as to why he was crying. She could see that he was looking at the baby in her arms and her focus turned to the child. “This is your son, Drake. Your mother swears that he looks just like your father.”
Davyss gazed down at the baby, struggling to stop his sobs. As Lucy unwrapped the boy so he could get a better look, his sobs turned into weepy laughter at the vigorously screaming baby. He was absolutely furious. Davyss reached out a tentative finger, pushing it into a waving hand and being rewarded when the infant gripped him tightly.
“He is very strong,” he commented, feeling the warmth of joy wash over him as he gazed into the little face. “But why is he so angry?”
Lucy grinned. “He is hungry; he is always hungry.”
Davyss was overcome with emotion as Drake continued to scream. Lucy watched the man’s face, seeing the complete adoration, the pain. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She knew how much all of this meant to him and to Devereux.
“Would you like to hold him?” she asked softly.
Davyss shook his head. He bent over, kissing Drake on the forehead. “Not at the moment,” he whispered. “I want to see my wife first.”
Lucy understood. With a lingering look at Devon, screaming on the bed, Davyss quit the room and went to the master’s chamber. The door was closed and he very quietly opened it.
The room was dark inside, big oilcloth curtains covering the long lancet windows. It smelled of cloves and rushes and as he entered the room, his gaze was immediately drawn to the enormous bed. His mother was seated to the left of the bed, the needlework in her hands falling to her lap when her old eyes beheld her son. The little dogs at her feet stood up, tails wagging furiously.