Chapter 30
Before she could even finish asking when will the baby come?, Godiva lost consciousness again.
“Oh, my poor girl… my poor Miss…”
The nanny wiped her cracked lips and sweat-soaked brow with a damp cloth. There was little else she could do. She bit down hard to keep from breaking.
* * *
Branches lashed against metal.
Clang—clang!
The sound of steel striking wood rang sharply as Leofric rode.
Too slow.
The armor weighed him down. He yanked hard on the reins and dismounted, tearing off the heavy plates. Metal clattered loudly to the ground. Stripped down to his bliaut, he mounted again at once.
“Follow as you can, Brandel.”
“My lord!”
There was no time to wait. In his mind, in his heart—there was only Godiva.
“Hyah!”
The whip cracked. Tempest surged forward like the storm he was named for.
* * *
“The baby…?”
The moment she surfaced again, Godiva asked what she had already asked dozens of times.
The nanny forced a smile.
“Soon, Miss. A good child will come soon.”
Why does it hurt like this? Like needles piercing… like blades scraping…
She had thought herself patient. She clenched her teeth.
They said the child was turning. Is that why it hurts so much? Little one… when will you come? Are you waiting for your father, as I did…?
Tears slid from her closed eyes.
“Miss, be strong. The people are praying outside the castle.”
“Ah… nanny…”
She could not speak long. The pain carved too deep. Exhausted, she let her eyes fall shut.
Then—
Bang!
The door burst open.
“Godiva!”
“My lord!”
The nanny leapt to her feet.
“Miss, the lord has returned!”
“Leo… fric…”
“Yes. His Lordship is here.”
A warm, rough hand closed around hers.
“Godiva.”
Leofric gripped her damp fingers tightly. Her hand was slick with sweat; it broke his heart.
“You… came…”
Had things gone as planned, he would have been at her side from the very beginning. But children do not come into the world according to their parents’ schedules. Leofric gently stroked his wife’s face, drained pale from the agony of labor.
“You’ve suffered so much.”
He too had been born this way. She too. But knowing that in theory meant little when he saw her endure it with his own eyes. Pity and love tightened in his chest, and he only clasped her hand more firmly.
“Leofric… your cheek… there’s blood…”
A branch must have struck him during the ride. He did not care. That he had arrived in time to stand beside her was all that mattered. He brushed his fingers slowly through Godiva’s hair again and again. Even in such pain, she noticed the smallest wound on him. That tenderness made him love her all the more.
“It’s nothing. Godiva.”
“Good… the baby… will see you…”
Suddenly her body curled inward. She bit her lip so hard it bled.
“Godiva!”
There was nothing he could do but hold her hand and call her name.
“My lord, do not fear. The pains are strong—this means the baby is coming.”
She did not let go of him. Her knuckles whitened. Tendons stood out on her wrist as she clung to him.
A cry tore from her throat.
Leofric, devout though he was, rarely called upon God in panic.
Tonight was different.
God… protect my wife.
Through the long night, his prayer did not cease.
* * *
Dong—
The bells rang from the tower.
Clear and bright, the sound rolled over the gathered crowd outside the castle walls.
A woman crossed herself.
“At last… our Madam…”
“The baby is born.”
Brown and his wife clasped their hands together.
“Oh… thank heavens.”
All of Coventry lifted their prayers in gratitude.
“She is an angel, our Madam.”
Lady Godiva was Coventry’s angel. True to her name—a gift of God—she was cherished beyond measure by peasants and merchants alike. To many, she seemed almost like the Virgin herself.
“Look! It’s the lord!”
Since the taxes had been eased, Leofric, Earl of Mercia, was no longer a distant and fearsome ruler. Even without Lady Godiva’s pleas, he had begun to look where he once had not—downward, toward those beneath him. He cared for the serfs of his estates, shared the making of Wensleydale cheese beyond the monastery walls, and removed needless levies that burdened the people.
“He has returned safely!”
“They say he won great glory in battle!”
At that moment, Dux Leofric raised both hands high. In his arms, wrapped in cloth, was the baby.
A great cheer erupted.
“Congratulations, my lord!”
“Blessings upon the babe!”
As the cheers swelled, the infant wailed loudly.
Red-faced and tiny—Ælfgar, son of Leofric and Godiva.
“Bless the young lord!”
Leofric looked down from the castle walls, his heart heavy with feeling. The prayers and cheers rising from below were not born of fear. Their sincerity was plain to see. This swelling joy—he would never have known it without his wife.
My wife.
Not only in this moment, but beyond it—into whatever days God granted—Godiva was Leofric’s wife.
“Leofric…”
At the fragile sound of her voice, he turned. His silver eyes softened, deepened.
I love you, my wife.
They did not need to speak it aloud.
Godiva smiled at him, pure and radiant as light.
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