The Cursed Towers by Kate Forsyth Page B

her stomach. "It's Iseult," she moaned. "The babes must be on their way." A door at the other end of the corridor swung open, and Lachlan burst out, clutching a sheet to him, his black hair wildly tousled. His eyes were bloodshot and he smelt of stale alcohol. "Isabeau!" he cried. "Quickly! It's Iseult! I think her time has come."
    Another undulation of pain washed through her, and she groaned. "Call . . . Meghan," she said through stiff lips. "Quickly!"
    Reluctantly Dide let her go and hurried to call the guards. The pain passed, and Isabeau followed her distraught brother-in-law into the royal bedchamber. Iseult was sitting up in the great bed, her face white, her blue eyes dilated. She cried out in relief at the sight of her sister and held out her hand. Isabeau ran to her side, gripping her fingers tightly.
    "Did ye feel it?" Iseult whispered, and Isabeau nodded.
    "The babes are getting ready to be born," she said.
    "I've sent for Meghan, she'll be here soon. If I am to feel all ye do, I do no' think I'll be much help to ye."
    "It'll be enough to have ye here," Iseult answered.
    Isabeau nodded and kissed her sister's tense fingers.
    She knew how much the admission must have cost her proud twin. "I know, dearling," she whispered back.
    "But everything will be fine and soon ye shall have two bonny babies to show for your effort." She busied herself stoking up the fire and rang the bell for her sister's maid.
    Another sharp ripple of pain swept through her and she groaned, clutching her stomach. Glancing up, she saw Iseult bowed over, her hands mirroring Isabeau's. "They come quickly," she managed to say. "Fear no', Iseult, it shall be a swift birthing."
    Iseult's maid hurried in, rubbing her eyes and exclaiming, her face anxious under the frilled cap she had pulled on askew in her hurry. Isabeau told her to call Sukey and ask her to bring her mistress's herb bag as quickly as she could. "We shall need clean linen and a kettle to boil water, and see if ye can find any raspberry leaf tea in the cellar, it is helpful indeed with the contractions. Oh, and send someone to wake Johanna—if she truly wishes to be a healer, she may as well witness her first birthing!" Another contraction saw Iseult clutch at Lachlan's hand. Isabeau had to hold the mantelpiece to keep on her feet, biting her lip hard. Then Meghan was there, her gray-white hair streaming about her shoulders, her plaid clutched around her nightgown. She ordered Lach-lan away from the bed, telling him sharply to get out of her way. "Wash yourself and dress, for Ea's sake!" she snapped. "Ye stink o' the brewery." Scowling, Lachlan went through to his dressing-room, catching up his kilt and shirt from where they lay on the floor. Meghan picked up the scepter from where it had rolled against the wall and put it on the chair, muttering under her breath. Then she bent over Iseult, feeling her grossly distended stomach with delicate fingers, murmuring reassurance.
    The maids arrived laden down with water jugs, baskets of herbs and tinctures, and piles of clean linen. Sukey carried a wailing Bronwen in one arm and Isabeau's herb bag in the other, her face flushed with anxiety. "I be sorry indeed, my lady, but I couldna wake Ketti from her sleep, and the babe is that upset, I dared no' leave her . . ."
    "Has Ketti had too much o' the Het Pint that ye canna be waking her?" Meghan asked sharply. Sukey blushed even pinker and bit her lip, nodding and shrugging at once. "Indeed, she snores and snores, and there is an empty mug fallen from her hand . . ."
    "We shall have to find ourselves another wet nurse," the old sorceress snapped. "Never mind, Sukey, ye have done well. Ask Latifa to make a weak gruel to feed the wee one with, then give her some poppy syrup to soothe her and bring her cradle in here. Be quick, though, I can feel these babes are ready to be born!"
    Indeed, by the time Sukey had returned and put a sleepy Bronwen to bed in her silk-hung cradle, Iseult was in the