Copyright 2010, 2012, N. K. Schlaudecker
The winds howled outside the caer, shrieking through the narrow windows like the voices of the damned. Under the sound of the banshee wind, the cries of a young woman in labor pierced the night.
“Oh God,” she cried, “God…”
There was a stir in the chamber, the shuffle of feet and the click of flint before a candle sputtered to life. In a moment’s time, a young girl came to her bedside. The light pierced through her pain as a small voice spoke, “Milady Margaise, what-what’s wrong?” She pressed the back of her small hand to Margaise’s forehead, then turned her hand and wiped the beads of sweat away.
Margaise forced herself to smile, but it came out more of a grimace. “Ragnell, it’s the
“But it’s tae soon!” Ragnell’s voice rose in alarm. Her mother had died in childbirth, and she knew all too