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“Five is putting a baby inside you,” he murmurs against my cheek. “If I haven’t already.”
“I’ve been taking a contraceptive tonic I got from the town apothecary,” I say, but my heart is sinking.
I haven’t told him yet, about the deal I made with Enthel and Lannau. At first everything was so chaotic, and then we had to run for our lives to a whole new country, and then I had to deal with the sale of the mill and our survival here in Abrella.
Rupert’s smile is gone—he’s looking into my face with such concern it breaks my heart. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to tell you something, and it’s going to hurt. I had to make a bargain with Lannau and Enthel so they would show me the way to the Sanctuary. You were right—they are dangerous in their dealings, and they can be cruel when their own happiness is at stake. It’s only natural, I suppose, when you want something enough… After all, I was willing to do anything for your sake…”
“Spit it out, love,” he says tightly. “You’re scaring me.”
“I made a deal with them, because I didn’t want you to spend your life in slavery, being controlled and raped and tortured.” My voice thickens with tears. “I couldn’t leave you there, Rupert. I couldn’t. And I had nothing to offer them, so I agreed to let them adopt our first baby.”
His face goes utterly white.
“They’ll be good to the child,” I say quickly. “They want it so badly, and I know they’ll be good mothers. It’s not as if I can undo it now. It’s done, and I wouldn’t take it back if I could, because that bargain gave me the power to save you.”
Rupert sucks in a sharp breath, as if he is only just now remembering his need for air.
His face is still tense, but his warm hands close over both of mine. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He looks deep into my eyes. “I can only imagine how much that cost you.”
“And you.” My eyes fill with tears. “You’re going to suffer the loss, too. I’m so sorry I had to do it. I wish I didn’t have to cause you more pain, but it was the only way.”
“Was there a condition to the bargain?” he asks. “Anything we can use?”
I shake my head. “Before I left the Sanctuary, Enthel told me they’ll come to fetch the baby when it’s three months old. I say we build our lives and begin our family with the understanding that the first baby is a gift to them—the price of your freedom. And I’m happy to pay it.”
Rupert pulls me close. “Who knows? Maybe it won’t hurt much when we get to that point.”
“Maybe,” I say doubtfully.
“Let’s not think about it,” he suggests. “We do the Elvish thing—we sublimate that fear, that pain, because there’s no use torturing ourselves with something that isn’t reality yet. Until it happens, we’ll focus on what we can control. Like the inn.”
“The inn,” I say, brightening involuntarily. He smiles at me, my excitement reflected in his eyes.
As we sit beneath the pink-and-orange sunset, with the pretty village behind us and the stream rippling beneath the bridge, I take out my notebook and a pencil, and we continue planning our future.
33
A FEW YEARS LATER
Three months isn’t enough.
I lower my face to the soft, fuzzy head of the baby sleeping in my arms. I breathe deeply, inhaling her fragrance. She has the most delicate, wispy, brown hair, and the chubbiest cheeks, like small round apples, and the shiniest plump lips. Her lashes are sealed now, dark brown fringes against her cheeks, and her eyelids are tinged faintly purple at the edges. She stayed awake for several hours straight today, and she’s exhausted.
At least she’ll be sleeping when it happens.
The solid warmth of her small body in my arms gives me so much delight, and so much pain. I fought against holding her at first. Didn’t want to get attached, only to lose her, but the midwife handed her to Rupert and when I saw the wonder on his face as he looked into her eyes for the first time, I couldn’t resist. I wanted a turn.
He’s standing by the window now, staring out into the night while I pace the room slowly, memorizing our daughter’s fragrance.
“Maybe they won’t come,” I murmur. “We haven’t heard from them in three years. Maybe they—”
“They’ll come,” he says sharply.
I bite my lip, stung at his tone.
He turns immediately, penitence in his blue eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just—I can’t—I wish—”
