“Roger. I—I have to tell you something.”
He stared at her, frowning a little, and then suddenly his face changed. A light came into his eyes, a dawning sense of eagerness.
“You’re pregnant? God, Bree, that’s wonderful!”
THE MOMENTARY SHOCK rendered her speechless for a second. Then it exploded in her chest, in a burst of fury that drowned any thought of her heart.
“You—you—how fucking dare you?” Some vestigial thought of the kids above kept her from shrieking, and the words emerged in a strangled snarl. Her intent showed clearly; Roger’s eyes sprang wide and he grabbed her arm.
“I’m sorry,” he said, low-voiced and even. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She struggled for a moment, wanting the simple relief of violence, but he wouldn’t let go, and she stopped and sat there, tears spurting as the only means of releasing the pressure.
He let go of her arm and put his own around her shoulders. She felt the cold of his wet shirt and skin, the sogginess of her own hems, but the heat of fear and frustration rose in her like steam.
She clung to Roger’s arm as though it were a handy tree root in a flood. She was sobbing and urgently trying not to at the same time, afraid the clench of emotion would seize her heart and throw it into commotion again, but unable to hold out anymore against the need to let go, to tell him everything.
“I’m s-sorry,” she kept gasping, and he clutched her tighter to him, rocking her a little, rubbing her back with his free hand.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said into her hair. “Bree, forgive me. I didn’t mean to—I really didn’t mean—”
“Doh,” she said thickly, and sat back a little from him, wiping her knuckles under her streaming nose. “You don’t—it’s nod you. I know you want another baby, but—”
“Not if you don’t,” he assured her, though she could hear the longing in his voice. “I wouldn’t risk you, Bree. If you’re afraid, if you—”
“Oh, God.” She waved a hand to stop him. She’d stopped sobbing and was just huddled in his arms, breathing. Her heart was beating. Normally.
“Lub-dub,” she said. “Lub-dub, lub-dub … that’s what textbooks say a heartbeat sounds like. But it doesn’t, really.”
Momentary silence. He stroked her hair, cautiously.
“No?”
“No.” She took a deep, free breath, feeling it go all the way to her fingertips. “And no, I’m not crazy, either.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He released her gently and looked searchingly into her face. “Are ye all right, Bree?” He looked so anxious that she nearly started crying again, out of remorse.
“Sort of …” She gulped, sniffed, and made a huge effort to sit up straight and get hold of herself. At this point, she realized that Roger was sitting beside her in nothing but his wet-tailed shirt and she started to laugh, but caught herself, fearing that it might all too easily become hysterics.
“Put on your pants and I’ll tell you everything,” she said, straightening her shoulders.
“Mummeeeeeee!” Mandy was calling from the edge of the roadway above, waving her arms. “Mummy, we’re hunnnnngry!”
“I’ll get them something,” Roger said, hastily reassuming his breeches. “You wash your face and … drink water. Take it easy and I’ll be right back.”
He scrambled up the bank, calling for Jem and Germain, and after a minute, she’d pulled herself together enough to do as he’d said—wash and have a drink of water. The water from the stream was good: cold and fresh, with a faint spicy taste of watercress, and having something—even water—in her stomach seemed to settle her.
Thump. Thump. Thump. True, there was a lesser thump following the main one, but it was the solid, reassuring rhythm of the thump that gave her—well, gave her heart. She smiled at the thought and wiped her wet hands through her hair, which had come loose from its ribbon.
She was kneeling on the grass beside the wheel when Roger came down again, bearing gifts in the form of two boiled eggs, a chunk of dry bread rubbed with olive oil and garlic, and a bottle of ale. She started with the ale.
“It’s not so bad,” she said, nodding at the wheel. “One of the sawed felloes came loose, but it’s not broken. I can fit it back and put a wire screw in—”
“To hell with the wheel,” he said, though mildly. “Eat an egg and tell me what’s going on.” His face showed nothing but concern, but the set of his shoulders said he wouldn’t leave it.