Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 148

Chapter 148: The fault lies with me
“I’m sure that can’t be so,” Anaisa swallowed, her eyes flickering down to the little bundle still in Deborah’s arms. “It cannot have been your fault.”

“It is so,” The magic user looked down with shame.

“How? How can that be?” The auburn haired woman’s anxiety grew.

“A man approached me, offering me a job,” Deborah’s voice quivered. “He promised such handsome pay that it made me suspicious of what he wanted from me. When I asked him to elaborate on what my responsibilities would be, he told me travel, and adventure.

“I was wary. My husband’s work was rooted in the city. He could not leave it, and I refused to go anywhere without him. The man became insistent, and the more he did, the more I was convinced that the employment must be something immoral.” She paused, and took a shaky breath.

“I told him to leave my home, that I was not interested. He told me that I would regret it. I told him there was no job that would make me leave my husband behind, and he smiled and told me that wouldn’t be a problem soon.” The woman looked down at the ground.

Anaisa felt a terrible pit in her stomach, and waited anxiously until Deborah continued.

“The next day, we went on a walk as a family. My husband was holding our little girl and was hit by an out of control cart careening down the street. They were both killed. In the chaos, I saw him. That man. He was watching. That was three days ago.”

Seething with rage, Anaisa held her tongue for several seconds before she trusted herself to speak. When she did, it was careful and measured.

“That is not your fault,” She said firmly. “That was murder. My… my father was murdered as well. It is horrific, and it is not your fault.”

Tears streaked down Deborah’s face, and she adjusted her clothing and put her sash back in place, revealing the sleeping prince’s face.

“Ewan has finished eating. I will burp him, and then we will be ready to go.” She pressed her lips into a line and hardened her eyes.

Anaisa understood. Grief was difficult. Anger was easier.

She grimaced. She was still using anger as a shield against the ache in her soul. The ache for her childhood, for her sister, for the life she’d had while her father was alive. It was softer now, though, than it had been.

Anaisa glanced towards where Trace crouched in the underbrush. The grief, the anger, didn’t feel quite so strong when she was with him. He seemed to sense her stare, and glanced back over his shoulder at her.

She averted her eyes, blushing. Which was silly.

The doctor checked Ewan after he was burped, and proclaimed him fit to leave.

“Does he seem stronger?” Anaisa smiled at the infant, who had fallen asleep. Deborah was fashioning the shawl into a kind of baby sling to carry Ewan against her.

“Travel will be hard on him,” The doctor warned as Trace returned from his watch.

“How quickly can we safely move?” The farmer asked.

“That determination is a tricky one. The further we are from the city, the better, or so I assume. And yet, moving faster imperils the infant’s health. It is a balance, and I am only qualified to weigh in on one side of that scale.”

“Let’s decide as we move,” Anaisa put in. “Doctor, is it safest for Deborah to carry him? It seems logical, as long as you can tell her what signs to watch for that mean we need to stop…”

“A mother’s instinct, even the wrong mother, can be more informative at times than my dry professional opinion,” The old man replied humbly. “It may also be more comfortable for little Ewan to be held by someone more experienced with cuddling and comforting.”

“It would be glad to hold him,” Deborah’s smile was a little watery as she probably remembered her own child.

“Watch his breathing, if it becomes shallow and labored, or if he shows signs of distress or if his lips or fingernails turn bluish.” The doctor advised, and Deborah nodded solemnly.

“Such a tiny little one.” She remarked a little absently. “Sanders instructed me to bring baby things, I’m glad I did.”

She pulled out a fresh nappy from her bag and commenced changing the little prince, freezing when she saw the tied-off umbilical cord still attached on his belly.

“How old is he?” She cut her eyes to the doctor.

“He was born this morning.” The old man’s jaw worked.

“This… today? This morning?” Deborah suddenly looked at all of them, alarmed. “His mother…”

“Needs him to be safe,” Anaisa interrupted. The new wet nurse was probably assuming the mother had died in childbirth; there were not really any other reasons a wet nurse was needed. Even the highest echelons of noble women fed their own babies personally, if they were able.

Deborah pursed her lips, but nodded and finished changing the baby’s diaper, swaddling him, and standing.

She faced her horse and then handed Ewan to Anaisa for a moment while she climbed onto a fallen tree to mount. The tiny infant was passed up to her gently, and the woman passed the infant into the combination shawl/sling and secured him against her.

The doctor nodded, satisfied, and then mounted his own horse as Anaisa returned to hers. Suddenly, Trace was there to help her. A needless gesture, but a kind one. Once she was seated and had her skirts arranged about her, she smiled at him. His eyebrows were nearly touching with concern.

“Are you all right? This is a lot for one day,” He swallowed.

She reached one hand down, and he took it, kissing her fingertips gently. Her heart raced at the touch of his lips.

“I am well,” She assured him. “Katia is safe, far away, and we are together. For now, that is enough.”

“Yes,” He said, running his thumb over her newly-restored wedding ring. “For now, that is plenty.”