A Scandalous Marriage by Cathy Maxwell

registered with Devon at the time. Mary had been a colorless woman, and their paths had rarely crossed. Now in this room, with the ice relentlessly pelting the cottage and full witness to Leah’s struggle, he thought of Mary. Poor Mary, dead and forgotten.
    Devon stared at the cup of hot water, watching the tea slowly steep as he struggled with her meaning.
    Leah could die.

    “No,” he denied. “We can’t let her. It’s not possible.”
    “Oh, it’s possible,” Old Edith answered. She pulled a pottery flask from a skirt pocket and poured a generous drop in the cup. Liquid courage.
    “Devon?” Leah called him, her voice weak.
    “Go to her,” Old Edith said. “She needs you right now more than she needs me. But don’t tell her. If we are going to save her, we need her fighting. Go on.”
    His feet moved like lead weights. He pushed back the curtain.
    “Are you and Old Edith fighting?”“ Leah asked.
    He knelt, taking her smaller hand in his. Tears stung his eyes. Hardening his jaw, he forced them back and attempted a smile. “Old Edith doesn’t mince words about my obligations as the father of the baby.”
    “But Devon, you aren’t—”
    Her voice broke off in a gasp as again a contraction took hold of her. Old Edith came to the doorway holding her teacup, her experienced gaze watching.
    “Is it supposed to hurt like this?” Leah moaned. “I feel as if I’m being ripped in two.”
    “It can,” was the midwife’s terse reply.
    Leah seemed to accept her words. Devon held her tight, her arm around his neck. “It will be all right,”
    he said softly.
    She didn’t answer but arched as if searching for a more comfortable position. Devon tried to help her.
    His hand touched her belly—
    He felt the baby move!
    It was a miracle. He’d never imagined such a thing. It took him completely by surprise. He looked from one woman to another. “I felt it. I felt the baby.” It moved again. Beneath his palm, he could make out a limb. The baby shifted. “There it is.”
    “Good! Good!” Old Edith declared, her renewed enthusiasm giving Devon hope. “This is a good sign.
    Maybe the baby has decided to wake up and help us.” She gave Leah a toothy smile. “Do you think, Leah? Do you think this bairn is ready for the world?”
    “I hope so,” Leah answered weakly.
    “Aye. We all do,” Old Edith answered. “I pray we see his sweet little face soon.” She left to finish her tea.
    Outside, the ice changed to cold, unforgiving rain.
    Leah was completely lost in the chaos of her body. The baby didn’t move now, but the pains started coming closer together. Ruthless and hard, they drove her to exhaustion. But she didn’t complain. She’d never been one to complain.
    Devon held her in his arms. He was accustomed to feeling the baby now. Old Edith said it was a good-sized child.
    Leah’s moods changed rapidly. At one point, she started crying, a soft hiccuping sound.
    “Leah?”
    “I’m so sorry.” She started sobbing, her tears wetting the skin of his neck.
    “For what? You have nothing to be sorry for—” He stopped speaking. He knew. She was apologizing for having taken a lover.
    Devon enveloped her in his arms—even as he wanted to push her away. “It doesn’t matter, Leah,” he heard himself say roughly. “It’s the past. Don’t think about the past.”
    A contraction took hold of her. Her muscles tensed. “Easy,” he said gently.
    In answer, she practically snarled at him, a reversal of her behavior only seconds before.
    “Aye, don’t fight it,” Old Edith said from her post at the end of the bed.
    “I don’t want to fight,” Leah ground out. “In fact, I don’t want any of this. The baby can stay the way it is.”
    To Devon’s surprise, she kicked out at Old Edith and made as if to rise from the bed.
    “Hold her down,” the midwife snapped. “It’s a phase they all go through. It’s a good sign.”
    It took a surprising amount of strength to keep Leah from climbing