Chapter 2084: A Life by the Hearth (Part One)

Jocelynn woke slowly out of a doze so deep and heavy that it felt like climbing out of a featherbed. The fire had burned low in the hearth, and someone had tucked a wool blanket around her shoulders while she slept. The late afternoon sun poured in through the windows, carrying the scent of cut grass, wet cedar, and the faint, sweet perfume of the honeysuckle that climbed the garden wall.

She shifted in the big cushioned chair by the hearth, and her belly shifted with her.

Or rather, the baby did. A small, determined heel pressed up beneath her ribs, as if to remind her that someone else had opinions about how she ought to be sitting.

"Yes, yes," Jocelynn murmured, smoothing a hand over the great round curve of her belly. "I’m awake. You can stop kicking your mother now."

The baby kicked again anyway.

Jocelynn smiled and let her head fall back against the cushions. Her ankles were swollen, her back ached, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her own feet. And she was happier than she had ever been in her life.

Two voices drifted in from the garden path. A young boy’s voice, cracking awkwardly between high and low, and a deeper, masculine laugh that she would have known anywhere.

The front door swung open, and Ollie ducked inside. His flame-red hair was tousled by the wind, and there was dirt on the knees of his trousers. He had a basket of greens balanced on one hip while Frost Fang rode on the other, looking so much like a part of him that it would have been strange to see the Cypress Witch without it.

Crimson Promise sat nearby on a table, like the little sister of Ollie’s famous blade. The same way that Frost Fang was never far from Ollie, the warm Emberheart blade was never far from the person who’d finished its making, though she’d given up wearing it when the hilt started poking her swollen belly. Crimson Promise might not be the best blade she’d ever helped bring into existence, but it was precious to her in a way few others were.

Behind Ollie came Dalwyn, lanky and sunburned at twelve. He staggered under the weight of two more baskets heaped with peas in their pods, bundles of spring onions, radishes, and a tangle of small red beets with their leafy tops still on. Clearly Ollie thought his squire could benefit from more manual labor.

"She’s awake," Ollie said, and his whole face lit up.

He set down his basket and crossed the room in three long strides. Bending over her chair, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then he laid his hand on her belly, gentle and warm. The baby kicked again, nearly straight into his palm.

"And so is our little one," Ollie said with a laugh. "You need to let your mother rest, you know," he chided the unborn child. "You don’t want her to be cranky when you’re born."

"Your child has been kicking me all afternoon," Jocelynn informed him. "I’m convinced they’re practicing to be a knight."

"A knight would never bully a lady," Ollie said. "Are you sure they aren’t picking up bad habits from that teacher of yours?"

"Erkembalt is not a bully!" Jocelynn protested. "He just doesn’t tolerate nonsense in his shop any more than I tolerate nonsense in our home."

"Mmm hmm," Ollie said noncommittally before glancing over his shoulder at his squire. "Dalwyn, would you take those into the kitchen? Peas in the big bowl, the beets by the washbasin, and be gentle with them or you’ll stain your tunic on the juices."

Dalwyn looked momentarily torn between dashing to the kitchens and saluting, which he couldn’t do with baskets in his hands, until Jocelynn came to his rescue.

"Nothing will spill from the basket in your right hand if you set it on the floor to salute, Dalwyn," Jocelynn said, smiling at the young squire’s diligent awkwardness. "If you’re carrying something that can’t be set down, you tuck your right foot behind your left ankle and bow with your right shoulder toward the ground."

"Like this?" Dalwyn said, demonstrating the bow she’d described.

"That’s the way," Jocelynn said with an approving nod. "Now, go do as your lord said and bring those to the kitchen," Jocelynn said as she shifted in her chair, preparing to stand herself.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Ollie asked as he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently but firmly stopping her from rising.

"I can at least help with the peas," Jocelynn said, frowning at her husband. "My hands still work, you know."

"You can sit," Ollie said, pressing her gently back into the cushions. "I don’t need any help to start dinner. I spotted Milo coming back into the village with a brace of birds, so he should be here soon, and half the village will be here before the sun sets. You’ll want your strength for all of them."

"You make it sound like a siege," Jocelynn said with a light, musical laugh as she gazed into his pale eyes.

"It is a siege." Ollie’s voice was perfectly grave. "A siege of aunties. And you, my love, are the princess of the castle."

She was still laughing when the door opened again.

Milo came first, a bow slung across his back and a brace of plump grouse hanging from one furry hand. He held them up for Ollie’s inspection, whiskers twitching proudly.

"Four of them," Milo announced. "Fat ones too, guarding their hens in the high meadow. Do you think they’ll be enough, Ollie, or should I see if there are a few hares in the fields outside the wall?"

"I think four is plenty," Ollie said, already reaching for the birds. "Come on, you can give Dalwyn a lesson on dressing them while I prep the vegetables," Ollie said, throwing his arm around the Heartwood archer’s shoulder and guiding him toward the large kitchen at the back of the manor.

While the two of them vanished into the kitchen, talking cheerfully about Milo’s hunt, the house began to fill with guests who followed behind them...