Beads of nervous sweat clung to Bard's forehead as he paced the creaky floorboards. From the other side of the door he could hear a woman's cries and moans of agony – and not just any woman's, his wife's. His dear, beautiful wife. Fear and pain gnawed at the bowman's insides as he listened to the sound; it felt like a lifetime before it subsided.
The door swung open and it was all Bard could do to stop himself from crashing in straight away, but a solemn faced nurse blocked his path. She too was pale with sweat, there was blood on her hands and her apron and she wore a weary expression that Bard had seen all too many times amongst the people of his village. With enormous effort she turned her lips up in a sad smile.
"It's a girl, sir," Relief flooded Bard at her words and he clutched at his face in an attempt to hold it all together, though he could see there was more the woman wanted to say. Her voice shook slightly as she spoke again, "I'm so sorry, sir..." She didn't get to finish her sentence; perhaps she did not know how, not that it mattered for Bard had unceremoniously pushed past her, yearning to see his wife and daughter.
She lay amongst blood stained sheets with matted, straggly hair and a sickly grey face, but her lips were spread in that most joyous smile of hers and her half closed eyes twinkled. For cradled in her arms, was their daughter; wrapped in a fluffy blanket with a tiny, screwed up face – she was as beautiful as her mother and as precious as their children before her.
"Bard, my darling," His wife's voice was as frail and delicate as a leaf in autumn as she called to him, "Come here and meet your daughter," Bard did as she said and as if in a trance crossed the room to his girls. "I think we should name her Matilda, Tilda, after my mother," His wife said, watching him watching the baby.
"Of course, anything you want, my Amelia," Bard lowered his voice to a hush as he gently took one of the baby's podgy hands and squeezed it. He laughed in delight as she wrapped her tiny fingers around his thumb. "Hello Tilda, you beautiful girl,"
"Bard," Amelia's weak voice drew him back to her; she looked so small and distant, he felt his heart sink in his chest.
"Yes, my beautiful," He took her frail hand in his, careful not to grasp it too tight in case she shattered, she looked as though she might break at the slightest touch.
"Do not be sad," She smiled at up him, the expression looking strange against her tired features and hollow cheeks.
"I," Bard's voice caught in his throat and he had to swallow hard, "Why would I have to be sad? We have another beautiful child,"
"Bard, do not pretend," she murmured, "I have been sick for a long time and that time has ended," Her grey eyes turned misty with tears as she gazed up at him and his tears began to drip down onto her cheeks.
"No," he said fiercely, though his heart and his mind knew otherwise, "No you can't, you have to stay with me," His voice became thick with emotion and the tears came thick and fast. He wanted to wipe them away as he could see them falling onto his poor wife but he didn't have the strength to let go of her hand.
"You have to let me go, Bard," She said more fiercely this time, gripping his hand with all the strength she could muster. "We knew that this might happen, I just thank God that our Tilda arrived safely before it did,"
"No, no the nurse can heal you, we'll take you to another doctor! Anyone! I'll pay whatever; I'll do whatever it takes!" Bard's throat felt raw, for all his protests he knew. He knew it when he was pacing outside, he knew it when he saw the nurse's face, and he knew it now.
"Bard, please," Amelia soothed him, reaching up with her free arm to stroke his tangled hair. "Do you remember when we first met? You said -"
"I said I would let you on the barge for free if you gave me a kiss," Bard managed a smile at the memory; she had looked so beautiful that day; with flowers braided into her blonde hair and her grey eyes shining silver like the moonlight. She was beautiful that day, and she was beautiful every day since.
"And I said it was a poor bargain, and that I might as well swim across!" His wife laughed softly, reliving the memory, "I loved you from that very first day," she sighed. "Even if I didn't tell you until I'd let you court me for months,"
"I would've courted you for years if that's what it took," Bard murmured, his voice cracking slightly, "I would've done anything for you." Amelia touched his cheek with her fingertips.
"I know," she closed her eyes for a moment and Bard thought it was the end, but he saw their silvery shimmer once more. The silver of her eyes had matched the embroidery on her wedding dress; a lavish gift from her parents. It became her beautifully, though Bard knew she would look beautiful in anything.
"When I saw you walking down the aisle, I thought I was in heaven, and you were an angel..."
"You were my angel," Amelia traced patterns on his cheek absentmindedly as she spoke. "You always have been. Now I can be yours," The tears finally started to flow down her cheeks as she bent her head to kiss Tilda's tiny face. Bard's eyes were wild with terror, like a deer caught in the lights. Amelia let out a great huff of air, as if all the life was being sucked from her deflated body.
"Amelia!" Bard gripped her hand, desperately now, as her long eyelashes batted slowly.
"You look after them Bard, you look after our children," She reached up and lightly brushed her lips against his before slumping back against her pillow. "I love you," her lips barely moved as the last words escaped them and her eyes slid closed for the last time.
"No, Amelia! Amelia!" Bard's voice broke as he sobbed hard, shaking her limp hand, as if he could bring her back if he tried hard enough. His sobs turned to screams in his denial as he pressed his lips to hers again and again, only to find them turning cold, their lingering warmth beginning to fade away. His screams turned to moans, small, dying animal sounds as he laid his head next to hers and let his tears soak the pillow beneath him.
Without the clutch of her mother's arms around her, baby Tilda began to cry. It was Amelia's last wish that drew Bard out of his misery and reminded him that there was still someone who needed him. He scooped the baby into his arms and stood up, rocking gently as her cries subsided.
"It's okay, I'm still here," he crooned, watching as the baby's face became smoother as he cradled her to his chest, "I will always be here, Tilda. Da will always be here," at the sound of his voice Tilda's eyes blinked open. Bard gasped and a fresh wave of tears cascaded down his cheeks while Tilda looked up at him with bright, silvery grey eyes. Bard held his youngest daughter close while he wept, taking comfort in the tiny baby's expression; unsure and observant, her sparkling eyes wide. He kissed her pink forehead gently and gazed at his daughter. She truly was beautiful; a last piece of his beloved wife to hold on to.