Pushing himself up after a few minutes, he opened the door and walked to her room. Silence. Guilt mounted tenfold with each step. How to even start to apologize for being such a monster? He turned the key in the lock. Soft weeping floated through the door. Pushing it open, he stepped in. "I'm so sorry - " He froze, his heart crashing to the floor. Blood soaked her skirts where she curled up on the bed. He tore from the room for his bag.

Running back in, he washed. "How long?" His hands had never shaken this hard.

"Since you locked the door," she sobbed.

He swore and dug out tools. "Cramping?"

She nodded.


By nightfall, the babe finally calmed. He pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat to keep watch all night. She hadn't spoken to him for hours, except to answer questions about the babe. She kept her head turned away and her hands over the soft swell of her belly. He didn't even know how to begin.

"Tanya?" he spoke softly. When she didn't turn her head, he leaned his elbows on his knees and fidgeted with his fingers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say the things I did and upset you. For what it's worth, I've never lost my temper like that before. It was terribly wrong of me to lock you in here. I don't even know what I was thinking." He ran a hand over his face and swallowed down the bile. "It didn't occur to me that you truly needed help." He set his hand over hers on her belly, but she pulled away. "I promise I will do everything humanly possible to make sure the babe is alright. Never will I lock you in a room again." His voice grew thick.

She rolled away and her shoulders silently shook.

It took a moment to realize she wept. "Tanya," he begged and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed. "Please, I didn't dream this would happen."

"You got your wish," she hiccuped. "After the babe dies, I want a divorce."

Tears burned behind his eyes. "I won't let the baby die," he said softly. Suddenly, his heart hurt.

"Just let him go. The whole pregnancy would be a losing battle. I want him to go in peace. And I don't want you here for it." Her chest heaved with the sobs.

"If it gets that serious, I'll send for the doctor to deliver and I'll be right here with you - "

"No," she wept. "Go. I just want you to go."

He swallowed hard. "You shouldn't be alone, Tanya. It's not even safe."

"Then send Becky. Send anyone else."

His lips pressed together to keep from quivering. "I'll help you. I want to be here with you - "

She burst into gut-wrenching sobs. "I'm begging you to go. You heartless beast, you have to stay and watch the 'bastard' die?"

Tears dropped into his lap. "I want to be here to help you," he croaked.

She flung onto her back to look at him. Never had he seen so much despair in eyes as in hers. "No. This time I won't soothe your guilty conscience! Get out!"

He searched her face, not even sure what to say.

"Go!"

His head said to run - she wanted to leave him. He'd wanted this in the beginning. But his heart spoke for the first time in years. And it said to stay, no matter how much it might hurt in the end. Slowly, he eased himself onto the bed so as not to jostle her. Holding her confused eyes, he scooped her into his lap and wrapped a blanket around her. Tucking her head under his chin, he whispered, "We aren't going to lose the baby, Tanya." He held tight as she cried herself to sleep.

He didn't move all night, keeping the stethoscope pressed to her belly. It took until after three o'clock in the morning to admit the only other time he'd been this scared was when Anna drew her last breaths in his arms. "Don't leave me, Tanya," he whispered and laid his cheek on top of her head.


The doctor came mid-morning. "What the hell is going on?" He took in the syringe wrapped to her arm and medical supplies scattered around and hurried over as Mark listened to her belly again.

"I upset her yesterday, and she bled and cramped. The cramping stopped over twelve hours ago, but the bleeding is sporadic." His eyes didn't move from where he returned to the syringe.

"Why do you have a morphine syringe wrapped to her arm?" The doctor glanced at her like he thought Mark was mad.

"It's not morphine - I'm just using a morphine syringe because the needle is finer. I'm giving frequent doses of saline because it seems to keep the babe stable. I'm not stabbing her every fifteen minutes." He pushed the plunger a little bit more and stopped again. Then he noted the time on a piece of paper. This damn treatment was purely experimental because nothing else seemed to settle the bleeding. No textbook or journal offered solutions either.

"When did you last sleep? You look awful and need to rest to think straight." The doctor frowned.

Ever so gently, he palpated the baby. "I'll sleep once the babe is stable." He ran his hand over his eyes. What was he just doing?

"Mark, Dr. Englewood can take over. You need to rest," she said softly.

He shook his head in objection. "What was I doing?" Burying a hand in his hair, he stared at her bare belly for a moment. Saline? He looked at the notes.

"You just got done with the saline," she said.

"Mark, if you're worried, you can sleep next to her." The doctor set a hand on his shoulder.

It took a minute for the words to sink in. He stumbled around the bed and eased down next to her. "Are you squished?"

"No." She smiled.

Soft snores filled the air, his foot still touching the ground.

She smiled and pulled a blanket over him the best she could with one hand.

"He's quite distressed."

"I think he feels guilty," she answered.

"I think he feels more than that." A smile crept in the doctor's voice.

She shook her head. Mark had stayed out of guilt and obligation, but it had helped ease her grief all the same. "So, what do you think of the babe?"

"Let me do an exam. Hold your horses." When he finished, he nodded. "There doesn't seem to be immediate danger anymore. Did Mark tell you what he thinks is causing the bleeding?"

She shook her head.

"I think I see the problem now that your womb has grown more, but let's talk to him when he wakes up. I have to go check on some other patients, but I'll be back."

When the doctor left, she closed her eyes to rest just for a moment.

"If we do that, you agree she should be fine?" Dr. Englewood's voice whispered.

"I do," Mark whispered.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Do what?"

They looked at her from where they stood at the foot of the bed, their expressions solemn. Mark stepped over and sat in the chair beside the bed. The shadows had fled from under his eyes for the most part and the five o'clock beard had been shaved, making him look more like himself than a madman. He took her hand, to her surprise. "You have extensive scarring from the...the conception."

"It bothers him to say, 'rape,'" Dr. Englewood whispered over Mark's shoulder, as if it was important she know that.

Mark gave him a look but continued. "The scars - adhesions - are pulling on your womb, causing tears as you grow larger with the babe and triggering the bleeding. If we don't cut them, you'll deliver the babe far too early. It shouldn't hurt you."

"But you're hesitant. Why? If it's so simple..."

The men looked at each other. Then Mark looked at her. "You have severe scarring, Tanya. We aren't sure that your body can support the weight of the pregnancy." Regret shined in his eyes.

"But you think you can get the babe to term?"

"This will give a chance to getting closer to term. There are no guarantees - the babe could miscarry tonight or make the full nine months."

"But I don't understand your hesitation." She looked from Mark to the doctor to Mark again.

He stared at her belly and absently stroked. "It could trigger childbirth. The pregnancy has been very fragile. I expect your body to react by initiating labor, at which time we'd sedate you to try to stop it. Our hope is that will settle your body enough to continue the pregnancy."

"It has to be done, doesn't it?"

He held her eyes. "I guarantee a miscarriage without it." His hand tightened in hers.

She swallowed hard, squeezing his hand. "Today is Sunday. There's no better day to hope for a miracle." A tear slid down.

As Mark worked silently behind the sheet, Dr. Englewood listened to the babe and told stories of Mark to distract from the discomfort. "When Mark moved to town, he had to learn how to cook." The twinkle in Dr. Englewood's eye dimmed - Mark must've had to learn to cook because funds needed to go toward Anna's care rather than a Cook. "He lit the oven and burned down half of the kitchen in the process. He was raised with a silver spoon in his mouth, dear, and it was a rude awakening to live like the rest of us." The doctor chuckled.

She smiled and glanced at Mark, who seemed so absorbed in his work that he didn't appear to hear. His brow shined with perspiration.

Dr. Englewood must've noticed too. "Doing alright, Mark?" No answer. "Mark?"

He grunted, still not quite listening.

"Doing alright?"

"This one is being...difficult..." he said distractedly.

The doctor went over to help.

She gasped as something tugged and stung. Something in her belly shifted.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It broke free too fast." Mark swapped tools quickly.

"It feels better. It doesn't tug anymore," she sighed in relief, not even knowing that discomfort hadn't been a normal part of pregnancy.

"Tugging?" Mark's head popped up with a deep frown.

"The pain I had on the underside of my belly."

"What pain?" he demanded.

The doctor blushed. "I thought it was growing pains. I'm sorry, dear."

Mark let out a sigh from his nose and gave the doctor a look. "I'm glad I've been privy to her medical history." Then he wiped his hands and stood, palpating her belly. "It's more pliable now. It feels better?" He looked at her.

"So much."

"Stay in bed until tomorrow evening. If you don't have anything eventful, you can sit downstairs for dinner," he stated and dumped his tools in a basin of hot water to wash.

"I'll come back tonight and see if you need a hand, Mark," the doctor stated and gave her a pat on the hand and a smile.

"Thank you," Mark answered.

When the surgeon left, she blinked at Mark in surprise when he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Tanya, may I check..." He cleared his throat. "Did Dr. Englewood check your scars?"

"My scars? You just - "

"The ones on your chest."

She shifted. "Scars are scars. They're healed."

"My concern is if you have damage to your breast that could cause problems when nursing the babe."

"Oh." Her face burned. "They're ugly scars. Perhaps the surgeon could do it," she said in embarrassment.

"It's just tissue."

The man used that gentle tone again. That blasted gentle tone that made everything seem safe with him. "It's ugly tissue."

He sighed. "I know I haven't been kind to you by any means..." The poor man cleared his throat, as if embarrassed. Then he looked down at their hands beside each other but not touching. "I don't want you to feel ashamed of your body. He..." The man swallowed hard. "He took was wasn't his and it's not your fault."

She frowned. That's not what everyone said.

"You think otherwise?" He frowned.

"People said that I must've looked at him or dressed like a harlot - "

He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes, looking a bit disgusted. "A man like that would've forced himself no matter what you did or didn't do."

"Oh." She looked at the sheets. That had never occurred. Why had Papa said it was her fault then?

"You know what I'm trying to say." He waived his hand.

"No." She frowned.

"You're going to make me say it?" he growled.

"Apparently because I have no idea what you're trying to say."

A gruff look overcame his face and he grunted, "I want you to feel comfortable in your body around me - and not as a sexual thing. Way. You know what I mean!"

She slowly smiled. "You worry about me."

The man grunted.

"I suppose you may check me," she said with hot cheeks.

He sat so close and his fingers were so gentle as he examined the scars. "The scar doesn't appear so deep that you won't be able to nurse, but we'll have to keep a close eye on it for signs of mastitis."

The man had such beautiful eyes that took on a soft look when his manner was tender. He made it seem so safe to say anything.

"Does it hurt every time a man takes his wife?" She looked up at him.

His movements slowed and his eyes rose to hers. "A union between a man and wife when they're in love is beautiful and gentle. There is no pain or fear, but pleasure for both the man and woman."

She nodded and her gaze wandered away. He would've been gentle with his first wife. In love, he'd be one of the gentlest men in the world, protecting his wife from every fear and every danger. It hurt to think of him having that with someone else, but there'd never be a chance that he could ever come to care for her, much less love her. After six years he was still in love with Anna. What it would be like to have a husband like that. To be loved that much that a man would be so kind and patient in the bedchambers, erasing the terrible memories.

"The right man will show you how making love is meant to be."

Her eyes shifted to him as he broke into her thoughts.

"You shouldn't be afraid of it." Then he pulled her nightgown shut.

She looked away to hide the heartache. No, he would never want her like that, much less love her. No man would want her.

"What's truly bothering you?" He didn't move off the bed.

Forcing a smile to hide the pain, she sat upright a bit more and buttoned her nightgown to make herself decent. "You speak as if a man would want me. Thank you for helping with the babe. You should get some sleep," she said to change the topic.

But the man apparently wouldn't be deterred. "Why do you say it like that?" He frowned, creating a small crease in the middle of his brow.

"Papa said he paid you a handsome dowry to take me - I assume he won at cards and gave it to you before he had a chance to squander it on drink. That and guilt to honor your word bought me. You, a good man, had to be bribed. What would other men need?"

"Your father told you that you required a large dowry?" He pressed his lips together, as if not pleased. "What price do you think I required?"

A bitter laugh. "More than I'm sure I've ever seen."

"Far less than your worth," he said softly. "This is what I took." He pulled a gold coin out of his pocket and held it up. "I demanded one coin." Then he pressed it into her hand and wrapped her fingers around it. "To pay for his wedding present that he should've given you. I suspected if he lived until then, he'd use any money he had not on you. To him, it perhaps was a fortune."

She stared at him. "You took me for free?"

"I do not buy humans," he said gruffly.

"Why did you do it? We're nothing but trouble to you."

He stood and turned to go. "I'll bring you lunch." Then he left.


He read a new obstetrics book in the chair beside her bed. The woman tried to teach herself how to knit. Whatever she tried to make was turning into a misshapen knot. Her needles clinked together, constantly drawing his eyes. Pressing his lips together, he suppressed a smile at her exasperated sigh of frustration. The woman shifted. His brow furrowed when a few seconds later she shifted again. "Are you alright?"

"I can't get comfortable. My back aches half the time."

He got up and adjusted the pillows behind her. "Better?"

She nodded but still had a pinched look.

"Roll onto your side. Perhaps taking off the pressure will help."

She did and seemed to relax, so he read a few more pages...until she seemed restless again. He set down the book just as she gasped and grabbed her belly. His stomach dropped the moment he touched her belly hardened in a contraction.

"Breathe, Tanya. Good girl. No, no, no, don't cry. Stay calm." He frantically worked minutes later to stop the labor as Dr. Englewood walked in.

"Mark, he's coming," she wept.

"What's going on?!" The doctor dropped everything and washed.

"He's not coming. Stay calm. It's alright." His shirt grew damp as he checked her again.

"Bloodletting will stop the childbirth." The doctor dug supplies out of his own bag.

"NO!" That ripped out with more vehemence than intended. He glanced at Tanya, who held the headboard and panted, her brow and nightgown plastered to her already. "Bloodletting will weaken her."

"You always were backwards in your thinking. The girl needs bloodletting!"

His head whipped to the man with a fierce glare. "I've delivered dozens of babes and lost fewer than twenty percent of babes and mothers! You're not touching her!"

The man backed off.

Backwards had earned him some of the best stats in the field, even having physicians from other countries come to train with him. His stats still hadn't been broken and Englewood knew it. Something wasn't right. She had full contractions but didn't progress for delivering.

"Mark?" she panted.

"What's wrong?"

"The cramps are going away."

He blinked and felt her belly. The contractions eased off. "What the hell?" he whispered in shock.

"Don't question it," the doctor said and listened to the babe's heartbeat. "He's still sound."

Dr. Englewood listened and checked for several more minutes. Mark slipped behind and reclined her back against him, keeping a hand on her belly. "That's a girl. Just relax so it stops." His hand stroked over the babe, soothing away the last of the contractions.

Tension faded away with a deep sigh. The babe would be alright. Mark would take care of everything.

The doctor left after a bit and Mark washed up his tools.

"I'm sorry," she flushed.

He looked up in question.

"I got your shirt wet." She looked down pointedly to his shirtfront soaked with perspiration.

He looked down and shrugged. "A good deal was me too. If you're still stable in an hour, I'll wash."

"Oh, I didn't mean that."

"I know." He shrugged and puttered around the room.

"Thank you." It seemed so inadequate for how many times he'd saved the babe.

He looked across the room at her. "You're welcome."

The poor man looked dead tired, but he insisted on staying the night to keep watch.

"Mark, come lie down. You won't sleep at all in that chair. There's plenty of room." She scooted over in the bed big enough for two.

The man remained planted in the chair with a stubborn expression.

"It'll be easier to wake you if I need to. Come." She patted the bed.

"It's indecent to be in your bed." He set his jaw.

"That's the worst excuse. You've seen all there is to see of me anyways." She pushed down the embarrassment. When he didn't move, she sighed. "Fine. If you want to be so tired that you're useless and we have to wait a half hour for Dr. Englewood to come..."

He growled and laid beside her, flat on his back without touching. Then he turned off the lantern.

Silence for several minutes. "Mark?" she whispered in the dark. "Are you awake?"

He grunted.

"I can't sleep."

"Why?" he growled.

"I've never slept next to anyone before."

"You just sleep," he grumbled.

"But, what if you crush me?"

He snorted in irritation. "I'm not a giant, woman."

"You're bigger than most men and much bigger than me," she whispered.

"Good Lord," he sighed. A pillow jammed on her right. "There."

He must've jammed his pillow between them. "But now you don't have a pillow."

"Just go to sleep," he groaned.

Silence for several minutes. His breathing didn't sound deep enough for sleep, and it was so hard to fall asleep right beside him. "Mark?"

"Whaaaat?" The pillow moved and it sounded like he smothered himself with it.

"Do you have children?"

"Excuse me?" The pillow returned between them.

"They might be at boarding school. It's hard to find out anything about you. You said you don't want to be a father, but you didn't say you aren't."

The bed shifted like he rolled away. "I don't."

"Did you?" She rubbed her belly. Maybe he lost the children too or Anna died during pregnancy.

"No! Christ, go to sleep!"

"But I'm not tired."

"Oh god," he groaned, the sound muffled like he ran his hands over his face.

"Why haven't you remarried?"

"What's on your finger?" he asked dryly.

"I mean a real marriage. You're certainly handsome enough to have your pick of women, and you seem like a passionate man - "

He flung back the covers and shot up.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep in the hall," he snapped.

"No, I'm sorry. I'll be quiet."

He got back in bed, mumbling under his breath.

The woman finally fell asleep minutes later, thank the Lord. Lying beside her was hard enough without her soft voice floating through the darkness. And then she'd brought up 'passionate' while in bed, triggering thoughts he had no business thinking about the chit. He shifted, the arousal finally beginning to fade. And then she rolled over, her hands curling around his arm to cuddle in her sleep. God bless it. He scooted away. Peace. His eyes drifted shut.

The bed shifted and his eyes shot open. She sighed and mumbled something, turning over and pressing her backside to his side. He stared up at the ceiling, blood flowing straight to where it shouldn't. Need throbbed as it hadn't in years. Sinking into her would be so damn sweet it'd... He slammed the door on that thought. Sitting up, he slid her over to her side of the bed and laid down. She stayed, so he closed his eyes.

The bed shifted again and he growled in irritation as her body heat came closer. The woman snuggled up to his arm. Lifting his arm up to free it and push her back over, he froze when she scooted closer and her belly rested on his hip and her hand on his chest. Something inside softened. Best to accept his fate of not getting away from her tonight. Sleep was more important so no sense in sitting in the cramped chair.

He tucked his arm under her head, and she nuzzled his shoulder like a pillow. Her leg flung over his, leaving her entire body half draped over him. Just for tonight. He wouldn't put up with this nonsense after tonight. No sense in the woman tossing and turning and going into labor from being overtired, so he'd stay tonight. His hand rested on her hip. Her damn soft, curvy hip not yet losing its contour yet to pregnancy. She fit perfectly against his side, goddammit. The wench was far too comfortable. He rested his other hand on her belly. To keep an eye on the babe. The slight swell of her small belly that still fit in his two hands wasn't sensual in the least. The increasing arousal came from having a female draped over him - it had nothing to do with the beautiful swells of her maternal body that grew more seductive each day. He snorted at that idiotic notion - he'd spent far too much time in her presence and her girlish notions were rubbing off on him. That was it.


With a yawn, she woke up on her side as the morning light streamed in. A strong arm draped over her and a large hand cupped her belly. A hard chest pressed against her back. Mark. His face nuzzled in her hair, his soft snores lightly tickling as they fluttered strands of her hair against her neck. With a smile, she backed up closer to his heat and froze when something poked against her bottom. When he gave a soft moan of tired pleasure, she held still so he wouldn't wake up and shatter the moment.

He pulled her close and kissed her shoulder. "Morning, sweetheart," he said in a thick voice.

She smiled. Maybe he was softening toward her. Maybe he didn't resent her anymore.

"I love you," he whispered and his hand ran under her nightgown up her hip.

She frowned. This didn't seem like him. "Mark?"

He shot out of bed so fast that she fell onto her back. He looked startled to see her, his eyes darting around as if trying to gain his bearings. Then grief overcame his face. "Forgive me, I thought you were someone else." He stormed out and slammed the door.

Her heart plummeted. He'd thought she was Anna. She should've known that he'd always look at her the way he just did - with regret.


It hurt so badly - to have been in that sleepy state of being back with Anna. Those mornings of cuddling in bed and... The door slammed on those memories as he barged into his chambers. The chit had looked close to tears when he'd left. That surely wasn't his fault that she'd believed those words meant for her. He didn't owe an apology or explanation. No, he'd go back to work after checking on her. She was his charge, his obligation, nothing more.

He entered her room with caution. No telling a woman's wrath for being mistaken for another. The woman looked terribly hurt - best to be brash with her. "Do you need anything before I start work?" he barked.

"No," she retorted tersely.

"Send for me if anything happens," he snapped.

She gave him a look.

The chit had no reason to be angry - he should be angry with her for convincing him to sleep in that damn bed together. He slammed the door shut. "What?! What is that look for?!"

She looked down her nose at him from her bed. "Go run, just like you run from everything else. You don't give a damn about the babe and - "

"Oh, stop your sulking!" he snapped.

"Me?! You looked like you would've traded us for her in a heartbeat!" She spat the words.

He opened his mouth to deliver a sound set down when she knocked the air from his lungs.

"I know you love her and we're nothing but a thorn in your side," she said softly with tears shimmering. "But just pretend to my face that you wouldn't give anything to have us trade places with her." She rubbed her belly.

He closed his mouth, the anger snuffing out. "Tanya, I don't wish you and the babe dead." His brow furrowed.

She gave a bitter smile and looked away, as if she didn't believe him. "You're late for work," she said quietly.

Time to let their tempers and emotions cool would be best. "I have to go to town for a meeting this afternoon for a few hours. I'll check on you before I leave." She looked at him with such sadness, but he couldn't quite read her expression.

When he headed upstairs after lunch to check on her, Brigands came down with a note.

"From the mistress, my lord."

He frowned and took it. Unfolding the paper, he read the brief lines.

He's been sound all day. No need to check on the babe before you go.

Tanya

That was a dismissal if he'd ever seen one. A pang of regret hit that she didn't want to see him yet.

He arrived home after dark. Two saddled horses were tied in the drive. He frowned and entered the house. Brigands didn't greet him at the door. A sickening feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. He hurried straight for Tanya's chambers.

The sheriff and marshall stood in her room taking notes from Becky, who sported a blue cheek, and Brigands, who held ice to his head. The room was a mess, as if a struggle had occurred.

"Where's Tanya," he demanded.

"They took her," Becky sobbed into her apron.

"Who? Who took her?!"

"Two men forced their way in. They knocked out the butler and locked the maid in the pantry," the sheriff answered. "The only thing missing if your wife, my lord. No worry - they usually demand ransom and then return the hostage."

His eyebrows shot up in dismay as his heart thundered in a panic. "No need to worry?! She's with child! She's been on bedrest - she could lose the babe from this and bleed out in the process! When did they take her?"

"The butler came to at five and we arrived at six," the sheriff said.

He pulled out his pocket watch. Seven o'clock. Shit, if he'd been home on time... At least two hours. Traveling with a woman in her condition would slow them up. "Where have you sent men looking for her?" he demanded. With a fresh horse, he could cover a lot of ground with the full moon tonight.

The marshall shook his head. "They left this." He handed over a paper.

Don't follow or we'll kill her. We're watching.

A bluff or she really was nearby. "I leave dressed as Brigands. If they have someone watching, he'll follow me. We take him hostage to find her whereabouts."

He rode a long time on the main road in Brigand's cloak, setting the horse at a quick enough trot to draw attention.

The sheriff, a smaller man, rode wearing Becky's cloak. "I don't like this. What if they left demands at the house? Or realized it's us?"

"My gut says we're about to find our shadow. Head for the woods."

The sheriff hid in the brush and he perched in a tree over the road as a man came from the direction of the house. He waited. Closer. Just a little closer. His heart slammed. She may've already lost the baby. She might already be dead. It was his fault - they knew he had money and must've seen him leave today. He shouldn't have left her alone. He should've returned on time.

The man rode closer. He crouched, ready to pounce on the man. Closer...closer... He leapt off the branch and took the man off the saddle, hitting the ground hard. The horse screamed and skittered away.

The man struggled as he fought to climb on top. The sheriff ran over with a fist ready.

He froze in shock when a familiar old face looked up at him. "George?"

"Jesus, Mark! You scared the hell out of me?" the doctor barked.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"Going to see the Johnsons because their son is ill. What are you doing?"

Shit. If they were about to catch the culprit, he surely heard that racket. "Someone kidnapped Tanya!" But he was already thundering away before the doctor even got up.