Chapter 64: SI POV XVI
Late 161 AC
It was all I could do to keep from panicking. My life, for all its difficulties, had been comparably easy in many aspects until this point. For all the fighting, the stress of war and the progression of my lands amidst noble politicking, I had come far relatively unscathed, even counting the occasional aches from the old injuries of war against man and monster alike. Now, though, the realities of a world so far removed from my original were staring me in the face, and I was powerless to combat it as I had so many other threats.
Mylenda lay before me, exhausted, though not from our daughter's birth two weeks before. Nay, somehow, she had developed what the midwives called a birthing fever three days before, and I was unsure if she would survive it. Some women overcome it within days I was told, and other die from it in that same time. I trusted Maester Gorman, I had to, for his experience when combined with the experienced midwives was the best I could hope for in my lands. Again and again I was assured that she would pull through, as her fever was less than others, but that did not stop that dark part of my heart from aching at what must have been my fault.
I knew nothing of the production of general medicines, especially those like penicillin, and even if I did, I was not like the men and women of stories I had read a lifetime ago, whose life skills had been as varied as they were useful upon their rebirth. I had not been born into a major house in times of isolation or prosperous peace, and thus my resources had been tied up far longer than I would have liked just bringing my lands up from middling to flourishing. Certainly, I had put forth the effort to ensure everyone was healthier with more access to better foods, and the means of reducing illnesses and their spread with soap and pasteurization and the like, but this was something I had not accounted for despite years of planning.
I held the bundle in my arms, gently rocking her as her dark hair stood in stark contrast to her bright purple eyes. Truly, our newest daughter was the spitting image of me, though perhaps her nose was more Mylenda's than mine. The thought that not only could I lose Mylenda to something I could have tried to create, but just didn't know how, weighed as heavily as the knowledge that our daughters could lose their mother at such a young age. "I'll find a way," I muttered, our little Ravella silent in my arms. "I'll find a way to save your mother, I promise."
Her eyes finally began to droop as the wetnurse arrived with Gorman, and she was gingerly taken from my arms.
"My lord, I have cautiously good tidings," my maester said as I rose to my feet.
"Yes?"
"At the rate the fever is lessening, unless something should occur, she should be back to good health within a day or so. Yet I must stress that she be given several weeks to recover, and this means no activities which might strain her weakened self."
"Of course, maester, I would not want to endanger her after her recovery."
"This means no sharing your marriage bed, my lord."
I nodded. "Better she recover away from me than by my side, I would not want to risk sickening her again should I also have some minor illness."
Gorman pinched the bridge of his nose. "While it is also that, my lord, I meant there is to be no… intimacy between the two of you."
I gave him a puzzled look. "Why would we be intimate? Ravella was born two weeks ago, and my wife is still sick. The last thing on my mind would be any sort of such… activity." Ravella's conception had been a bit more cajoling on my wife's part, and I was slightly worried she'd wish to try again sooner than I'd like. I enjoyed our intimacy, but could not at the expense of her health.
My maester clasped his hands together as he gave me a somewhat curious look. "There are many lords that would not think as you do, my lord. I knew many a maesterly acolyte who had seen men try for the marriage bed not a week after a child had been born, with or without a feverous wife."
"Then those men shouldn't be surprised if they grow ill themselves or lose their wives to the birthing or illness," I replied. "I can wait to try for a son, Gorman, I am a patient man. Better my wife is in good health when we try again, rather than risk trying again so soon."
Gorman nodded. "Indeed. As it is, your guests arrived a short while ago, my lord, and your lady mother gave them the rites. None seemed upset when they were given reasons for your absence, so it should not affect the negotiations."
I sighed, departing for my solar. There was always more work to be done, important work yes, and while it would take my mind off Mylenda for some time, there would always be that niggling thought of what would happen to my lands should she not survive this fever. To say nothing of the vultures that would come to my keep, seeking to marry off daughters or female kin to me to secure an alliance or the resources at my disposal…
I had already assembled the necessary documents in my solar for our plans, but as I entered my solar, I found an unexpected addition to our coming discussion.
"Maron," I said, slowly approaching the lad standing behind a pair of tall curtains, his movements as still as a seven-year-old could hope to be. "Why are you in my solar?"
"Hiding," he whispered, peeking out from behind the curtain.
"Why are you hiding?" I asked.
"Shyra said hiding here is best, nobody comes here," he said softly, his tone as conspiratorial as only a child's could be. Why was he whispering? We were the only ones in the room.
"Again, why in my solar?"
"Arenna made Jonnel play hide and seek with us, and he's the seeker. Gotta hide, but he always finds me anywhere else I go." He looked up at me with pleading eyes, the kind that make your soul hurt with their innocence and sincerity. "Please don't tell me to leave, Lord Wytch, please?"
"Ah," I muttered, rubbing my face. Sometimes I regretted allowing certain games in the castle, but when I was younger, hide and seek had been one of favorites with my sisters, even after I 'awoke' in this world. Now that I was older, I'd have hoped they had outgrown them, but with two new 'brothers' to drag around, it would seem I was wrong.
"Please?" he asked again.
"Very well, but you must promise me something," I replied, crouching down to his level to look him in the eyes.
The little boy nodded. "Yes, my lord."
"I am having a meeting with some very important people, and you must stay quiet. If you can stay quiet, you may stay, and the guards will not allow any of the others to enter. Also, after my meeting is done, you may leave, but you must not tell them where you were hiding. Am I understood?"
"Yes, my lord," Maron said, with that sort of serious nod all children could give, but rarely uphold for long. "I promise as a Martell."
Martell promises were not promising from a historical lens, but Maron was seven, I could give him some childhood leeway away from the viper's nest his life would eventually become. "Then stay quiet, and don't move from your spot. In fact," I said, reaching for one of the pillows I kept for when my chair grew a bit too stiff, "you may sit on this pillow on the window's ledge if your legs get tired."
"Thank you, pa- I mean, Lord Wytch," my ward muttered before fully disappearing behind the curtain with said pillow.
Ignoring his near-slipup to the best of my abilities, I simply shook my head at his choice of hiding spots. While I knew he couldn't open the window latches, even if he somehow did, he was too big to fit through the gaps of that window. Rising and returning to the table at the center of the room, my important parchments thankfully undisturbed, my guards entered with my guests in tow.
"My lords, I trust your journey was not too difficult?" I asked as I shook the hands of four men, each a distant cousin or trustworthy relative of the men whose kin I would be fostering: Connington, Tarth, Meadows and Ashford.
"Nay, Lord Wytch, the inns along your roads were much more pleasant than I would have expected," one of them replied, his surcoat signifying him as an Ashford. "Most inns are little more than hovels to keep the rain off one's head and the heat from a fire within the room, but yours could rival manses of other lands."
"I do my best to ensure that my smallfolk prosper as well as my lands do, and that includes their dwellings," I replied. "You'll find no hovels in my lands, I assure you, only sturdy and warm Stormland cottages and the like."
"A worthwhile endeavor to those passing through your lands, it makes traveling far less uncomfortable," the Connington man replied as we sat at my table. "I have begun to notice the same in places where your farming methods first took root."
"A mere byproduct, to be sure, but a welcome one nonetheless," I said. "My good sers, what we represent is an ambitious idea, but one with untold benefit not only for our houses, but that of the Stormlands and those in the Reach sharing our beliefs," I said, nodding to the others among us. "Trade is the lifeblood of lands who produce more than simply food for themselves, and with the prospect of Dorne's subjugation finally at hand with a peaceful three years, the chance to oust Essosi power on our own shores is one we can all agree is a must."
"For all that I don't care for counting coppers, I'd rather us Westerosi were the ones buying and selling, rather than those slaving foreigners," the Connington man said, to numerous mutters of agreement from the others. "Damned wretches profit off our goods all the while we toil away in lands they deem barbaric. Seven forbid anyone raises a fuss about, seeing as those same ships probably are the ones that raid isolated shores for slaves."
"Were it only Braavosi that traded with us across the Narrow Sea, then I'd not mind it near as much," the Tarth man said. "Yet even then, better we had fairer dealings with them if they weren't so afraid of our king and his house. Daeron is no more liable to try and invade Essos than he is to take the lands north of the Wall."
I said nothing to that, knowing full well that man might just try to do so, as Baelor's letters indicated. Whether this was true or simple hearsay, I did not know, but something in my gut told me that if Daeron's conquest of Dorne did take and he survived, unlike in canon, there was no telling where he might turn his eyes to next. "A trading company along our own shores is an opportunity for us all, especially as we seek to take advantage of this peace while we still have it."
"Aye, but ships and their crews cost gold, and building a port in Connington lands will take more time than simply hiring ships and crews," Meadows said, a knight by the looks of it.
"Aye, but not as long as you'd believe, my good man," I said. "Through these past years of building road after road and the great dam in my southern lands, I have come across intriguing possibilities of how best to use my Wytch-stone to bring about a quicker means of building a harbor. Ser Connington, of the sheltered bay your lord aims to develop, what can you tell me of its progress? How deep might it be for our plans?"
"Well, it used to be fairly wild and untamed, but with the better houses and the road leading to it, the fishermen there are more likely to try and sell their catch further inland than before, and those fish pens of yours in the sheltered pools are doing wonders for some. As for its depth, save for the rockier shoals and sandbars? Perhaps comparable to other deepwater ports like Kings Landing, more than enough to support galleys and cogs."
"Indeed, but of these shoals, how shallow are they?"
"Thankfully none of them are near the central channel, but many are perhaps as deep underwater as a man is tall, given the tides and the movement of waves. At times they are even visible on calm days from a distance, but in bad weather any ship could come aground on them and crack open their hulls. As such, only fishermen ply those waters and avoid when the seas get rough at all costs."
"While we may not have a coastline, the same can be said for larger rivers, only instead of wind, the current is your greatest ally and foe alike, either aiding in your journey or shoving you into sandbars or the shoreline," Ashford said. "What do you propose, Lord Wytch?"
"Something quite simple in planning, but likely far more difficult to put into practice," I replied. "We create barges in which we can pour and let solidify large slabs of Wytch-stone, with which we can then sink upon these shoals to form the basis of the outer rings to protect the docks from storm driven waves. Around these initial slabs would also be additional slabs of the stuff, as well as large boulders and rocks pulled from the lands around us. Given how the village will need to be expanded, digging into the rockier cliff faces will be a good, cheap source of these large stones."
"With such breakwaters in place, any ships in the harbor itself would need not fear waves brought on by wind or tide, save for the most unlikely of terrible storms," the Tarth said with a nod. "Natural breakwaters are always sought when building a good port, and to do so artificially is something that tends to only be done to expand existing docks. I don't believe I've heard of such things being built just to enable a port in the first place, but I am not well-traveled outside of Westeros, so who is to say how those in the far east accomplish such feats?"
"Not to get ahead of ourselves, but even with such breakwaters in place, we mustn't try and attain a fleet too large for our purposes too quickly," the Meadows said. "My lordly uncle has spoken of misbegotten ventures of merchants buying too much for a caravan, only to lose their investment to bandits or storms and come to ruin. I would rather we not gamble unless we have the means of supporting this venture more than once."
"What of the cost of ships? If our trade fleet is to be sufficient for our plans, the potential for trade must greatly outweigh the costs involved," Connington added. "Our families may not be the wealthiest in the Stormlands, but the wealth we do have cannot be unwisely invested, lest we come to ruin."
"While I have the means of lending, I will not do so to fellow lords," I said. Word was slowly trickling out of Lowhill's bank, and I'd rather send men back who knew the truth of the matter rather than allow hearsay to create… problems. "Usury among lords tends not to end well if not done with proper oversight to keep things civil, and I would not profit off my fellows simply to see this venture done. As such my bank is meant only for those within my lands, and only for those considered yeomen or merchants. From my own coffers, however, I will gladly pull the funds needed to ensure our ships and their crews are not only paid well enough to deter them from turning to piracy, but to also attract trade from others. Who knows? As our trade fleet plies the trade routes, errant captains might be interested in joining us."
"Just how much is a ship these days?" Ashford asked. "I know the price is always different depending on the port and whether there's war or peace, at least…"
"As of my latest investigation, a good ship and its crew will tally around one thousand gold every month if hired from the Stormlands or a bit more if from the Reach or Kings Landing." I pushed each of them a piece of parchment, detailing the running costs as best as could be made in a world where such prices fluctuated all the damn time. "It would be lower but given our proximity to the Stepstones and how far their pirates can range, I'd rather our ships be better armed than others. So, for a fleet of ten good ships and their crews, we would need a 'collective pot' so to speak of ten thousand gold dragons every month to keep them happy."
"Seven's sake, ten thousand a month? Ludicrous, to think it would cost that much for ten ships, no wonder the Ironborn and Essosi alike take thralls and slaves to move the oars, you don't have to pay them…" Tarth muttered.
Well, it was good for me that my investments years before had continued to make increased returns, as well as all the wealth generated by increased smallfolk and increased production. Whereas I had once needed to spend thirty thousand gold dragons on building my dam and that reduced my treasury by over three-quarters, I now had well over a hundred thousand gold dragons in both gold and silver. I had the equivalent of half of that tied up in the worth of many ventures my house now owned or invested in. That was, of course, not counting my share of the spoils from Baelor's treasure hunting expedition. In fact, save for items I'd determined not worthy of sale, being too valuable or prestigious, I'd gladly spend the treasure I could before dipping into my own coffers.
Baelor was very generous with his friends, and a pile of silver and gold worth fifty thousand gold dragons was a generous reward indeed. To think it was only a drop in the bucket compared to the total of the treasure hoard recovered, never mind what it might have once been…
"Were we to start with five ships, that amount would obviously halve, but we would also have to consider the amount of trade goods we would also be providing," I said. "Based upon what a good-sized ship can carry, I would be able to fill the cargo holds of two such ships."
"With what?" Ashford asked.
"Well, for starters, ideally nothing that any of you produce in excess," I replied. Given their somewhat confused stares, I gestured to our mutual parchments. "All of our lands produce food; else we'd have never been able to grow as we have even with my plows and the like. However, to not tread upon one another in a 'rush' to trade, I believe it would be best for each of our houses to determine what it is we have available for trade, and the profitability of that in comparison to what others have."
"So that we don't undercut one another by everyone supplying wool and thus diverting gold away from one or the other," Ashford continued, looking to the others around the table. "Say, for instance, Cider Hall was a part of our group. Their ciders are among the finer in the region, ones none of us can currently compare to. Were they to only sell their ciders in this venture, we could then sell what they do not to avoid competition."
"Yet the Fossoways of Cider Hall would never join in this group, given the recent history between my house and their own, that I can assure you," I replied. I'd be damned if they were allowed into such a venture without some serious concessions or genuine apologies on their end, and even then, I'd never be able to let my guard down around them. "As it is for avoiding competition amongst us, my whiskeys and other liquors are sold by the barrel, and given their dimensions, were I to sell only these, I could perhaps fill the hull of a single trading ship. Add in the disassembled pieces of my plows or seed drills, and I'd easily fill another ship's hull with that. What of your lands?"
Between what the Stormlanders of them knew, their lands were larger than my own, but not as prosperous, and it showed. Between their houses there was varying qualities of wool, ship timber that any dockyards would pay well for, some amber from the Conningtons where their lands abutted the Rainwood, and surprisingly from Tarth a good deal of pearls from their eastern shores. Honestly, the fact that so many of these pearls are within spitting distance of the abandoned ruins of Morne tells me the old Tarth kings were wealthier than their island might have indicated. Now, if they were inclined to try and rebuild Morne as a trading port on their own island, that might be something to consider in the years to come…
As for the Reach? Well, both houses were massively into agriculture, as was pretty much all the Reach, that much was a given. Had I been reborn into a Reach house in this world and wasn't such a comparably goody two-shoes I'd have expanded into whatever cash crops grew well there, perhaps even into some sort of early drug trade, because why not sell vices to people like sourleaf and poppy? Besides, the Meadows grew the poppies I needed for making medicines, and I could probably convince them to grow similar plants and herbs, both for our (my) own uses and for trade. As for the Ashfords, besides my future ward, their biggest export would soon be the fireplum brandy I'd been making for them. I bought it from them cheap, turned it into wine and then brandy, upon which they could then sell it. My losses on such a deal were so small I'd have thought for certain they would feel bad, but since they didn't and neither did I, I was willing to do so. Besides, if they sold only to me, and only I knew how to make good brandy in this part of Westeros, then why rock the boat?
To think this venture had only started as an idea between myself and two Stormland houses, and now two Reach houses were also interested. Perhaps I needed to tone back on my development ambitions, lest I get pulled into a pile of shit I couldn't dig myself out of…
"So then were you to fill the cargo of two such ships, that would leave three for the four of us to divvy amongst ourselves," Tarth said. "Seems that you would be selling more goods than us."
"By tonnage perhaps, but that is something I am willing to negotiate on. Besides, the risk of loading every ship with only one of our goods is a recipe for disaster should one ship in particular run afoul of weather, pirates, or the rocky coastlines of the Stormlands. Were I to load just one ship with all my drink, and that ship sank, well, that's a great deal of brandy and whiskey lost to the Ironborn's Drowned God, and I'm not one to supply his feasts, now am I?"
The Ashford chuckled at that. "Aye, I can see the problems arising with that. If a set amount of cargo were to be established for each ship, each according to the expected prices and the space used for the items in question, then for such a small fleet, spreading the risk would ensure that even if one ship was lost, the return from profits would at least cover what was lost, if not offset it."
It was good that I had requested that the lords of these houses send men whose experience with commerce was at least knowledge of the basics. "So then we must find out just how much of each can be safely loaded onto a ship before it begins to become dangerous, even for coastal voyages only," I said.
"Yet with only five ships, that is still five thousand gold dragons a month in pay, and that is quite the sum. How long does it take to travel from this eventual port to Kings Landing, or Gulltown, or Maidenpool?"
"We are not sure of the last two, but by my guess? Less than a fortnight under fair conditions, and if we gave the ship and her crew three days in port to unload, sell and rest from the sea, we could see a total trip taking a month, assuming no issues with storms or pirates," the Tarth said. "However, the only way to be sure would be to hire just one ship to make the journey several times, and I am not certain how feasible that would be."
"Whatever the case may be, I would be willing to fund a single ship to plot this journey for us, as well as sell some of our goods to whet the appetites of the merchants in Kings Landing. However, my good men, I do believe I may have a solution to aid in our pursuits," I said, pulling up the old plank one of Gorman's associates had sent ahead of his return. Setting it on the table, the somewhat greenish metal standing at odds to the otherwise unharmed plank, I studied the looks of the men around me. The Reachmen seem nonplussed, as did the Connington, but I saw a look of understanding bloom on the Tarth's face, and I knew I had an in.
"A copper sheath?" he asked, reaching out and picking up the plank to see for himself. "Not a single barnacles on the wood, by the Seven…"
"What is this?" the Meadows asked.
"This, gentlemen, is the future of our trade fleet, and perhaps all of those of Westeros," I said. "With copper nails and a sheath upon planks, a man from my Academy has been letting it sit within salt water for years now. This is the result of that, and with it, a solution to our ship's hulls eventually being marred by barnacles and other such creatures."
I sat in silence as Maester Gorman tended to Mylenda, her skin somewhat pallid under the sweat of her brow. As advanced as I knew our medicinal practices had grown in my time here, with cleansing before examining patients and maintaining a clean, clear room, there was always that uncertainty that it would not work. Yet my heart fluttered when Mylenda opened her eyes and glanced around the room as Gorman retreated.
"It would seem the worst of your fever has passed, my lady," the man said, and my exhale carried with it all the stress in my heart. "While I would still recommend bedrest until it is entirely gone, it would seem that your recovery should progress well enough, perhaps within a day or two."
"Thank the Seven," I muttered as she reached over and grabbed my hand, interlacing our fingers as she so often did as the maester gave us our privacy. "The girls have been worried about you."
"What about you?" she asked, weakly, but with a soft smile.
"Even more so."
"What of… Ravella?"
"She is doing well, as ravenous in her hunger as her sisters were, according to the nursemaids," I muttered, earning a soft chuckle from my wife. "Much quieter than Argella was, though I doubt the maids mind it as much."
"What have I missed?" she asked, rising just enough for me to shuffle around a pillow for her.
"Our guests from the Stormlands and Reach are here, I met with them earlier today when you were still asleep. Our trade deals are progressing well, though it will take some time to determine how much we will need to spend to ensure everything goes smoothly. I must admit, this venture… it's riskier than anything else we've done."
"Risk is a part of our lives, Casper," she said. "It's a risk for a woman to carry and birth a babe, just as it is a risk for a lord to march to war against any foe. Yet the benefits of this venture will be the cornerstone upon which we increase the wealth and connections of our conjoined houses."
"Aye, it is, yet I cannot help but worry. I'm not just some young lord anymore on the cusp of manhood, I've a wife, children, a family of my own to care for on top of the wellbeing of my house. With everything else that has occurred, the wars, the uncertainty within Dorne, and with Arenna's marriage to the heir of House Selmy being only three years away…"
"Cas," my wife said, my nickname something I'd not heard in several years. "Your mother and I have managed to mitigate some of your control over everything around you, yet you still seek it out. Why?"
"I could have lost you," I said.
"You still could. This is the way of things."
"Yet what if it didn't have to be?"
She rolled her eyes. "For all your wonders and inspirations, my love, we all die. The only difference is the how in the end, and not even you can combat all the illnesses of the world."
I could if I remembered how, but that was beyond me. Smallpox I could reasonably try for soon, what with cowpox experiments and rough vaccines coming from it, but the rest? All I could do was prevent, not cure, and that worried me. "As long as the precautions are in place, then we can only hope they stave off an early death."
"Early indeed, you are just one and twenty, and I your senior by less than four moons. Gods be good, we'll have a long life ahead of us, and more children to bless these halls with."
Ah, yes, that. Our talks on this subject had grown slightly more tense over the years, but surely now, after suffering from this fever, she could see reason. "As for that, I think it best we wait as we did between the girls. While Gorman's medicinal practice is without question, he has stated that we should not try for another soon."
"How soon is soon, Casper?"
"Well, he suggested several weeks, but I was considering more of several moons at the very least. Your figure and health have remained very well considering we now have three beautiful daughters, and I would rather not risk the latter for the sake of enjoying the former in our marriage bed."
"But we need a son, for both our sakes!"
Her voice was louder than I'd thought it would be, and unless she was calling for me, I'd wager this was the first time she'd ever raised her voice with me, not counting when she was in labor.
"I'd rather wait for a son than lose my wife before her time," I replied, my gaze strong and my voice low. Yes, I wanted a son, but it grated me that the societal requirements of our lands meant she needed a son even more than I did. I could live long enough to wed Argella to a landed knight or lesser relative of another Stormlord and name the grandson as my Wytch heir, but she was not afforded the same niceties to hope for a Windhill heir. Damn the convoluted and irregular laws governing the lands of Westeros, where was a law codifier like Justinian when you needed him?
Come to think of it, I should speak with Baelor and his cousin Naerys on raising that issue with the king…
She was silent for a few moments, a familiar look entering her gaze as her grip on my hand tightened.
"So you think me incapable of handling another pregnancy, one I am for certain will be a son? Am I so undesirable to you for producing only daughters?"
I knew what was coming, but this being our third child, I had at least some experience to draw upon.
"Of course not, on either account," I answered quickly.
"Then why not lay with me? Why not share our marriage bed and produce the son we so desperately need?"
The 'birthing madness' was what they called post-partum depression here, but that blanket term also accounted for any 'unladylike' bouts of emotion in these lands. At least they recognized the women were merely experiencing something to do with the aftereffects of childbirth and not some sort of demonic possession, which apparently was a superstition held in parts of Westeros from before the coming of the Seven, oddly enough…
"Your health must recover first, and I do not wish to risk you or our next child's health simply because I was wishing to be intimate."
My wife seemed torn between anger and sadness, the latter of which I understood, but the former I had yet to truly wrap my head around. "So then there will be another to make a son for you?"
Oh no, not this line of thinking. She'd never gone down this rabbit hole before, but birthing three daughters was likely taking a toll on her predisposition for acquiring an heir for not only my house, but that of her house as well.
"Of course not, Myllie, you and I both know we were one another's firsts and only," I said, taking her hand into both of mine and looking her directly in the eyes. "I lived for near seven and ten years before our wedding night for the touch of a woman, and I can wait as long as we need until you are healthy. I took vows as both a knight and as a husband, and I intend to fulfill my duties of bearing sons only with the woman I married. Besides," I added, gently stroking her weakening grip with my thumbs. "There are other means of slaking such… lusts without the risk of childbirth or worsening the effects of an illness."
"Such as what?" she asked, seeming confused, but less angry than before, so that was a plus. "If we can't try for a son yet, how can I keep your manly urges in check?"
Sure, we had sex quite often since our marriage, three children in under five years is proof enough of that, but it wasn't as if I were some irascible horndog. We were too busy to be horny most of the time! "You know," I whispered, conspiratorially looking around to ensure Argella or one of the other children hadn't snuck in while I wasn't looking. I'd rather not face my mother if one of my sisters found out about a 'Lord's Kiss' from me, I might not survive the encounter. "That thing I do with my…"
"… oh," she muttered, a blush appearing surprisingly fast on her face. "That… I like it when you do that."
"Yes that, and what you usually do in kind, that would definitely calm any… urges I should feel," I replied.
Her anger lost all power as a smile replaced her glare. "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten about that, you really like it when I do that," she muttered, covering her face with her free hand, her senses thankfully returning to her. "Casper, husband, I'm sorry, I-,"
"Think nothing of it, Myllie," I muttered, leaning over to kiss her forehead and smell her hair. Sweaty from her fever, yes, but it was my wife's, and one of the maids would ensure she was washed with the finer oils and soaps we had after I left. "This is a merely temporary state of mind, I am sure of it. Before you know it, we'll try again for a son, but until then, you must rest and recover. Besides, your falcon is growing fat and bored in the rookery, I am certain he'd prefer you take him out after recovering to get him back into shape, no?"
"Yes, I really should, and we've not had our chance to survey the lands around our reservoir for an ideal cottage," she muttered, leaning up to kiss my cheek. "I am certain the children would love to swim on the sandier eastern shores while we catalog the fruits of our labor."
"Under proper supervision, of course," I said. My reservoir had not yet been in place long enough for any fish within to grow large enough to threaten a child, but I would not let them stray farther than where they could stand above water in any case. "Learning to swim is an important skill to have."
"Better to know and never need it, than need it and not know how to," Mylenda replied, shifting on her raised bed. "Just one of my husband's many words of wisdom these past years."
"I'll see to it that the girls are able to see you before bedtime. I'll have the maids bring you something light yet filling, to rebuild your strength before they wash your hair. Perhaps some of our more seasoned pork sausage from Timberstone, sliced and mixed with a white sauce over sautéed mushrooms and those egg noodles you've come to love so much?"
"Then topped with a bit of pepper? Casper, have I told you how much I love you?" she muttered, pulling me in for a quick kiss. I gladly returned it but held fast to my promise of only the kiss. Anything 'fun' could come later when she was strong enough to leave her bed, but nothing further would be initiated by me.
"Not lately, but I think you only say that these days when I bring you food," I replied with a cheeky grin, only to get weakly slapped by one of her pillows. I left her room in a fit of giggles, her laughter acting as a balm on my soul. Yes, she would recover, and our life would carry on, I was certain of it.