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“D elaina? Is thou finished yet?”

It was a sunny day, if cool, in the kitchen yard of St. Blitha’s Convent on the outskirts of London.

There was a yew tree in the center of it, used for everything from kindling to shade on a warm summer’s day.

The tree grew strong amidst a convent that had known its share of scandal and heartache during its long and sometimes shadowed history.

About one hundred years earlier, it had been the center of an assassination attempt on King John, and it had taken many years before the convent was able to restore any semblance of a reputation.

These days, it was known for its charity. But it was also known for its cheeses and fine lace.

St. Blitha’s had a large herd of fat goats from which to make milk for their cheeses.

Goat cheese was in high demand among the elite of London, so they had a ready supply of demanding customers for cheeses made with onion, herbs, garlic, and even anchovies when they could get them from the fishmongers near the Thames.

It was a soft cheese that was delicious when spread on bread or meat.

The fine lace production of the convent was small but exclusive.

Much like the cheese, the lace was in high demand from merchants, as well as the wealthy, who liked to stitch it to everything from clothing to tapestries to curtains.

An Irish nun had brought the skill from her homeland years ago and taught others, so now several of them made the lace with small bobbins or with needles.

Delaina was one who used small bobbins.

She heard the other woman’s soft question and looked up from her pattern to see Sister Martha Margaret smiling at her.

She smiled weakly in return, for these days, she truly didn’t have the energy to do much more.

In fact, sitting up was the equivalent of running at full speed from one side of London to the other for her.

She felt as if it expended that much energy.

Normally, she spent her days lying in bed.

“I am done for the day, sister,” she said. “I think I would like to rest now.”

The nun scampered into the chamber and helped Delaina to stand.

The first thing that became evident through her simple garments was her enormous belly.

The child wasn’t due for another month or two, but it wasn’t an event Delaina was looking forward to.

It wasn’t an event any of the nuns or postulates were looking forward to, because they had all become quite fond of the mysterious Delaina, who spoke nothing of her past. Everyone assumed that she carried the child of her dead husband for, as a Beguine, that would have been the logical conclusion.

The convent hadn’t pried into her past, so they only knew what she told them, which was essentially nothing.

She wanted it that way.

Even as the child began to grow inside her and she steadily weakened, Delaina insisted that she had no close family to tell.

She insisted that she had no close family to take the child should she perish in childbirth, which was becoming increasingly apparent as a possibility.

She had been sick since she arrived at St. Blitha’s, and it wasn’t simply because of the child.

There was something inside of her that was dying, too, something they could all see and something that grew by the day.

Something in her eyes suggested there was no longer the will to live.

There was something in her soul that was shriveling away, day after day.

Delaina was on borrowed time.

There was a physic who used to come to the convent every couple of weeks to attend to anyone who was too ill for the nuns to handle, and that included Delaina and her unexpected pregnancy.

Since she had been ill from the beginning, the physic paid special attention to her.

He wanted to bleed her, and he had a couple of times until the mother abbess stepped in and told him she didn’t think it was a good idea.

Instead, she fed Delaina beef broth and cheese and butter with bread, things that seemed to make her stronger even though she didn’t want to become stronger.

There were whispers in the dormitories that the death of Delaina’s husband had sucked out her will to live.

Not even the child seemed to be able to bring her out of her grief.

As the months went on and her belly grew bigger, her spirit as well as her body continued to weaken.

She was now well into her seventh month of pregnancy, and the physic had all but told the mother abbess that the lady would not survive the birth.

He suggested that they find a good family for the child.

Since Delaina was so lovely, he even suggested that she might be able to sell the child for a good deal of money, because it would undoubtedly be a comely baby.

That upset the mother abbess so much that she threw the physic out of the convent and told him not to come back.

These days, the mother abbess was searching for a competent midwife to deliver Delaina’s baby.

That wasn’t something they normally had need for, so she had to make sure to obtain a skilled woman and not simply some fishwife who had delivered a baby or two.

Daily, the mother abbess and her minions prayed for Delaina, praying she would survive the birth because they genuinely liked her.

She was clever, a hard worker, and kind to everyone.

Whatever her past was, it was terrible that so sweet a lady should have to suffer so.

The mother abbess hoped that the delivery of the child would not add to that suffering.

Delaina knew that. She knew that the mother abbess and the other nuns worried about her, and she was touched by their concern, but she really had no concern for herself.

Her only concern was for the life she carried in her, a child of the great Magnus de Wolfe, and when the time was right, she intended to summon him to collect his child.

Given how her health had deteriorated, she was also convinced that she would not survive the birth and, ultimately, she wanted the baby to be with his father.

Perhaps, in some small way, she wanted Magnus to remember her every time he looked into his child’s face.

Perhaps he would fondly remember their brief moment of glory together and the memory of the courtesan he wanted to marry.

Considering the last conversation they’d had, she hoped it wouldn’t bring him pain, but the truth was that she had little choice.

Her child was meant to be with his father.

It was, after all, a de Wolfe.

These thoughts were rolling through her head as Sister Martha Margaret helped her to walk across the floor.

Even walking was exhausting these days as Delaina grabbed hold of the doorjamb to steady herself.

Sister Martha Margaret stopped, allowing Delaina to regain her bearings, and then they continued down the corridor, heading for Delaina’s small chamber.

It was time for her to rest again.

Delaina had one of the very few private chambers at the convent.

Almost everybody slept in a dormitory, but there were a few rooms reserved for the more important nuns.

Since Delaina was pregnant and needed her sleep and privacy, one of the older nuns had given up her chamber so that Delaina could have it.

It was a very kind gesture, one that Delaina appreciated deeply.

Having finally reached the small chamber with the small window that faced out onto the cloister, Sister Martha Margaret lowered Delaina down onto the uncomfortable cot that had been her bed for months.

It was a rope bed with a mattress stuffed with grass, something no one else had, but for a pregnant lady the sisters banded together to make the mattress so Delaina had something comfortable to sleep on.

It was a lovely gesture, but even the mattress couldn’t make that stiff bed any more comfortable.

Still, she slept on it gratefully, on a scratchy mattress that caring nuns had made for her.

It was the first time in her adult life that women had done anything nice for her.

As she lay back on it, exhausted, she put her hands on her belly to feel the baby moving.

It was quite active, kicking and rolling, and she drew joy from feeling its movements.

She also drew pain. It wasn’t so much pain in her memory of leaving Magnus—it was the pain of knowing she could have had the life she wanted, but the cost would have been Magnus’ honor.

She’d made the unselfish choice and suffered for it.

But there was more suffering to come.

About three days ago, Delaina had started bleeding again, as she had when she was first pregnant, and the sight of blood frightened her.

Her ill health was worsening. She was afraid that she could very well deliver the infant any day and pass away before she’d had a chance to tell Magnus.

When she awoke that morning with more blood on her sheets, she was forced into action.

Knowing her time was growing short, she’d written a missive to be delivered to Westminster Palace using a writing kit borrowed from the mother abbess.

The woman had allowed it when Delaina told her that she was writing to distant family about the welfare of her child.

That wasn’t exactly true, however; she wrote to Magnus and told him of his impending child, her impending death, and how it was her wish that her baby should be raised as a de Wolfe.

She’d used the mother abbess’ seal, and a servant had taken it over to Westminster Palace.

She hoped that the missive would bring Magnus to the door of St. Blitha’s, but she was resolute that she would not let her feelings for the man overcome her when she saw him again.

She would simply tell him that he would be notified when she gave birth so he could collect the infant, and nothing more.