Page 82 of The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past #4)

SEVENTY-ONE

Kate raised herself on her elbow and reached for the cup of ale someone had thoughtfully left by her bed.

The slight movement brought on a new bout of nausea, but the ale helped settle her stomach.

It was cool and bitter, more so than usual, but she hardly noticed.

She was thirsty, so she drained the cup and lay back down, breathing deeply until the wave of sickness began to ebb.

Perhaps it was the potency of the drink, but Kate felt pleasantly detached, her mind at peace for the first time in weeks.

She began to drift, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness as her body relaxed into the mattress. Perhaps she’d sleep for a while.

She wasn’t frightened at first. The twitches in her belly seemed insignificant, like the rumbling of distant thunder, and the shortness of breath and nausea had been her constant companions for several weeks.

It wasn’t until that first sharp pain that she began to worry, wondering if something might be truly wrong.

She tried to sit up, desperate to pull apart the bed hangings and allow some light into the dim confines of the bed, but another pain sliced through her, forcing her back down and pinning her to the mattress.

She rolled onto her side and brought her knees up to her chest, praying for the pain to stop, but it didn’t.

Waves of nausea and dizziness rolled over her as the spasms in her womb intensified, no longer rumbles of thunder, but sharp, jagged bolts of lightning.

Her extremities began to go numb, as her vision blurred and her hearing faded out.

She tried to call for help, but her cry was like the whimper of a newborn kitten.

“Dear God, please, no,” she prayed as hot, sticky blood began to flow between her legs, her womb mercilessly forcing the baby out.

Somewhere deep inside she’d known that this could never be.

She owed God a debt and He’d come to collect, with interest. He wouldn’t allow a sinner like her to taste such joy.

God was vengeful, and He was cruel, and in her time of need He had forsaken her.

She began to tremble violently as her breath came in short gasps, no longer seeing the darkness of her curtained world. What she saw were the faces of those she’d loved, floating before her like wispy clouds before the moon.

As she lay in a pool of her own blood, and life drained from her battered body, she had one final thought:

I’ve been murdered.