It was Gunnilda that brought the news in the morning, and not a servant.

It was Gunnilda that brought the news in the morning, and not a servant.

“He still lives, Egelric. I was up to feed baby Gwynn and – you watched all the night, did you?” she asked when she saw his face more clearly.

“Aye.”

She nodded. “He still lives, but he’s far gone, I guess. They had the priest already last night. He don’t wake no more.”

Egelric bowed his head.

“How’s Baby?”

'How's Baby?'

“She watched most of the night with me,” he said, lighting a candle. “I shouldn’t have let her. She nearly collapsed on the floor when she tried to stand up. I had to carry her in to bed.”

“You want me to sit a while here with her while you run up to Nothelm and get the news?”

“Thank you, Gunnilda,” he said. “That’s very kind.”

“Pish!” she scoffed as she sat wearily down in the chair he offered her. “It gives me a chance to rest my poor bones. I got two kids running around like your savage Scots, two babies on the breast, and another one coming soon. A little sitting by one sleeping girl is a real treat for me.”

'You work too hard, Gunnilda.'

“You work too hard, Gunnilda,” he said in that tenderly possessive voice she loved to hear.

“Oh, I’m not happy unless I do, I guess.”

“I shan’t be long,” he said, taking his coat.

“Take the time you need.”

'Take the time you need.'