D' Arc || The King

Chapter XXI

"Your Highness, Lady Isabel!"

A guard burst into their tent, causing Henry to shoot straight up and draw his sword. The whisper of steel sliding across leather made Isabel twitch in her sleep, but she did not wake.

Henry stood and sheathed his blade before taking the time to gently tuck the blankets back around Isabel. He leaned down before kissing her forehead gently before pulling away and striding to the guard's side.

"What is it?" He asked as Isabel rolled over in the bed, with her face coming into the flickering torch light. The guard hesitated before leaning over and whispering into his ear. Henry's shoulders tensed before he dismissed him.

For a moment, the world was still. Certainly, God would not do such a thing to an innocent. He could not take away a child's life. His heart plummeted as he turned back to look at Isabel. He swallowed down his dread and made his way back to her.

Henry sat down numbly before placing a hand on her own. She looked so peaceful, like an angel of moonlight and gold. If he woke her, she would never be the same. His fingers traced her cheek before running over her ear.

He leaned down and she shifted under their covers. It was like a rock rested in his stomach, but he forced himself to speak.

"Isabel."

Her eyes peeked open before sliding them back shut and mumbling something in her sleep. She buried further into her blankets and he let out a sigh.

"Isabel, wake up," he urged grimly, shaking her by the shoulder. "It's about our son Harry."

Her eyes flared open and she sat up, her blue eyes wide. Henry jerked back to avoid getting his nose bashed in and took her hands in his as she looked at him intently.

"What is it?"

"They do not know," he said softly. "But Cecily found Harry in a broken cradle. He wasn't bleeding, but he did have bruises and they've started to swell."

Her eyebrows creased and she frowned slightly.

"Broken? But-"

"They fear he will not survive the night," he informed her and she stared at him.

For a moment she looked frozen and her lips gaped open and closed like a fish gasping for air. Then, his words settled in her mind and she threw off her covers before throwing herself off the bed.

Isabel staggered, but Henry caught her and she pulled on her shoes before dashing out into the night. He followed behind her after snatching a shawl from a stool.

The night air was crisp and damp as he chased after Isabel's golden mane. As they neared their children's tent, they both heard Harry's cries of helplessness. Isabel slowed to a halt in front of it, her breath stirring the still air.

He wrapped the shawl over her shoulders. Her only sign of recognition was the slight nod that she gave him and when her hands lifted and tucked the fabric between the crook of her arms. A figure made its way to them and Henry squinted before recognizing the features of Richard and the worry that creased his face.

"Your Highness," he said, bowing his head curtly. "Lady Isabel, your son is inside with Ralph. I have already called for healers-"

"Will my son survive?" Isabel demanded and he pursed his lips.

"I do not know."

She pushed past him and Henry followed quickly on her heels as she pushed aside the tent flaps. Ralph was rocking Harry in his arms while he glared at the broken cradle that lay next to Anne's.

Isabel wanted to rush forward to Ralph's side, but she couldn't move as he bowed to them.  She didn't want to get too close, lest she accept that her son might be in real danger of dying.

Harry began to wail and wouldn't stop. Isabel could only watch in fear as Jeanne and Margaret burst into the tent. Henry took her arm and tugged slightly, but she refused to move as the two women rushed around Harry.

"Isabel," he said softly. "We must let them work."

"No."

She stood rooted to the ground as Margaret took Harry from Ralph's arms, whose tiny fists thrashed in the air. His whole side was blooming with purple and was furiously swollen. A scream built up inside her as she watched her son get placed on a table.

Maybe she already was, but she was yanked out of her thoughts as Henry swept her up in his arms and carried her out of the tent. Isabel thrashed in his grip — hating him for trying to take her away from her son.

"Let me go!" She shrieked as she twisted. "Henry, let me go!"

He ignored her and she beat his arms. She kicked and clawed. Anything she did to make her lover break his grip failed. Desperately, she tried to catch a glimpse of her child as the tent flaps slid closed.

Although she could not see, Isabel could hear and it made her heart drop.

"We have to stop the bleeding," Jeanne's voice said and Margaret snapped, "I can't! It's internal."

Soon their voices faded, but Isabel could still hear her baby. Anne had joined her twin – as if she could sense his pain.

Eventually, Henry put her down and from the corner of her eye, she could see men creeping out of their tents to peer into the darkness at her. She was vaguely aware of the commotion she was creating and she pursed her lips.

But what right did they have to judge her? That thought made her shiver and Harry's wail shattered her heart all over again.

"You have to help him," Isabel begged as Henry held her tightly in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "But there is nothing we can do."

There was the sound of boots against the earth and Henry's brothers appeared from the darkness. Desperation rose inside of her once again and Isabel tore away from him and dashed towards his brothers. She gripped John's arm, but when she saw his grim face she wheeled on Thomas.

His younger brother shook his head and her form crumpled.

"There has to be something I- we can do!" Isabel cried, her desperation equal to the frustration building up inside of her as she listened to her son wail.

Vivid memories of his youth resurfaced and Henry's eyes screwed shut. Not now, he thought, but it didn't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

"We had a little sister," Henry murmured as he placed a hand over his face. "Her name was Anne. She suffered from the same illness that Harry has and...she didn't live long."

Isabel looked up at him, a part of her feeling pity for his loss, but fear clutched her heart. Everything was too suffocating, the shadows of the trees seemed to claw their way toward the tent that held Harry. It was as if they wanted to steal him away with their spindly fingers.

"He had to live, Henry," Isabel said weakly. "He has to."

His arms were around her in an instant and she buried her face against his shoulder. Her hands rose and balled up his tunic in her hands as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Is there anything we can do?" She asked futilely, but he simply shook his head. A sob of anguish slipped from her lips. Her son was in pain and she could do nothing. All her years of studying herbs and healing the young and old alike didn't mean anything.

Henry looked up from Isabel and met John's gaze. He knew that death would probably follow, especially for a babe with his sister's illness. But he couldn't tell Isabel that.

"Let us..." he paused before taking in a steadying breath. "Let us pray to the Lord. Perhaps he will have mercy."