They played for over an hour before Greylen insisted it was time for bed. He and Gavin took the outside, while she and Isabelle lay between them. Greylen wrapped Gwen in his arms, facing his sister, but Isabelle and Gavin lay still as statues. His wife fixed that. “Group hug, everyone,” she whispered. They laughed huddling together, and she and Isabelle were within four strong arms. “Much better.” Gwen sighed.

His sister chose that precise moment to giggle.

“What humors you, Bella?” Gavin whispered.

“I never thought to share a bed with you and them,” she whispered back.

Though Greylen was amused by Isabelle’s comment, he wanted Gwen to get the rest he knew she needed. “Go to sleep, Isabelle,” he whispered over Gwen’s head.

“Good night, Greylen.”

“Good night, Sprite.”

“Good night, Gwen.”

“Good night, Isabelle.”

“Good night, Gavin.”

“Good night, Bella.”

Chapter 23

It was another week before Gwen was allowed out of bed. If it wasn’t Greylen staring her down, it was Gavin, and each remained impervious to her repeated insistence that she was better.

Lady Madelyn and Anna had assured her that the herbs she ingested had been used for centuries—their purpose when combined could prevent a pregnancy, or as in her case, stop one. Thankfully, they told her, it would have no impact on her becoming pregnant again. Gwen chose not to be bitter, and instead did her best to ease the guilt Greylen, Gavin, and their men carried.

They blamed themselves for what happened.

They never spoke of the poison that caused her miscarriage, or the fact they feared for her life. But she knew that Greylen and his men spent their days interrogating their soldiers and the inhabitants among the holding. Isabelle stayed with her during the day, leaving only when Greylen returned late at night. But she had plenty of visitors.

Greylen and his men took turns coming above stairs to make sure she was indeed improving. It was on these occasions that she’d try to get through to Greylen and Gavin, to assure them that she really was better, and staying in bed wasn’t helping.

They’d look at her with true concern, listen intently to every word she said, and even sit next to her on the bed. Then they’d pat her on the head and leave.

Her food and drink continued to be sampled, and the amounts they placed before her were ridiculous. “I can’t possibly eat this much,” Gwen said, shaking her head.

“You’ve lost so much weight, Gwen, please,” Greylen pleaded, filling a fork and bringing it to her mouth.

“I can feed myself, Greylen.”

“Very well,” he conceded. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Greylen, it’s been a week. I’m not bleeding, I’ve rested more than I have in my entire life, and I’ve been forced to eat like a pig.”

“My sweet pig you are,” he teased.