Chapter 8
“Bear me another son later,” he soothed. “I’ll raise you to equal wife status.”
Margaret shook her head desperately. “No, Lord Edmund! The baby is almost here! Please, let me give birth to him!”
Edmund sighed, “Why are you so stubborn? You’re just a concubine, and the legal wife hasn’t even entered the household yet. It would be a disgrace to Norland Keep if you had the child.”
With that, he held her chin and forced the medicine down her throat. Despite Margaret’s struggles, every last drop of the potion was consumed.
Margaret’s cries of pain echoed through the night until morning, when she delivered a stillborn son, fully formed but lifeless.
Margaret lay motionless in bed as Edmund gently reassured her, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you in the future.”
With the bastard heir disposed of, the wedding proceeded. Margaret, whispering to herself in her courtyard, heard the bridal procession’s fanfare. “I should be Lady Norland…”
The courtyard buzzed with forced merriment as servants scrambled to prepare. “Make way for Lady Blackwood’s procession! Tidy the bridal chambers at once!”
“Her ladyship favors roses – uproot those concubine’s daisies! From today, only roses shall bloom in these gardens.”
Though the nobility privately scorned Norland Keep, social obligations demanded their attendance. The great hall overflowed with perfunctory well–wishers as Lord Edmund took his new bride.
Post–ceremony, the bride sat imperiously in her chambers. “Where is that Margaret concubine? Summon her to pay respects.”
Margaret arrived in fresh robes, bearing a steaming cup. With practiced humility, she knelt. “My lady, this fertility tonic is my humble gift. May it bless your union with many sons.” Her docility pleased the bride, who drank deeply, savoring this symbolic victory.
Kneeling closer, Margaret massaged the bride’s legs. “My mother’s secret recipe guarantees conception. I pray for your future favor.”
The preening bride rewarded her with a silver brooch. “They warned me of your pride, yet you show proper deference. Attend me daily – but never when Lord Edmund visits.”
Margaret’s eyes lowered demurely. “As my lady commands.”
But during the wedding night’s consummation, the bride suddenly convulsed in agony. “Call the physician!”
The doctor’s face darkened. “Who administered this potent sterility draught? The dosage ensures she’ll never bear children!”
Edmund’s frantic inquiries revealed Margaret’s “tonic” as the culprit. Guards rushed to her quarters – only to find her lifeless body swaying from the very silk noose I’d once offered her.
Norland’s celebration became a funeral. The House of Blackwood retrieved their daughter at dawn, petitioning the Crown to annul the marriage and demanding reparations for their sterilized heir. The King granted their plea.
Further examination revealed Margaret had laced the wedding wine with the same poison. Norland’s lineage would end with Edmund.
They discarded Margaret’s corpse in the paupers‘ pit without even a shroud. Only her mother claimed the body, burying it in an unmarked grave before disappearing from court.
As Norland Keep faded into irrelevance, fresh gossip consumed the capital – the King had betrothed me to Lynx, Commander of the Royal Vanguard. Our modest wedding saw well–wishers flocking to both the Defender’s and Vanguard’s estates.
Departing for our northern post, I glimpsed my new husband astride his charger through the carriage curtains. A quiet smile touched my lips. My true life began now.
