Chapter Twenty-One

J oanna doubled over, catching her breath. The familiar waves of agony clutched her womb with mean, gripping hands. But she didn't cry out, she didn't shout for help. And she didn't ask God to have mercy. Instead, she bit on a rag and screwed her eyes up tight, turning inward, owned by the pain.

It was all that existed.

True to her word, she'd spent her pregnancy alone in her bedchamber with the door closed, save for food being passed in, which she'd picked at miserably.

And now her confinement was almost over. The onset of labor was a blessing. The sooner the child was born, the sooner they could travel to Coudenberg.

The pain subsided and she dragged in a breath and stared at a painting of a castle on a hill. The frame, made of thick, dark wood, had a layer of dust along the top. It was a picture she'd studied many times. It reminded her of Coudenberg Palace the way it sat tall and proud and with pine trees to the left.

How she longed to be back there. Philip had written to say that was where he'd gone after his meetings in France. At first, she'd been furious with him, written straight back, and demanded he come to her. But the children missed their parents, he'd said, and at least one of them should be there with them.

Another searing rush of pain clutched her belly and she groaned long and low as the tightening reached a crescendo. Each one was more punishing than the last. But what was this pain after the pain of being parted from Philip? If she could bear that, she could bear anything.

The wave of torture waned and she staggered to the bed. Cramps tightened her inner thighs and beads of sweat peppered her brow. It took effort to climb onto the mattress she'd spent so many hours, days, weeks, and months lying on in her miserable slumber, yet she gained strength knowing her prison sentence was coming to an end. As soon as the baby was born, she'd order a carriage and they'd leave.

"Oh, Lord, have mercy." She gritted her teeth as yet another contraction gripped her. Her belly turned to stone and the first urge to push came with it, along with a gush of fluid. For a moment, she wanted to yell for her mother, for Beatriz, but she didn't… She would do this alone. She would bear her cross in solitude.

"Please…enter this world smoothly," she gasped as the contraction ebbed away.

She flopped onto her back, legs spread, knees drawn up. Experienced now at giving birth, she knew what was coming next. There was nothing for her to do other than what her body needed to…eject this child.

Like a malevolent storm rushing in from the north, the next contraction left her dizzy and breathless. The urge to push was growing.

Again, she bit on the rag, closed her eyes, and fisted the blanket beneath her. Would she survive this pain? Was this the birth that would kill her? Certainly, she felt on the edge of death. If she reached out, she could touch it. Perhaps it would be a blessing to end the suffering.

But then it was there. The urge to push was overwhelming and she grunted long and low and went with it. The energy within her was bright and urgent and even though she was exhausted, she pushed with all of her might—her body stretching, opening, expelling.

The baby was half in and half out. She stared at the ceiling, knowing the pain was coming again. It did. This time, the slippery body slid from her onto the bed and the relief was instant.

Frantically, she reached for the bloodied newborn and turned it over.

"Oh, my love, we have a son." She gasped, scooping him up. "Another son. Ferdinand. Our beautiful son. Welcome."

She clasped him to her breast as he let out his first wail.

Soon her mother, Beatriz, and other courtiers would come running. They'd see that she was a strong wife who delivered sons, future kings, future rulers. How could they doubt her now? How could they deny her?

Almost immediately, the bedchamber door opened. Her mother and Beatriz rushed in. It was almost as if they'd been hovering outside, listening, anticipating.

"Princess." Beatriz rushed forward holding a damp towel. "You have given birth."

"To a son, Ferdinand." Joanna looked directly at her mother. "And he is healthy, as am I."

Isabella's jaw tightened. "This is good news, indeed. I will send thanks to God."

"You will also send for a carriage. We will be leaving shortly."

"That is out of the question."

"You deny me again? After I have done as instructed and waited all these months alone?"

Her mother said nothing.

"Philip has written saying he wants me with him, that he needs me at his side, as do my other children. He misses me desperately. I must go. Now." She swiped at the sweat on her forehead.

"You are not strong enough."

"I am. Can you not see how strong I am? I gave birth alone, with barely a noise. I am strong and capable and—"

"Joanna. You are not strong. You have been confined to your bedchamber, eating barely enough to sustain yourself, let alone a child. It is only by God's will that the child is alive."

"How dare you? I would never hurt my son." Did they really believe that? She would never hurt her child. Never.

"Your Highness…the afterbirth." Beatriz had her hand on Joanna's knee as she examined her.

"Yes. Yes," Joanna said. "I know." She trembled, her limbs tensing and relaxing as the afterbirth slipped from her and she watched Beatriz cut the cord that connected it to the baby.

"It is also thanks to God that you had the strength to push him from your womb," Isabella said.

"Why does everyone doubt my character? Have I not proven myself enough times?"

"If you mean wailing at the castle gate, then once was enough."

Joanna frowned. "That was months ago."

"And the villagers still talk of it."

"All the more reason for me to leave." She sat forward, but the moment she did, small, black dots danced in her vision. She slumped back closing her eyes.

"Joanna." Her mother was at her side, clutching her hand. "Please, let us not fight. Get your strength back then we can talk."

"Talk about what?" Joanna asked with her eyes still closed.

"About Ferdinand staying here when you journey to Flanders. I do not wish to stop you from going to your husband and children, I know how much you miss them, but you cannot take a possible heir to Spain with you. He must stay here when Charles is so very far away."

Joanna opened her eyes and blinked in the suddenly harsh light. "Not take Ferdinand? But Philip will want to see his son. I have to take him to Flanders with me."

"Philip will have to come here and meet baby Ferdinand…" She tipped her chin and sniffed. "If he dares."

"Dares? What are you talking about? My husband is a brave and courageous man."

"After his bold treaty-making and rash promises of Charles's marriage to Louis's daughter, it is clear he does not have the courage to show his face before the king. That is why he returned to Flanders. What is more, he holds the infant Charles there."

"But…I…" Joanna's head was spinning. Was that really what had happened?

"You did not know." Isabella raised her eyebrows. "About all of the agreements made during that meeting?"

"Of course I did." She'd known of the planned marriage, as Philip had told her this in his letter. But not of the treaty. "And I support him fully. He is a wise man and a great governor. I'm sure his father is also in agreement."

Her mother huffed. "We shall see."

"Mother." Joanna leaned forward. "I can't leave my baby here. I have to go to Philip, with Ferdinand."

"I agree. You must go to Philip."

"Good. Yes." Joanna nodded.

"But not for three months at least. You must get your strength back after childbirth."

"Three months?" They could not be serious.

"Yes." Isabella folded her arms.

"One month."

"Two."

Joanna sighed. "I will agree to that." She did feel exhausted, but if she felt well sooner, she'd simply go.

"And Belmonte will accompany you. Along with Beatriz."

Beatriz reached for Ferdinand. "Shall I clean him?"

"Yes. Thank you." She studied Beatriz. Their last words had been spoken in anger. But that had been months ago. Perhaps Beatriz had forgotten. She certainly was acting like she had.

"Beatriz and Belmonte," Joanna said. "Naturally. But not the knights. Philip detests them."

"Not the knights, and not Ferdinand," Isabella said, nodding at the baby, who had stopped wailing and was looking up at Beatriz with big, blue eyes. "He stays here, in his rightful home."

"His rightful home is with his parents and siblings."

"We cannot allow it. Had your husband been more considerate of Spain in his discussion with King Louis, then maybe we could have entrusted him with our grandson, but now—"

"But he is Philip's son! You can't keep him."

"We aren't claiming him as our son, only our heir should we be kept from Charles."

"‘Kept from Charles'?" Whatever did her mother mean?

"Yes, kept from him by Philip, as we have been to date. It would be within our right to obtain papal permission to bypass him as heir should the need arise."

"No…I…"

"You could stay, Joanna. Stay and care for little Ferdinand yourself."

"But what of my other three children? They need me. They miss me. Philip tells me so in his letters."

"You must do what you must do." Isabella stood. "But remember, I am not just your mother, I am also queen and I will be obeyed." She paused and set down her shoulders. "Ferdinand stays. What you do is up to you."

*

Eight weeks later, Joanna rattled along the track toward Coudenberg Palace. The journey over the Pyrenees and through France had been long and her arms had ached for her baby boy. How she missed the scent of his wispy hair, the grasping little fingers that curled around hers, the feel of his warm body when she held him close.

But the sorrow of parting was laced with anticipation and excitement and that had kept her going on the trip through the mountains and across the seemingly endless forest paths. How her heart sung with the thought of seeing her other three children. They'd been separated for so long. She wanted their chatter in her ears, their laughter filling a room.

And Philip. Each step of the horse's hooves drew her closer to her lover. She yearned for his arms around her in a way she'd never known. It was a need greater than breathing, even. She had to be with him. God had given her this powerful love and now it was her burden. It was heavy and desperate and without him, she was sure she really would go mad.

Finally, the grand house came into view. Lit like the picture in her bedchamber she'd stared at so often by a blue sky and a white orb of sunshine.

Leaning forward, she pushed aside the curtain and took in the flat, green fields and the stream running through it. The air was clearer here. She was sure the dark cloud that had been hanging over her would be swept away by the pure breeze. Or at least she'd hoped it would. The cloud had been dank and cold and it had stolen any good thoughts she'd had. Almost as if it were a sinkhole for happiness. Even her dreams had been shadowed by it. The ones where Philip was with the blonde courtier had become so frequent that she'd feared going to sleep these last weeks.

What she needed was to sleep with him at her side so in the dead of the night when terror gripped her she could reach for him, hold him close, know that he was with her and no one else.

"Your Highness, we will soon be there."

"I know, Beatriz—it is exciting. Are you pleased to be back?"

"Yes, it is a beautiful place." She paused. "But my duty is to be wherever you are, to serve you, to see that you are quite well."

"I am sure I will be from now on." She reached for Beatriz's hand. "And I thank you for being at my side when the storms come. You are a good friend—no, a great friend, and I thank the Lord for you."

Beatriz smiled and her shoulders seemed to relax. "And I thank the Lord for having you in my life." She paused. "How will you be without Ferdinand? He is so tiny—to leave with no idea when you will see him again? Do you not fear he will grow up not knowing his mother?"

"I will be with my husband, so my burden will be halved. He has the ability to make things feel right even when they are not." She stared into the distance again. Somewhere beneath that vast roof was the only man she would ever love. "Ferdinand is safe and secure with his doting grandparents. I have to think of my other children…for now, at least." But she would go to Philip first. The moment she arrived. She ached with longing to be with him, to feel whole again.

The carriage drew to a halt.

Before a courtier could even open the door, Joanna was out. She straightened her stiff spine and brushed down the front of her dark-blue gown. "How is my headdress?" she asked Beatriz.

"Perfect." Beatriz adjusted it.

"And my pallor?"

"A little pale, but that is to be expected after such an arduous journey."

Joanna hadn't found the journey arduous, just tedious. Impatience had clawed at her every step of the way—and was still clawing at her. She rushed up the wide, stone steps, eager to get to Philip.

She swept through the huge, arched doorway, barely noticing the courtiers bobbing at her sudden appearance. "Where is he?"

"In his bedchamber?" A young man holding a candlelighter said. "Your Highness."

"Thank you." She hoisted up the front hem of her gown and rushed up the stairs, seeming to float, such was her joy at finally being home, her true home, her home with her husband and children.

"Philip!" she called as she practically ran past an old, oak dresser and several portraits. "My love."

She flung the door to his bedchamber open, her smile as wide as any ocean.

Then froze.

Her smile slipped.

Her heart stuttered.

Sitting on the bed was Philip, and in a chair at his side, holding a rosary, was a pretty woman with long, blonde hair pulled back into a plait and secured with a black, velvet ribbon.

Fury gripped her as they both turned her way.

The woman lowered her rosary, the color draining from her face.

"Joanna, my love." Philip stood, his eyes widening. "You have arrived. Earlier than expected, which pleases me."

"Who is this?" Joanna demanded, stabbing her finger in the direction of the pretty woman. "Who is this?"

"I beg your pardon?" Philip frowned.

"Don't play dumb." Joanna glared at the woman, hate filling her veins and pain twisting her heart and lungs. "Who is this woman in your bedchamber? In my husband 's bedchamber? Who are you? Who are you, woman?"

Her mother's words from all those years ago came back to her. How she'd said a wife must accept adulterous behavior. Well, not Joanna. She wouldn't stand for it. Philip belonged to her and her alone.

"This is Carolyne, a courtier," Philip said. "We were childhood friends growing up here and—"

"Ha, one of the courtiers who taught you everything you need to know, right?" She clenched her fists. "Educated you on how to perform sexually on your wedding night."

"No…I… Please, Your Highness, I—"

"Don't speak to me." Joanna took in the room. An embroidery set lay on the desk complete with yarn and scissors. It looked as though she'd been there for a while, making herself comfortable. Making herself at home.

"Please, Your Highness. I mean no harm, I was simply—"

"I have no interest in your excuses. You are a harlot, a slut, and you had plans to steal my husband from me while I was not here to see your conniving, wily ways."

"That is not true…" The woman clutched her rosary beneath her chin and blinked rapidly. "We are simply friends."

"Joanna, you have got this all wrong," Philip said in a sharp tone. "As I said, Carolyne and I are old friends. She grew up here and…"

"All the more reason for me to distrust her." Joanna lunged for the scissors and swiped them up. Red-hot fury blasted through her. She was shaking, panting. Her skin tingled and her limbs trembled. The glow of anger reddened her thoughts, misting them, stealing her sanity.

She grasped the woman's shiny, long plait of hair and yanked it taut. Then, quick as a flash of lightning, she angled the scissors at the densest clump and hacked at it. Once. Twice. Three times.

The woman squealed and tried to break away but could go nowhere.

The plait came off in Joanna's hand. "Here!" She threw it into the woman's lap, where it landed looking like a beheaded snake. "Take this and get out of here or I will see to it that it is your head chopped off next."