She dried her tears and wrapped him in his woolen blanket. She wanted to hold him forever. He was the embodiment of her love with Mohammed and she wanted to show him the world.
He squirmed slightly on the bed as Katharine held him close to her, kissing his tiny ear.
“Darling,” she cooed to him. “You are loved. You are loved.”
An hour later, Abigail knocked quietly on the door.
“My dear. I don’t mean to intrude upon this time with your son, but I need to speak with you,” she said. She closed the door and sat beside Katharine and her son on the bed.
“Yes, of course,” Katharine said. She held her son tightly and gazed into his little face.
“I don’t know anything about you. You were literally dumped at the Abbey gates. So I don’t even know your name.”
“Lady Katharine Elizabeth Rosamunde Fairfax,” she answered. Kat’s lips twitched slightly. “A bit pretentious, no?” she added playfully.
Abigail smiled. The woman had wit.
“I’m the Mother Superior of the Abbey that you were originally brought to in England. You may call me Abigail.”
“So we aren’t in England?” Kat asked.
“No. We moved to Ireland to the monastery for your safety. I knew you were carrying the child when you first came to us, and we could tell that the birth would be soon. You had complications and bleeding, and I knew Father O’Day had medical knowledge. He was able to help with the birth.”
“I owe you much, Abigail,” she replied. Katharine’s eyes glittered with tears.
Abigail shook her head and touched the young woman’s hand.
“No, my dear. You have reminded me that life exists outside the walls of the Abbey. You have touched my life and reminded me of humanity.”
Katharine’s eyes teared up and she smiled.
“You have given me my son and kept us both from harm. I can never repay you.”
“Oh, my lady,” Abigail said as she turned pink with the compliment.
“Call me Kat. Everyone I care about does,” she said. She gazed down again at her son.
“We brought a young girl named Oona to help feed your son when you were unable. The young girl is very fond of your son, Kat.”
Kat looked down sadly, as she had not been able to feed her firstborn son, but then she brightened.
“Of course. You did it to help my son. She helped sustain his life.”
“Yes. She had the milk and loved him as her own.”
“Then she will continue to do so,” Katharine said. “My breasts ache, but there does not seem to be milk.”
“Oh, my dear,” Abigail sighed and touched Katharine’s cheek lovingly. “You have suffered so much.”
Katharine bit her lip.
“There is more,” she confessed.
“Yes?” Mother Superior asked.
“A man.”
“Yes?” she encouraged.