It wasn't long until the soft motion and rattlings of the carriage lulled Duchess Elspeth into an uneasy sleep. Feeling tired and homesick, she had decided to set out early from the Festival in Dynham. The biggest surprise was Wylyam's decision to come with the Duchess and her guard. He had refused to ride inside the carriage, though, and was outside with the guard. It was a quiet night.

Something was disturbing Elspeth's sleep, however. It was not the travel -- she had grown quite used to traveling in carriages, listening to their subtle bumps and noises -- and it was not her step-son's usual attitude, for he was outside. Rather, the disturbance was coming from within... a stirring of sorts. Her body had been practicing, stretching its muscles for days in preparation for the birth. But the dull pain of the practice contractions was not what had awoken her. No -- it was a sound from outside. The beat of hooves coming up alongside the carriage, and then a sudden jolt as something heavy hit the outside, jostling it on its wheels. Elspeth cried out, and heard the answering shouts of her guard.

She flung open the dark emerald curtains on the small window in the carriage and peeked out. Highwaymen, the same sort that had come upon her when her horse had carried her away, were upon them. Instinctively, she threw the curtains shut again and pressed a hand to her belly, feeling a sharp pain wash over her in response. A hard, gurgling scream sounded just outside, and Elspeth looked up to the window behind her driver in time to see him fall from the bench, a smear of blood against the cracked glass. She yelped in surprise, and at the sound -- or perhaps the bidding of the bandits -- the horses pulling it reared, their perfectly matched black legs piercing the air in front of them, landing with a thud in the dust. The chaotic sounds of battle, of screaming men and horses, filled the air --

And suddenly, the door to the carriage flew open, and a rough-looking man put one foot inside. "Well, hello, lovely lady," he growled, and Elspeth shrieked once. Fumbling for her purse, she struggled with the ties, finally opening it and dumping the gold out on the floor between them. "Take it! Take it all! I'll give you what you want, if you'll only spare my child..."

The man sneered and opened his mouth to speak, kneeling on the floor with pockets stuffed with coins, but didn't have time for words as Percy appeared behind him, killing the bandit and throwing his corpse from the carriage in one fell sweep. Percy eyed the duchess warily, knowing better than to approach her with a weapon in his hand (shaken as she was, she might've had the ferocity to turn it on him), then disappeared out of the carriage again. She heard shouting -- scour the perimeter! Make sure none escape with their lives!

Elspeth stood up to go outside and see to the guards, still shaking, and stopped when she heard a quiet 'pop'. Something warm and wet soaked through her underclothes, sending a small trickle down her leg, and she sat down immediately, mouth agape. Her head fell back against the bench.

This could not be happening to her.

The Festival Of Friendship had been amusing, to say the least. During the ball, Wylyam had danced with Regent Serenity Smith(rather ordinary, not overly special), shared an interesting conversation with Princess Anastasie Anthoine of Soleil(during which they saw they indeed had certain things in common), once again saw his childhood friend, or the closest thing he had to one, Lady Jane Cynster(and behaved rather uncharacteristically for himself, but that was not worth mentioning), and managed to thoroughly shock Duchess Rose Castyll. The latter had definitely been the highlight of the whole event. On rare occasion had he had such fun as while relaying to her the story of 'The Sudden Demise of Thunder the Horse', as he referred to it now. He wondered if she was ever going to retell it to anyone in Harleston. If not, well, he would always live with the satisfaction of knowing that if everything else failed, he could easily earn for living as a storyteller.

After that little adventure of his, Wylyam embarked upon the everlasting quest of charming young ladies. Five more had fallen prey to him, while he danced with four other that had not had the said privilege. The young lord would have stayed for much longer, returning in a few days, had this only truly been Pemberton. The fact that he was in the Duchy of Dynham made him feel resentful towards sleeping there any longer than necessary-he distrusted both the place and its Duke. His first reaction at seeing his step-mother leave was dismay-he did not have the slightest desire to travel with her. Then again, if she left, she would be the one with the Duchy guards and the carriage-a fact that he disliked fully, since it showed how she controlled Benthey. Debating on it for a few moments, he chose that the lesser of two evils would be to join Elspeth. He did not have to be in the carriage with her-he was fully capable of riding. Frankly, he would have rather fallen asleep in the saddle than been trapped for the entire time of the journey in the same space with his step-mother.

So, now he was on his new horse(not Thunder the Horse), enjoying the fresh night air. Oh, not that he had no complaints. He nearly always did when Elspeth was involved. For example, they were moving too slow for his standards-he would’ve ridden a lot faster. Then…well, that was about it. At the time being. More was bound to come soon. Not that any of it was his fault. The stupid woman simply made too many mistakes. Mistakes he enjoyed pointing out. However, Elspeth had said that she was afraid moving faster could have hurt her precious baby. All for the better, that would’ve been…

In the midst of such thoughts, he was abruptly interrutped by a loud sound. At first, he did not grasp what it was, but then he saw it-the carriage was pushed aside, off the road, nearly turning over. After that, he instantly realized this had been no accident. Especially when men dressed in plain, dark clothing jumped out from both sides of the way, and even more so when a knife flew an inch from his right ear, plunging into the neck of one of the guards.

They had been ambushed by highwaymen.

Excellent timing, he scolded himself inwardly, as he bent over to avoid an arrow. An excellent time he had chosen to travel with Eslpeth. Exactly that time when some gang or another decided to rob her. Brilliant. Ingenious. Could not have been better. Especially when considering the fact he had not carried any weapons along this time.

Moving his horse towards the dead guard, Wylyam noticed his sword was lying next to him, drawn out for battle. He took it, turning around just in time to fend off a screaming bandit. With a few cuts, he got rid of the man. Rechard had not paid the best of swordfighting instructors to tutor him-Wylyam had always known how to fight. A very convenient skill, especially at times like these. More and more highwaymen advanced on them, and soon everyone was caught up in battling.

Plenty of losses were occurring on both sides. Wylyam was determined not to be one of them.He had fought with bandits before in his life. None of those times had they been this numerous, though. Slowly, but steadily, anxiety began to grip him. Of course, he would’ve let them kill him before admitting to that.

With a corner of his pale blue eye, he noticed one of the bastards entering the carriage of his step-mother. For a moment, he was actually stricken by cocnern. What if he raped her? Hurt her? Killed her?---

He was so astounded by such thoughts(had killing Elspeth not been what he had wanted to do all along?), that his attention slipped, and his opponent’s sword very nearly caught his left arm. In time, Wylyam cut the neck of the bandit, therefore throwing him off the horse. A quick glance around reassured him that the guards were managing to overpower the highwaymen-the latter were already beginning to run, while Percy led his men after them. Wylyam was about to join them, when his eye was once again caught by the carriage.

He stopped. Was Elspeth inside, dead or alive? Or had they pulled her out of the carriage? Was he, perhaps, already the Duke of Benthey by now?

Unsure what to hope for, shaking off any worry and attaching the guilt for it to wine, Wylyam headed towards the carriage. Opening the door, at first he saw nothing. Then, his eyes adjusted to the lighting of the inside, and he saw his step-mother.

She was not dead, all right. But within a few brief seconds, Wylyam saw what was going on with her. Her hand was resting on her belly, her mouth was open and she was leaning agains the seat. Elspeth was going to have her baby.

And currently, he was the only one around.

Casting a rather bewildered stare at her, he shook his head. No, maybe she was simply...wounded? Hurt? That would've been a lot better. Then, they would simply bandage her and they'd be able to return to Benthey. But something was telling him this was not the case.

"Elspeth." He said, his voice extremely grim, "Don't tell me...that...is coming out now." If she said yes...Percy better returned soon.

"Percy? Percy, wait --" she tried to yell, and stopped when another, stronger contraction hit her and cut off her breath. Her hand spasmed against her belly; she fought back the cry of pain. "Percival!"

But there was no response from outside, except the sound of quiet, hurried footsteps approaching the carriage. Elspeth's mouth opened silently in the pause between contractions, keeping count on her fingers. She leaned back against the seat, digging her nails into her palm. A light step sounded on the inside of the carriage, and Elspeth looked over to see who had appeared -- and it was Wylyam. "Elspeth," he said. "Don't tell me...that...is coming out now." She began to reply, but another painful contraction struck, passing as quickly as it came. She ticked off a third on her fingers, still not knowing how fast they were coming.

"Wylyam," she panted. "Wylyam, please -- I can't stop it. It's too soon. You have to get someone; Percy, anyone. Please."

Her eyes were desperate, welling with tears. Even the sound of his name reminded her of her loss, of the fact that her dear husband was not here to help her... not here to witness the birth of their child. She tried to get up, staggered against the wall of the carriage, and stopped with her back to the wall. The pain was more intense now, and she knew that, as with Violet, it wouldn't be long. And none of them were prepared. "Wyl, we need to get back to Wetherell. Now." Elspeth tried to stay calm, but the pain was crushing, and she had to sit down again.

She covered her eyes briefly with her hand, and came away wet with tears. Was there no one else but her and Wylyam now? Elspeth glanced around, but had no other choice.

"Help me."

OOC: Sorry it's so short!

The tears that started to well up in Elspeth's eyes made Wylyam raise an eyebrow. She was crying? He didn't know whether it shocked or surprised him, or something simillar, for he never recalled seeing his step-mother cry. If she had done so, then it had been in the solitude of her quarters, or someplace else where he could not have seen her. This was understandable-he was her enemy, and you never confided your weaknesses to your enemies. Not unless you wanted them to laugh at you, scorn you, and, eventually beat you. If he cried, he knew he would never have done so in front of her. Not when he was in his right mind, and he doubted it would've crossed his thoughts even if he was insane.

Strangely enough, laughing at Elspeth was not the course of action that most appealed to him now. Not even scorning her, teasing her or bringing about her downfall. Frankly, what he truly wanted was for her to simply...stop having the baby. So they could wait for the guards to return, argue, fight, whatever, as long as she did not have this baby here and now, with him as the only person around. Percival and his men, he knew full well, were not going to come back until they had killed every one of the highwaymen. Which would take a while.

"Wylyam, please -- I can't stop it. It's too soon. You have to get someone; Percy, anyone. Please." Great. He had been just about to propose she somehow stopped it all, but evidently that was out of the question. The fact that it was too early, the possibility of the babe maybe dying and him remaining the only heir to Benthey barely grazed his mind through all the negative astoundment and shock that reached his mind when, after asking him to get her to Whetherell, she obviously changed her mind about it, looking at him and saying: "Help me."

Getting her to Whetherell was not possible, anyway, not in this state. The carriage was practically ruined, and she could not ride a horse. Getting Percy was impossible, because God knew where he and the guards had gone, and in the dark there was no way Wylyam would manage to track them down. Still, a part of him clung tightly to the last idea, preferring it to remaining here, with Elspeth, who was in labor. Especially after her plea. Help her? What the f**k was he supposed to do? What did she think he was, a midwife?!

The last thought brought him to what exactly he believed was requested of him, and his face suddenly turned a ghastly shade of pale. If standing around while Elspeth was giving birth had scared him, actually...assisting her in birth...was enough to make him go insane with fear. He was grasped by a sudden desire to run out and take his chances with more and more highwaymen. Unconsciously, he even made a step backwards. Not that he was afraid of Elspeth or her child. Disgusted would've been the correct term. Well, that, and he was dangerously sure that his mental sanity would never, ever return to normal if he was forced to go any closer to his step-mother's...well...that.
A wave of sickness literally washed over him as the last line went through his brain, and he barely forced himself to speak.

"W-what the f---"He saw that he was stuttering, but he did not really care. Even the fact that his feelings were plain obvious in his eyes did not seem to matter at this point, "No." He shook his head rather desperately, "Hell, do I look like a midwife to you!? Can't you do it on your own?!"

Wylyam's last words -- can't you do it on your own? -- drove home, and Elspeth sat for a moment, seemingly in thought. I'm stronger than this, she told herself, over and over until it became a sort of constant chant in her mind. She got up from the bench and almost doubled over with another contraction, staying on her feet by pure strength of will. "Fine." She looked at Wylyam with hard eyes. "Fine," she said, "I'll do it on my own. Get out of my way."

Without bothering to wait for him to move, Elspeth pushed past her step-son (which was somewhat difficult, considering) and outside, leaning against the carriage for a moment to catch her breath. It was then that she realized that out here in the wilderness, by herself... there was no way she could do it alone, not here. Her eyes grazed the horses, then the wilderness, totally ignoring the way the ground rolled under her foot as she stepped on the hand of a bandit's corpse and kept going. How far was it to Wetherell? And could she make it there, could she manage the ride alone before the pain became too much, before the baby arrived? There wasn't a chance. Not on horseback. She would likely fall off during a strong contraction and hurt herself, not to mention the child. But her brain was becoming more muddled by the second, numbed by concentration and pain.

Seizing the small step-ladder up to the driver's bench of the carriage, Elspeth tried to hoist herself up, but nearly fell. She tried again with similar results, finally slapping her hand against the side of the carriage in frustration and fear. "After this moment, I am never setting foot inside one of these again," she muttered, then turned to her step-son. "It's no use. I won't be able to drive the carriage to Wetherell by myself, not like this. Wylyam, I need you to do this for me -- just drive the horses. I'll take care of the rest, myself. I'll draw all the curtains. We can't --" She stopped, her body shuddering as she drew in on herself, around the hill of a belly. The tightening was getting more powerful, they couldn't wait much longer to move.

"We can't wait for the rest of the guard. They'll catch up. But if we don't move, and fast, then you'll be my only choice to assist, and neither one of us wants that, do we? So drive. Please."

Surprise once again struck Wylyam as he watched his step-mother leave the carriage. Why on Earth would she not have the baby inside? Or was she hoping to find someone to help her outside? Perhaps she merely had an insane idea about...having a baby outside being healthier or whatever. One way or another, he let her push past him, following her with his stare to see where she was headed. Almsot immediately, she succumbed to either pain or exhaustion, for she leaned back, resting. Then she pushed away, determination mixing with the anguish in her eyes, heading towards the horses. Wylyam's eyes widened. Was she insane? Was she actually going to try and ride to Wetherell---?

He made a step forward, again quite subconsciously, not sure why-to see what she was doing or to prevent her from killing herself. There was no reason he saw why would he not want her to kill herself, together with the child, especially with bandits to blame it on. It occurred to him, for a moment, that all of his wishes and aspirations, all of his father's wishes and aspirations, could come true if he simply let her do it. Or if he simply ended her life in some other way, pretending a bandit had done it. it would take but a few slashes of the sword, and Lord Wylyam Launcelyn would become Duke Wylyam Launcelyn by killing his pregnant step-mother.

These thoughts occupied him for a second. However, he never had the time to find out whether or not he would have let her break her neck on the way home, for she stopped, taking hold of the carriage ladder and looking up at him. For some reason, God knew which, the idea of murdering her dissappeared from his mind. Not really disappeared-it was still there, present, but it sank deeper in, not occupying the foremost parts of his brain anymore. Not deep enough, though, for him not to be aware that the perfect opportunity was right before him...and that he was about to miss out on it. Why? He didn't know why himself. He also knew full well that he was going to regret it later. Removing his hand from the hilt of his sword, where it had travelled, he listened to Elspeth.

So that was what she had been asking of him. To take her to Wetherell, not to asssist her in giving brith. Relief washed over him, just as disgust had before-so he was not going to have to become an acting midwife. All he was going to have to do was to---

The impossible.

After a few seconds of nearly bliss( mixed with anxiety because he was REALLY not going to kill Elspeth with the perfect chance before him, the only one this perfect ever to happen, most likely), his mood was instantly darkened. Because, as he had thought, but not said out loud, the carriage was not in a driving state. One of the wheels had fallen off, and it was pretty wrecked without that. There was no way they could have used it. Repairing would take at least an hour...and he doubted they had that much time.

"Elspeth." He whispered annoyedly, with a hint of fear, for he was going to be the only choice to assist, "The carriage is too broken to be driven. " Then, he continued louder, with more anger, "Don't you think I would've already taken you to Wetherell otherwise? Do you think I want to be a darn midwife?" No, no, there was no way he was going to fulfill that function. Never."You'll have to do it on your own, somehow. How, I don't know...but I am not going to....hell, I'm not touching...."An actual shudder came over him at that thought.

Wylyam didn't respond right away, and it took Elspeth a moment to follow his eyes and realize that one of the wheels of the carriage was broken and torn from its axle, damaged beyond repair. Momentarily, she felt the crushing despair come over her and tried to shake it off. There was hope. The baby didn't have to be born out here. But the carriage broken, and there was no way of getting back to Wetherell on horseback. It would be suicide -- for her and the baby. And at this point, Elspeth steeled herself for the truth. It was just her and Wylyam. There was no one else. She could try to prolong the labor, but how long would she last against the force of her own body?

Elsa took a deep breath and looked back to Wylyam, only to see his eyes glazed over in deep thought, and she watched his hand as it hovered in the air between them, tracing a straight, unmistakable path to the hilt of his sword. Her eyes widened with sudden terror, and she backed up against the carriage, barely breathing. A shriek began in her throat, coming out in a piteous squeak as she cut it off. Wyl's eyes cleared -- perhaps he'd seen reason?

"Alright," she said mildly, trying to calm her step-son down so he wouldn't do anything rash -- like take her life. "Alright. You're right. I'm sorry. You would have thought of that already. It's just hard to think straight... let me get my thoughts together." A second little squeak left her, ending her sentence, as her body twisted in on itself. Elspeth closed her eyes, a show of ultimate trust, and tried to breathe. The baby was the important thing, now. There was no way she was going to let anything happen to the baby, even if it meant doing this alone. And she couldn't trust Wylyam, no -- not after she'd seen the dark temptation in his eyes.

"Give me your sword," she blurted out, trying not to sound too desperate. Elspeth reached out her hand into the space between them. "I need something sharp to cut the cord, and I haven't got a knife with me. And... something soft. Your doublet?" She knew that wouldn't go over well, so added, "Or your undershirt, something. Have we got anything else? A cloak, or a clean blanket? Everything I've got on is soaked..." Elsa squirmed uncomfortably, grimacing in the wet clothes. "And I didn't see anything of use in the carriage. Unless..."

Elspeth turned around and sure enough, there on the ground was the driver of the carriage, wearing the traditional Benthey livery of black and green velvet, with a silver bear stitched onto the front. And, though the man's head was tilted back so far one could see down his trachea because his throat was cut so deep, his shirt had remained relatively clean. It was a morbid thought. She didn't want to undress the dead man and didn't want her child to be swaddled first in something another man had died in. But what other choice did they have, if Wylyam would not surrender his doublet? She turned back to Wylyam. "It's either that, or you relieve that poor fellow of his shirt. I would, but I don't think I can bend down that far at the moment."

That, or she was squeamish. But really, who would ever have accused the Duchess of something so silly as squeam?