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An unusually sentimental piece of prose I wrote a while back.

They lay there together, Dervel and Niam, entwined in each other’s embrace. The touch of each others’ bare skin was like being engulfed in an ocean of warmth. They felt inseparable, not wanting this moment of union to end. 

Dervel lay his head on Niam’s shoulder, enraptured in the smell of her hair and of her skin. His coarse hand rested on the smoothness of her belly, swollen with child. Niam took his hand by the wrist and guided it to where she felt her womb stir.

“There, feel that?” she crooned. “It kicks. They say that’s a sign that the babe is healthy.” Dervel’s hand lingered. This was his child, their child. He had spent the last year of his life planting crops, and even helped deliver a few troublesome calves. But this was his own, the mark he left behind on this earth. A testament that he could love, and be loved. 

“What do you think it will be?” Niam asked him, resting her head against his. 

Dervel took his hand away from her belly to pull her closer to him. “Hopefully it will be a baby.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” she said with mock frustration. “A boy or a girl?”

“It will be a boy,” Dervel replied. “He will be big and strong. He will spend all day playing in the mud or climbing. And when he grows up, all the girls will blush as he walks past.” 

“God forbid,” Niam pinched his ear playfully. “One big, dumb ox in this house is bad enough.”

“Well then, what do you think it will be?” Dervel asked, but he already knew the answer.

“It will be a girl. Who will sing sweet songs for her mother when her father is away.” 

Dervel kissed her lightly on the nose. “And how do you know it will be a girl?”

Niam once more guided his hand to her belly, where the unseen child renewed it’s vigorous kicks. 

“Because mothers know everything about their children.” 

Tears welled up in Dervel’s eyes, and although Niam did not see it, she sensed his sudden shift of mood, and she felt bitter sorrow rise up in her throat. 

“I may not be here to see the birth,” said Dervel in a strangled voice. 

She was tempted to turn away from him, but he held her tightly. Instead she sighed and buried her head in his chest. “You promised me that you had left that life behind you. You told me that you would never leave me again.” 

Those words were like shards of ice piercing Dervel’s heart. He could not bear to say more, but he continued. “I swore an oath of loyalty. If I am to be called elsewhere, then I must answer,” he turned his head to avoid her solemn gaze. “I did not expect this so soon. But that does not change what I have promised.”

She rested her hand on his cheek and kissed him long. They said nothing for a time, not wanting words or harsh reality to disturb this last moment of shared bliss. Their lips parted, and both of them tasted the salt of tears. 

“Don’t forget your promise to me, Dervel. Don’t forget your daughter.” 

Reviews

[brinda]

The feelings are almost palpable..

[alanwgraham]

This is written very well. Given the subject matter it is sentimental but there are dark clouds on the horizon to give it some tension! It would be interesting to know the context but it is a timeless story in itself.
Alan

[Leon C]

A very touching piece of writing. You really capture the moment of peace and quiet that comes with this sort of intimacy.

I assume it is an extract from a longer story, either written or in your head. I think it makes a perfect quiet oasis if it is.

My only question is who is Joren? I assumed it was the first name of Dervel but it isn't clear except in the context it is used. You might want to look at that.

[Kieran Shuttleworth]

Thanks for the review! And that Joren is an editing slip up on my part, missed that when I was changing the name to Dervel. Thanks for pointing that out, I'll have to fix that up.

[Leon C]

I thought it might be :-)