Bound More Than a Madman Is

NSFW.

"O, what may man within him hide..."

May 1st

A hot and dry day dawned on Verona. There was no better place to observe it than Tobea Dane's bequeath to her son and daughter-in-law: Middleham House. Perched near and above a canal, it gave a very pretty view of the streaks of color reflecting on the surface of the water to anyone wishing to observe. Cornwall had seen it more times than he could care to count, and it had become a very disappointing sight.

Middleham was bustling by the time the sun rose because the mistress of the house was a painfully early riser. Breakfast was to be served half an hour later, and the gentlemen of the house were expected to be in attendance. Though he would have just as soon starved all day than try to ingest food at such an obnoxiously early hour, Cornwall put the meal under the banner of duty: duty to appease his wife, duty to save the household from her displeasure, and duty to protect everyone else from heavy secrets.

"What time is it?" Kent grumbled.

"About seven."

"In the evening, at least?"

Cornwall smirked. "If only. Come on, dearest. If you don't get up now, you never will."

"And you would mind that?"

Truthfully, he would not, but that sense of duty required him to keep up appearances. Cornwall didn't know what or how much Regan knew, but he wouldn't purposefully expose it to her. Regan did not strike many as a woman in need of sheltering, but her husband knew no-one who more desperately needed it. A woman who thrived on power and control, and yet had never been at the head of anything but her own household, was one ready to snap if she learned she had been made the fool in her home.

"If we haul ourselves downstairs now," he offered, "we can come back up when she leaves for the day."

Kent made a childish face. "After breakfast is when I sleep."

"Oh, how could I forget how much you Capulets love a good routine." He threw Kent's clothes at him. "Get dressed, dear."

Sluggishly, Kent rolled across the mattress and worked at righting himself. "You have to admit it's a very good routine."

"Supper, bed, breakfast, sleep... not terrible."

"Not terrible!"

Cornwall grinned. "There's always room for improvement."

"Damn."

Kent blinked, still half-asleep. "What? What is it?"

"I forgot. I have to meet with Oswald this morning." Oswald was one of the many retainers charged with the mundane details of the Capulets' fortune. Every spring, Oswald was the thorn in the side of the family when he began to squawk about the threat of flooding in the Lowlands. His predictions rarely panned out, but he only went away once he had been heard. It was Cornwall's good luck that the job of humoring the nagging steward fell to him.

Kent frowned and tried to talk him out of the meeting. "Oswald will still be whining next week."

"If you keep whining, I won't create an excuse to go there or one to bring you along."

"Liar."

All joy came to a halt when the men heard Regan's voice in the hall. She was addressing a servant, demanding to know where her husband was "at this late hour." Kent flew over to the wardrobe. It was just big enough for him in his most compacted state and was in mortal danger of toppling over if he leaned one ounce too heavily to one side. Cornwall only had time enough to shut the doors and jump back onto his bed before Regan appeared.

"My God," she sighed, "you are a lazy beast."

"You know I'm not much for the mornings."

"So I've noticed."

"Dear, if I've done something wrong, can you scold me at the table? I need to get dressed."

"Uh, Regan, my dear," he stammered, "where are your clothes?" He followed her gesturing hands - surely enough, her nightgown was on the floor behind her. "We usually discuss this first..." Regan, hating to feel intruded upon, preferred to announce when she wanted to have sex and arrange it with her husband, like any other appointment. He supposed this was her way of controlling their relationship; he didn't care. This scheduling ritual made it easy to keep Kent at bay, rather than stuck in a wardrobe, when Regan was invading.

"We are discussing this first. It will be every morning this week, and one week a month thereafter until my courses stop." Ever so slightly, the wardrobe shook.

Cornwall did a quick sum in his head. Regan was over forty, but not too far. Her courses could go on for years - and what was the connection? "And, uh, when will that be, exactly?"

"Next month, if there is a God in Heaven, but it may be several."

"I don't know-"

"I'm not enraptured by this either, dear, but the midwife-"

"Midwife!"

"Yes, the midwife who delivered Goneril's children. She drew a chart of favorable times, and this is the proper week to begin."

Confusion and horror reigned in Cornwall's mind. Regan's implication was so odd, so unexpected, that he could hardly believe she meant it.

Flatly, she answered his thoughts. "We're having a child."

The wardrobe wobbled again, too loudly to go unnoticed. Quickly, Cornwall began protesting. "Regan, we discussed this, and we agreed not to have children."

"I changed my mind. I want a daughter."

"Is it even possible?" He sincerely hoped not. "We've been married for more than twenty years, and you've never... have you?"

Regan rolled her eyes.. "Every woman in Verona would have twenty children and then die if we left it up to nature."

"We are not having twenty children."

"Oh, for God's sake, Cornwall! I'm a Capulet; I deserve to have a daughter."

To the core, Cornwall hoped Kent could hear the effort going into his protests, because he was reasonably sure they wouldn't work. The three of them were all but destined for the longest half-hour of their lives. "You cannot just select the sex of a child. There is just as much chance of it being a boy."

"There are ways to-"

"Regan, that is the most foolish thing you have ever said. You cannot control the sex of the baby, no matter what that old crone told you."

She waved her hands. "Will you just get onto the bed?" She thought nothing of it when her husband nearly ran around to the far side to sit.

"Your sisters both had sons. Do you really want a Tybalt of your own?" With a scrap of satisfaction, he watched Regan shudder for a moment.

"What do you care if I have a baby? Men never have a thing to do with them once they're born. You'll barely notice her at all."

He could just imagine Regan modeling the girl after herself from the cradle. For good measure, the poor thing would probably have his crippled heart. "How could I not notice her?"

"If you don't want a child, then don't notice her. She'll never know the difference." She shifted her body, trying to find a comfortable position in the strange bed. "Look, can we just get this over with? I'm famished."

"Perhaps you're confusing your womb with your stomach."

Even Regan was stunned to silence by her husband's curt remark. She was quiet for several minutes, simply staring and tapping her fingers against her stomach. Neither spouse saw the dread in the eyes of the other. At last, she cried, "Will you start already?"

"No." He laid down on the bed, attempting to irritate her into leaving. "If you want the baby, do the work yourself." He glanced to see just how much work she would have to do. Fortunately, a long night with Kent had worn him out. Cornwall had just enough attraction to Regan to get by when he wasn't tired. This morning, he had very little to offer her. He waved his fingers to draw her attention.

Regan followed his hand and groaned in disgust. "I am going down to breakfast." Quickly, she got out of the bed and pulled on her gown. "You do whatever you need to so this doesn't take too long when I return."

Patiently, he waited to hear Regan's footsteps disappear. Years of practice had told him just how many footfalls he had to count before she was gone. Immediately after the last, he rushed over to the wardrobe and yanked the doors open.

The very sight of Kent so unhappy moved him to do anything, however outlandish, to keep Regan out of his bed. "I'll find a way out of this," Cornwall blurted. "She is up to something, and if I discover-"

"Just shut up, will you?" Kent stumbled to the floor but shook off Cornwall's help. When he stood, his eyes were dry but cold. "I can't do this."

"Dearest, I swear, I will find some way to fix this."

"No." Kent swallowed hard. "I can't do this anymore. She's my sister, and you're her husband. I can't."

"Kent..." He felt like a fist was squeezing his stomach up into his mouth. "Kent, please."

"No!"

"You're just shocked, we both are."

"I'm not shocked, damn it, I'm disgusted! How could I... for twenty years!" he groaned. "My poor sister..."

"Kent, you know aren't keeping us apart. She doesn't love me any more than I love her. This baby scheme... I don't know what this is, but it's not-"

"I don't care. Fuck her, don't fuck her, I don't care. I can't do this anymore."

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