Her husband kicked out Gilliam's camp stool for her and set her on it. "Would you rather lie?"
She shook her head. "Nay, I am better now," she lied. "Do you think we can leave for Upwood yet? I would be at some friendly place as soon as possible."
"Are you fit to ride?" His eyes darkened in concern.
"I see no difference between sitting here and riding," she replied. "The sooner we are there, the better I will feel." When he still hesitantly eyed her, she added, "Please?"
"If you are certain, love," he said with a nod. "Gilliam, can you spare some men and a few horses to see us to Upwood? We must bide there until the bishop calls us back to Graistan."
"Aye," his brother replied, and turned to a passing man. "Alfred, I want you and ten more men to escort my brother and his wife to Upwood. See to it there are suitable mounts for them."
Rowena sighed and laid her hand against her abdomen, as if her touch could ease the awful tension in her womb. Beneath her breath, so Rannulf would not hear, she murmured, "Hold tight, little one. It will not be long now." Surely, she could bear the pain for just a little longer.
Rannulf had not heard. Instead, he had turned to his brother to ask, "Where did you get the stones?"
Gilliam glanced back at the ballista. "Those? There's a new quarry nearby. Perhaps, he was getting ready to build once again."
"My Sir Gilliam," called a man, coming toward the young knight. He stopped in startled surprise. "Lord Graistan, we thought you were dead!"
"Nay, not yet." Her husband laughed. "Love, this is my brother Geoffrey's ballista engineer, Alain. It is he who is responsible for that hole of Gilliam's. It is good work you've done here, man."
"Aye, when Sir Gilliam told my lord that he needed no more than my little toy"—he waved fondly at his siege engine—"I must admit that my lord had his doubts. But here we are and so it is. My lord," he said to Gilliam, "I've already sent word to Lord Geoffrey that he need do no more in your regard."
"Alain." Three men were coming near, two of them holding a writhing woman dressed in filthy homespun between them. "Look, what we found. These men have had a bit of sport with her, thinking she was one of the house servants before they realized the English with which she cursed them was so odd."
Rowena stiffened, for there was only one whom it could be. She watched from around her husband as Maeve was dragged nearer. The woman's fair hair was wet and tangled with mud. Her face was bruised, her lip cut and still bleeding. The coarse material of her gown had easily torn when the men had taken her.
"Maeve." Gilliam uttered her name in a single cold breath.
At the sound of his voice, the noblewoman stood still between her captors. "Ah, the beardless boy," she spat out as she slowly raised her head. "How did you like the taste of my revenge, eh?" Then she gasped in shock as she saw Lord Graistan standing beside his brother. "Rannulf," she breathed in horror, "but you were locked in. He could not have been quick enough to have freed you."
"Aye, you have failed," he said, calmly but with the same ice in his voice that his brother had revealed. "We are both here." He moved back to stand beside the stool and lay his hand upon Rowena's shoulder. "You have done your worst, and it was still inadequate."
The fair woman's broken and bleeding face twisted in a mask of sudden understanding and rage. "Nay, damn that stupid little bitch. She swore."
"A lie for a liar," her lady threw back. "After the many times that you have used others, I am surprised you did not see it when she used you." Suddenly, she was glad she now faced this woman. It was good that Gilliam's men had brought her here. Eventually, after all was said and done, she would have worried if they'd not found her.
The woman snarled, then turned her colorless eyes on Rannulf. "So, you are not dead. But have you yet opened your eyes? Poor Rannulf, not the virile lover that your brother is. If you did not have Jordan, I might think you incapable. Isotte carried your brother's brat. Whose get will this wife bear since you do not sleep with her?"
"Nay," Gilliam bellowed in pain and rage, grabbing at his sword hilt to draw it and finish what remained of the lady before him.
"Rannulf," Rowena cried out, "do not let him."
Her husband's hand shot out to stop his brother's sword arm. "Hold."
"Let me still her mouth," his brother pleaded. "She will spew foul lies no longer."
Lord Graistan turned to Rowena. "Why do you bid him to stop? She has forfeited her life this day with her actions. No soft wish or gentle plea of yours will save her neck."
"Aye, Maeve has forfeited," she agreed, "if not for us, then for the deaths of Ashby's folk that now lay upon her soul. But she has the right to confess her sins and be absolved before being sent to face her Maker."
"Spare me your prattle," Maeve sneered out.
But Rowena continued speaking. "More importantly, she had asked a question, and she shall have her answer before she dies. I would not have it sit on your brother's soul that he struck out in fear of the past when there is no longer cause for it." The pain that had abated some now grew marginally worse and made her shift uneasily on her stool.
Rannulf stared at her for a long moment, then slowly, he smiled. "You are right. Gilliam, hand me your sword. I would not want you tempted to leap out."
"Nay," his youngest brother said, almost crying in his pain, "nay, you must not listen. Do not let her speak."
"Gilliam."
As the knight reluctantly lay his weapon into his brother's hands, Rowena watched Maeve's eyes glitter with satisfaction. So, the woman still dreamed she had some hold over them, that she could use their past to control them. But it was a dream soon to be shattered.
"Now," Rannulf said, slightly juggling the sword in his hand as if unconsciously taking its measure, "this foul bitch has asked a question that I will answer for her. She wishes to know whose child my wife bears." Maeve threw her head back in startled disbelief as this news caught her unawares. "That's right, bitch. The child is mine."
"Nay, I do not believe you." The fair woman let the words fly in desperation. "It is a lie. This woman is all hard words and commands. She has done naught, but defy you and challenge your rights at Graistan. She does not even understand how to be your lady. The stupid twit dresses like a servant and behaves like some merchant's wife." The despair in her voice sounded almost true. For a moment Rowena knew a sort of pity for this woman. Was it possible that Maeve had loved Rannulf, at least to the best of her twisted heart's ability?
But her husband only smiled grimly. "You offered me a sweet face and pretty poses, and your attitude promised much. But even deep within my mourning, I believe I sensed your rottenness, for I could not bear your touch." Maeve stiffened at this pronouncement, her eyes flying wide. But Lord Rannulf was not finished yet.
"Would that I could blame you for this havoc you have wrought, but it lays only upon my shoulders. I needed you to ease my guilt and let you run amok among my own people and now, here, again at Ashby. It is time I put an end to this foul mummery of yours. As is my right, I pronounce on you a sentence of death for your crimes. You, there"—he pointed to the third man who stood a little aside from the lady—"run into the church and fetch the priest. Once he is done with her, she will be executed."
"Kill me, then," Maeve said, slumping as though in hopeless despair. She fairly leaned against one man's shoulder as a minute passed. It was this calm of hers that made her captors less vigilant against her sudden surge forward.
She tore free from their grasp. "But, I will take her with me," she screeched out. Her face was alight with hate as she threw herself at her lady. Rowena had no time to scream. She was shoved brutally from the flimsy stool, Maeve's hands around her throat. "Graistan was mine," the woman screamed.
Gasping for breath, she pushed at her attacker even as Rannulf roared above them. Maeve's enraged expression flattened in surprise. Then she was lifted by the back of her gown. Rowena's husband tossed the woman aside as if she were no more than a child's doll. He whirled after her a
s she fell, Gilliam's sword flashing in the air as it followed her descent. It embedded into her flesh with deadly ferocity.
Rowena lay on the ground, dizzy with pain and stunned by her fall. The new, horrible cramp within her ended suddenly with an explosion of warmth between her thighs. Rannulf was beside her, lifting her, crying out when he felt the wetness of her skirt against his arm. Blackness circled in on her. If she were to die, he needed to hear it from her one more time. "Rannulf," she gasped out, leaning her head against his chest, "I love you."
She sighed.
She had hovered just beneath wakefulness for a long while, but the effort to awaken took more strength than she could muster. There was something warm beneath her palm. She moved her fingers just a little. The warmth closed in, enfolding her entire hand. Somehow, this made it possible to open her eyes.
Above her there was only a dark and smoky roof. She frowned. That was wrong. Where was her bed, the wooden ceiling, the hangings? Slowly, for it took all the energy she had, she turned her head.
"Rannulf," she breathed. More was impossible.
His face was hollow with worry, his eyes so soft and gray, but filled with pain. Then, he slowly smiled, his free hand reaching out to stroke her cheek. When he spoke, it was to answer the questions in her eyes. "You are in the midwife's house at Eilington. It is loss of blood that makes you weak, but you are young and strong and will soon be well."
She frowned. Within her gaped an emptiness where once there had been life. Even as she willed it to be otherwise, tears filled her eyes.
"Aye, my love, the babe is gone. Ah, do not mourn so. Let me keep you to myself for a little longer."
She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. He had called her his love. Her fingers tightened around his. "Home," she murmured.
"When you are stronger." There was a jostling beside her, then she was lifted into his arms. He sat on the pallet and cradled her to him as he rocked her gently in his embrace. Against his broad chest, with her head tucked into the curve of his neck, she felt the steady beat of his heart, as if it were her own.
"I thought I'd lost you," he breathed. "I thought you would die before you heard me tell you what I hold in my heart for you. Ah, Wren, I love you so. Without you, I would be nothing but an empty shell, the way you found me. That you could nearly die without hearing me say these simple words—I cannot believe I was so careless with your love for me."
But they were not simple words at all; they were like a magician's spell, creating a wholeness between them that made them one. This new sense closed over her to heal the aching rend left by the babe's departure. It reached further to touch what remained of the solitariness that had always lain at the core of her being. Loneliness fell away in shivering splinters to be replaced with warm contentment.
She lay easy in his arms for some time. Mayhap she slept, for when she stirred again, she felt refreshed and stronger. "Rannulf, am I your one, true love?" It was the question she had asked him on their wedding day, although then the words had been hard and twisted with sarcasm.
There was the low rumbling of muted amusement in his chest. He, too, remembered that day and her words. When she raised her head, it was to look upon the charming, handsome man who had so intrigued and worried her.
Bitterness and anger were forever banished, and he would hide no more behind them. "Aye, Wren, you are my one, true love. Am I yours?"
"Aye, love, you are." She lay her head against his shoulder once again.
"I love you," he murmured again, as if enjoying the feel of the words on his tongue.
Rowena smiled against the fullness in her heart. Had her father known? He had done far better for his daughter than he could ever have imagined. Aye, he'd planned that she should have a proud home and a grand life. But had he known he was also giving her a husband to love, one who loved her more than life itself?
Historical Note
When I was in college, studying archaeology, I had absolutely no interest in the dull and boring Middle Ages. I mean, what did those folks do except sing plainsong and hack each other to pieces for honor's sake? When this story arrived and insisted it could only be written in 1194, I decided I had to learn more. My research revealed a highly sophisticated society whose complicated social behaviors developed in spite of, or perhaps because of, their primitive technology. I hope I've succeeded in letting my characters reflect the respect I have for this remarkable era.
A few notes for the purists: Ashby appeared before I knew there was a royal fortress by the same name. Since I was already accustomed to the name, it remained as it was. Graistan keep was originally modeled after a beautiful Castle Rising in East Anglia. And Rannulf is spelled as it is because that is how he spells it. I had nothing to say in the matter.
I was ten before I'd realized the cosmos had played a terrible joke on me. I was in the wrong century! While everyone else studied computers and listened to rock music, I wrote a history assignment in Egyptian hieroglyphics and spent endless hours designing ball gowns for Marie Antoinette. I taught myself what every true lady must know: how to sew a fine seam, to embroider skillfully, and to play an instrument (piano, and nothing later than Beethoven, thank you). My husband and eldest son, Adam, gracefully accepted that I was an anachronistic sore thumb with a compulsion to costume them and drag them to the Renaissance Faire. My younger son, Justin, wants you to know he loves the Faire and thinks ancient music is cool. Anyway, it all changed the night I had a startling dream about two people who demanded I tell their story. Now writing is my time machine and words recreate the vitality of an era where I feel at home. I am blessed. Not only do I experience the drama of their time, but I do so with indoor plumbing. Enjoy!
Winter's Heat is DENISE DOMNING's first historical romance. She lives with her family in Scottsdale, Arizona.
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