"Felice, it is torture for me to have you here when I can see you are unhappy with me. You are always watching me, never sure if I will prove myself untrustworthy." She opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand to stop her. "Please. I do not blame you. I do not want you to be unhappy either; I want you to live in peace, not always wondering if I am waiting for you to make a mistake. That is no way to live."
His words melted her heart. Could it be he really was speaking the truth? Was her happiness more important to him that his own? She took his hand, lifted it to her lips and kissed his palm.
"I do not want to leave, Christopher," she answered. "This is my home and I love it here, but you cannot know how much it means to me for you to make such an offer."
He moved his hand to gently cradle her cheek.
"What do you want then? What do you want that I can give you?"
Since the day she went to the village to watch Immeth, she had been troubled by the poor conditions in which all the villagers and tenants lived. Having lived herself through a winter with holes in the roof, the dilapidation niggled away at her like a nasty bite that would not stop itching. Now she was back in her own warm bed, the conditions of the peasants troubled her conscience even more.
"There is one thing I would like," she answered.
"Name it. If it is within my power, it shall be yours."
She was nervous lest he take her request as a criticism of him, yet there was but one way to find out if he spoke the truth.
"Would it meet with your approval, My Lord," she asked him, "if I were to order repairs to the cottages in the village?"
He raised an eyebrow and smiled.
"It would," he replied. "I am ashamed I did not think of it myself."
He was rewarded with her lovely smile as she stood up.
"I shall ride to the village this morning," she said excitedly. "I will visit the tenants and see what needs to be done." She leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders to briefly kiss his lips. "Thank you."
He watched her go, thinking what an unusual woman she was. She could have asked him for anything, for jewels, fine clothes, yet all she wanted was to see others better off. If only he had known her sooner, he might have learned some valuable lessons that would have saved them both a lot of heartache.
Felice mounted her little mare and rode swiftly toward the village. She smiled as she went, thinking of how pleased the people would be. As she rode towards the empty cottage that had been the home of Immeth, a woman came out of the hovel next to it, the same woman she had seen the night of Immeth's death. Her heart jumped for a moment; the woman looked so much like her sister.
She stopped when she saw Felice and curtsied quickly.
"My Lady," she said, a worried frown creasing her forehead.
She did not expect to see Her Ladyship here in the village.
"Lord Christopher wants me to see about repairing these cottages," she said.
The woman raised her eyebrows sceptically.
"He does?" She said doubtfully.
Felice was determined to give him the credit for this scheme, to destroy that reputation he had of being callous and uncaring, even if she never managed to change him.
"Yes," she replied. "May I come inside and look?"
The woman looked doubtful and made no reply until Felice had dismounted and tied her horse to a post, the same post to which Christopher always tied his own horse when visiting his peasant.
"I have a sick child inside, My Lady," Edith said at last. "I am not sure what ails her but I would not want you to put yourself at risk."
Felice stopped walking and stood still, her eyes round with horror.
"The pestilence?" She asked.
"It may be, My Lady," Edith answered. "I have not seen it, so I cannot be sure."
"What symptoms does the child have?"
"Hot and sweaty, a circular rash and vomiting. Her tongue is very red as well and she is delirious with the heat."
Felice stepped back. She had hoped to have left this behind in Shepton, but it seemed she was wrong. It had followed her here and now she was afraid she might have brought it with her. But of course that was silly. She had come home weeks ago and she never had the disease, not her nor her servants.
They all hoped it had past over them, left them alone as it had done in other place, so she heard. It seemed they were not to be spared after all.
"I will tell His Lordship," she said quickly, mounting her pony. "Is it your child, Mistress?"
Edith nodded. She hesitated for a few moments, and Felice knew she had more to say.
"You might tell His Lordship that my sister's children are well still," she said. "The blacksmith's son is ill, as is his wife."
Felice could only stare at her, wondering if she should take the children with her, whether he would want that. But he never bothered with Immeth's children, did not even acknowledge them as his own. She had to get back, had to find out what to do, had to escape before she too was contaminated.
She had almost reached the castle walls when she saw Christopher riding towards her.
"My Lord," she cried, a look of sheer horror on her face. "Go back! There is pestilence in the village."
He drew rein quickly, his expression matching hers.
"I must stay here," Felice said. "I may have been exposed."
"No. Did you go inside any of the cottages? Did you have contact with anyone?"
"One woman," she answered. "The sister of Immeth, but I only spoke to her. I did not go near; she warned me away."
Christopher stared at her as though he did not comprehend what she said, then he took her reins and turned his horse, leading her little mare across the drawbridge and into the castle grounds.
He dismounted and strode quickly to the steward's house, while Felice hurried after him.
"I want the drawbridge put up," he ordered. "Gather everyone together; I need to speak to them all.”
He turned to Felice and pulled her into his arms, hugged her as though he might not see her again and she could tell he was afraid.
There were about thirty people gathered in the castle yard, all waiting fearfully to hear what their Lord had to say. It was not often he addressed them like this and they wondered what had happened, who had been foolish enough to commit a crime in this place.
“There is pestilence in the village,” Christopher announced. “Anyone who wishes to leave, to be with their families, has my permission to do so but they will not be allowed back. I cannot allow anyone to bring their families here to the castle, either; that applies to everyone. I cannot risk the safety of the people already in residence.”
"My Lord?” Said the steward. “What about supplies?"
"We will make do with what we have. I will not risk the safety of my family. Anyone who leaves here will not be allowed back."
He turned and made his way rapidly toward the kitchens and the storerooms, Felice hurrying behind him.
"Christopher," she said fearfully. "What about your children?"
"They are safe in the castle," he answered at once, without stopping.
Her heart sank.
"I meant your other children, My Lord," she said bitterly. "I meant your peasant children, Immeth's children."
A look of irritation crossed his face as he stopped walking and turned to face her..
"I can do nothing for them," he said. "They are already exposed. I can only pray for them."
"Are they worthy of your prayers?" She asked him cynically, wondering if this would at last inflame that well known temper. Now was his chance to show her once and for all if he really had changed.
He sighed impatiently.
"Felice," he said, "I will not risk the safety of our own children for them. If you cannot accept that, then I can do nothing about it."
Children he said. Our own children.
"You know," she said. He nodded. "How long have you known?"
"I overheard you talking to her nurse," he sa
id, "the first day you came back."
"And you said nothing? Why?"
He hesitated before answering, not wanting to admit his real reasons, but he knew he would have to if he was ever to win her trust.
"I was ashamed," he said finally. "I was ashamed that you should be so afraid of me that you would pretend my own child was an orphaned peasant. I am still ashamed and I always will be. I promise you have nothing to fear; I will not take her from you, I will not take Christopher from you again. You have my word."
"And you believe me?" She asked hesitantly. "You are not going to challenge her parentage, not going to accuse me, ask me to prove she is yours?"
"You told me you loved me. I do not believe you would be unfaithful to me, not now I know what sort of woman you are, a woman I do not deserve. I am only sorry I ever doubted you. The little girl is my own daughter and I almost lost you both because of my arrogance and conceit." He kissed her hand quickly then turned to move away. "I must go and oversee the sealing of the castle."
"Christopher," she said as she followed him, "you should bring Immeth's children to the castle. You are their father."
He stood looking about at the people who were busying themselves, making the castle safe and secure.
"You see him?" He demanded, pointing to a young man in the distance who was pushing a cartload of apples toward the castle, then he turned his attention to a woman who was carrying vegetables in a basket. "You see her? All of them? Most of them have families, children out there. I have told them all they cannot bring their families to the castle; should I now tell them there is a different rule for me? Am I supposed to bring my own children to safety while theirs must take their chances?"
"And if it were Christopher and little Rose out there instead of Immeth's children?" She demanded, sure he would hesitate over his answer now.
"It would break my heart," he answered, "but nothing would change."
Felice was surprised at this show of justice, of fairness she had not believed him capable of. Was this a new character trait, or had she misjudged him? Was this that spark of goodness she had believed he must have in him, that one redeeming feature that would make him worthy of her love after all?
And if it was, the worst sin she had held him guilty of became a little more acceptable. It made sense, all at once, how he could have intended to execute her, yet still insisted he loved her.
"Is this why?" She asked him.
"Why what?"
"Why you would have sentenced your own wife to death?"
He looked at her uncomfortably and sighed.
"Anyone here found guilty of murder will hang for it. I make no exceptions, not even for my wife. Why do you think I sent you away?”
“I thought it was because you hated me, that you did not want to have to look at me.”
She caught back a sob as her feelings that morning came flooding back, when her roses died and the servants came to escort her miles away, when he left before she woke so he would not have to talk to her. Christopher was shaking his head.
“It was because I could not take the chance of seeing you, of allowing my heart to make the decision for me. I could not take the chance that I might weaken. The people here, they fear me I know. I have always found it useful for them to fear me, but they also respect me, they know I am fair, they know I am just. I cannot risk that respect by allowing my children into the castle and not theirs, any more than I could risk it by allowing my wife to murder without consequences." He looked down at her with sorrow in his eyes. "Whatever you think of me, Felice, it was the hardest thing I have ever had to do, or thought I had to do. I have never wanted to hurt you."
"Truly?"
"Truly," he answered. "It might mean I lose what little chance I ever had to regain your respect, your affection, but I dare not take the risk of bringing the children here. Were they not already exposed, I would do as you ask, I swear it. But they are and bringing them here could kill every living person in the castle and grounds. I cannot take such a risk."
She reached out and touched his hand, and was rewarded with a warm smile.
He spent the rest of the day making sure the castle and grounds were tightly sealed and locked, that the food supplies were locked away to be carefully rationed among all the people who stayed behind. Anyone who wanted to leave was free to do so, but they would not be allowed back inside. Some of the servants wanted to go to their families, but most knew it was a pointless gesture, that there was nothing to be done.
That night, when the maidservant left after helping Felice with her clothing, she thought carefully about her husband's words of the morning. He had known nearly the whole time that Rose was her child, but he said nothing, neither did he challenge her to prove he was her father. That is what surprised her. She felt sure he would suspect her, accuse her of adultery as he did before.
All this time she had believed he chose the harshest penalty willingly, whether to frighten her or whether for revenge she did not know. But it seemed she had been wrong, that he had not wanted to have her executed. He believed her guilty of murder and saw no other option.
She climbed into bed and lie down to stare up at the canopy above her bed. He had retired straight after supper, exhausted from the day's tensions and had been asleep for hours before she took to her own chamber. As she lay in her bed, her mind wandered back to the time before Immeth had died, the time when they had just begun to care for each other. Had he told the truth when he said he went there that night to finish with her for good, to tell her goodbye? Was he lying when he said he had finished with her soon after their son was born? She had no idea, but she so wanted to believe him, so wanted to give this marriage another chance.
She wondered if she would be enough for him now, or if she was the only one simply because his mistress was dead. Would there be another peasant in the future, another poor woman with no choice but to comply with his wishes? He insisted he loved Felice; she wondered if he knew how much she would give to believe that.
The pestilence was here, just outside the castle walls, and nobody knew for certain how it would spread or how fast. Tomorrow it could find its way inside the castle, it could be whittling away at the people here, it could take any or all of them. Did she really want to waste time she may not have being afraid? Did she really want to have to live with regret that she did not take the chance of love while she had it, even if it should crumble away like the petals on a dying rose?
She got out of bed and went to the next chamber, to where her husband lie on his back, naked beneath the covers, breathing evenly. She stood gazing at his handsome face, at his broad chest and muscular arms. She vividly remembered his gentleness when last they had shared their bodies, remembered how he always thanked her. It would be all right; she had to make it all right. He had captured her again, and she was trapped, just as surely as she had been trapped since the day they wed.
She crept on tiptoe to his bed, not wanting to wake him, just wanting to feel his warmth. She lifted the cover carefully and slipped in beside him, turned on her side and watched his even breathing, watched his handsome features until sleep overcame her.
***
Christopher was having that dream again, that nightmare which had invaded his sleep all those months when he believed Felice was dead. In the dream, her lovely skin was gradually rotting away, turning black while she still lived, while she reached out for him to save her but he did not hear her. He did not hear anything; if he had he would never have suspected her in the first place.
The knowledge that the plague was here in his village had brought that dream back to him. It was the terror that he would lose her after all, lose her before he had been able to persuade her that he had changed, that he loved her.
In the dream he heard her scream and that scream woke him with a start. His eyes opened and he found himself staring at the ceiling of his own chamber in his own house. It was just a dream and it need never come true, if only he could keep his wife safe within the
castle walls.
He would stop pressuring her, stop trying to persuade her and allow her to decide for herself, otherwise she might leave, she might go to her father and if she did, he would not feel entitled to stop her. He had forfeited that right and had no claim on her now that she did not choose to allow him.
He turned onto his side and smiled. He was still dreaming, only now he was dreaming about his beautiful Felice lying beside him, breathing softly, her soft skin asking to be caressed. It was a dream; it had to be.
He leaned up on his elbow and blinked. It certainly did not feel like a dream and now he felt her breath on his chest, tickling his flesh, and he smelt the aroma of roses coming from her hair.
She opened her eyes then and looked up at him and he knew it was no dream, it was real. She was here, in his bed, lying beside him where she belonged and he thought his heart would burst.
He longed to reach out, to stroke his fingers over her bare arms, to slip the shift from her shoulders and kiss her neck. He wanted to lean forward and kiss those tempting lips, but he had promised and it was a promise he intended to keep.
***
As the dawn began to chip away at the night sky, Felice opened her eyes to see Christopher leaning up on his elbow and gazing down at her with that warm smile.
"Did you lose your way in the dark, My Lady?" He asked her.
"I was cold. You were warm."
Still he gazed at her and she wanted him to take her in his arms, to love her, but he was waiting for her to invite him; that had been his promise. She slipped her arm around his bare waist and moved closer to kiss his lips, her heart pounding.
"Is this the invitation I have been waiting for?"
"It could be," she answered. "You cannot know how much I want to be with you again, really. I want that more than anything, but I am still afraid to trust you.”
“I know,” he answered. “And I wish more than anything I had not made you afraid. I wish there was a way to make you believe you have nothing to fear, but I cannot blame you for not trusting me. I was a fool, an arrogant, conceited fool and I will never forgive myself for what I put you through. But give me one more chance and I will give you anything you want, even if it be your freedom from me.”
PESTILENCE: The Scent of Roses Page 18
