by Hall, Diana
Alyse recrossed her arms under her ample chest and continued with her list of the dog’s transgressions. “Yesterday, he got on my worktable and spilt two pitchers of milk. Last week he chased my laying hens, and we had no eggs for three days. The day before that, he ate the centers out of three pies I had left to cool. Just the centers, mind ye.”
“I’ll see to him, Alyse. I promise.” Lenora tried to rise, but the heavy weight on her feet pinned her in the chair. She put down her sewing and wiggled her toes out from under the animal.
“Well, see that ye do, Lady Lenora, or—” the kitchen cook addressed the dog on the floor “—you’ll wind up on the spit instead of stealing from it.” In a huff, she left the room to return to her realm downstairs.
When the woman exited, Goliath padded over to the hearth to retrieve a slimy piece of rawhide. He dropped it at Lenora’s feet and sat upright, an expectant look on his face.
“Nay, I’ll not toss your toy for you,” Lenora rebuked him. The dog picked up the rawhide and set it in her lap.
“You may as well throw it. He won’t let up until you do,” Beatrice advised. She put aside her sewing, also, and walked to her cousin’s side. “He needs to stay in the kennel or the barn.”
“I know, but he would be miserable after sleeping near me all this time.” Lenora threw the strip of leather. “I would miss him, too. He keeps me from being too lonely.” Goliath leapt after it, captured the strip with his front paws and began to tug and chew his toy.
“When are you going to allow me to tell Roen the truth about your meeting with Geoffrey?” Beatrice placed her hand on Lenora’s shoulder. “Tis been months now. You can’t keep living like this. The strain is making you ill.”
Lenora lowered her head and closed her eyes. ‘Twas not her estrangement from her husband that caused her nausea. She had kept her secret for three months now; soon she would be able to hide it no longer.
“Beatrice, you must not tell. There is more to this than you think.” Her cousin moved to sit at her side. Lenora glanced around to see if anyone was in earshot. The guard sat across the room, cleaning his weapons. The servants moved about, concerned with their duties. “I am with child. I believe three months.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened, and a smile graced her lips. “Oh, Lenora, how wonderful!” She gave Lenora a hug.
“Sh. I do not wish it known to all just yet.”
“Why?” Beatrice’s smile faded. Then realization dawned. “He won’t believe ‘tis his, will he?”
“’Twould be the time when he saw me with Geoffrey. I fear ‘tis his past that haunts him and will cause him to reject our child.”
“Then let me go to him and clear his mind of these evil thoughts.”
Lenora shook her head and crossed the room to stare at the embers in the hearth. Beatrice went to her side, and Lenora spoke to the dying flames. “And what will it prove? If he doubts my word, why would he believe you? In his mind I am guilty. It really matters little what anyone says. If we are to have a life together, he must break down this wall he has put between us himself. No one else can help him.”
“What if he does not make amends before you can no longer hide the babe from him?” Beatrice kept her voice low and glanced over her shoulder at the guard. He no longer cleaned his sword but stared at them.
“Then there is no future for us. I’ll not have my child grow up in a home such as this one is now. I’ll leave, perhaps return to Aquitaine.”
Beatrice laced her arm through Lenora’s and drew her away from the fire. In a hushed whisper she said, “Come, let us retire to your chambers. There we will have more privacy to discuss this matter. Besides, you will need to start your layette soon or the heir to Woodshadow will lie naked in his crib for his first months.”
Arm in arm, they climbed the stairs to the seclusion of the master chamber. Goliath followed in their shadow. Roen intercepted the guard as he started for the stairs.
“Raymond, what went on between the two?” he inquired.
The guard shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know, Lord Roen. They share a secret but I was not close enough to hear.”
Roen nodded and dismissed the man. He sat in the chair his wife had vacated and propped his elbows on the arms. With his hands folded, he rested his chin on his extended index fingers while he studied the brocade edge of his tunic.
Hamlin leaned against the warm stones of the hearth. Familiar with his commander’s mood, he demanded, “What do you know, Roen?”
He dropped his arms to hang loose. His head tilted to rest on the back of the chair. “I believe my wife is expecting a child.”
Hamlin’s mouth dropped open. With his foot, he pushed himself off the wall of rock. “Are you certain? Has she told you this?”
“She has said nothing to me. But she cannot hide the changes in her body.”
Hamlin whacked his friend on the back and gave him a jubilant grin. “Congratulations, old man, and when is the blessed event to occur?”
Roen slanted his head and gave his companion a sideways glance. “I would suspect sometime after the New Year.” He paused to let the date sink in.
“What a wonderful way to begin a year. We must plan a special celebration for the occasion.” Hamlin started waving his hands. “A huge feast, dancing, jugglers. I love jugglers…” His hands froze in midair and the gaiety left his voice, replaced with dread. His hands dropped and he asked, “You don’t believe the babe is yours, do you?”
“There’s that possibility. It could be her lover’s child.” The words ripped from him, the pain unconcealable.
“Roen, you are my commander. In battle, I would not hesitate to carry out your orders.” Hamlin stood over him. “But more than that, I consider you and I friends. Loyal friends.”
“Aye, ‘tis true.” He waited for the point of Hamlin’s speech.
“I tell this in that vein, as a friend.” Hamlin sucked in a breath, and the words rushed out. “You are a fool, Roen. I know Lenora tells the truth.”
“How?” Roen looked up, desperate for some shred of proof to nullify his charges.
“Because she loves you. Even after all the hurt you’ve caused her, she still loves you.” Hamlin snorted when Roen rose and turned from him. “You can walk away from me, but you can’t walk away from your wife and child. What are you going to do?”
His shoulders sank, and defeat caught in his throat like a bitter ale. “I will do what I must for the child’s sake and uphold the marital agreement I made with Sir Edmund. Lenora’s firstborn son is heir to Woodshadow, regardless of who fathered him.”
“The woman believed you about her father. Can you not see it in yourself to put the same trust in her?” Hamlin asked as Roen walked away.
The truth of the question haunted him. Why had she believed in him then, when by all rights she should have allowed her men to kill him on the spot? When he told his side, she listened to him, eventually, then placed her faith in him. Why had she done that? Could Hamlin be right? Did she love him?
Roen groaned at the idea. It would only lace the situation with more guilt. For if she did love him, could that elusive emotion be sustained in her heart after the way he treated her? Nay, if she had not hated him before, she would now.
He left the keep and wandered to the old oak. Bright red and orange leaves floated in the air. A daydream of his wife materialized in the autumn light. The image spoke of how proud she was of him, how much she respected him. He would murmur back how pleased he was with her. The image leaned toward him, her full lips ready to meet his own.
A voice in his conscience chastised him. Pleased. Respected. Those weren’t the words he wanted spoken. How would it sound on her lips, “I love you?” How would it sound on his own?
A child’s cry broke his thoughts. A brown-haired little boy ran toward the tree, his finger held close to his chest. “Halt, boy, stop that racket,” Roen yelled.
The wail stopped, but the boy’s lower lip trembled. He started to hiccup and
cry at the same time. He cradled one hand in the other.
Roen looked down at the dirty, tear-streaked face. Brown eyes looked up at him. “Why all the blubbering? You’re too old to be crying like a baby.”
On chubby legs, the child reviewed him. Finally, he extended his finger, the hiccups in control. Roen knelt down and examined the appendage. A long, nasty sliver of wood pierced the skin and lay under the flesh. The edge, too small to grasp with his large fingers, extruded from beneath the surface. Roen grimaced. It looked painful even to him.
“Come here, boy.” He motioned to the tree. “Sit, and I’ll see if I can help you.”
The lad obeyed, his tears drying. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and waited. Roen crossed his legs and sat next to him. The splinter lay just under the surface of the skin, so he tried to massage it out. The lad turned his face away and started to cry again.
“Hush,” Roen ordered. The big brown eyes widened at the tone of his voice. “Hush,” he ordered again, but this time his voice softened.
“Hurts,” the lad informed him. He stuck his finger right under Roen’s nose. “Fix it.”
With a smile, he answered, “Aye, I’ll fix it, but ‘twill hurt some.”
The boy plopped down into Roen’s lap and put his small finger into the large callused hand of his benefactor. “Fix,” he ordered, then returned his thumb to his mouth. The brown eyes looked at him without fear.
Roen removed his sharp dagger and showed it to his patient. The boy’s eyes rounded. “Don’t worry, I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Roen kept his voice quiet. “’Twill only take a minute if you keep your hand very still. Can you do that?”
The little head nodded up and down slowly. Roen felt the arm he held grow stiff, and the small body leaned against his chest. Quick, before his patient changed his mind, he took the needlelike tip of his dagger and made a shallow incision. With a gentle squeeze, the splinter came free,
“Good boy, you were certainly brave through that,” he praised the child. The little head nodded up and down in agreement. A shudder ran along the child’s body, and Roen rubbed the gooseflesh from the baby-soft arm.
“Marvin, what are you doing?” A haggard-looking woman raced up to them. She bobbed a clumsy curtsy to him and swept the child from his lap.
“Ah, so Marvin is the name of my brave patient.” Roen felt the loss of the small body. His arms and lap were suddenly empty. To escape the feeling, he rose and stretched his legs. “He had a splinter, so I cut it out. He’s a most capable lad. You might wrap his finger with a cloth to stanch the blood.” Marvin’s mother nodded while she pulled her son farther from him.
Marvin showed his mother the still slightly bleeding finger and ordered, “Kiss.” A maternal smile softened the woman’s face. Dutifully, she leaned over and gave her son’s injury a loud smack. Marvin giggled. “Better.”
“Thank you, my lord, for your concern.” The mother scooped up her son and rested him on her hip. “The second year is such a trying time. They’re always into some mischief.”
“He’s only two. I thought him older.” Roen looked at the boy, contentedly sucking his thumb in his mother’s arms.
“You’ll learn to size ‘em better after you’ve a few of your own.” Her chin nuzzled the top of her child’s head. She moved off patting Marvin’s back and humming a lullaby.
Roen watched the brown head rest on the woman’s shoulder. Children of his own. When would that time come? He never really considered the prospect except in terms of producing an heir. Brown hair and brown eyes. Lenora’s child might look very similar to Marvin if Geoffrey was the father. Would her child ever look at him with trust and order him to “fix” some hurt? Would he be able to look at the child with tenderness? He kicked at the piles of dead leaves around the trunk of the oak, unsure of the answers in his heart.
“Here, we can cut this down.” Beatrice held up a linen dress.
“We can make several gowns for your baby from this.”
Lenora nodded, finally giving in to her excitement. Despite her relationship with the father, she wanted this baby. She couldn’t wait to be able to count all the little toes and fingers. She dreamed of holding her child in her arms and feeling it nurse at her breast.
“The child must have a mantle for the winter.” Beatrice started to make a verbal list of all the things a newborn would need. “Some warm woolen gowns…” She threw open one of the chests in Lenora’s room and withdrew a pale undertunic. “Let’s take the silk from this old dress and sew some strips onto the baby’s blankets. I’ve a bit of ermine left from the gown I made. Let’s put that on the baby’s cloak. And a hat, he’ll need a hat, also.”
Lenora laughed. “Beatrice, you’ll have the babe dressed better than the crown prince.” She knelt near the chest, also, and withdrew a bolt of soft blue wool. The color reminded her of Roen’s eyes when he was happy, a blue gray. She wondered if their child would have the same shade of eyes. If it did, would that be enough for Roen to claim it as his own?
Beatrice took the cloth from her hand. “Let’s get started right away.” She looked around the chamber for somewhere to lay the bolt out. “Here, this table will do.” A sharp flick of her wrist and the wool snapped out of its folds and draped across the game table. Pulling out a piece of chalk from her pocket, Beatrice drew the simple shape of a baby’s gown on the fabric.
Lenora rose slowly, her fingertips resting on the table. The Nine Man Morris game had not been used for some time now. She placed her hand on her barely protruding abdomen. “Aye, Beatrice, let’s begin.” She had a baby to think of and worry over now. As much as she wanted Roen to share this joy, she couldn’t let his attitude toward her ruin these next few months. She fished about in her pocket, searching for her scissors.
“Heavens, I forgot my scissors downstairs. But I’ve an old pair stashed in the drawer of the table.” She pulled on the drawer but it would not budge. The long disuse and humidity had made the drawer stick. She braced one hand against the tabletop, leaned in and yanked. The drawer catapulted out and flew across the room. Lenora landed flat on her backside, stones and the scissors raining down. Goliath woke from his dream and started barking. Lenora sputtered into a giggle, then a chuckle, and finally erupted into gut-aching laughter. Weak from her humorous release, she crawled on all fours and began to pick up the mess she had created.
Beatrice moved to get the drawer. “Have you given any thought to a name yet?”
“Nay, not really. Perhaps Edmund or Louis if a boy, after my father or brother. I think Anor, after my mother, if ‘tis a daughter.” Lenora paused in her work. Names somehow made the life within her more real.
“What about Roen? Won’t he want to have something to do with the child’s naming?” Beatrice lifted the drawer from the floor.
“Nay.” She patted her dog’s head. “Roen would not want to name a child he did not claim. I had to force him to even name Goliath. I thought it a silly name when first he said it, but he chose well, didn’t he?”
“By the saints.” Beatrice’s voice sounded hollow and frightened. In her trembling fingers, she held a thick fold of paper. She dropped the heavy wooden drawer at her feet and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Beatrice, what’s wrong?” Lenora went to her side.
Her cousin passed the paper to her. “Twas stuck on the back of the drawer.” She placed her hands over her mouth and began to rock back and forth.
Dread flooded Lenora’s body. This paper held some terrible message. She took a deep breath before she allowed her eyes to focus on the letter. Halfway down the page she realized what it meant. All the blood siphoned from her face and she felt screams of anger and confusion at the back of her throat, but she couldn’t make a sound.
Beatrice lowered her hands and held them palms together. Her lips moved in a silent appeal for divine help. “He lied to us all. This is your marriage contract, isn’t it?”
“Aye, my father’s signature is at the bottom as well as Roen’s
.” She felt distant, like an observer in her own body.
“How could this happen?”
“Father must have been too ill to notice the changes and signed a counterfeit agreement after Roen hid the original.” She carefully folded the paper and wrapped it in the leather binding.
“Do you think he was alone in this treachery?” Beatrice asked.
Lenora’s shoulders sank. “Nay, how could he be? He needed help to procure the counterfeit.”
Large tears rolled down Beatrice’s cheeks. “Hamlin?”
“He is his second in command, privy to all his secrets.”
The blond girl rolled over on the bed and released the dam of tears and sorrow. After a few moments, more in control, she wiped her face with the edge of her apron. “What are we going to do?”
Lenora rose and grabbed the drawer from the floor. “First, we are going to put this back where it was. I don’t want any of them to know we’ve found their secret.”
Beatrice helped her to stuff the letter and drawer back into its proper position. “Now what, Lenora? We need help.”
“Patience, Cousin,” Lenora advised. “I need time to think. ‘Tis not just us to worry about, there’s my child, also.”
“He wouldn’t dare harm your baby.”
“I don’t know.” Torn by conflicting emotion, she suddenly realized that she really didn’t know her husband at all, or what he was capable of. “Beatrice, the true contract would enable my child to inherit everything, regardless of the father. His accusations about Geoffrey ‘tis just a way for him to use his false contract to steal Woodshadow from my child.” She clenched her fists at her side and began to pace the floor.
“But your child is to inherit in both contracts.” Beatrice looked confused at her cousin’s fear.
“The false document gives Woodshadow to Roen’s—” she stressed her husband’s name “—and my child. By putting a shadow of doubt over the baby’s parentage, he can use his contract to nullify the child’s rightful inheritance.”
