“Yet she bore another daughter, by the telling.”
“Indeed she did. And my mother said the regret was just a measure longer in Lord Amaury’s eyes before he lost his heart anew.”
“Something must have changed for this to be a tale of trust,” Duncan guessed.
“It was the third child. Lady Richildis was sickly with this babe and spent much time in her bed. My mother said she carried the child differently, as well, and though she did not remark upon it aloud, she knew that both she and the couple hoped this was a sign that Lady Richildis carried a boy.”
“One hears such speculation.”
“For there is merit in it. There had not been much time between the pregnancies, and my mother did not like that. She feared Lady Richildis was not yet recovered from Jehanne’s arrival. When the lady was so ill, my mother feared the worst.”
“I am sure she said naught of it to Lord Amaury.”
“Naught but to insist that Lady Richildis sleep so much as she desired. The lord took to pacing the floor. There was little festivity in the hall that Eastertide, for the lady had taken to her bed. Despite all efforts to ensure the babe grew to full size, it came too soon. My mother was summoned to Lady Richildis in the middle of the night, by her telling, when the wind was wicked. She reached the keep to find the lady screaming in pain, and the blood flowing too fast. It seemed that the labor had begun quickly, that it was sharp and fierce, that naught could come aright. Lord Amaury was fearful, though my mother said naught to feed his fears, for he was a man of keen wit.”
“Was it breech?” Duncan asked and Radegunde smiled at him, pleased that he had understood.
“Aye. And though my mother turned the child and cleared the cord, even in her haste, she had intervened too late. The babe was dead when it emerged into the world and she knew by its condition that it had been so before the labor began. The lady’s child had died in the womb, which was why it came too soon.”
Duncan waited, his gaze upon her, and Radegunde knew he had guessed the truth of what her mother had done.
Better, she knew he did not blame her mother for her choice.
Radegunde continued, much encouraged by Duncan’s expression. “My mother saw immediately that the babe was a boy. Lady Richildis did not fare well in that moment, and Lord Amaury was much distressed with his wife’s condition. My mother feared that knowing the dead babe was the son he desired would be too much for the lord.”
“She hid the truth,” Duncan said, no surprise in his tone.
“She swaddled him quickly, so quickly that no other saw the truth, called him a girl and entrusted him to a maid. Then she tended to the lady. It took until the dawn to ensure that the lady would survive, and still she was much weakened.”
“And the lord?”
“Lord Amaury wept and he prayed, and never left his wife’s side. When Lady Richildis finally slept at ease, my mother took the infant from the chamber. She washed and prepared the babe for burial herself. She weighed the merit of telling them the truth, but still she feared that the lady might not recover if such a disappointment was added to her heart.”
“She was protective of them, when they were at their weakest. It is not a bad impulse.”
“By the time it was clear that Lady Richildis would recover, my mother thought the truth would be cruel. She believed, too, that they might yet have a son.”
“And the child was buried without them knowing its sex?”
Radegunde nodded. “They had but a glimpse of the child’s face before his coffin was sealed forever.” She swallowed, her tears welling at this last detail. “They named him Elena.”
Duncan nodded. “She thought she chose the greater good.”
Radegunde nodded, blinking back her tears. She could never hear of a dead babe without weeping.
“But there never was a son?” he guessed.
She shook her head, her tears falling that these good people had been denied the one thing they most desired. “Four more daughters, the last after my mother had counseled Lady Richildis to halt, lest her own life be lost. Only the one pregnancy of the seven was so difficult.”
“Because only the one was a boy?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. My mother told them that it might have been the illness of the child at root.”
“And when was this?” Duncan surveyed Radegunde, his expression inscrutable.
“Just after I was born. The youngest sister, Constantia, was born when I was ten. Hers was the first birth at which I aided my mother.”
Duncan touched a finger to her cheek and lifted away a tear. “And yet you weep for a child you never saw, for a couple who have many blessings to their hand.”
“Because they are good, and I like them well. There is a lesson in this, Duncan, that even those who appear to have every advantage can be lacking one thing they most desire.”
His gaze was intent, so piercing that she thought he could see her very thoughts. His voice was low, and she knew this query to be of import to him. “So, you have your mother’s example. Would you so lie for another?”
Radegunde took a deep breath. “For years, I thought not. It is a lie, after all, and a breach of the trust between them. For years, I thought my mother had chosen wrong.” She bit her lip. “But now I see Lord Gaston, wed but weeks to my lady, and I understand how he would be similarly torn. I had not understood how vehemently a lord might desire a son, even as he loved his wife. I understand that it might break his heart to lose both in one night.” Radegunde swallowed. “I see now that should I fear such an outcome, I might well deceive the husband as well.”
“It would scarce be better to lose wife and daughter,” Duncan said, a curious note in his voice. Radegunde studied him, marveling that he was so affected by her tale. He, after all, had never met the lord and lady.
“But when a man so desires a son to secure all he has gained to his hand and to protect the future, I understand that the loss would be greater.”
Duncan bent and kissed her brow gently. She felt a tear fall upon her cheek and wondered who had shed it. “Your heart is kind, lass,” he murmured, his words husky. “Let no one tell you otherwise.” Then he lifted her and settled her in the straw, tucking the cloak around her securely. “Sleep, Radegunde. Sleep, for dawn and duty are not so far away.”
“But you?”
“Will stand guard. You need not fear for your safety.”
To her disappointment, he moved to sit at the edge of the stables, his back to her and his gaze fixed upon the courtyard. Something had changed in his manner with her tale, though she could not name the reason why. Then was a tension in his shoulders and a new distance between them.
Was he disappointed that she saw merit in her mother’s choice?
“Am I wrong?” Radegunde asked softly. “Would the loss be greater?”
“The loss of either wife or babe might have ruined him. The loss of both, regardless of the child’s gender, might have shattered his heart forever,” Duncan replied, his words so softly uttered that Radegunde scarce heard them.
He might have been a stranger to her, and not just because his back was turned to her. Radegunde suspected that her tale had reminded him of some incident he would have preferred to forget. Had Duncan witnessed the death of a child in his liege lord’s home? The demise of a woman in childbirth? The prospect of that terrified Radegunde, for she knew it was not so uncommon and also that there was little the midwife could do when all went awry. She might have asked for his part of the wager, but Duncan’s stiff posture kept her silent.
She had pressed him too far this night.
Radegunde nestled into his cloak and inhaled deeply of his scent. She would not regret what they had done this night, nor the time in his company. Indeed, on the morrow, she would do whatever was necessary to make amends.
In the comparative peace of the stables, though, and with Duncan watching over her like a guardian angel, Radegunde could not keep her eyes open.
It was but
moments before she was asleep.
* * *
Duncan was not surprised that Gwyneth haunted him that night.
He did not sleep, for he knew the power she had over his dreams. Even so, he saw her silhouette in the shadows of the courtyard. He heard the sound of her step in the street beyond the gates. He was certain he discerned her laughter as the servants began their day in the kitchen, and he closed his eyes against the cry of a cock at an adjacent property.
Gwyneth and her chickens.
Zounds, but he could see her chasing them, her bare feet pale against the ground. He could hear the hens scolding as she claimed their eggs, and tears pricked at his eyes as he recalled the way she used to reassure the birds that all would be well. He could smell the sea and feel the wind and his throat was tight with the memory of her wrapped around him, her breath in his ear.
It had been twenty years and still the pain could nigh rip him in half.
He waited until the fetching Radegunde slept behind him, the deep even sound of her breathing telling the truth of her exhaustion. Then Duncan reached into the bottom of his purse and withdrew the small silken bag that Gwyneth herself had fashioned out of scraps from her lady’s kirtle. He carefully removed the braid of red gold hair, as radiant as copper in the sun, squeezed it between his fingers, and touched its softness to his lips.
There could be no other, no matter how merry a lass she might be. There could be no other, though she might cast sunlight into his heart anew.
He would not so despoil the memory of his beloved, who had given her all for his love.
Such was not the deed of a man of honor, and Duncan MacDonald knew it well.
Chapter Four
Gaston awakened on the first morning after their arrival in Paris with a powerful sense of well-being. Not only had his party safely delivered the treasure to the Temple in Paris, but his new wife had been key to their success. He knew he had been a knave to distrust Ysmaine at all, and even more of a cur to have kept from confiding in her, but he had spent the night trying to atone for his errors. He had been accustomed to relying on no one, but Gaston could already see the benefit to be derived from a partnership such as the one Ysmaine advocated.
He watched her sleep for long moments, appreciating both her beauty and her keen wits, feeling beyond blessed that she was truly his wife. Her wrist had been broken in the battle with Everard, but he had summoned an apothecary who had bound it and been confident it would heal well, so long as the lady did not use it. Gaston meant to ensure that. As much as he would have liked to have lingered abed, or awakened Ysmaine with pleasure, duty called again.
Gaston arose with newfound purpose, endeavoring not to disturb his wife’s well-earned rest. He failed in that, for Ysmaine stirred as soon as he left the warmth of their bed, her lashes fluttering. “Where do you go, sir?” she murmured, even as she smiled in invitation.
“I must ensure that Wulfe did return safely to the Temple,” he murmured and tucked her beneath the blankets.
Ysmaine arched a brow. “Surely Wulfe can fend for himself?”
“I have no doubt that he can, but I would like to be certain.”
“Tell me that your loyalty to the order is not still stronger than your loyalty to me, sir,” she teased.
Gaston smiled, for he heard the concern beneath her jest. “Nay, it is not. I fear I abandoned him, though, and hope all was resolved to advantage.”
Ysmaine eyed him. “Your quest is complete, Gaston.”
“It is. I would simply confirm that all is as it should be. One walk to the Temple will be the last of it. I vow this to you.”
She looked skeptical.
“Sleep,” Gaston urged. “You have earned your leisure and then some.”
Ysmaine might have complied, but sat up suddenly, her gaze flying to the door. “I forgot about Radegunde!” she said, one hand rising to her lips in horror. “I hope no ill befell her in the corridor.”
Gaston had forgotten the maid as well. He was dressed by this point and strode to the portal. He unlocked it and was dismayed to discover that no maid was sleeping on the pallet there. “Perhaps she slept in the stables,” he said, gesturing to Ysmaine to remain abed.
She did not, but came to his side in her chemise, her hair falling loose over her shoulders. “She might have sought out Bartholomew to ensure her welfare. Oh, Gaston, how could I have been so thoughtless?” she said, even as she looked herself and gripped his arm. She smelled of the sweetness of sleep, and her own beguiling scent. Gaston had the urge to sweep his wife into his arms and return to bed, leaving both knight and maid to themselves.
“I believe I did my best to distract you, lady mine,” Gaston said, and was rewarded with her quick smile. “Do not fear. This inn is reputed to be a good one. That is why I chose it. Perhaps she has gone for hot water already, for she is most dutiful.”
Ysmaine winced. “But still, Gaston. I should never forgive myself if she paid a price for my oversight.”
He kissed her brow before he left the chamber. “Which is only proof that we are not so different in our objectives as that. You fear for Radegunde and I for Wulfe.”
Ysmaine’s smile was rueful. “Nay, not so different as that. Tell me when you find her, please.”
He nodded agreement. “Bolt the door behind me.”
Gaston descended the stairs only after he heard the latch drop. The servants were stirring in the kitchen and one was just entering the courtyard from the street, burdened with loaves of fresh bread. The smell made his belly growl. To his relief, Duncan sat before the stables, his gaze watchful. Behind him, in the hay, swathed in Duncan’s cloak, Gaston spied a woman who slept. He knew her identity, for the dark tangle of Radegunde’s hair spilled from the hood.
He smiled openly at the warrior in his relief. “I fear my lady forgot her maid’s comfort last night. I thank you for seeing she was not accosted in this place.”
Duncan nodded his head in acknowledgment. “She was, but my arrival was timely.”
Gaston was startled. “Was she injured?”
Duncan shook his head. “She is a doughty lass. I do not doubt she could have defended her virtue in my absence, but I was glad to be of aid all the same.”
Though Duncan was seldom cavalier, he seemed uncommonly grim this morn and looked as if he had not slept at all. Gaston might have thanked him again, but the warrior coughed and stood, sparing a glance at the maid.
Radegunde stirred then, perhaps because of the sound of their voices. When she spied Gaston, she stumbled hastily to her feet, curtseying before him. Color stained her cheeks in awareness of her disarray, and her gaze flicked repeatedly to Duncan.
That man studiously ignored her, and that seemed to puzzle the maid.
“Good morning, sir,” Radegunde said to Gaston. “Is my lady awake?”
“Aye, and most concerned for you. I must apologize to you, Radegunde, for my part in your being abandoned outside the chamber.”
She smiled. “I am glad that you and my lady have such a fine match, sir. That is what is of import.”
“I would argue that your safety and comfort is also of concern. I vow to you that the situation will not be repeated.”
“I thank you, sir.” Radegunde flushed more deeply, her gaze landing upon Duncan yet again. Still that man did not acknowledge her, but Gaston noted that he stood a little more stiffly.
What had happened between this pair the night before?
He supposed it was not a tale he had a right to know.
Radegunde curtseyed to him again, but this time she lifted her chin high when she straightened. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I will see to my lady.”
“Of course.” Gaston watched Duncan take a profound interest in his boots, one that ensured there was no chance his gaze might collide with that of Radegunde.
She removed the cloak, swinging it from her shoulders, then offered it to Duncan. “I thank you,” she said, and it seemed to Gaston that there was a challenge in he
r tone.
If so, Duncan did not take it. He murmured some polite reply and accepted the cloak without looking at her.
Radegunde waited, staring pointedly at the older man, and the air seemed to crackle between them. Gaston wondered who had declined the attentions of the other.
Then Radegunde strode away, her chin in the air and her eyes flashing with an annoyance that answered Gaston’s unspoken question. Only when she had carried a pail of water up the stairs with her usual cheerful energy did Duncan look after her.
There was a yearning in his expression that Gaston found intriguing.
Still, whatever had passed between them was done, and none of his concern. Gaston turned his thoughts to more pressing matters.
Indeed, the presence of Duncan gave him an idea.
“I return to the Temple this morn,” he informed the other man. “To verify that Wulfe returned safely and that Christina was found. Will you go with me?”
“Aye.” Duncan donned his cloak, his expression inscrutable. “I need to discover my lord Fergus’ plans for our journey north.”
Gaston sought out Bartholomew in the stables and exchanged a few words with the squire, ensuring he would watch over the two women, then departed with Duncan, intent upon seeing many of his responsibilities laid to rest this day.
He needed to know more of what had happened at his home estate while he had been gone. No doubt Ysmaine’s father would have some tidings, but while in Paris, and with Duncan’s assistance, Gaston would see if there was yet more to be learned.
* * *
How much had Gaston guessed?
Duncan felt awkward that the knight had discovered Radegunde sleeping in his cloak, just as he was irked that the happy couple had forgotten the maid in their pleasure. He wanted to charge Gaston to ensure that Radegunde was not left so undefended again, even as he understood how readily a man could forget himself when welcomed abed. He wanted to explain that he had left the maid untouched, but considered that he would have doubted any such tale from another man.
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