“He kicks hard for someone so small,” Josselin said softly.
“He will need to be strong, my love,” she answered him, and turned herself so that they faced one another.
“I would have you,” he said to her, “but only if you do not think it would hurt the child.”
“We did not hurt Maude. Indeed, I believe our innocent desire for one another is good for the child.” She opened her thighs to him, and he slid between them, easing one of her legs under him and the other over him.
Reaching down, Josselin touched her with his fingers and found that she was moist and ready for him. Tenderly he penetrated her, and the look of joy upon her face as his pulsing manhood filled her brought him almost to tears. Her violet eyes seemed to fill her pale face, and when he saw the glistening silver beads of her own tears upon that fair face, he knew that she felt as deeply as did he. Together they loved one another with gentle passion until they were transported together by ecstasy into that enraptured world known only to lovers.
Afterward as she lay sleeping, sated and content with his lovemaking, Josselin gazed down upon his slumbering wife, and asked himself how he could possibly doubt her. If she said the child was his, it was his—and yet the tiniest shred of doubt niggled at him. He, himself, had been born a bastard, but there had been no doubt as to who his parents were. His mother had been above reproach in her morals. She had never known another man but his father. He had to forget. He had to swallow his doubts, for if he did not, he would lose his wife, and Mairin, he realized, meant more to him than anyone, or anything else in the world.
The Scots court lacked the sophistication and the elegance of King William’s court, but it had a rough charm that Josselin found himself enjoying. The influence of young Queen Margaret was beginning to be felt, however, and the wives and daughters of the nobility found they liked the delicacy, the good manners, and the charm the queen had brought with her. Away from the king’s house, though, the men behaved as they had always behaved. Josselin found himself hunting for stag and game birds, and fishing for salmon and trout with Angus Leslie and his friends throughout most of the summer.
He returned each evening relaxed and content, and Mairin would bathe him as she had that first day. Their evenings were spent within the Great Hall eating and socializing with their new friends, listening to the pipers who played wild and haunting tunes upon their instruments that could set a strong man to weeping, and watching the men dancing dances so old that their real meanings had been lost somewhere in the mists of time.
The king had a bard, an old man who stood six feet, six inches in height, had a mane of snow white hair, and a voice as clear and pure as mountain air. His name was Seosaidh mac Caimbeul, and when he sang his stories of days past, battles won, and loves lost, there was a silence in the Great Hall so deep that a man might drown within it.
The king’s infant son, Edward, thrived at his mother’s breast, and the court rejoiced with Malcolm Ceann Mor and his wife. Margaret’s labor had been relatively easy and trouble-free, and she was anxious to have more children. Her friendship for Mairin had not abated and, as Mairin had been by her side, so she promised would she be by Mairin’s side when her time came. Both Mairin and Josselin had acknowledged the fact that their child would be born in Edinburgh, for the wedding of the queen’s sister would not be celebrated until close to the end of August.
Angus Leslie had thanked Mairin over and over again for giving him the courage to approach Christina. As Mairin had predicted, he had quickly become a man in love, and having the love so eagerly returned by the flaxen-haired princess had been almost more happiness than he could bear. Seeing them together made Mairin happy, a happiness that was increased by her own joy at having been reunited with her husband.
The royal wedding was a happy occasion for the Scots court. The late summer weather was perfect—clear and warm—rather than misty and dank.
“ ’Twill be guid grouse hunting soon,” remarked Angus during the feasting that accompanied his marriage celebration. “Will ye come to Glenkirk, Joss?”
“I would like to, Angus, but the child is due shortly, and then as soon as Mairin feels we can travel, we must return to England. I should be there now overseeing the castle I am building, and Mairin is anxious about Maude. The child will probably not remember her. Only one thing has kept us here, and now that your wedding has been celebrated, the king will set a date for the trial by combat of Eric Longsword.”
“He’s been allowed to practice under guard, ye know,” said Angus.
“I know. I asked the king to allow him that privilege. I will not fight with a man who has been kept inactive in a dark cell for several months. It would not be honorable.”
“Is it honorable, my lord de Combourg, to keep a bridegroom from his bride?” The princess Christina had come up beside them to slip her hand onto her husband’s arm. She was a very pretty girl, and particularly radiant this day in cloth-of-gold gown, pearls braided into her flaxen hair.
Angus Leslie brushed her forehead with a kiss. “I promise never to ignore ye again, lassie,” he said lovingly.
Josselin smiled and, unnoticed, slipped away from the bridal couple to seek his wife. He found her sitting quietly with the queen. There was a luminescent quality about Mairin these days that seemed to grow even as her belly grew with the child. She seemed more content than she had in months. Reaching her, he bent and kissed the top of her red-gold head. “Your matchmaking is to be commended, lady. I have never seen a happier couple.”
“But for ourselves,” she answered him pertly, looking up at him with a smile.
“God works his will in varied ways, does he not?” said the queen. “I wonder, if Mairin had not pointed it out to us, whether we would have seen Christina’s love for Angus Leslie. Like me, she might have gone on believing she was destined for the church, and that isn’t the case at all.”
“Seeing little Edward so robust and filled with life,” replied Mairin, “I know it was God’s will that you wed with the king.”
“What is this about the king?” demanded Malcolm Ceann Mor, coming up to join their little group.
“We were discussing the will of God, and how that will has brought us all great happiness because we listened and obeyed our Lord,” answered the queen.
“Think ye that I am God’s instrument, lady?” teased the king. “I will admit to having a goodly instrument, but I never considered that it was doing God’s will. Perhaps I have been wrong.”
“My lord!” The queen blushed rosy, but she nonetheless scolded her husband, “Beware of sacrilege lest God punish you for such heedless words in a manner you might not like.”
“Heaven forfend,” chuckled the king. Then he grew serious, and he turned to Josselin. “This matter between Eric Longsword and yourself. Ye are determined to trial by combat?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“So be it then, Josselin de Combourg. You will meet yer enemy on the first day of September. Are ye agreed?”
“Aye,” came the short reply. “The sooner the better, for we must get home to Aelfleah.”
“If you fight upon the first and sustain no serious injuries, my lord, we might depart for home several days afterwards,” said Mairin.
“What of the child? Would it be safe? I thought you meant to stay here until its birth.”
“The child is due toward the end of the month. If we traveled slowly and carefully, I think we could reach Aelfleah in time. I think I should rather take that chance, Josselin, and be home for the birth.”
“Let us wait and see, Mairin,” he answered her. “I don’t want to endanger you in any way.”
It warmed her heart that he was so careful and considerate of her welfare and that of the child. The danger was minimal. It was his life that concerned her. This combat in which he would engage to assuage his honor could not be a mounted combat, for Eric Longsword had not been trained in such warfare. Mounted combat was something the Normans had brought to England. Therefore
, the two men would fight a hand-to-hand combat on foot using swords. Only death would end the battle.
“I do not want you watching our combat,” Josselin told his wife the night before the trial.
“What kind of a woman do you think I am that I would not stand proud while you slay our enemy?” she demanded of him.
“You are near to term with the child. You have never seen a trial by combat, have you?”
She shook her head. “Nay.”
“It is a fight to the death, Mairin. Our weapons will not be blunted to prevent serious injury. Both Eric Longsword and I will enter the arena knowing full well that only one of us is to come out alive, and even if, God forbid, I do not survive, Eric’s death is already a certainty, for King Malcolm will have him executed.”
“Then why even bother to fight him, Josselin?”
“We have been over this before, Mairin. Our honor must be avenged. As for Eric, he will seek to kill me because he feels if he cannot have you then I should not either.”
She shuddered, then said, “Men are fools, I think, but then as the queen would undoubtedly say, God has given us women no other choice.”
Josselin laughed and put his arms about her. “Do not fret, enchantress. God is on my side in this matter. I will triumph over Eric Longsword.”
She pulled away from him irritably. “I will see that your squire, Loial, has all your equipment in good order,” and she moved away from him.
“She is afraid,” said Dagda, who had been standing near them, and had heard everything.
“I wish she would not watch tomorrow.”
“I regret you cannot stop her, my lord, but if you cannot, then you must put her out of your mind and concentrate upon the business of killing Eric Longsword. Do not allow your fears for Mairin to take over your mind or you will not be able to keep control of yourself. You could lose your life.”
Josselin nodded. “I know,” he said, “but I will not lose, Dagda. Even if he kills me, I will kill him first.”
“Do not speak of dying, my lord. It is bad luck. Tomorrow you will meet Eric Longsword upon the field of combat, and you will slay him as quickly and as cleanly as you can.”
Mairin could not sleep that night. Restlessly she paced the small antechamber, and finally unable to be contained by those four walls, she picked up her cloak and hurried to the chapel. Kneeling in the calm serenity of the holy place, she felt calmer. Margaret had been responsible for the little chapel, actually a small stone room within a tower of the king’s house. It was a simple place with its carved oak altar upon which two golden candlesticks with pure wax tapers now burnt. As she completed her rosary, she became aware of another within the little chapel, and looked to see the queen’s confessor, Father Turgot, standing before her.
“Would you like me to pray with you, my lady Mairin?” he asked her. He was a stern, but kindly man.
“Please,” she answered him, and he knelt with her.
When they had finished their prayers he asked her, “Shall I hear your confession, my lady?”
“Oh, yes!” she told him, honored that he should ask her, for he usually heard no confession but the queen’s. She was suddenly very aware that she had not been to confession since her arrival in Edinburgh. What would Father Turgot think of her? Placing her hands in his she began the words of contrition, and if the priest was shocked by what she told him, he gave no sign of it.
When Mairin had finished, the cleric said wisely, “Your sins are small, my lady, and you have suffered deeply. The fears you now suffer for your husband who must tomorrow defend his honor and yours are a much greater penance than I could ever impose upon you.” Putting his hand upon her bowed head, he blessed her and said, “Go in peace, my daughter.” Then he helped her to her feet, for she was so clumsy with the child.
Returning to her apartments, Mairin found that she could doze a little, but she awoke the moment Josselin moved from the bed. “Where are you going?” she asked. “It is too early for the combat.” Why did her own voice sound so strange in her own ears? she wondered.
He did not seem to notice. “I would go to lauds, and be blessed.”
“I will go with you,” she said, nervously flinging back the coverlet of the bed.
“No! I want you to stay here, Mairin. I must be alone with my thoughts this morning. I cannot worry about you now!”
He left her, but Mairin could not sleep. Arising, she dressed and went to the Great Hall to find Dagda. “He would not let me go to the Mass with him,” she fretted. “He said he needed to be alone. What is the matter with him, Dagda?”
“You should not go to the combat today, my lady,” came the blunt reply.
“He is my husband! He goes to avenge our honor! Of course I should be there!”
“No, you should not,” came the equally positive reply. “Under normal circumstances, Lord Josselin would be proud to fight this battle before you, but you are shortly to bear a child, and he fears that having never seen a combat to the death before that you may become fearful and miscarry of the child. He worries for you when he should be concentrating upon the battle to come.”
“What you are saying is that my presence could possibly be responsible for endangering my husband, and alter the outcome of this battle.” Mairin looked thoughtful.
“He will win whether you are there or not, for God is on his side, but it would be easier for him if he did not have to bear the burden of your presence.”
“What will people say if I do not go, Dagda?”
“When did you ever care for what people said, my lady Mairin? Escort him to the field of honor, publicly declare your love for him, and then depart back to the queen’s bower to await your lord’s return.”
“Why did you not tell me this before, Dagda?”
“Because you would not have listened, my child, would you? From the purple shadows beneath your eyes, I know you have spent a sleepless night. I believe you are more amenable to reason now.” The big man put his arm about her, and gave her a hug. “You are more amenable at this moment, are you not?”
“Aye,” she admitted.
“Then you will do as I suggest?”
“Aye, Dagda. I will wish my lord Godspeed, and then I will await his return away from the field of battle.”
When Josselin learned that Mairin had changed her mind, and would not stay to view the combat, his entire mood lightened, and she knew that Dagda had been right. Had the battle to come been part of a tournament, it would have begun in mid- to late afternoon. Combat as a spectacle was apt to get out of hand as the blood lust of the combatants rose, and only the darkness brought on by night could force an end to such a tournament. The combat today, however, would be between the two men only, and so it had been scheduled for two hours before the noon. Although the stands set up about the field of honor were filled, there was no gaiety involved. This was a serious matter.
Mairin had dressed carefully for the occasion in her royal-purple skirt, and a rich lavender brocade tunic top. Upon her bosom rested a beautiful gold, enamel, and pearl cross that had been given to her by the queen along with its heavy red-gold chain. Her hair was dressed simply in two thick plaits that hung down on either side of her head, and upon the top of her head was her gold veil and chaplet. She was visibly full with her child, and she carried her condition proudly as she escorted her husband before the king. There was a formality to what was about to happen, and looking at his wife, Josselin said in a loud voice:
“Lady, by your word and in your behalf do I put my life in jeopardy to do battle with Eric Longsword. Ye know the cause to be just and true.”
“My lord,” answered Mairin, “it is as I have said wherefore ye may fight surely for the cause is just and true.”
Josselin de Combourg then kissed his wife, publicly touched her protruding belly in what appeared to be a blessing, and then without another word, Mairin turned and walked proudly back toward the queen’s bower.
“Mairin Aldwinesdotter!” Eric Longsw
ord shouted after her. “Will you not wish me good fortune? Will you not wish the father of your child good luck?”
For a moment Mairin had stopped, frozen in horror at the sound of his voice. She had not noticed him there, though of course he must have been. Her greatest concern had been for her husband. Now for the briefest moment she debated turning and raining curses upon his blond head, but she realized, with sudden clarity, that the greatest damage she could do Eric Longsword now was not to acknowledge him at all. Lifting her head high she continued on toward the queen’s bower.
Just a few moments remained before the actual combat began. Pushing Loial aside, Dagda carefully checked over Josselin and his equipment. The knight was dressed in a full-length mail suit called a hauberk. His pointed helmet was fashioned with a nasal guard. He carried a kiteshaped shield of azure with a bend or dividing the halves of the shield. On the upper half of the shield was a rose or, for the rose or was a part of his father’s crest, and Raoul de Rohan had given his son permission to use it. The device upon the lower half of the shield was a star or he had taken in honor of Mairin, for to him, the star was representative of an enchantress. Across the bend or was the lettering Honoria Supra Alis, Honor Above All, the motto that he had taken for his own. The most important part of his equipment was a double-edged sword with its simple crossguard, and its hilt with a large counterweight. Dagda plucked a hair from his head, and ran it along the sword edge. It split immediately.
With a smile he looked up at Loial. “Very good, lad,” he approved. Then he swung his gaze to Josselin. “You are ready, my lord.”
High up in the queen’s bower, Mairin heard the shouts of encouragement from the spectators as the battle began. Instinctively she shivered, and felt the child within her womb almost leap as her heart accelerated. She could not see the field of combat from where she was, and she was all alone. Even the queen’s lowest serving wenches had gone to watch what was, to them, an exciting spectacle.
I cannot be afraid, she told herself. God is on our side in this matter. Only Eric Longsword’s death at Josselin’s hands can cleanse my honor, and wipe away the doubt of my child’s paternity. When Josselin overcomes Eric, everyone will finally know that I have not lied, for Mairin was not so stupid that she didn’t realize that many of the Scots court believed Eric Longsword’s story despite the queen’s trust and faith in her friend’s word.
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