Autumn's Flame

by Denise Domning

  Cecilia shook her head in the negative although it was more the movement of the bedcurtains that said she did so. The corner was so dark there was no seeing the lass.

  "Do you wish more time to see your papa?" Once again the bedcurtains shook in denial. "Then it’s time for him to leave. Come you men, and fetch your master," Elyssa called behind her without taking her gaze from Cecilia's corner. "Clare, lay his cloak over him."

  When Clare had done so and the two men stood at the bedside, she glanced at him. "Lord Coudray suggested you would need to carry him out, saying he would not awaken."

  "Aye, my lady," one said as he indicated to his mate that he'd take the sheriff's feet. Between the two of them, they hoisted their lord's deadweight off the bed. Carrying him like a sack of grain, they struggled to the door. "Hits some like that, my lady. Good Christmas to you," he called as they carried him through the doorway.

  "To you as well," Clare called after them as she went to close and bar the door.

  ***

  Cecilia's foot caught Elyssa mid-back with a jarring impact. Trapped in a dream, the child thrashed and fought, fists flying. Elyssa struggled to her side, narrowly avoiding being struck.

  Clare was not so fortunate. The sound of flesh striking flesh with bruising impact was unmistakable. With a yelp, Elyssa's cousin came upright in the bed.

  "Cecilia, come now. It’s only a dream," Elyssa said softly. She tried to catch the girl by her shoulders, but it was too dark within the closed curtains to find her. Elyssa threw open the draperies.

  "Lyssa, she's weeping!" Clare cried.

  Elyssa turned in astonishinent. The child's chest heaved as she sobbed in utter silence. She caught the babe's face to hold her still.

  "Cecilia, poppet, you must wake." Cecilia fought on, twisting and turning. "Help me, Clare. Together, we must hold her else she'll injure herself."

  Together they grabbed the child’s flinging arms and legs then Elyssa held down her chest while Clare settled upon her legs. When Cecilia could fight no longer, a sound broke from her: a high-pitched squeal, long and terrified.

  "Poppet," Elyssa crooned into the child's ear. "Awaken now, poppet." She kissed her cheek, murmuring and crooning.

  "Papa," the girl said in the tiniest of cries, her voice rusty with disuse. "Papa." There was a long indraw of breath, then Cecilia cried. Her sobs broke from her in great gusts. And, echoed in the tiny room, filling it with all the heartbreak of which a wee lass of five was capable. As her voice came to life once more, Cecilia relaxed against the mattress. Elyssa gathered the girl into her arms, cradling her close as Cecilia emptied the pain she carried within her.

  "Come now, poppet, bid your Papa good journey. He must take himself off to Easter court, and you'll not be seeing him again for weeks. Please? He’ll not be back until after April's start. Just a word?"

  Geoffrey stood in the doorway of Elyssa's cottage, trapped in helpless hurt as his daughter turned her face to the side in refusal. The door was open behind him, showing the dawn of March's first day. As the sun lifted over the top of Crosswell's wall, he could feel its warmth spread along his mail. Warmth also stirred the air, the mild breeze toying with the hems of his surcoat. Shifting his helmet from beneath one arm to the other, he watched Elyssa crouch beside his sweet lass.

  She laid her arm over his child's shoulders then looked up at him. "Come closer, my lord." Even knowing his nearness frightened his daughter didn't stop hope from goading Geoffrey into taking one small step. Cecilia looked up at him, her brows raised in concern. He took another. His daughter began to tremble and tears touched her eyes.

  "Please, poppet?" Elyssa begged gently. "It would mean so much to him."

  Cecilia gave a wild shake of her head, then leapt into the bed. She scrambled across the broad mattress and cowered in the far corner.

  "Leave it alone, madam," Geoffrey said as his heart shattered all over again. "I am content that she no longer runs when she spies me and now chooses to eat at the hall table with me. I'll not have you hurt her to prove how much you've accomplished."

  "I have no intention of hurting her, my lord," Elyssa said irritably.

  He offered his hand to aid her in rising. She hesitated for the briefest of seconds then laid her fingers into his gloved palm. As she came to her feet, her expression eased into an aloof blankness. So it was now between them ever since Christmas. She'd treated him with courtly formality and he did all he could to avoid her. It was a desperate game they played, both of them trying to deny what they'd shared in the garden that night.

  Her fingers still in his hand, he looked down at her. She’d finally expanded with her babe, her belly now well rounded, and that had required a new gown, one fitted to her additional girth. The fabric's golden tones suited her, softening her brown eyes and making her ivory skin glow. Or, was it the babe in her that did it? Where pregnancy had eaten Maud, making her sallow and thin, Elyssa glowed with life and health. What he'd seen as exotic beauty in October when he first saw her seemed even more striking now.

  Geoffrey's gaze caught on the fullness of her lips. In that instant the memory of his desire for her roared through him, nigh on bringing him to his knees. He wanted nothing more than to once again feel her tremble at his touch. As if she sensed his reaction to her, her lips parted and she sighed. It told him that she yet craved him as she had that night. Against that sign, his head lowered as he shifted closer to her.

  Her belly touched his. It was a dash of icy water to the heat within him. Jesu, how could she still set his blood afire this far gone with child? He dropped her hand and stepped swiftly back from her, grateful for the concealment of his armor and surcoat.

  "Well then, I bid you a good Easter, and will see you once April is upon us," he said, abruptly turning toward the door.

  She caught him by the arm. "My lord, I wished to see you about more than simply bidding Cecilia adieu." Her statement was brusque, making her sound angry. "Clare, would you take Cecilia outside?"

  As Elyssa's cousin gathered his daughter from the bed's corner, Geoffrey shrugged. "Best make it very short. My men and the wains and my witnesses all await me at the outer gate. We move slow enough as it is."

  Not only did he cart the barrels of pennies he'd collected in taxes from Crosswell to fill the king's treasury, he also escorted an assortment of the shire’s folk to the Easter court. Drawn from all walks of life, his witnesses would testify to the barons of the Exchequer against the honesty of his accounting. Some of them rode, but a number walked or used a cart. At best, his party would move like a snail on the road.

  "We'll be in the garden," Clare said, then added, "good journey, my lord." With Cecilia's head tucked in her shoulder, she dodged behind him and exited. There was enough haste in the woman's movements to suggest she knew what it was the widow wished to say and wanted no part of it.

  Geoffrey tensed, having long since learned that Clare's reactions predicted Elyssa's behavior. His ward meant to pry once more. "Come then, spew it and be done so I can leave."

  Her lips tightened, then her expression smoothed. When she spoke her voice was soft. "It’s about your wife's death."

  Geoffrey's breath left him in a cold rush. "Cecilia speaks of this?" he demanded in a pained whisper.

  She shook her head a little, her brow creased in worry. "Nay, my lord, and that's just the problem. She calls me Maman, refusing to use my name. She refers to the babe in me as her brother, when he is not."

  Relief washed over him. Cecilia hadn't spoken yet of Maud's death, nor could she ever. What Cecilia held trapped within her would ruin her life. "How is this a problem?"

  "Do you not see how this can hurt her?" Elyssa asked him, sounding truly fearful. "I will eventually leave Crosswell. As long as she believes I am her mother, do we not risk Cecilia once more receding into silence at this second loss when I am gone?"

  "That's possible," he agreed slowly, hating the thought. It would be terrible to watch Cecilia retreat again into silence when she
'd come so far. "If you’re posing this, I must assume you have solution to offer, but I cannot see how we can might force her to believe you are not her mother."

  "But we can, my lord. I would have you tell me the tale of Maud's death. When I know it I can ease it from Cecilia, bit by bit. She will eventually come to accept that her mother is dead, and I am but Lyssa, the one who now cares for her."

  Her words slaughtered any softness he'd ever known for her. Geoffrey froze, so cold he was beyond breathing. He’d rather give Cecilia to Gradinton, who'd lost his bid for annulment, than let this meddling woman accidentally ruin his daughter's life with her good intentions, just as she’d nearly ruined her own son’s life.

  "Nay."

  "My lord?" his ward asked in surprise.

  "Nay. This I command you. You will say not a single word to Cecilia regarding her mother's death nor in any way encourage her to speak of it." He poured every ounce of cruelty and threat he owned into his voice. “I forbid it.”

  Elyssa's eyes widened in shock. "But it’s the memory of her mother’s death that festers in her, keeping her from returning to the child she once was. Until she spills what she holds in her, the threat of her return to silence continues."

  "Madam, I have given you a direct command regarding my daughter. Disobey and I will take her from you." He whirled on his heel and started out the door.

  He heard her angry gasp, then both her hands were around his arm as she dug in her heels, doing her best to keep him where he was. Of course she didn’t let him go. How could she, when he’d refused her what she wanted? Geoffrey closed his eyes, the urge to beat her into submission testing the limits of his control. If not for the babe within her, he might have lost the battle.

  She yanked again on his arm. He looked down at her and pried at her fingers on his arm. She gave a quiet shriek, but clung to him. Her eyes were afire with anger.

  "Why, you arrogant bitch's son,” she snarled, doing as she always did and speaking heedlessly as she forgot again who held the power in this confrontation. “You’d rather see her hurt than speak of what makes you uncomfortable."

  Both the truth and the unfairness of her attack only fed Geoff’s rage. He tore her hands from his arm. "I care nothing for what you think of me. Obey me in this or pay the price."

  Without another word he stalked from her cottage. Mounting Passavant, he rode to the outer gate. For the moment his working eye was as blind as the one Maud had carved out. May God damn that meddling, interfering woman.

  ***

  "Here. Right here is a foot," Elyssa said, leaning back on her stool to set Cecilia's hand against the hard curve of her belly. The babe within her obligingly moved his heel so the child in the outer world could feel it. Cecilia smiled, her small hand following the even tinier heel, her fingers drawing a line across the taut dark yellow fabric covering the mound where Elyssa's child lived.

  The mid-April sun shed its warm light onto Cecilia's dark brown braids and glowed on the child's fair skin. Spring had crept swiftly upon them, bringing with it a wonderful freshness that even Crosswell's ever-present stink could not destroy. The grass greened and trees burst with new leaves, spring blossoms dotted the garden's expanse in magnificent clutches of color. Here, within these walls, the mating birds sang with such wild exuberance that they drowned out the constant clamor of hammers on forges.

  Yesterday had seen the end of a long stretch of rain. Today, she and Clare gratefully escaped their confining quarters to spend the day out-of-doors. While they occupied themselves with their handiwork, Geoffrey's daughter had her own wooden poppet to keep boredom at bay.

  Cecilia lifted her hand from Elyssa's belly. "My brother's foot," she said with all the firmness her yet breathy and tentative voice could manage.

  Elyssa felt rage creep in behind the smile she offered her poppet. How dare that arrogant donkey of a man command her to say nothing?

  "When can I see my brother?" Cecilia asked, rubbing her hand against Elyssa's swollen abdomen.

  "May's end." Elyssa caught Cecilia's hand. "Poppet, this is not your brother."

  Cecilia ignored her by closing her eyes and leaning her head against Elyssa's belly to concentrate on the babe's movements. So it had been from the moment the wee lass recognized Elyssa's expanding girth as that of a developing child.

  "This is incredibly wrong," Elyssa said to Clare in frustration. "By commanding me to silence, he makes a liar of me."

  Her cousin, seated only a short distance from her, lifted helpless shoulders. "What harm is there in it when this is what she wishes it to be?" Clare offered. “In time, she’ll know otherwise.”

  Elyssa only shook her head and stroked Cecilia's hair, then turned her gaze back to what remained of her lap and the gown she now created for her babe's christening. She toyed with the garment's tiny sleeve. A hiccough of fear shot through her, followed by the certainty of her own demise. No longer did the thought of sharing her babe's coming with Geoffrey disgust her. As angry as she was at him, she yet carried tight within her the memory of his deep calm on Christmas night. It had become her bulwark against what terrified her.

  "You’re wrong, Clare. There could be great harm for my poppet if she confuses me for her own maman. What if I am no more after this?" she touched her belly, not wanting to speak openly of her death before Cecilia.

  "Lyssa, you cannot think that way," Clare chided, her brown brows drawing together in her narrow forehead. "You have the midwife just as you asked of Reginald. Put your trust in her."

  Elyssa made a face at that. "I have decided that between Freyne's midwife and me, one of us has changed. I think 'tis me, for I am no longer susceptible to the commands of others."

  "What do you mean?" Clare asked.

  "I mean, if I want to drink the red raspberry tea I thought every pregnant woman uses to build strength, I'll do so. She can command me otherwise 'til she's blue in the face." Clare only shook her head and laughed. "Lyssa, you are so contrary. Has she not promised a painless delivery? That’s gone a long way toward settling your fears, and a lack of fear can but be healthy for both you and your babe." Her cousin turned her gaze to their wool basket to search for a new color. "Where is our red?"

  "Hiding near the bottom. Someone"—Elyssa sent Cecilia a narrow-eyed look—"keeps taking it."

  "I like red," Cecilia said, lifting her head from Elyssa belly. Her gaze caught on a bird darting into a budding pear tree. "I am going to give it to the birds for their nests. They like it, too. Just one thread." She held up a tiny finger to indicate how small her need was.

  Clare raised a disbelieving brow, but snipped the child a short length of red thread. "Do Tante Clare a boon, poppet, and like blue for now." "Next week," Cecilia promised, then danced away with her precious thread to the base of the tree.

  Elyssa watched her go, her heart growing heavier as the distance between her and the child increased. It wasn’t only Lady Sibyl who had been driven near to madness by Maud's death, but Cecilia as well. A second loss would surely destroy the girl. That Elyssa could not bear.

  Leaning over, she laid her hand on Clare’s knee, her heart and jaw firm against her decision. “He'll not do it to me, Clare, and he won’t do it to his daughter. I will not let that child lose her maman twice, no matter how unlikely you think my death might be.”

  With a sigh, Clare set her needle into her cloth and turned on her stool to look Elyssa full in the face. "What is it with you, Elyssa, that you can never be satisfied with matters as they are right now? Cecilia is happy, you are healthy, the babe will come and what happens after that is in God’s hands, not yours. Why must you forever seek out the potential of tragedy in your future? Doing so robs you of the chance to see the good that is all around you.” Although Clare’s chide was gentle, the truth in it turned her words into an arrow that pierced Elyssa’s heart.

  "I don’t do that,” Elyssa protested, doing her best to set a wall between what she didn’t wish to examine and Clare’s words.

  �
��You do,” Clare pressed, “but that really isn’t at issue here. All that matters, Lyssa, is that she’s not your child and you have no right to interfere.”

  “No matter what he says, he granted me the right to interfere by allowing me to keep his daughter as long as he has,” Elyssa snapped back. “I’ll not stand idly by and watch him destroy all the good I've done simply because he refuses to discuss the past."

  Clare’s mouth opened as if she meant to speak, then she gave a helpless lift of her shoulders. "Ah Lyssa, I don’t wish to argue on such a beautiful day. Besides, it’s a waste of breath. You’ll do as you see best. We’re so different, you and I. Where I am content to let life's currents take me where they will, you insist on defying them, bent as you are on directing your course regardless of the hazards this may create for you."

  Again Clare’s gentle truth pricked at her, but this time Elyssa made no attempt to avoid it. “I do at that,” she agreed with a little laugh. “But for each time my headstrong ways have cost me something, I can think of two when I came out of the experience richer for my boldness.”

  That made Clare smile and the peace they shared between them returned as if it had never been ruffled. Elyssa set her sewing atop their basket and came ponderously to her feet, hands braced at the small of her back. How glad she would be once this child was outside of her rather than constantly knocking from within. She went to join Cecilia before the pear tree. Her poppet held her hand aloft, offering her string to any willing taker.

  "Cecilia, we must talk, you and I." She caught the child gently by the shoulders and turned her. Cecilia's hand lowered as her wispy brows rose in question. "Who am I, poppet?"

  "You are my maman," the child responded with a smile.

  "The truth, Cecilia. Who am I?"

  "My maman," Cecilia said swiftly, too swiftly and Elyssa heard in the child’s voice the effort maintaining the pretense cost her.

  "Nay, you know I am not. Your maman is dead. Nor is the child I bear your brother. Think back. Do you not remember that your brother died just after he was born?" Elyssa said, offering what little certainty she’d gleaned from Maud’s strange missive.