The church was grim. Jagged, black char marks marred the white stone walls. Gavin’s boots crunched over black charcoal debris of what were probably the wooden pews. He did not wish to look closely, but he suspected the townspeople who had run into the church for shelter had not survived, overcome by smoke and flame. The smell of charred remains was indescribable, and he struggled not to gag.
“This is no place for ye.” He turned to Colette, wanting her to leave this place of death and destruction. Truth be told, he wanted to run away himself.
Her eyes were filled with tears, whether from the smoke or the horror of the place he did not know. She held a handkerchief over her nose and mouth against the acrid stench of the place. Yet there was determination in her tone. “We must find survivors.”
Gavin opened his mouth to protest, but the soft cry came again and they both froze in the middle of the church, listening.
They followed the sound of the soft mewling toward the stone altar. No one was there. They shared a look of confusion and began to look about. They found nothing.
“What made the sound?” asked Colette.
Gavin shook his head and sank to his knees, praying for guidance. He had hardly begun when a piece of fabric caught his eye. Under the altar, in a small crevice hewn from the stone, he found a package wrapped in a linen blanket. He gently pulled the package out from under the altar.
“What is it?” she asked, her face dangerously close to his.
He slowly unwrapped the bundle, revealing a most surprising treasure. Two brown eyes blinked back at him.
“Sacre coeur!” exclaimed Colette. “A baby!”
Ten
Colette knelt on the floor beside Gavin, staring at the squirming lump, only eyes visible from beneath the wrappings. The baby was alive. Truly a miracle.
Gavin shook his head. “I dinna ken how it survived the fire.” He drew back the blanket to unwrap the child, revealing a red burn on the baby’s face.
“Poor thing. What a horrible burn,” said Colette. The little babe must be in pain.
Gavin unwrapped further, looking for any other injuries, revealing the babe to be a girl. Other than the burn on her cheek, she was unhurt.
“Where is her mother?” asked Colette.
“It appears the poor souls who took refuge here dinna survive.”
Colette knew it to be true. She avoided looking at the remains. She needed to get out of this church, this grave. She stood briskly. “The terror, it must have been…” Colette could not find the words.
Gavin rewrapped the babe and stood beside her, holding the baby comfortably in the crook of his arm. “Let us leave this place.” He motioned for her to leave and this time she needed no further encouragement.
Colette took a deep breath once outside the church. It still smelled of smoke, but the air was fresher.
One of her soldiers walked up to them, stepping over broken stones and charred wood that littered the street. His expression was grim, his face pale. “We have searched the village. No survivors were found.”
Gavin gave him a short nod. “Bring Lady Colette her horse and escort her back to camp.”
The soldier bowed and was gone.
“At least we found this wee bairn,” said Gavin. “Thanks to ye.”
Colette shook her head. “You were the one who found her.”
“In truth, I woud’na have looked but for ye.”
Colette gave a small smile. He had given her a compliment, something he did not bestow lightly. It was nice to speak to him again of something other than travel arrangements.
“I will look for someone who knows the family where we can restore this infant.” Gavin held out the bundle of baby to her.
Colette froze. She’d hardly seen a baby let alone touched one. What was she supposed to do with an infant? She recognized at some point she would be obligated to bear children herself, but she fully expected that, like her mother before her, she would have nothing to do with the actual care or keeping of a baby. This was the work of servants who were highly paid for the privilege of trying to keep the child alive.
If the child lived to respectable age, perhaps five or six, then he or she would be brought to Colette for an introduction. It was better this way, her mother had explained, for it was too sad to get attached to a small thing that might not live. Better to wait and see if it was hardy, than to expend the energy of developing affection for a sickly babe. Her mother had warned Colette that ladies who had not heeded this advice had died of broken hearts when their tots perished.
And now Gavin was trying to hand her an injured babe.
“I know not how to care for an infant.” She drew back.
“Do as best ye can. She must be thirsty. She is no’ crying, which makes me concerned. Feed her some water and maybe some porridge and see if she will eat. She looks about six to nine months old to me.”
“How would you know her age?” Colette wouldn’t know if it was newborn or two years old.
Gavin gave her a wry smile that only enhanced his already attractive face. “I’m the oldest of several siblings. It was only my mum and me for years until she married Chaumont. Then they had two boys and two girls. Naturally, I have had some experience in watching after them.”
Colette stared at him. There was nothing natural about it. Ladies did not look after their own babies. Men did not acknowledge their children until they reached an age when they were useful.
“Here, take the babe. She winna bite ye, I pray.” He added the last bit as an afterthought and held the wrapped infant out to her. Did babies bite?
“I… But… She is injured.” Colette stepped back. She could not care for an injured infant. She could not care for any infant.
Gavin closed the gap between them and thrust the baby into her arms. “Ye’ll do well. I will try to find her kin.” He spoke to her with a mixture of encouragement and determination. He clearly intended her to take control of the babe.
Before Marie Colette could say another word, Sir Gavin mounted quickly and galloped off. Leaving her with the infant—and a sickly one at that.
Her soldiers found a box for her to stand on, so she could mount her horse, a new challenge holding the strangely quiet bundle.
“Go find me a healer and a wet nurse,” she commanded the soldier. She did not share Gavin’s confidence in her mothering acumen. She needed reinforcements.
Colette attempted to turn her horse to ride back to camp but found the process of trying to hold a baby while managing the reins to be challenging at best. She managed finally, realizing she needed to press the soot-covered infant against her body in order to keep it secure. It felt warm and oddly soothing as she struggled to ride.
Back at camp, Marie Claude had ignored Gavin’s advice to be ready to move soon and had directed the tents to be raised. Clearly, she had no intention of going any farther today.
Colette entered the large, cavernous tent with some trepidation. She had never before been so brazen in disobeying Marie Claude. A book hidden in her needlework was nothing compared to public insubordination. To make matters worse, Colette was returning with an injured infant.
“Lady Marie Colette!” Marie Claude descended on her, fury blazing out of two small black eyes. “What were you thinking, riding off with a man without your chaperone and against my direct orders? You have lost your head, yes? You think you do not need us anymore? Perhaps we shall return to Bergerac and tell him his naughty daughter cast us away!”
“No, of course I do not wish for you to leave,” said Colette. She resigned herself to being criticized and guilt ridden for the rest of the night at the very least.
“What is that you hold?” demanded Marie Claude.
“A baby has been found. It appears her parents died in the fire. Sir Gavin has gone to look for her kin.” Colette was happy to change the subject. “Someone sh
ould look after it,” she added, holding out the grimy bundle.
If she hoped her ladies would delight in caring for a dirty, injured infant, she was to be disappointed, though in truth she had no expectation, especially considering the state of war between herself and Marie Claude. They all looked at her much as she had looked at Gavin when he’d suggested that she care for it. Her maids had dedicated their lives to the service of their mistress and none had married or borne children.
Marie Claude folded her arms across her chest. “You see what trouble you find when you do not heed your elders?”
“Wicked, headstrong girl. I should not be surprised if it has the plague, brought here to kill us all,” added Marie Agnes, who could not resist the urge to chastise, using the gloomiest terms possible.
“The babe has not the plague. Her face is burned, is all. I request your services in this matter,” said Colette with more nerve than she usually had. Something about this journey made her less cowed by her overprotecting ladies. She did not try to hand the babe to Marie Claude but did thrust it onto a horrified Marie Jeanette.
Marie Jeannette took it reluctantly, holding the infant at arm’s length. She gave it immediately to Marie Agnes, who shoved it into the unwilling arms of Marie Philippe.
Colette could hardly blame them. The baby was dirty and her face was scarred, such that it was difficult to look upon.
“What shall I do with it?” cried Marie Philippe.
“She needs care,” answered Colette, hoping one of them would have a suggestion. None of her ladies appeared to have anything but revulsion for the child.
Once again, Colette felt pushed into unfamiliar territory. She had been briefly proud of her ability to stand up for herself and adapt to the journey, but taking care of an orphaned infant was not something she was prepared to do.
She blamed Gavin for putting her in this situation, though in fairness it had been her idea to look for the wounded. She had an unsettling feeling of being somehow deficient because she could not cradle the baby as easily as Gavin. Whoever heard of a knight taking care of a baby or helping to raise children? Scotland must be a wild and strange place.
The new thought came to mind, unbidden and unwelcome. What if her new husband expected her to actually care for the infants she would be obliged to produce? What if she must feed them and clothe them and clean their little bottoms? She clenched her jaw against the mere thought. Might she actually be expected to put a squalling infant to her own breast?
“You called for a wet nurse, yes?” A solidly built woman stood at the entrance of the tent.
“Yes, please do come in,” said Colette with relief. Marie Philippe thrust the babe at the woman immediately, and they all took a step back, just in case the woman felt inclined to try to pass the child along.
The woman was clearly comfortable with infants and put the babe to her breast. The baby revived at the prospect of food and nursed hungrily. Colette averted her eyes but was a little envious of the ease with which the woman handled the tot.
After the baby had her fill, the woman cleaned and bathed her, taking special care with the burn. “Poor little love,” clucked the woman. “She will be scarred all her life.”
“So she shall live?” asked Colette cautiously, handing the woman some clean linen for the babe.
The woman paused. “With the right care, it is possible.” She smoothed a salve on the baby’s face and then handed Colette the jar of the ointment. “Keep the wound clean and put this on it a few times a day. The babe is old enough to eat porridge and drink the milk of a goat or cow.” The woman attempted to hand the baby back to Colette, but Colette stepped away.
“You are not leaving me?” asked Colette, truly alarmed.
“I have children of my own and many to care for after the recent attacks,” explained the woman.
“Here is payment for services rendered.” Colette nodded to Marie Claude, who counted out a few coins and handed it to the wet nurse. “You will be rewarded even more handsomely if you would but remain until the babe’s kin can be found,” Colette pleaded, desperate to keep the woman.
The woman shook her head. “I’ve other folk who need my help. Would not be right to think of my own gain while others suffer because I would not help. Hope you find her kin soon. Here is the babe. Bonne chance.” With that, she handed the baby back to Colette and turned without ceremony, leaving the tent.
Colette attempted to hand off the infant to one of her maids, but they were all suddenly quite busy at their various tasks, bustling about the tent, preparing for the evening meal. She was stuck holding the babe, waiting for Gavin to return. At first she held it out at arm’s length, but the babe squirmed, unhappy in the position. Remembering what Gavin had done, she tucked the little thing in the crook of her arm and held her close to her body.
The child closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. Colette held the warm bundle, cuddled up to her. Maybe the little one was not so bad now that she was clean and peaceful.
Everything went well until it came time sit down for their supper. At first, the babe made a soft sound, one that could be easily be ignored. Within minutes, however, the child was howling and everyone was in an uproar. Colette placed the tot on a cushion, not sure what she had done wrong. She and her maids crowded around the infant, trying to cajole it to stop its incessant caterwauling.
“Make it stop!” demanded Marie Agnes.
“Someone should pick it up,” suggested Marie Claude.
Marie Jeanette proved her courage by lifting the bundle. The babe stopped for a moment, looking expectantly as Jeanette held her at arm’s length. Within moments, the baby took up a horrible wail again and Colette fought the urge to stick her fingers in her ears and run from the tent.
Jeanette handed the baby to Marie Philippe, who began to cry herself.
“If you please, stop this noise!” commanded Colette. It worked on neither of them.
“Are ye ladies unwell?” called Gavin through the side of the canvas tent.
“Sir Gavin!” called Colette. “We are in need of assistance, if you please to come in at once!”
Despite inviting a man into their private tent, not one of her maids complained. Gavin entered, amusement twinkling in his eyes at the clear distress that one howling infant had given five grown women.
“This child, is she dying?” asked Colette anxiously.
Gavin only smiled. “Got a healthy set o’ lungs on her.” He reached out his hands and Marie Philippe was only too willing to shove the infant into his arms. He tucked the infant in the crook of one arm in a confident motion and jiggled the baby a bit until she stopped her crying.
“Probably a wee bit hungry.” He walked to the table, set for their meal, and dipped his little finger into a bowl of porridge, placing his finger into the baby’s eager mouth. Colette was not sure if she should be fascinated or repulsed as she watched him feed the tot. The baby was soon happy and drifted back to sleep.
Colette was amazed Gavin could so easily calm the distressed child. She was not sure if she was impressed by his skill or irritated at how inept he made them all appear. “Her family, did you find them?” asked Colette, getting back to the business at hand.
The humorous glint in his eye faded. “Unfortunately, they perished in the attack.”
Colette’s heart sank. “But this is terrible. What shall become of this child?”
“I’ve heard of a home a few miles away that takes orphans. I hope the baby will be safe there,” said Gavin.
“Good. I am glad the matter is settled.” She had a sudden impulse to say good-bye to the babe but resisted. She should not get attached. She cleared her throat. “Here is a jar of ointment for her face.”
Gavin took it with a soft smile. “Thank ye.”
Colette followed him out of the large canvas tent, unable to stop from following such an attractive smile.<
br />
“I knew ye could care for the wee bairn,” said Gavin with another one of his warm smiles.
“I did not, I fear. I called a wet nurse,” Colette confessed.
“Wise. Ye did well.”
Colette should not have let his praise warm her heart, but it did. “Thank you for finding a good home for this one. She should not survive the fire only to perish of neglect.”
“Aye, we must find her a good home t’be sure. Trouble is, many good folk have fled from the English incursions.”
Colette leaned in to look upon the babe asleep in Gavin’s arms once more. She glanced up at his face and was suddenly aware of how close she had come to him. She should have backed away immediately, but she could not. Here was what she wanted—a tall, strong man, fierce in his protection of her but willing and capable of caring for even the littlest one in their midst. He was a true knight of the chivalric code. And he was wickedly handsome.
She jerked back and cleared her throat, wishing she could as easily clear her mind. “The English camp, did you find it?” asked Colette, trying to return to the subject. Besides, she had no wish to be taken hostage. Again.
“Aye. Their camp is miles away to the south. I hope we shall avoid them. We will stay here tonight.”
“Thank you for all your help to us,” said Colette warmly.
“Only doing my duty,” said Gavin, but his smile showed he appreciated her praise. “Sleep well. Let us hope the morn will bring better tidings.” He voice was low and the seductive lilt of his Scottish tongue swept over her sweetly, like a cool summer breeze.
Colette stood in the doorway of her tent and watched, unable to turn away, as he rode down the dusty road, the babe nestled in the crook of one arm. She had not thought such a man could exist.
Eleven
Madame Alisoun was drunk. Again.
Pippa was never sure if she preferred Madame drunk or sober. At least with drink, there was a chance she would pass out. And that was how Pippa liked Madame Alisoun best.
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