“I wish you would cease calling me that.”
“—and I remembered how they cried and sobbed and carried on all throughout the wedding ceremony.”
He looked at her and grinned. “As I say, your brain is most facile.”
“’Tis about time you noticed it. Your eyes seem perpetually apt to sink to a lower point of focus.”
“Am I to blame if your breasts are magnificent?”
“Really, you are impossible.”
They laughed and fell silent. After a while, they slept, still entwined in each other’s arms.
That morning, Rosamund woke to the first pains of childbirth. They proceeded quickly and by mid-afternoon, she gave birth to their third child. A daughter.
They named her Isabella, after Rosamund’s mother.
Their two boys, Brice and Ranulf, came to visit their sister, whom their father bore proudly to them for their inspection.
Brice, who was five, peered doubtfully at her and said, “She has not any teeth.”
Ranulf, a bright four-year-old, added, “She’s red and wrinkly.”
Agravar looked over their blond heads to gaze in exasperation at their mother.
Rosamund held her hands out for her sons and they came hesitatingly to her side.
“’Tis all right,” she said gently, and swept them to her. After a hearty hug, Brice turned around and squinted at the bundled babe his father had laid in the cradle. “I do not suppose she is all that bad,” he said grudgingly.
Ranulf sidled up to gaze down at the tiny creature. “She’s got no hair.”
Brice nudged him. “Ow!” Ranulf cried, whirling angrily. Interpreting his brother’s glance, he slumped his shoulders and said, “I guess she’s pretty.”
“Thank you, boys, for your kind approval of your sister,” Agravar said. His voice remained even, but the corners of his eyes crinkled.
His gaze darted to Rosamund. She was doing her best to look unamused. “You know, boys,” she said, “your sister is going to need you two to look after her.”
This brought both their heads up.
Agravar stepped in. “’Tis true. She is just a tiny thing, and when a girl grows up, she depends on her brothers for protection.”
Their little chests puffed out.
Agravar hunkered down and looked both of them deeply in the eye. “By the time she is your age, why you will be pages and know all manner of knightly things, especially in chivalric matters. Your mother and I will be depending quite heavily on you to help Isabella.”
Ranulf wrinkled his nose. “Isabella? What kind of na—”
He was cut off by Brice’s elbow in his ribs. The elder leveled his large brown eyes at Agravar. “Aye, Father.”
“You boys may go and play,” Rosamund said. “Brice, your father has the sword you left in our chamber.”
Agravar handed him the toy. “And if you leave it lying about again, you shall not get it back.”
“Yes, father,” he answered absently. “Thank you for finding it. I shall need it today. We are going to battle, you know.”
“Battle, eh? With whom?”
“’Tis Aric, Luke, and us against the boys from the stables.”
The two boys raced out, in high spirits.
“Do not hurt anyone,” Rosamund called.
“Bloodthirsty little devils,” Agravar muttered.
He turned and looked at his wife. Her eyes locked with his.
The sound of their laughter filled the room. They laughed until tears swelled in their eyes and their new daughter stirred and began whimpering.
They were forced to quiet their merriment, but continued to chuckle and giggle long after the babe was safely nuzzled against Rosamund’s breast.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-5935-8
THE VIKING’S HEART
Copyright © 2000 by Jacqueline Lepore Navin
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