“His lordship has asked that you become responsible for his son’s nurture immediately,” the woman-servant explained on her return. “He is happy that you should feed him when next he wakes.”
Emma walked over to the crib and looked down at the boy. He was a little younger than Oswald and had angelic ringlets of fair hair.
“He has his mother’s colouring, God rest her soul,” the woman observed.
Emma felt a strange sensation: her resentment at being hired to care for this child at the expense of her bond with her own baby was challenged by an instinct to protect so small a child who had lost his mother.
“What became of his previous nurse?” Emma asked.
The woman-servant was hesitant to answer her question.
Emma looked her in the eye and the woman drew closer. “The fine lady you saw in the great hall,” she began in hushed tones, “is Fiona, daughter of the bordering Scottish thane.”
“The large, bearded man?”
The woman nodded. “Nothing has been announced but it is believed that she and Lord Robert are contracted to be married. When her ladyship died, a woman from the village came to nurse the child, but when the lady Fiona began to visit the castle, she took exception to the woman and discharged her.”
“Why?” Emma asked.
“The lady Fiona said the woman was slovenly but we think she’s minded to install her own servants here.”
Emma now understood why her arrival at the castle had been so clandestine. “Does the lady Fiona take an interest in the child?” she asked the woman.
“Not in any wholesome way,” she replied. “I think she would rather it didn’t exist. It bars the way for any sons she and Lord Robert might have, of course,” she added in a whisper. “I must go, Nurse,” the woman concluded. “I’ve already said too much.”
* * *
When left alone with the sleeping child in the nursery, Emma sat on her bed, looking out of the narrow window, to the open sea, absently patting her long wet hair with the cloths the woman had brought her. So close was this side of the castle to the edge of the cliff that she had no sense of land beneath her – she couldn’t see it. Why must the window be so narrow when there was no land below? Presumably to defend against attack from the sea itself, Emma thought. Through the narrow window Emma could see the peach-pink sun setting on the horizon of a blue-grey sea. Now the storm had passed, the air had cleared and the seas were calm. It would soon be completely dark. Emma had no means of illuminating the room once night fell. Perhaps she was expected to sleep whenever the child slept.
Everybody considered her to have had good fortune in being called to the castle, but surely this room was to be little more than a prison cell. Here she would attend to a baby whose father didn’t wish to see it. If Lord Robert had moved on so swiftly to his second wife, Emma, surely, as the carer of his first wife’s child, must be shunned. She couldn’t imagine what empty, numberless days and nights lay ahead of her, shut up in this small coastal cell.
Looking over to the crib of the sleeping child, a dark thought occurred to Emma. She had feared that Lord Robert would exact revenge on Alaric by taking Oswald’s life. By virtue of her position, she now held the life of the Norman lord’s child in her hands. How strange that Lord Robert hadn’t considered that she might abuse her position to rid the world of his son and heir.
Emma’s contemplation was broken by the child’s waking cries. She went quickly over to the crib and lifted the baby from it. She held him against her and soothed him. His crying soon ceased. Emma found that tears were rolling down her cheeks. Holding the child close, rocking him and stroking his back, Emma imagined the boy was her own little Oswald. She kissed his soft cheek.
Taking a seat on the chair beside his cot, and placing the child on her lap, Emma loosened the cords that held the bodice of her dress together, undid the fastenings, pulled the fabric of her dress away from her chest, and then pulled back her smock. The baby sought Emma instinctively. She cradled him lovingly as he began to feed. Emma heaved a sigh of relief and felt a surge of maternal warmth. She couldn’t help but smile upon the child’s crown of blonde hair and begin to stroke it, as he fed contentedly.
Emma could hear voices again in the hall below – a woman’s voice laughing indulgently this time. She imagined it was the lady Fiona. How strange, Emma thought, as she gently rocked the little boy, that Fiona could deny herself an instinct as basic as a woman’s love for a child.
Emma sensed a presence in the room. She jumped when, looking up, she saw Lord Robert standing in the doorway, watching her. He held a burning candle in his hand.
“Welcome to Danburgh, Nurse,” he began. “May I call you Emma?”
Emma couldn’t reply. She’d been startled and now felt self-conscious that the lord so blatantly watched the child at her breast.
“I wanted to ensure that everything is in order for you here – and to bring you some light.” He placed the candle on a table beside the crib, as near as he could rest it to where Emma sat. “You’re already acquainted with your charge. He seems to be getting the sustenance he needs,” Lord Robert observed.
“My lord, I’ve not been told the child’s name,” Emma said.
“It is Harry,” Lord Robert replied. “He is my son and heir, Emma, so be sure to feed him well.”
“I will treat him as I would my own son,” Emma assured him, feeling a pang at the remembrance of Oswald.
“You know, Emma, that I have taken care to make provision for your family?” Lord Robert continued.
“I am aware of it, sir,” Emma replied. “I thank you.”
“My actions were not, perhaps, without an element of self-interest,” Lord Robert confessed as he walked from the table towards her.
“I don’t understand you sir,” Emma said, feeling flustered at his approaching step.
“Let us just say I am glad to have you here, Emma,” Lord Robert said as he knelt down beside her.
“Thank you my lord,” Emma uttered, keeping her sights fixed upon Harry’s golden locks, for fear of looking into his father’s eyes.
“Regrettably, I must withdraw,” Lord Robert said.
Emma said nothing in response. She could hear the strains of the musicians beginning to play in the great hall below but Lord Robert didn’t seem eager to return to his carousing.
“They play songs of love, Emma,” he said.
Emma nodded but avoided his gaze.
“Goodnight, little one,” Lord Robert said, bending over to place a kiss upon his child’s head. Emma winced to find him so close to her own bare skin. Lord Robert raised his head as Emma tried to compose herself.
“Goodnight Nurse Emma,” the Norman lord added, beginning to rise from the floor but, as he did, placing a kiss upon Emma’s cheek.
He left the chamber almost before she’d had chance to register what he’d done.
* * *
For two weeks Emma spent most of her time confined to the nursery with the child. She saw nothing of her lord nor of the lady Fiona but she was aware, from the news that the serving-woman brought her daily, that the lady and her attendants had been staying at the castle all that time.
On a couple of occasions the serving-woman invited Emma to bring Harry down to the kitchen, to sit beside the fire. This only happened when Lord Robert and Fiona were abroad, riding or hunting, and the woman could be certain that the lady wouldn’t return and discover the nurse. Emma enjoyed the opportunity to see more of the castle and to talk with the serving-woman, but she resented the fact that her freedom was only occasioned by Lord Robert’s adventures with the noblewoman.
When the Lord and his fiancée were at home, the serving-woman brought Emma food and tended to her needs but, aside from her visits, Emma felt that she and little Harry were forgotten completely.
Emma calculated she had not seen Lord Robert for over a fortnight and began to fear she would go mad if she didn’t escape the confines of her room. It was evening. The serving-woman
hadn’t appeared. Harry was asleep in his cot and would remain so for some time. Emma had heard no sound of movement about the castle for a quarter of an hour or so. Perhaps Lord Robert had ventured out, taking his attendants with him?
Stealthily, Emma opened the door of the nursery and slipped through it onto the small landing outside. She thought she was on the third floor of the castle but was unsure how many more floors were above her. It was completely dark. Emma knew there was a torch that usually burnt in a wall-mounted holder on the landing but tonight it had not been lit.
She had no sense that anyone was present. If her theory was correct and she’d been left alone in the castle, the doors would surely have been secured against intruders – it would be impossible for her to escape to the courtyard. Her only means of experiencing freedom was to climb up to the battlements.
Emma set off in the darkness, slowly mounting the spiral staircase from the landing and then climbing its seemingly endless steps. She reached another floor level but the staircase continued up beyond this.
When she finally reached the top of the stairs, Emma, looking up, could see, through an open doorway, the black sky, lit with bright, shining stars. She gasped as she emerged onto the castle ramparts and breathed in the fresh, salty air. She stood bolt upright, sensing the fresh wind blowing against her body and through her hair.
Emma walked towards the parapet that ran along the seaward wall of the castle. She felt cold but she felt alive, after the stifling heat of the nursery, constantly warmed by the great fire that burnt in the banqueting hall below. She put her hands on the stone wall and leant forward, looking out to sea. It was a turbulent night. The moon was full and shone brightly in the sky. Broken clouds raced across it, giving Emma the impression that the heavens were on the move.
Lit by the moonlight, Emma could see the white foam of the waves crashing against the rocks below and, further out, she saw the incoming waves undulating as they coursed towards the shore. There was drama and motion all about.
Emma jumped – something stirred behind her. She feared she would fall forward over the parapet but hands clasped her sides and pulled her back. “Who’s there?” Emma asked nervously, unable to identify her assailant in the dark.
“Your own lord,” a man’s voice replied.
“I thought myself alone,” Emma said.
“We’re almost alone,” Lord Robert responded. “Fiona has ventured home this evening. My army has set forth to escort her on her journey across the border. Only a few of my men remain below, guarding the keep.”
“Why are you on the battlements?” Emma enquired.
“I might ask the same of you,” Lord Robert replied, amused by Emma’s forwardness.
“I needed to breathe, my lord,” Emma said, “I wanted some air.”
“You can certainly take the air up here,” Lord Robert said, adding, “Strange, is it not, that I feel most free upon the battlements of a castle?”
Emma didn’t reply but shivered.
“But you shouldn’t remain here without a cloak, Emma. You will catch your death. Here, let me warm you,” and he went to enfold Emma in his own great cloak.
“No my lord,” she resisted instinctively. “It’s wrong.”
“How wrong, Emma, if it will warm you and comfort me?”
Emma folded her arms against his embrace.
“I have lost my wife, Emma,” Lord Robert whispered, “and you have lost a husband–”
“You are betrothed to another lady,” Emma was quick to respond.
Lord Robert held onto his unyielding nurse inside the cloak. “Negotiations are, as yet, at a very early stage.” He lowered his voice. “And, between you and me, Nurse Emma, I think we can safely say that the lady to whom I am now contracted is as cold as stone.”
“She is beautiful,” Emma pointed out, keeping her face turned from his, lest he should attempt to kiss her again.
“That is indeed true but what care I for beauty if a woman’s nature is cruel?”
Emma could feel Lord Robert’s breath warming her cheek as he spoke. His arms were wrapped about her own, still stubbornly folded, beneath the cloak.
“My marriage to Fiona has been proposed by her father to strengthen our control of these lands. From my point of view, the match is politically desirable. True, she is a beautiful woman, but she doesn’t care for me – she holds me in contempt. If the marriage is granted, it won’t be a loving one; I know that already–”
“Then you ought not to marry her, sir–” Emma commented instinctively. She stopped herself – outspokenness was a trait she’d inherited from her grandfather. It led to trouble.
“A man in my position has responsibilities, Emma. It is my duty to the King to stabilise these lands; it is my duty to your people, Emma, to try to keep the peace.”
Beneath the cloak, Lord Robert’s left hand had strayed down to rest upon Emma’s side. His right hand had cleaved its way underneath her folded arms and was currently held close to her breast.
“I am just a man, Emma…” Lord Robert said meaningfully.
“Robert!” a voice called from below.
Emma was released from the firm hold. Her body once again felt the chill of the winds, as the heavy cloak was drawn back from her.
“Robert!” the voice came again, louder and clearer.
Lord Robert arrayed his cloak and turned away from Emma.
Emma stood, her head spinning, her legs weak, facing the sea and looking up at the stars.
The lady Fiona emerged onto the ramparts. “What are you doing up here?” was the suspicious greeting she offered her suitor.
“I came to fly the falcon,” Lord Robert replied innocently.
Emma remained silent, standing with her back to the lady. She looked steadily out to sea as her body rocked gently in the wind. The sea had become strangely calm now. She hoped to go undetected.
“And who is this?” the lady Fiona asked accusingly.
“This is the wet nurse,” Lord Robert answered plainly. “I don’t believe you’ve met Emma.” He placed his hand on Emma’s arm, turning her round to face Fiona.
Emma looked blankly upon her future mistress as she tried to control her breathing and stand still. The lady was indeed beautiful. In the moonlight Emma drank in the flawless fair skin and jet black hair for which she was famed. Her gown tonight was a rich red, ornamented with elaborate patterns embroidered in gold thread and embellished with polished precious stones about the neckline. She wore a tall, pointed headdress – a gift from Lord Robert, no doubt. The long veil that flowed from it billowed in the wind.
“Why is she here? Why is she not in the nursery attending to the child?” Fiona snapped violently.
“I brought her here,” Lord Robert replied. “She has been confined to the nursery these past two weeks and was growing faint with lack of fresh air. I brought her here to watch the falcon fly.”
“Then where is the falcon?” Fiona asked triumphantly.
Lord Robert turned seaward and called into the night. He picked up a glove from below the parapet and put it on. A wolfhound, which had been slumbering on sacks in the corner of the ramparts, whimpered, stirred itself and came to its master’s side.
In a moment, a peregrine falcon, with piercing eyes, came circling above the ramparts and settled on his master’s outstretched, gloved hand.
Emma’s eyes opened wide at the spectacle.
“Stay absolutely still,” Lord Robert instructed her, “he is the most sensitive of birds of prey. The least movement will frighten him off.”
“Girl, you shall accompany me back to the nursery at once,” Fiona ordered. “You have had quite enough air for one evening,” she concluded sarcastically.
* * *
The lady Fiona closed the door of the nursery behind them. Emma had walked straight over to the crib where Harry lay, sound asleep.
“I wish to make you aware, Nurse, that your services will no longer be required here.”
“I don’t
understand, my lady. I didn’t neglect little Harry – he was sleeping when I ventured up onto the ramparts–”
“Your negligence is beside the point,” Fiona stated. “Harry is growing. He no longer needs a wet nurse.”
“But, my lady, this is so sudden,” Emma protested, thinking of Lord Robert.
“Things change,” Fiona said, turning her back on Emma. “Get used to it,” she added flippantly as she opened the door. “I bid you goodnight, Nurse,” she called coldly, without looking at Emma. She shut the door behind her.
The lady Fiona repaired to the quarters she had already claimed as her own. As she stood in the long window, looking out over the land, combing her long, black hair, the door to her chamber was opened by another. She turned to see Lord Robert standing in the doorway. “What do you want?” she asked him.
“I came to see that you are well,” he replied.
“Huh,” Fiona responded, “you care so little for me, Robert, you didn’t even think to ask why my journey was aborted–”
“I assumed you’d changed your mind–”
“Do you really think I would rather be here than in Scotland?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “And when I come looking for you on the ramparts, I catch you with your common English whore–”
“Emma is a simple, good woman. She is a caring nurse to my child – to our child.”
“Harry is no child of mine–”
“I cannot think, Fiona, that this marriage will work if you won’t look upon my son as your son.”
“I said I would provide you with a nurse. You went against my wishes–”
“I felt obliged to help the poor woman. She is a widow–”
“Her husband wanted you dead! Her husband was a traitor. She too is a traitor. Why do you think I returned tonight? The men feared we were being tracked by rebels. We had to turn back to avoid an ambush. Had I continued on my journey, I might have been killed.”
Three Medieval Romances Page 2
