Season of Honor (Knights of Honor Book 11)

by Alexa Aston

  Nothing happened.

  She moved to a chair and sat, spreading the babe into her lap and thumped it again, tears forming in her eyes as dread filled her. The babe lay lifeless. She gave a sharp slap to his bottom, hoping that a cry would erupt. Still, nothing.

  Her gaze met Ellison’s and she shook her head. Grief filled his face.

  Riola began to sob. “Why can’t I have a child? What have I done to anger God?”

  Merryn wrapped the cloth around the dead child and brought it to the couple.

  “I know you wanted nothing to do with the babe the last time, Riola. I think you should hold your child this time. True, ’tis stillborn, but he is still yours. You should hold him and kiss him and tell him how much he will always be loved.”

  She passed the babe to the weeping woman, whose tears splattered the still infant’s face. Merryn watched as Ellison took a tiny hand and pressed a soft kiss to it. Riola cried harder but brushed her lips against the boy’s brow.

  “We love you, my son,” she said fervently. “We do love you. Please, please wait in Heaven for us. We will be a family there.”

  Ellison looked at Merryn. “He’s perfect in every way, my lady. Why did he not live?”

  Her heart ached as she said, “’Tis for God to know. Not us. Mayhap He saw what a precious angel this babe was and wanted him in Heaven to watch over you and Riola.”

  Riola hugged the child to her breast. After some moments, she lifted the babe away. “Take him,” she ordered Merryn.

  Merryn took the tiny infant and held him close. “I will take him to Father Dannet. He will say mass for his soul and we’ll bury him.”

  “The milk? It will come again?” Riola asked, her mouth trembling.

  “Aye. I cannot prevent that. It will come in two or three days’ time. I will leave some sage with you. Brew it in hot water and drink it three times a day once the milk appears. It will help to dry it up.”

  Riola gasped and groaned.

  “Push again,” Merryn urged. “’Tis your afterbirth. Ellison, would you hold your son?”

  “Aye,” he said through his tears and took the babe from her.

  Merryn removed the afterbirth and tended to Riola, cleaning her and dressing her in a fresh chemise. She bundled the blanket up and would dispose of it.

  “I’ll come look in on you in three days,” she said as she settled the woman back onto her pallet. “That’s the day after Christmas. Until then, rest as much as you can. Drink plenty of weak ale and eat what you can.” She brushed Riola’s hair from her face. “I know you won’t feel like it but you must try.”

  Riola turned her face away to the wall.

  Ellison walked Merryn to the door, handing her the case. “Give me the blanket. I’ll burn it. You can have my son.” He handed her the tiny bundle. “Thank you for all you did, my lady. I know how hard it must be for you, being with child yourself.”

  “I’ll see you in a few days,” she said, swallowing her sorrow at this fine couple’s loss.

  The peasant opened the door for her. Merryn said goodbye and turned to go to Destiny.

  Geoffrey waited for her.

  All the weight of sadness that blanketed her lifted as he strode toward her. His arms went about her loosely as he looked down at what she carried.

  “Stillborn again?”

  “Aye,” she said, her voice breaking.

  His lips pressed against her brow, bringing comfort. This man was her rock. He steadied her. He balanced her. He kept her safe.

  “Let me have the babe,” he said, taking the infant. Geoffrey looked down. “He looks as if he’s sleeping.”

  “He is. For eternity.”

  Her husband took her arm. “Come. Let me take you home.”

  Merryn secured her satchel to the horse and Geoffrey helped her mount Destiny. He swung up on Mystery’s back and they walked their horses side-by-side back to the castle.

  *

  Geoffrey dismounted, careful of the stillborn he carried, and assisted Merryn from her mount. Two stable lads rushed over as Merryn untied her case of herbs and took the reins of the horses, leading them away.

  He slipped an arm about her waist and pressed a kiss against her temple. “Go inside. It’s late. You look exhausted.”

  She rested a hand atop her belly. “I want to go with you to Father Dannet.”

  “All right.”

  He took her hand, their fingers entwining, and led her across the bailey from the stables to the stone chapel. The wind had picked up after darkness fell and he wanted nothing more than to see his wife in a hot bath, with wine warmed for her. Geoffrey should’ve known Merryn would have none of it. In the years of his absence, when his father lay sick and then passed, Merryn had stepped up and run Kinwick by herself. She already had gained experience in how to run a keep, thanks to her mother passing at a young age and her father placing his trust in her. She applied the same determination as she learned about when to plant and harvest crops and how to manage the accounts. She’d become knowledgeable about sowing, reaping, and weaving. She knew when to send men out to hunt and how many animals should be butchered, the meat salted and stored to see them through the cold months of winter.

  Merryn had even taken over the monthly judgment day, hearing cases where tenants had disputes, and settling them with a firm, steady hand. No wonder his wife wanted to see today’s horrible events through.

  Geoffrey had been concerned when he left the training yard and went to the solar to wash up before the evening meal. Merryn usually greeted him with a kiss and a cup of wine and they would share bits of their day with one another. Her absence troubled him. When he’d gone to the great hall, he sought out Tilda. The longtime servant told him about Riola going into labor. How she’d lost several babes and the last one had been born dead.

  Hearing that, Geoffrey immediately set out to meet Merryn. If the birth had gone well, she would be drained. He planned to sweep her onto Mystery and ride home with his arms about her. If Riola’s child was stillborn again, he knew the sadness that would come over Merryn. She would feel responsible despite knowing it was beyond her skill to bring a dead child back to life. In that case, she would definitely need comfort.

  They arrived at the stone chapel. Geoffrey released her hand in order to push open the heavy door. As expected, he saw Father Dannet kneeling at the altar, lost in prayer. Taking Merryn’s hand again, they walked together to see the priest.

  Father Dannet glanced over his shoulder and rose, concern appearing on his features.

  “Is it Riola’s babe?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Geoffrey said. “He was stillborn.”

  The priest made the Sign of the Cross. “God’s will is hard to understand at times, much less accept.” He held out his hands and Geoffrey passed the infant to him.

  “I promised Riola and Ellison that you would say mass for their son,” Merryn revealed. “Would you do so now?”

  “Aye, my lady.” He paused. “You wish to stay?”

  Geoffrey’s fingers tightened around hers. “We do.”

  The priest offered mass, the familiar Latin bringing Geoffrey solace. Merryn lay her head against his shoulder. Her tears spilled onto his gypon.

  When it ended, they thanked Father Dannet and went to the keep. As they entered, Tilda hovered nearby. With a glance, Geoffrey told the servant what needed to be done and she hurried off. He swept Merryn into his arms. They passed the silent great hall and he carried her upstairs. He knew Merryn would want to look in on the children so he paused at Ancel’s door and lowered her to her feet.

  They tiptoed in, the room in darkness except for the faint light from the sconce that burned in the corridor. Merryn went to Ancel and knelt next to his bed. She kissed his cheek and rested her palm against it.

  Geoffrey helped her to her feet as she said, “Ancel has always slept well. I believe if I could have glimpsed into my womb, I would have seen Alys doing all of the kicking for the both of them.”

  He sm
iled, pulling her close. “I would rather our daughter be spirited than meek. You have raised her to be independent. Ancel, too. They are sweet, good children. We are blessed with them and our blessings will continue.”

  Geoffrey placed his hand against her belly. As if answering him, a soft nudge pushed against where his palm rested.

  They left and stopped at Alys’ room. Again, Merryn kissed her child but, this time, their daughter awoke, full of questions, as always.

  “How is Riola, Mother? Did the birth go well? You look very tired. You need to eat something and get to bed. Was it a boy or girl? What did they name the babe?”

  Merryn framed Alys’ face with her hands. “It was a son. He did not live. Riola and Ellison are very sad.”

  Alys touched her mother’s hands. “I’m sorry. They would make good parents. They are very kind people. How are you? How is your babe?” She patted Merryn’s stomach. “Oh! Did you feel that? Is that the babe kicking?”

  “Aye. It started this morning and will only get stronger in the months to come.”

  “Has Ancel felt it kick?” Alys asked. “I hope not. I’m the oldest. I should be first.”

  Geoffrey chuckled. Alys may have only been the older twin by a minute or two but she would never let her brother forget she arrived in the world before he did.

  “You are first but we must share this with Ancel tomorrow,” Merryn said firmly.

  Alys climbed to her knees and placed her palms on her mother’s belly. She leaned in and said, “I am your sister, Alys. I cannot wait to meet you.” She kissed the belly and lay back in bed. “Goodnight, Mother. Goodnight, Father.”

  Geoffrey bent and brushed a kiss upon her cheek. “Go to sleep, little love,” he ordered.

  They went to the solar and found Tilda had already brought food and mulled wine. She poured Merryn a cup and handed it over.

  “Drink this, my lady. ’Twill warm you. Hot water is on its way.”

  Tilda left them to eat. Merryn looked as if she might fall asleep at any moment. Geoffrey touched her arm twice and told her to eat and drink.

  By the time they finished, servants brought in buckets of hot and cold water, filling the tub with a mixture of both. Tilda dropped in a bit of vanilla, the scent wafting up from the heated water. It was a smell Geoffrey always associated with Merryn. He loved running his nose along her satin skin and inhaling it as it rose from her warm skin.

  “I’ll take it from here,” he said, and Tilda shooed out all of the servants.

  He undressed his wife and guided her into the hot water.

  “Oh, that feels heavenly,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

  He draped her hair over the edge of the tub. “I shall wait on you, love.”

  A smile turned her lips up. “I shall let you.”

  Geoffrey took the cloth Tilda left on top of the bath sheet and pulled the stool close to the tub. He dipped the cloth into the bath and took the cake of soap, lathering the cloth well. As he bathed her, his heart filled with love. This woman was the center of his life. He imagined them growing old together over the decades to come.

  “No man is as lucky as I am,” he told her as he rinsed the suds from her skin.

  Merryn didn’t respond. She had fallen asleep.

  Geoffrey raised her from the wooden tub and wrapped her in the bath sheet. She murmured something as he dried her and then fell back to sleep. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the large bed they shared. The curtains had already been drawn back, as well as the covers. He was thankful that Tilda thought of everything.

  Placing Merryn into the bed, he eased the bath sheet away and brought the covers over her. Quickly doffing his own clothes, Geoffrey climbed under the sheets and wrapped his body around hers.

  “I love you, Geoffrey,” she said, her hand covering his as it rested against her belly.

  “I love you even more, sweetheart.”

  Chapter Five

  Daralys awoke with a dull ache in the small of her back. A heaviness had settled over her and she didn’t know if she possessed the strength to rise from the pallet that she’d shared with Griselda. Dreams of her hostess had peppered the hours of the night and she’d seen Griselda from a young age until now. She supposed it was because of the close proximity of the woman as they’d slept. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept beside anyone, not even as a child.

  Her mind still raced with the images of Griselda and all she’d learned about the woman who’d provided her shelter. Poor Griselda had led a hard life and it would only become more difficult in the months ahead.

  She wondered if she should share what she’d learned with the old woman.

  The door opened and Griselda entered. Daralys watched her through slitted eyes as she set the bucket down and stirred the embers of the fire. After another trip, Griselda returned with fresh wood and added it to the fire.

  Pushing herself up, Daralys said, “Good morn to you.”

  “And to you,” her hostess said briskly. “’Tis a cold day. It snowed during the night.”

  “You said Kinwick is half a day’s ride from here?”

  “Aye, if you galloped the entire way. You’re on the far north edge of Winterbourne lands. It will take you longer to reach your destination because of your condition. You’ll need to walk your horse. A hard ride would bring on your labor.” Griselda looked her over. “As it is, you may not reach Kinwick before you give birth. Mayhap, you should stay with me.”

  “Thank you for your kind offer but I must press on. It’s important that I arrive at Kinwick before the babe comes.” Why, Daralys couldn’t say. It was more a feeling that filled her. The certainty that her babe must come on Kinwick lands, though she’d never even visited the great estate.

  “Then it’s best you eat something before you go,” Griselda proclaimed.

  Daralys excused herself and wrapped her cloak around her before going outside to relieve herself. It concerned her when a clump of thick mucus came out, tinged with both brown and red. She wondered if it meant the babe would come soon and sent a quick prayer to Heaven, asking for strength and the Virgin’s guidance.

  Griselda was right. The rising sun shone across a sea of white, snow blanketing the ground where there’d been none yesterday. Fortunately, the wind of last night had died down and the air was still in the early morning light.

  When she returned, she saw Griselda had scooped up the last of the stew. Daralys ate quickly, eager to be on the road again. Tomorrow was Christmas. Something about the day spoke to her.

  “I don’t have much,” Griselda said, interrupting her thoughts.

  Daralys watched her tie a small loaf of bread into a cloth. Before she could say anything, the old woman pressed it into Daralys’ hands, their skin touching. Griselda gasped at the contact, clutching Daralys’ wrist, and then moaned.

  Breaking the contact between them, Daralys stepped back. Having touched the old woman, she saw even more than her dreams had revealed.

  “What are you?” Griselda asked, suspicion in her watery eyes.

  “I am a seer,” she said softly. “I have seen your life. You’ve lived a hard one with little reward. Your husband, Rufus, died after you’d only been wed for five years. Your older son, also Rufus, passed as well when he was a small boy. William still lives, though, and comes to see you. He will bring his two boys with him when he visits you tomorrow on Christmas Day.”

  Griselda shrank back, making the Sign of the Cross with a trembling hand. “How do you know these things?”

  “I don’t know,” Daralys admitted. “The gift has always been with me. I get a sense of things. If I touch someone, I see what they have lived through and, sometimes, what is to come.” She paused. “Will you tell William that you are ill?”

  When Griselda didn’t answer, Daralys said, “You should. You will not see another Christmas season.”

  “You’re a witch,” Griselda hissed. “I invited a witch into my home.” Fear flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Y
ou’ve cursed me.”

  “Nay, Griselda. You knew even before I came that your body was giving out. That something inside is growing. If you don’t tell your boy, then at least tell him that you love him and his sons. You’ve never done that before.”

  “You’re a monster!” the old woman shrieked. “The Devil Himself! How could you know such things?” She grabbed a knife and held it out menacingly. “Get out. Now,” she demanded, her voice quaking as she waved the blade about.

  As Griselda took a step forward, Daralys backed away toward the door. Suddenly, Griselda screamed and charged. Daralys turned and flung open the door, running for her life. She stumbled and fell to her hands and knees, scrambling up and continuing to run.

  “Leave, you cursed one!” the old woman shouted.

  Daralys heard the cottage door slam and stopped, panting, leaning forward and resting her hands on her knees. As she caught her breath, she bemoaned the fact that her cloak was inside the abode. She had no doubt Griselda would do her harm if she returned and tried to retrieve it. Shivering, she made her way back the way she’d come, crouching to recover the small cloth containing the bread. She went to the shed where her horse stood and untied it with trembling hands.

  It took her several attempts to mount the animal. Once in the saddle, the heaviness seemed to drag her down. Her back still ached. Her breasts seemed heavier than ever. The baby had dropped even lower and now had awakened, kicking hard against her ribs. Her joints seemed loose. All these must be signs that her labor pains would start soon. Worry filled her. She couldn’t be on the open road and give birth. She must be inside the walls of Kinwick.

  In the stable . . .

  Daralys stroked the horse’s mane. “Take me where I need to go, my friend. We must reach Kinwick.”

  With that, she steered the horse toward the south, praying to the Virgin Mary to watch over her.

  *