by Robyn Carr
There it was; the original seed of all this distrust. Hyatt had failed to remember the good love of his mother, and could not forget Faustina’s treachery.
Aurélie lowered her cheek to rest on the top of Hyatt’s head. For the first time since he had come, she felt that he was vulnerable; that he, too, had a soft, bruised place on his heart that could be touched by a lover. She pitied the boy whose mother had died, whose father had failed him, whose brother betrayed him.
“Come, Hyatt. Your shoulders are stiff from your practice of arms today. Lie down on the bed and let me knead away the pain.”
He chuckled a bit and burrowed the back of his head into the softness of her breasts. “ ’Tis a foolish thing, what a man will do to save himself from the ill of ennui. This room is like a simmering hell.”
Perhaps, she thought, to match the hell of sad memories. There was a fluttering in her womb. She had only felt such movements a few times over the past days, but with the evidence that the child grew she knew great joy. She had not expected Hyatt to feel the slight fluttering, but he had. He pulled away slightly and turned to look up at her. “My son?” he questioned.
“Or daughter,” she said with a warm and yielding smile.
He looked away, a pensive darkness in his eyes. “It is a sign of strength when the child moves so early.”
She caressed his jaw with the palm of her hand, causing him to turn his face and look up at her. “Of all worries, Hyatt, do not doubt the child’s strength. That much is proven already. This child was conceived in the midst of a war, the seed of a ruthless conqueror that burrowed itself into the womb of a frightened and unwilling bride. ’Tis a child meant to be born, a child who was strong since its genesis.”
Hyatt rose slowly from the stool before the fire, laying his broadsword down in front of the hearth and using the poker to scatter the logs a bit so that the fire could die out more quickly. He moved toward the bed and stripped off his short linen gown and chausses, casting them aside.
Hyatt sat heavily on the bed and Aurélie noticed that the lines of fatigue burrowed deeply into his face. His shoulders appeared slightly slumped with exhaustion, though she knew it was not wrought of physical labors. She passed him to blow out two tall tapers and open the shutters to the room, daring to look at him only from the corner of her eye. Her husband was energized by his work and beaten down by boredom and suspicion. He was better placed in a war with weapons braced than waiting in his house for some lowly serpent to strike.
She went to the opposite side of the bed and climbed on, kneeling. She gestured with her hand for him to lie down, and without hesitation she began to rub his back and shoulders. He wore only his loincloth and his body glistened with perspiration. Under her fingers the tension in his muscles stood as taut as cords of heavy rope. He sighed deeply as she used all her strength to soften the knots of strain in his back, shoulders, upper arms, and thighs.
She began to realize more as she touched him. Perhaps he had not slept well since Ryland’s arrival; that would explain the penetrating fatigue that showed on his features. And surely the other man’s presence caused a dreadful pain in recounting all those old memories. Hyatt still felt the deep betrayal of his mother’s death; one woman had loved him with devotion and loyalty, and she had died. Faustina had made him the pawn in a relentless pursuit of her own selfish gains, tearing his father’s love from him. And Faon, it was said, had somehow used him, tricked him, and now held his beloved son in a strained balance between her success and failure. How did Hyatt so stoically endure the betrayal of these women? It was no wonder he could not love a woman.
“Hyatt, do you sleep?” she whispered.
“Nay, Aurélie,” he sighed. “Your ministrations are welcome. I had not realized how I overtaxed myself.”
“You must have used the lance and sword fiercely,” she murmured, willing to let that be the excuse for his weary frame.
“I shall use better judgment in the future,” he replied tiredly.
“You must sleep, Hyatt. A good night’s rest will serve you well. Come morn, you will not feel this ache.”
“Oh?” He chuckled ruefully. “Do you mean to utter some sorceress’s incantation over me as I sleep?”
Aurélie lightened the pressure in her fingertips, stroking his back with her palms. How aptly they avoided the details of this strife! One day, perhaps, he would share the pain in his heart with her. And she might even tell him of the many hurts that she tried to lay to rest to reconcile herself with this new life, this new beginning. But for now it hurt him to speak of his past and he could bear no more pain. Still, he did not seem to mind that she knew … however sketchy her knowledge.
“You are wise to refuse to love women deeply,” she said. She felt him tighten under her hands. “If you hold yourself in control of your heart, what happened to your father can never happen to you.”
“How do you mean that?”
“I can give you my promise for a few things, Hyatt. I can promise you that I will love this child that I carry; I will tend him well and faithfully. ’Tis true, I have longed for a child—and one born of a strong father. Now that the life of my longing moves within me, you need not wonder how I shall cherish him, for he is born of strength and he is my desire. I will not use him as a pawn in the inheritance of your possessions, nor will I seek to bind you closer with him, for I can accept the oath you gave the priest and will ask nothing more. But Hyatt, I cannot swear that I shall never die. And should I meet some angel of death before my child is grown, I’d rather that you’d never loved me than that your loss of me would drive you to madness, that the child would lose both mother and father.”
He was still and silent for a moment and then very slowly he rolled over, looking up at her. Aurélie knelt still, her long honey-streaked hair falling forward over her shoulders. He gently caressed the silky softness of her arm, sending shivers of delight through her. The light in the room was suffused and dim, the fire giving its last to glowing embers. But still, she could see the uncertain cloud in his dark eyes.
“Do you mean, my Aurélie, that you would rather have my sworn love given to my child than to you?”
She let her chin slowly drop. “If that is the best way to assure that he will never lose his father’s love, yea.”
“And what of his mother’s love? Should I be removed from this castle by some heathen sword, what will become of my child? If you fancied yourself filled with some desperate love for me, you might, in your misery, forget that part of me I leave behind. You might, in your loneliness, welcome some unscrupulous devil into your house, your bed; one who means only to use you.” He shook his head. “Do you see, my Aurélie, why it is unimportant to me to hear these troubadour’s words and poems from your lips? I wish only that you know who your husband is, but that your love is steadfast unto your own flesh. I have seen the treachery that some women disguise as love, and I am certain there are men who likewise cripple their prey from the same empty words and promises.”
His hands were closed about her arms and in his eyes she could see how earnest he was. How frightened he was to commit from his heart, how terrified to feel the depth of devotion, lest it be cruelly revoked. Perhaps, when some time had passed and Hyatt was less afraid, she might talk with him about the man his father had truly been. They might learn together that Lord Laidley was not made weak by grief, but was weak all along and had lost his only strength when his wife died. It would have been thus with Giles, had Aurélie died. He was not strong or wise enough to endure alone. Hyatt seemed not to understand that in this union both of them were equipped of wisdom and strength and beating them would not be so simple, whether they stood singly or together as a pair.
She knew it would be a long while before they could speak any more freely than they did now. By the tone in Hyatt’s voice she could tell that he desired a greater closeness with her, but there was a fear and distrust that rang through his words. He had bought his fears at a high price. She pulled one arm from
his gentle grasp and lovingly brushed the errant lock of hair from his brow, leaning low to place a gentle kiss where her fingers had touched. “Worry not, Hyatt. I know who my husband is, and whether you live or die, the child I carry shall be nurtured with devotion and love. And I am not so unwise as to yield to any devil in my grief … as you are well aware.”
He gave a brief, rueful chuckle. “For some reason I forgot that I conquered a widow. ’Twas a virgin widow I forced into wedlock to protect my newly acquired lands. Yea, you are not easily tempered, wench, but I see that you begin to come around.”
“Lest you become too arrogant, messire, I would have you know that I reckon your lordship here because ’tis a better lot we bear with you than the alternatives. Ryland, I can plainly see, is wicked and should not be trusted. And what I have heard of Sir Hollis makes you seem much the avenging angel, rather than the heathen we thought had penetrated the walls.”
He smiled and ran a finger from her throat to the valley between her breasts. “From devil to angel, woman? My face has changed in your mind. You’ve grown soft. The truth, Aurélie; is it not that now that you have found those pleasures that lie in the marriage bed, you refuse to be without them?”
She raised one finely arched brow and smiled at him. “What pleasures are those, Hyatt? Forsooth, since Ryland’s coming I have shared no fleshly pleasures with any man, angel or devil. You have been too beset with worry to notice me. Perhaps my memory will be refreshed when your beastly brother has finally gone …”
“… Or sooner,” he said hoarsely, pulling her down to meet his lips. She yielded with the ardor that had become common in their private hours together. And when their passion was spent, they lay in each other’s arms, Hyatt’s head resting gently at her breast. She tenderly stroked his hair and knew that he slept well, fortified by the very love he could neither claim nor acknowledge.
* * *
The first faint rays of morning sun were just beginning to rise over the farthest eastern knoll when Aurélie heard a movement in the bed behind her. As Hyatt stirred, she turned from the open window to look at him. She smiled inwardly as she noticed that the first thing he did upon waking was to reach toward the place she had occupied, and then with a jolt he turned to look for her.
He relaxed instantly as he found her nearby, at the open window. “ ’Tis unlike you to rise before me.”
She smiled at him and took two steps to the bed, bending to place a wifely kiss on his brow. “You often rose and watched me sleep. You have rested well, messire. Are your muscles yet sore?”
“Nay.” A roguish grin graced his handsome lips. “I always sleep well after such a night, madame. But why are you up and about so early? Whither are you bound?”
“With your permission, messire, I would go to Perrine’s household before she comes to Faon’s rooms. I have not shared a private word with her since your arrival some months ago, and I do not like to go to her when she labors for Faon.”
He frowned slightly. “Where is the need, Aurélie? Do you require privacy for some plot you hatch? Does Perrine spy for you?”
She sat down on the bed beside him and pulled one of his hands into both of hers. “Nay, Hyatt, never that. Perrine is my closest friend; she was my confidant and adviser for many years. She was the one to coddle and shelter me when I came here for Giles, for I was only nine years old and a bride. And over the years she gave me comfort. I have not needed her shelter, nor am I in want of advice, but I do miss her, Hyatt. In times gone by we would sit before a winter hearth and talk of women’s things, or gather summer flowers and share our ideas on the raising of children, the baking of bread.” She shrugged and looked down. “If it worries you, I need not go.”
He squeezed her hand. “I will take your word that it is only woman’s chatter you long for.”
“It is no more serious than that, Hyatt,” she said, rising to leave him. Her hand instinctively went to her middle. “I find I have a great deal of concern. Perrine’s counsel will be welcome.”
Hyatt stood and gently lifted her chin. “Aurélie, I know nothing about what a woman feels as she prepares to give birth and I fear I cannot ease your mind or give you advice. I will be useless to you. You are wise to seek out Perrine.”
Aurélie smiled and touched his cheek. “You needn’t feel useless, Hyatt. I believe you’ve done your part.”
A roguish grin appeared on his handsome face. “It was my pleasure, chérie.” He kissed her nose. “Go ahead, you needn’t fear my suspicious nature this morning.”
“Thank you, Hyatt,” she said most sincerely. “That means a great deal more to me than you know.”
As dawn struggled to rise, the sky was a gray tinged with streaks of gold against the clouds, the air cool and misty. There was no need for a wrap, and the dampness that came with the morning dew promised an afternoon of simmering, boiling heat. Once outside the hall and past the inner bailey, Aurélie could see the rising of smoke above the cottages from peat fires that were started to boil some morning meal or warm water for washing. The same rising cloud came from the seneschal’s house, and when Aurélie knocked and called out to Perrine she was quickly admitted.
Perrine had not yet bound up her hair and a loose braid, still messy from sleeping, trailed down her back. She wore her wrapper and padded around her large room in her bare feet. “Come in, love. Sit down and I’ll give you a drink of milk drawn from the goat just a moment ago. What brings you here? Are you in some trouble?”
“Nay, Perrine … but it seems I never see you anymore, never talk to you at all. And I did not want to go to Faon’s rooms.”
“Aye,” the woman smiled, understanding at once. When Aurélie found a stool by the single table in the room, Perrine dipped a ladle into a bucket and passed her a cup of goat’s milk. “You’re wise to stay far from that woman’s quarters. She’d slit your throat in a trice, lass. She is a hateful creature.”
“But the boy?” Aurélie asked.
“A joy,” Perrine said, her wrinkled flesh folding around her mouth and eyes as she smiled with genuine sincerity. “Talk to me, lass, while I dress.”
“Guillaume is already up and gone?” she asked.
Perrine went to stand behind a curtain that separated their eating and living quarters from a sleeping space. “Aye, we’re all alone, lamb. Tell me how you’ve been.”
“I am well, Perrine. Have you heard … I am with child?”
There was a long silent moment in which Aurélie did not even hear the rustling of clothes. Perrine must have stood shocked still in the next room. “Aye,” the servant finally replied, “I had heard; this must please you well, my lady. ’Tis what you’ve wanted for a long time.”
“A long time,” she said in a breath.
Aurélie sipped her milk and heard the sound of Perrine dressing. She relaxed a bit, looking about the seneschal’s house. She had always liked this room. Although it was modest, there was a warm feeling here. Perrine and Guillaume had raised a family here, their sons grown and about their adult responsibilities. One had gone to a monastery, one to a larger city to take up a trade, and two were still living in the village with their wives and children.
“Do you remember, Perrine, when I first arrived, how frightened I was?” She laughed at the memory. “I did not know what to expect of this man I was to wed, this son of the bold and arrogant Sire de Pourvre. And then I met Giles; he was only a few years older than I … and almost as frightened as I.”
The curtain pulled back and Perrine came again into the room wearing her gray wool tunic and a scarf tied around her bound hair. “It does not seem so long ago, does it?”
“Oh, now it does. Lifetimes ago.” She knew the sadness in her own voice. “Did you know that he slept on the floor beside the bed? Walked with pebbles in his shoes? He slept only in a monk’s habit and was mostly unwashed.” Perrine sought a stool nearby her mistress, but said nothing. “He had overcome the flesh, sought no pleasure, did not hold money away from God, and confes
sed every day. Betimes he beat himself with ropes into which he had tied knots that bruised his flesh. Salvandorum paucitas, damnandorum multitudo. Few to be saved, many to be damned. Perrine,” she said, looking at her woman, “was he one of the few?”
Perrine reached into her mistress’s lap and squeezed her hand. “Madame, do not torment yourself over Giles. If he is not saved now, there is nothing you can do.”
She shook her head and bit her lower lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “Was I a good enough wife while he lived, Perrine? I did not betray him, did I? I did not hurt him too badly, did I?”
“Let it be, lass. You cannot bring Giles back, nor can you undo any harm done while he lived. Any pain, Giles brought to himself. He was possessed.”
“Yea. And he possessed nothing. I pity the manchild that is born, for too much rests on him. He is never to seek a mother’s love, yet craves it. He is never to be weak, never to doubt, never to need, never to let another soul know that he stands on sand and not rock … all the days of his life. You knew Giles was beset, did you not?”
Perrine looked at Aurélie for a long moment before she spoke. “Yea,” she whispered in a breath.
“Did you know my torment, Perrine? We never spoke of it in clear words; never spoke of Giles’s strange obsessions and how much alone I was. Perhaps I was not so alone—I had you and Guillaume, my parents and friends. I had the wall—I commanded the archers and knights, sometimes through Giles, sometimes forthrightly. I rode as well as a man, ciphered the sums, and hid away livres to buy food when the harvest failed. I worked; merciful Holy Mother, I worked so hard that I slept exhausted, ofttimes without even my prayers.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Perhaps I fell into sleep without my prayers too often.”
Perrine saw that she was becoming distraught, though the reason remained unclear. The older woman opened her arms and Aurélie fell into her embrace, sobbing onto Perrine’s soft shoulder. “There, my angel, you did not cry so when you were brought word of his death.”
