A Lord for Haughmond (40 page)

     “There, there, m’lady,” Muriel soothed, stepping forward. “Just ’cause ye fainted from the pain, ye mustn’t accuse yer husband of any wrong doin’.”

     “You drugged me.” The harsh accusation stabbed the air. “You murdered my babe!”

     “Muriel did not kill your child,” Dafydd interjected, glad for his meager honesty.

     Katherine turned her glare upon him.

     Such malice, such loathing, such depth of agony he had never observed.

     How could this be honorable? It was the most dishonorable deed he had ever committed.

     But what choice was there? ’Twas better than Sir Geoffrey flinging Katherine’s precious babe off the battlements or Adela ministering a potion of hemlock at some terrible point in the future.

     Turning, his shoulders sagging in defeat, he left the chamber in search of the village priest. The sooner this child was interred, the sooner Katherine would grow beyond her pain.

Chapter Twenty-eight

     ’Twas the seventh day following her babe’s birth. ’Twas the fifth since he was laid to rest in the chapel beside his grandmother. ’Twas the first day in over a week she had entered the hall.

     Days marked by pain.

     But time had brought healing, thereto. Katherine’s discomfort from childbirth began to ease. Her engorged breasts, hard and sensitive, that wakened her in the night whenever she moved, no longer leaked, nor were they as tender. But she bled as though from an open wound. Having no one else to turn to, she sought out Sibyl.

     “’Tis naught unusual, m’lady. ’Twill ease in a few weeks, by the time of your churching.” The servant smiled in encouragement. “If you are distressed, you should speak to the priest. He will know what to do.”

     Forsooth, she would not speak to Father Martin on the matter. He would say ’twas her punishment for fornication, that she must bestow an offering and prostrate herself upon the village church floor. She had done so, yet she bled buckets. Thereto, ’twould require she enter the village. Children bided there. Even if it meant she bled to death, she would not go, not when she must hear their happy laughter.

     Christmas fast approached. Grateful for the distraction, she checked the larder and discussed their provisions with the pantler. Haughmond must see its duty to provide for the welfare of the church. In the ledger, Gilbert deducted a crate of chickens and a haunch of venison from the castle inventory then went off to arrange for their delivery to the village priest, along with two tins of honey cakes.

     The villagers contributed to the yearly offering as well. Even the meanest peasant rendered up some small gift, everyone concerned for the welfare of his or her soul.

     ’Twas two weeks agone since her husband had departed. Two weeks more and her flow finally ceased. She presented herself to Father Martin for her churching.

     Reciting a psalm and a prayer of thanksgiving, he sprinkled hold water over her. “Enter into the temple of God that you may have eternal life,” he intoned and led her into the church. She was pure once again and ready to submit to the duties of a wife. ’Twas sobering that God expected her to resume her marital obligations when He knew what lay in her heart. How glad she was her husband had gone awarring.

     Anne and she settled in a routine some would consider lusterless. She did not object. ’Twas familiar and did not trouble her overmuch.

     The task of spinning wool into yarn kept her sequestered in the solar. A menial task, she preferred it to sewing. Haughmond’s storerooms held great quantities of wool, spinning and weaving being the tasks of winter. Hooking the distaff under her arm, twirling her spindle and pulling the twisted wool into strands of yarn, the chore kept her hands busy when her mind screamed with memories.

     “Could you not smile just once?”

     Her sister’s pitiful request startled Katherine from her reverie. With her needle aloft, Anne sat frowning at her.

     How could Anne understand? Only a mother would understand the ache of empty arms.

     “Everyone is sorrowful and dreary. The Yuletide is nigh upon us and we are morose. Sibyl wants to know if they will be allowed umble pie. Could you not smile, put the castle in a festive mood?”

     Katherine bent to her task, blinking back sudden tears. Forsooth, she did set the tone for Haughmond. She must needs shore up her blighted spirit.

     “Why do you work so hard?” Anne’s frown persisted. “You are not long out of childbed. No one expects you to labor so.”

     ’Twas not her sister’s fault. She was young and could not recognize a mother’s grief. Katherine swallowed her tears and forced a pleasant tone into her voice. “I intend for Haughmond to prosper, despite the war with Wales. The trade with the continent brings added wealth.” Concentrating on the task, she tugged the woolen strands betwixt her thumb and fingers, and bore her patience with greater fortitude.

     “You will wear yourself to the bone,” Anne exclaimed.

     “Fret not, I do not— ”

     Her sister flung down her sewing. “What becomes of me should you die?”

     Ah, Anne’s fears made her querulous. Katherine answered lightly, “You will be the chatelaine of Haughmond, dear.”

     Anne shook her head violently. “But only until your husband remarries.”

     She gave her sister a sideways glance, perplexed at the course of the conversation. “I do not think I shall die this day.”

     “Forsooth, you shan’t. I do not wish to be responsible for this castle. The king would not allow me to wed Simon, elsewise. A mere squire would not be allowed to reach so high.”

     Another time Katherine would have been hurt by such uncharitable considerations. But of late, Anne looked to the future. ’Twas good. Filled with hope, she no longer quaked in despair and fear. Within Haughmond’s walls, her sister had blossomed.

     She let the feeling of relief wash over her. If naught else, that much she had accomplished.

     Hefting the drooping distaff back into place, letting her spindle twirl yet again, she continued her task. Soon they would grow weary. Soon Anne would pull out the Merrills board and encourage Katherine to play, for ’twas her favorite game. Anne would quickly form her colorful stones into a mill and then she would grow impatient with Katherine’s lack of competition.

     She fidgeted in her chair. Mayhap she would seek out Gilbert and plague him with a new request. Never did he refuse her, but his eyes did show his reluctance. She had not forgot Rhys’s reservations about the steward. But Gilbert’s young lads had become invaluable to Old John. They spent as much time with him as the apprentice, Alwin. Last summer the cooper had taught the three boys the art of angling, and because of their skills, many a tasty trout had found its way to the castle kitchen.

     She concentrated on the happy memories, trying to keep the others at bay, but it was a constant struggle.

     Owing to the dull and quiet days that had become their routine, Katherine panicked when the trumpet sounded, heralding Sir Dafydd’s return. Her vision of a comfortable winter’s respite from the tribulations with her husband disappeared in a flash of anger.

     But more than tribulations arrived with Sir Dafydd. His party had been ambushed this side of Chester, while crossing the River Dee. He had taken an arrow in the thigh, which had wounded his destrier as well.

     Robbed of her anger, Katherine was not sure of her feelings when the cart bearing the wounded creaked to a halt before the keep. But when her husband’s new young squire raced to her, exclaiming, “I’ve no glad tidin’s, m’lady. Your husband’s sore wounded. I don’t think he’ll survive,” Katherine felt her world spinning out of control. Yet another death lay at her feet?

     God continued to punish her for her sins.

     Gingerly, Sir William swung his leg over the pommel of his saddle and dismounted, favoring his left leg. A bloody strip of woolen cloth encircled his right thigh. “Shut your maw, Milo. Do not distress our lady.”

     Craning her neck toward the cart, she spied her husband and two others sprawled amid dirty straw. His great helm rested in his lap, while his chain mail coif covered his head, wreathing his face. ’Twas the first good sight she had had of him. Though pale, he possessed a handsome visage—a straight nose set above a strong jaw. All else was difficult to tell, with his dark drooping moustache hiding most of his mouth and face.

     She shook herself to action. “Take him to our chamber.”

     Sir William limped toward her and slung his arm over her shoulders, forcing her to steady him. Together they shuffled toward the keep. “We will attend your wounds, thereto, Sir William.”

     “I doubt me ’tis a good idea that you physick your husband.” His sudden chuckle startled her. “Mayhap we should send for Lady Adela. She possesses much knowledge of herbs—and suchlike.”

     Aghast, Katherine stared up at him. He tried to shrug but grimaced in pain.

     “I would not wish it for him,” she said sharply.

     Concentrating on the steps of the keep, he gave her his profile. “’Twould ease your difficulties, lady, if she attended your husband. A few pieces of silver would rid you of your plight.”

     Beneath his weight, Katherine scowled, realizing his implication. “Do you think I wish to slay my husband? I, and no other, shall attend him.”

     “Dafydd isn’t like to thank you for it.” Sir William’s arm tightened about her shoulders. “Adela would do less harm than your cold regard.”

     She gasped at the unfair charge. But at that moment her husband, carried betwixt two burly men-at-arms on a litter, passed by. Blood flowed freely from his injury. She snapped her mouth shut. Ducking away, she ran into the hall, leaving the knight to his own devices.

     Sibyl and Joan came running. “Make haste,” she commanded. “See pallets are prepared by the hearth. Tear linen strips and set water aboiling. Have the fire stoked here and in our chamber.”

     “You treat me like a helpless invalid,” Sir Dafydd complained from the stairs.

     He did not sound like a dying man. But his voice wasn’t as deep as usual. A sudden concern came unbidden. She hurried up the stairs behind them.

     Settling him in the spacious bedstead within their chamber, the soldiers departed, leaving Katherine with her husband and Sir William. She moved toward the bed. But Sir William blocked her path. She halted in confusion.

     “We must needs discuss your remedy, lady.”

     Her mouth dropped. “You do not trust me?” She tried to look past him but could not. Anger filled her. But so did fear. “He bleeds. Do not delay me with fribbling discourse. He may require a balm. Or stitches. Let me pass.”

     The knight did not relent. He kept her at a standstill with his raised hand. “Rest easy, his wounds are not mortal.”

     “But Milo said— ”

     Sir William snorted. “He is but a stripling. He sees a little blood and thinks the worst. See her loyalty, Dafydd?” He threw the query over his shoulder while he continued to stare at her—as though he did not trust her, as though he must needs protect Dafydd from her.

     Caught betwixt concern and confusion, Katherine glared at the knight in dismay.

     “She refuses to be the maker of her own widowhood, Dafydd. She may despise you, but she will not harm you. Would that you possessed as much goodness. A wager says she will not have you. But that I will not allow.”

     “Will, what do you?” Sir Dafydd’s query held a cadence of fear.

     Sir William stepped closer to the bed. Blocking Katherine’s view, keeping her in his sights as though she hefted a strung longbow, he spoke over his shoulder to the other knight. “Lady Katherine has tendered her grief patiently, has she not, Dafydd? And for what?”

     Trembling with rage at the insult, she opened her mouth to call the castle guard. But Sir William stayed her with a sudden shattered look in his blue eyes and a forlorn shake of his head and the most confusing choice of words. “Lady, I would beg your forgiveness but ’tis not meet for you to bestow it. I do not deserve your forgiveness. Nor does your husband.” He turned toward the bed. “By God, Dafydd, I’ve had my fill of your dastardly deeds. Your lady deserves better treatment.”

     “Will, do not!” The ropes beneath the mattress complained as Sir Dafydd attempted to sit up.

     “Mayhap ’tis folly and you will have my head, half-wit, but this farce is at an end.”

     The invalid’s panic boomed across the chamber. “I’ll run you through, Will.”

     “Not so in haste.” Sir William’s chuckled rebuke filled the room. “I’m the last knight standing, my addlepated friend.” With a hard shove, he thrust Sir Dafydd back to the mattress.

     From where she stood, it appeared the knights were fighting.’Twas impossible to know what was happening, what the wrestling was all about. But her husband’s anguished cry—“God’s mercy, Will!”—filled Katherine’s heart with dread. Wondering if she should intercede, she was spared the uncertainty when Sir William suddenly straightened. Turning around, he stalked toward her.

     His dark glower made her wish for escape. Valiantly, she stood her ground.

     “I leave this in your care,” he said, coming to stand before her. “You alone, lady, possess the ability to save your husband. But ’twill take a miracle.” He grabbed hold of her wrist. Forcing open her hand, he deposited a clump of dark hair into her palm.

     Baffled, Katherine scowled at the strands then looked to Sir William in confusion.

     He made a flourish with his hand and stepped back, so she had a clear view of the bed. “I present your husband, my lady.”

     She looked at the bed, at the man raised up on his elbow and wearing an angry scowl.

     “Mon Dieu!” The gladsome cry spilled from her throat.

     Her legs went weak, yet she stumbled forward. Her heart pounded, yet she scrambled onto the coverlet. Her husband’s long drooping moustache and bushy brows had disappeared, while damp blond hair lay plastered to his scalp. Blue eyes, wide with terror, stared back at her. Lips that had spoken words of love and had bestowed passionate kisses formed a grim expression. She climbed onto her knees and moved forward. Through blinding tears she took her beloved’s face into her hands.