Cruel As the Grave (24 page)

"What choice do I have? Justin, I cannot have this child ... I cannot!"

"Claudine, listen to me. Not only would you be committing a mortal sin, you'd be putting your own life at grave risk. I knew a woman who died that way, the sister of a groom on the Fitz Alan manor. She bled to death and suffered greatly ere she died-"

"You said you would help me, Justin, you promised!"

"I will help, but not to kill our child!"

Claudine flinched. "You think I want to do that? You think I'd risk my life and my soul lightly, on a whim? What if God cannot forgive me? If I cannot forgive myself? What if this is my only chance, my only child? But I do not know what else to do. How can I have this baby without destroying my family's honour?" She stared up at him despairingly, then buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

Justin knelt by her side again, gently gathered her into his arms, and held her as she wept. "We'll find a way," he promised. "Somehow, we'll find a way." She was still shivering and he carried her over to the bed, settled her under the covers, and sat with her until her tears finally ceased. Eventually she fell into an exhausted sleep, and only then did he retrieve the wineskin, pouring himself a generous dose, and then another. When the wineskin was empty and the fire had burned down to glowing embers, he quenched the candles, stripped, and slid into bed, taking care not to jostle Claudine.

He lay very still, willing sleep to come. Beneath the surface, undercurrents and eddies continued to ebb and flow, memories mingling with suspicions and misgivings and regrets. He found himself thinking, with a bittersweet ache, of his mother. Had she been as panicked as Claudine, terrified and abandoned and alone? Had she, too, thought of pennyroyal, prayed for a miscarriage? Or had her sense of joy been greater than her shame? Her secrets and soul-searching had died with her, and he knew only that she'd given up her life for his.

It was far easier to imagine his father's fear and rage. A priest whose ambitions burned as brightly as his faith, he was not going to let a village girl and their bastard son hinder his upward climb. Nor had he. The girl had conveniently died, the son hidden away as a charity case, unacknowledged until that December-eve confrontation in an icy, shadowed chapel at Chester. The irony of their respective positions struck Justin like a dagger's thrust. His father had not wanted him, but never doubted that he was the sire. He would that he could say the same.

Could the child be John's? He had no evidence, no proof, only conjecture and conclusions drawn upon what he knew of the queen's son and the woman lying asleep beside him. It had always seemed likely to him that Claudine and John had shared a bed, however briefly. If she was telling the truth about her March flux, the child must be his. But what if she were not? Why would she lie to him? What else could she do if she suspected the child were John's? She'd have no way to get word to him; not even his mother knew for certes where he was at present. And what if she did not know herself which of them was the father? He'd lain with her in February; what if John had, too? Could a woman tell whose seed had taken root in her womb?

He had no answers, only hurtful questions. It served for naught to rake over such barren, unyielding ground, for he had more pressing worries at hand. He'd promised Claudine he'd find a solution for them. How was he to keep that rash promise? Yet he dared not fail, not with two lives at stake.

He'd finally slept, awakening to the drumbeat of rain on the roof. Claudine was sleeping beside him, her hair tickling his chest, their legs entwined. When he moved, she opened her eyes and smiled drowsily up at him. He touched her cheek, a caress as soft as a breath, and her arms came up around his neck, drawing his mouth down to hers. Their lovemaking was wordless, unhurried, as much an act of healing as lust. Afterward, they lay quietly in each other's arms, listening to the rain until the cottage was filled with the greying light of a damp, spring dawn.

As soon as they left the refuge of their bed, though, the day took a downward turn. Claudine's mood was edgy and brittle, and when Justin brought back fried bread and roasted chestnuts from Nell's alehouse kitchen, she took one look at their breakfast and was promptly sick. Nor did his attempts at reassurance go much better. Their conversation was stilted, their intimacy forced. Not lovers, Justin thought grimly, two people caught in the same trap. Once the rain stopped, he saddled Copper and took her home.

They stood awkwardly in the Tower's inner bailey, holding hands but at a loss for words. Reaching out, Justin tucked away a lock of hair that had slipped from her wimple. "Promise me," he said, "that you will not do anything until we've had a chance to consider all of the choices open to us."

"What choices are there?" she asked, almost inaudibly, and heedless of people passing by, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Claudine, there is a path out of this morass and I swear to you that we will find it. If you could go away to have the babe without anyone knowing, there'd be no scandal, no talk to get back to your family."

"Justin, do you not think I've thought of that? How could I go off without the queen's consent? And how could I afford to live in seclusion until the child was born? Neither of us have enough money for that."

Claudine didn't sound argumentative, merely infinitely weary, and that alarmed Justin more than anger. "Promise me," he insisted, "that you'll do nothing without talking to me first."

"I promise. Now I must go in, concoct some excuse for my absence." She squeezed his hand, then turned away, walking briskly toward the White Tower. Justin stayed where he was, watching until she'd disappeared into the doorway of the keep. Only then did he mount Copper, heading in the direction of the Land Gate.

He reined in, though, after just a few yards. Claudine's promise had been given too readily. She was a risk-taker by nature, and now she was desperate, a dangerous combination. For several moments, he sat motionless astride Copper, and then he turned the stallion toward the stables. Soon thereafter, he entered the great hall and pulled Eleanor's chancellor aside.

Peter of Blois greeted him with distracted civility. "I'd heard you were back, de Quincy. Good work in Windsor. Now I must be on my way, for I-"

"I need to see the queen. It is urgent."

~~

After one glance at Justin's face, Eleanor led the way to the chapel. Seating herself upon the window bench, she gestured for him to join her. He did as bidden, but almost at once got to his feet again, unable to sit still. "It was good of you to agree to see me straightaway, Madame."

"You're not one to bandy about words like 'urgent,' Justin. What is it?"

"I am betraying a confidence, Madame. But I fear the consequences if I do not. Claudine is with child."

Eleanor's eyes widened, but she showed no other reaction; she'd had a lifetime's practice at keeping wayward emotions under a royal rein. "Is it yours?"

"She says it is."

"I see..."

He'd known she would; she always did. She was quiet for a time, gazing down at the ringed hands clasped in her lap as she considered the far-reaching implications of Claudine's pregnancy. "I assume you have something in mind, Justin. What would you have me do?"

"Claudine is terrified of shaming her family. Surely there must be a way to keep the birth secret, Madame? She did not see how we could do that, and she might well be right. But you could."

"Yes," she agreed, "I could. And after the baby is born, what then?"

"Madame ... surely a good family could be found to care for the child?"

"Especially with the resources of the Crown to call upon," she said dryly. "And if I agree to help, what of your involvement? Do you want to be a part of this child's life, Justin?"

"Yes, Madame, I do."

She nodded slowly. Their eyes met and held. There was so much that was unsaid between them, so much better left unsaid. "Well," she said pensively, "this might be the best solution... for all concerned."

"Thank you, Madame," Justin said huskily, and she gave him a long, level look.

"You were taking quite a gamble," she said, "were you not?"

"Yes, Madame, I suppose I was." Probably the greatest gamble of his life. Risking all upon faith and a desperate hope and a shared secret.

Eleanor rose abruptly, crossed to the door, and signaled to someone beyond Justin's line of vision. "Fetch the Lady Claudine."

Within moments, Claudine hurried into the chapel, smiling nervously. "You sent for me, my lady? If it is about last night, I can... Jesu!"

As the color ebbed from her face, Justin moved swiftly toward her. She backed away, staring at him in horror. "You told her! How could you betray me like this? I trusted you, Justin!"

"Be glad he did tell me, you foolish girl," Eleanor said impatiently, "for I am going to help you."

"Madame?" Claudine sounded stunned. "You... you mean it?"

"Come," Eleanor said, "sit down ere you fall down, child; you're whiter than newly skimmed milk. Yes, I mean it. I shall find a quiet, secluded nunnery for you until the babe is born, far from court gossip and rumors. Once you've given birth, you may return to my service and none need be the wiser."

"And... and the babe?"

"I shall find a family to care for the child."

Claudine was overwhelmed. Dropping to her knees, she kissed the queen's hand. "Madame, how can I ever repay you for your kindness and generosity?"

"Doubtless, I'll think of something." Eleanor smiled, patted the girl lightly on the shoulder, and then rose purposefully from the bench. "I'll leave you alone now to collect yourself. Justin, make yourself useful and fetch Claudine some wine; she is still much too pale for my liking." Without waiting for their response, she swept out of the chapel and they heard her telling the chaplain not to enter just yet, that they needed privacy for prayer.

Justin slipped out into the queen's great chamber, snatched up a flagon and cup, then hastened back into the chapel. Claudine was standing by the altar, her back to him, and did not turn as he crossed to her. "Drink some of this," he urged, holding out the cup. "You still look shaken."

"Do I, indeed?" She spun around, dark eyes smoldering, and struck the cup from his hand, spilling wine all over the altar. "How could you go to the queen behind my back? What if you'd guessed wrong?"

"I had good reason to believe the queen would help us. You are her kinswoman, after all, and I'd just done both of her sons a valuable service. And whilst most people judge women more harshly than men over sins of the flesh, that would never be true of the queen, for gossip and rumor have trailed after her for much of her life." Leaving out the most compelling reason of all, that Claudine's baby might be Eleanor's grandchild.

"Even if you were utterly and completely certain that she would agree, you had no right to go to her without asking me. It was my future you were putting at risk, not yours!"

Justin stepped forward and caught her by the arms, holding her tightly when she attempted to pull away. "You are right and I ought to have consulted you first. But I was trying," he said fiercely, "to save your life and the life of our child!"

Claudine stopped struggling. "Does the baby's life mean that much to you?"

"Yes, it does. I was born out of wedlock, raised as a foundling. I will not let this baby grow up as I did, not if I can help it."

Her eyes searched his face. "You've mentioned your father to me. You know who he is?"

"Yes, I know. But he'll never acknowledge me." Reaching out, he tilted her chin so that he could look into her eyes. "I cannot give the baby my name. But we can make sure that this child is wanted and cared for, and I mean to do that, Claudine."
Whosoever the father is.

13

LONDON

May 1193

The alehouse was as dimly lit and cool as a cave, the only other patron an elderly man snoring at a corner table, his head pillowed on his arms. No sooner had Justin claimed a table than Nell hastened out of the kitchen, flour streaking her face and the bodice of her gown, even coating the tips of her braids. At Justin's silent query, she said, "Lucy insisted upon helping me roll out the wafers. You want an ale?" When he nodded she shook her head disapprovingly. "You look dreadful. But I suppose you did not get much sleep last night."

Still shaking her head, she bustled off to fetch his ale, leaving Justin to frown after her vanishing figure. Her obvious dislike of Claudine puzzled him, for as far as he knew, the two women had met only once. She'd been just as prickly that morning when he'd come over to fetch Claudine's ill-fated breakfast, serving up a snide commentary along with the bread and chestnuts. The memory of Claudine's morning sickness reminded Justin that he'd not eaten any of that unfortunate repast either. He'd better stop off at the cookshop on his way to St Paul's. He doubted that he'd have any stomach for eating afterward. "Here."

Nell slopped a brimming ale down on the table, then disappeared back into the kitchen. Justin unfastened a small sack, drinking absently as he gazed down at its contents. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he did not at once realize Nell had returned, not until she shoved a pewter dish toward him. "I just took those wafers out of the pan," she said, "so mind you do not burn your mouth."