Afton of Margate Castle (26 page)

When Corba had gone, Hubert came into the chamber and closed the door behind him. He gazed at Afton for a long time in silence, and Afton closed her eyes and wished that death would come. Finally he spoke as if he read her mind: “You wish to die? If this child you carry is not mine, you shall.”

“It is your child. My mother told me how the seed of a child is planted, and the child can only be yours.” Afton answered flatly. She was too tired and too ready for death to cower before him.

Hubert crossed over to the bed and placed his rough hand over her stomach. “When will this child be born?”

“My mother says it will be February . . . if all goes well.”

“That will depend upon you, little wife.” Hubert turned his back. “I have warned your mother to not speak of this, and we will tell no one of this impending birth. When the child is born, we will see who it favors. Your life depends upon the child you carry within you.”

***

For the next two months Hubert did not strike her. He watched her even more closely than before, and as she sat at dinner he watched his guests to see which of them sent admiring glances toward Afton. Before her announcement he had been pleased to exhibit his wife as a treasure, but now he cast suspicious glances toward any man who even glanced in her direction.

Afton didn’t care what he thought of his guests, she was only relieved that his humiliations now did not include his horsewhip. He still bade her perform for his guests, he still bade her kiss his hands and wash his feet, and he watched her with the sharp, swiveling eyes of an eagle. Still, Afton felt relief.

She wondered why Hubert seemed to find it difficult to believe she carried his child. Was it his age? Or did he honestly believe she had a lover? Common sense dictated that the latter was impossible, for she had been a prisoner in her own home for over a year.

She found her answer unexpectedly when she overheard a conversation in the courtyard between Wilda and a village woman. The woman told Wilda of a girl who had been attacked by a man in the fields. Her father had planned to press charges before Lord Perceval, but then the girl was found to be with child. “Ah,” Wilda cackled, giving the woman a sly wink, “then the maid took pleasure from their chance meeting. Her father will have no suit to bring before Perceval.”

The women went on with their conversation, but inside the house, Afton ducked behind the window and sank to the floor in sudden understanding. If conception could not take place without pleasure, then it was no wonder Hubert did not believe the child was his! She had shown no pleasure in his time with her, and had felt none, only disgust and mortification. She shook her head. This idea could not be true, but if it was commonly believed, her life hung by a thread more slender than she had realized.

As the days passed and Hubert continued to spy on her, Afton became more and more frightened. After the baby was born, what then? Hubert would look at the child, declare privately that it was not his, and he would kill her, as was his right. He would have his heir, his pleasure in killing her, and her baby would be left in the hands of a monster. Her hands went protectively to her gently bulging stomach. Never. She would never leave her child unprotected.

One night as Hubert snored beside her, Afton raised up on her elbows and looked down at him. She could kill him as he slept. She could go into the kitchen for a knife and plunge it into his heart, for he was a sound sleeper and slow to wake. But she would be discovered and would be brought before Perceval, and would doubtless be hung.

Her fingers played with the edges of the wool blanket that covered them. Still, the venture might be worth the price she would have to pay. But at that moment, a fluttering in her stomach caught her by surprise and she drew in her breath. The life in her womb was moving!

She lay back and caressed her belly, considering her choices. If she killed Hubert, her own life would be forfeit, as well as the life of her unborn child. If she continued as she was, Hubert would undoubtedly kill her after his child was born. She could not run away, for she was never alone or unwatched. There was only one option remaining, and her soul shrank from it in disgust. But it was her only choice: she would have to convince Hubert that she took pleasure in him.

***

She awoke before he did, as always, and when she heard him stir she turned and put her arm around him. She snuggled against his chest and felt him recoil in surprise. With his free hand he grabbed her hair and pulled her head off his chest. “What is this?” he growled.

“I’m caressing my husband and the father of my child,” she said sweetly, smiling at him. “Release my head, my lord.”

Surprisingly, he did as she asked, and she snuggled a few minutes more and playfully ran her fingers over his chest.

“What has bewitched you?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Life and love,” she answered, lifting her head to look at him. She ran a finger across the top of his balding head and traced the outline of his ear. “When we married, my lord, I did not suppose I would have the honor of carrying a child in your name. Even these past weeks I thought it a dream, but last night I felt your child move in my womb, my lord, and I suppose I am overcome with pleasure from the child within me.”

He did not believe her, she could read it in his eyes, but he flipped her over and put his hand on her belly. “I feel nothing,” he muttered, and Afton felt only the hot presence of his hand on her flesh. But suddenly he removed his hand as if burned. “I did feel it,” he said, staring at her belly. “It did move.”

“Our child,” whispered Afton, praying that he would believe her charade. “The child of the valiant and worthy Hubert.”

“So you thought me an old man,” he growled, smirking down at her. “You thought these loins unable to perform their manly duty?”

He did not wait for her reply, but rose from the bed with a smile. Afton closed her eyes, not in pleasure, but in simple relief.

***

Afton continued her pretense diligently, for she knew her life depended on it. In the months that followed she kissed Hubert often and willingly; she asked, “What shall I wear for you today, my lord?”, and she raised her eyes from the ground for him alone. She danced for him in the privacy of their chamber, and sang him to sleep with his head in her lap. His suspicion gradually evaporated, and hard resolve and the growing hardness of her belly enabled Afton to continue doing things she despised for a man she detested.

She found an unexpected benefit in her new situation when she and Hubert were invited to Margate castle for a feast on the eve of St. Agnes’ Day. Ordinarily Hubert would not have allowed her to go, but now he was thrilled for the opportunity, for only free men and the lesser lords of Perceval and their wives were to attend. He bragged openly before the villagers of his exalted position in Perceval’s estimation, and pointed proudly to Afton as proof of Perceval’s high esteem.

Afton looked forward to the feast as well. It had been nearly two years since she had last seen Endeline and Perceval, and she looked forward to seeing Morgan and Lunette as well. She was but fourteen, but she felt she had aged twenty years since leaving the castle in the bridal wagon.

Wilda helped Afton dress in a lovely gown of scarlet with a warm matching mantle edged with beaver fur. She was eight months with child, and very large, but she would be able to disguise her figure under the generous mantle.

Corba often joked about Afton’s size, saying she was eating too much, but Afton didn’t mind not being able to see the floor. She was even able to bear Hubert’s fascination with her belly: he slept with his hands upon her and often pulled her to him so he could remark on the strength of his unborn child’s movements. All these things could be borne, because Afton had fallen in love with the child who depended upon her for life and love. Afton resolved not to fail her baby.

Her distasteful deception had worked. Hubert had publicly acknowledged that his wife carried his child, and every man in the village had raised a tankard to Hubert’s great virility.

***

The castle seemed smaller than Afton recalled, the courtyard more confining. As they drove through the massive barbican in Hubert’s wagon, Afton saw Perceval and Endeline standing near the castle gate, braving the winter winds to welcome visitors as they alighted. Gawain, Perceval’s sergeant-at-arms, was there, too, and Hector, the steward, stood at Endeline’s side.

Afton’s own trials had eclipsed the bitter feelings she once harbored for Endeline, and she was eager to greet her former mistress as one mature woman greets another. Hubert gave the reins of the wagon to a servant and extended his hand to help Afton down. As she struggled out of the wagon, the edges of her mantle parted and revealed her pregnancy, though she quickly pulled the edges together and awkwardly curtseyed before Perceval and Endeline.

Endeline stared at her in stony silence, then remarked casually to Perceval: “I am chilled, husband. I will see you inside.”

Afton stood in confused silence while Hubert greeted Perceval, Hector, and Gawain. The other guests were proceeding into the great hall for dinner, but Hubert grabbed Afton’s arm and pulled her away from the crowd and into a corner of the stable.

“What did you do to offend Lady Endeline?” he snapped, his eyes dark and threatening. He raised his hand as if to slap her. “Tell me now, so I can apologize to the lord!”

“I did nothing,” Afton stammered, searching for a reason to explain Endeline’s behavior. Then it came to her, and she forced a teasing smile. “Do you not know, my dear lord, that the lady is jealous of me, for I carry your child?” Afton whispered. She reached for Hubert’s outstretched hand and pulled it down underneath her mantle and onto her belly. “Endeline wants a baby badly, and she cannot bear to see a woman in this blessed condition. Her behavior is a compliment to you, dear husband, because you and I have accomplished what our lord and lady cannot.”

The notion appealed to Hubert’s vanity, as Afton knew it would, and his stormy expression broke into a smile. Afton linked her arm through his and lay her head on his shoulder. “Now can we go in and eat, please? Your child and I are famished.”

***

The meal was excellent and Endeline noted that the guests seemed suitably impressed. Her good mood had returned, once she managed to put aside the destructive feelings of jealousy that struck her when she saw the very pregnant Afton, and now she concentrated on her other guests. The servants had done well, and the tablecloths, silver spoons, salt dishes, and steel knives were shining in their abundance. As usual, today’s guests would go home and tell stories of the opulence and generosity of Perceval’s castle.

Endeline nodded to the troubadour she had engaged for the feast, and he sang as they ate. He sang lovely dawn songs, bawdy spinning songs, and a song of political satire that made Perceval squirm in his seat. Endeline smothered a smile. Perceval need not worry about this crowd; none of these people had the ear of the king or the power to do him harm.

“Sing us a love song,” Endeline commanded as the servants cleared away the dishes. She raised an eyebrow and glanced in Afton’s direction. “Something fitting for young lovers.”

The troubadour bowed. “I do have a special treat for you, my lady, a poem composed by a young squire of Warwick, quite stricken with love for his lady. It was a lovely piece, and I would be honored to sing it for you.”

Lady Endeline leaned forward. “A young squire? Pray, what was his name?”

The troubadour bowed low. “Your honorable son, my lady. Squire Calhoun of Margate, a valiant and most excellent young man.”

The crowd stirred in pleasure, and Endeline smiled and held up her hand for silence. Calhoun was in love! And obviously with a lady at Warwick Castle. She glanced at Afton and purred in pleasure: “Please, we would hear this song.”

The troubadour bowed again, then clasped his hand over his heart and began to sing:

When the flowers appear in the earthen green fields,

Along with the bitter baneberry,

Then I must consider you, my lady,

And the burden of love that I carry.