Helene glanced at Baron Wulfrith’s wife whom she had come to stand alongside following the after-birth ministrations that had ended with the removal of the birthing chair. Lady Annyn was lovely, so much that when it was learned she had years ago posed as a squire to gain entrance to Wulfen Castle and work revenge upon the man to whom she was now wed, Helene had nearly laughed aloud. It was true that some men, especially the young, possessed less than masculine features, but Lady Annyn’s face was unmistakably feminine. Of course, she had been some years younger and her hair would surely have been shorn.
The woman who occupied Helene’s thoughts leaned over her sister-in-law, causing the plaits of raven hair upon her back to shift and settle along the curve of her shoulder. “’Tis a good beginning,” she said and pushed the perspiration-dampened strands off the new mother’s brow.
Lady Beatrix, who stood on the opposite side of the bed cradling the son of one and the nephew of the other three in the chamber, made a sound of protest, then exclaimed, “A good beginning?”
Lady Annyn looked up. “I have seen our Gaenor and her husband when they think no one watches, and there will surely be many more little Lavonnes crawling and running about the donjon, just as I believe you and Michael will be so blessed.”
Appearing undisturbed by a womb that, thus far, remained empty, Lady Beatrix said, “In God’s time,” then stepped near her sister and asked, “You would hold your son again?”
“Soon.” Lady Gaenor turned her head on the pillow. “I am ready for my husband, Helene.” He who had long paced outside the chamber and, on not a few occasions when his wife’s labors were most intense, knocked with great urgency to learn how she fared.
Further warmed to her unacknowledged brother, Helene nodded, crossed the solar, and opened the door.
Christian Lavonne pivoted where he had just passed the doorway and, before the words, “Your wife and son await you, my lord,” fully sprang from her mouth, he was past her.
Surprisingly—though not truly—he did not first go to his heir. Rather, he gained his wife’s side with the aid of Lady Annyn who quickly stepped aside to make room for him.
Helene’s heart expanded further in her chest when her brother leaned down and touched a hand to his wife’s cheek. “You are well?”
“More well than I can say.” She kissed his palm. “Now meet our son.”
He brushed his mouth across hers, then made quick work of the strides required to reach Lady Beatrix on the opposite side.
As Helene crossed the rushes to the foot of the bed, Christian stared into the cloths that bundled his son. Then, voice tight with emotion, he said, “May I hold him, Beatrix?”
Her laughter was reminiscent of the tiny bells worn by Lady Gaenor’s servant, Aimee, when the young woman had bustled around the solar, eager to play a part in ushering her mistress into motherhood. “You need not ask permission to hold your own son, my lord.”
“Indeed.” He reached as if to take him, paused, and splayed his hands in silent question.
Lady Beatrix stepped near, eased the babe into his arms, and placed his hands where they would best support it.
“He is so small,” Christian murmured.
Now it was Lady Annyn’s turn to laugh. “That is no small babe, Baron Lavonne, and no small task was it for your wife to deliver him unto you.”
He looked to Lady Gaenor. “Truly, you are well?”
She smiled. “Quite.”
Sensing he required further assurance, Helene said, “Two days, my lord, and your lady wife will be out of bed. Two days after that, she will be about the castle again.”
Christian turned his face to her. “Thank you, Helene. Again, my family is in your debt.”
His
family, though if she would but tell what always his eyes asked of her—and what he had given her plenty of opportunities to reveal—it would be her family as well. But she could not, though time and again she promised herself that she would for John’s sake. John whose years would soon number six and who not only continued to aspire to the sword, but had taken well to the written word during the long winter months that were finally behind them.
She drew a deep breath. “I will leave you now, though I shall pass the night in your hall should Lady Gaenor have need of me.” She shifted her regard to Christian’s wife, inclined her head, and left the chamber.
The corridor was empty and, as she traversed it, she let the day’s miracle wash over her, hoping it would also wash away the angst to which she often succumbed when in close quarters with her brother. It did not.
You should tell him and be done with it.
It was Sister Clare whose words came less often with the passing of each month that distanced Helene from the nun’s death and the departure from Castle Soaring.
Aye, I should tell him,
Helene agreed,
but Abel—
Abel from whom she had not heard in all the months since she had left Castle Soaring, though she told herself it was to be expected and a good thing. Still, in the heart of her, though she had pushed it down deep, was a fragment of the hope she had taken with her the day they had bid farewell—that she would see him again and he would be healed in all ways. But it was just a fragment, and jagged-edged at that.
But should I see him again, and if he still bears me ill will, it will pain me all the more.
Thus, acknowledging to Christian that his father was also hers would only make it more difficult to extricate John and herself from Abingdale should exposure to the Wulfriths—and Abel—become unbearable. Indeed, the ties that bind could become the ties that choke.
“Cease!” she whispered as she began her descent to the great hall where she hoped John, who had accompanied her to Broehne Castle, caused no mischief with his wooden sword. However, as she came off the last step, the sight of him dropped her back into the midst of her dilemma.
Somehow, her son had managed to engage the attention of Baron Wulfrith who had arrived a sennight past with his wife, Lady Annyn, that they might be present for the birth. Though Lord D’Arci, Lady Beatrix’s husband, did not also wield a piece of kindling against John’s sword, he stood near the raised dais upon which trestle tables would soon be erected for the lord and those of highest rank to partake of supper. Goblet in hand, the physician watched as the giant to John’s sprite met swing with swing and jab with jab.
Finding her voice, Helene called, “John!”
If he heard her, it was not enough to incite him to lower his sword. However, Baron Wulfrith did look around and, in the next instant, fell victim to a blow delivered to his knee with such force the sound went around the hall.
Fearing the baron would not take kindly to being struck, especially by one of common birth, Helene cried, “Nay, John!” and ran forward.
Though her son’s next aim was for Baron Wulfrith’s abdomen, this time the little boy reacted to the sound of her voice by swiveling his head around—only to find himself gripped about the waist and swept into the air.
Facing out where he could do his opponent no further injury, John flailed a moment before the fight went out of him and he began to laugh so joyfully Helene stuttered to a halt.
Baron Wulfrith slanted a smile at her where she stood ten feet away, then peered up at her son. “And there is a lesson for you, young John. Let no man—or woman—distract you from your purpose.”
John looked down over his shoulder at the man who held him aloft. “But I got you first—and good!”
“True, and I shall feel that ache for no few days. But only one of us is now at the mercy of the other, hmm?” The baron raised his eyebrows, and Helene thought it beyond likely John had landed the blow only because it had served the purpose of a man who was rarely—if ever—distracted from his purpose.
Her son pushed out his lower lip, but when his feet once more touched the floor and he was loosed, he ran to Helene. “Mama!” Eyes bright, he gripped her skirts. “Did you see? Did you see?”
She bent and brushed the damp hair off his brow. “I did see. You were very brave, John.”
He gave a quick nod, then frowned. “I wish you had not de…dis…detracted me.”
She was not quite ready to smile despite the temptation to let her mouth do as it pleased. “I am all sorrow for having done so.”
He let her suffer remorse a long moment, then shrugged. “Still, I did injure the baron, just as Sir Abel taught me to do.”
Helene’s mouth went dry at mention of the man who, though he no longer seemed uppermost in John’s mind, remained imprinted upon her son. And it was made worse that John should speak so fondly of him in the presence of Abel’s brother—he in whom she had confided far too much regarding the circumstances of her birth when he had sought her out in the garden at Castle Soaring and who might now know the full extent if Abel had revealed her secret.
Avoiding his gaze, she smoothed John’s hair. “You most certainly did injure Baron Wulfrith.”
“And he is bigger than Sir Abel.” His eyes widened. “Did you know they are brothers, Mama?”
She swallowed. “This I know.”
“I would like a brother.”
She startled, but her son seemed not to notice and swung around to face his former opponent. “But
I
would be the big brother,” he proclaimed.
The baron inclined his head. “Indeed you would and, certes, a good one.”
“I would!”
As Helene struggled for a way to turn the conversation, Lord D’Arci approached and she was grateful when he asked, “Lady Gaenor and her babe fare well?”
As word had been sent belowstairs over a half hour past that his sister-in-law was delivered of a boy and both were doing well, she thought it likely he had decided to rescue her.
“Aye, and the father is doing well, too,” she said when her brother’s vassal halted before her, “though I am certain they would welcome a visit from you to assure them all is as it should be.”
“I am available to them if they require me, but I do not doubt you have done all that must needs be done.”
Grateful for his confidence in her ability, she inclined her head. “I was sorry to hear that your mother-in-law, Lady Isobel, was too ill to make the journey here. I hope it is nothing serious as I have been told.”
“I am sure you were told right, for Baron Wulfrith and his wife would not have left her otherwise.”
“Of course.” Helene looked to the big man and saw John had returned to his side where he tugged on his sleeve—no doubt an attempt to persuade him to engage in further swordplay.
It was then Helene’s gaze fell to the dagger upon Baron Wulfrith’s belt and she felt a flush of warmth between her ankle and calf where an identical Wulfrith dagger was strapped, her silent companion and testament to her—and Abel’s—loss. Though one side of her argued that she ought to put it away, the other reasoned it was but a tool of protection of which she would be a fool not to avail herself. When she had coin enough to replace it with a worthy blade, she would.
“John,” she called, “’tis time to leave the men to their conversations and rest yourself ere the supper hour.”
Glowering, he looked over his shoulder.
“Do as your mother bids,” Baron Wulfrith instructed, his voice firm but not unkind.
To her relief, John’s worst was a hefty sigh. Sliding his wooden sword beneath his belt, he dragged his feet back to her.
Longing for fresh air and open space in which to breathe it in, Helene said, “Shall we go to the garden?”
He slid his hand into hers and shrugged his shoulders up to his ears.
Though it was on Helene’s tongue to remind him to thank the baron, John surprised her by doing so before she could speak, and it lightened her, though only momentarily, for it was but more evidence of the importance of a man’s influence upon a boy. But not just any man.
Christian Lavonne took his supper in the solar that he might remain near his wife and son. But despite his absence at table, the meal lasted as long as if it was the Baron of Abingdale who presided rather than his brother-in-law, Baron Wulfrith. Thus, when the tables were finally placed against the walls to make room for the many who bedded down in the hall, Helene was so worn through that she could hardly think past the task of delivering to John the cup of milk she had begged from a prickly kitchen servant. However, as she wearily traversed the shadow-hung corridor that would return her to the hall and the pallet that awaited her there, a name, spoken low, shook her thoughts to full wakefulness.
She halted and stared at the two figures at the end of the corridor.
Turn back, Helene. Return to the kitchens and wait them out.
But again Lady Beatrix spoke his name where she stood with her face turned up to Lady Annyn’s. “If Abel would ask such of Baron Lavonne, that is good, is it not?”
What does he ask of my brother?
“It must mean he is well recovered,” the younger woman pressed.
In a voice somewhat louder than her sister-in-law’s, Lady Annyn said, “Garr tells that Abel has regained much of what was lost.”
There was a breath in Helene that she had not realized she had held all these months, and so quickly did it rise up out of the place it had burrowed within her that its release might have revealed her had she not closed her lips against it.
“Still,” Lady Annyn continued, “he is not nearly as formidable as he was ere his fall.”
Helene drew a sharp breath through her nostrils, forcing the one she had held to retreat and burrow deeper yet. She had known Abel’s injuries were such that he would forever be marked by them, but that he was not
nearly
as formidable…
He would not suffer that well—indeed, might be even more bitter having submitted to intense training and fallen short of the Wulfrith standard.
“Gaenor’s husband will agree to his request, do you not think?” Lady Beatrix asked.
What request?
“I do not see how he could not, for ‘twas his father and half brother who were responsible for what befell Abel.”
My father. My brother in full.
Lady Beatrix sighed. “Two months, you said?”
“Aye.”
Dear Lord, of what do they speak?
“Though I do not often journey here,” Lady Beatrix said, “it will be good to have him near and, I do not doubt, Gaenor will like it even better that Abel serves her husband.”