The Love Knot (8 page)

Earl Robert's favourite alaunt had given birth to a litter of four pups in the spring. Now, seven weeks later, they were energetic bundles of tawny fur, their coats wrinkling comically on their loose-knit bones. From his corner, Richard watched them tumble over each other and indulge in mock fights, already establishing an order of dominance. Their mother lay nearby, her limbs relaxed but her gaze watchful.

Richard made no attempt to touch any of the pups. It was enough just to observe. His mother had always been promising him a dog, but somehow the promise had always remained as 'next time', or 'another day'. Aimery de Sens had owned an alaunt, but it had been huge and black, with a snarl to threaten anyone who came within touching distance. When Aimery had wanted to lie with Amice, he made the beast guard the bedchamber door so that they wouldn't be disturbed.

Well, they were all dead now. There was a treacherous stinging sensation at the back of Richard's eyes. 'It's all my fault,' he told one of the pups as it left the rough and tumble to investigate him. 'I wished them dead.' He picked it up and cuddled it with a deep longing for the feel of something soft and warm against his skin. The pup wriggled and licked him with a swift, pink tongue. Richard buried his face in the tawny fur while the forces gathered inside him.

'Found you!'

Richard jerked his head up, his eyes wet, the sob locked in his throat as he glared at Thomas FitzRainald. 'Go away!' he snarled.

The other boy did exactly the opposite and came closer.

'They're looking for you. That nurse of yours, Catrin is it? She's running around like a scorched cat. Oliver Pascal's hunting too.'

Richard inhaled the pup's fuzzy coat. 'I don't want to be found.'

'You should have hidden better then.' Thomas crouched down, and the young dog wriggled away from Richard to explore the newcomer. 'Why have you run away?'

'I haven't, I just wanted to be on my own, that's all.' Richard drew the back of his hand across his eyes, and challenged the other boy to remark on it with a brimming scowl.

Thomas raised his chin to avoid the pup's eager pink tongue. 'Is it true that you're the Earl's half-brother?' 'Yes, what of it?'

'Well, that makes you my uncle, because my papa is your half-brother too.' Thomas giggled at the thought. 'Uncles are supposed to be older than their nephews.'

'How old are you?' Richard demanded, curiosity winning out over defensiveness.

'I was eleven at the feast of Saint John.'

'I won't be eleven until Christmas.' The puppy clambered back into his lap and he cuddled it again.

Thomas eyed him. 'We're more of an age to be brothers or cousins. Can I call you cousin?'

Richard shrugged. 'If you like,' he said indifferently, but he was pleased. Essentially he was a gregarious child, who had been forced by circumstances to dwell overmuch in his own company.

Thomas eyed him, as if trying to decide whether the response was an acceptance or rejection. 'You'll have to let them know where you are,' he said. 'Otherwise they'll turn the place upside down and you'll be in worse trouble than ever.'

Richard wriggled his shoulders. 'I don't want to go back to the women,' he said. 'Most of them don't like me anyway' He gazed around the space surrounding him, the comfort of open sky and fresh air.

Thomas eyed him. 'You don't have to stay with them. Ask if you can sleep in the same dorter as the other squires.'

'But I'm not a squire.'

'You will be soon. What else is Lord Robert going to do with you?'

Richard chewed his lip. He thought of the red-haired woman who had scowled at him, and the sympathetic pregnant one who had made him face something that he wanted to banish from his mind. 'What's the dorter like?'

'I'll show you.' Rising to his feet, Thomas wiped his pup-licked hand on his tunic. 'Come on. We'll tell your nurse you're found, and you can stay with me the rest of the day, if you like. I've a heap of saddlery to polish, and four hands are better than two.'

Richard deliberated a moment longer. He was not accustomed to giving his trust, but time and again over the last two days he had been asked to do so by complete strangers. 'All right,' he said, and he too rose, although with a lingering reticence. The pup rolled on its belly demanding to be tickled, and he stooped to oblige before tearing himself away to follow his 'cousin'. 'Catrin's not my nurse, I'm too old for one now,' he added in a defensive tone. 'She was my mother's companion.'

Catrin's anxiety for Richard's safety had almost reached fever pitch when she saw the two boys across the bailey. She had envisaged discovering him among the dregs of Earl Robert's army, his throat slit, or washed up on the estuary, drowned. Or not found at all. To see him unscathed filled her with relief and the rage of relief. She ran across the bailey, not knowing whether to shout at or cuddle him first.

In the event she did neither, for the look on his face brought her up short.

'I shouldn't have run off,' he forestalled her quickly, 'but I couldn't stay.' His eyes were wary and she could see that he was braced for a thorough scolding.

'I know you couldn't,' she said in a gentler voice than she had first intended, 'and I know you were upset, but what you did was not only thoughtless, but dangerous. This camp is huge and you scarce know any of it. People have been looking for you, and I have been worrying myself sick!'

Richard looked at the ground and shuffled his feet. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered.

Catrin's anger melted. She wanted to grab him and fold him in her arms, but with Thomas looking on and the bailey full of witnesses, she abstained for the sake of his tender pride. 'If you need a moment alone, I expect you to go no farther than this bailey, understood?'

Richard nodded, then raised his head. 'Thomas wants to show me the boys' dorter. Can I go?'

Catrin pursed her lips.

'I'll look after him, I promise,' Thomas said, his eyes wide and earnest. 'After that, he can stay with me, if he wants, and help me clean the Earl's harness.'

Richard nodded again, this time vigorously, and looked pleadingly at Catrin. She had a protective impulse to tuck him under her wing, but that was caused by her own anxiety. It would be the worst thing she could do to take him back amongst the Countess's women. Better to let the friendship develop between the two boys. 'I don't see why not,' she said, and was rewarded by one of Richard's rare smiles.

She watched the boys run off together and, between the worry and the relief, felt quite drained. Halfway across the bailey, they bumped into Oliver. He stopped and spoke to them. Catrin saw Richard gesture over his shoulder in her direction, and Oliver glance across. Sending the boys on their way, he walked over to her. His stride was long, she noticed, with a slight downward dip on the right side.

'You found him then?' he said.

'No, Thomas did.' She pulled a face. 'I feel foolish now for my panic, and I've held up your journey for nothing.'

'It would not have been a nothing if he truly had taken to his heels.' Oliver gazed across the bailey at Thomas and Richard, their heads close in conversation as they walked. 'But it seems to have worked for the best.'

'Yes.' She bit her lip.

'He'll be all right.' He touched her arm in reassurance. 'You would not say that if you had heard him last night.' 'It would be strange if he did not have nightmares. After Emma died, I did not sleep unbrokenly for more than a year.'

He folded his arms. 'There are herbs he can be given to help him sleep without dreams.'

'And you know them all?' she said, thinking of the tisane he had made to ease her headache.

He smiled and shook his head. 'By no means, but I know someone who does.'

'Oh yes, Etheldreda of the eel stew.' She rubbed the stain on her gown. 'Did you enjoy it?'

'It was delicious,' he said gravely. 'Look, I'll ask her to make a sleeping potion for the lad in case he needs it.'

Catrin thanked him, then frowned. 'But you'll be gone at least two nights and Richard needs it now.'

'I'll have a word on the way out and tell her to bring it to you. She'll be curious to meet you.'

The sentiment was mutual, Catrin thought. In her mind's eye a picture had formed of an alluring witch-woman, with an abundance of wild, dark hair and snapping black eyes set on the slant. 'So you told her all about me?' It was a disquieting thought.

Oliver tilted his head. 'Not everything,' he said with a slow smile.

Catrin's stomach leaped and her face grew hot. When Lewis had been alive, she had enjoyed flirting, the banter of voice and body language. It had kept his eyes from straying to pastures new. Three years later, with several hard life-lessons beneath her belt, the art had grown rusty. Nor, with memories of how easily her husband's eyes had wandered, was she inclined to play the game with another woman's man. 'I must go,' she said. 'They'll be wondering about me in the bower.'

'So must I, else it'll be nightfall before we arrive.' Inclining his head in farewell, he turned from her and set off in the direction of the outer bailey. Catrin watched his retreating figure, the confidence of his stride, the way he spoke cheerfully to an acquaintance as he went on his way. In the three years since Lewis's death she had come to terms with her loss and it had diminished to a dull ache at the back of her mind. Now, once more, it was a clear, sharp pain that took her breath. She was aware of standing in the bailey, alone amongst all the vigour and bustle, her figure small and insignificant. She doubted that anyone would care deeply, or even notice, if she were suddenly to vanish.

Then Catrin clucked her tongue impatiently. What did it matter if no one cared, as long as she did herself? Relying on others was a dangerous way to live, and frequently a waste of time. Drawing herself up, she returned to the keep, prepared to face whatever the day held.

'You can have these,' said Countess Mabile. She had been rummaging in the depths of an oak coffer and now emerged with a length of unbleached linen and another of sage-green wool. 'You're neither tall nor buxom. There should be enough for an under gown and dress.'

'Thank you, my lady.' Catrin took the fabric with gratitude. The wool in particular was of excellent quality and, despite Mabile's words, there was plenty to make a dress and probably enough for some panels in the sides and modest hanging sleeves. All she had to do was cut and sew them - and as quickly as possible, given the state of her current garments. She had discarded the tawny overgown because it was just too stained and obnoxious to be seen in polite company. Her blue-green undertunic clung flatteringly to her figure, but there was a large patch near one of the seams where moths had caused damage, and a couple of burn marks on the skirt from leaping embers.

The Countess looked her up and down. 'You'll need something for now as well,' she said, and went to plunder another coffer. It was her own personal one and more ornately carved and inlaid than the other. Her face was animated, a pink flush to her cheeks. Catrin could see that Mabile was enjoying herself greatly making a silk purse from a sow's ear.

'I'm sure one of my daughter's old gowns is in here. She left it after a visit - she was pregnant at the time and it wouldn't fit her any more. Ah, here we are.' From the chest, she drew a dress of dark crimson wool. It was in the fitted style, tight to the waist, then flaring out to an almost circular hem. There was gold thread woven into the braid at cuff and throat and the matching waist-tie. Catrin had never seen a gown so fine, and stared in disbelief as the Countess handed it to her.

'My lady, I cannot!' she gasped, feeling overawed.

'Don't be foolish,' Mabile snapped. 'It's lain here for three years as it is. If it stays any longer, the moths will make use of it beyond repair. Put it on and let me hear no more.' She thrust it into Catrin's arms and turned back to the coffer. There's a wimple in here somewhere that should suit.'

Speechless with gratitude, Catrin donned the red gown. The sleeves and hem were slightly too long, but otherwise it was a good fit, and the colour was a perfect foil for her black hair and hazel-green eyes.

'Catrin, you look beautiful!' Edon FitzMar circled her, twitching the gown into place. 'You'll have all the knights falling over each other to share your trencher in the hall!'

Catrin pulled a face. 'Reason enough to take it off this instant,' she said, but really she was pleased, her confidence buoyed by the luxury of the new garment and the admiration she saw in the other young woman's eyes. Nor did the cold envy in Rohese de Bayvel's disturb her, for it only served to confirm that the red dress must suit her.