Only For You

by Hannah Howell

  He sensed that a subtle change had been wrought in him since his marriage. Some of the somberness that had settled into his heart had left him. He was not sure if it were for the best, as it softened him, but he simply could not resist it. It felt too good.

  Edric and Lady Mary, hand in hand, joined the merry group around Botolf. After smiling at everyone, Edric said to Botolf, “We are going to attempt to slip away unnoticed.”

  Saxan smiled as she looked at the celebrants. “It can probably be done rather easily.”

  “If the weather holds, we shall soon leave for my modest demanse,” Edric said.

  Saxan restrained a frown. She had not really given any thought to that aspect of Edric’s marrying Lady Mary. Although she was honestly fond of Lady Mary, Saxan felt no real pang at the thought of the woman leaving Regenford. Lady Mary could visit whenever she wished to. She did wonder about Botolf’s feelings, however, for Lady Mary had always been a part of his household. Although small and much more restrained than her own kinsmen, Botolf’s family had been close.

  “We will return in the spring, child,” Lady Mary said as she kissed Saxan’s cheek. “I am eager to see the birth of my first grandchild.”

  It was not long before Lady Mary and Sir Edric crept away. What few people did notice their leave-taking remained quiet out of respect for Lady Mary. Barely fifteen minutes had passed, however, before Edric was striding back into the hall.

  As curious as everyone else, Saxan was disappointed when, after a brief whispered exchange she could not hear, Botolf and Edric left. She tried to quell her inquisitiveness with the knowledge that she would be told what was happening in due time. It was hard to do, however, when the two men returned and began to hand pick the most sober men in the room. She was nearly squirming with curiosity by the time Botolf was back at her side.

  “Go to my mother, Saxan,” he ordered her. “Mayhap your sisters will go with you.”

  “What has happened?” she asked.

  “I cannot take the time to explain. Mother will have to tell you,” he answered and left her, pausing only long enough to assure the remaining guests that there was no need for them to disrupt their celebration, that he and the others would soon return.

  Saxan dragged Denu and Thylda up to Lady Mary’s bedchamber and found a teary-eyed Lady Mary sitting on her bed holding a small piece of paper. A lovely set of silver tankards rested in her lap. Denu quietly poured the woman some wine and urged her to have a drink. Thylda took away the tankards as Saxan sat down next to her mother-in-law and took her cold hand.

  “What has happened to upset you?” she asked the distraught woman.

  “Cecil was here,” Lady Mary replied.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Aye. The tankards and the missive are from him.”

  “Some messenger could have brought them,” suggested Denu.

  Lady Mary shook her head. “Nay. This was written while Cecil was here. ’Tis my own paper and I recognize his hand.”

  When Saxan shivered, Lady Mary put an arm around her shoulders, and she managed a weak smile. “I was sent to comfort you.”

  “My life is not in danger. ’Tis not fear for myself which has upset me. I saw this and all I could think of was how close the threat to you and Botolf had come yet again. The ease with which Cecil comes and goes is most frightening.”

  “Botolf sealed off the secret ways into Regenford,” Thylda said in a quiet voice, her sudden uncertainty clear to hear.

  “So we thought, but he and I spent more time at Merewood than we did here. Botolf does not like it, but he can play the courtier better than his father ever could, and so he served his father by holding our place in court, keeping in favor with the king. I helped in that before and after Botolf’s first marriage. There may be ways into the keep that we have no knowledge of, ways that Cecil had ferreted out and may even have made himself.”

  “Or, knowing the guard would be weak and where it might be the weakest, he but slipped in unseen,” Denu mused aloud.

  “That could be the way of it,” Lady Mary agreed “Cecil just came near to see if there were a chance of slipping past the guards and took it when he found it.” Lady Mary relaxed just a little. “That is something we can guard against.” She glanced at the letter she held. “He can still turn a pretty phrase.”

  When Lady Mary urged her to read the note, Saxan reluctantly did so. It was a sweetly written wish for her happiness. Saxan could not help but wonder how much of the love expressed was prompted by a need to keep his foster-mother tied to him. Cecil knew so much about the comings and goings of Regenford that he could also know he was beginning to lose his hold over Lady Mary.

  “He tries to keep me tied to him,” Lady Mary said, concurring with Saxan’s thoughts in a soft, sad voice. “Somehow he has heard of my newly gained feelings about him.”

  “Mayhap, Lady Mary, he knows you well enough that he guessed how you would feel about his attack upon Saxan and hopes to soften that sin in your eyes,” said Thylda.

  “He could fill this chamber with prettily written declarations of adoration and he could never change my feelings on that,” said Lady Mary. “That was a crime I can find no forgiveness for. I must be rid of those tankards.”

  “Nay, m’lady,” Saxan said. “Keep them as a gift from the dark-eyed babe you held and loved. When this has ended, you may wish for them to remember what Cecil was long ago when he was too young to give you such a present.”

  “I will consider that.”

  It was growing late when the men ended their search for Cecil. Saxan quickly gave up her place next to Lady Mary when Edric strode in with Botolf. Her husband quietly ushered Saxan and her sisters from the room, but Saxan hesitated when he started to escort them back down to the great hall.

  “I think I have had my fill of celebrating, Botolf,” she said.

  “Do you feel ill?” he asked, brushing his hand over her forehead.

  “Nay, just weary. I only wish to seek my bed and lie down.”

  “I will come with you.”

  “Nay, return to the hall so that the guests can be assured that all is well. I will be fine.”

  He left her reluctantly, escorting Thylda and Denu back to the hall. Saxan had looked no more than a little tired, but he could not fully suppress his concern about her. She was right in saying that he needed to ease whatever qualms he had caused his guests, but he soon found himself seeking out Denu, hoping to glean some of her knowledge about pregnancy.

  “Saxan did not look ill to you, did she?” he asked Denu as he sat down next to her.

  “Nay, m’lord, only tired as she claimed,” Denu assured him “I believe that the thought of Cecil being so near to her, gaining access to Regenford, frightened her some. Such emotion is wearying for a woman with child. She simply shows good sense by responding to her body’s needs.”

  “Ah, I see. But, ’tis her first child.”

  “And yours, and I know well how important that child is. M’lord, if a woman is to suffer difficulty in carrying a child, she most often shows that in the first few months. Saxan was so untroubled she did not even know she was carrying a child. All she needs to do is get a lot of rest and eat well. Why, she may do all she did before, even ride a horse, although a good hard gallop may be unwise.” Denu winked and Botolf smiled at her. “From what Saxan tells me and from what I have seen, methinks she will have the easiest time of us all.”

  Botolf was not sure he believed that, but the rest of what Denu had said did soothe most of his concerns. The assurance behind her words gave them the ring of truth. Denu was Saxan’s sister and had borne several children herself. Despite all that, Botolf grew eager to leave the celebration so that he could join Saxan in their chambers and see for himself. In order to relieve his distraction and reflect the appropriate joviality, he drank somewhat heavily all the time he was forced to linger in the hall. As a result, he was not sure what time it was when he sought his bedchamber, dismissed an inebriated Farold�
�s fumbling assistance, and finally sought his bed.

  Saxan awoke with a start when she heard a loud thump. She slipped her knife out from beneath her pillow and peeped out of the bed hangings. A sigh of relief escaped her when she saw Botolf. Then she smiled and put away her weapon. Botolf was having a great deal of difficulty in removing his clothes. She climbed out of bed and moved toward him.

  “You should be abed,” he muttered as Saxan took him by the arm and urged him toward the bed.

  “Aye, and I will be again in just a few moments,” she said. “Lie down and I will get these things off you.”

  Although he did as he was told, he protested, “I can manage.”

  “Aye, and so well, too.”

  “I stumbled a little, is all.”

  “So I saw. To let you continue on so seemed most unkind,” she said as she began to tug his clothes off. “You were doing a mighty poor job of it. I have ne’er seen you so cupshotten.”

  “I was trying to remain in a festive mood for the benefit of our guests.”

  “And it took so much drink to do so?”

  “Aye. Are you certain you are feeling well?” he asked.

  “Very well. I told you, I was but a little weary.”

  “And Cecil had drawn close again.”

  “Aye, that was some of it,” she agreed. “When I saw that he had come right inside these walls again, I was deeply afraid for a while. I find such fear very tiring.” She neatly folded his clothes after tucking the covers around him. “You found no sign of him?”

  “None. He came in o’er the walls. The guard was slack tonight. It is no longer.”

  “Well, at least you know there is not some other secret way in that you must search out and close.”

  Saxan got into bed and smiled faintly when he drew her close. It was her opinion that he was far too gone with drink to make love to her. After a few kisses and caresses, he sighed heavily and just held her near.

  “Too drunk, I fear,” he mumbled.

  “I had wondered on it,” she said, laughing softly.

  “I should not be thinking on it anyway.”

  “And why not?”

  “I might hurt the babe.”

  “I think not. Denu and Tuesday say they have ne’er found that to be so. They both say they only ceased when they found it more uncomfortable than enjoyable.”

  “I had not realized that women talked of such things.”

  “And what did you think women spoke of when they were alone, out of the company and hearing of men?”

  “Their stitchery, gossip, fashion. Such as that. Things they are most involved in.”

  His body was growing heavier against her, his words slurred, but she felt it would be awhile yet before he gave in to sleep. “Are not our husbands, their beds, and the bearing of children also things we are involved in?”

  “Quite true. And do you learn much from each other?”

  “In some things. Some women are not as free to share their secrets, though. Denu, Tuesday, Thylda, and I find it easier, for we are sisters.”

  “Such a large family you bring with you.”

  “Does that trouble you?” she asked, frowning at him.

  “Nay. ’Tis just something I must grow accustomed to.”

  He rested his hand on her rounding stomach and felt the quickening within. For a moment fierce emotion cut through the drunken fog encircling his mind and he held her closer. It was hard for him to accept that he would soon be a father, for the outward signs that she carried his child were still slight. The strengthening movement within her womb was his only real proof, and it always filled him with a wild mix of exultation and fear when he felt it. A birth held an equal promise of great joy and painful tragedy.

  And there was still Cecil to consider, he thought in frustration. The man tainted the future. His threat hung in the air and was still too close. Tonight Cecil had shown yet again just how close he could come.

  “I will not let him have you,” Botolf said.

  The words were a softly hissed snarl, and Saxan shivered. “What say you?”

  “Cecil.” Botolf kissed the top of her head and nuzzled his face in the thick softness of her hair. “He will not have you.”

  “Nay I mean to see him thwarted in that aim as well. ’Tis you I fear for.”

  “I can care for myself.”

  “Aye, but it may need to be your sword that cuts him down and I fear that that could hurt you.”

  “Aye, it will hurt. For all he has tormented, slighted, and threatened me, he is still my brother. Howbeit, now he threatens all that is dearest to me—my wife and my child. We could have been brothers as close as Hunter and Roc, sharing the work and the pleasure of the estate my father left, but Cecil chose to turn against me. He now backs me into a corner, leaves me with no choices.”

  He sighed and kissed the hollow by her ear. “Aye, I wish for another man’s sword to end his life; but if mine is all there is at hand, then mine shall do the deed. That will pain me greatly, but it will be regret which I suffer most from. A regret that things could not have been different and anger that he forced me to commit his murder. Such feelings will fade in time. I do not worry that they will scar my mind or my heart.”

  She held him tightly, praying that what he claimed was true. What Cecil was pushing Botolf to do was horrible. Saxan also prayed that it would be any sword but Botolf’s that finally ended Cecil’s life. Then they would never have to find out if what Botolf believed were the truth.

  “Come, he is no longer in the keep or upon the grounds hereabout,” Botolf said. “There are guards below our window and at our door. You will be safe.”

  Since she did not want to tell him what fear had made her cling so tightly to him, she nodded. “And my dagger rests beneath my pillow.”

  He laughed sleepily. “My fierce little Saxan.”

  “He shall never find me helpless again.”

  “That troubled you.”

  “Aye. I think that being so helpless caused as great a fear as all the things he threatened to do.”

  “He will not gain such a hold on you again.”

  She had to bite back a laugh, for Botolf’s sleepy vow was punctuated by a loud snore. The drink he had consumed had finally drawn him into a deep sleep. It took a lot of tugging and pushing, which he was blissfully oblivious to, but she turned him onto his side so that his snoring stopped. She cuddled up to him spoon fashion, draping his limp arm around her waist.

  Gazing at the strong hand she covered with her own, she smiled crookedly. There was so much she wished to place in those graceful, long-fingered hands, but Botolf was not interested in such things. Those hands which caressed her in the night could also wield a sword in her defense at the first hint of danger. She found it astounding that they could be skilled in two such opposing activities. When she thought of how they could also be forced to take the life of a half-brother, her hatred for Cecil grew. She kissed Botolf’s palm as if to place some talisman there which would ward off the stain of a kinsman’s blood.

  The child within her did a strange series of flip-flops and she sighed, closing her eyes as sleep fought hard to claim her. She found the waiting difficult and knew that Botolf did as well. Although she was now about five months along, half of her waiting over, spring still seemed a long way off.

  Fourteen

  Thylda looked up from the tapestry she labored over. “Pacing will not make m’lord’s steed cover ground any faster.”

  Saxan nodded at the truth of that although the truth did nothing to still the worry gnawing at her. She had been worried since the report had come that Cecil was near. It had been a month since Cecil’s presence had briefly darkened the joy of Lady Mary’s wedding, and Botolf had eagerly grasped the chance to take up the hunt again.

  With a sigh, Saxan stopped pacing the weaving room and sat down next to Thylda. She carefully studied her sister’s work. When the baby began what she referred to as a raging battle to get out, she hurriedly grasped
Thylda’s hands and placed them on her abdomen.

  “Oh, my, such an active child,” Thylda murmured, her eyes wide with wonder. “How can you rest with all that going on inside you?”

  “Not well, in truth. I have taken to lying down whene’er there is quiet within me, no matter what time it is. Howbeit, that is not why I placed your hands there. Do you not find it, well, odd?”

  “What do you mean—odd? There is life in there and that can be only for the good.”

  “Aye, praise God, but does it seem to you that there is a great deal of life in there?”

  For a moment Thylda frowned in confusion, then her eyes widened again. “Do you think you may be carrying twins?”

  “Aye, the thought has occurred to me. Such activity.” Saxan shook her head. “It does feel as if I am being prodded in too many places at one time.”

  “Have you mentioned such a possibility to Botolf?” Thylda returned to her tapestry work.

  “Nay. There is no reason to afright the poor man.”

  “Botolf frightened? I cannot believe it.”

  “I think all men are frightened by this wonder. They see the woman’s body change and feel the life within, and it is all past their understanding. They also know of all the dangers of childbirth, dangers no man’s strength or sword can fight.”

  “Oh, Saxan, do not speak of such things.” Thylda briefly and tightly hugged her sister.

  “And why not? Oh, I do not think upon them for very long or often, but only a fool would ignore them completely. I should like to say that they do not afright me, but they do at times, as they must do all women. I prepare my small bag of birthing potions, but somehow I cannot believe that my end will come upon a childbirth bed.”