“Aye, I was also strictly ordered to nap, you impertinent wench.”
Caressing his hand, she brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “I hope you obeyed that command. Rest is the strongest medicine you can take now. Each time you rest, you gain back some of the strength the fever stole from you. And Regenford needs you strong again.”
“And I need to be strong to fight Cecil. Has there been any sign of him?”
“Nay. The man has the ability to disappear like a wisp of smoke in a strong wind. The fact that he must hide is in our favor, though. With such a vigorous search being conducted for the man, he cannot get near to us while you are stuck in this bed and, mayhap, for the weeks it will take you to fully recover. We have a small respite from that trouble. Mayhap we will even be lucky enough to see it all ended before you are strong enough to pick up a sword again.”
Botolf smiled faintly. “That would be a blessing. Howbeit, I feel certain that that particular trouble will be waiting for me, that I will still be forced to end it by my own hand.”
He watched her nod, a look of fear and sadness clouding her eyes, and found himself wondering if his mother were right about Saxan’s feelings. The thought that Saxan loved him was so heady, so exhilarating, he instinctively retreated from it. It was almost painfully tempting to reach out to her, to grasp tightly to all she had to offer, and he fought that temptation.
Since his mother had left, he had been unable to stop thinking about what she had said. There was simply too much truth in her words for him to ignore it, although he had tried. He was willing to admit that he unfairly slandered all women because of the actions of a few. He could not, however, simply cast aside his deep wariness. Saxan beamed at him, and inwardly he sighed. He wanted to reach out to her, to let his emotions run free and savor whatever she gave in return, but he was afraid. If Saxan betrayed him, if she did anything to hurt him, he knew that the pain she could inflict would make the nearly fatal wound Cecil had delivered seem like a pinprick. Botolf hated to admit it, but he did not think he had the courage to risk testing Saxan.
Sixteen
“You are pushing yourself too hard,” Saxan complained when she entered Botolf’s bedchamber and caught him practicing his swordplay with Wesley.
Although he put his sword aside and allowed Wesley to make a discreet exit, Botolf protested, “I need to rebuild my strength and regain the skill lost to me after three long months as a bedridden invalid.”
“You have not been bedridden for the whole three months.” Saxan sat on the bed as he washed up and she sighed. “I know you are healed. Even the scar begins to lose its red angry appearance. ’Tis not easy to shake the image of you lying close to death, however, with the priest giving you the last rites. I will admit that it makes me overcautious.”
Botolf sat down next to her, tugged her into his arms, and heartily kissed her. “Does that feel like the kiss of a man who is still near death?” he asked, his voice husky with desire.
Saxan grinned and draped her arms around his neck, then teased, “Mayhap swordplay is not all you need to practice.” She giggled at his scowl.
“When are you coming back to my bed?” he demanded abruptly.
She blushed and stared at his throat in an attempt to avoid his eyes. This was the first time since he had shaken off his fever that he had asked her outright, but he had been strongly hinting at it for weeks. With the return of his strength had come a return of his desire and, suddenly, Saxan had found herself feeling shy and unattractive. Each time she undressed she saw her well-rounded belly which, due to the vigorous activity within, sometimes moved around. Although she loved what her awkward shape promised, she did not find it very attractive and was certain that Botolf would not either. She did not think she could bear returning to his bed only to have him reveal no desire for her.
“I did not wish to aggravate your wound,” she murmured.
“My wound has been healed for weeks, You could not reopen it now unless you used a dagger.”
“You need your rest. I would disturb you.”
Botolf cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his, studying her closely for a moment before asking, “Does your being with child prompt your reluctance to share my bed again?”
Saxan met his gaze and bit her lip nervously. There was a strange guarded look in his dark eyes. He had already made an assumption about her hesitation, and she had the feeling it was not only the wrong one, but probably unflattering as well. She decided that the wisest thing to do was to put aside her fear of sounding foolish and tell him the truth.
“I am fat,” she replied.
“Pardon?” Botolf stared at her in total confusion.
“I am fat. I am ungainly, and my stomach sometimes moves around.”
She scowled at him when his lips twitched with a smile, pleased to see him quickly subdue it. Just as she had feared, he found her silly. Saxan began to think it would have been easier to just get back into bed with him and have him turn away. It was possible that she hated to be thought silly as much as she dreaded being seen as undesirable. She tensed when he kissed her.
“You are with child, Saxan,” Botolf said.
“I believe I know that.”
“You did not think you would remain as slender as you were, did you?”
“I am not quite that stupid.”
“Oh, you are not stupid at all. In fact, sometimes, you are far more clever than any man wishes his wife to be.” He smoothed his hand over her stomach. “You are lovely.”
“That is utter nonsense. I look quite grotesque when I am naked.”
He grinned and started to unlace her gown, ignoring her attempts to slap away his hands. “Should a husband not have the right to judge that for himself?”
Saxan struggled for only a moment against his gentle but firm seduction. He kissed her until her senses swam. He was dressed only in his braies and hose, and the feel of his warm, taut skin beneath her hands only added to her desire for him. She forgot her fears, her doubts, and even that she was well rounded with her pregnancy. That pleasant oblivion ended when he tugged off the last of her clothes, tossed them aside, and stared at her. All her insecurities returned in one hot rush of embarrassment. She tried to cover herself, even as she admitted to herself that it was a foolish and useless gesture, but Botolf caught her hands in his.
“Ah, Saxan, you are quite lovely,” he murmured.
“Such foolishness.” She squirmed then gasped with surprise when he kissed her stomach.
“Not foolish.” He pressed his cheek against her abdomen, smiling when he felt the baby kick. “Aye, you are well rounded, Saxan, but ’tis my seed which made you look this way. How could I not see that as lovely?”
“You are a skilled flatterer, Botolf,” she said.
He kissed his way up to her mouth. “Nay, I but speak the truth.”
When she felt the hard, indisputable proof of his arousal pressed against her leg, Saxan began to feel more at ease. She was not sure she believed his claims that she was beautiful, but she knew he did not find her ugly. His kisses and caresses soon had her passion strongly revived, but one small concern held her back from completely giving into the heady desire he awakened in her.
“Botolf, you may not find this stomach of mine repulsive,” she said, her voice hoarse and unsteady as he nibbled at her ear. “Howbeit, you most certainly must find it obstructive.”
“I believe we can work around it.”
She had no chance to ask him how he planned to do that. His hungry kiss stopped her mouth and soon drove all clear thought from her mind. She clung to him, returning kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, as their passion swiftly engulfed them. A brief check in her desire came when he moved to arrange their bodies in the spoon position. She was wondering what he was doing when he cocked her leg back over his and slowly joined their bodies. The only reply she could give to his hoarse query about how she felt was a gasp and a shudder of pure pleasure.
“Did I sound discomforted?” Saxan murmured as she stretched then reached for her scattered clothes.
“ ’Tis sometimes hard to tell if a woman’s squeals are of pleasure or pain.”
She looked at him, seriously considering swatting him, and drawled, “If you are attempting to be amusing, I should keep practicing. That was not it.” She ignored his laughter.
“Why are you getting dressed?” he asked as he reached for her.
Saxan neatly avoided his grasp, standing up to tug on her chemise. “ ’Tis the middle of the day.”
“You are not going to become shy and pious, are you?”
“I am certainly not going to become so bold I wish to sprawl abed naked for anyone to see. The chances of someone coming into the room are high. I am surprised that we have been left alone for so long.”
“Ah, of course. I shall have to remember to bar my door,” he murmured as he sat up and began to dress, laughing at the sour glance she sent him.
“And I did not come here, well,” she blushed and waved her hand toward the tangled bedclothes, “for that. I came to tell you that I am going to look for herbs.”
“Going? Going where? We have an herb garden behind the kitchens.”
“Aye, and it is a very good one, but it does not have all I need.”
“Surely that can wait until after you bear our child. There is plenty of time to add to the herb gardens.”
“Nay, there is not. ’Tis the end of March and will be April in but a few days.” She smoothed her hand over her stomach. “I will need the herbs and plants I seek very soon.”
She watched him closely as she moved to pick up her brush and tidy her tangled hair. As soon as the weather had improved and spring was in the air, she had known she would have to leave Regenford to search out the herbs and plants she needed for the birth of her child. They were not at Regenford, and none of the women were sure of what she wanted. Saxan had contemplated simply going on her own and not mentioning the expedition to Botolf, but had decided that would have been foolish. He would have found out, and then they would have argued. One look at his scowling face told her she had probably not evaded the argument by being so honest.
“ ’Tis not safe outside the walls of Regenford,” he said. “Now that winter has faded, the chances of the Scots raiding us have increased. And Cecil is still a threat, curse his eyes.”
“Although we will soon be rid of Cecil’s threat, the Scots shall always threaten us,” she replied. “I cannot live my life entombed in Regenford, no matter how beautiful it is.”
“You could certainly do so whilst you carry our child. Aye, especially now, when you are so close to your time.”
“The fact that I am close to my time is exactly why I must go search out what I need. I would have liked to have gone sooner, but it was winter. Not only did the poor weather prevent me, but the plants I seek could not be found or would be in a useless condition. ’Tis still a little early in the year, but I think I can find much of what I need.”
“Then send one of the women or Thylda.”
“I would like to, but they do not know what I need. These are not remedies the women of Regenford are familiar with, and Thylda has not yet learned them. She will come with me and begin her lesson. Denu taught me, but at that time Thylda was still too young.”
Botolf shook his head, paced the room for a moment, then stared at her. “And how do you mean to travel?”
She took a deep breath to strengthen her determination, for she knew that Botolf was not going to like her reply. “I will ride.”
“Ride a horse in your condition? Are you mad?”
“I do not mean to go for a gallop, simply ride to the meadows north of here, dismount, search out what I need for my potions and cures, and calmly ride back.”
“You could still fall.”
“Thylda will share the saddle with me so that I will be well protected.”
For almost an hour, Botolf argued with her, even threatening to secure her in her room. Her determination to go did not waver. He knew that if he tried to order her to stay, she would find a way to do what she wanted. She had not been asking his permission, but giving him the courtesy of telling him what she was planning to do. Saxan clearly felt that the plants and mosses she was going to look for were vital to the birthing process.
“Then wait until I can go with you,” he compromised. “You know I cannot do so today. I have men coming to meet with me and other business that cannot be rearranged at such late notice.”
“And I do not really have the time to wait,” Saxan said. “Aye, I could wait a day or two for you, but what if the next day it rains or it is too cold and windy? Today is warm; the sun shines, and I feel well enough to go.”
“Have you been ill?”
“Nay, I just feel lazy or uncomfortable at times. I have to go, Botolf. I need the mosses to stop the bleeding—”
He held up his hand to stop her explanations. “Nay, I do not really wish to hear why you need these things and what dire consequences of childbirth each one can help you overcome. I loathe this, but you may go. Howbeit, you will do so my way.”
Saxan bit back a smile and carefully listened to his instructions. They were not as bad as she had thought they would be, although she was annoyed when he said she could not ride her black stallion Midnight. Even pointing out to him that Midnight would be the best horse to have if something went wrong did not change his mind. When he went to pick the six men-at-arms she had to take with her, she hurried to get ready.
“I am surprised Botolf has allowed this,” Thylda said as she frowned down at the sturdy, placid mare she and Saxan were riding. “I am also thoroughly disgusted by his choice of mount.”
Saxan laughed and patted the mare’s thick neck. “He wanted to be certain we could not travel too swiftly or be thrown off.”
“This poor beast could not move swiftly even if a pack of hounds began gnawing on her rump.”
It was not easy for Saxan to restrain her laughter, especially when the six burly men-at-arms with them did not, but she tried to maintain some air of gravity. “She is a good horse and will take us where we need to go.”
“Then collapse from old age and we shall have to walk back,” Thylda muttered. “Do you think our brothers will arrive soon? I am to return to Wolfshead Hall for the summer and, although I have had a pleasant time at Regenford and do not wish to be separated from you, I am also eager to go home.”
A small twinge of pain touched Saxan’s heart. She knew it was caused by pleasant memories of Wolfshead Hall and the thought of her sister’s leaving. Although she was content in her new life, she missed her old one. It would be nice if they could somehow be combined so that she could have everyone and everything she loved within easy reach, but she knew that was foolish. Botolf, Regenford, and whatever children she would bear were her life now.
“Our brothers should arrive any day now,” she replied. “They promised they would be here when my time was near, and that is now. In truth, my time is so near it is why we are looking for plants and mosses despite the fact that it is still very early in the year.”
“Do you think you will find what you need?”
“Some of it. Everything begins to bud and grow greener. They will not be as good as I should like, but I have not the time to wait for them to reach their full growth and strength.”
“Saxan, are you afraid?” Thylda asked in a soft voice so that the men with them could not hear.
“Aye, a little bit,” Saxan replied in an equally quiet tone. “After all, I have never had a child before. I just keep reminding myself that Denu and Tuesday have had no difficulties. If they came through childbirth unscathed, so can I.”
“And Mother is said to have been much like us, and she had nine children.”
“So I remind myself fro
m time to time.” She stared at the ground they rode over and waved the men to a halt. “I think this is a good place to look.”
“ ’Tis open,” muttered John, the oldest of her six guards, as he dismounted.
“Is that not to your advantage?” Saxan asked.
“It could be to our disadvantage, too.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Will you be long?”
“Nay, what I search for is not so hidden. ’Tis either easy to see and ready to pick or we must move to another spot.” She collected her bag of birthing medicines and, with Thylda in tow, began to search for the medicinal plants she wanted.
Botolf fought to keep his mind on the work that had kept him at Regenford. He had regretted letting Saxan go from the moment she had ridden out of the gates. If she had not been seeking something to help her with her childbearing, he knew he would not have let her go at all. Even reminding himself that there had been no sightings of the Scots or of Cecil did not ease his mind. The Scots and Cecil had slipped dangerously close unseen before.
“There is a good day’s work done,” Wesley said as he poured himself some wine and looked around the nearly empty great hall. “When did Roger and Talbot wander away?”
“About half the way through Master Taylor’s speech on the need to protect the townspeople with more vigor.” Botolf took a long drink of wine and wondered if Saxan had finished her work yet.
“It would not have been quite so long if you had not kept asking him to repeat things.” When Botolf did not respond to his complaint, Wesley nudged him. “Your thoughts have wandered all afternoon. Your little wife will be fine. She has six of our best men-at-arms with her.”
“She is also near her time,” Botolf grumbled. “It was madness to let her ride out when she is so far gone with child.”
“You said she needed to collect medicines for the birthing.”
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