“Of course not.”
Canting his head toward her, he captured her gaze. The silence between them thickened, her will against his. Did she think him a fool? The moment he entered the room, he knew she’d been with Jordanne. When he drew close enough, he smelled horses and sweat, tinged with the dankness of the forest. Not a womanly scent, to be sure.
It was the stench of betrayal.
She’d broken her vow and was attempting to deceive him. In her eyes blazed a willfulness that he could no longer afford to ignore. Once their child was born, he would turn over some of his more mundane tasks to his stewards and focus more attention on his wife. Perhaps a trip to Paris would settle her restless spirit. Another bairn to coddle would help, as well.
At least that task he would enjoy.
Seating himself on the settee, he took a biscuit from the pewter tray. “So, what news have you from your family?”
He waited patiently while she relayed frivolous bits of gossip, then asked, “Did Christian mention anything about Father Blair?”
“Actually, yes. One day he told my parents that God had called him elsewhere, and he left Caileann. I’d no idea you knew him.”
“We became acquainted a few years ago. Do you know where he went?”
“Christian said only that he left.”
At the clever noble’s suggestion, no doubt. That explained the lack of communication from the Redmond stronghold. Grant knew only the cleric’s name, as was his practice with all he hired. Now he wished he’d at least discovered where Blair was raised, since he’d almost certainly return to the place he considered home. Most people did.
In all likelihood, it was not God who had prompted Blair’s abrupt departure from his post. How much had Christian paid the fallen monk?
And what had he gotten in return?
Chapter Thirteen
On a late summer evening, Eric prowled before the hearth in his common room, his dinner untouched on the small table. The sky was black as pitch outside his windows, rain drumming steadily on the roof overhead. He should have been abed hours ago, but he couldn’t even consider sleeping.
His son was being born.
He hadn’t seen or heard from Elisabeth since her springtime visit, so he couldn’t explain how he could possibly know what was going on in Briarton. But he knew it all the same, his fists clenching and unclenching helplessly while he paced.
Exhausted by the futility of his actions, he dropped onto the hearth and stared into the small fire he’d built to repel the dampness. He could hear Elisabeth’s laughter, taste her tears on his lips when she bade him farewell all those months ago. And now she was far away, fighting to bear his child.
“Be strong, mon cœur,” he said aloud, hoping his words could somehow bridge the distance between them.
Rubbing his hands over his face, he pulled them away in surprise. His damp fingers glistened in the light of the fire, and he rested his forehead on his folded hands. He sent a heartfelt prayer to the God of heaven, another to the enigmatic Goddess that his mother had insisted ruled the earth. Neither answered him directly, but a curious peace settled over him as he busied himself with the toy he’d been carving from a piece of birch.
When he’d felled the tree, he’d found it nearly pure white inside and had cut a small hunk from the rest. That same evening, he began chiseling a likeness of a curled-up kitten. After nearly a sennight, the piece was considerably smaller but was beginning to resemble a slumbering cat.
What he’d do with it, he had no idea. Perhaps one of the children in the village would enjoy it. Then again, he couldn’t give something to one and not the others, and he wasn’t skilled enough to make animals for them all. Some would want horses or falcons, creatures he couldn’t begin to fashion.
Eric held the piece away from him and studied its face while he etched in whiskers. With those added, the little cat took on a decidedly feline expression. As surely as if the wood had spoken to him, he knew there was only one child he could give it to.
His son.
***
“Too soon,” Grant heard one maid mutter to another as they left Elisabeth’s bedchamber.
“Such a hard time,” her companion added in a hushed voice, crossing herself. “The baby’s far too big for such a petite woman to birth.”
They cast forlorn looks at Grant and scurried along the corridor toward the servants’ stairs. He could make out no more of their whispered comments, so he resumed his pacing. Fourteen steps down, turn, fourteen steps back. Never did he stray more than a few strides from his wife’s door. Well aware that women often died in childbirth, his concern deepened with each hour that passed. He’d not considered that his quest for sons might cost him Elisabeth.
She was the only woman he’d ever wanted for his own. How could he possibly live without her?
When a hoarse scream pierced the quiet of the hallway, he rushed to the door, bracing his hands on either side of it. He’d been told repeatedly that his presence during the birth would not only be unnecessary but most unwelcome. Elisabeth herself had suggested that he retire to his chamber and take his rest. As if he could sleep while his firstborn son came into the world.
Pressing his ear to the thick door, Grant strained to hear what was happening on the other side. No sounds had reached him since that heart-rending screech, and his patience was wearing thin.
The door opened suddenly, and Maude’s eyes widened with surprise. The kindly midwife had brought him into the world, along with dozens throughout Briarton’s wide territory. Her plump cheeks broke into a lovely smile. “You have a son, milord.”
“Elisabeth?”
“She’s as well as can be expected. I’ll come fetch you when Lady Colton is ready to see you.”
“I want to see her now.”
Maude took his arm and steered him back into the corridor. “’Tis best if you wait.”
With that, she firmly closed the door.
***
Elisabeth felt so weak, she knew that were it not for the pillows supporting her, she’d fall over in a boneless heap. But her arms seemed to possess a strength all their own as she brought her son to her breast. He rutted with determination, and she laughed. “Hungry, are you? ’Tis difficult work, being born.”
While he suckled, his grayish-blue eyes locked with hers in a curious stare.
“Mama,” she told him as tears streamed down her cheeks. She brought his tiny fist to her lips, stunned by the perfection of his fingers as they wrapped tightly about hers. Crooning the lullaby Eric’s mother had sung to him, her tears doubled, and she touched her forehead to Andrew’s.
“I promise you, Eric,” she whispered, “one day you’ll hold your son.”
“Lady Colton?” Elisabeth looked into the midwife’s tired face. “Forgive me, but your husband is most anxious to meet his son. Shall I fetch him?”
Though she resented the intrusion, there was no reason to refuse Grant entrance to her chamber. Should she invent one, it would certainly cause no end of trouble. “Of course. Tell him he may come in now.”
She couldn’t keep back a smile when the door opened and Grant nearly pitched onto the floor. His characteristically immaculate appearance had frayed as the long night had worn on. His clothing was disheveled, and his hair looked as if he’d nearly pulled it from his scalp.
He settled beside her on the bed, leaning down to kiss her lips. “I’ve been frantic with worry. Are you well?”
“Well enough. Would you care to meet Andrew?”
With one finger, he drew the soft blanket back from the baby’s face, and she prayed he’d not see what she saw: A child far too large, and far too dark, to be his own.
To her great relief, he chuckled. “Considering how early he’s come to us, he’s quite the sturdy little fellow, is he not?”
“Like his father.” She cringed at the wistful note in her voice. Thankfully, Grant didn’t seem to hear it.
“Indeed,” he said, kissing her again. “For now,
his father needs a bit of sleep, so I’ll leave you to your rest. Thank you for this precious gift you’ve given me.”
She smiled in reply, accepting another kiss before he passed through the adjoining door and into his own rooms.
Andrew yawned, and she tucked the blanket closer about him. Cuddled together after their long, grueling adventure, they quickly fell asleep.
***
On a crisp autumn day, Grant stood in the doorway of the nursery and stared thoughtfully at the sleeping bairn who bore his father’s name. Often, he watched Andrew as he slept or played with Elisabeth on the floor in the sunlight. Nearly three months old, he was a hardy lad, growing more so by the day. With dark skin and brilliant blue eyes that defied change to Colton brown, there was no mistaking it.
This was not his son.
Others must see it as well, but he never heard even a whisper of gossip or noticed a raised eyebrow. Andrew was treated with the respect befitting the future master of Briarton. Grant burned to renounce the boy, but his pride wouldn’t allow it. To do so would make it appear that his wife had cuckolded him with another man, and that he couldn’t bear. He knew in his heart that Elisabeth would never be false to him, but the fact remained that during some liaison or another, Eric Jordanne had gotten her with child. This child.
Grant railed silently at the little impostor. His son should be resting in the heirloom crib, not the spawn of a bastard knight who’d never known his rightful place. A downy pillow lay on the floor, and he bent to retrieve it. Holding it between his hands, he wondered...
“What are you doing?”
Elisabeth’s sharp query cut into his musings, and he turned to her.
“Admiring our son. I’d hoped you would sleep longer to make up for being awakened so often last night.”
At the sound of his mother’s voice, Andrew stirred and looked to her with a yawning smile. She reached into the crib and lifted him high in the air. “I can sleep later. Now it’s time for breakfast, is it not?”
The baby cooed in response, obviously delighted by her attention. She sat in the rocking chair and kissed him all over his swarthy face. As her fingers went to the lacings of her gown, Grant fought off a grimace of distaste. “I wish you’d allow me to employ a wet nurse. You’d get more rest.”
“Nonsense,” she retorted, settling Andrew at her breast. “I’ve waited too long for a child to let someone else feed him.”
Grant relented with a sigh. “As you wish, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Smiling at the boy, she ticked his pug nose with her finger. “Of course. What is it?”
Trying vainly to ignore her lack of regard for him, he continued. “A brother for Andrew.”
At last she looked up at him, but her smile gave way to a frown. “So soon?”
“We must plan for the future. After all, so many unfortunate things happen to children.”
“Andrew is a Redmond,” she retorted, contempt blazing in her eyes. “As such, he’s under my father’s protection. I’d suggest you keep that in mind.”
“Are you implying that I’d harm my own son?”
Meant to trip her into revealing her assignation with Jordanne, instead his comment elicited only an icy stare.
“Never would I do such a thing,” he soothed. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She made no response, but the brittle gleam in her eyes spoke louder than any words. The spirit he’d once admired had resisted his best efforts to tame it. In fact, each day she grew more defiant. The time had come to remind her of her position, much as he would with a vanquished opponent who refused to concede defeat.
Leaning down, he gripped the arms of her chair. Her eyes narrowed warily, and she drew the boy closer to her.
“However, I would ask a favor of you, my dear wife.”
“What is that?”
“Perhaps next time, my son could look a bit more like me.”
“Elisabeth?”
Elisabeth glanced up to find Glenda in the doorway of the nursery. The maid held a small tray filled with delicious-looking pastries, and Andrew cooed with joy the moment he saw her.
“Come in, Glenda,” Grant said in a gracious tone at complete odds with the threatening one he’d just been using. “Have you brought us a treat?”
“I have, indeed. Fruit pastries and tea, with fresh milk and sugar for the two of you. Shall I pour?”
“For Elisabeth, certainly, but I have some urgent business to tend to.”
With that, he retreated, leaving the door wide open behind him in a silent but blatant warning that whatever was said in the nursery could be heard by anyone passing by. The arrogant gesture irked her, but Elisabeth covered her irritation with a smile. “There’s plenty here for both of us. Would you care for some?”
Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, Glenda closed the door and pulled over a chair to join her. Smiling at Andrew, she reached out and ticked the tip of his nose with her finger. “And how does our handsome lad fare this morn?”
He babbled at her in response while she regarded him with a serious expression she might use with an adult. “Is that so? And what other news have you to share with me?”
Elisabeth smiled while she sipped the fragrant floral tea and watched the two of them play. Often she’d seen Glenda interrupt her duties to talk with him or sneak in a quick spin that made him squeal with boyish delight.
The time had come for her to resume her full responsibility as lady of the house, and Elisabeth could imagine no one better suited to caring for her son. “You’re wonderful with him, and he clearly adores you. Would you enjoy being his nurse?”
“I’d love it!”
“I’m pleased to know that, but I want you to promise me something.”
Glenda nodded earnestly. “Of course.”
“If anything should happen to me, take Andrew to Caileann and stay there.”
“I couldn’t possibly abandon you here,” her loyal cousin protested with a scowl.
“You will because you’ll have no choice. If I leave Briarton, Grant will attack the Redmond, and Father will be forced to retaliate. Should that happen, this fragile peace among the clans will disintegrate as if it never existed. I will not be responsible for tearing the Borders apart,” she finished sternly.
After several moments, Glenda nodded her agreement. “Very well, but I’ll pray every day that it won’t come to that.”
Elisabeth summoned a reassuring smile. “We both will.”
***
Later that day, when Elisabeth opened her eyes it was dark. Tired from an afternoon in the gardens with Andrew, she’d lain down for a moment’s rest, and now the day was gone. She rose from her bed and cracked a window to let in some fresh air.
There was a soft knock at her door, and she sighed. “Come in.”
“Good evening, milady.” Carrying a tray laden with food, a kitchen maid greeted her with a smile and a nod. “Would you like something to eat?”
“Yes, I would.”
The girl set the tray on a mahogany console. “You’re feeling better after your rest?”
“Much better, thank you. I’d no idea how tired I was until I laid down.”
“Then ’twas rest you needed. May I fetch you anything else?”
Elisabeth sat at the table and drank some of the tea. “No, thank you. I’ll have someone return the tray when I’m finished.”
“As you wish, Lady Colton.” With a quick bow, she left and closed the door.
After a few bites, the fatigue Elisabeth had been fighting started to creep in again. She leaned back, resting her head against the chair covered in intricate Parisian tapestry. A pale thought flickered in a corner of her mind, and she closed her eyes in an attempt to grab hold of it.
Tea.
She lifted the innocent china cup to her nose but could discern nothing unusual in the brew. Sweet and light, it smelled of flower petals and honey. Grant had learned his herbal craft at her mother’s side,
as Elisabeth herself had done. In the past, his immense knowledge and passion for experimentation had impressed her. He knew a great deal more than she of the alternate uses for plants associated with healing. Many of them carried no odor or taste yet tainted the food they were mixed with as surely as poison.
Would he truly do such a thing to her? Horrible as it was, that thought was followed by one even more heinous. All that she ate and drank passed from her to Andrew. Small as he was, a concoction that might only make her drowsy could prove lethal to him.
She eyed the tray with suspicion, keenly aware that she hadn’t the skill to sort the harmless from the dangerous. Loathe to endanger the health of her son, she sent her untouched food back to the kitchens with a startled maid who clearly thought that Lady Colton had gone mad.
***
One fateful morning, Elisabeth opened the door on an empty nursery.
All of Andrew’s things were gone. His small bed, his toys. As she jerked open drawer after drawer, she found none of his clothes. Grasping the carved edges of the tall chest, she stared down at her reflection in the polished wood.
Gaunt and lined with exhaustion, it was the face of a stranger. It had been days since she’d eaten, and the strain was taking its toll on her. The image blurred as tears borne of helplessness welled in her eyes. The moment she suspected Grant of tainting her food, she should have taken Andrew and fled to Caileann.
Now it was too late.
“Don’t cry, Elisabeth.”
The loving tone grated over her distraught nerves, and she raised her gaze to Grant’s. His expression held no malice, only satisfaction.
“Where is Andrew?” she demanded.
“He’s with Glenda, tucked safely away.”
“I want my son.”
“We must tend to your needs first, my love.” Entering the chamber, he ran a silky finger along her cheekbone. “You’ve not been eating, and I’m growing worried. Does something trouble you?”
“You’re trying to poison us both,” she spat, too furious to guard her words.
Regarding her with genuine surprise, he gravely shook his head. “How could you think such a thing? The mix I’ve prepared is intended to soothe, not cause distress. I love you, Elisabeth. I’m trying to help you.”
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