Though only three years older than Meg, Adela looked twice her age. She had married at thirteen and produced her first babe before she was fourteen. After nine years of marriage, she had six living children and three dead.
Meg went to the hearth, poured a basin of warm water and took it outside. There she added three herbs and some slivers of the soap she made herself. Chanting softly in the silence of her mind, Meg pulled off her outer tunic with its long, narrow sleeves and thrust her hands into the basin.
Cast off the clothes of field and keep
Bathe away old sins and sorrows deep
Put on the smock of Glendruid reverence
Touch sickness with hands of health.
Ease where you must death’s slow dance.
Aid where you may life’s wealth.
God keeps all between heaven and earth
’Tis for love of Him we bear the pain of birth.
Amen.
Meg touched the cross she wore, no longer silver but gold, her mother’s cross, which had lain waiting in a carved box for the daughter finally to wed.
I wish you were with me, Mother. Your hands drew pain so quickly from those who suffered.
But there was no one to take the pain from you.
Shaking the last of the scented water drops from her fingers, Meg pulled on the Glendruid smock. It was freshly made, for a smock was used once and once only at birth or sickbed; then the garment was burned in a ritual as old as that of water, basin, and herbs.
“Where are the other children?” Meg asked softly.
“The two youngest are with her sister. The rest are in the fields.”
“Has no one stayed with Adela?”
The midwife shrugged. “The girls are too young. The boys are needed elsewhere for plowing and planting, both the lord’s domain and that of their father. There aren’t enough hands to go around. As soon as the fields are taken care of, someone will rake this lot out and put down fresh rushes.”
“It must be done now.”
The midwife’s mouth flattened but she didn’t argue. She simply went into the yard to look for a rake.
As Meg knelt by the pallet, Adela’s eyes opened.
“Ah, my lady,” she whispered, distressed. “I told them not to send for you. Your lord will be sorely put out with you.”
“That weighs little against your need. Tell me, how goes it with you?”
As Adela began speaking in a halting voice, Meg leaned closer, eased her hands beneath the bed covering, and began to touch the woman’s swollen body with gentle hands.
“WELL fought, brother,” Simon said, leaning against the stone wall of the keep and breathing hard.
“No so well as you,” Dominic said ruefully. “My head rings like a bell.”
“And my ribs are squealing like piglets,” Simon retorted.
With a laugh, Dominic swept off his helm and held it out. His squire leaped forward to take it. Across the bailey, Thomas the Strong called to Eadith to broach another barrel of ale. At Dominic’s signal, knights paired off once more. Soon the keep again rang with the sound of sword on shield and the shouts of men when they successfully gave or avoided a blow.
Dominic stretched and resettled the heavy hauberk with a shift of his muscular shoulders. As he did, he looked up at the top story of the keep. All the shutters were open save two. In Meg’s rooms, sunlight’s warm fingers were kept out by heavy wood.
“She hasn’t even cracked them to watch me whack at you,” Simon said, following his brother’s glance. “How much longer will you keep her shut away? Until she bleeds?”
Dominic smiled strangely. “I haven’t decided. I rather enjoy keeping my wife secluded like a concubine in a harem. Feeding her from my hand is unexpectedly sweet. Eating from her hand is even sweeter.”
A slanting, searching look was Simon’s only answer for a moment. Then he turned to face his brother.
“Marie is right,” Simon said, worry clear in his voice. “The witch has enchanted you. You have no carnal knowledge of your wife, yet you seek none of other women.”
“I’m too busy gentling my small falcon.”
The masculine satisfaction—and anticipation—in Dominic’s voice made Simon throw up his hands.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Dominic said, “so I’ll tell you something you can understand.”
“I pray thee,” Simon retorted, “do!”
“While my wife and I are secluded together—and when she is in seclusion alone—I don’t have to worry about her being seduced by a hazel-eyed Saxon with a honeyed tongue and an eye toward killing me and taking my wife and my keep.”
Simon grunted.
“You may like secluding her, but the people of the keep are getting restless,” Simon said bluntly. “They whisper about Duncan of Maxwell and the rescue of their mistress.”
“God’s teeth!” Dominic said in disgust. “I haven’t harmed one fiery hair on the maid’s head. I’ve handled her as gently as the most prized falcon ever brought to the mews.”
“Then show her to them so they may see her health for themselves. And do it soon.”
Dominic gave his brother a look through narrowed eyes. Simon gave it back with the confidence of a man who knows his opinion is respected even when it isn’t welcome.
“Is Duncan lurking about?” Dominic asked after a moment, wondering if that was what lay behind Simon’s blunt advice.
“Someone is,” Simon said. “The hounds found deer slain in the far park. Nothing remained but head and heels.”
“Poachers are common enough.”
“Riding war-horses?” Simon asked sardonically. “They also—”
Dominic held up his hand for silence as Eadith approached with two mugs of ale. When Simon reached for one, she danced back from his hand.
“Nay, sir. ’Tis for the lord to drink first,” she said boldly. “He drank little when he had dinner with his wife.”
Smiling at Dominic, Eadith held a mug out to him.
“Thank you,” he said, returning her courtesy despite his dislike of her pale, covetous eyes.
Dominic drank, grimaced, and finished the mug quickly. Simon drank his own ale with equal dispatch.
“I’ve rarely tasted worse,” Dominic muttered as he handed the mug back to Eadith. “Pah. Gall would taste better.”
“Must have been a sour barrel,” Simon agreed. He spat. “Bitter as a witch’s envy.”
“Shall I bring you some fresh?” Eadith asked hurriedly.
“Not for me,” Dominic said.
Simon shook his head. He, too, had had enough of Blackthorne’s bitter ale.
Eadith took the mugs and rushed back across the bailey. Other men called to her for drink. They had worked up a heavy thirst fighting while wearing nearly half their own weight in sword and armor.
“There are signs,” Simon continued as though nothing had interrupted him, “that Duncan and his Reevers are setting up an illegal keep less than a half day from here. Rumor has it they’re building a palisades and bailey.”
Silently Dominic looked at the clouds flying above the dark stones of the keep.
“Dominic?” Simon asked.
“There is nothing I can do about Duncan until the rest of my knights arrive,” Dominic said bluntly. “I have enough men to hold Blackthorne Keep against attack and not one more. If I let myself be lured from the keep’s safety by a handful of slain deer and rumors of illegal keeps, I’ll lose both the land and my life.”
Simon wanted to argue, but didn’t. When it came to tactics, he deferred to his brother’s expertise.
“It is bitter to admit,” Simon said after a moment.
“Aye,” Dominic said flatly.
He started across the bailey.
“Where are you going?” Simon asked.
“To my small falcon. She will wash away the bitterness.”
THE stimulant Meg had given Adela was strong, dangerously so, but there was no other course left. If the babe weren’
t born soon, neither mother nor child would survive the coming night.
“I am sorry,” Meg said unhappily. “I must give you nothing for the pain but a simple salve.”
“It doesn’t—matter,” Adela panted. “Strength—is all—I ask.”
Between Adela’s ragged breaths and subdued groans, Meg heard the distant sounds of horses galloping and men shouting. Then Adela’s labor abruptly increased in intensity, requiring Meg’s full attention. She knew nothing of what happened around her but the struggles of the exhausted woman to give birth.
“Well done!” Meg said after a time. Excitement made her voice rise. “The babe’s head is out! Just a little more, brave woman. Just a little more effort and then you may rest.”
The door of the cottage burst open behind Meg and the laboring Adela. Ignoring the strident protests of the midwife, Dominic ducked under the lintel and strode into the cottage with sword drawn. The honed edge of the blade shone malevolently.
His silver eyes searched the cottage’s single room with the speed and precision of an eagle seeking prey, but it was his ears that found Meg first in the gloomy cottage. The muted chiming of her golden jesses gave her away. She was kneeling at a pallet wearing only an odd shift.
Fury lanced through Dominic at this proof that gossip had been correct. Meg had escaped her luxurious captivity in order to lie with Duncan of Maxwell, a man who had neither nobility nor land.
By God, lady, you will rue the—
A baby’s first, tremulous cry cut off Dominic’s silent vow. He stood as though transfixed. Relief drove the raging anger from his body, leaving him feeling almost weak. For the first time he noticed the bitter taste that coated his mouth.
He swallowed, then swallowed again, but his mouth was too dry to wash away the taste of the foul ale. He sheathed his sword with a fumbling motion that would have surprised Simon had he been there to see it.
“You have given Harry a fine new son,” Meg said to Adela as she finished clearing the baby’s mouth and nostrils. “Take him to your breast, though he likely won’t nurse. He is as weary as you.”
“Thank you,” Adela said raggedly. “Now go—before your lord—discovers.”
“Her lord has already discovered,” Dominic said.
Meg’s startled cry was lost beneath Simon’s shout from the yard.
“Dominic?” Simon cried again. “Is all well?”
“I have found her!” Dominic called over his shoulder.
Before he could add anything, Simon burst into the cabin with his sword drawn.
“Stand down,” Dominic said calmly. “All is well. The falcon flew not to Duncan’s wrist.”
“Then why did she break her vow to you? Why did she—”
Whatever questions Simon had were answered by the baby’s trembling cry.
“By God,” Simon said, sheathing his sword in a single smooth stroke. “’Tis a new babe.”
The midwife pushed past Simon into the room with total disregard for his superior strength, status, and weaponry.
“Nay,” she said angrily. “’Tis a miracle. The poor woman labored in vain for two days. Only when I told her the babe would die before supper—and she with it!—did she allow me to send for your lady.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Meg. “Is that true? Has she had a long labor?”
Adela moaned softly.
“Yes,” Meg said as she turned again to Adela. “Now leave, husband, and take your brother with you. This poor woman’s work is not yet finished. And it is woman’s work.”
Under the hostile eyes of the midwife, Dominic and Simon retreated from the cottage. The light outside hit Dominic like a blow.
“God’s teeth,” he muttered, shielding his face. “Not since Jerusalem have I seen such blinding sunlight.”
Simon gave his brother an odd look. “You must have drunk too much ale. The light is no different from any other cloudy day in Cumbriland.”
When Dominic squeezed his eyes shut to close out the painful light, dizziness and a strange languor crept through him, stealing his power. Distantly he realized that his strength was draining away one heartbeat at a time. Taking a step was difficult.
He stumbled and barely righted himself.
“Dominic?” Simon said in disbelief.
Again Dominic staggered. This time he almost didn’t catch his balance before he fell.
“God’s blood, man,” Simon said, appalled. “Are you in your cups?”
“Nay,” Dominic said thickly.
Trying to dispel the maddening slowness of his thoughts and tongue, he shook his head fiercely. Instead of helping him, the movement increased his dizziness.
“Simon, I…”
This time it was only his brother’s strong arms that prevented Dominic from going to his knees.
“Is it your skull?” Simon asked urgently. “Did I truly hit you that hard?”
Dominic shook his head. It was a mistake. He made a thick sound and sagged against his brother.
“Can you walk?” Simon asked.
“Yes…” Dominic said in a hoarse voice.
“Then do so,” Simon commanded. “Now.”
With a great effort, Dominic forced himself to walk toward the war stallions that waited a hundred feet beyond the cottage yard. Mounting Crusader was almost impossible, but finally it was accomplished with the help of Simon’s strength.
Once in the saddle, Dominic reeled as though he were on the deck of a storm-lashed ship instead of sitting on the back of a motionless horse. While Simon watched in growing fear, his brother’s left foot slipped from the stirrup.
Dominic was fast losing his senses. There was no way he would be able to ride even the short distance to the keep.
“Hold, Crusader,” Simon commanded as he caught up the charger’s single rein.
Without ado, Simon vaulted on behind his brother. Crusader’s ears half flattened at the double load, but the stallion made no further protest. All battle horses were trained to accept double and even triple riders if it came to that, for survivors carried off their injured friends even in the heat of battle. Dominic had once borne Simon to safety on Crusader’s back.
“Hang on,” Simon said.
“Wait…” Dominic mumbled. “Meg.”
The words were so slurred it took Simon a moment to understand. When he did, his lips flattened into a silent snarl.
“I’ll see to the witch later,” Simon said.
“Not…safe.”
Ignoring his brother, Simon turned Crusader quickly toward the keep. Within three strides, the charger was covering ground at a fast canter. A shrill whistle brought Simon’s own well-trained mount cantering behind.
“Meg,” Dominic said urgently.
“Burn the witch!” Simon snarled. “Now you know why it was so important for her to go to the cursed place to gather leaves.”
“Meg…?” Dominic groaned.
“Aye, brother. Meg. Somehow the hell-witch poisoned you.”
Simon’s spurs goaded Crusader, sending the stallion into a hard gallop.
By the time they reached the keep, Dominic was lost to an unnatural sleep.
17
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I MAY not enter?” Meg demanded. “He is my husband!”
“Aye,” Simon said bitterly. “A husband you didn’t want. You have done every evil thing within your power to defeat Dominic.”
“That’s not true!”
Golden bells sang with the controlled fierceness of Meg’s movements as she spun aside to get around Simon. He moved very quickly, blocking her entrance to Dominic’s quarters. She feinted to the other side, then darted forward. Mail-clad gauntlets closed painfully around her wrists. The handle of the basket she carried cut into her palm.
“Don’t try my patience, witch,” Simon said savagely. “I know what use you had for the plants you gathered in that cursed place. It was sickness and death you sought, not life and health.”
Meg’s eyes widened into startled p
ools of green. “What are you saying?”
“Poison, you cursed witch. You poisoned my brother!”
“Nay! Never! Do you hear me? Never!”
“Save your lies for your lover, Duncan of Maxwell,” Simon spat.
Meg bit her lip against a cry of pain. The force of Simon’s fingers closing around her wrists was like being caught between stones. Her breaths came deep and hard, for she had run the entire way from Harry’s cottage, driven by a fear such as she had never felt outside of her dreams.
“I went to your room,” Simon continued relentlessly. “I checked the niche. The potion you fought my brother to make is gone.”
“I took it with me,” Meg said quickly. “I knew Adela would be weak. I was afraid the midwife might have given her too much medicine to kill the pain and thereby slowed the birth. The potion would have countered such weakness, not created it.”
Simon looked at Meg’s clear, anxious eyes and wanted to crush the Glendruid witch between his hands like an empty eggshell. Only the certainty that Dominic—if he lived—would never forgive the loss of his wife stayed Simon’s fury.
“You lie very well,” he said through his teeth.
“I lie very badly,” she retorted. “Ask anyone. Now let me by. If Dominic is ill, I can ease him.”
“Nay. You’ll not get close to him while I draw breath.”
Meg bit back the desire to scream at Simon, for she knew it would accomplish nothing but to release the rage that burned so visibly within him. Several deep breaths went by before she trusted herself to speak calmly despite the wild urgency clawing deep in her mind.
“All Harry said was that you came galloping up to the keep as though the devil were a step behind,” Meg said carefully.
“We left the devil at Harry’s cottage.”
She kept talking as though Simon had said nothing.
“Dominic could neither talk nor sit his horse,” Meg continued. “You and Thomas the Strong carried him to the lord’s quarters. That was all Harry knew.”
Simon said nothing.
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