It could drive her insane, this new, fearful longing. She would crave him now, his touch, his scent, the way she felt when he walked into a room and the sound of his voice when he said her name. All of it built some frightening new attachment between them, and the only attachments she’d ever felt had led to later pain. Yet some horrific impulse in her embraced those feelings, and all the fear that went along with them. When he drove her over the edge, every sinuous thrust of his hips against her crashing over her like waves until she drowned in sensation, she fell into that oblivion gladly.
Then, he stiffened above her, shouting his own release, and her memory, already prone to cruel tricks, seized on the moment to remind her of Lucas grunting above her, and the shame that had hurt worse than the physical pain of violation. Her heart clawed in her chest, as she clawed at Henry’s arms to assure herself that this was real, that he was there with her, and once that moment had passed she could not let him go.
“Ursula?” he asked, his voice ragged in the darkness. His pulse throbbed inside her, and she shivered, a mingled pleasure with her hateful memories, and she could not contain her tears.
He did not ask her what was the matter. It was better that way, for she wasn’t sure she could tell him. Instead, he lay beside her and pulled her into his arms and kissed her shoulder, her ear, her hair, as though his kisses were a balm to soothe her pain.
And they were, she realized. Lying in the safe, warm embrace of Henry’s strong body, she felt truly protected, if not from the demons in her head, then from anything outside of her that might seek to do her harm.
* * * *
Though the early harvest had kept everyone overwhelmingly busy, Ursula felt as though she could get her breath, at last. Whenever they were not working in the field with the men from the village, Henry and Raf worked on the cottage. A skeleton of thick beams waited for wattle and daub, but it still thrilled her every time she saw it. It would be their house, with their child. They would be safe, and as the weeks passed and her belly grew, the nightmare of Blackens Gate seemed far away.
In the evenings, Henry would come home in need of a wash and almost too tired to climb the stairs, but in the night he would wake her with kisses and take her, slowly and carefully, wringing every last shudder from her body with his fingers and tongue before losing himself inside her. The time would come soon, the midwife had warned, when it would no longer be possible to enjoy such intimacy until after she had healed from the birth.
By the time the first snows came, Ursula had grown weary of carrying the child. She did not often complain where Aurelia could hear her—it would be churlish to complain about the burden the other woman would gladly carry—but with her feet grotesquely swollen, propped on the footstool Henry had made her, she could not remain silent. She leaned her head against Henry’s shoulder, unable to finish her own supper. “How much longer until I can be a girl again, and not a milk cow?”
“You’ll never be a girl again,” he reminded her cheerfully. “You’ll be a mother.”
She did not often have the urge to slap her new husband, but she had to admit to the petulant desire then.
The door opened, letting in a draft of swirling snowflakes on a chill, bitter wind. Raf’s haste to get inside seemed far too urgent to be caused by mere weather. “Where is Aurelia?”
Henry got to his feet quickly, supper forgotten. “Already abed. What’s happened?”
Raf’s grim expression fell on Ursula for but a moment before he tore his eyes away, almost guiltily. “Riders. From Blackens Gate.”
“Henry.” Ursula put her hand out, feeling blindly for her husband, and he caught her, helping her rise to her feet and steady herself.
He lifted her chin in his hand, dark eyes burning fierce into hers. “Go. Go upstairs, and tell Aurelia to stay hidden as well.”
“What do they want?” She asked, though she knew the answer. Not now! Not when everything has gone so well!
She climbed the stairs as fast as she could, her back crying out with every step. When she reached Aurelia’s bedchamber, she found her inexplicably moving the sparse furniture about. She shifted a table and brushed back the rushes, exposing an open-work block in the stone. She held a finger to her lips and motioned Ursula closer.
“We will be able to hear,” Aurelia whispered, taking down the candlestick on the bedside. She blew out the flame, casting them into near darkness. “And perhaps see a little.”
Three men entered Fallow Manor, all in dark hooded cloaks. They did not brandish their steel at first sight; it was encouraging.
“Clement?” Ursula heard Henry exclaim in surprise.
He did not sound pleased, whoever this Clement was. “I do not come out of fondness for you, brother.” The word was said with such contempt.
“I would never have assumed so.” Henry said, sounding as calm and amiable as if they’d met in a church. “Brujon. I did not expect to see you so far from Blackens Gate.”
“I came all the way from France, what are another few miles.”
One man pushed his cloak down, and silence fell over the room below, until Henry hissed, “You bastard!”
“I come here in friendship,” the man protested.
The voice split her asunder like a bolt of lightning. It was a voice she only heard in the occasional bad dream, and she would always wake to Henry’s warmth and weight beside her, and she knew that if she woke him, he would soothe her. Now, she did not wake, and the man, Lucas, stood in the place she called home.
“Ursula?” Aurelia reached out to grasp Ursula’s arm. “You’re trembling.”
Unable to summon her voice, Ursula leaned closer to the opening, her hands clasped over her mouth lest she sob in terror.
“We have given you ample time to ally yourself with us,” the Frenchman, the one called Brujon, said calmly. “I wish you would reconsider.”
“I cannot reconsider something so repugnant as patricide,” Raf replied. “You have made your trip for naught.”
“Henry,” the one called Clement said in a weary voice. “Speak reason to your friend. He would not have to wield the blade himself. Our man Lucas here is eager to the task.”
I am certain he is, Ursula thought, her hands clenched to tight fists. The worthless dog would have no compunction about killing his master in his bed.
“I do not think it reasonable to turn traitor on my own father. There are other, more diplomatic ways of settling your differences. If the wolves of Calais were to send a guard—”
“Your father would spin such a tale for King Edward, if a regiment of my French wolves were to land on the shores of England.” Brujon began to pace, his boots scraping on the floor.
When Clement spoke, it was with a low, condescending tone, almost a threat, though he could not make good on it himself. “Think, brother, of what your life would be like were Roderick to gain all the power of Blackens Gate and its wolves.”
“Pretty little Ursula will have a bad time of it,” Lucas chimed up, and simply hearing her name spoken by the man made her want to wretch. The monster laughed. “Where is she? I’ll see her before I go.”
“By God’s bones, you will not!” Henry shouted. There was a scuffle, and a ring of steel, and Aurelia covered her mouth, tears shining in her eyes.
Then Raf shouted for order and the would-be combatants stilled. “We will not accomplish anything by violence. This is my house, and I will not see bloodshed here.”
“Is my son born yet?” Lucas demanded. “Maybe I should cut it out of her now.”
The words broke the calm once more, and this time it was Brujon who called the man down. “We did not come here to settle the matter of your bastard. These men are our friends.”
“But not conspirators,” Raf warned. “Whatever should happen to my father and brother- and I pray that they will live long lives in which to become repentant of their wickedness—I will accept it when the time comes. But I will have no part in it, and I will not have my name linked to it. I will
decry his murder, should it come to that, until the day I die. And I will not rule the Free Wolves of Blackens Gate. They would not follow me.”
“You are correct on that point,” Clement scoffed. “Come, we have wasted a night riding here.”
“I wish you would reconsider,” Brujon tried one last time. “The wolves of Calais, we are not as blood thirsty and deranged as those in England. We would have liked a sensible, reasonable ally at Blackens Gate.”
He pulled his hood up and the door scraped open once more. The one they had called Clement went ahead, followed by Brujon and finally, Lucas. He paused beneath the opening as if scenting the air, and Ursula recoiled. Aurelia leaned away from the hole, as well, and they held their breath. When footsteps sounded on the stairs, Aurelia reached for Ursula, grasping her hands tightly as they stared in terror at the door. When it opened, it was only Henry, and Ursula staggered to her feet, launching her bulky body ungracefully into his arms.
“I’ve got you,” he soothed her as she buried her face in his neck and sobbed. The riders had departed in a flurry of hoof beats and whinnying horses, but their ugly threats remained.
Raf pushed through the door and limped to the chair before the fire. Aurelia went to him at once, taking his hand and pressing it to her cheek. “I was not worried. Not for a moment.”
“I was,” Henry said with a weak laugh, and though Ursula knew he said it to attempt to lighten the mood, she did not appreciate it.
“I wish you would not joke!” She pushed him away and stormed to their room, terror gripping her throat with every step. Each shadow looked like Lucas, as she ran, and she felt certain he would catch her at any moment and make good on his threat to cut the child from her womb.
Henry caught up to her, closing the door behind him. “I am prepared to fight for you, Ursula.”
“And for my child?” She could not bear the thought of a black-garbed wolf riding off with her sweet, helpless babe. “What if what they said is true? What if Lord Canis’ other son takes over…he was the worst of all, we all knew that! They warned us of him when we arrived. How could we be safe here, with those wolves all around us? How will the child be safe?
Henry paced the chamber, scrubbing his hands over his face. “We could leave for York, should it come to it. The Free-Wolves of York sometimes take in defectors from Lord Canis. But it would be like Blackens Gate once more. You would likely serve, and I would not be there to protect you all the time.
“We could flee farther North, and take our chances with the Scots,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “But they’d be just as like to kill us as Roderick Canis or whatever brute takes over Blackens Gate.”
“Henry, please!”
She had never shouted at him so before, and the moment the words left her mouth, she realized that she no longer worried that he might grow angry or lash out at her. That made her sorry for yelling at him, and she crumpled onto the bed, her body curled around her stomach. She grew larger every day, and soon she would not be able to protect the life within her body with the shield of her own flesh.
Henry sat beside her. “You know I will protect this child with my life, Ursula. Please, do not worry. Not when we are close to holding him in our arms.”
She sat up slowly, searching his face for any sign of despair. He hid it well. “The man who was here…called you brother.”
“A half-brother. The man who sired me got Clement on a wolf-woman. There is no love between us.”
“Why would anyone wish such a life on a child?” Fresh tears wet her eyes, not for her own child, but for the child she imagined Henry had once been.
He pulled her close. Those gestures came to him more easily now, and they were far more easy for her to accept. “I can only pity them. They will never understand what it is to value life, and cherish innocence.”
“I do not feel so charitable, at the moment.” Her hands fell over her stomach, and the furious life squirming inside. “What will happen?”
“I do not know,” he admitted, for the first time truly frightening her. “We must only hope that when it happens, we are prepared.”
Chapter Fourteen
A week after the full moon following Bujon’s visit, Henry and Raf were working in the blistering cold, packing daub against the woven wattles of the cottage’s walls. The roof would come next, thick wooden shingles that had already been patiently shaped by a man in the village. They had cost Raf too much, and Henry had warned him that it might all be for naught.
“You cannot hold off the entire might of an army of wolves,” Henry reminded him, for what seemed more times than there were stars.
“I do not plan to,” Raf said calmly, wrinkling his nose as he slapped another handful of mush against the woven pallet. “But if you must leave, then leave. Brujon said the plan will wait another few moons, at least. Ally yourself with him, or find a safer place. But you and I, we will never be safe among wolves. We have too much humanity.”
“So I am reduced to a discarded pawn in this game.” Henry’s stomach nearly turned over at the thought. “How will I protect my son?”
Those words, “my son,” came so easily to him now. Every night, he and Ursula would lie in bed and watch the child stretch and move, pulling her belly into grotesque shapes that would make them laugh, but also fill them with fear. Aside from the looming threat of a war between wolves, there was also the threat of Lucas, and his claim over the child. Once the babe was born, Henry knew the challenge would come. Not because Lucas cared about having a son, raising a son. Because Lucas did not wish to lose.
Henry would not let it happen any other way, even if his actions were taken as cowardice. “If we must flee, we shall.”
They worked in silence for a time, until Raf said, “I received another message from the Calais ambassador. He will not give up.” He shook his head. “Though I could not commit betrayal to paper, I wished to tell him what I truly felt.”
“And what is that?” Henry had an inkling of it before his friend spoke.
“I would see all the wolves of Blackens Gate culled. There is no humanity amongst them.” Raf slapped another handful of daub into place. “They are not soldiers, but monsters.”
Henry considered those words. “If there was a way to remove your father, without ending his life, would you lead the clan at Blackens Gate?”
“If I could find enough wolves to make it worth my while?” Raf leaned heavily against one of the tall posts. “Perhaps. Our kind has defended England for centuries. We are needed now more than ever, with Edward slighting the French at every turn and his treacherous wife plotting away in exile. Never mind the disobedience of the Scots. But I have no head for politics. I used to know war, but I am made for simpler things now.”
“Would you rather your brother—”
The words were interrupted by a shrill cry across the field. Henry looked up, dread clenching in his stomach at the sight of Aurelia running across the field, skirt hiked high so her legs could carry her that much faster.
Raf started for her immediately, but Henry waited, wiping his hands and setting off without truly wishing to meet her. He knew, with the same creeping sense of unease he’d carried all day, why she came to them. Indeed, when he did join them, she breathlessly exclaimed, “Henry, you must come! She has been in her pains all morning, and it seems that the babe will be here before supper.”
Though Raf clapped him on the back and offered congratulations, Henry realized too late how he had wished this day would not come. Though he had not voiced his worries to Ursula, or anyone, he feared what could befall a woman as she labored to bring a child into the world. “Have you sent for the midwife?”
“I sent Robin. They have only just returned. I could not come sooner and leave Ursula,” Aurelia offered apologetically. “She felt poorly this morning, and I did not recognize the sign, until much later. Her waters passed just before the midwife arrived.”
Then the babe would not be far behind, God willing. Hen
ry broke from the other two and ran, shedding his clothing and clumsily kicking off his boots as he went. Behind him, he heard Aurelia and Raf laugh and implore him to slow down, but he took on his wolf and paid them no more mind. Four legs would cover the distance more quickly than two, and he wanted to be at Ursula’s side when the child was born. He gained the door of Fallow Manor and, finding it closed, flung himself bodily against it until the little servant girl opened it with a shriek of terror. Ignoring her, he raced up the stairs, paws barely touching the steps before skidding on the clean rushes into the bedroom.
The midwife, holding Ursula’s arm as she slowly paced the room, screamed and crossed herself, and Henry shifted his form in an instant, causing the old woman to scream again.
“I have seen a hundred babies into this world, at least, and never have I had such a fright!” the midwife cried. “You will upset her!”
“Henry!” Ursula beamed at him, though her face was flushed red, from exertion and the unholy heat of the room.
He found his black braies tucked in the chest at the end of the bed, and he pulled them over his hips before going to her side. “Why did you not send for me immediately?”
“I did not know,” Ursula said, her words ending on a gasp as she halted, clutching at Henry’s arm for balance. A low wail pulled from her throat, as chilling a sound of pain as he’d ever heard on any battlefield. She rocked on her feet, and he feared she would fall, but she found her footing again, breathing deeply. “It was not…like this before.”
“Gets worse as the babe comes down,” the old peasant woman assured her. The midwife was stout of body, with a determined but cheerful face. She did not seem the kind who would conceal her worries if something was amiss, and the fact that she did not seem troubled eased Henry’s mind greatly.
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