For tonight that would keep. She turned a few more pages. And stopped. There, in a detailed series of illuminations, was part of a thesis of Arab learning, dealing with female fertility and pregnancy. Slowly, she made out the text, studying each picture in turn.
The book claimed that to get a woman with child, a man should mate with her “in the manner of a stallion and a mare,” for five times in succession.
Magnus wants me to have a baby.
Their recent lovemaking confirmed it. He had taken the advice of this book to heart and acted upon it.
Elfrida closed the book and put it back in the alcove, pushing the chest in front of the hiding place. She crouched, resting her head on the bed. We shared so many nights of pleasure. Was it only for a child?
She remembered his strange mood before they had traveled to Bittesby, his bitter, mysterious words, “So small you are. So slender still.” And then his accusation, “If I were only more a man, this caper of yours would be impossible.” She considered his war wounds, his grief each time maids were terrified of his looks. The fragments came together in a rush and she understood.
Magnus fears I might leave him. He wishes me to have a child not only to have an heir but to bind us beyond all breaking.
For an instant it stunned her and she was angry he would think that, but then was she not the same in a different way? She dreaded him tiring of her, of his wearying of her peasant ways, of his hating the differences in their rank. “But I would never leave him,” she whispered, half in protest.
And he will never leave you. He loves you.
She thought of the last time they had mated, tenderly, face to face. Earlier that day and for days before, she had been distressed and unsettled. She had hated the way that they no longer kissed when they joined.
Had he wanted me only for a child he would have had his way with me in the manner proscribed by the book. But Magnus loves me. He wanted to show me, to comfort and to treasure me. He wanted me to know it.
He had made love to her that night, face to face, body to body, kiss to kiss. The realization of what he had done, of why he had done so, of the sacrifice he had made, all dazzled her.
Magnus loves me enough to have done this for me, to make love to me in the most intimate, gentle way, although that very night had been our fifth time. Still he did so, because he wanted to reassure and comfort me.
Elfrida sat down with a thump and hugged her knees. Why had she not seen this earlier? Was it simply because of the missing girls and Silvester? Was it because of the petty malice of Lady Astrid, as Magnus thought? No, I have been lacking in confidence, in my witch confidence, for several days.
She touched her breasts and flinched, her nipples were so sore. She started to count days since her last monthly course. I have not been myself. Could it be I am already with child? Is that what all this is?
She laughed at the thought, at the wonder of it. Do I tell Magnus? Do I let him try his “magic” again on me?
Do both! Still laughing, Elfrida scrambled to her feet and ran out of the solar-bedroom, rushing to find her husband, to tell him all their news. Darting into the yard, she spotted him a few moments later and her spirits soared when he saw her in turn and waved. As one they moved toward each other, Elfrida pounding over the cobbles of the manor yard, Magnus charging along the dusty track from the May pole and the church.
“Steady, lovely.” He caught her before she went sprawling across a cart rut in her haste to reach him and swept her over his shoulder.
“Hey!” Torn between laughter and indignation she snatched at his belt to steady herself. Only Magnus would dare to haul me over his shoulder. “I have something to tell you, husband.”
“Good, for I have something to show you, wife.” Speaking, he transferred her more snugly into his arms and kissed her. “Happy Midsummer, sweeting.”
He stopped in the middle of the track and kissed her still more deeply, ignoring the cat-calls of his men and the twittering swallows above them. “Look,” he said, when they at last surfaced a little from their embrace.
Elfrida licked her lips to savor all of his kiss and tore her attention away from his loving eyes and mouth. Following his pointing finger she saw the old horse, Star, decked out in a shining new saddle and with ribbons plaited through his black mane. She was still smiling when Magnus lifted her onto the saddle and settled himself behind her.
“I thought since ladies like high horses we might ride one to our tryst. No, no.” He stopped her from riding astride. “Ladies ride side-saddle.”
“Witches do both,” she teased, relaxing into his arms again. “A tryst?”
“Indeed, Elfrida, for I mean to court you as your gentle knight.” He clicked his tongue and Star plodded forward, tiny bells on his harness jingling sweetly. Star carried panniers, too, and Elfrida could see they were both full to bursting with wine, dates, cheese and all good things.
When has Magnus had time to prepare all this? He must have worked so hard and fast.
Delighted at the care of his courting, she felt easy enough with him to tease a little more. She raised her eyebrows. “And when you flung me over your shoulder? Was that your courtesy in action?”
“That’s the Viking in me.” He grinned and tightened his arms about her. “Should I pay you a forfeit?”
“Only if you want to.”
She dimpled a merry smile at him, her amber eyes bright and limpid. He had not seen her so happy for days, and it made him realize how much he had missed her teasing. Splendor in Christendom, I am so glad to see her more like herself. It made what he must say next far easier.
“Elfrida, if I have been lacking in any way of late and rough in my manners, then I am sorry, truly sorry.”
He saw surprise break in her face and almost stopped but that would be cowardly. He must say all of it. “I love you so much.”
“And I you.”
They rode on in perfect silence, past the church and the glittering May pole and the wildly dancing crowds, past Peter whirling and twirling with Bertha and Susannah. Nudging Star with his heel he guided the placid bay horse toward the river and the woods.
Once they were hidden from the others by the trees he took a steadying breath and said more. “I love you, Elfrida, and I want you to be content with me. When I saw your Christina this spring, saw how thrilled she was to be with child, I understood what joy children are to wives and women. Yet I am wounded, God alone knows how deeply. I feared – I feared I might fail you, be unable to give you a baby.”
She touched his scarred face, cupping his bristly chin in her small hand. Her comfort spurred him to admit the rest.
“And then you might decide to leave me. No one would think you wrong! So I—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips, her eyes as deep and clear as the summer twilight. “Did you also think that as a witch I might cast a charm so I would not become pregnant?”
“No!” He spoke so loudly that Star shied and the bells in his mane clashed. “No,” he said again, “Not really. I mean, why should you? We love each other. We are man and wife.”
Elfrida heard the halting shame in his voice and felt the heat of shame in his strong scarred body. Even as she marveled at his confession, he stiffened and braced himself, sitting straight in the saddle, as if convinced she would curse him, or worse. Poor Magnus. He does not know that his “Not really” and the rest of his brave speech is a love-gift to me more real than any courtly wiles.
“I would think no less of you if you had thought thus,” she said softly. “It would be understandable that you might suspect it, given my skills. Yet you did not blame or accuse me of such, did you?”
“Damnation, woman, I would never do that,” he growled, his grip tightening round her again.
“I know.” She was proud of his loving silence, even proud of his doubts. My husband is no fool. And instead of accusing her, Magnus, warrior to the last, had sought to solve the problem himself, by means of his book. Which he does not ne
ed to tell me of, not yet. She had a flash of foresight, of the two of them back at the manor house and snug within the solar, lolling on the bed and studying the book between them.
A very pleasant dream-to-be but now surely it was her turn to share. “Can we walk a little?” Star was a lovely old thing but she wanted to tell her news with the good earth beneath them, not on the back of a horse.
Silently, Magnus drew rein, tethered Star to a hawthorn and lifted her down. “Which direction?” he asked, with her still in his arms.
“Right here.” She tapped the oak tree behind him and he swung her lightly onto her feet. At once Elfrida began to walk, following a deer trail. She heard Magnus closing in and spoke to him.
“I have not been myself of late, too anxious even for me.”
She thought she heard a snort behind her but wisely Magnus said nothing.
“I thought it was because of the Lady Astrid and Tancred and the mirror they held up to me.”
“A false one. You are my wife.”
“Your wife and your witch.” It felt good to say both. “Then, with all this recent talk of lost children and our search for missing children, I did not understand myself. But I do now.”
She stopped and turned to him. She took him in her arms, hearing the steady drum of his heart as she leaned against him. “We are, that is I am, no, we are.”
She broke off, wanting to say this well, wanting to see his face. She looked up at him. The love in his eyes made it simple to say. “I am having your baby, Magnus.”
Glory shimmered in his face then, making him whole again and beautiful. With warm, steady fingers he touched her cheek and forehead, brushed her shoulder, gathered her hand in his. “When?” he murmured.
“Sometime after Christmas-time, possibly in Lent.”
“When the early lambs come. A lamb of our own.”
She smiled at the wonder in his voice and placed his palm on her belly. He cradled the tiny life there, accepting the babe. “Ours,” she agreed.
“Ours.” He knelt amidst the bluebells and wrapped his arms about her, kissing her navel, resting his head against her as if searching already for another heartbeat within her. She ran her fingers through his black, straggling curls, traced a scar down his cheek to his patchy beard and chin.
“Clever lass,” he murmured. She felt a tear, his tear, soak into her blue silk sash. “My clever lass.”
“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me, Magnus. Make love to me as you have before.” She knelt within the shield of his arms and began to unpin the silk.
He gently plucked the pin from her and caught hold of her fingers. “You are well, Elfrida? You will take no hurt?”
“Not a bit,” she said cheerfully. “Neither myself nor the babe.” She unpinned the second brooch and the silk slithered from her shoulders, leaving her naked to the waist.
Now he reached for her, her Magnus, her husband and soon to be her lover. Again.
Elfrida smiled and let herself be overwhelmed, aware that their night together had only begun, a summer bewitchment for them both.
THE END
WWW.LINDSAYTOWNSEND.NET
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lindsay lives in Yorkshire, England, where she was born, and started writing stories at an early age. Always a voracious reader, she took a degree in medieval history and worked in a library for a while, then began to write full-time after marriage.
She is also fascinated by the medieval and ancient world, especially medieval Britain, where she set The Snow Bride and A Summer Bewitchment, and also ancient Rome, Egypt, and the Bronze Age. Flavia’s Secret, a historical romance set in Roman Britain, came out from Bookstrand in 2008, and two more historical romances, Blue Gold, set in ancient Egypt, and Bronze Lightning, set in Bronze Age Greece and the Britain of Stonehenge, were published by Bookstrand in early 2009. Two erotic historical romances, Escape to Love and Silk and Steel are both published by Siren and set in the ancient Roman world.
Bookstrand also published Lindsay’s sweet and sensual romantic suspense, set in various countries including Britain, Greece, Italy, and Spain. These romances are A Secret Treasure (set in Rhodes), Palace of the Fountains (set in Spain), Chasing Rachel (set on Dartmoor, England), and Holiday in Bologna (set in Italy).
When not writing or researching her books, she enjoys walking, reading, cooking, music, going out with friends and long languid baths with scented candles (and perhaps chocolate).
For all titles by Lindsay Townsend, please visit www.bookstrand.com/lindsay-townsend
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