by Mary Wine
Men were whispering, asking to burn her. Ambrose held up his hand and they fell silent. They eyed him, waiting to see what he’d do.
“I will be the one to decide the matter.”
Ambrose stiffened but lifted the tent flap out of his way and entered. The floor was covered with Persian carpets and the table held expensive glass from the Holy Land. There was a huge throne-like chair facing the entrance of the tent and an overlarge bed for campaigns behind it.
At the foot of the bed lay a huge pillow. The woman was on it, lying across its expanse and watching him with dark eyes. Her only clothing was a robe that lay across her curves like molten gold.
Her hand moved, lowering from her lips as she swallowed something. She blinked and drew in a deep breath. “I am not a witch.”
“Did you brew the poison?” he asked.
She blinked again. “What men label a poison, women call an easement for bringing their courses.”
“To the Lady de Segrave, it was a poison.”
She blinked again, this time slower. “I obeyed my master. For one such as myself, there is no other path. He bought me…in the market.”
Her eyes slid shut. Ambrose moved closer as her breathing became softer and softer. Her hand relaxed, the small pottery cup she’d drunk from rolling over the edge of the pillow and onto the floor.
He picked it up and sniffed it. A bitter scent clung to it, a dark ring marking the inside.
Poison, no doubt.
A draft blew through the tent as his captain entered. “Do you want us to take her?”
“Not just yet.” Ambrose stood and placed the cup on the table.
“She should be burned.”
Ambrose turned to look at the man. “Have compassion. She will be dead soon enough and by her own hand. You’ll take some men and bury her.”
The captain’s expression darkened.
“You will,” Ambrose insisted. “There will be order in this camp and Christian values.” He aimed a hard look at the man. “Every man will be judged by what he does from this day forward, and they will extend that mercy to one another as well as this woman. No man will be faulted for the obedience he gave to Raeburn. Neither will she.”
“Aye, my lord. Well spoken.”
Ambrose turned around and watched as the woman drew her last breath. It was soft and slow, her face serene as life left her body.
He lowered his head and offered prayer for her, beseeching mercy for a soul who had found little of it in life.
* * *
Ramon’s men were building something in the yard.
Isabel looked at it as she was brought back to the keep. Their mood was somber, unlike it had been when they labored to raise the new tower. Their expressions were grim and she felt a chill on her nape.
“What is that?” she asked.
Ramon cradled her as he carried her up the stairs to their chamber, his arm tightening instead of giving her an explanation.
“Ramon?” she pressed. “You are avoiding my question. Why?”
He settled her into their bed, holding his tongue until he had made sure she was settled on two plump pillows and the bedding was tucked up to her chest.
“It is a gallows,” he said in a hard tone.
Thomas arrived to help Ramon take his armor off. She wanted to help but she was weak. The bedding helped restore warmth to her toes and she tightened her grip on the blankets, but she kept her eyes on Ramon. His squire poured some water into a pan. Ramon happily cupped it in his hands and splashed it onto his face. Mud and blood washed away and he braced his hands on the table before speaking again.
“The boy must pay,” Ramon said softly, but with a firm tone she recognized well.
Thomas’s lips were set in a hard line as he handed his lord a towel to dry his face. Ramon stood and walked toward her. “It is the duty of a lord to enforce the law on his land. He’ll be hanged in the morning. It will be quickly done.”
“Could you not banish him?”
Ramon shook his head. “His crime is too great. He’ll spend his last night in the dungeon.”
“The what?” She sat up. “There is no such thing on my land.”
“In the keep I built, there is a dungeon for times when the law must be enforced. Or someone held because they might do harm to others. He might have tampered with the food stores instead of just your drink.”
Her belly tightened; things might have been so much worse. Yet she couldn’t fathom that beneath her very bed was a place designed for nothing but torture. “I cannot bear the idea of sleeping above such a place of pain and torment.”
“There is only a set of chains in there, to keep those who have proven themselves untrustworthy from harming others.”
“He didn’t poison me.”
Ramon was washing his hands and forearms. “He carried the poison into this keep and failed to tell me. Our child might be dead because of it.”
She cradled her belly, trying to protect the tiny life inside her. Yet she knew it was true. No one had a will strong enough to start life once it had stopped.
Life could so often be quickly gone.
“I am going to bathe. There is a man at the door in case you need help.”
She was suddenly tired. Every bit of strength bled away and left her grateful for the bed supporting her.
She was grateful for a lot of things.
So many things.
Yet she hungered for more favor from fate. Just one more miracle. She covered her belly with her hands, trying to protect and soothe the baby inside her.
Just one more gift.
Isabel slept, waking when Ramon returned from bathing. He gathered her close and kissed her temple.
She sighed and rested her hand on his chest, absorbing the proof of his life. Willing it to travel through her body to their child.
* * *
Isabel woke in the early hours of the night. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, the chill of winter tightening. Ramon lay beside her, his breath soft and even. Her nose was cold but the man holding her was so very warm.
Something moved inside her.
It was only a soft motion, but within her womb. She lay still, framing the small mound of her belly with her hands. Waiting as she held her breath, sleep losing its hold on her instantly.
Was she imagining things?
It moved again, and again. A soft thump against the inside of her womb. Like the motion of a butterfly’s wings. And then it came again, a little stronger now, like the tapping of a finger against the back of her hand.
A smile brightened her face.
Their child lived…
Joy burst inside her, sending two tears of happiness down her cheeks.
Alive.
It was such a gift. Such a blessing. She would raise her child with love and never forget to tell him how much joy his presence brought to her.
The poor little boy named Donald had never heard such words from his mother.
Isabel felt her joy ebbing as she contemplated the gallows standing so newly built in the yard. Everyone pitied the boy, but that would mean nothing when the sun rose and he was taken to his execution.
She sat up, not even sure what she’d decided to do. Only that Donald’s face refused to leave her thoughts. The bed itself was no longer welcoming.
The keep was quiet, the guard no longer at her door. She walked down the stairs in her bare feet and kept going until she made it to the chamber beneath the great hall. She opened the door she hadn’t realized led to another level and went down the narrow steps. Here, there was no heat from a hearth, no scent of smoke. Only a lingering smell of mortar. The stairwell was narrow and the only way down into the dungeon. Once on the ground floor, she felt the walls closing in on her for the ceiling was low.
The huge collar Ramon had onc
e threatened her with was now secured around Donald’s throat. The boy wasn’t sleeping. He watched her as she entered the room, his face looking much older than the last time she’d seen him. His eyes were sunken back in his head, dried blood still on the side of his face.
“Lady…” he rasped and fell to his knees. The chain shifted, sending noise through the chamber that echoed in a horrifying way.
“Be still,” she warned and looked at the door above her.
When she looked back at him, he’d clasped his hands and held them up to her. “Forgive me. The priest said I’d burn in hell if you didn’t forgive me. I beg you, have mercy on my soul.”
What are you doing?
She wasn’t entirely sure. Only that she’d ended up there without fully deciding to go. It had been an instinct of some sort. Something she was powerless to ignore. Another flutter of motion stirred in her belly and she knew what she was about.
Life. Aye.
“I forgive you.”
Relief covered his face. He collapsed onto his haunches and cried silently. His expression became one of acceptance. “I’m grateful to you. I am indeed.”
It turned her stomach to see him.
She lifted the key from the hook on the wall and moved toward him. He watched her, biting his lower lip to suppress the question he wanted to ask. When she fitted the key into the lock, he quivered, his entire body shaking as a light entered his eyes.
“Lady?”
She twisted the lock free and stepped back, suddenly unsure if she had made a mistake. Donald collapsed on the floor, flattening himself and reaching forward with one hand. He caught the edge of her robe with two shaking fingers. He drew the fabric to his lips and kissed it.
“Go,” she said as tears filled her eyes. “I cannot do more for you. My husband will hang you if you are caught.”
He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes swimming with tears. “You have done everything, lady. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Yes, you can,” she said as he drew back onto his haunches and stood. “Become a man of honor. Prove my actions right by never doing harm again, for in truth, I am not sure why I am here. Perhaps goodness is a chain, for Rauxana cut my bonds and without that mercy, I would have suffered greatly. So now I release you. Show your gratitude with your actions. Become a good man.”
“I shall,” he whispered before he looked toward the door. Hope brightened his eyes and he showed a hunger for life. He crept across the floor quietly, pausing in the doorway to look at what was on the other side before disappearing through it.
She’d have to confess to Ramon.
Isabel replaced the key and drew in a deep breath.
She could not lie. No, there was nothing for it but confession.
“I wondered if you would make it through the night without coming down here.”
She gasped and jumped as Ramon appeared in the doorway. Her husband contemplated her as she lifted her chin.
“I planned to tell you,” she said firmly.
He nodded. “Aye, I believe you would have. No matter how much you know I feel that boy is a threat to you.”
“Only so long as Jacques was alive.”
Ramon came down the stairs and picked her up. “The Raeburns have other sons, Isabel. They will always consider this land theirs. Land is the only true wealth. They will not abandon what they see as their claim.”
He carried her up the stairs.
“They will have to.” She spoke firmly. “Our child lives.”
He froze with her still in his arms. Need flickered in his eyes.
“I felt it move,” she whispered, “inside my womb.”
He let her feet down and cupped her belly, seeking proof.
“Mildred says you will be able to feel it in time. When my belly rounds.”
Disappointment flashed across his face, but he nodded.
“I couldn’t stomach the thought that blood would be spilled at sunrise on the day that I learned my child still lived. Forgive me for that.”
Her husband stood silent for a long moment.
“I love you, Isabel.”
“Yet that is not saying you forgive me,” she argued softly.
He laughed softly. “I understand you. Why do you think no one stopped you?”
She lifted her head. “You know me too well.”
He offered her an arrogant chuckle.
“I am surprised none of your captains questioned you on the matter.”
Ramon opened the door and started to carry her through it. Two of Ramon’s captains stood there, Donald held between them.
“They did not question, because they were here.” Ramon hooked his hands into his wide belt. “Where is the old woman who claims this boy?”
“I am here, my lord.”
An old woman made her way from where she’d been sitting at one of the tables. Ramon stared at her. “You claim this boy?”
“Indeed I do. Adopted him, I did, for me own son is lost on the Crusade.”
Ramon nodded. “You would have mercy for him?”
“Aye. He came to me, my lord, and told me about the poison. If he’d not, the babe would have been lost by morning. It is a woman’s knowledge, you see. Have mercy, for if he’d held his tongue, everyone would have thought it naught more than misfortune.”
Ramon looked at Donald. He nodded at his men and his captains released the boy. Donald stumbled but corrected himself and stood tall.
“Do you want to be adopted, boy?” Ramon asked.
Donald blinked, the question catching him by surprise. He turned to look at the cook, his lips twisting into a giddy smile. He cleared his throat and looked back at Ramon. “Aye, my lord.”
“And swear loyalty?”
Surprise flashed across Donald’s face a second before he fell to his knee. “Forever, my lord!” His voice was so loud, several of the men sleeping on the floor of the hall woke and sat up to see what was happening.
Isabel held her breath. But Donald looked up at Ramon with a glitter of satisfaction in his eyes. She realized she’d never seen the boy so happy. Ramon didn’t miss it. He tightened his lips to keep them in a hard line.
“Done.” Ramon turned his head toward the cook. “Now stop keeping your mother up so late with worry. She needs her rest, my men eat a lot of food.”
Donald sprang up, his feet barely touching the floor. “Aye,” he answered as he put his arm out for the cook. She took it as tears made shiny tracks down her wrinkled cheeks.
Ramon shook his head but his lips curved before he turned and scooped Isabel off her feet. Once she was settled into their bed he grunted at her, “My men are taking bets on how easily you will bend me to your will.”
“They would not.” She slapped his shoulder before he pressed her head back down. “Admit you enjoyed seeing that boy happy.”
“I’ll run him through if he steps out of line.” There was a hard note of finality in his tone. She smoothed her hand along his chest.
“Sometimes, all any of us need is a second chance at life. I am grateful for my second chance with marriage.”
“As am I.”
It was simple to slip back into sleep now. Ramon’s embrace cradled her as she felt her child move again.
Aye, she was grateful for the chance to know love.
* * *
The White Tower was imposing, just as it was intended to be. Prince John sat inside it with his brother’s barons. Occupying the head of the table, king in everything but name, which vexed him because it meant each baron had a vote. They also had the right to wear a baron’s coronet with eight points on it. No one except a royal was allowed a crown. It was Richard’s seal on their position, his blessing on their rulings.
John didn’t care to share the crown with anyone, but he was only a prince. He would need the
support of these men if he wanted the crown. The people of England were growing tired of Richard’s Crusades and the cost they had to shoulder for his glory, both in gold and lives. That dissatisfaction was something John might use to his advantage. No one wanted to be ruled by a king who didn’t want to be in the country.
“You killed Baron Raeburn.”
“In a fair fight,” Ramon de Segrave answered clearly. “He poisoned my wife. My challenge was just.”
Two of the other barons nodded in agreement. “Raeburn bought his title,” Baron Smyth said. “He was no true baron.”
“But your action caused his army to fall under your command,” John argued. The rest of the barons’ expressions tightened. None of them wanted any baron to have more resources than they had.
Ramon stared at him. “The army in question is under the command of my captain, Ambrose St. Martin. He is worthy of the title of baron.”
John stroked his beard. Ambrose St. Martin was a huge, golden-haired beast of a man. He stood behind his lord with a solid stance.
“His task will be greatly vexing if you elevate him. Raeburn’s men lacked discipline and honor. But to disband them would have flooded the borderlands with villains. The Welsh lairds would have been happy with that. More men to use against us. Even if only half of them are salvaged, it is better.”
“I see the worth in your actions,” the prince muttered. “Ambrose St. Martin, you are raised by my hand to the title of baron.”
There were a few narrowed eyes, but John enjoyed knowing that not everyone was pleased. It was important to keep every baron guessing. They’d think to rule him otherwise. But there was one thing that John intended to do.
And that was to rule in his own right.
He’d be the king of England, and soon too.
As for Richard, well, John doubted his brother would ever return from the Crusade. It was an added bonus that his brother had done nothing about ensuring he had an heir.
That left the throne of England for him, and John was going to be very happy to accept it. More than one of the barons had noted how things were going to be. Segrave and St. Martin would now be indebted to him as well.