Clasping my hands across my belly, I plodded after her broad back, up the twisted, narrow stairs into a small, bright bed-chamber.
“Is it thi first?”
Another nod, and a gasp of pain.
She took my cloak and gently helped me remove my gown sodden with rain and blood. A wave of nausea set me staggering and I grasped the bed-post to steady myself.
“Thou must lie down, hinny. Best take off thi shift. I’ll fetch some water so thou canst cleanse theesen.”
Trembling, I stripped off my shift, and using it to prevent soiling the bedding, crawled under the blankets shivering like a wounded animal.
Her hands were capable and kind. She spoke of practical matters as I surrendered to the pain, and consoled me when the ordeal came to a bitter end.
So I lost my baby in the landlord’s bed-chamber at the The Greyhound. The emptiness of such grief remains indescribable.
“We’ll make another child.” Miles enfolded me into the warmth of his embrace. I couldn’t speak. Even the benison of tears eluded me. The landlord’s wife hadn’t offered me such easy comfort.
Chapter Forty-Three
Barnard Castle
Barnard Castle perched like an eagle on a high bank across the River Tees. In the rain-washed light of a February morning, it appeared to me both terrible and imposing. With a heavy heart, I entered its portals.
The responsibility of his new post hung heavy on Miles. He promptly handed me over into the care of Mistress Moore, a woman of generous curves, a florid complexion, and abundant brown hair.
“I’ve been in service at Barnard since I were fifteen,” she said warmly. She guided me through a warren of corridors and steep steps. “You’ll find us one big family here.” She paused to exchange pleasantries with a pair of hefty wenches. “This is Mistress Forrest.” They nodded an enthusiastic greeting making no secret of their curiosity. “I’m telling her we’re a friendly lot up here and she’ll soon adapt to our ways.” Stopping outside a stout door, she gave me an appraising look. “Ee, but you’re not what I expected.”
I smiled wanly. “What did you expect?”
“Well, you’re a bonny lass but there’s not much of you. You’re a dainty, little thing. I expected summat a bit more substantial.” She smiled broadly, giving me a nudge as if to share a jest as she pushed open the door. “The men round here tend to favour buxom wenches— Ee, lass, forgive me, I’m an old fool. You must be fair spent. I’ll have Lizzie bring you something to eat. No need bothering to come down to the Hall. There’s a fine fire lit here already.”
Lizzie, a slatternly wench with a voluptuous bosom, brought me some kind of pottage. But exhaustion overwhelmed me. I’d no time to appreciate the comforts of the chamber. Instead I nodded off before the fire.
In my dream I climbed an endless winding staircase. Dark shapes danced upon walls and moisture oozed from the stones. Closed doors mocked me with secrets.
Presently I heard a child singing. The clear, boyish treble soared and swooped and I stopped to listen to the melody. The words spoke of lost love and betrayal, the cadences rising and falling with such yearning, tears pricked my eyes.
When a door swung open of its own accord, I dropped my taper and darkness rushed at me like a slavering beast. I tried to scream but no noise came. Instead, a hand fell heavy across my mouth. I kicked out, flailing clenched fists—
“Ssh!” A voice called out of the darkness. “I’m here.”
Sweating, panting, tears wet on my cheeks, I struck at something solid and woke suddenly.
Daylight filtered through heavy drapes. Beside the bed Miles nursed his cheekbone with mock injury. “I think you’ve had a nightmare,” he said. “At least I hope so for I’ve done nothing to merit such violent treatment.”
“It was horrible.” The appalling images loomed so vivid in my mind I couldn’t dismiss them. “I can’t think what such a dream might mean.”
“Must dreams mean something?” Miles leaned close. The blue of his eyes seemed to smoulder. He smoothed some wisps of hair from my forehead, his fingers lingering on the strands. “Or may they be just a muddle of nonsense from our daily lives?”
“Sometimes they’re important.” I clasped his hand, finding comfort in the solidity of his presence.
“You’re a strange lass.” He kissed my fingertips. “There’s some witchcraft in you. You’ve a way of saying things that startle, as if you know more than you tell.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve been called a witch.”
“You’ve bewitched me.”
The statement was made without jest and my heart skipped a beat. I stared into the enigmatic eyes as if to read a reason for this unexpected remark but their expression remained unfathomable.
“I can’t think how.”
“I knew I must have you from the first moment I saw you. And as for dreams—Why, yes, I dreamt of you before we met. But I’ve told you that already. And you say you dreamt of me.”
“I didn’t know you believed in such things,” I said, holding his gaze.
“I’ve good reason to believe in them. Our fates are intertwined, lass. I knew it in my bones the day I saw you at that house in Silver Street. Maybe I’m not such a churl as you think.”
“I never thought you that.”
Miles wrapped an arm around me, kissed me on the brow. “And I never thought to take you for a wife. I’ll not deny I wanted you in my bed. And I’d never met a lass so eager for bed-sport. When we first came to Middleham I thought myself a lucky knave and heard others envy me my prize! But what began as sport has grown more serious.” He looked deep into my eyes so I might see his confusion. “What spell have you used? How did you invade my dreams to make me yearn for you so desperately?”
“No spell. Miles.” I returned his kiss, moved by his tender regard. “If I’d such skills I’d have snared you earlier!” I leaned into the comfort of his embrace. “You’ve always played an important part in my dreaming. Since childhood the same dream’s plagued me over and over. I knew I must find you to prevent a great wrong—”
“Not now, lass.” His voice soothed, gentle as a caress. “Be easy and rest. Time enough to talk of such things when you’re recovered—” He rocked me in his arms. “I’m truly sorry about the babe. I told Agnes Moore you’d had a hard time. You’ll find her understanding of such matters. In a while, when spring comes, you’ll see Barnard at its best. Then you’ll feel you’re not among strangers anymore.”
“The people here seem friendly enough,” I answered drowsily. “Was it you put me to bed?” I noticed my stained gown cast carelessly upon a wooden coffer.
“I did. And you were so exhausted I had a hard time undressing you!” His eyes twinkled with mischief. Swinging down from the bed, he gathered up his cloak. “I must ride over to Staindrop now, but Agnes promised to send some wench to wait on you. I dare say you’ll find her a better maidservant than me.” He chucked me under the chin. “The duke’s honoured me with this appointment and I mustn’t fail him. I’ll be back before nightfall and we’ll go down to supper together in the Hall. How will that suit you?”
When he’d gone, I crept out of bed and drew back the drapes. Glancing down into a windswept courtyard, I spied a gardener lopping dead branches from a tree. Leaning on the sill, I watched a pair of crows swoop back and forth over his head, evidently much displeased by his handiwork. Finally, unable to resist any longer, I explored all the rooms in my new apartment, admiring the ornately carved oak furniture, the fine tapestries, the silken hangings patterned with blue and gold fleur de lis. My garments, scattered with sprigs of lavender, lay folded neatly in a heavy, polished chest in the bedchamber and my little jewel casket, wooden trinket box, brush, comb and pins sat together upon a shelf above. Miles wouldn’t have arranged things so carefully. Whoever put them away must have moved as silently as a cat while I dozed before the fire.
Finding a ewer of water and a bowl, I shed my ruined shift and washed swiftly. Dresse
d in clean clothes and standing before a fine looking-glass, I brushed my tangled hair, combing it loosely about my face in the way Miles loved so well. Then I opened the trinket box and took out my precious cloth-wrapped bundle tied with green ribbon. Kneeling before a vast stone hearth decorated with leaping stags, I laid out the pattern of Mara’s wondrous picture cards just as a plump little wench with bright auburn hair opened the door.
“Who are you?” I scooped up the cards with shaking hands, my heart racing.
“Amy Sadler, Mistress Forrest. I’ve been appointed to wait on you.” Her face burned scarlet with embarrassment. Her interlaced fingers twisted nervously. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Was it you who put my garments in the chest?” I fumbled the cloth about the cards, hardly daring to meet her eyes.
“I didn’t like to wake you.” Her breathy voice sounded hesitant, apologetic. Curiosity burning in her eyes, she watched me tie the ribbon. “Is it a new game, Mistress Forrest?”
“Yes,” I lied, averting my face, remembering how Harry told me once what a poor dissembler I made. “Just a game. But I didn’t expect—you made me jump.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No matter. I flung the bundle in the press. “Thank you, Amy, for being so considerate. You’ve done well.”
She smiled shyly. Under the fading blush a smattering of freckles painted her nose and cheeks. Tawny eyes shone with flecks of gold. “Aunt Agnes—I mean, Mistress Moore, said I should see if you needed anything.”
Amy Sadler proved an energetic little wench. Like a sparrow she flitted about her tasks and entertained me with local gossip. She ran errands for everyone and her bright chatter spread sunshine about the castle. As Miles had promised, the close-knit clan of Barnard’s womenfolk quickly drew me into their circle.
* * * * *
“Ee, th’art a miracle of knowledge, Nan,” said Agnes. She and the other women rifled through my herbal remedies. “And this infusion will cure the headache?”
“Or you could try some thyme vinegar.”
“Ee, what a canny lass! My grandmother swore a sprig of thyme under a child’s pillow would drive away nightmares.”
Lucy sniffed at one of the lotions. “What’s in this?”
“Lovage. It’s good for removing blemishes and spots.”
“Try some, Amy,” said Lucy with a giggle. She pointed to the angry red pustule on the girl’s chin. “Let’s see if it works.” She smeared a daub upon it while the maid blushed to the roots of her hair and the other women laughed.
“Well, my mother always said there’s a herb to cure everything—”
“Aye, but there’s others to kill an’ all—”
“If you’ve some poison for a lazy lump of a rogue—”
So the banter continued, but I didn’t mention Mara.
* * * * *
Miles proved right about Barnard. In spring the meadows bloomed bright with flowers. The rolling heather-scattered valleys lay fragrant and warm. How I loved the times we wandered on the heath, when he caught me in his arms and carried me easily upon his shoulder like a child, or chased me under the trees until we fell into a tickling embrace. Entwined among the long grass we shared kisses and secrets, while jubilant birds filled the branches with song and bees hummed drowsy lullabies. I relished this taste of purest happiness.
“There’s a fine colour in your cheeks, hinny,” said Agnes Moore. “And there’s a sparkle in your eye! I’ll wager that man of yours has been showing you the delights of the countryside hereabouts!”
Her teasing always brought the blushes to my cheeks.
One sun-drenched day in April, Miles took me walking amongst the most dramatic landscape I’d ever seen. Scrambling over fells and cliffs, through gorse-clad rocks and across ancient boulders, we climbed high into the hills until the distant splash of water became a nearby roar. Taking my hand, he lifted me over a stile to view the hurtling cascade that fell like shattering crystals on to the rocks far below. In the brilliant sunlight, every droplet became a jewel, so I might have been watching a miser scatter his precious hoard.
“This is the highest waterfall in the land, they tell me,” said Miles, shouting above the force of the water. Drawing me close, he kissed me on the mouth. Around us the spray fell like rain, sprinkling our hair and garments while the torrent rolled. “The stones are slippery. Hold on to me as we go down the slope.”
Under the shadow of the trees away from the thunderous noise we stretched luxuriously, sharing the bread and cheese and ale we’d brought with us. Never had a banquet tasted as delicious as that humble feast.
“So tell me about this dream.” Miles brushed away crumbs from his doublet and wrapped me in strong arms.
Leaning against his chest so close I could hear the steady beat of his heart, I shared the visions that had haunted me since childhood. As I spoke, Mistress Evans’s melodious voice returned to remind me of her prophecies—“Saddles and horses for you, and a long road to travel”—and here I was in the north—
“You’re an uncommon wench.” His hand stroked my unpinned hair. “But I knew that from the first.” He paused, and turning me to face him looked deep into my eyes as if to read a mystery. “But these dreams are too dangerous for other ears.”
“I’ve told no one save the priest—and a wise woman I met in Norwich.” Something prevented me from mentioning Harry.
“You must be careful. The wenches here delight in gossip and have loose tongues—you understand me? Our duke’s very pious and witchcraft’s a hanging matter. I know, I know—You told Lady Anne her fortune! But dreams and visions—That’s something else—” He sat upright. “I’m unlikely to have any business at the Tower, nor are we likely to return to London. The duke’s not easy at court—he’s no love for the Wydeville wench or her ambitious family. No, we’ll stay either here or at Middleham. Don’t look so disappointed, lass. I know you miss your family in London but you must content yourself with sending messages.” He kissed me softly on the lips, his eyes beginning to smoulder with languorous promise. “Besides, I thought you were so happy with me you needed no other pleasures—”
“I am! I am!” I flung myself upon him so that he slithered down the tree-trunk he was leaning against and bumped his head.
“Why is it then, you’re always beating me?” He rubbed his head with mock agony.
The sheltered privacy of the trees guarded our nakedness as we unlaced our garments to tangle upon a soft, leafy bed, stroking each other’s bodies into a frenzy of delight. Groaning with ecstasy, Miles turned me in his arms to straddle him so that the dark, luxuriant cascade of my unloosed hair fell across his face. Twisting his fingers among its curls he pulled me gently towards him, so our mouths might touch and drink in each other’s moisture.
As my tongue traced the black hair that threaded down the muscled contours of his chest towards his hardening manhood, he groaned and wrenched back my head. Drawing me down astride him again, he reached to squeeze my breasts, his eyes a furious blue blaze beneath me.
“Forget what those cold-blooded priests have taught you,” he breathed, suddenly clasping his hands under the curve of my buttocks to lift and enter me with a swift, fierce, delicious thrust. “Rules made for monks deny the woman's right to lie on top, yet I avow a wench may please a man any way she chooses. These holy men know nothing of pleasure,” he murmured, as he urged me to move above him, his gasps growing harsh and ragged. “You may ride me now to paradise.”
Dizzied with kisses, his mouth now at my breasts, sucking and teasing the taut nipples, Miles pressed me closer, thrusting up to meet me with mounting urgency and vigour. Writhing sinuously in the power of new-discovered sensation I abandoned myself to this surely forbidden pleasure, flinging back my hair, enticing him with rapturous cries, revelling in the strength, the heat of him, as we strove together towards a powerful, shuddering release.
Spent and satiated, we fell apart at last to lie in the drowsy aftermath of love. Lazil
y entwined, we watched the sunlight flicker through the branches and Miles covered me with little kisses.
As we strolled back through bracken and heather, his arm about my waist, he told me how he returned from Burgundy to take up soldiering for Warwick, and after the Earl’s disgrace, he joined the Duke of Gloucester’s men.
“I’ve pledged my allegiance, Nan, and nothing will make me change. Gloucester’s bound by loyalty to his brother, the King, as am I to him. He’s a good man and we’re fortunate in his patronage.” He stopped to look me in the eye. “But no more fortune-telling—”
“But what about the dream?”
Guilt bloomed in my cheeks, for hadn’t I read the cards for Agnes Moore already? Little Amy tattled of the new game she’d caught me playing, intriguing Agnes. Before long she persuaded me to share my secret. Miles’ warning caused a sharp stab of anxiety. Could I trust Amy? Agnes called her a “canny” lass. I wondered how many others she told about my skill with the cards?
“Put it aside, lass,” he said. “I’ll not go chasing after a pair of mysterious brothers, however noble! Don’t look so serious. If fate will have us find them, then let it be so—until then, let’s enjoy life while we can!”
Somehow Miles made my fears evaporate like morning mist. Anxious to please him, I immersed myself in my new life. Love makes fools of all of us. Hadn’t I learned that lesson from Eleanor? But Mara’s wisdom and Brother Brian’s advice faded into insignificance while I plunged recklessly into passion. I think I was delirious that summer. I spent my days with Agnes and her friends and wallowed in Miles’ love-making by night. Never had I felt so young or happy.
This feverish existence couldn’t last. Presently I noticed things that intruded on my perfect contentment. Miles disappeared on a number of puzzling errands. Amy evaded my questions but her sly smile vexed. Agnes pretended ignorance and Lucy eyed me suspiciously. When I questioned Miles he grew tetchy. I realised my adored husband had secrets of his own that he wouldn’t share. They say Love’s blind. But how long can his foolish blindness keep us in thrall? I had welcomed Miles as the passionate lover of my dreams. Now I found him flawed. What was everyone hiding from me?
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