Claire Delacroix (13 page)

More, Evangeline would have a surprise of her own. She had not had the last victory in this matter, for there was weight in my saddlebag beyond that of the babe.

The lady might have skill at chess, but I had the
Titulus Croce
.

And that, despite the squalling baby in my arms and the swelling of my eye, made me smile.

* * *

My triumphant mood did not lasted long. I know nothing about children, nothing beyond the fact that they are not overly interesting. This child, however, was clearly a demon in human guise. She looked soft and sweet, but her demands were ceaseless.

And they were loud.

I had previously had no idea that babes wept so much. Indeed, I could have happily lived out my days without learning of my error. My teeth were on edge from the babe’s relentless wails. I did not know what she wanted, if indeed she wanted anything, or whether she howled simply to torment me.

That possibility seemed more and more likely the longer her protests continued. The woods and rocks echoed with her lament. The snow had melted a bit, so the horse found his footing more readily. The sky was clear and the wind biting.

I thought - foolishly! - that the babe might exhaust herself in time, that I had only to outwait her, but this small girl had the strength of a hundred men. I had no respite, but this creature did not care.

Remarkably, I was in the company of a soul more selfish than me.

I halted to let the horse rest just before the dawn, and the babe cried with greater vigor. I rocked her, thinking she perhaps missed the rhythm of the horse’s gait.

But no. The babe gathered her small hands into fists, strained backward and hollered until her face was crimson. I whispered nonsense to her, I bounced her vigilantly, I even danced. I made a blessed fool of myself and I did not care.

If it would silence her, I would do it. Suddenly, I recalled that lullabies were sung to children. I cleared my throat and sang with gusto a song created on the spot.

There was a maid of Inverfyre

With blue blue eyes and golden hair.

So fair was the maid of Inverfyre

That knights came courting from afar.

It was a poor rhyme, as those made under duress could oft be, but she did not seem overly critical.

Indeed, she halted her crying. The horse snorted, but I had no care for his approval. The babe hiccupped, studied me, and sniffled. She cried again, but less vigilantly, her bleary gaze fixed expectantly upon me.

I am not unused to young maidens being intrigued with me, so I found her response reassuring. I composed another verse, contorting my features as I acted out the parts.

There came courting to her abode

A man with a wart on his nose.

Other suitors laughed at this node

They told the maid this was no rose.

To my astonishment, the baby smiled. Relief nearly took me to his knees, then she reached toward me. Her dimpled hand wavered in the air, uncertain, and I lifted one hand to steady her. A tumble would only make matters worse, and she seemed to have no more bones that a sack of wriggling kittens.

She grasped my finger in a surprisingly strong grip, then put its tip in her mouth. Her gums did not hurt as she clamped on to my finger and sucked, though I thought I could feel a tooth emerging.

But she was quiet. I heaved a sigh and sat down for a moment’s reprieve beneath her adoring gaze.

Truly, she was an attractive child when she ceased to scream. She might have been called angelic. It was hard to reconcile the demon who had tormented me all night with this adorable creature.

Her eyes were as blue as the Mediterranean, her lashes long and dark and thick. Her cheeks were plump and rosy, her brows fair. Her hair was short and fine, golden curls that were softer than the finest down. She released my finger to smile and I was smitten.

But what should I do with her? I could not keep her, I knew that. She was not my blood, so I supposed I had no obligation to her. I could leave her on the porch of a church, or outside the door of some wealthy merchant.

She sucked on my finger with greater vigor, her tiny nails digging into my flesh, and I felt fear for her. What if no one claimed her? What if she was left to die? What if some hungered dog assaulted her before she was found?

No, that would not do.

I could find Connor MacDoughall, the man who was her father in truth. I could not help but consider that a poor option. What little I knew of Connor - that he was tight with his coin and lied to the pretty wenches he bedded - was scarcely an endorsement. And clearly, I could not return her to Inverfyre.

But I could take her to Ravensmuir.

I brightened at the prospect. It was perfect. My brother’s widow, Ysabella, already had a young brother. Why not another child underfoot? The prospect of seeking aid from my brother’s widow was daunting, since I had shamelessly deceived her when last we met, but surely she would feel compassion for a babe.

The sorry truth was that my past deeds could affect this adorable child’s future, just as they had recently affected my own. That was not a comforting thought.

Perhaps I could abandon the girl at Ravensmuir’s portal. She released my finger and gave me another toothless yet utterly charming smile. No, no, I would have to have Ysabella’s sworn pledge to raise this infant with care. No less would do.

Perhaps the babe was hungry. I did not know what young children ate. Oh, babes suckled, I knew this, but I was not able to offer that particular choice.

How could long she survive without food?

How fast could I ride to Ravensmuir?

As I watched, the babe tightened her face again, though this time she did not cry out. She wrinkled her nose in a most delightful fashion and her cheeks pinkened. Her eyes closed tightly, as if she considered some philosophical matter deeply. I studied her, sensing that something was afoot, but did not comprehend the small sound that I heard emanate from her.

She smiled at me sunnily as a fetid smell rose from her swaddling. I choked on the fumes. Indeed, my eyes watered. I peeked and nearly lost whatever was in my own gut. I had not realized that a babe could make such a mess. I was not certain what to do about it.

Riding with all haste for Ravensmuir seemed the best course.

* * *

It took four days to reach the coast, and they were the four longest days of my life. The babe cried and fussed for the first day, straining against my grip. When we reached a river, I tried to clean her bottom, but she only made another mess before I was done. In the end, she looked worse than she had afore I tried to clean her - at least she had begun with her swaddling neatly arranged.

At first light in a tiny village, I charmed a maid who perched on a stool milking a stoic cow, then stole the bucket of milk when the maiden looked away. I sprinted back to the hidden babe and horse, and galloped several miles before halting to feed her. To my relief, the babe suckled heartily from the cloth I dipped into the milk.

Then she vomited upon my shoulder.

The second meal she seemed inclined to keep. She burped and hiccupped and howled the second day away, miring herself and taking solace solely from sucking upon my finger. I took the open road, uncaring whether any pursued me now or not. I had need of haste. I managed to get some water into her every few hours, and the occasional cup of milk.

Everything seemed to erupt into her swaddling in doubled quantities and with astonishing speed.

By the time I washed her on the third morning, her flesh was covered with an angry red rash. I was nigh mad with lack of sleep and worry for her survival.

The last time a child’s fate had depended upon me, I had failed completely. I was determined not to repeat that particular sin.

When the babe ceased to cry at all, I realized that silence was far worse than her weeping. She would not even take my finger that afternoon. Her tiny face was pale and her eyes remained closed no matter how I sang or cajoled her.

Terrified that this soul entrusted to my care could be lost through my incompetence, I abandoned any thought of respite for the horse and rode through the night.

* * *

We reached the coast north of Ravensmuir just before the dawn.

Uncaring who saw me, I raced the horse along the cliffs, then dismounted before the furthest entry to the labyrinth that snaked beneath the keep. I led the horse into the darkness, whispering reassurances to it when it balked. There are a maze of tunnels beneath my family abode, a maze that I know as well as the shape of my own hand. It is disconcerting to step into dark tunnels, though, and more so for a horse. I nestled the silent child against my shoulder, and coaxed the horse onward.

The babe was a mess, I knew this, and would do little to charm Ysabella into accepting responsibility for her. I still had no idea how to best make this proposal, which was most unlike me. I like to be prepared, but the babe had consumed my every thought.

I carried her to a chamber directly below the keep where a warm stream trickled from the rock. The oil lanterns and flint were hidden where they always were, and I lit one lantern. I peeled off the babe’s clothing gently and whispered to her, telling her tales of how fine a life she would have here at Ravensmuir even as I feared that Ysabella would refuse me.

“You must smile,” I bade her. “Smiles soften hearts and yours could melt a stone. You must open your eyes and smile, just as you did to me.”

The babe was despondent. Her flesh looked so swollen and sore that I almost wept. I swaddled her when I had washed her as best as I was able and lifted her to my shoulder again, touching her cheek with a fingertip. “You can charm them, I know this well. Come, grant me one small smile to show that you yet can.”

I sang the ditty to her, but this time, she made no response. She settled her face against my palm and sighed, a single tear leaking from the corner of her closed eye.

“Sweet Jesus,” I whispered in dismay as I gathered her closer. “What have I done?”

“I should think it quite evident what you have done,” Merlyn said quietly from the shadows behind me.

* * *

I would have known my brother’s voice anywhere, no less his ability to move as quietly as a cat. I struggled not to jump, though I knew Merlyn to be dead. I turned slowly, as if unsurprised by his presence, fearing that madness had claimed my wits in my exhaustion.

How much worse could it be to face a vengeful corpse?

Merlyn stood there, wreathed in shadows, and looking remarkably solid and hale for a specter.

My eyes narrowed at his smug smile. “There is nothing amusing about this.”

“On the contrary, there is much amusing in finding you snared finally by the fruits of your own deeds.”

“She is not mine!”

Merlyn smiled with disbelief.

“And you are said to be dead.”

“Not yet, though I fear that truth may disappoint some.” Merlyn gave me a quelling glance, but I held his gaze. He strolled closer, then frowned. His gentle touch had the babe’s eyes opening so quickly that I was jealous of what he knew of children.

Merlyn looked at me, his gaze dark with accusation. “This child is gravely ill, Gawain. From whence did she come? Where is her mother, or did you cast her aside for the sake of the child?”

“The mother is dead.”

“How charming,” Merlyn said wryly. “I shall hope that you had no involvement in that.” He plucked the babe from my grasp with enviable ease, as if I were incompetent beyond belief. His was the annoying manner of an older brother who knows best, and it irked me no less than it had when we were small. His frown deepened as he studied her. “God in heaven, Gawain, what have you done to this child?”

“Nothing!”

“Clearly. It is unlike even you to be so thoughtless.”

“I did not know what to do with her or how to care for her, so I brought her here.” I straightened. “I hoped Ysabella would see fit to take the babe beneath her care.”

Merlyn’s quick glance only fortified my own doubts. “After your last deceit? My lady has a considerable dislike of you since you lied to her and deceived her.”

“But surely, for the sake of the child…”

“If Ysabella agrees, she will accept the child from you, not for you.”

“I do not care.”

Merlyn studied me. “Why did you even seize the babe? What advantage did you hope to secure?”

“I did not seize her, nor was there any advantage I hoped to gain.” I was disgusted by my brother’s skepticism and my voice rose. “The grandmother mistook me for the child’s father. I had no choice.”

“You could have abandoned the child.”

I spoke with resolve. “No, I could not.”

Merlyn spoke carefully, as if testing me. “Of course you could have done so. People abandon children all the time. Babes are left at monasteries and churches every day of the year.”