The Love Knot (12 page)

Catrin nodded. 'If you want,' she said, but caught his sleeve to hold him back. 'You slept well?'

Richard wrinkled his nose. 'I didn't dream if that's what you mean, but all the noise woke me up.' He shrugged. 'I'm glad the baby's alive.'

Catrin felt the tug of resistance against her hand and let him go. He bolted from the room like a young hare, and the midwife shook her head with envy. 'Wish my old legs were as springy as that,' she said, adding thoughtfully, 'He does well to shoulder the burdens he has.'

'I suppose Oliver told you about him.'

Etheldreda limped towards the door. 'He told me enough but I still have eyes to see. God's Mother, if I had to rely on information from Master Oliver, I'd still be sitting at my fire now! Sometimes it's like drawing a tooth!'

Stifling a smile, Catrin escorted Ethel down the draughty, winding stair. As they reached the foot, the new father greeted them on his eager way to see his infant son. 'A boy!' he cried. 'It's a boy!'

'Aye, so it is, my lord,' said Etheldreda drily. Geoffrey grabbed her, plonked two smacking kisses on her cheeks, pressed a silver penny in her hand, and shot on up the stairs.

Ethel rubbed her cheek and chuckled. 'I warrant he'll not still be sober the other side of prime.'

Catrin glanced up the stairs to the sound of his receding footfalls and warmed to Edon's husband a little more.

She escorted Ethel as far as the bailey, whereupon the midwife insisted that she could see herself the rest of the way to her shelter. 'I'm for a cup of ale and a wink of shut-eye, but I'll return to look in on mother and babe before noon.'

'What about all those stairs?'

The whiskery mouth pursed stubbornly. 'I'll manage, young woman,' she said and then looked sidelong at Catrin. 'Leastways for today, while I show you what to do. After that you can check on mistress Edon and report to me.'

'But I don't ... I'm not . . .' Catrin began.

'You will and you are,' Ethel interrupted firmly, her tone brooking no argument. 'Leave me now, I can manage from here.'

Chewing her underlip, Catrin watched the indomitable old woman make her way towards the main camp. Only four days ago, Catrin had known what to expect from daily life. Now she felt as if she were a stone, rolling down a hill and gathering speed with terrifying momentum. But it was exhilarating too.

Turning back to the keep, she was surprised to see Rohese de Bayvel hurrying across the bailey in the direction of the camp. The seamstress was wearing a hooded cloak, but Catrin recognised the skilful embroidery on the hem of Rohese's gown, and the shoes with their distinctive silk braid side-lacings. The image of the haughty embroideress entering the human stew of Earl Robert's camp of her own volition, and at a run, was enough to make Catrin stare with widening eyes. She remembered the furtive exchange of money for a pouch of herbs and wondered if Rohese had taken a lover among the Earl's common troops. She was curious and interested, but not shocked. After serving Amice for three years, there was very little that could surprise her about men and women. 'Have you lost him again?'

Stifling a scream, Catrin spun round and discovered Oliver grinning behind her. His hair was wet and bore the sleek sheen of silver gilt, and there was a barber's nick on the point of his chin, showing a pin-prick bead of red. It was the first time that she had seen him unencumbered by his mail. He seemed taller and thinner without the bulk of hauberk and gambeson, the dark blue tunic emphasising both traits. The colour was expensive, affordable only to the nobility, but the garment bore evidence of hard wear. There was a patch in one elbow of a slightly different shade of blue, and the cuffs bore much evidence of darning.

'Lost who?' Catrin asked, momentarily taken aback by his sudden and changed appearance.

'Richard of course.'

'What?' She rallied her wits. 'Oh, no. He's gone off with Thomas FitzRainald again.' 'Did he wake last night?'

She shook her head. 'Not for dreams, but he was woken.' She told him about Edon, but avoided the details about her part in the baby's delivery. 'I was escorting Ethel back to her shelter.'

His expression remained neutral as she mentioned the childbirth, but he seemed eager to change the subject. 'Have you broken your fast yet?'

She shook her head.

'Neither have I, and they'll be serving bread and cheese in the hall by now.' He held out his darned sleeve in a formal gesture. She hesitated for a moment, then laid her own along it. She was wearing her blue-green undergown, and in quality and wear it matched his own appearance. Suddenly she was glad that she was not dressed in the rich, dark red tunic.

'I did not think that you would return so soon,' she said, as they entered the hall and found a place at one of the rapidly filling trestles.

'It would have taken us longer,' he admitted, 'but we had help. A group of mercenaries happened by on their way to seek employment with Earl Robert, and they lent us their aid.' Drawing his knife, he expertly divided a flat loaf of bread between them.

'Mercenaries,' Catrin repeated, the word emerging with revulsion.

He laid the knife on the board. 'I know their leader. He saved my life a long time ago when I was a pilgrim. If not for Randal's intervention, I would have been slaughtered by brigands and my bones scattered by the vultures. We journeyed together for a six-month and I owe him a debt from that time - not only for my life, but for the lessons he taught me.' He tore a morsel off his portion of bread and put it in his mouth.

'Then how did they come to "happen by"?' Catrin asked. 'Penfoss was a small settlement serving a hunting lodge. Hardly the place for mercenaries to seek employment.'

'It has a water trough for thirsty horses,' he said, swallowing and pulling off another chunk of bread. There were tense lines at his eye corners. 'And it is simple enough to find - there's that wide cart-track leading through the trees.' He threw her a sideways glance, his grey eyes bright with hostility. 'Randal was riding a bay stallion and his shield was blue and red.'

Catrin took up her own portion of the loaf and picked crumbs from the broken crust. She knew that she owed him an apology, but the words stuck in her throat. When he spoke of mercenaries, all she could see in her mind's eye was the wanton destruction at Penfoss.

'And if he had found us as the others found us, what then?' she demanded. 'Would watering the horses have been enough?'

Oliver chewed the bread with powerful rotations of his jaw. A flush spread from his throat to the flaxen hair curling and drying on his browline. 'You go too far,' he said huskily. 'I owe Randal my life. Insult him and you insult me.'

'I ... I didn't insult him, or you. I just asked a question.' Catrin flushed as well, anger brimming in her eyes. 'And you would ask it too if you had been a witness to . . .' She broke off, unable to continue. Crumbs showered the board as she dug her fingernail into the soft, brown core of the bread.

He looked away, swallowed, and after a moment sighed and looked back. 'Randal de Mohun has led a far from blameless life, but that does not make him an ogre. You accused me of judging Amice. Should I now accuse you of judging Randal?'

Catrin shook her head. 'I'm sorry,' she forced out, feeling wretched.

The hardness left his face, and the glint of anger died in his eyes. 'And I am sorry for being so swift to take offence. Let us call a truce before you've nothing to make a meal but crumbs.'

Catrin glanced down at her mangled bread which, in truth, she did not feel very much like eating. But to show that she was willing to agree to his truce, she raised a morsel to her mouth. Once she started to chew, she discovered that she was ravenous. The previous night's vigil had taken its toll on her energy, and she polished off the remains of her bread in short order, together with a large lump of cheese.

'So,' he said, adroitly changing the subject as he finished his own meal, 'is life in the bower any more appealing for the sake of another day and night?'

'It would stifle me if I had to remain there the day long.' She took a drink of the cider which had been served with the bread and cheese. 'The Countess has been very kind, but I cannot bear all the shrewish remarks and tittle-tattle. Trivial matters are exaggerated out of all proportion. What does it matter if the hem of a gown is not quite straight, or someone spills a drip of wine on the napery?'

He looked amused for a moment, but then he sobered. 'So, you are not content?'

'Oh, no, I would not have you think me ungrateful. I am happy enough and I do have other matters to occupy my time.' She used the moment of drinking her cider to look at him through her lashes. She did not relish the thought of another confrontation, and Etheldreda had said that he would 'burst his hauberk' when he discovered that she was embarking on a career of herb-lore and midwifery.

'Other matters?' He raised his brows.

For an instant Catrin was trapped by his scrutiny. His eyes were grey; not the light, sharp hue of glass which she would have associated with such fair hair, but a darker, storm-water colour that in dull light could be mistaken for brown. Less to be seen, more to be discovered and, like dark water, to draw her down. Catrin mentally shook herself. Lack of sleep was making her fanciful. 'Things that concern women,' she fenced.

His brows twitched together and she saw a question gathering behind them. Now it was her turn to change the subject. 'Richard wants to sleep with the other squires in the boys' dorter,' she said quickly. 'Could you approach Earl Robert on his behalf? Etheldreda's sleeping potion has worked its wonder on him, and he slept much better last night - or he would have done were it not for Edon's travail.' Her voice was swift and breathless, and his frown remained.

'Gladly I will speak to the Earl. I have to make my report to him anyway concerning Penfoss.' He drained his cup. 'But first, will you show me where Amice is buried?'

Catrin was ashamed at the alacrity with which she rose from the board to show him a dead woman's grave. But she could not have endured to sit much longer beneath the darkness of his gaze. Outside in the open air, it was diluted, less potent.

He looked at the freshly turned scar of soil and the chaplet of gillyflowers lying on top of it, the petals drooping a little now, but still brave of colour. He picked it up and turned it round in his hands. 'Rest in the garden,' he said softly, then laid it back upon the grave and made the sign of the cross.

Catrin's throat swelled and she shed a few tears, but they were of healing and lightened her heart.

For a moment, Oliver stood in silent contemplation, then turned to leave. 'Now to Earl Robert,' he said, but paused to brush his thumb across the tear-tracks on Catrin's face. 'I'll seek you later and tell you the outcome.'

She nodded and thanked him, but stepped away from his touch and replaced it with a quick swipe of her palm. His expression became rueful. 'If you were a plant, you would be a thistle,' he said, but there was a smile in his eyes, if not on his lips, as he inclined his head and went on his way.

Catrin watched his progress across the bailey; his lean, blue-clad form and the glint of his hair, dried now to flaxen brightness. Since Lewis had died, she had lowered her guard to no one except Richard and Amice, and only then in small measure. Now she was perplexed to find it dissolving, and herself powerless to prevent it. Perhaps it was time to forget the pain left by Lewis's death and salve the wound with the balm of another man's attention.

Catrin pondered the thought as she followed slowly in Oliver's wake. Lewis had been slender, handsome, quick as a fox, with all a fox's charm and cunning, and a voracious appetite too.

Oliver was tall, big-boned and fair, with a powerful sense of duty and a dry sense of humour that matched her own. But for the rest, what did she know? He had grieved long for his young wife, as she had grieved for Lewis. His lands were forfeit to the vagaries of war, and his friends were mercenaries whom he would not stand to be questioned. Ethel said he would be furious to know that Catrin intended learning midwifery skills. But it was no concern of his and he had no right . . . unless she gave it to him.

Frowning deeply, Catrin wandered back into the keep, her mind so occupied that she almost collided with Rohese on the stairs leading up to the bower.

'Mind where you're going!' the embroideress snapped.

Catrin looked at the flush on the high, perfect cheekbones, the slightly swollen red lips, and the wimple set askew, tendrils of hair snaking around Rohese's hectic face. 'At least I don't have to mind where I've been,' she retorted nimbly, and was pleased to see her barb hit home as Rohese recoiled, her blue eyes growing first wide, then narrow.

'There is no place for you among the Countess's women!' she hissed. 'Who are you to call me to account when your former mistress was nothing but a whore!'

'At least she did not need love philtres to make a man take notice.'

'What has that old hag been saying to you?'

'Nothing, I have eyes to see. Does the Countess know where you go?'

'If you so much as open your mouth to my lady, I will sew it shut! Stay out of my business!'

'Gladly, if you leave me in peace to go about mine.'

Rohese glared at her, then whirled and ran on up the stairs. Catrin followed more slowly. Her knees were weak, but nevertheless there was a smile on her lips, for she judged that she had got the better of the argument.