The Love Knot (56 page)

'Are you not pleased to see me and a fine new horse?' Catrin gave a little sniff and forced a smile.

'Of course I am,' he growled, and gave her another little shake. 'But I'm terrified too. You do not want to lose me, love, but by the same code I do not want to lose you.'

They embraced again, this time with more gentleness. He stopped short of asking her to promise that she would not do the like of pursuing him again, for he knew that she would refuse, they would quarrel and both of them would lose. Breaking the embrace, he went to look at the horse that Henry had given to him.

'Where's Rosamund?' he asked, as he ran his hands down the animal's sound young legs.

'I left her in Edon's care. She's struck up quite a friendship with her brood.'

'Her brood?' There was something in Catrin's tone which suggested there were more than the two boys Oliver recalled.

'She's got five, and another one due in the autumn,' Catrin said neutrally.

Geoffrey grinned and shrugged. 'I never was much good at pulling up before the finishing line.' 'Then you should practise,' Catrin said. 'I do, all the time.' Another grin.

Catrin tightened her lips and turning her shoulder on him gave her attention to Oliver. 'What do you think of him?'

'He's a fine animal. What I cannot understand is why Henry should give him to me.

'His name is Lucifer,' Geoffrey said drily. 'All the journey he has been as docile as a lamb, but I seem to remember one of the grooms muttering something about him becoming frisky under a saddle.'

Oliver nodded without surprise. He had learned literally never to look gift horses in the mouth when Henry was the benefactor. The Prince liked to appear generous but would not spend good money unless forced. Still, if the stallion was saddle-shy he could be schooled and Oliver was no impatient novice with horses, to be thrown at the first obstacle.

'What's he like without a saddle?' Answering his own question, Oliver grabbed the headstall and swung smoothly astride. Lucifer back-kicked and plunged a few times, but once the reins were drawn in tight he settled down. Oliver trotted him around the open space in front of the alehouse. An interested crowd of villagers collected to watch.

Catrin watched too for a while, then quietly disappeared.

Going out to toss scraps into the pig-pen, Edith found her retching into the midden pit, her complexion a gaunt, greenish-white. With an exclamation of concern, Edith put a maternal arm around Catrin's quivering shoulders. 'What's the matter, lass?'

'I'm all right, I'm not ill,' Catrin gasped, clutching her stomach. 'It's passing now.' Tentatively she straightened.

'You're not ill,' Edith repeated with scepticism, and placed her large, firm palm on Catrin's brow. 'A mite clammy, but there's no fever,' she said with cautious optimism. 'Shall

I fetch that man of yours from his love affair with his new horse?'

'No!' Catrin said, more sharply than she had intended. Edith eyed her curiously.

'No,' she said in a calmer voice. 'I am not ill, but if he thinks I am he will worry. God knows, he was ready to burst because I rode out to find him instead of staying in Bristol.'

'Well, it was foolish, you must admit.' Taking her arm, Edith drew her towards the alehouse. 'Lord Eustace and his troops wouldn't have stopped to ask questions if they had come across you, and they're not the only brigands on the road by any manner of means. Here, sit you down.' She pushed Catrin gently on to a wall-bench and fetched her a small cup of strong, sweet mead. 'Drink this; it will settle your belly.'

Catrin took the mead and gratefully sipped. The sweetness was what she needed now. Not only would it settle her stomach, it would help the sudden feeling of weariness in her limbs. She stifled a huge yawn.

Edith studied her thoughtfully. Her shrewd gaze dropped to the hand that Catrin had tucked against her belly. The gesture in itself was protective and the outline showed a slight roundness.

'You are with child!' Edith said like an accusation.

Catrin immediately lifted her hand and smoothed her gown so that the gentle swell of her womb was not so obvious. 'I think I might be,' she prevaricated, 'but nothing is certain yet.'

'And you a midwife!' Edith snorted. 'I know only as much as the next woman about child-bearing, but I can see that you're beyond the "might be" stage.'

Catrin reddened beneath Edith's forthright stare. 'You are right.' She shook her head. 'Fortunately it is much easier to conceal from men than it is from women. I am due to bear a child at Christmastide.'

Edith's lips moved in silent calculation. 'Then you're almost four months along,' she said, and then frowned. 'Do I understand from what you have just said that Oliver doesn't yet know?'

'I don't intend telling him until I must.' Catrin sat upright and squared her shoulders.

'Why ever not?' 'His first wife died in childbirth after a prolonged labour. My anxiety for his well-being on campaign will be as nothing compared with his anxiety for me once he finds out.'

Edith gave her a troubled look. 'But you cannot just leave it. Sooner or later he is bound to notice, and he will be wounded that you have not trusted him enough to tell him.' Catrin gave her a wry and weary smile. 'Yes, but the real enemy is that neither one trusts the other to keep on living against the daily odds.'

The water in the bath-tub was a scummy dark grey, but at least the man dozing in its heat was now flesh-coloured and the lank, grimy hair had turned wheat-blond. He smelled much more presentable too.

It was Oliver's hauberk that caused it, Catrin thought as she warmed towels on the spit bar near the hearth. The mail had to be greased to keep out the elements; the grease picked up minute filaments of steel and these blackened whatever the hauberk touched. For the past month, Oliver had been on campaign with Henry and that meant living in the garment. The padded gambeson worn under the hauberk to act as a cushion against both the chafing of the rivets and enemy sword blows could have stood up on its own. She had rammed a broomstick pole through the sleeves and hooked it up outside the shelter to try to air out the pungent stink of sweat and smoke, but with little hope of success.

At least her stomach was not quite so swift to turn these days and there had only been a couple of mild nausea pangs as she dealt with the gambeson. She was almost into her fifth month of pregnancy. While carrying Rosamund, her belly had been scarcely noticeable until well into the seventh month, but this time she was showing much earlier. Oliver could not help but notice once the time came to undress for bed. He had been absent for four weeks; now the reckoning was at hand. But first she would let him rest.

She knew that she did not have him for long. Henry was being harried hither and yon throughout the West Country by Eustace and although the young prince always kept one step ahead of his enemy, and even managed to make some small gains, he was effectively pinned down and suffering. Oliver's arrival in Bristol was only to muster supplies for the garrisons at Marlborough and Devizes. The latter was Henry's base for the nonce. Catrin would have been there herself had it not been for Edon insisting that she stay for her lying-in. It was more obligation than willingness which caused Catrin to agree, but she would not have dreamed of refusing.

In the meantime, she did her best to control her fears for Oliver by keeping herself occupied. The bower was now very well supplied with unguents for plumping and softening the skin. There was enough cough syrup to cure an epidemic and so much staves-acre salve that no one in the keep had any excuse for being lousy.

Oliver slept on in the tub, his breathing becoming slow and deep. Catrin hated to wake him, but knew if she did not he would lie there until the water was stone cold. Taking a towel from the spit bar, she went to the tub and gently touched his shoulder.

He awoke with a jerk and a gasp of breath. Then his eyes slowly cleared from the smokiness of sleep and he reached for the towel. 'I don't know what a bed feels like any more,' he said. 'The times we are not running from Eustace, we are running to targets of our own, and when we do manage to sleep, it isn't for long. Henry thinks that sleep is a waste of time. He doesn't even sit down to eat but prowls round the hall with his food in his hand attending to business.'

'I thought you admired him for his energy,' Catrin murmured.

'I do. But sometimes I wish it was from a distance.' He stepped from the tub and glanced in distaste at the colour of the water.

'You're at a distance now.'

'For a day and a night.'

Taking the towel from him, she patted the droplets from his back, then lightly ran her fingertips over his skin. She was relieved to see that dirt and exhaustion were the only consequences of Prince Henry's regime. There were no new wounds over which to trouble. 'I've missed you,' she said.

'Dear God, that's the worst of it, being parted.' Turning, he caught her in his arms and kissed her. 'I was tired of fighting before, but now I am sick to the back teeth.'

Catrin kissed him back, her fingers in his sleek, damp hair. 'I am sick of it too,' she said, adding only half in jest; 'we could run away and open an alehouse like Godard and Edith.'

'Don't tempt me.'

They kissed again. His arm circled her waist and Catrin had to make a deliberate effort not to draw away. It was her guilt that made her think he would immediately detect her growing belly. 'As soon as Edon is delivered of her child, I will come to you at Devizes,' she said '. . . Under proper escort of course. And do not say that Devizes is no place for a woman because I will not listen.'

Oliver laughed ruefully. 'Do you remember when I first brought you to Bristol? You clung to my belt and stared around with frightened eyes? Now you think nothing of walking straight into the lion's mouth.'

'I have learned there are fates far worse.' She rubbed her face against his damp shoulder. Beneath her lips she felt the hard protrusion where the broken bone had healed. 'Listen, there is something I have to . . .'

With equal feelings of relief and disappointment, she stopped speaking as Rosamund skipped through the door. The little girl was carrying the flask of wine that Catrin had asked her to fetch. Rosamund pulled a face at the colour of the bath water and, having handed over the wine, sat down on the bed to play with her straw doll, cradling it like a baby.

'You were saying?' Oliver broke away to finish drying himself.

Catrin. shook her head. 'I'll tell you later.'

Oliver glanced at the child and his lips twitched. 'Oh,' he said. 'Hardened gossip not fit for big ears.'

'My ears aren't big,' Rosamund piped up immediately, her eyes flashing with indignation.

Oliver leaned over and lightly pinched one between his forefinger and thumb. 'They are when it comes to listening!

If Prince Henry had you among his troops, we'd know when Stephen was blowing his nose up in York!'

'You wouldn't. It's not true. Mama, tell him!'

Laughing despite herself, Catrin intervened. 'Your papa means that you sit very quietly and listen very hard. That's a good thing to do, but sometimes people have things to say to each other that are private.'

Rosamund nodded, a serious frown between her eyes. She was a well-behaved child, easy to reason with but, by the same code, always needing a reason when sometimes there wasn't one. 'What's hardened gossip?' she asked.

Oliver choked and busied himself putting on his clothes.

'Something that grown people talk about when they shouldn't,' Catrin said, her face suffusing. 'And your papa is wrong. It's not gossip that I want to discuss with him.'

Oliver looked at her. Catrin gave him a tight smile and a little shake of her head.

To his credit, he did not pursue the matter but finished dressing and swung Rosamund up in his arms. 'Do you want to go into the town and see the market? Perhaps find some ribbons for your hair and a new brooch for your mother?'

Rosamund squealed with delight. Catrin smiled with pleasure, although there was a certain reserve in her expression. 'Do you not want to rest awhile? You fell sound asleep in the tub.'

Oliver sighed. 'There is nothing I would like better, but I do not have the time. I'm not going into the town just for the purgatory of escorting my womenfolk around the stalls. There are things I have to do for Henry; people to see, supplies to secure. Don't worry, I'll rest well tonight.'