Chapter Forty-three

R eina was nearly four months pregnant. For long and long she tried to deny it, finding one excuse after another to convince herself it could not be so. She had to stop trying when her waist increased, but her appetite did not. That day she was impossible to deal with, a veritable shrew to one and all. Her temperament had not improved much since. Fortunately, Ranulf had been gone a good deal of this time and missed her truly bad days, when she would be so beset by conflicting emotions that she would either rage at the least little provocation or burst into tears.

She had been told again and again that this would pass, that ’twas the changes in her body making her so emotional. Each of her older ladies had assured her of this. They all knew about the child. Everyone knew about the child—everyone except the child’s father. But no one was aware of what was really bothering her. ’Twas not something she cared to discuss, even with Theo.

That lackwit was as excited about the baby as ’twas possible to be. You would think he were to bear it. Not that Reina was not excited herself. She wanted this child, more than anything. Already she loved it, imagining it not half formed as it was, but as it would be, a life to cherish, to protect—to spoil. Her little giant, exactly like Ranulf, but unlike Ranulf, needing her.

Oh, sweet Jesú , there were those cursed tears again. Reina angrily swiped them away and left the brewhouse, the unlikely place where Lady Ella had decided to deliver her litter of five. She had been missing for a week, causing a castle-wide search and panic, at least on Reina’s part, to find her ere Ranulf returned. He had been so silly over the cat’s pregnancy, so delighted yet anxious, she had almost told him about her own, but could not do it. Now, she had waited so long, she would not have to tell him. Her body had done its changing during this three-week absence of his. He would know as soon as he saw her, or at least as soon as he took her to bed. God, how she was dreading that.

The past few months had been so idyllic and uneventful. She had had no trouble with Ranulf since his father’s visit. Hugh had sent a new steward to Warhurst, whose duty it was to wade through the mess Richard had left behind, and recompense all those who had suffered unjustly. The prisoners Ranulf had held had been turned over to the new man to be retried, this time fairly, and nearly all had been cleared of any wrongdoing. And Ranulf had kept busy, which was why he had not been witness to any of Reina’s recent uncharacteristic swings in mood.

He had made a tour of all the Clydon fiefs. He would be gone a few days or a week, return for a short time, then leave again. Reina had gone along the first few times, until the riding began to cause her a queasy upset, and she made excuses to remain at Clydon after that.

This last and longest absence of Ranulf’s was a trip to London at his father’s invitation. All was going well with them, or so the letter she had indicated. This was her first correspondence from Ranulf, but in no way personal. ’Twas in fact written by Walter, who had gone with him. But Reina had learned from Ranulf himself that he could neither read nor write. Thus her reply lacked intimacy as well, since it would have to be read to him. She had already determined something should be done about that, though Ranulf was likely to balk at learning what there were clerks aplenty to do for him.

None of that mattered, naught did, in light of what would happen once Ranulf learned he had done his duty and given her the child she had demanded of him. The only reason she had been the recipient of his lust thus far was because he took seriously the duty fulfilling the terms of the marriage contract. That lust would be gone now, and with it the closeness she had come to feel toward him. She had never guessed, when she had decided to enjoy it while it lasted, that she would in fact be devastated when Ranulf no longer had a need to bed her.

She wondered if he would ask her to move back to her old chamber. She wondered how long it would take him to find a mistress. She wondered if she would be able to forgive him and accept him back when it was time to produce the next child, for she had asked for children, not just one child. She was driving herself mad with the wondering. Sweet Jesú , she was not supposed to have cared about any of this. ’Twas not the way she had ever imagined her married life to be. But then she had never imagined she would come to feel lust herself, intense, insatiable lust, and for a husband no less.

She had been selfish to put off the telling. It could not have been easy for Ranulf to remain faithful to her all this time, and she believed he had been, even when he was gone from Clydon. A man who returned and immediately took his wife straight to bed, no matter the time of day, and did not leave it for hours on end, was not a man who had been getting his pleasure elsewhere. How she was going to miss that, and so much more.

Reina was so weighed down with these dismal thoughts, she almost did not notice the visitors who crossed her path, making their way toward the keep. They in turn paid no attention to her. Why should they? She had put on her oldest bliaut when the ale-wife came to tell her she had heard the mewling of kittens coming from behind the ale barrels. And without her calling out a dozen servants to move the huge barrels, and possibly get a few squashed kittens in the process, the only way to see if ’twas Lady Ella back there was to climb atop the stacked barrels and crawl around until she found in which narrow crevice the mother cat was holed up. Subsequently, she was covered with dust and grime, but at least she was assured that Ranulf’s cat was alive and well. A moment of humor broke through as she imagined him crawling across those barrels to see for himself, and he would, too.

So who were her unexpected guests? There was a lady and a lord, but they had already passed her; thus she had missed seeing their faces to identify them. Their ten-man escort was smartly dressed and equipped, but that gave her no clue. Well, she was in no hurry to find out, for even if she ran now, she was not likely to get into the keep before them. Once again she was caught ill-prepared to receive company. The last time she had met her husband. This time would be no less embarrassing, looking as she did, no matter who the visitors were.

Their arrival had caught the interest of several of the knights in the exercise yard. Practice had stopped for a moment, but resumed when the visitors passed through the inner gate. The quintain was getting good use, and the clanging of swords echoed across the full width of the outer bailey. Since Ranulf’s coming, ’twas a familiar sound this time of day.

Clydon now had seven new knights in service, with as many new squires. She noticed Sir William instructing one. He had not enjoyed himself so since her father had left for the Holy Land. Searle was there, pitting his skill against one of the new knights. She had watched Ranulf and Walter challenge each other just so, and Searle, who had been taught by them, used the same technique. There was no contest. The new knight was disarmed in moments.

Eric and Aubert were there, too, watching two squires in similar mock combat. One she recognized as Lanzo, with his bright red hair. He should have been helmeted, for he was using a true sword instead of the wooden ones the newer squires used. His smaller opponent was not fully armed either, and was taking a beating, barely able to keep his sword up, much less his shield, and even as she watched he went down. That Lanzo kept after him even though he had fallen annoyed her, however. She knew a knight had to learn to defend himself even from the ground, for many died in just that position were they not so trained, but Lanzo seemed particularly brutal about the lesson.

Her heart then seemed to stop as she thought she recognized the boy on the ground. Aylmer? Nay, Lanzo could not be that cruel. True, Aylmer loved to watch the knights in practice. But Lanzo would not dare entice him onto the field, to actually give him a sword and then attack him. Would he?

She started forward, calling out the squire’s name. He could not hear her, still pounding his sword against the downed boy’s shield. She was soon close enough to see that it really was Aylmer taking this beating, and a blind, red fury consumed her. She was upon them in moments, with no thought for the danger of that swinging sword, just the need to stop it—which she did with a mighty shove that sent Lanzo sprawling.

She immediately helped Aylmer to his feet, pushing back the sweaty brown curls from his eyes, quickly examining him for any hurts. She felt some relief that he was not bleeding anywhere, but she was still furious, and that he looked at her as if she were crazy did not help.

“Lady, why did you do that?”

“Why?” she fairly shrieked. “You are being pummeled nigh to death and you ask why?”

Those knights who noticed her there and started to come forward to see what had happened quickly resumed their practice at the sound of her fury. Eric, who had tried to intercept her when he saw her charging toward danger, backed away, unwilling to draw her attention to him. One look at Aubert said they were all in trouble, though they could not fathom why.

Aylmer was the only one there who realized that Reina was merely concerned for his welfare. ’Twas embarrassing in this instance, but it never failed to fill him with warmth that such as she could care for him.

Quietly, hoping she would be glad for him, he said, “I am to be a squire, lady.”

Reina’s heart constricted at the pride in those words. Oh, God, this jest was crueler than she had thought.

“Who told you that? Did Lanzo?”

“Nay, he was teaching me by Lord Ranulf’s order. But Lanzo was going too easy on me. I told him I would never learn that way.”

“So he pounds you to the ground?” she said, but the words were automatic, for her mind was actually reeling.

Aylmer had the nerve to grin, not noticing Reina’s loss of color. “In another month I will do better.”

“You want this?” A stupid question. A boy with no hope of aspiring to aught, offered a chance at knighthood? Of course he would want it. “Never mind. I see you do. How did this come about, Aylmer?”

“I thought you knew, lady. Lord Ranulf simply asked me. He said some knights carried so many wounds they might as well be cripples, but they could still wield a sword and fight. He said my foot should not stop me, and he is having a special boot made for me in London that might give me more balance.” And then Aylmer added with the most pride yet, “Do I do well, he has promised to train me himself.”

Tears came to Reina’s eyes. What other knight would think to take on such a task, much less do it? She knew Ranulf was not the insensitive brute she was fond of calling him, but this? For her? She did not think so. He was just that way. No wonder she loved him.…

Aye, ’twas true, she realized with a start. Sweet Jesú , when had that happened? When she had discovered his sense of humor? When she had realized his gruffness was all bluster? When he had gone to a whore to find out how to please her? That long ago? Or when he could not punish her without making immediate amends for it by turning it into an incredibly erotic experience she was not likely to ever forget? What a lackwit she was, to have fooled herself into thinking ’twas only lust all this time. And what difference did it make, when he did not feel the same?

“Lady?”

She swung about to find Lanzo still on the ground where he had fallen, watching her warily. She was then hit with the horrible realization of what she had just done. She had interfered in knightly business and attacked a squire. Ranulf’s squire. He was not hurt, just leery of getting up with her still there and like to attack him again. But he really became afraid when she dropped to her knees beside him.

“Lanzo, I am so sorry.”

His eyes flared with shock that she would demean herself to apologize to him. “Lady, please get up.”

“Nay, you must tell me you can forgive me.”

“Lady, just get up,” he beseeched her. “Does Ranulf hear of this, he will kill me!”

She made a face at that. “I am at fault here, so does he kill anyone, ’twill be me.” Then, with concern: “You are all right?”

“Of course,” he replied with a snort of indignity.

She smiled, relieved, and offered him her hand so they could both rise. “You will forgive me, then?”

“There is naught to forgive, lady,” he assured her, uncomfortable that she would not give up. “You misunderstood, is all.”

“So I did. But for my peace of mind, could you go a bit easier on Aylmer—until you feel he can take it, that is.”

Lanzo grinned and nodded, and Reina left them. But she knew Aylmer had been told her wishes when she heard him call out, “Lady,” in the most complaining tone. She did not stop. The boy was only seven, after all. He had many years ahead of him to get battered and bruised.