TITLE: Katherine of Ireland AUTHOR: Jenna Tooms EMAIL:
jenna@exeter.simplenet.com RATING: NC-17 KEYWORDS: alternate
universe/past lives SUMMARY: The King is dead. Long Live the
Queen.


~~One~~

When the battle was over and it was clear the enemy had
prevailed, Katherine herself led the women onto the battlefield
to tend the wounded and name the dead. According to custom the
enemy stayed back and allowed them to work unmolested, having
already carried their own wounded and dead off the field. So when
a mournful cry broke over the field it was out of sorrow, not
fear. Fear was present but not spoken of, and would not be until
all the facts were known.

The women of the court could not persuade Katherine to wait
inside for word of her husband. Many of them wanted to wait
themselves, and let the squires and the maidservants tell them
who still lived. But, the women reminded each other, Katherine
was not one of them, and so did not want to act according to
their customs but to her own. In her country women fought
alongside the men, and she had chafed at the expectation that she
watch the battle from afar. Twenty years in this country, the
women said, and she still is an Irish princess, not a Saxon
queen.

In the end it was Peter, one of the little pages, who found the
body, and he screamed, "My lady!" so loudly every woman's head
turned. He ran through the mud and the gore to where Katherine
knelt, the head of a dying warrior cradled in her lap. He gasped,
sobs already hitching in his chest, "I've found him, my lady, I
found him, he's dead."

Katherine's hands paused in their ministrations, and one of the
women started to reach for the warrior. "No," Katherine said,
once again holding a dipper of water to the dying man's lips. "He
is dead, he will wait."

The women feel back from her, uncertain, and returned to their
own work. Fear, the unspoken presence, reached out to them with
clawed fingers, and they all wondered what more sorrows nightfall
would bring.

So it was dusk when Katherine finally left the dying and turned
her attention to the dead. She went to where little Peter waited,
and knelt down on the ground beside the fallen body of Walter,
King of Angria, sometimes called Walter the Bald, her husband of
twenty years and the father of her five children, only two of
which still lived.

And that was assuming Harry, the eldest, had survived that battle
as his father had not.

She framed his face in her hands. She stroked his bald head and
his big, calloused hands, his sharp cheekbones and broad
warrior's chest. Her face, which had been almost composed,
suddenly crumbled and she began to sob, laying her cheek on
Walter's chest.

"My lady," Peter whispered in awe, for he had, in all his eleven
years, never seen her cry. One of the court women put her hand on
Peter's shoulder, but he shrugged it off and went to Katherine
and knelt down beside her. His eyes were wide and nervous, but he
put his arms around Katherine's waist and pressed his face
against her side.

Katherine sat up slowly, and put her arm around Peter. "You are
sweet, little one," she whispered.

The squires had come with a litter, to carry Walter inside.
Katherine nodded to them, still holding Peter and being held by
him, and the squires carefully and reverently lifted Walter onto
the litter.

Keening broke out among the women as they followed the litter
back into the castle. Tears streamed down Katherine's face but
she paid them no heed. Her bright eyes, about which poems had
been written and ballads had been sung, were dull and lifeless
and dead. It was like when her babies died, the women whispered,
she kept her grief within until she could mourn alone.

Little Peter, who loved his queen with a child's passionate
devotion, would not let her go. He stayed while the women
undressed and washed the body, holding Katherine's skirts when he
could not hold her hand.

"You must rest, my lady," Elaine finally told her, prodded to it
by the other court ladies because Katherine seemed to like her
best.

"I will sit up with him until he is buried," Katherine replied.

The women looked at each other helplessly. An Irish custom, this,
and they knew they could not dissuade her. Even Peter, who looked
terrified at the prospect of sitting up all night with a ghost
nearby, resolutely twisted his hand into Katherine's skirts. She
caressed his hair absently and told Elaine, "Wake Anna Rose and
bring her to me. She must say goodbye to her father."

Elaine curtseyed and was about to go when another voice spoke up,
a man's voice with a Northerner's burr. "If I may make a
suggestion, my lady."

Katherine looked up at her bard and waited for him to speak. He
said gently, with the candor of old friends, "You are worn out,
and you must rest. For our sakes, for the children's sakes, for
your own sake, please, rest this night. I will sit up with him. I
will sing him all his favorite songs, and tell him his favorite
stories."

"I cannot leave him, Mel," Katherine whispered, stroking her
husband's chest. "This night, of all nights. How could I face him
at God's throne, knowing he spent his first night of death
without me?"

"Please, my lady," Mel pleaded. "Soon FitzJames will come with
the terms of surrender. You must be able to think clearly."

Katherine closed her eyes at the name of their enemy. She said
softly, "Sing to me, Mel. Sing to me of Walter's brave deeds.
Then I will sleep."

"My lady," Elaine said timidly, "shall I still fetch Anna Rose?"

"No. Let her sleep. Time enough for farewells in the morning."
Her arms still around young Peter, she held on to Walter's hand,
and wept silently as Mel Foalon sang.

In the camp of FitzJames there was much rejoicing. They were
victorious, they had been promised land and spoils, and they were
curious as to what would become of Walter the Bald's queen. She
was rumored to be fair and amorous, and rumors flew as well that
FitzJames planned particular humiliations for her, for all knew
she was haughty and proud, and a pagan.

It was these rumors that caused William Weylin to leave his tent
and seek out his lord. He found FitzJames carousing with his
generals, and FitzJames clapped him merrily on the back when he
saw him.

"William! William Wolf's Son, my boy! Drink with me to our
victory. The death of Walter the Bald!" FitzJames raised his
flagon, offering it to William.

He waved it aside. "His son Harry yet lives," he said. "Angria is
not yet yours."

"His bitch and his brats yet live, true enough, but not for much
longer. Oh, William, how I long to slice that fair neck!" He
drank heartily down, and William couldn't help but wonder if all
this death was merely a balm to wounded pride.

"My lord," he said carefully, may I remind you that she is the
daughter of a king, and much beloved by the people."

"I am not afraid of the King of Ireland."

"You would not win that battle, my lord."

FitzJames put down the flagon abruptly. "You would question me,
William? Today I am king of the richest portion of these isles!
By this time twelvemonth I will rule Britain and France, and you,
William, will succeed me as my son. Does that not stir your
blood?"

"I do not want France, nor Britain," William said wearily, for it
was an old argument. With each repetition William liked it less
and less.

"I want them. This is only the beginning. Angria, York,
Northumbria, Anjou, Aquitaine--their names are poetry. William, I
have a mission for you."

"You have only to ask."

"Tomorrow, you and Alexander will take the articles of surrender
to Walter's bitch, and you will bring her and the brats to me."

"One more day, my lord, allow them time to bury the dead."

"Tomorrow, William, tomorrow. The sun will not set on her freedom
again."

"My lord," William began, then stopped. There was no reasoning
with FitzJames when he was in his cups. Tomorrow he would plead
further for mercy for the widowed queen, tonight he could
accomplish nothing.

So he said merely, "As you wish, my lord," bowed, and returned to
his own tent.

Alexander was waiting for him, with a crock of mead and four
cups. "William, where is your man? I want to four of us to drink
together."

"He's already abed. He's too young for this kind of revelry."
William lay down on his pillows, his head propped up on his arm.
"I am too young for this kind of revelry."

"Drink with me, William, nonetheless." He signaled Samson, his
squire, to fill their cups. "To victory."

"To victory," William repeated, and the three of them clinked
their cups. They drank in silence. William said, "Tomorrow we
bring the articles of surrender to Katherine."

"Tomorrow? So soon?"

"Tomorrow. I dread to think of what FitzJames has planned for
her."

"Have you ever seen her? Katherine of Ireland. I hear her eyes
are as green as the plains of Salisbury, fiery red hair, white
skin, breasts like--"

"I've never seen her. I've heard the same poems that you have."

"I only want to know if the stories are true."

"They never are. Likely she'll have skin like a nut. Isn't she
supposed to be a horsewoman?"

"So they say. Let us drink to Katherine, William."

"May she survive tomorrow."

Alexander stopped the cup halfway to his mouth. "Does he intend
to kill her?" he asked softly.

"At the very least. Have you not heard? The men think he plans to
pass her among them."

"Does he?"

"I don't know."

Alexander mused, "Her father is king of Ireland. He will not
allow such a thing. He may be on his way already. If she is
harmed in any way we'll have another battle on our hands. He will
outnumber us five to one."

"We will lose. Tomorrow, Alexander, once we return we must
convince FitzJames that at most she can be a hostage. For his own
good."

Alexander nodded, looking weary. He knew how difficult that task
would be, once FitzJames had made up his mind. "A hostage. Her
father will pay the ransom and take her home, and that will be
the end of it."

"Yes. That way FitzJames will have the best advantage for his
next campaign."

"He won't be happy until all of Britain is his, will he?"

"Apparently he wants France now as well."

Alexander laughed abruptly. "France! You must convince him to be
happy with Angria--there aren't enough men in Britain to conquer
France."

"He'll learn the world is not his for the taking . . . in the
meantime, let us try to keep Katherine safe. Good night,
Alexander."

"Good night. Come, Samson." The squire bowed to William, and they
left his tent.

William blew out his lamps and lay in the dark for some time, his
arm over his eyes. The most beautiful woman in the isles, and he
would meet her tomorrow. It felt like a honor, even if the
mission was to humiliate her.

But he would not allow her to come to harm.

He rose from his bed and checked that his squire was still
asleep, lay down again and waited for sleep to come.

It took a long, long time.

The king's body in sacred ground, his household waited tensely as
they watched the party ride from the camp of their enemy. Mel
Faolon stood protectively at his queen's side, and she kept her
arm around her daughter's shoulders. Anna Rose looked up at her
mother frequently as if she wanted to ask a question, but she
said nothing. The expression on Katherine's face forbid it.

"My lady," Mel said finally. "You ought to receive them in the
great hall."

"I do not wish to receive them. Scavengers. I want to deny them
any entrance. I want to tell them to go to Hell."

Her ladies gasped in shock and even Anna Rose looked surprised.
Mel, however, smiled, remembering evenings with her father and
brothers, when they had thought the girl Katherine was asleep in
her father's lap. They had been unrestrained with their language,
sometimes even when she was awake.

"However, my lady . . ."

She sighed. "Yes. I know. Prepare to receive them in the great
hall," she said to her ladies, "and Mel, see to Anna Rose."

Mel nodded and put his arm around the little girl, and started
talking to her in the Irish. The girl gave one terrified glance
to her mother, and then replied to Mel and followed him into the
castle, holding tightly to his hand.

Katherine cast one more contemptuous look at the oncoming
soldiers and made her way slowly down from the parapet. She
refused all offers of help.

The hall was grand, grander than the court of FitzJames, and
Alexander looked properly awed. The thrones, however, were empty,
and they looked to the steward for explanation.

"Her Highness will be with us shortly," the steward said. "If you
will please be seated."

They took the seats nearest the throne. William wondered if the
looks the courtiers were giving him were meant to be that
poisonous. For all they know we killed their lord, he thought,
and sighed.

A woman came into the hall and whispered to the steward, who
nodded. "Her Highness Katherine of Angria," he said. William and
Alexander both stood as several more women came into the hall.

As soon as he saw her, he knew her.

The poems were true. And they were completely wrong. Eyes as
green as . . . skin as white as . . . hair like the sun shining
on gold . .. there were not words to describe her beauty. Not in
his vocabulary.

She took her throne with a grace and dignity only a queen can
possess, and looked down on them with open disdain.

"William Wolf's Son and Alexander the younger," the steward said,
bowing to his queen. Both men bowed as well, and waited for
permission to speak.

The poems had mentioned her voice, as well. Like waves crashing
on the shore. Like a thrush singing in a hedge. None of the poems
had said that in her anger, it was also like the edge of a sword.

"Your lord has plundered my villages, ravaged my people and slain
my husband. Their argument is ancient and not unknown to me, and
ended with my husband's death. I do not know what further he
could ask. There is no word of my son Harry, and so I must assume
he is also dead. Angria belongs to FitzJames. I will not fight
it. I ask only to be returned to my father's country and for the
safety of my courtiers."

William and Alexander looked at each other. William said, "My
lord FitzJames has specific requirements of your surrender."

Her eyebrows rose in her cool, composed face. "My surrender? I
think you mean our defeat."

"Your Highness, my lord FitzJames wishes for you to join his
court," Alexander said.

William stared at him, shocked at this blatant lie. Katherine's
pale face flushed.

"If he thinks to make me his queen he is a greater fool than I
suspected," she said curtly. "And I will not be a spoil of war."

"Your Highness--" Alexander began.

"I am still queen. And I am a king's daughter. If he thinks to
make me a consort--"

"My lady, he means to make an example of you," William said, and
it was Alexander's turn to stare.

There was a long pause. He could see the fear--and the fury--on
the faces of her court. Katherine, however, almost smiled.

"Thank you. Are you William or Alexander?"

"William. William Wolf's Son."

She nodded. "I thank you, William Wolf's Son, for your honesty.
And for not thinking me a fool." Alexander blushed slightly at
the insult.

"If you come with us, my lady, you as well as your children, the
rest of your court will be unharmed. Your people will be
unmolested."

"My children consist of my son Harry, who is dead, and my
daughter Anna Rose, who is on her way to my father's country.
There will be only me."

"That is acceptable, my lady," William said, and hated himself
for it.

"So be it." She stood, and stepped down from her throne. "I will
come with you."

Cries broke out among her ladies--"My lady, no!"--and a young boy
threw himself at William, his fists flailing. The steward dragged
him off, as the boy shouted, "No! Don't go, my lady, don't go! I
won't let them take you!"

"Peter!" she said sharply, and the boy fell silent but for his
sobs. She went to him and knelt down to look into his eyes.
"Peter," she said more gently. "I want you to pray for me. Do you
understand? Pray for me."

He nodded, his face twisting.

"You will make a fine knight someday," she said softly, and
stood. She rejoined William and Alexander, and said, "You see
what you have caused?" William reached for her arm and she pulled
it away. "I will walk of my own volition."

They walked her out of the hall, out to the waiting train of
attendants. One of the attendants held the reins of a small pony,
and William said, "My lady, this is for you."

She smiled slightly. "You don't think I can handle one of those?"
she said, nodding to a charger.

"Do you ride those, my lady?"

"I have." She swung into the pony's saddle. William and Alexander
mounted their own horses, and they returned to the camp of
FitzJames.

~~Two~~

FitzJames had seen fifty summers, most of them as a warrior, and
his face was craggy and altogether unkind. He lounged on a pile
of cushions with his staff nearby, and smiled when William and
Alexander led Katherine into the tent. "Katherine of Ireland," he
said in his strangely musical voice. "It is good to see you
again, my dear lady."

"FitzJames. My regards to your mother."

His illegitimacy was not unknown, but still his face purpled with
anger and embarrassment. "Witty as ever," he said shortly. "You
know no one is coming to rescue you."

"I was not aware I was in need of rescuing."

"Do you know what I intend to do to you, my dear?"

"Ransom me."

"No, my dear. The humiliations you have heaped upon me over the
years are about to be returned to you tenfold. I want every man
present to hear and remember the sentence I give to Katherine of
Ireland. First I order her stripped and beaten. Afterwards, I
give her to my army to do with as they please. When they are
finished, she is to be given the lowest position in my kitchen
and to be a scullery maid until the day she dies." He smiled and
leaned back on his cushions, basking in the reaction of his
court.

Katherine's eyes flew up to his face. "You would not dare."

"Wouldn't I? Your life is in my hands, dear lady. I will spare
you this punishment on one condition."

"What is it," she said cautiously.

"Do you remember the first time I asked for you hand?"

"I do."

"Will you take back your answer and marry me now?"

Katherine actually laughed. "After all this, FitzJames, you dare
ask me that question?" she said softly. "You had to ravage my
lands and kill my husband and son, and yet you still can't
understand. You repel me. You are cruel and evil and not the half
the man my husband was. I would sooner lie with any man in this
camp--with every man in this camp--than lie with you. Do your
worst to me, FitzJames. I do not fear death."

FitzJames got to his feet. "Take her to the center of the camp,"
he said. "Tie her to the post. Strip her. Beat her. Beat her
until the sun sets. Leave her there overnight." No one moved, and
he roared, "Now!"

Guards pulled Katherine out of the tent, to the center of the
camp, where FitzJames's banner flew from a tall post. As she
passed William she gave him a look that chilled him to his core.
She had not lied--she was not afraid of death.

Nonetheless, he went to his lord and said, "Please, my lord, I
beg you, reconsider this action. If we return her to her father
unharmed--"

"I will return only her cold and mangled corpse to her father."
He strode, determination in his every step, to follow the guards.

"Why do you desire to provoke him?"

"Why do you question my will? I will have my revenge for past
injuries. When I asked the Irish king for her hand he laughed. He
laughed! He said his daughter deserved only the best man in these
isles. Today I am the best man, and still she spurns me. He will
learn, when he holds her body in his arms, what it means to laugh
at me."

The guards had tied Katherine to the post. Her eyes were closed,
her face impassive. There were murmurings among the men, the
soldiers and the court. The witnesses of her legendary beauty
could not believe FitzJames would be so heartless as to mar it,
to punish her like a common thief. Even the camp followers,
usually so uninterested in affairs of state, looked
uncomfortable.

When the captain of the guard tore open Katherine's dress,
William closed his eyes and turned his face away. He wanted to
leave--he wanted to run and snatch the whip from the captain's
hands--he wanted the ground to open and swallow them all--

"Merciful Mother of God," Alexander whispered. "William, William,
we cannot allow this, she is with child."

William looked, and saw that it was true. Beneath the layers of
her clothing it had not been visible, but suddenly her awkward
movements and slow steps made sense. There was no mistaking the
roundness of her belly. Delivery could not be far away.

"My lord," he breathed, "we cannot kill an innocent child."

"Why not? It is the child of my enemy. Let it die with its
mother."

"My lord--this is an outrage--show some mercy--"

Others heard his plea, and began to cry out, "Mercy, my lord!"

"Enough!" FitzJames said. He walked to Katherine and inspected
her slowly. Her eyes remained closed--the only sign that she was
a woman and not a statue was the wind stirring through her hair
and her fingers tightening on the ropes that bound her. "Twenty
lashes. Twenty lashes and no one is to touch her tonight. I will
set guards. Captain, you may begin."

The captain looked ill at the prospect, but raised the whip
nonetheless.

When the first blow fell, Katherine barely moved. It was so
silent in the camp that William thought he could hear her flesh
be torn. Her pale face grew paler and blood appeared on her lip
where she was biting down.

"She will not survive twenty lashes," Alexander whispered.

"It will be better for her if she does not."

At the fifth blow she finally cried out, her head bowing beneath
the pain. Alexander grimaced with every blow, and when she cried
out tears pooled in his eyes. William muttered, turning away, "I
can't bear this," and went to his own tent as quickly as he could
walk.

There were visitors waiting for him, two old friends, John By The
Way and Paul Longfield. They embraced heartily, and John asked,
"What news?" as they made themselves comfortable against
William's cushions.

"You have heard our victory."

"Yes, we have. Who is being punished? A deserter?"

"No. Katherine of Ireland." He smiled hollowly at their gasps.
"For the great crime of refusing my lord."

"He will kill her?" Paul said. "The man is insane."

"Sometimes I suspect so. What tidings have brought you here, my
friends?"

"News of Weylin," said John. "Your steward desires your presence
over the sacred season, that you may do your lordly duties
between wars."

"Is winter approaching?" William said thoughtfully. "It has been
too long. I have not seen my home in two years. Gladly, I will
go, as soon as my lord can spare me." They all grimaced at the
sound of a cracking whip, and William added, "Sooner. Tomorow."

His tent flap opened and Alexander came in. "I could not bear it
any longer," he said, and greeted John and Paul absently. He said
to William, sitting down, "She bears her punishment in silence,
and her blood runs like a river. Her back was unmarred like a
piece of marble, and now it is--it is torn--she will bear the
scars until Judgement Day--"

"My friends, I have a thought," William said. "What if we could
spare her the rest of her punishment?"

"We cannot convince FitzJames to do any less than he has already
said," Alexander said.

"No, I know. But if we could spirit her away tonight," William
said slowly as the plan took form in his mind, "if we could
convince FitzJames that she died during the night--I could take
her to Weylin, let her heal, and return her to her father. It
will be a longer journey to Ireland, but better that than
bringing him the body in a box."

The others were silent, and looked at each other. John said at
last, timidly, "Is she as beautiful as they say?"

"More," William said.

"And she is with child," Alexander added.

"We must help her," said Paul. "We are not savages here, we are
not barbarians."

"Then tonight we will go to her. We will volunteer to be the
guards FitzJames plans to set. In the morning we will tell
FitzJames she died during the night, and we will hide her in here
while I make preparations to return to Weylin. Alexander, you
will stay and divert any suspicions FitzJames may have about her
fate."

"What if FitzJames does not give you leave to go?" Alexander
said.

"Then you will take her, and I will stay. I will write a letter
to Margaret of what is to be done, and I will tell FitzJames that
I have sent you as my agent. John, Paul," he said seriously,
holding out his hands, "swear to me that no matter my fate,
Katherine will reach her homeland safely."

They each put their hands between his and swore it would be so.
Alexander did as well, his eyes wide and frightened, and he
whispered, "I know that what FitzJames desires is wrong, but is
it not also wrong to defy our liege?"

"That's a question for the philosophers," William said. "Which is
the greater evil, to allow wrong or to facilitate right?"

The younger man nodded. "You are right, of course. Forgive me."

"Let us go and offer ourselves as the guard tonight. Perhaps we
can ease her discomfort some before we steal her away." William
rose and the other men followed him out of the tent.

Katherine was no stranger to pain. She had borne four children,
only two of which lived past their infancy, and she often thought
she had withstood the worst afflictions a mortal could.

She had never imagined, however, losing her husband so early and
so senselessly. And she had never dreamed that she would be
stripped of her dignity like a common strumpet, beaten like a
thief, left to suffer from the pain and the heat and the thirst
as if FitzJames truly meant for her to die tonight.

He was, however, true to his word, and no man had touched her.
The four guards nearby did not speak to her as the camp settled
in for the night, and she was grateful for that small gesture.

Her arms were bound to the post above her head, the ropes tight
about her wrists, but she could still fold her hands together,
which she did with stiff fingers. During the beating she had
concentrated on not feeling the blows, sending herself far, far
away, to her favorite places as a child, the green hills and
jagged cliffs of her home. Now the pain was assaulting her
senses, and she felt she would die before the night was through.
She hoped she would.

She prayed quietly, hoping the men would not hear her as she pled
with Mary and Bridget that they welcome her unborn child into
their arms. Surely they would not punish that poor innocent, even
if it died unbaptised. As for herself, she had no hope of heaven,
and she told the saints so. She prayed instead for her sweet son
Harry, who would have made such a wonderful man someday, and for
her much beloved husband. She begged the saints to welcome Walter
into their presence, to grant him the place he so fully deserved
with the other blessed souls.

She was absorbed in her prayers, murmuring them with cracked lips
and a dry tongue, when she sensed movement and jerked up her
head, moaning as the movement pulled on her wounds. The guards
were standing much closer to her than they had earlier, two of
them holding torches, and one of them was standing right beside
her. The boy, the one who had come to her earlier and tried to
lie to her, and he now held a dipper of water and a bucket, a
look of pity on his face. Alexander.

"Drink, my lady," he urged softly, and held the dipper to her
lips.

Katherine took some water, and when he removed the dipper she
spat the water into his face. He closed his eyes and wiped his
face, got some more water from the bucket and again held the
dipper to her mouth.

"I suggest you drink, my lady," he said.

"I want nothing from you," she said hoarsely.

"My lady, we are here to help you."

"Then kill me. I have no desire to see tomorrow."

"No, my lady, we cannot allow you to die. We are going to help
you. We are going to take you away from here. Drink, my lady.
Please." He pressed the bowl of the dipper to her lips.

The water was cool. She opened her mouth and drained the dipper,
ignoring his admonitions to go slowly. She thought for a moment
she might retch the water right up again, but it stayed down. She
opened her eyes to look at the waiting boy.

"So," she whispered, "if you wish to help me, what now?"

"As soon as William returns we will cut you down and take you to
his tent to hide. He is now telling my lord that you are dead.
William will leave for his home tomorrow and bring you with him,
for you to become well enough to travel to your homeland."

"Why would he care to help me?"

"Because . . . because . . ."

"Because he wishes to take me for his own?" If her mouth wasn't
so dry she would have spit on him again. It never changed. Too
many people believed the silly stories people told about her.

"No, my lady, because we cannot bear to watch you suffer. What
FitzJames has done is wrong, and we wish to right it as much as
we are able." He stopped talking and stepped away from her,
looking at the approaching figure worriedly. Katherine watched as
well, and didn't know whether to be relieved or not when she saw
it was William.

"He said to throw her body to the dogs," William said grimly,
pulling out a dagger. The other two guards stepped closer. One of
them had taken off his cloak, and he wrapped it around Katherine
as William cut the ropes that bound her. The other held the
torches and watched for interruptions.

Katherine moaned as she lowered her arms, and pins and needles
pricked her hands. Her wrists were red and raw from rubbing
against the harsh cords. William wrapped the cloak more closely
around her and lifted her up in his arms, and she whimpered.

"My lady, please, you must stay quiet for this to work," he said
softly.

"I will try." She leaned her head against his chest, not caring
if he desired her or not. Perhaps they would be true to their
word. Perhaps they would take her home. She cared only that the
pain was less, and perhaps the child would live another day.

"John," William said to one of the other men, "have my squire Kit
find some meat to give to the dogs, so that FitzJames will hear
them feeding."

"All right, William. What further preparations do you need to
make to leave tomorrow?"

"Be certain that the wagon is prepared to carry Her Highness. We
must find a way to arrange the carpets so that she is hidden and
comfortable. Kit will ride in the back with her--you and Paul
will ride with me."

"William, perhaps I ought to come as well," Alexander said
softly.

"Not right away, FitzJames may become suspicious. If you want to
follow later I would like your company."

"I will. I'll get the--" Alexander hurried forward to open the
tent. William had to bend to bring Katherine inside, and the
others--Paul and John, she supposed--followed and lit his lamps.
The squire, Kit, lay cushions down on the tent floor and stepped
back, his eyes wide.

William lay Katherine down gently on her side. "Bring the salve,"
he ordered, and Kit brought him a jar and a roll of bandages.
"May I uncover you, my lady?" William whispered, and Katherine
nodded wearily. It hardly mattered now.

William, with more tenderness than she had expected, removed the
cloak and the remains of her dress. He lay the cloak over the
front of her body, so that it covered her from her neck to her
feet. He said, as he began to smooth the cooling salve on her
back, "Forgive me, my lady. This will help the pain."

"William," one of the others said--John? Alexander? At this point
she could hardly tell. "Perhaps we ought to stand watch outside."

"No, that will only arouse suspicion. Perhaps you ought to spend
the night with Alexander, so that Her Highness may rest in
private. Kit, fetch some bread and butter, and milk if you can
find it."

"Good night, my lady," she heard dimly, and she wondered if she
should respond. Soon, though, she realized she was alone. With
William.

"Are you hungry, my lady?" He chuckled. "I'm sure you are. My
squire is getting some bread, will you eat that?"

"I am not hungry."

"For the sake of the child--"

She sighed. "Yes. For the sake of the child."

He went on rubbing the salve into her back. "I am . . . I am most
sorry for this, my lady."

She had no reply to this.

"You have done no harm, no matter what FitzJames thinks. And
certainly the child does not deserve to suffer. If I could have
stopped him--I tried to stop him--"

"Please. I am too tired to talk."

"Of course, my lady. I'm sorry."

In a few minutes his squire returned, and she smelled fresh
butter and warm bread. "Cook sends it with her compliments,
m'lord," the boy said. "I told her you were peckish."

"Thank you, Kit. My lady? Some bread?"

Katherine tried to sit, but only groaned as her body refused to
move. "Perhaps later."

William was quiet a moment, then ripped the loaf open. He spread
some butter on the soft bread within the crust, and tore off a
small portion. He held it to her lips. "Try to eat, my lady."

She opened her lips and ate the bread carefully. She had
forgotten to eat since her husband's death, and the bread tasted
wonderful. Better than it should.

But she did not protest as William fed her the bread, piece by
bite-sized piece.

~~Three~~

Katherine realized dimly that she was awake, and she wondered why
her body ached so. The child was turning and moving, as it did
every morning, and she smiled. What a little warrior was growing
within her. Without opening her eyes she reached for Walter,
hoping that he had not yet arisen and that he would want to share
the wonder of their baby for a little while.

Her hand met empty air and she opened her eyes, and remembered.

Walter dead. Harry missing. Anna Rose on her way to Ireland. And
she was in the hands of a stranger, who seemed kind enough. For
now.

At least the child still lived. She was thankful for that.

She looked around the tent as much as she could without moving
more than necessary. It was a soldier's quarters, no question of
that. Weapons, maps, arms, and a pile of cushions on which slept
the man who claimed he could help her. William, the Wolf's son.

He was asleep on his side, one long arm thrown out from under his
blankets, and his face was clear to her view. She had not looked
on him, really, the day before, but she studied him now.
Handsome, in a delicate sort of way--he had the face of a
scholar, not a warrior as Walter had. Thick dark hair, a large
nose and high forehead, and a strangely put-together mouth: a
thin upper lip and a sensuous, full lower. It was an odd face,
but not altogether unpleasing to the eye.

At least his eyes had seemed kind, and his voice, and his hands
as he had tended her and fed her the night before. He had wrapped
bandages around her to cover the wounds. He had stacked cushions
on both sides so that she wouldn't move and hurt herself further
in the night, and he had covered her with a thick, soft blanket.
He had stroked her hair gently and promised her no further harm
would come to her. She had fallen asleep, soothed by his voice
and his hand in her hair.

But she had been exhausted. That was why. She had no real reason
to trust him or rely on him, not with her husband only one day in
his grave.

Katherine sighed heavily and felt a few hot tears spill from her
eyes. "Walter," she whispered, and covered her face with her
hand. "Are you happy in heaven, my love?"

She heard stirring and hastily wiped her eyes. "My lady?" William
asked sleepily. "My lady, are you in pain?"

Yes, my heart is sore. "I'm all right."

"Hungry and thirsty, no doubt." She watched him stretch and rise,
and averted her eyes when she realized he was nude and not shy
about it. "Kit, breakfast," he said as he pulled on his shirt and
hose.

The boy, sleeping at the foot of William's bed, sat up and
blinked for a moment. "M'lord? Is it dawn?"

"It is near, and we must leave before long. Fetch my lady some
breakfast--something simple." He looked questioningly at
Katherine, and she nodded. "Something simple," he confirmed. "And
hearty."

"Yes, m'lord," the boy said and pulled on his own clothes. "Good
morning, my lady," he said bashfully, ducking his head, and he
left the tent.

"Your boy is shy."

"He has not spent much time around women. Particularly legendary
ones."

"I am not legendary. I once happened to inspire a poet and all
the others elaborated on what he said."

"Still, my lady. Not many women inspire even one poet."

"Has your lady?"

He face darkened for a moment, and he said softly, "Only in
elegy, my lady."

"I am sorry."

He shook his head. "It was childbirth. Many years ago."

"Did the child survive?"

"No."

"I'm sorry," Katherine said again.

William looked uncomfortable, and said hastily, "I'll have to
dress you in some of Kit's clothing, he is the only one small
enough. I hope that does not offend."

"No. So Kit is not your son?"

"No, he is not, he is the son of one of my vassals. He wishes to
be a knight." He pulled a shirt from Kit's belongings. "I don't
know what else to give you, other than John's cloak."

"That will do."

"If I could find some way to borrow some clothing for you from
one of the camp followers--but I don't know of a way without
attracting attention."

"The shirt is fine."

He brought the shirt to her and knelt down on the floor. "Can you
sit up?"

"I think so."

"Let me help you." He slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and
lifted her so that she didn't pull on the wounds on her back. She
noticed, too, that he averted his eyes until the shirt covered
her. It was very soft linen, and she rubbed the sleeve against
her face. Apparently William Wolf's son treated his people well.

Careful, Katherine. Remember he is a liege to FitzJames.

Meantime he was piling cushions behind her so she could sit
comfortably. She eased back against them, and hissed with pain at
the pressure on her wounds. "Perhaps you ought to stay lying
down," William said worriedly.

"That has grown uncomfortable. I would like to sit for a while."

"The journey worries me, my lady. No matter how comfortable we
make you it will not be comfortable enough."

"I'll be all right." She rested her hands on her belly, looking
down at it.

"How soon is the birth?"

"Soon. Within the coming month."

"Are you hoping for a son?" he asked, and then grimaced at the
clumsiness of the question.

Katherine raised her eyebrows at the question, and said softly,
"I have borne four children, only two of which still live. At
this point I only want the child to survive."

"It must be difficult to leave all that behind. The graves of
your dead, I mean."

"I am more worried about my living people than my dead. We left
my husband's grave unmarked so that it would be undisturbed." She
glanced at him and frowned.

"My lady," he said gently, "I am liege to FitzJames only through
my father's loyalty to him, I do not agree with every move he
makes."

"You fought alongside him, against a good and just king. For all
I know you could be the one who cut my husband down."

"I assure you, my lady, I was not."

She studied him, nodded and sighed. There was no point in
antagonizing him, he was her only friend now.

Kit came in then, with another loaf of bread and a covered jar.
"My lady," he said, jerking his head in a quick bow, "my lord,
FitzJames is coming to see you."

Katherine whimpered despite herself.

"Damn--forgive me, my lady. All right. Bring Alexander, Paul and
John here, so that they may distract him. Go, Kit!" he said
sharply when the boy didn't move, and Kit dashed out of the tent.
"My lady, I am going to lift you."

"All right."

He slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her from the floor,
and lay her gently on his own bed. He pulled his blankets over
her. "Too bad your hair is so unique," he said. "None of the
other women have red hair."

"Do you have a scarf? A kerchief?"

He found one for her and gave it to her. She tied it hastily over
her hair. "Clever," he said.

"You don't mind FitzJames thinking you keep company?"

"I can do no wrong in his eyes." He said this with some humor.

The tent flap opened and his friends and Kit entered. "William?
What can we do?" It was the bearded one. John.

"You sit here, to block her. If he sees her at all he'll think
she's a doxy."

"William, we cannot--" said Alexander, then fell silent. "I
apologize, my lady, to expose you to this."

"I have no reputation to protect, now. It is better than dying."

"Gentles, talk," William whispered fiercely, and the blonde one,
Paul, began to chatter nervously about travel conditions as the
tent flap opened and FitzJames entered.

Katherine clenched her fists. Murderer. He would be moving into
her home. Sending her people away. And he came into this place
smiling.

"William, my boy." FitzJames embraced William warmly. "Too bad
about the bitch dying so soon."

"God's will, my lord," William said.

"And now you want to leave me."

"I am needed at Weylin."

"You are leaving me when things are getting interesting."

"You no longer need me, my lord. You have many to help you settle
into your new lands."

"I will welcome you back in the spring."

"I will be happy to come." They embraced again, and FitzJames
left.

"My lady?" Alexander said anxiously. "Are you all right?"

"I am ready to leave this place," Katherine said quietly.

"We will leave at once," said William. "Kit, rouse my men and
tell them we must leave today. And we must find a way to
comfortably transport my lady."

The journey, William thought with some wryness, was arduous
enough for a healthy man. He could only imagine how difficult it
was for a pregnant woman. Although Katherine did not complain
from her position on the wagon seat, it seemed to him that the
only thing keeping her upright was that she was sitting between
Kit and Brother Michael, the driver. William often left his own
post at the head of the train to make sure she was not hungry or
thirsty, that she was warm enough as the day grew cooler, that
the sun was not shining in her eyes. She accepted his attentions
with good grace, accepting his offerings of water with a quiet
"Thank you," saying little else.

In the evening they stopped and made camp in the forest. William
made certain that Katherine was comfortable, bringing down
cushions for her from the wagon, and turned his attention to
getting his people and animals fed. He sent out a small hunting
party to find game, and another party to collect fresh water and
firewood. He told Kit to stay with Katherine and attend her
needs.

Paul was attending their chargers, and William came to join him.
"We've made good time," Paul said mildly, as he fed oats to his
horse.

"It's fine weather." William stroked his own horse's neck
affectionately, and got his shoulder rubbed by his muzzle in
return.

"Is my lady doing all right?"

"She's resting. Only a few more days."

"She's strong, for such a little thing."

"Like a bantam cock."

Paul chuckled. "You like her, William."

"How can I not? Even if she were not lovely there is something. .
."

"Remember your vow. She is to return to her father before
spring."

"I remember. I have no intentions other than to keep her safe.
Paul, what do you know of her son Harry?"

Paul shrugged. "Little but that he is young and much like his
father. Sixteen, I believe, or seventeen. They say he fought
bravely."

"But not that he is dead."

"No. Not that he is dead."

"He may yet challenge FitzJames for his throne."

"I do not see how, unless Walter's people were as loyal to the
boy as they were to him. And it is also assuming the boy will
want to challenge FitzJames."

"We won by sheer numbers," William said softly, and leaned his
head against his charger's neck for comfort.

"My liege, we follow wherever you go. If your conscience leads
you away from FitzJames we will follow you there, as well."

William sighed and raised his head. "I do not know if I dare defy
FitzJames at this point. I owe him so much."

"He owes you more. Without your legion he might not have won the
battle."

"Knowing that does not make my conscience rest easy. Would it be
wise, do you think, to offer my allegiance to the king of
Ireland?"

Paul thought this over for some time. "He may welcome it if he
goes to war against FitzJames. His people from the west and your
people from the east. And," he added, "he might cement it with
marriage to his daughter."

"I would not offer my allegiance even for the fair Katherine. I
would not presume to do anything of the sort without her
consent."

"Your castle has been without a lady for too long."

"Margaret runs my castle, just as she has always done.
Furthermore, the last time the king of Ireland married his
daughter it was to the richest man in Britain, a king and warrior
to boot. I am merely William Wolf's Son, barely of the same
rank."

Paul laughed. "You are too hard on yourself, my liege. It may be
beneficial to you both to offer marriage to Katherine. She will
know it will be your best interest to protect her."

William glanced to where Katherine sat, reclining against
cushions and her hands over her belly. Kit, it appeared, was
telling her a story, his shyness finally past, his gestures
making her smile. He sighed softly and said, "No. Perhaps when I
send her home I will also send the offer of allegiance, but
nothing more. She belongs with her own people. They will welcome
her back, I'm certain."

"As you wish." He nodded to the returning hunting party. "Rabbit
for dinner tonight."

William leaned his head against his charger again, running his
hands over its smooth coat. It might be sweet to be married to
the fair Katherine, to see her smiling face over his dinner
table, to know the pleasures of her body . . . but he knew in his
heart she would always think of him as her enemy. He would not
heap another indignity on her with the offer.

He patted his horse again and went to oversee the preparation of
supper.

"My lord?"

William groped the ground for a moment, confused in the dark.
"What is it, Kit?" he asked finally, rubbing his eyes.

"It's my lady Katherine, my lord, she is hot to the touch and
speaking like a madwoman."

"Damn." He got to his feet and pulled on some clothes. "Fetch
water and rags, and wake Brother Michael. Tell him she has a
fever."

"Yes, my lord." The boy raced off, and William made his way in
the dim light of the dying fire to where Katherine slept.

He could hear her tossing and turning, murmuring low. "My lady?"
he whispered, and knelt down beside her.

"The dead," she said, and gripped his shoulder with a
surprisingly strong hand. "The dead are all around us. Do you not
hear them? My sweet babies, my beloved Harry, my Walter? Even my
mother laughs at me from the grave. I am in hell."

"My lady, you are ill. Your wounds are--"

"My sins are as scarlet. They stain the snow. I am bleeding from
every pore and there is no relief."

He stroked her face, which was hot and sweaty. Her fever was
frighteningly high. "Please, my lady."

"He wanted me dead. Why does he hate me? I was a child. I knew
nothing of my father's wishes. When I was a child I acted as a
child and when I became a man I put away childish things. Didn't
the apostle say that? Why then am I punished for still being a
child?"

"No one is going to punish you, my lady."

"The child will die. That is my punishment. I lay with him before
a battle. I wanted him in my bed. I killed him. My love is
poison."

"No, my lady." He looked up in relief to see Brother Michael,
bearing his bag of medicines. "She is delirious."

"Her wounds may be infected. Can you turn her to her side, my
lord, and expose her back?"

It took several minutes to complete this simple task, for
Katherine fought them, insisting she was in hell and deserved no
respite from her punishment. With Kit's help they cleaned the
wounds and rubbed more cool salve on them, bound them up again
and covered her with her shirt.

"I will sit up with her, my lord," Brother Michael said finally,
when it appeared her delirium had eased. Kit was already drooping
with sleep.

"Bring your bedroll here. I will sit up with her, but I want you
nearby if she worsens." The friar nodded and went to find his
bedthings. "Kit, child, lie down. You did very well tonight."

Kit lay down at Katherine's feet and pulled up his blanket. "She
frightened me, my lord. I thought she might die."

William shivered at the thought, and looked down at the sleeping
woman in his arms. The only way, strangely enough, that finally
seemed to relax her was for him to hold her, her head against his
chest and her body between his legs. He stroked her forehead,
thinking how small her hands were compared to his.

Brother Michael rejoined them, and lay down at Katherine's other
side. "Wake me when you wish to sleep, and I will watch over
her." He yawned.

"I'm not going to sleep."

"As you wish, my lord." Brother Michael shrugged and turned onto
his back, closing his eyes.

William leaned his back against the tree behind him, and rocked
Katherine slowly from side to side. The songs he knew were bawdy,
surely not something a lady should hear. He stroked her forehead
and her cheeks and kissed her soft red hair. He wished he knew a
lullaby.

~~Four~~

For Katherine's sake they had to travel more slowly, stopping
frequently to let her rest, change her bandages, and to find her
fresh water or give her something to eat. She said repeatedly she
did not wish to be treated differently, but Brother Michael told
her they would treat any of their party who was ill this way.

She and Brother Michael spoke a great deal. The other men were
shy around her, and Kit, though he was sweet, was very young and
had little to say. William's friends Paul and John brought her
gifts of flowers and fruit, but they also had little to say to
her. She and Brother Michael, however, had read the same books
and spoke the same languages, and found they even had childhood
haunts in common, for he had spent some of his years as a novice
in Ireland.

William was the hardest of all of them to understand. He was
their lord but treated all of them, from Kit to his second-in-
command, like a respected friend. He was solicitous and caring
towards her, making sure she was amused, telling her stories
about the countryside they passed through. But he would also get
moody, and ride far up ahead of the party to be alone for hours
at a time.

Most mysteriously of all, she slept better when he was nearby.
After the first night he did not hold her in his arms again, but
sometimes she wished he would.

They had not spoken of that night. She knew she had said strange
things in her delirium, as Kit had related a few of them to her,
but she had not spoken to William of what she said, nor of what
it was like to wake up in his embrace. He simply and wordlessly
put his bedthings beside hers the next night, and sometimes
during the night she thought she felt his hand on her hair.

She knew she should tell him not to. She didn't.

Sitting on the wagon seat all day was torturous on her back. When
nightfall came she lay down gratefully, rubbing her belly to
soothe the restless child. Sometimes she would walk around to
ease the ache in her legs, but she couldn't go far.

When they had been traveling five days, one night she was walking
around the camp, along the creek they were camping beside. She
had been walking for quite some time, when she realized she was
not alone, and glanced up to see William. He had been very
unhappy all day, avoiding the others, and she had not expected to
see him until long after sunset. He did not look at her, but fell
into step beside her, scowling.

They continued walking down the creek until they reached a bend,
beyond which they could not see the camp. Katherine paused and
glanced at him, and he waited for her to decide to join him.
There was something in his face, something dangerous, she
thought, but she was not afraid. He offered his arm, and she took
it, and they continued walking.

Finally he said, "When I was very young, my mother died. At first
I was told she had gone away. For days whenever I saw my father I
asked when she would be returning. This caused him great pain, of
course, but they felt I was too young to know the truth." He
paused, and looked at the setting sun on the water. "Finally my
aunt Margaret decided I should know what was really going on. She
took me to the church and showed me the crypt, and explained to
me about the soul and death and many other things. We talked for
hours. At the end of our talk I understood that my mother would
not be coming back. But for many years afterwards, there were
still times when I wished they had let me go on believing she
would return."

Katherine stopped walking and took his hand in hers. "I am sorry,
my lord," she said. "We all have so many sorrows."

"I'm sure you understand that sometimes they weigh on me more
heavily than other times."

"Yes, I know."

He raised his hand as if to caress her face, and then quickly
dropped it. "We have wandered far, my lady, I'm certain you're
tired. Let us go back." He did not speak to her again as they
walked back to the camp.

It was not until late that Katherine decided to bring this up
again. She lay beside him, as usual, and for several minutes she
watched him, her head propped up on her arm. His eyes were closed
but she did not think he slept. Finally he opened his eyes and
looked at her, and said gruffly, "Well?"

Katherine said softly, "My mother died three years ago. I gave
birth to a stillborn child and in my grief I wanted my mother. I
sent messages to her, but the only reply I got was that she was
ill and could not come. I became very angry with her. I needed
her, and I thought she was sending me excuses not to come. I sent
more and more demanding messages: come here, I need you, Walter
is gone to war. Finally I received a message from my father that
she had died. She had asked them not to tell me how ill she
really was. She hadn't wanted to worry me. That only made it
worse, that I was not able to be with her in her final days."

"I am sorry," William said.

Katherine simply nodded, and lay down her head.

William said, after such a long time that Katherine thought he
had fallen asleep again, "I would have liked to have known your
husband, my lady."

Katherine closed her eyes and said quietly, "I think, my lord, he
would have liked you."

He chuckled softly and she heard him turn away, and they spoke no
more that night.

From the excitement of the men, Katherine knew they were near the
lands of Weylin. Even William was smiling more, and joined in
with the songs the men used to pass the time. They had been
traveling nine days, and on the morning of the tenth day William
sent a rider ahead to warn his people of their approach.

It was lonely countryside, rocky and cold. She could smell the
sea in the air. They had encountered few fellow travelers as they
went, and only one group of bandits, who were easily defeated by
William's superior forces.

William brought his horse to the wagon and said, "When we round
that hill you will be able to see the castle itself, my lady, and
the village."

"I look forward to it," Katherine said, and he smiled widely.

The sun was setting behind the castle when at last she saw it, at
the mouth of the river they had been following. Nestled nearby
was a fishing village, and even from this distance she could hear
the crashing of the waves.

Katherine gasped, and tears came into her eyes. Brother Michael
looked at her questioningly, and she said softly, "I had
forgotten how much I miss the ocean."

He smiled and nodded. "Do you want to stop for a moment?"

"No, that is all right. I will go down when I can enjoy it
properly."

William was still nearby, and again he smiled at her. She said to
him, "My lord, do you not worry about invaders?"

"We have not been invaded since my grandfather's time. There is
an abbey under my protection, and the village of course, but our
wealth is not great and there is little the northmen could
plunder. Which is not to say," he added, "that we do not still
have some long-limbed, blue-eyed children born in the village."

"So it is not a worry to you."

"We are always prepared, of course."

"And you do not consider yourself wealthy."

"The abbey has little treasure, only a few sacred relics. You see
my own wealth around you," he said, gesturing to the hills, where
sheep grazed between stone fences, orchards blazed with changing
leaves and boughs bent beneath heavy burdens, and fields shown
golden with ripening grain.

"You are wealthier than many kings," Katherine said, and she
could see in his eyes that he agreed.

Kit pointed to the castle. "The banners go up, my lord!"

"Onward!" William cried merrily, and the journey continued to the
castle's main gate.

They were still a good distance from the courtyard of the castle
when Kit jumped down from the wagon and ran into the arms of one
of the waiting women. "Is that this mother?" she said to Brother
Michael.

"No. That is Margaret."

"Oh. My lord's aunt Margaret."

"Yes. William may be the lord of the manor but Margaret is queen
of the castle."

Katherine watched as William swung down from his horse and hugged
Margaret tightly. There was genuine affection on both their faces
as they kissed, and welcomed others home.

Home. Katherine folded her hands together and closed her eyes.
Sweet Mary and Bridget, she thought, please help me get through
the time. I pray I may see my home again. She could not remember
what her father's house had looked like, except that it was white
stone, and to her childish eyes had always seemed so beautiful
and grand. Until she saw Walter's home, she hadn't thought a
grander place existed in all the world.

Her eyes dampened, but she willed the tears away. When she was
next alone, she would mourn Walter, but until then she could not
afford to show so much weakness. Not when she had already shown
so much.

Brother Michael climbed down from the wagon and greeted Margaret
with both his hands in hers and a warm kiss on both cheeks.
William let go of Margaret and came to the wagon, and held out
his arms to help Katherine down.

"Welcome to my home," he said softly as he set her on the ground.
"I hope you will be happy here." He kept his arm around her
shoulders as he brought her to meet Margaret. "My lady, this is
Margaret, my aunt and the steward of my home. Margaret, this is
Katherine of Ireland, late queen of Angria."

"Your Highness," Margaret said, and curtseyed deeply as one does
to a queen.

Katherine held out her hand and brought Margaret up. "Thank you,"
she said, looking into Margaret's eyes, and Margaret smiled.

The room they gave her was in one of the towers, overlooking the
ocean. Margaret caused a tub to be brought up, and after
Katherine had rested Margaret caused the tub to be filled with
warm water, and helped Katherine undress. She made a soft
sympathetic sound when she saw the wounds on Katherine's back.
"Do they hurt, Your Highness?"

"Please, call me Katherine. They hurt."

"As you wish, Your Hi--Katherine. I have often said that
FitzJames is an animal, but of course neither William nor his
father listened to me." She helped Katherine into the tub, and
Katherine sighed with a mix of satisfaction at the heat on her
worn limbs and pain at the water on her wounds.

"So you know FitzJames," she said after a while, as Margaret
bathed her tenderly.

"Of course. I have lived in this house all my life. FitzJames has
been a frequent visitor for many years."

"I saw him once before, when I was ten years old. Then not for
years until this war."

"I have heard the tale. He wished to marry you and was refused."

Katherine sighed. "It was my father's choice. I was a child."

"I know. You do not need to defend yourself to me, Your Hi--
Katherine. When William's sister came of age I learned firsthand
what arranging a marriage could entail."

"Why were you not married? A lord's daughter--"

"A lord's illegitimate daughter. My lord Hector had a roving
eye."

"Oh. I see."

Margaret chuckled, and said, "There was talk, when I was quite
young, of marrying me to FitzJames. As if our marriage would
cancel out our births. I put a stop to that. FitzJames would not
have been satisfied with me, at any rate. Marriage to me would
not have fostered his ambitions. Marriage to you, however--"

"I have five older brothers. He would have had to kill them all
and me to ever sit on the throne of Ireland."

"I'm sure that's one of the reasons why your father refused him.
Are you ready to get out? The water is getting cold."

"I'm ready." She stood with difficulty, and Margaret briskly
dried her off and helped her into a clean nightdress, and into
the bed.

"I'll bring you some warm broth, if you're hungry."

"I"m all right, thank you. I just want to sleep. Perhaps later."

"Sleep well, then, Katherine." She gave her a kind smile and left
the chamber, drawing closed a curtain to allow Katherine some
privacy.

Nestled on her side against the soft cushions, Katherine let her
eyes close. For the first time in days she was alone, and the
silence and solitude was strange and comforting. She listened to
the crashing of the waves, the cries of the gulls, the sounds of
movement and life all around her.

She buried her face in a pillow and the cry escaped her lips
despite herself: "Walter . . ."

After so many nights on hard ground or clumsy camp beds, William
found he could not sleep in his comfortable bed. He arose and lit
a candle. There was nothing in his room to hold his amusement,
however, so he dressed and went to the parapet that overlooked
the village and the ocean beyond.

It was a peaceful night, and the moon hung low in the sky. He had
not realized how homesick he was until he saw the towers of his
home earlier that day, and he thought it would be many years
before he was ready to leave it again.

He found, also, after watching the ocean for a while, that his
gaze was also straying to the tower at his right hand. The room
where Katherine slept. A picture came into his mind, of the fair
Katherine pushing aside the heavy covers and holding out her arms
to him, her hair flowing over her shoulders and her eyes dark
with desire--

He shook his head violently. She would never think of him in that
manner. It would be an insult to offer himself as a lover, or in
any other capacity except as her protector.

But would it not be sweet to see those eyes smile at him, to hear
those lips whisper words of love?

He sighed. Perhaps a swim was in order, to clear his head. And
decidedly he would speak with Brother Michael in the morning.

He was starting towards the steps when he heard an agonized cry
from Katherine's chamber, and ran to it as quickly as he could,
down some steps and through a short passage to the door, which
was not locked. He opened it and stepped into her chamber. "My
lady?"

A candle was already lit, and one of the servants, Milly, was
sitting at Katherine's bedside, holding and stroking her hand.
"She's all right, my lord. A bad dream."

He looked at Katherine's pale face. There were deep shadows under
her eyes, and tears on her cheeks. He asked Milly, "You are
staying with her?"

"Yes, my lord, while Margaret sleeps."

He nodded, and went to Katherine. He put his hand on the side of
her head and gently stroked her hair. "Do you want to talk, my
lady?"

"I want to sleep, my lord. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." She
withdrew her hand from Milly's. "Go to bed, child. I'm all
right."

Milly looked helplessly at William, who nodded to her. She rose
and curtseyed to him, and lay down again in a small bed by the
window. William took her place at Katherine's side, and gently
stroked her face.

"You didn't disturb me. I was outside. The moon is beautiful
tonight."

"Please, my lord, I am very tired."

"I only want to help you. Tell me what you dreamed."

Her eyes studied his face, and her hand sought out his. "I
dreamed of my husband. That I was with him, that all this never
happened. That I was holding him. And then . . . then I was
kissing a corpse. I was surrounded by bodies, by moving corpses--
and I thought it was real. That I would never get away." She took
a deep breath and let it out. "And then Milly shook me awake and
here we are."

William sighed sympathetically and stroked her hand as Milly had
done. "I admit that one's dreams sometimes can be a pathway to
clear thinking. And sometimes they can present such pictures of
horror. I wish I knew why."

Katherine said nothing, and her small fingers twitched in his
hand.

He said, "You have not had bad dreams before, have you, my lady?"

"Not for many nights, no. Not since I have been in your company."

He thought he could see a blush on her cheeks. "Perhaps I ought
to sleep at your feet. To keep the bad dreams away."

"My lord!" Milly cried, and then clapped her hands over her
mouth. "I am sorry, I shouldn't be listening--"

"No, Milly, you must vouch that we behave. Would that be
acceptable, my lady? I will sleep here," he indicated the foot of
her bed, "and Milly will chaperone."

She looked at the wide-eyed girl, and then said calmly, "That is
acceptable. Milly, fetch my lord another blanket so he will be
warm enough."

"Yes, my lady." Milly scurried from the room.

Katherine turned her gaze to William again, and said, "If it is
your intention to get me used to sharing your bed, I would say
this is an auspicious start."

His eyes widened, and he stammered for a moment, "I never--I
don't--it is not--"

"No need to explain. I can think of worse prices you could demand
for your generosity. I ask only that you wait until after my
child is born to demand your rights of me."

William stared at her calm face, and said quietly, "I have no
intention of demanding anything from you. I do not intend to make
you my mistress. I mean for my house to be a refuge for you, and
for my company to give you comfort, and that is all. I ask no
price, only perhaps the privilege of your companionship and the
pleasure of looking on your beauty."

Now he knew she was blushing, and she whispered, "I--I apologize.
I thought--assumptions have been made about me, and I thought you
had made them as well."

"I have heard the stories. I do not believe them. The woman I
have come to know is sweet and chaste and honest. No man who
knows you would think otherwise."

He was still holding her hand, and her hand tightened for a
moment on his. "Walter used to get so angry when he heard people
telling tales. He fought duels to defend me. He always won."

"That alone should dispel the rumors, if your champion is
undefeated."

"Was," she said softly. "Was."

Milly returned at last with an armful of blankets, which she
spread at Katherine's feet. William removed his shoes and covered
himself, and Milly blew out the candle. "Sweet dreams, my lady,"
he said.

"Katherine."

"I'm sorry?"

"Call me Katherine. I am no longer a queen, nor a princess. I am
only Katherine."

"Katherine," William said. "Then I am William, not 'my lord.'"

"William," she said softly. "Good night, William."

He closed his eyes, not expecting to sleep. But soon he was.

~~Five~~

The day began early at Weylin. Over one hundred people lived and
worked within the castle itself, all needing to be fed and
clothed, their injuries and illnesses healed, their children
taught, their elderly tended, their quarters cleaned. Before dawn
the cattle were milked and the sheep were released to graze, and
the fishing boats were launched from the tiny village pier. The
great ovens in the kitchen were fired up, and the preparation of
the first of the many meals to be served began. Prayers were
chanted and confessions heard, candles lit and saints invoked.
Looms and spinning wheels began their steady hum. There was no
place for idleness at Weylin.

Katherine was accustomed to rising before dawn herself. She had
been Walter's right hand in many ways, and when he was gone she
represented him and his wishes fully. As lady of the house she
bore the responsibility of the well--being of the entire
household: guests, court, servants, guards, knights, and family.
She had tried to spend as much time as she could with her
children as well, overseeing Harry's training and Anna Rose's
education. There were sometimes a few precious hours when she
could pursue her own interests. Even better was to spend some
time with Walter, enjoying his company or being a family together
with the children, for Walter loved his children tenderly and
hated all the time he had to spend away.

For four days she had lain in this unfamiliar bed and listened to
work go on around her, too weary to move. Alone with her
thoughts, she could do little else but remember. She missed
Walter's comfortable presence. She missed Anna Rose's curiosity
and Harry's high spirits. She missed being able to speak her own
language with Mel Foalon, to hear him sing the songs of her
homeland. She missed the jokes and the stories of people who had
known each other many years and were no longer strangers.

And she knew it was wicked of her, but she sorely missed the feel
of Walter's hand, his sweet kisses, the look of passion in his
eyes. They had always enjoyed each other, which she knew shocked
their confessor, but she had refused to consider it a sin to
revel in the body of her husband.

Well, she was being punished for it now. Her two dead babies were
only a warning. Poor innocents, dying for their mother's lustful
nature. And Walter had died for the same reason, because she had
desired him when he should have been preparing for battle. She
lay her hand over her eyes and allowed herself a few tears,
cursing the weakness of her flesh. No more. Her body was only a
vessel to bring forth this child, to whom she would devote
herself for the rest of her life. No other man could take
Walter's place in her heart --

-- not even sweet William with the kind eyes --

Katherine gasped and hastily wiped her eyes. Surely the devil was
at her elbow, giving her such thoughts as this. She would speak
with Brother Michael later, and plead for absolution. She would
make a full confession.

Milly had admonished her to wait until she returned with
breakfast to rise, but Katherine was growing impatient. She
pushed herself up to sit, and moved the covers aside. Her legs
were stiff as she swung them over the side of the bed, and wobbly
when she stood up. The healing wounds on her back complained from
the movement, and for a moment she was tempted to lie down again
and let Milly take care of her. No, she thought. This is penance,
nothing less than what I deserve. She carefully lifted off her
nightdress and reached for her shift, and heard the door creak
open.

"My lady!" Milly scolded as she set down the breakfast tray. "You
should be resting."

"I must do something, Milly, or go mad." She allowed Milly to
help her dress, saying, "I am unaccustomed to sitting idly by as
work goes on around me. If William has work for me to do I am
more than happy to do it. I can make up accounts, tend children,
clean silver --"

"You are a guest, Lady Katherine. You are to rest and recover.
I'm sure if my lord had work for you to do he would have told us,
but he has said nothing to Margaret or myself."

"I am an excellent seamstress, perhaps there is sewing I could
do?"

Milly paused, and said, "Well, there is the new alter cloth for
the chapel. My lord wants it ready by Christmas but there is
little time to work on it. Do you know fine sewing?"

"I do."

"Perhaps Margaret will allow that, if you do not mind."

"That would be perfect," Katherine said in relief. Let no one say
she could not earn her keep.

Margaret took the news of her desire with little surprise, and
set Katherine up in one of the great rooms with other women. The
great alter cloth was white, and the sewing to be done in scarlet
and gold thread. The cloth had been hemmed, but no other work
done. "With harvest on us," Margaret said, "no one has time for
this frivolity. The alter has been without a cover for the past
five years and could go longer -- but if you wish to work, you
are welcome to it."

Katherine studied the vast cloth and said, "What pattern would
you like?"

"It doesn't matter, only nothing wasteful. The thread is so hard
to come by."

Katherine ran her fingers over it, a design already taking shape
in her mind. "Perhaps some more colors would be useful. Blue, and
a deep green, I think, and perhaps black . . ."

"My supply is at your disposal." Margaret set her own sewing
basket near her. "Frankly I'm glad to have that off my hands.
Cook gave birth to twins and there is much sewing to be done --
not to mention your own little one. I will find cloth for that as
well."

"Thank you." Katherine sighed, remembering the basket of baby
clothes at her own home which would now go unused.

"Send one of the girls for me if you need me, I'll be in the
bakery." Margaret hurried off, and Katherine began sorting
through the thread for the colors she desired. So it was not
affairs of state. At least she was useful.

The three other women in the room were also sewing quietly, while
a fourth read to them from the Gospel of Mark. Her reading was
hesitant, stumbling over the Latin, and Katherine wondered if the
other women even understood what they were hearing. She had been
taught Latin alongside her brothers, and she found herself
murmuring corrections and translations to herself as the girl
read.

At least the light in the room was good, and the needle was
sharp. Soon she had the beginning of a pattern in gold thread in
one corner, and she smiled, hoping --William-- the residents of
Weylin would like her work.

"So, my lady Katherine," one of the women said, and Katherine
looked up. "You are enjoying yourself here?"

"I have well-treated so far," Katherine said.

"By Lord William, no doubt," the reader said, and two of the
others giggled. The fourth, however, just looked at them
disapprovingly.

"He spends the nights in your chamber," the reader continued.
"It's all over Weylin. You move quickly from man to man, don't
you?"

Katherine eased her grip on the needle, reminding herself they
were expensive, and said quietly, "William is kind enough to stay
with me to comfort me. The girl Milly is with us all night."

"He can do no wrong in Milly's eyes, poor child. As if he will
even look at her, particularly now that he's conquered you."

"Enough, Maude," the fourth woman said wearily. "Go tend sheep if
you're going to think like a rutting goat."

The reader shoved the heavy Bible aside and flounced out of the
room, followed by the two others. The fourth woman looked at
Katherine and smiled. "I apologize for them, Your Highness. Maude
has aspirations above her station."

"I have no intention of disrupting this household."

"Oh, you haven't. My lord will not choose a new wife from among
his own people, should he ever decide to remarry. At most Maude
would get a child or two. I am Elizabeth, by the way."

"How do you do. Does my lord have many illegitimate children?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "None that are known, and if there were
I'm sure he would acknowledge them. But he is only a man, and his
wife has been dead a long time. It's only a matter of time. He
needs an heir."

Ah, yes. It always came down to that. She said, "Do you know of
whom he is considering? To be the new lady, I mean."

"He has been gone a long time, my lady. Margaret says nothing of
the subject, and if he has not told her than no one knows. If
FitzJames had a daughter it might be her, but he has no issue
either. But you know all of that."

"I am familiar with his status," Katherine said dryly, and
Elizabeth laughed.

"I suppose that is why FitzJames made my lord his heir, that he
does not plan to have a son of his own flesh. Though there were
rumors, of course --"

"I beg your pardon. William is FitzJames's heir?"

"Yes. He stands to inherit the FiztJames's family property, and I
suppose -- oh my. Whatever other territory he has acquired. I'm
sorry, my lady, I thought you knew, I assumed you knew. Angria as
well."

Katherine put the needle down. "I -- excuse me." She put the
heavy cloth aside and struggled to her feet, and Elizabeth was at
her side at once.

"Please, my lady, pause and reflect for a moment --"

"There is nothing to reflect. Excuse me." She had to get away,
even from this kind person. She made her way out of the castle as
quickly as she could, even hiding herself for a moment when
William passed with his friends. She couldn't bear to look at him
-- or rather, she did look on him, and his visage, so tenderly
considered a few short hours before, only brought her pain.

She left the castle grounds and walked along the river that led
to the sea, and walked for a long time, her mind a jumble.

William had been false to her, she was certain of that. Perhaps
he planned to use her to make his claim on Angria secure, or even
perhaps Anna Rose, using herself as a lure. What better way to
win the hearts of the people, than to marry the former king's
widow or daughter? Provided, of course, that there were no sons
to interfere. She could hardly bear to think of what might have
become of Harry, but this child --

She lay her hands on her belly. If she bore a son he could yet
inherit his father's throne. He could have Angria. FitzJames
would soon die, either of age or in battle, and then William
would inherit. She could convince him -- she was willing to
sacrifice herself -- and if she bore William no son then the
bloodline would continue.

I must be ice, she thought, fire to him, ice to all else. Anna
Rose is safe in Ireland by now, my father will find a good
husband for her to protect her from FitzJames. It is up to me. I
must. For Walter's sake.

"My lady?" A servant came running up to her, breathless. "Lady
Katherine, we have been searching for you -- Margaret requests
you --"

"I come." She took the servant's arm and he brought her back to
the infirmary portion of the castle.

"There you are," Margaret exclaimed, lines of worry around her
eyes. "I was afraid you had wandered off to have your child in
the wilds."

"I am quite well. What is it?"

"We have a new arrival. Come." She led Katherine to the back of
the long narrow hall, to where a familiar and beloved figure lay
on a cot.

"Harry," she breathed, and knelt at his side, taking his hand in
hers.

He smiled at her weakly. He was pale beneath the dirt, and she
could see he had been wounded and the wounds were clumsily
tended. "Mother. I saw what that monster did to you. I followed
you here."

She kissed his hand. "You're safe now, Harry. My sweet boy." She
put aside his sword and began to take off his mail. "Margaret,
may I have bandages?"

"They are on their way. Medicine and wine, and food as well."

"Thank you. I'm going to make you well, Harry."

"Mother, I failed. I couldn't protect Father, there were too many
of them."

"I know, my dear, I know. You didn't fail. You did perfectly.
You're alive, you're here, and I'm going to make you well."

"Where is Anna Rose?"

"I sent her to Ireland with Mel. I expect she is safe in my
father's house by now."

"And the little one?" There was some sadness in Harry's voice,
and she smiled at him tenderly.

"He thrives. You will yet see your baby brother." One of the
servants brought her a bowl of water and a cloth to wash him, and
she began to gently wash the dirt from his face.

"I am so glad. Father would be so angry if -- oh, Mother, I saw
him die, I saw the one who killed him."

Her hand trembled, but she managed to say steadily, "Who was it,
Harry?"

"I think it was FitzJames himself, I would know if I saw the
armor again. I couldn't come to his aid fast enough, he was down
as soon as I saw he was in danger."

"Harry, Harry," she said gently. "You have always been a fine
son, the most excellent of sons."

"I failed him. I should have stayed by his side."

"Sh. Rest now. You're safe here," she said, hoping it was the
truth. She glanced at Margaret, who had finished undressing Harry
and was carefully unwrapping his wounds. Margaret might help her
protect him. She said to her son, "Rest now, my dear. Just rest."

When Harry had been cleaned, fed, and tended, Margaret and
Katherine went back to the kitchens, Katherine leaning on
Margaret's arm. She was more tired that she cared to admit, for
all her good intentions. And there was still so much more to do
this day.

She said carefully, hoping to keep her tone simple, "Margaret, I
would like for you to not tell William of my son's arrival."

"Why not, my --Katherine? William likes to know of the events in
his house, surely he will be glad to hear your son is alive."

I am not so sure of that, Katherine thought, but only said, "I
fear of what reprisals might come if it were widely known William
shelters both Harry and myself here. I cannot allow him to stay
long."

"Where would you send him?"

"To my father, with news of my safety. I can allow him time to
recover, of course, but perhaps as soon as the baby is born I
must find a way to get him to Ireland."

"William could find a ship to take him there. You must tell him.
He can help you in so many ways."

Katherine studied Margaret's face and said quietly, "I am afraid
of what William might do with this knowledge."

"Why? William would do nothing to harm you."

"Harry is the rightful heir of Angria. William's liege now sits
on his throne, which William will inherit at his death. I hardly
think William would do anything to endanger that inheritance."

Margaret stopped walking and clasped Katherine's hand. "William
does not want that throne, I assure you. He loves his home, he
does not desire to rule any more than he already does. Please, my
lady, release your suspicions. He can only help you."

"I will think about it. For now I must concentrate on Harry."

Margaret sighed. "I have acquired fabric for you to make some
clothing for your baby, and some clothes that are no longer used
as well. What else do you wish in preparation?"

"Thank you. Only a cradle and blankets."

"Not a wet nurse?"

"I prefer to nurse my children myself."

"Very well. I will speak to one of the carpenters about making a
cradle for you."

"Thank you."

"Please, Katherine, do think about telling William that Harry is
here. I assure you it will bring no harm to him."

"Please, don't press me about it anymore. I must think about my
children's well being before anything else."

"As you wish." They had reached the kitchens, and Margaret
released Katherine's hand. "I will have Milly bring you the
cloth. I suggest you rest now. I have set Edith to watch over
Harry." She smiled, and added, "She was more enthused to do it
when she heard he is young and handsome."

"I hope she will not spread gossip that he is here."

"She will not. Excuse me."

Katherine gave her leave, and collected some more bread and
cheese to feed Harry. She would rest when she was sure Harry was
out of danger.

She was returning to the infirmary, worrying over how to smuggle
him to Ireland, when she heard William's voice from within. Her
breath froze and her heart thudded to a stop, and then she told
herself not to be ridiculous, and went into the chamber.

William was sitting at Harry's bedside, and Harry's sword was
drawn. "Harry, don't --"

"Don't what, Mother?" He looked at her, bewildered. "I was
showing William my sword."

"I have never seen such workmanship. It is Spanish steel?"

"I -- I believe so."

"Beautiful." He eased it back into the scabbard. Katherine hardly
knew what to say. She went to Harry's bedside and felt his face,
but his fever was still low and he was not so terribly pale.

"I brought you some food, dear. Are you hungry?"

"No, but thank you. Will you still beside me for a while?"

"Of course." She sat at his other side and held his hand, and
stroked his dark hair gently. She felt very aware of William's
eyes on her.

"Harry tells me he followed us from Angria. He should have made
himself known sooner, eh, lad?"

"I had to be certain, my lord, that my mother was safe first."

William said softly, "Your mother is perfectly safe with me.
Always."

"You need to rest, Harry," Katherine interjected quietly. "Close
you eyes. When you are strong enough to travel I am sending you
to Grandfather."

His eyes had begun to close, but they opened at this and he said,
"So far away, Mother?"

"Yes. You will be safe there, and he will advise you on what to
do next. There are preparations to make."

His face darkened and he said, "You want me to challenge
FitzJames for my throne."

"I want you to get well. Don't worry beyond that." She bent to
kiss his forehead, and went on stroking his hair until he relaxed
into sleep.

William had stayed beside him as well, and said softly once Harry
was asleep, "When he is strong enough to travel I will send John
with him to take him to your father. By land or by sea, do you
prefer?"

"By sea. I want him to go by sea. It will be safer."

"He is safe here, you know."

"I know nothing of the kind."

He sighed and turned his face away for a moment. "Neither you nor
any of your family will ever come to harm through me. Please,
Katherine, you know you have nothing to fear."

"It is enough that I have entrusted my life to you, don't ask any
more of me."

"My lady, I thought we were friends."

She looked down at Harry's face, sharp and fierce like Walter's,
and said softly, "I am a mother first, my lord. Before I am
anything, I am a mother to my children."

"I see." He stood and started to leave, then paused and said, "Do
you wish to see me tonight?"

"I will be sitting up with Harry. There is no need."

"I see. Good night."

She refused to watch him leave. She kept her eyes on Harry's
face, and held gently onto his hand.

~~Six~~

There was a candle burning on his table, and William had been
watching the flame for he knew not how long. There had been dark
clouds over the ocean as the sun set, and he thought they would
have rain before dawn. He wondered if he ought to be sure all the
sheaves were sheltered, but told himself the laborers knew enough
to tend to it. He moved from his side to his back and wondered if
the roof needed any repairs. He wondered if Brother Michael was
awake and might perhaps want to play a game of chess.

He thought it was very likely he was the only person awake until
the next county.

A moment later he realized he was wrong, for he could hear
footsteps down the corridor, and the opening and closing of
doors. He listened for several minutes, then realized there was
more going on than sleeplessness.

He got out of bed and dressed, and went out to the corridor. In a
moment the door to the chamber where Katherine had been sleeping
opened, and the girl Milly came out, laden with a bloody
coverlet. "Milly? What is going on?"

"My lord," she curtseyed hastily, "my lady Katherine is giving
birth and she is in a bad way. Margaret is with her--my lord!"
she exclaimed when William pushed past her to go into the
chamber. "It is not a place for a gentleman!"

William glanced at her, and opened the door anyway. The chamber
smelled of blood. He could hear Katherine panting with pain, and
the soothing murmur of Margaret's voice. He pushed back the
curtain that separated the bedchamber from the rest of the room,
and stepped closer.

"Margaret," he said softly.

She was holding Katherine's hand, and Katherine lay wearily
against her, covered by only a light sheet. Margaret looked up at
him and said harshly, "This is not the place for you, William, go
back to bed."

"I want to help."

"Go." Katherine's voice was so weak it was little more than a
breath.

He came to the other side of the bed and knelt down. He touched
Katherine's forehead, as sweat and hot as if she were in a fever.
"Let me help you," he said gently. "Let me do--whatever you need,
I'll do it."

She gave a sobbing kind of sigh. Margaret said, "Very well, stay
if you will not go. Come here." He moved to beside her, and she
gently put Katherine into his arms. "Keep her sitting up, it is
easier for her. When the pains come she must remember to breathe,
and you must breathe with her. It must stay slow. I will send a
boy to fetch one of the friars. Milly should return soon, with
water and more sheets."

"Why do you need a friar?"

Margaret wiped her face with a weary hand. She said quietly, "The
baby is in a bad position. One or both of them may not survive
the night. I want a friar on hand, to pray." She left the
chamber.

William looked down at Katherine, her head weakly against his
shoulder. No, she could not die. Her child could not die. Not
after surviving so much.

He felt a dampness on his chest and touched his fingers to it.
Some of the wounds on her back had opened, and were bleeding. Her
body had sweated so much the sheet was sticking to her. He wiped
her face with the side of his hand and gently kissed her temple.

She stirred, and a tiny moan escaped her. "Are you in pain?" he
whispered.

"All over."

"What can I do?"

"There is nothing you can do. By the sweat of my brow . . . I
bring forth . . . how does it go?"

"I--I don't know. You shall bring forth bread . . . by the sweat
of your brow, and with groans bring forth . . . I don't
remember."

"It is our punishment. To labor for children. There is no
pleasure without punishment." She whimpered, and grabbed his arm
with a surprisingly strong hand.

"Slowly," he said, hoping it was what he thought it was. "Breathe
in slowly, out slowly."

"You breathe slowly," she said, and groaned.

"Slowly, Katherine, or it will hurt too much."

She half-whimpered, half-laughed, and said softly, "I have done
this before."

"Are the pains coming quickly?"

"They are too slow, and have been coming too long. I am so tired.
I have been in pain since this morning, and only in the past few
hours has the baby even moved. I am so afraid, William," she
whispered, and he saw a tear tumble down her cheek.

"Do not be afraid. You will be all right. You will hold your baby
in your arms before this night is over."

"And then will I bury him tomorrow?" she said, looking up at him
as if he truly had the answer.

William could only sigh, and he stroked her forehead and kissed
her temple again. He said, rocking her gently from side to side,
"If I could grant your every wish, I would take away this pain. I
would ease every heartache you have. I would take away all your
fears. I would give you every happiness."

She smiled, closing her eyes.

"Sleep," he said, "rest for a while. I'll be right here."

William took the cup of water Milly offered and gave a few sips
to Katherine, and drank some himself. Katherine barely surfaced
from sleep, and leaned her head back against William's shoulder.

"She's resting," Milly whispered, "that's good."

"Is it? Surely the baby should be coming faster."

"Yes, it should, but if she rests now she'll have more strength
later. My lord," her voice dropped even lower, "I am so afraid."

"Of what?"

"My lady may go mad if the child dies."

William started to reassure her, then sighed. It was a rational
fear. He said, "Then we will take care of her."

Milly smiled, and put the water aside as Katherine's eyes opened
and she moaned, gripping William's arm again. "You are doing so
well, my lady," Milly said, pushing the sheet up to Katherine's
stomach. "Look how low the baby is!"

Katherine just whimpered and pressed her face against William's
arm.

"I know it is hard," Milly continued in the same soothing
whisper, "but you are so strong. Think of your sweet baby,
waiting to join you. Your body is almost ready, and soon Margaret
will be here to help you."

"William," Katherine breathed.

"Yes, Katherine. I'm here."

"My friends call me Kate."

"Kate. Tell me what you need."

"Promise me, if the child lives he will be taken care of."

"Of course he will. And you as well."

"He or I will die tonight, William. I can feel it."

"You're both going to live, Kate, I swear it."

"Are you greater than God?"

He closed his eyes. "God would not break my heart this way a
second time."

"You speak madness, William."

He kissed her damp hair. "Yes, Kate, I do. William Wolf's Son
decrees it. You will live this night, as will your child. He will
grow strong and brave like his father. You will yet see your
grandchildren."

"Well, if William wills it . . ." She smiled wearily. "It must be
so."

Brother Michael was awake after all, and smiled tenderly as he
took Katherine's limp hand. "So we will have a new inhabitant
soon."

"You have come to hear my confession, Brother?"

"I have come to help you in any way that I can, my child."

"I want to make confession. Forgive me, for I have sinned,"
Katherine said softly. "I have taken too much pleasure in the
body of my husband. The night before the battle with FitzJames he
wanted to spend in the chapel in preparation, but instead I
seduced him into my bed. I wanted him to love me. I didn't think
he needed God's help. I killed him. God killed him to punish me
for lusting too much for him. God killed my babies as well, and I
hated him for it, I cursed God for it. He is punishing me for
that as well. I am the chief of sinners, Brother. I do not expect
absolution. I am going to hell for the death of my husband, and I
only pray that you will not let my baby die unbaptized."

Brother Michael sighed. "My lady," he said gently, "within the
bounds of marriage, the creation of children is a sacred act."

"But I was already with child. I did not need him to lie with me.
I wanted him because of my own selfishness."

"You wanted to express your love for him. That is also sacred.
You are not a sinner, my lady."

"I killed him!"

William thought she would have shouted it if she had the
strength.

"No," Brother Michael said gently. "His enemy killed him. Do not
blame yourself where you are guiltless."

Katherine only shook her head.

"I give you God's forgiveness, my child, and his love. Save your
strength for bringing forth your child."

"If I die--"

"Your child will be cared for, always."

"You're not going to die," William said.

"I wish I were so sure," Katherine whispered.

Birth was a battle, William decided. Long and arduous and
painful, and rushed towards the end. There was a great deal of
weeping involved, which he had never seen in a battle.
Afterwards, certainly, he had shed his own tears a few times
after a battle.

He thought, though, as he held Katherine as she brought forth her
son, that for women to endure this pain made them stronger than
any warrior.

"Does he live?" Katherine said as Margaret maneuvered the baby
out of her body. "Tell me, does he live?"

The child gave out a lusty cry, and Margaret smiled. "He lives,
my lady."

"Oh, God," Katherine said simply, and held out her arms. Margaret
lay the bloody, messy baby in her arms, and Milly brought over a
basin of warm water and a cloth to wash him. They bathed the baby
as Katherine held him and wept.

William could say nothing. He leaned his cheek against
Katherine's head and continued holding her as he had been for
hours. He found that he was shaking. Katherine leaned back
against him and stroked the baby's dark head.

"What is the hour?" she said softly.

"Near to dawn."

"Hmm," she said. "Samhain. He was born with the new year."

"Surely that is a good omen."

She kissed the baby's head. "His name is Quaid," she said. "It's
the Irish for Walter."

"A good name for the bonny lad," Margaret said. "Such a beautiful
child."

"So handsome," Milly agreed.

Katherine only smiled. "Tell Harry, as soon as he is awake, that
he has a brother. I would like to sleep now."

"Of course. Come, William, you need to sleep as well."

He hesitated, then gently moved from behind Katherine and lay her
down. She cradled little Quaid against her breast. "Rest," he
said gently.

"Thank you," she said, and closed her eyes.

William touched her forehead again, and quietly left the chamber.
He went to the top of the tower and looked out over the ocean. He
felt .. . moved. Deeply moved. As if he'd never witnessed such
beauty.

When his late wife had given birth he had not been allowed to
join her, even though he had desperately wanted to. And when he
next saw her, she was dead. He had not thought childbirth could
beautiful as well as terrible. But it was like a fire.

He wondered if Katherine would appreciate this comparison. No.
She understood it, she would not appreciate him making it into
poetry.

It was time to sleep. He went into his own chamber and lay down
without undressing, and was sound asleep in an instant.

~~Eight~~

It was tradition that during the Christmas season many of
William's vassals would come and stay. This nearly doubled the
household, but it was a cheerful, noisy, merry crowd. It was good
to see friends that William had missed during the last few years
while he had been away, or that he had not seen in the last few
months since they left the company of FitzJames.

He truly liked this season, the songs and the food and the games.
With all the extra company he found it was easier to hang back
and watch the others celebrate. Nothing pleased him more than to
be on the edge of a joyous crowd, observing but not
participating.

Katherine, it seemed to him, was amused by his attitude. She sat
beside him one evening with Quaid on her lap, and looked at him
in that way she had, that always made him feel he should be
saying something. He ignored her at first, but finally said,
leaning his head on his hand, "You disapprove of my method of
celebrating the sacred season."

"Not disapprove of, no. I am puzzled, however, as to why you
invite so many people and tell them to enjoy themselves, but do
not avail yourself to the same enjoyment."

"I am enjoying myself."

"Obviously," she said, smiling, and bounced Quaid gently as he
clapped his little hands. "Do you like the music, dearest?" she
said to him, and he gurgled happily.

William took his feet down from the footrest where he had propped
them, and leaned towards Katherine and put his finger in Quaid's
hand. Quaid studied him, then worked his gums on William's
finger. Katherine gently freed William's finger from his grasp,
and gave him his poppet to chew on. "Is that better?" she asked
him, and he seemed satisfied with his new toy. "I am glad he
likes you," she said to William.

"As am I."

"So tell me why you are not dancing."

"I don't like to dance."

"Neither do you like to sing or play."

"Why are you not dancing?"

"I have the little one to take care of."

"There are many others who would be glad to tend him."

"Milly and Edith are both dancing. I would not presume to ask
anyone else."

"I will hold him, if you would like to dance."

She shook her head. "I am all right, thank you." She continued
gently bouncing Quaid to the time of the music, and William
watched her as she watched the dancers.

In a few minutes the dancers regrouped for another song, and Paul
came over the Katherine and bowed to her. "Would you care to join
us, my lady?"

"I would be happy to, but--" She looked down at Quaid.

"I will take him," William said, holding out his arms. She smiled
in gratitude and put the baby tenderly in his lap, and kissed
Quaid's head.

"Be good," she told him, and took Paul's hand to join the
dancing.

William held him up and Quaid gurgled and clapped his hands. He
could not stand by himself of course, but his little feet tapped
on William's lap as if he, too, were dancing.

"Do you see your mama?" William said softly. "Do you see her
dancing there? She is so happy. So pretty." He sighed, and leaned
his cheek against Quaid's head for a moment. She was pretty.
Smiling as she danced, her skirts whirling around her, accepting
the honors paid her with good humor. When the formations gave her
a few moments to stand aside she looked over to them and smiled.
She was pretty, William thought, the prettiest woman in the hall,
and he felt such a rush of--of--

Love?

No, he thought, it can't be love. She is lovely, she is sweet and
virtuous and wonderful, but I cannot love her. She does not
belong with me.

But he could not deny his desire for her. God, to touch her once
. . .

Everyone was dancing or otherwise making merry. He wanted to get
out of there, go walk on the beach until his imagination was
under control, and not think lustful thoughts about her while
holding her child, but there was no one he could give the baby
to. He had to stay.

He closed his eyes and held Quaid to his chest, and Quaid made a
protesting sound. "Sorry," he said, moving him to dance on his
knees again. "You want to look around, don't you, laddie?"

"William, I insist that you dance."

Katherine had planted herself in front of him, her hands on her
hips. She smiled and held out her hand.

"We can't leave the child here alone."

"I will take him, my lord." Milly was at Katherine's elbow, and
she took Quaid and kissed him noisily.

Katherine looked to William and smiled, still holding out her
hand. "You cannot refuse me, William. I have taken away your
excuses."

"I am not a very good dancer."

"It does not matter."

"I am very clumsy, Katherine, please."

"You are not," she said with a laugh. "Dance with me, William, or
I will be very upset."

He sighed and put his hand in hers, and stood. Her smiled
broadened and she pulled him into the formation. The others
cheered and welcomed him, and teased him about finally joining
his own party, and he only smiled and accepted their teasing.
Katherine was happy, and that was enough.

"So why did Milly stop dancing?" he asked her when he next had
the chance.

"I asked her to take Quaid. Look." She gestured to the side,
where Milly was playing with Quaid, and a young man had joined
them--Mark, one of the carpenters. "It gives them a chance to
talk."

"I had no idea."

"He's working on his masterpiece, you know."

"No, I didn't."

"Well, he is. And he will choose a wife soon, and Milly hopes it
will be her. I think it will be."

"He is a good man," William said thoughtfully, and then the
formation took them apart again. When he had the chance he
watched Milly and Mark together, and he could see her genuine
happiness in his company. "Should I do anything?" he asked
Katherine when they were together again.

"No, oh, no. Let it develop as it will."

"Yes," William said, "love does work itself out, doesn't it."

"It has a strange way of doing so. Will you take a breath of air
with me? It is so warm."

"Of course." They left the dancers and went to the walk outside
the hall, still sheltered from the wind and rain but cool enough
to bring down the color in her flushed cheeks. She pressed her
hands to her cheeks and smiled at him.

"I will tell you something. I do not normally celebrate this
much. I have always needed to keep my dignity. It is . . .
different to be one of the crowd."

"Good. You should enjoy yourself."

"Should I?" she said, and leaned against the window ledge to look
outside.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her blue, blue eyes and
her slender white throat and her rosebud lips. He looked away
from her and said, "You should. You deserve to play and dance and
make merry."

"And how does one 'deserve' to make merry? Is that why you do
not, you don't think you deserve it?"

"I--that is hardly the point."

"Then tell me the point." She tilted her head to the side
patiently, her eyebrows raised.

"Madame, there is no point. You are a guest here. Make merry. Be
gay. Seeing you happy makes me happy, and I feel no need to make
a spectacle of myself."

"You think I am making a spectacle of myself?"

"No, of course not."

"I truly do not understand you, William."

"I prefer to watch, that is all."

"Very well. I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with that."

"Please try to be."

She smiled and looked out the window again, leaning her chin on
her hand.

Her face was so open and gentle. William wondered how it was that
she was constantly kissed, by himself, by everyone who met her.
He wished he could kiss her as freely as he did Quaid.

His hand shook as he took hers. She watched him but her
expression did not change, she only waited for him to continue.
He lifted her hand and turned it over so that her small palm was
upwards, and he gently traced the lines. He felt that he should
speak, but he could not find his voice. So he lifted her hand to
his mouth and kissed it with open lips.

Katherine exhaled sharply, but did not pull her hand away. He
didn't look up at her, but dragged the tip of his tongue over the
lines of her fate, the small fleshy portion beneath her thumb,
the warm inside of her wrist. Her pulse raced beneath his lips.

I should stop, William thought. He breathed against her palm for
a moment, then lifted his head and looked at her at last.

Her lips were open and her eyes were wide. She licked her lips
but said nothing, and he could not see in her face if she was
displeased or otherwise. She let out a shuddering breath, and her
fingers curled around his.

William said hoarsely, "If I were to come to you, not as I have
been doing but as a lover, would you turn me away?"

Her jaw trembled and she whispered, "Yes."

He nodded and took a deep breath. "I know that. I only wanted to
be sure. I think it would be best--I think it would be wisest if
I sleep in my own chamber from now on."

"Yes," she whispered, and her face was full of pain.

"My little friend," he said, and pressed her hand to his chest,
over his heart.

Her brows furrowed, then she said softly, "William, I--Quaid
needs me." She gently pulled her hand away and went back into the
hall.

William closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. After
almost three months together he had broken their unspoken
agreement. He had overstepped their bounds. He had meant it when
he said before he did not want to make her his mistress, but he
was no longer so certain he meant it now.

And of course she would not allow it. He had known that before he
asked.

He slid down the wall until he was almost on his knees, and
moaned, "God in Heaven, what have I done?"

Quaid was protesting with short, unhappy wails, and Katherine
eased her embrace around him. But she continued rocking him as
she sat on the center of her bed, and she could not stop
trembling.

It was just a kiss to the hand. Something she had experienced a
thousand times, from friends and strangers, even from her own
beloved. But never with such intensity, such emotion.

If William could do such an innocent thing as kiss her hand with
such passion, what would the kisses of his mouth be like? What
would it be like to lie in his arms, to be brought to ecstasy
with his love?

She buried her face in Quaid's sweet, plump neck and wept. "I
will not do this," she whispered fiercely, "I will not do this!"

Her imagination was not so disciplined. He would be gentle, but
focused. He would bring her to the very peak of pleasure with his
hands and his lips, his breath would be hot and sweet on her
skin, he would kiss her until he touched her soul.

"Your mother is a depraved, wicked woman," she sobbed to Quaid,
and he patted her cheeks with his hands.

She had told him no, but it would be so easy to go to him. He
would welcome her to his bed, she was sure of it. She could see
look of surprise that would cross his face . . . he would whisper
her name, his voice trembling with hope and disbelief . . . he
would touch her gently, as if afraid she would disappear, his
eyes wide with wonder .. . and he would hold her so tightly as
they kissed . . .

"Oh, God," she moaned, and lay down, curling herself around
Quaid.

William walked.

He had always loved walking, he would walk for hours whether the
day was fair or foul. He knew all the land around as far as a man
could walk in a day, and during his worst periods he knew as far
as a man could walk in a night and a day. He walked in the hills
or along the beach, or follow the river or the road. He knew the
people who lived and worked on his lands, and he was welcome at
almost every house. He rarely stayed at any of their houses,
however, choosing instead to walk.

It occurred to him this night, as he hunched his shoulders
against the wind and rain,

that there was nowhere he could walk that was far away enough.
And this weather would probably make him ill if he stayed out too
long.

Nonetheless, he continued walking, up to a outcropping of land
where even now in the summers they set a watch for invading
Northmen. At the very edge one could see for miles, far, far out
to sea, and it was visible for miles on land. If invaders came
they would light a bonfire to warn the soldiers it was time to
arm themselves.

Providing the weather was clear, of course. In a storm like this
it was difficult to see one's hand in front of one's face, much
less the countryside round about or the sea below.

This is pointless, William thought. Making himself ill would not
make things up to Katherine, or right any of the wrongs that had
been heaped upon her.

He turned up his face and let the rain pound on him for a while.

It was a very long time before he went back down.

Quaid was crying in weary, hoarse wails. He wouldn't suckle, he
was clean and dry, and though Katherine rocked him, stroked him,
sang to him and pled with him, he wouldn't stop crying.

Milly had chosen not to return to their chamber, and Katherine
could only imagine that she and Mark were exploring the wood shop
. .. or something. She would have given anything for an extra set
of hands, just to hold Quaid for a moment so she could rest her
arms. His wails would pick up if she put him down.

So she walked the floor with him, too weary now to even sing to
him. The shoulder of her gown was wet from his tears.

The door to her chamber creaked open to reveal a soaking-wet
William. He looked at her pitifully, then stepped in and closed
the door. Without a word he took Quaid from her arms and kissed
him, and whispered into his ear, stroking his head. Katherine
sank onto the bed, and watched as with a few words and gentle
touches William soothed Quaid into sleep.

Not until Quaid was sleeping soundly did William lie him in his
cradle, and he knelt on the floor at Katherine's feet. "You
should go change," she said softly, stroking his wet hair.

"In a moment. Are you all right?"

"I am very tired. He's never done this before."

"I know."

"I pray his temperament has not changed."

"I think perhaps it is that he noticed something was different.
That his mama was upset."

"That you weren't there," Katherine said, and William looked up
her painfully.

"Katherine," he whispered, taking her hand. "Kate." He traced her
palm with his long fingers, and tenderly kissed the center of her
hand. She whimpered and pulled her hand away.

"Don't, William. Please don't. I don't know what to do. If you
go--but if you stay--"

"What that be so terrible?"

She dared to look at him. His eyes were so unhappy. He went on in
a whisper, "If I were to stay nothing would happen. I swear it on
my honor. It will be as it was before. We keep each other
company, tend to Quaid. Perfectly innocent. I swear, Kate, you
have nothing to fear from me."

"I don't fear you," she said. "I am more afraid of me."

William chuckled and stood. "I'm going to change," he said
softly, touching her cheek. "I'll return in a moment. If it means
anything to you, Kate, I'm not afraid of you."

"Perhaps you should be."

"My dearest lady, don't tell me you still believe your love
kills."

She studied his face, and sighed. "Go," she said, "and return
quickly. We both need to sleep."

"I live to serve you," he said seriously, and at last she smiled.

~~Ten~~

Christmas was celebrated, with its solemnity and gaiety, and
after the Roman New Year and Twelfth Night, life at Weylin went
back to normal. Katherine was almost painfully aware that
William's guests knew William shared her bedchamber and that
most, if not all of them, thought she was his mistress. But they
did not know who she was. They thought she was, at best, a
widowed or captured noblewoman under his protection in exchange
for her body, and she knew there was much gossip among the guests
as to whose child Quaid truly was. To them she was merely
Katherine, and certainly not the woman reputed to be the most
beautiful in the world.

There was one uncomfortable night, when a troupe of singers came
and one of them seemed to recognize her. He sang one of the poems
written about her, giving her many significant looks, but none of
the guests said anything to hint they knew who she was. Later
William had a talk with the singer, clarifying that yes, M'Lady
was a very beautiful woman, but Katherine of Ireland had been
dead for months.

She often thought that was more true than he realized. The woman
she had once been was long gone.

The long months of winter stretched ahead, bleak and cold.
Katherine took to standing on the parapet, looking out at the
sea, clutching herself tightly beneath her woolen cloak. She
wanted only to go home, shelter herself behind her family and
devote herself to her babies. To remove herself from this
temptation--a sweet temptation, certainly, but a temptation
nonetheless--and cherish the memory of Walter like a candle
flame.

It would be easy to resist if William were a brute. If he were
rough or cruel, if he beat his servants, if he terrorized her,
then it would be easy to leave. She would want to leave, if he
were that way.

But he wasn't a brute. He was patient with Quaid, and would hold
him and kiss him and stroke him and whisper to him and play with
him, as if he were his own child. He treated his servants with a
detached friendliness. And he treated her as if she truly were
the lady of the house, with respect and deference.

It would be so easy, and wonderful, and sweet and glorious, to
give in, to act on this temptation and take him as a lover. She
had never considered such a thing before. There had been offers,
of course, but never like this. Sometimes William would raise his
eyes from supper or playing with Quaid, and gaze at her so
intently, with so much hunger and tenderness that she wanted to
take him in her arms and--and--just--love him.

I must stop thinking this way, she thought, and closed her eyes,
wishing she were close enough to the ocean that she could feel
its cool spray on her face.

She tightened her arms around herself, shivering beneath her
cloak. It would be easier to bear once she left. She would forget
him over time, she would forget the passion in his simple kiss
and the longing in his eyes.

"Kate," said a soft voice behind her, and she started to turn her
head. But she knew who it was.

"Your home is so beautiful," she said quietly, as William stepped
to her side.

"Will you miss it?"

"Yes."

"Will you miss me?"

"Yes," she whispered, staring steadfastly at the sea.

"I'll miss you."

She could say nothing to this. She thought if she looked at him
she would throw herself into his arms and never let him go.

After a moment William said, "You are eager to leave me."

"No."

"You hate this place."

"No."

"You want only to return to your own people."

"No, it's not true."

"Then why do you stand here for hours every day, watching for the
ship to return?"

"I am only waiting for news. When John returns he will tell me of
my children. I long to hear how they are."

"Is that all you long for?" he whispered, and she wanted to sob.

"Oh, God, William, I cannot do this! You know I cannot stay with
you. I will not give up all that I cherish for a few hours of
ecstasy with you. Please, please do not ask me anymore. I am not
strong enough to resist you."

"My dearest lady," he said quietly. "My dearest Kate."

"Please," she said, moving her face away.

"I would not dare to test your virtue. I would not dare. But must
you go? Could you not make Weylin your home?"

"Do you believe, in all honesty, that were I to make Weylin my
home, I would remain chaste?"

He closed his eyes. "You do not trust me."

"I do not trust myself."

"My dear--"

"Please, don't. I am weary, William, and homesick and tired. I
miss my friends, I miss my children, I miss my beloved." She
could fight her tears no longer, and closing her eyes, let them
fall. "I want to go home. You will forget me soon."

"Never," William said, and his fingers wiped her tears away. "You
shame me by saying that."

"Are you truly my friend, William?"

"I hope so, my dearest lady."

"Then stop. Please. I am torn--I am torn--"

She felt him step closer, and the softness of his lips on her
cheek, kissing her tears away. Oh, she could stand up to cruelty,
she could defy demands, but his tenderness would undo her. She
lowered her head, and he sighed and stroked her hair.

"I do not mean to tempt you into what you perceive as a sin. I
certainly do not want you to betray the memory of your husband.
But I will miss you when you go. I will miss you." He leaned his
cheek against her head, and softly kissed the crown of her head.

Katherine could not move or speak--she longed to embrace him, to
kiss his dear face and run her hands through his unruly hair, but
she didn't dare. It would not end innocently.

But she stood in his embrace and wept, and he went on kissing
away her tears, softly and tenderly like a child's kiss, his
comfort like the comfort he gave to Quaid.

All at once his body stiffened, and she looked up at him. "What
is it?"

"A ship approaches."

"What flag does it bear?"

He paused. "Ours."

Katherine could not hold back her smile. "John," she said
eagerly, and William nodded, his lips trembling.

"And all the sooner you will leave me," he said, and now tears
threatened to spill from his eyes.

"You knew I would not stay forever."

"I did not know how much you would fill my heart."

She cupped his face in her hand, and he closed his eyes and
rubbed his cheek against her palm. "You will forget me," she
said. "You will find another, and soon, to fill any emptiness
within you. It cannot be me. I am going down to meet the ship
now. You may come, if you wish."

He shook his head. "I will wait. I would like to . . . postpone.
.. as long as possible."

Katherine stood up on her toes and kissed his lips, a mere brush,
and went down hastily to the pier to wait for the ship to dock.

John had indeed returned, and to Katherine's joy he had brought
Mel Foalon with him. They embraced and could not stop talking,
and the others around them stood back and let them reunite. It
was not until Mel had bathed and rested, however, that he and
Katherine finally sat down to talk seriously.

But first he had to play with Quaid, and spoke to him in the
Irish as he played. Quaid looked at him seriously, as if he
understood, and laughed in delight when Mel tickled him. "He's a
fine boy," Mel said to Katherine. "A fine, handsome lad. His
Highness would have been so proud."

"I am proud, myself," Katherine said. "He will be a fine
warrior."

"Anna Rose longs to see him. She is very well. Her uncles have
taken to her as they did to you. She has grown taller," he added.
"She will be taller than me, soon."

"That is not difficult," Katherine teased gently, and Mel
laughed.

"I am but a pygmy in a land of giants," Mel said. "So tell me of
this William Wolf's Son."

"He saved my life, Mel, and he saved the little one. I believe
that Walter would have liked him."

"But is he trustworthy?"

"Yes. Yes. Of the utmost trustworthiness. Why, Mel? What is
happening?"

"News comes from Angria, in dribs and drabs," Mel said slowly. He
put Quaid into Katherine's lap and stroked his smooth head for a
moment. He said, "Your people are well, on the whole. He has
replaced most of the court, but there have been few deaths. I
suppose he knows he is enough of a demon to the peasants."

"I sense there is more."

"Your father the King expressed his displeasure to FitzJames over
your death. When we heard . . ." He sighed. "There had not been
such mourning in Tara for years."

"I let you know as soon as I could."

"I know. The rejoicing to the news was equal to the mourning.
They long for you, Kate. I have come to see you home."

Katherine dropped her eyes and kissed Quaid to keep from looking
at Mel.

"Kate? What is it?"

"Quaid is far too young to travel yet. It will be some months--
and I do not want to travel during winter. I would like to wait
until spring."

"Very well. Do you think William Wolf's Son will mind keeping
me?"

"You may have to sing for you supper."

"Haven't I always?" They smiled at each other.

"Oh, Mel, I have missed you," Katherine said. "I have missed
having someone who knows me well."

"I have more news for you."

"How is Harry?"

"Harry is fine. Harry is thriving. It's about Anna Rose."

"Tell me."

"FitzJames has heard of Anna Rose and that she is of marriageable
age, and has made an offer to your father the King to marry her
as a gesture of peace."

Katherine stared at him, and stood, holding Quaid tightly. "No,"
she said, "no. Absolutely not. What answer has my father given?"

"He has said no. When I left FitzJames had not yet made an answer
to that."

"He is old enough to be her father--to be her grandfather! How
dare he insult my husband this way!"

"Katherine," Mel said sternly, "now is not the moment to think of
your pride. Your father the King wishes to know what you would
prefer for Anna Rose's safety."

"Does he think FitzJames means to sail against him?"

"He is preparing for it."

"I must think on this. Oh, God, I wish he had never been born. He
is a demon--he is a devil." She found that she was trembling, and
Mel took Quaid from her.

"Your father the King will protect her, you know that."

"I know. I know he will do everything he can. I would prefer,
however, to prevent any more warfare. I suppose I cannot hire an
assassin," she said darkly.

"Katherine, there is an easier way. Marry her to someone else."

"She is but fourteen!"

"You were younger."

"I cannot imagine to whom I could marry her. Does my father have
someone out of his court chosen?"

"No, he has not. He wants you to come to Tara before you make any
such decisions."

"And by the time Quaid is strong enough to travel it may be too
late, FitzJames may already go to war against my father. Oh, God,
Mel, I don't know what to do. My poor little girl."

"Do not despair, Kate, we will think of something. Your family
will protect her."

"And suffer for it. I wish he had died on that battlefield!"

Mel said nothing, and jogged Quaid lightly in his arms.

"I must think about this. We will speak more of it after supper."

"As you wish." He handed Quaid to her and bowed, and then paused.
"Or perhaps you would like some music?"

"No. Thank you. But I would like to be alone."

He bowed again and left her chamber.

Holding Quaid as he dozed, oblivious, Katherine paced and
thought. Her sweet, delicate daughter could not be given to that
monster.

He would never stop. Not until her entire family was torn to
pieces. He would not rest until all the blood of Walter of Angria
was destroyed.

Somehow, they would have to destroy him first.

When Brother Michael stopped reading the letter, John watched
William's face with anxious eyes. William was frowning, worrying
his lower lip with his thumb. "So he does accept," he said at
last.

"He accepts. He said to me he was eager to ally himself to you,
and that he will reward you any way you wish for saving
Katherine's life."

"Hm," William said, and rose from the table. He walked to the
window, his arms folded behind his back, and stared out at the
sea. "We must tell him I do not wish for a reward, only
allegiance in case of another war against FitzJames. I am
concerned as well, as how to break the alliance with FitzJames
and not bring down his wrath."

"We must be careful how we tell him," Michael said. "He will go
to war against you if he learns of this new alliance, or that you
helped Katherine escape him."

"I know these things. I believe the risk is worthwhile. I will
delay breaking the allegiance with FitzJames until I am more sure
of a stronger position."

"I hope we are not discovered beforehand," Michael said.

"My lord," John said hesitantly, "I will be happy to relay any
messages you wish to send to His Highness, if you would like to
send me again."

"Took a liking to Ireland, did you?" William said, turning around
and smiling.

John blushed beneath his beard and said, "The people are very ..
. warm-hearted."

"Was there a specific person?"

John sighed and said with exasperation, "Yes, a specific warm-
hearted person. The girl. Anna Rose. William, she is lovely, and
sweet, and mature beyond her years, and I . . . I would like to
see her again."

"I think I could contrive an excuse," William said. "I imagine
she is much like her mother."

John smiled, blushing still. "Taller and more slender, and not so
fair in coloring. But yes, otherwise she is much like my lady.
And Katherine is well-loved by her father's people. They are
eager for her to return. Her father wept when I informed him she
is still alive."

"I will send you soon," William said, and John's smile broadened.

At supper Mel obliged them with a few songs, in both the Irish
and the Saxon tongues, but Katherine found she could not pay them
the attention they deserved. Her mind was far too otherwise
occupied with worry over Anna Rose. She was certain that if
FitzJames somehow captured Anna Rose he might actually marry her
but he would make the marriage a living hell, and kill her as
soon as he'd gotten a child or two. But she could not think of a
way to get Anna Rose safely out of his reach.

Or rather, she could, and it made her heart sore.

She would have to confide in William. She had not wanted to--he
had done so much for her already--but it was the only way.

So in the evening she asked William to sit with her a while
before his accustomed hour. He played with the baby while she
tried to decide how to broach the subject, and finally she
blurted out, "I've received news that FitzJames means to take a
wife."

William raised his eyebrows. "I had not heard. Surely you
consider this good news--he is no longer interested in you."

"It's difficult to be interested in a corpse, is it not? And it
is not good news. He means to marry my daughter."

"That's absurd."

"Yes, I agree that it is. And I fear that should my father refuse
him my daughter's hand, he will declare war to soothe his wounded
pride once more. I have been trying to think of a reason we could
give, that would not insult him but would still keep Anna Rose
safe."

"I think I have a way."

"So do I. I would like you to marry my daughter."

William's breath escaped him as if he'd been struck.

Katherine took a deep breath of her own and plunged onward. "I
would not suggest such a thing but I am desperate. If you marry
Anna Rose FitzJames cannot touch her. I would sooner she die than
that man get his hands on her."

William's jaw worked and he said softly, "I am sorry, Katherine.
I cannot do as you ask."

"Her very life is in danger! Please do not desert me now, I am at
my most desperate need."

"I cannot marry her."

Katherine felt tears threaten. "I know that she is young but we
can make the betrothal now and you can marry her in a year or
two."

"I cannot do this, Katherine."

"Why will you not help me? I know this is an enormous boon to ask
but--but--but this is my child," she said at last, and her voice
broke. "This is the life and the happiness of my child. The young
men that I formerly considered are dead. I can think of no one
else that I could entrust her to. Please, William. If for no
other reason than because I asked you."

William studied her, and he said softly, "I cannot marry your
daughter, madame, when I am in love with her mother."

Katherine stared at him. She could say nothing. William went on
gruffly, "John by the Way is not married. He is a good man. He
makes a good income from his lands, and is in allegiance only to
me. He told me earlier that he is eager to return to her company.
I believe that would be a wiser course. He will take good care of
her, Katherine."

Katherine said softly, "You love me?"

"Yes," William murmured, and closed his eyes, holding Quaid to
his chest.

Katherine said in a much different tone, "I will write to my
father, and to Anna Rose. I will arrange the marriage to John.
And he will be good to her."

"Yes. He will be good to her."

Katherine gathered Quaid to her and kissed him gently, and tied
him into the sling about her chest. She rose to go, then paused.
"How long, William? How long have you loved me?"

He looked up at her. "I don't know. Perhaps from the first moment
I saw you. Perhaps from the night I held you in my arms and you
wept in your delirium. Perhaps from when I watched you give birth
Quaid. Perhaps I was born loving you. I only know that I will
never stop."

She nodded once. "Thank you, William." She left the chamber.


Katherine of Ireland 10

Katherine of Ireland 10

The chapel was empty, and Katherine went to the alter and knelt
before it, folding her hands. Candles flickered above her head,
each one a prayer to heaven, and not a few lit by herself. She
focused on the one she had lit most recently, a prayer for
strength to resist temptation, and wondered what would happen if
she blew it out.

He loved her. She did not doubt the sincerity of his words, nor
did she doubt his intentions remained honorable. He had not said
it as part of a seduction, he was not trying to manipulate her
into his bed. He simply loved her.

She did not know what to do. She could withstand flattery and
pleading, she could bury her own desires, but this tenderness--
and the impression he gave that he did not expect his declaration
to change her feelings--melted her heart.

And her resolve along with it.

Above the alter was a statue of Mary, cradling the Holy Child and
lifting one hand in a blessing. "Why could I not be more like
you?" Katherine whispered. "Why is this all-too earthly flesh so
weak? If I go to him--if I let him do as he desires--as I desire-
-Holy Mother, help me. Tell me what to do."

The statue was mute. Katherine expected as much--miracles did not
happen for people such as herself. She remained kneeling there,
however, whispering prayers, until Quaid began to fuss and
squirm.

She was not eager to return to her own chamber, knowing that
William would be there, but she did not want to feed Quaid here
in the chapel, nor could she think of where else to go. There was
no where else to go. If William was waiting, she would have to be
honest with him. She would tell him she was the worst of sinners
and she did not want to drag him to hell with her, but neither
could she fight her desire any longer. It would be sweet to say
it at last.

Take me, William.

God in Heaven, it would be sweet.

The courtyard was grey with predawn light, and there were sounds
of the day's activities throughout Weylin. Katherine made her way
to her own chamber, murmuring soothingly to Quaid, who was a tiny
warm bundle against her bosom. She opened her door and looked
around. All was as she expected, except . . . William was not
there.

"Milly?" Katherine said, going to her bed. "Milly, wake up."

Milly sat up, blinking and rubbing her eyes. "My lady?"

"Where is my lord?"

"He asked me to beg your leave. He has gone with Paul Long and
John By the Way to John's home, to prepare for his upcoming
marriage to your daughter. Where have you been?"

"In the chapel. Praying." Katherine untied the sling that carried
Quaid and kissed his head gently, and settled herself on her bed.
"When did they leave?"

"Early, my lady, long before dawn."

"Did he say how long he will be gone?"

"A few days at most, my lady. John's home is less than two days'
ride away. My lady? Shall I take Quaid?"

"No--no. He is hungry." She untied her clothing with numb
fingers, and guided Quaid's mouth to her breast. He broke off in
mid--wail and began to suck vigorously, and Katherine kissed his
little hand that pressed against her breast. "Lie down, Milly,"
she said finally. "Go back to sleep."

"My lady, is there nothing I can do for you?"

"I'm quite all right. My lord William is not my nursemaid."

"No, of course not," Milly murmured, lying down again. After a
moment, she said, "I have news, my lady."

"Oh?"

"Mark and I are to be married."

"That's wonderful, Milly."

"Thank you. I have no income of my own, so Lord William has
offered to help with a dowry."

"That's very kind of him."

"He is most kind."

"Sleep well, Milly."

"Yes, my lady," she said, yawning, and she turned her back to the
room and pulled up her blankets.

Katherine fed Quaid, patted him to rid him of gas, changed his
diaper and lay him in his cradle. She thought she might try to
sleep a little more before the day began, but knew it was
impossible. She wondered if she would ever get to sleep without
William's company. She wondered if he was sleeping any better
away from her.

William stared at the stars above him and wondered if Katherine
was sleeping well tonight. He wondered if he should have said
goodbye, and hoped that she was not insulted. He knew that he had
fled as a coward, but he could not bear to face her, not after
making his admission of love and received only a "Thank you," in
return.

He had not intended to say this to her. He had not realized it
fully himself until she asked him to marry her daughter, and at
her words the knowledge that he could not do such a thing had hit
him like a fist to the stomach. He supposed if he were another
sort of man he would have gone ahead and married Anna Rose, and
kept Katherine nearby to enjoy her company as well. But he was
not that sort of man. He wanted Katherine. No substitutes.

He wondered if she was thinking of him. He wondered if she missed
him. He wondered if she had even noticed he was gone. He wondered
if Quaid was inordinately fussy because he was gone, or if he
hadn't noticed either.

He sighed.

"William, go to sleep," John said sleepily, turning towards him
and pulling up his blankets.

"I can't. I miss K--Quaid."

"Of course you do." He yawned. "Go back to Weylin, William. I can
make the arrangements myself."

"I promised to help you."

"You're going to be miserable, you know."

"I can spend a few days away from Ka--home."

"Go to sleep," Paul said impatiently from the other side of the
fire.

"Go to sleep," John said gently. "Stay less than a week with me,
William, then go back to Katherine. I'm sure she'll welcome you
back joyfully."

"I doubt she misses me."

"Go to sleep, William."

William sighed, looking back up at the stars. He wondered if
Katherine was looking at the stars as well, and wished that she
was--that she was looking at this one right there, and thinking
of him as he was thinking of her.

The week dragged on listless feet. Katherine passed her time as
she was accustomed, only now with Mel for company. She sewed, she
played with Quaid, she read aloud to the others, she listened to
the poems and songs of her homeland with a regret-filled
longing..

The nights were terrible. Quaid, thankfully, scarcely seemed to
notice things were different, but he was sleeping through the
night anyway. But she spent four restless nights, missing William
so fully she took to going to the window at every sound from the
courtyard, hoping it was him at last.

She had become too accustomed to William, the soft sound of his
breathing as he slept, his gentle voice when nightmares disturbed
her, his tenderness with Quaid. His tenderness with herself.

She wondered if he missed her too. She wondered how it would be
when he returned, if he was going to tell her he did not love her
after all. Or he might sweep her into his arms, declaring
passionately that he could not wait another day. He might throw
himself at her feet and beg for her favors, kissing her hands and
bathing them with his tears. Or he might simply kiss her, and
whisper again that he loved her, and maybe this time she could
give a better response.

She did not know what that response might be, however. Saying I
love you would not be entirely honest. She cared for him deeply,
that much was true. But her love, her heart, belonged to Walter.
She could give everything else to William, if he wanted it, she
could give him her time and her affection and her body. But her
love . . . no. She could not offer him something that belonged to
another.

There were so many stars. Every night she singled one out, and
wished on it that William would return to her soon.

William could not stay away any longer. He missed her. He missed
the baby. He wondered often how Walter had withstood it, being
away from his family so often for so many months. He knew that if
Katherine had been his bride all these years, he would not have
been able to tear himself from her.

William left John's home before dawn. He drove his horse to its
limits. He barely stopped to eat or drink, and finally arrived at
Weylin at sunset. He paused at the top of his hill and looked
down on his home. It seemed to him brighter, lit golden by the
sun on its stones, like a castle from a tale. And a queen,
beautiful and sweet and tender, dwelt within.

He smiled and urged his mount onward. It was time to come home.

He was greeted by a page who took his horse into the stable, and
went into the main hall. His men roared with gladness to see him,
but he only drank a cup of ale with them and then went searching
for Katherine.

He found her at last, in a small, cozy room. Edith and Margaret
were sewing as Milly played with Quaid and Katherine read to them
in her soft, calm voice. Edith noticed him first as he stood in
the doorway, and nudged Milly. They both looked at him, smiling
expectantly. Katherine stopped reading abruptly, and looked up at
him as well, and a hesitant smile crept over her lips and her
bosom rose and fell as she drank him in with her eyes. Margaret
smiled broadly and rose to greet him.

"Welcome home, William," she said, holding out her hands to him.
He took them and kissed her cheek. "How was your journey?"

"Fair enough. My lady," he said to Katherine, "John is eagerly
preparing for his marriage. Have you sent a message to your
daughter yet?"

"I have not. I did not want to send one of your people to Ireland
without your knowledge."

"Write your message," he said, "I will send someone in the
morning."

"It is good to have you home," she said softly, and he shivered.
He could not take his eyes away from her sweet face.

"My lady, may I have a word with you in private?" he said, and
her eyes widened.

"Of course," she said, and he did not miss the looks the girls
exchanged.

"Come with me," he said, taking her hand, and led her out of the
room. Her hand was shaking in his.

They walked up to the top of the tower. "You're cold," he said,
and wrapped her in his arms to warm her up. She pressed her cheek
to his chest and put her arms around his waist.

"I have missed you unbearably."

"But you did bear it."

She rolled her eyes. "Not happily. Not when I would have rather
had your company."

"I shouldn't have left. Not like that."

She studied his face. "What are we going to do, William?"

"I don't know." He kissed the top of her head and whispered
again, "I don't know."

"I know I should go. I know I should leave you. I don't want to.
But if you say that I should, I will."

William closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to her temple.
"Don't go. Don't leave me. Stay with me, Katherine, and let me
take care of you, let me watch over you, let me--let me be what
you need. Perhaps with time you'll come to love me."

Katherine sighed heavily and stroked the side of his face with
both her hands, her lips turned down and trembling. "My heart is
not my own to give. But I know that I need you. I am willing--I
know that I need to--oh, William. I am at war with myself."

"Stay with me," he whispered again, cupping her face in his hand.
"I ask only for your company. I will be a good father to Quaid,
if you want me to be."

"What I fear is the day FitzJames comes, and sees that you lied
to him. What will he do to you, when he sees you have betrayed
your liege?"

"He is no longer my liege."

She pulled back from him enough to look into his eyes. "When did
this happen?"

"John took my offer of allegiance with him, and your father
accepted. FitzJames does not know yet, but he will soon enough."

"And then?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I will go to war, I expect."

"No. You must not go to war over me, I will not allow it."

"I must right the wrongs I have caused. It will not only be over
you, it is for your sons, for your family, for your honor."

"No, William. No more deaths. Love me as you wish but do not
fight for me. I could not bear losing you. Let FitzJames think
that I am dead, but do not endanger yourself or your people on my
behalf."

"I would face all the demons of hell for you."

"I would rather have you safe by my side."

"Tell me to slay dragons for you, Kate, and I will do it." He
kissed her hand and pressed it over his heart.

"William. I will do not such thing. Stay with me. Live with me.
Share my life and my bed, but most of all, stay alive."

It took him a moment to understand this. "Your bed?"

"If you want me," she whispered, casting down her eyes, "I am
yours."

He smiled. He couldn't help it. He nuzzled her soft cheeks and
her eyelashes butterfly-kissed his face. "But you do not love
me," he whispered. She started to pull away, but he pulled her
gently back. "Do not misunderstand me. I know what it costs you
to offer yourself to me. And I long to accept, most beautiful
Katie, I do."

"I don't understand. I offer you all I have-"

"Sh, my dearest, sh. I would like your love, but if that is not
possible, I am satisfied with your companionship. Your body is
your own."

Her eyes were impossibly blue, and her face was pure and open as
she said, "And all that I have is yours."

"Oh, God," William whispered, stunned, and she pulled him down,
standing up on her toes, and kissed him. Her lips were so soft,
and her breath was sweet. Her hands stroked over his face and
through his hair.

She kissed his face with delicate, feather-soft kisses, and after
several moments of enjoying her attentions William began to
return them. Her skin was as he had dreamed it would be, sweet to
the taste and to the smell like honeysuckles off the vine. He
kissed her forehead and her eyes, her cheeks and her chin, her
neck and her ears, and again and again her lips, until finally
her lips teased his open and her questing tongue entered his
mouth. He held her skull between his hands, feeling that she
meant to devour him with her kisses and he was not opposed to it
at all.

Finally she stopped, and rested her forehead against his.
"William," she whispered, and he tightened his arms around her in
response. "William, I need you."

"My dearest, if you will regret this tomorrow-"

"I will not regret this. I no longer wish to fight my desire. You
are so precious to me, I want to show you in the only way I know
how. Let me love you, William, let me kiss your wounds and soothe
your heart."

"But you were so adamant before, what brings this change?"

She closed her eyes and kissed his fingertip, that was so-slowly
tracing her lips. "You love me," she said, and William wanted to
weep.

"I do not want to tempt you into something that will make you
hate me."

"I will not hate you." She kissed him again, with so much
tenderness. "I will never hate you, my dearest friend. I give
myself to you freely. When you came home today I knew I could not
spend another night craving your touch."

"This is a rare and wonderous gift."

She smiled and kissed him once more. "Come, William." She took
his hands and started to lead him to the staircase.

"Katie," he said, still uncertain. "Tell me one thing."

"Yes, my dear?"

"This is freely done? You do not look on this as an obligation?"

"This is freely done. I look on this as a joy."

He drew her to him and kissed her, and they went down the
staircase to his chamber.

Katherine was trembling as William closed his chamber door and
took her in his arms. They held each other tightly for some time.
She kissed his neck and his big tender hands. He had not bathed
after his journey and his skin tasted of salt and sweat--a taste
she did not dislike, and she rubbed her nose against his skin,
inhaling him and tasting him with the tip of her tongue.

There were buckles to undo and knots to untie, and he raised his
arms to allow her to remove his tunic and the white shirt
beneath. She ran her hands over his chest, smiling, and he
watched her through his lashes. She looked up at him and smoothed
her thumb over his lips. "You're beautiful," she whispered, and
he chuckled and kissed her thumb.

"Will you allow me to see you, Katie?"

"Of course. Only . ."

"What, my dear?"

"Don't look at my back. I'm certain it's ugly."

"I'll judge that," he whispered, and began untying the knots of
her dress. He removed her clothing slowly down to her shift, and
she shivered and closed her eyes when he removed that as well. He
turned her and ran his hand lightly over her shoulders, and then
bent and kissed her back.

"William? Are they hideous?"

"They break my heart," he whispered, and kissed her scars
tenderly.

"They don't offend you?"

"Never." He went on kissing her, one of his hands pressed against
her stomach and the other gently stroking over her scars, as if
his touch could heal them. Katherine looked down at his big
tanned hand against her white skin, and finally turned to face
William, who was kneeling at her feet. She touched his face and
stooped to kiss him, and as they kissed he stood, cupping her
head in his hand. "My beautiful Katie," he whispered, and she
took hold of his wrist and smiled at him.

"I like that. No one has called me Katie since I was a little
girl."

"When I was a boy they called me Will."

"Shall I call you that?"

"I would like that. Katie, if I could have stopped him from
hurting you--if I could have prevented it--"

"Sh. It's the past. I have never blamed you."

He kissed her, drawing her to his bed, and he sat down and pulled
her onto his lap. "My dear, my dear," he murmured, and scattered
kisses over her breasts. "All the pain, all the suffering, my
love, if I could have prevented it--"

"Sh." Katherine ran her hand through his hair and kissed him.
"What pain? What suffering? There is only you, my dear, there is
only this moment."

William squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face against her
neck, and then raised his head and said painfully, "And then will
you leave me, Katie?"

She brushed his hair off his brow and kissed it, and whispered,
"Only if you tell me to go."

"Never." He kissed her firmly. "Never." He moved back further
onto the bed and pulled her down as he lay back, kissing her. He
took the combs from her hair and ran his hands through it, until
it lay loose over her shoulders and back. They kissed, bodies
pressed together tightly, and he wrapped her hair around his
wrist and played with her curls. Her breasts were leaking a thin
stream of milk, and William hesitated before gently licking what
had spilled. "I don't want to rob Quaid of his food," he
whispered.

"There's more, don't worry. This is normal. I could put something
on, if it bothers you."

"It doesn't bother me. The taste is . . . different."

"You don't have to taste it, if you don't want to."

"But I want to taste you," he said, and began to suckle her
breast gently. Katherine tilted her head back and cupped his
head, and gently stroked his face, looking down at him, at the
expression of sheer bliss on his face. He kneaded her other
breast with his hand, rolling her nipple in his fingers and
squeezing her breast. His hand stroked gently down her body,
squeezed her buttocks, and finally parted her thighs and stroked
her swollen lower lips. She moaned, her hands twisting into his
hair, and spread her legs wantonly open.

"Deeper," she whispered, and his fingers sank into her. A cry
escaped Katherine's lips and her body arched almost off the bed,
and she twisted her hips against his hand. He took his mouth from
her breast and kissed her mouth, and his fingers slid slowly
within her, spreading the wetness that seeped from her body, his
palm grinding against the center of her pleasure. Her fingers dug
into his back as they kissed, and she squirmed and whimpered,
pulling on him with increasing demand. His member was hard and
hot against her belly, and he ground his hips against her as his
fingers moved inside her with increasing speed. Katherine pulled
her mouth from his kiss and struggled to keep her eyes open, to
watch him watch her. He was smiling, and he kissed her face.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "You're beautiful, Katie."

She couldn't make a response in words, only in sounds that made
his smile broaden. When she had first been taught to love she had
been embarrassed by the sounds she made in her crisis, but Walter
had assured her it increased his own pleasure. It appeared
William felt the same. He kissed her, over her face and neck,
licking up her sweat and her tears and the milk that ran from her
breasts, and she cried out and buried her face in his neck,
grasping at his shoulders, as she shattered and broke all around
him.

His hand stilled and he continued kissing her tenderly. He pulled
his fingers from her and grasped her hip, and whispered to her,
"Dearest? Shall I go on?"

"Don't stop." She almost begged it, pushing her hips against his
thigh. "Please don't stop."

"Mm, Kate," he groaned, lifting her hips, and he pushed into her
gently as she panted into his ear. She brought up her legs and
crossed her ankles over his back, wanting to feel him as deeply
into her as he would go. He touched her face gently, and she
turned her head to kiss his hand. She couldn't stop squirming,
moving against him, tightening herself around him so that
grimaces of pleasure crossed his face. He took her hands and wove
his fingers into hers, and held her hands to the bed up by her
head. His eyes stayed locked with hers, and his lips brushed
gentle kisses over her brows and her lips.

"God," she said simply. "William. Oh, God."

"Kate," he answered her, just as simply, and groaned against her
mouth as he kissed her. "My Katie."

She caught the beads of sweat that dripped from his hair with her
tongue. He held her hands down firmly, not so firm that she
couldn't move them but firmly enough not to want to, and she
pushed her hips to meet his at every stroke and pulled on him
with her legs. She bit the cords that stood out in his neck and
laved her tongue over the bites. She wanted his climax, she
wanted his body to shiver and quake and his voice to break over
her name. She heard herself chanting his name as he moved within
her faster, "William William William," and he grunted with every
stroke. He drove into her deeply, twisting his hips, and his neck
arched and he threw back his head and moaned something long and
gravelly, and collapsed onto her.

They both lay still for a long time, holding each other.
William's head stayed buried in the crook of her neck, and
eventually he released her hands and she stroked his damp hair
and sweat--slicked back.

Finally he raised his head and planted tender kisses along her
jawline. "Still no regrets?" he whispered.

"None." She stretched out her arms and gathered him to her again.
His hand fluttered up her belly to play with her breast again,
and she sighed in contentment and kissed his head.

"You're not finished," he said softly, and his fingers closed
gently around her nipple.

"I'm all right . . . ohhh . . ." His fingers gently twisted and
tugged, and Katherine moaned and pushed her breasts upwards.

"Trust me, Katie," he said softly, and she whimpered as his hands
left her breasts and drifted down her body to between her thighs
again. He kissed her belly and her thighs, stroking her still--
slick folds with a gentle finger, and she cried out with surprise
when he entered her with his tongue. "Sh," he said even more
softly. "Trust me. You'll like this."

"I trust you," she gasped, her head already rolling back and
forth as he pleasured her with his fingers and tongue. She had
never experienced such a thing, had never even imagined it, and
she wondered how she had gone so long without knowing this act
existed. And she wondered if there was a way she could ask
William to never stop doing this, sucking her and licking her
exactly . . . oh .. . there . . . Her eyes were open wide with
wonder and her arms and legs thrashed, and her spine felt like a
tightly wound spring suddenly let loose. She cried out to William
and her body arched as if her bones would leave her skin.

When at last she was still he looked up at her and smiled. He
crawled back up her body and kissed her with salty lips.
"Better?"

"Better," she confirmed, and curled herself up in his arms. She
wanted to sleep . . . just for a little while . . .

~~Eleven~~

Katherine stretched lazily, and then sat up, realizing she was
not in her own bed. And furthermore she was not alone in what was
not her bed. She started to get out of bed when she felt
William's hand on her back. "Kate?" he said sleepily.

"I have to feed Quaid." She turned back to him and dropped a kiss
on his cheek. "I'll be back."

"Don't stay away long." He turned over onto his stomach.

She paused for a moment and pulled the blankets up to his
shoulders, and kissed the back of his head. She hastily dressed,
and went to her own chamber. It was late, very late, and her
breasts were full and heavy, and she could hear Quaid fussing as
she approached. She opened the door to see Milly trying to soothe
the baby.

"Oh, my lady, thank goodness," Milly said with relief. "He's
hungry, I think."

"Yes, indeed," Katherine said dryly, taking the baby. He squealed
and began to root at her breast, and she whispered to him as she
untied her gown.

Milly said with studied casualness, "You have been with my lord?"

"I have."

"And how is he?"

Katherine could not repress her smile. "Happy to be home," she
said, and inhaled sharply as Quaid latched on to her sensitized
nipple. "You're such a hungry little laddie," she said, kissing
him, and he smiled at her through a mouthful of milk.

"My lady?"

"Yes, Milly."

"This is probably not my place, but don't you think it isn't wise
to, um, with my lord?"

"To 'um'?"

"Outside of marriage?"

"Oh, Milly."

"I am only concerned with you, and what people think about you.
You know there are already people here who think you are his
mistress, and they dislike you for it. If it's true--"

"They will continue to dislike me, whether it is true or false.
Now they have a genuine reason. Of course we're not going to tell
many people, are we, Milly?"

"I suppose not."

"Thank you."

"But it's different with regular people," Milly said, and
Katherine sighed. "If it were me no one would care, but it's you,
a queen, a king's daughter. You're above such things."

"Above such things as passion?" Katherine said.

"Passion, my lady," Milly said, blushing.

"Passion. I think you understand it better than you let on."

"Oh, my lady."

"When he holds you in his arms, doesn't it thrill you to your
very core? Don't you want to touch every inch of his body, kiss
his lips, make him sigh your name . . ." Katherine sighed
herself, letting her eyes close at the memory.

"Oh, really, my lady," Milly said, but then climbed onto the bed
with her. "And isn't it wonderful when he starts to shake all
over and says your name like it's the cure for all the ills in
the world?"

"And when he looks at you like you're an angel."

"And when he tells you how beautiful you are, each part of you."
Milly pressed her hands to her face, covering her blushing
cheeks. "And when he calls you sweet names . . . what does my
lord call you?"

"Katie," Katherine said softly. "He calls me Katie." She could
tell by Milly's expression it meant nothing to her, and she
added, "When I was very small I was called Katie. No one has
called me that for a very long time."

"Oh. I see. But not sweetheart, or beloved, or dear one?"

"He calls me sweet things. I do rather enjoy it."

"Oh, you do, rather," Milly teased, laughing, and Katherine
laughed as well, startling Quaid, who blinked his sleepy eyes and
let them fall closed again.

"What I like better than the sweet names, though, are the kisses.
Kisses are wonderful, aren't they?"

"They are. They're wonderful. My lady, is it not wicked to talk
this way?"

"Wicked? Oh, no. Frivolous, perhaps. But not wicked."

"I never thought I'd have a lover," Milly said. "I never thought
I'd be a wife. Especially to someone so wise and tender." She lay
down on her side and leaned her head on her hand. "And maybe next
year I'll be a mother too."

"What will you name your firstborn?"

"Perhaps John, after my father. Why did you name your son Henry?"

"It seemed like a good name for a king."

"It is. It is a very good name for a king. Anna Rose is like
poetry. I don't know anyone who has two names."

"My mother's name was Rose, and his mother's was Anna. We just
put the two together."

"My mother's name is Mildred too, I'm not sure I want third in
the family. Perhaps Mary, or Elizabeth. Mark and I haven't talked
yet about what we want to name our children." She giggled and
rolled onto her back, covering her face with her hands. "My
children. Oh, my lady! How exciting it is! Were you like this,
when you were to be married?"

"Walter was more of a friend to me than a lover at first. We did
not talk about what we would name our children until we were
actually expecting one." She smiled, caressing Quaid's head
gently. "How wonderful it was to have that first child, too. All
of my sweet babies. So wonderful."

Milly sighed and played with Quaid's tiny bare foot. "What if ..
. what if you get with child by my lord, my lady?"

Katherine's eyes widened and she said, "As long as you're
nursing, your cycle is interrupted. By the time Quaid is weaned
I'm sure my lord will be tired of me."

"You think my lord will grow tired of you?" Milly said, shocked.

"I am quite sure of it. Passion is wonderful but it is short--
lived. I do not expect William to desire me forever."

"But you--but he--"

"Do not mistake me, Milly, I am happy with this arrangement. I
have no responsibilities to anyone but myself, and I can afford
to act on my desires. Perhaps it is wicked of me, but I am . . .
quite satisfied with the situation."

"My lady, I am entirely confused."

"Don't fret, Milly. I don't expect you to understand. I don't
suppose anyone will."

Soon Milly went back to her own bed. When Quaid had drunk his
fill, Katherine lifted him to her shoulder and began to pat his
back. He belched loudly and patted her cheeks with his hands. "My
precious pretty one," Katherine cooed softly to him, "my sweet
little bear. Soon you'll see your brother and sister, who love
you so much. And your mama loves you and your grandpapa loves
you, and Milly loves you and Margaret loves you, because you're
so lovable and sweet, yes you are. Are you going to go to sleep
quickly now for your mama?"

"Are you going to stay here the rest of the night, my lady?"
asked Milly sleepily.

"No, I'm going to go back to my lord as soon as my precious is
asleep. My lord is expecting me." She nuzzled Quaid's nose, and
he yawned, curling himself against her.

"My lady, do you not fear what will be said of you, if you are
seen going between this room and my lord's?"

Katherine had to smile. No, she did not fear what people would
say. "Sleep well, Milly. We'll speak more in the morning."

"Good night, my lady."

Katherine lay Quaid in his cradle with many kisses, and blew out
the candle Milly had left on the table. She went back to
William's chamber, and stood for a moment beside his bed,
watching him sleep. He lay on his back now instead of his
stomach, and one arms was thrown out to the side. She stripped
down to her shift and crawled beneath the covers to lie beside
him, her head on his chest and her arm around him. William
murmured in his sleep and he turned towards her, pulling her
closer to him. She dropped kisses on his chest and closed her
eyes.

"How is Quaid?" he murmured after a few moments.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right."

"Quaid is fine. He was very hungry."

William stroked her back, then said, "Perhaps you ought to bring
him in here. And your things, as well. For convenience's sake."

"It would be convenient. But would having him here not disturb
you?'

"Why would it disturb me? I am quite used to him--and he, I
think, is used to me."

"Yes, he likes you," Katherine said softly, sighing in
contentment as his slowly stroking hand caressed her neck and
moved up under her hair.

"Katie." He played with one of the heavy coppery curls that hung
down her back, and looked at her through his lashes. "What
happens now, dearest Katie?"

"Perhaps you could kiss me and find out," Katherine said, smiling
mischievously and letting her eyes sparkle at him.

He smiled back, but much more seriously. "Dearest," he said, "I
don't mean now, I mean tonight and tomorrow and all the tomorrows
to come."

"I know." She sighed and moved closer to him, tucking herself up
beside him so she could kiss his neck and chest. "I know what you
mean. I don't want to think about tomorrow. I don't want to think
about consequences."

"We can't ignore what consequences will come, dearest." His hand
moved gently over her to rest on her belly, which was still soft
and loose from carrying Quaid.

Katherine sighed again and buried his face in his neck. She knew
he was right, but she didn't want to think about that, either.

"I suppose you ought to do what you normally do in such
circumstances," she said eventually, and William's sigh was
cavernous and sad.

"I've never been in such circumstances," he said quietly. "I have
no children, Kate."

"That you know of."

"None, Kate. I have had few lovers and none has ever breathed to
me the possibility they were with child by me. I would want to
know such a thing, were it to ever happen, but it never has."

"I find it difficult to believe you've chosen to live like a
monk. Even Walter had a son and two daughters by other women."

"I'm not Walter, Kate."

"No," she said quietly, "you're not."

He said, "Tell me: were these children born before or after you
were married?"

"One before. The others after."

"And were you not upset?"

"No, I was very upset. Though his oldest daughter is older than
me by a few years--he gave her a dowry and married her well, and
I've rarely seen her."

"But the others . . ."

"I was upset. Particularly when he brought his son to foster with
us. It was the only time Walter lost his temper with me, because
I refused to tell my children the boy was their brother." William
stroked her back sympathetically but said nothing. After a moment
she went on softly, "I knew that Walter was not always faithful
to me. I did not like being presented with the evidence."

"I am sorry, Katie."

"It was not long after my mother died. Perhaps Walter thought his
son would be a replacement for the child I had lost . . . but it
was not. William, I do not want to put you in such a situation--
there are precautions I could take--"

"You will not put me in such a situation."

Katherine puzzled over this, then said, "You are right. I will be
gone from your life when I leave for good, it will never arise."

"I thought you were only going to leave me if I told you to go."

"Yes, but that day will come soon enough."

"That day will never come. Even if you do leave me no other will
take your place."

"Even in my fondest daydreams I do not expect you to love me
forever."

"Why is that?" he said, turning onto his side and looking at her
seriously. "I intend to love you as long as I live, dearest."

"I suppose you said these same pretty words to your wife."

"I did. I meant them. They are still true. But she is dead, and I
am alive and with you."

She gave him a skeptical look and said, "Love is not a toy to
bandy about on a whim."

"Neither is it a corpse to seal within a crypt." He lay his hand
over her heart, which beat on steady and rapid. "How alive you
are," he said softly. "How alive and beautiful and passionate.
How tragic it would be for you to die now, at the height of your
youth and vigor. And what a pity it is that you seem to think you
should."

She knocked his hand away and pushed herself away from him. "I
think no such thing."

"The way you carry on, I wonder if you wish you shared Walter's
grave."

"I do nothing of the kind. I have friends--family--children--"

"But what of your heart, Katie?" He looked at her sorrowfully.
"You let yourself fill my empty places, why will you not let me
fill yours?"

"I have no empty places."

"Liar. And a bad one, at that." He smiled at her gently, folding
his hands over his chest.

"The only empty place of mine that needs you to fill it is the
one that weeps for your touch," Katherine said quietly, again
laying herself onto him, and she dropped a hesitant kiss on his
shoulder. She kept her cheek on his chest and raised her eyes to
meet his.

His eyelids were lowered and he slowly shook his head. "We're not
finished speaking of this."

"Later," she whispered, moving up his body to cover his mouth
with hers. "Later."

Mel Foalon had been waiting. The girl Milly had offered to locate
Katherine for him a few times, but he said simply he would wait.
He played with Quaid, who accepted him as a poor substitute for
his mother.

He could not think where she might be, away from her child
throughout the night. Milly seemed unconcerned, however, so he
felt he should follow suit. And soon Quaid would need to be fed,
and surely she would reappear then.

And soon she did so, and started when she saw Mel was waiting for
her. "Have you had a good evening?" she said, taking Quaid from
his arms.

"I did. The people here are very warm."

"Yes." She smiled a private sort of smile as she settled herself
onto her bed, her favorite position, he had noticed, for feeding
Quaid. "What brings you here at this early hour?"

"Where were you, at this early hour?"

"Never you mind. What is it?"

Quaid sighed. "Very well. I wish to know what you intend, now
that William Wolf's Son has returned."

"What I intend is to stay until Quaid is strong enough to travel.
That will not be for some months yet. If you wish to return to my
father when John By the Way goes--"

"Only if you do not need me."

She smiled down at Quaid, who lay on her knees and babbled to
her. "I always need you. You are my dearest friend, you know
that."

"Then why will you not tell what is going on with you? There is
something different about you today, that I can't place."

She smiled again and shook her head. "I am happy, that is all."

"That is good to hear," Mel said uncertainly, and ran his hand
over his balding head. He stood and bowed to her and started to
go, and then paused at the door and turned. "Katherine," he said
sternly, "I have heard disturbing rumors around the castle, about
you and William. Are they true?"

"What have you heard?" she said, raising her eyes to him coolly.

"I know that he has shared your chamber. Tell me he does not also
share your bed."

"I will not lie to you, Mel."

He stared at her, then closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Katherine. Kate. Dearest child, is this the price he asks for
your life?"

"No. He has asked nothing of me."

"You do not need to cheapen yourself this way."

"I do not feel cheap. I feel loved, deeply loved, and I have
missed feeling loved."

"He tells you he loves you?"

"Yes. And I believe him."

"Do you return his love?"

Her gaze left his and she said softly, "I am not sure. I *like*
him. I enjoy him. When I am with William I do not miss Walter
quite so much."

"I fear for you, Kate. I fear for what will happen to you when
his passion dies."

"I will go home, that is all."

"And raise his brats in your father's house?"

She looked up and her eyes flared at him. "Mel, I love you dearly
but you may not speak to me that way. It is my decision. I will
handle what consequences may come."

"It may be your decision but it will affect everyone who loves
you. What if there is a child? You have seen what illegitimate
children cause."

"William has no wife or children to be affected."

"Then why will he not marry you?"

"He has not asked me."

"Why would he want to, when he already has you in his bed?"

"Mel!" she said sharply, and Quaid set about wailing in answer.
"The baby needs to be fed, and I am too weary to argue with you.
I do not need to justify myself to you."

"If you no longer trust me, child, to whom will you turn when
you're thrown out of this fool's paradise?" He slammed the
chamber door shut behind him, and went in search of William
Wolf's Son.

He found him in his planning room, with the friar and some others
of his men. Mel slammed his hand down on the table opposite
William, and everyone looked up at him with surprise. "She is a
sweet and trusting girl, and I will not allow you to hurt her any
more than she already has been."

"I will never hurt her," William said softly. "Never, on my
life."

"Then do not force her into this humiliating arrangement. Send
her home, where she belongs."

William's eyes were filled with pain. "There was no coercion. I
swear it. But I cannot send her home."

"Then for God's sake, marry her! For her soul and your own."

"She does not want to marry me."

Mel took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. "When I was
ten years old I was given to her to be her guard, her advisor,
her friend. All that I have done in my life has been to make hers
easier, to ease her pain, to give whatever wisdom I had. It was
my destiny to guard this girl. But how can I protect her from
you?" he said with some despair, for he honestly did not know the
answer.

"You do not need to protect her from me. I love her. As much, if
not more, as you do. I do not have the advantage of having
watching her grow and living with her throughout her life, but I
swear, I would no more hurt her than you would. And you would
sooner die, am I right?"

"You are right."

"Then please, trust me in this. My heart is hers, and anything
else that she desires. Please, could we discuss this later? In
private?"

Mel looked at the other men around the room, and said shortly,
"Yes. You and I have much to discuss, I think." He turned and
stalked out of the room.

END 1/2