By Jenna Tooms
 jenna@secretcountry.net
 

DATE: Sun, 1 Feb 2004
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 mentioned 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.
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 fell back from her, uncertain, and returned to their own
work. 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 the face of her husband 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 never, in all his eleven
years, 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  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 an Irish lilt. "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 of 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 as well as William did 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 tongue. 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 bright 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 go
of my own volition."

 They walked with 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," she said in her cool voice.

 "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 after a pause.

 "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.

 Still, William followed him. "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 as they whispered to each other.

 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  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. It was the boy, the one who had come
to her earlier and tried to lie to her. 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 suggest you go to hell," 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 laid 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 expected, removed the cloak and
the remains of her gown. 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 laid
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, taking 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 nuzzle 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 his 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 altar 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 altar
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 altar 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 many years. 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 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. She 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," William said. "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 sweaty 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 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--though he had shed his own tears a
few times afterwards.

 He thought, though, holding 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.

~~~Seven~~~

The rain came at last, soft and gentle. Milly put a screen in front of
the window slits, and leaned down to coo to little Quaid as she passed
him by. Katherine watched her sleepily as she moved about the little
chamber, and smiled to herself, glad Milly had taken a liking to the
little lad. But who couldn't love a newborn babe, she thought, and had
an urge to hold him again and kiss his plump hands and feet.

She couldn't move very well on her own, however, and said, her own voice
weak from weariness, "Milly,
please give me the baby. I want to hold him for a while."

"He is bewitching, isn't he," Milly said, and lifted Quaid from the
cradle and lay him tenderly in Katherine arms. He barely stirred in his
warm swaddling.

"Such a sweet little pretty. My sweet pretty boy," Katherine cooed,
kissing him repeatedly, and he yawned and opened his eyes. "Oh, you've
had an exciting day, haven't you, little one? Your papa would be so
proud of you, sweet baby boy, pretty little Quaid. My sweet little
bear."

"I'll fetch your breakfast, my lady," Milly said, and curtseyed and
left the chamber.

Katherine smiled after her and turned her attention to Quaid. He watched
her with sparkling dark eyes, and Katherine felt tears come into her own
eyes. "Your papa wanted to see you," she said softly, tracing his
features with her fingertip. "He loved you. He used to kiss you when
you where in my belly, and tell you stories. He wanted to love you and
play with you and hold you. Oh, sweetest, you would love your papa."
She lay her head down, too weary and sad to hold it up a moment more,
and kept her hand lightly on the baby's chest. It rose and fell steadily
as he breathed, and she sighed. He will live, she thought, he will
thrive. He must.

She heard the door open and the curtain was pushed aside. "Mother?"
Harry said shyly.

"Come in, dearest, come see your brother."

He came over to the bed and knelt down, and looked at the baby with a
face full of wonder. "He's tiny."

"He's big enough."

"Look at his little ears. Was I ever this small?"

"You were smaller."

"Father would be so proud," he said softly, and Katherine only
nodded. He looked up at her. "Are you very weary, Mother?"

"Very. Very, indeed."

 "I will leave." He started to rise from his knees.

"No, dear, stay. I'm not going to sleep yet."

"Has William seen him?" Harry knelt back down and resumed playing
with his baby brother's tiny features.

"Oh, yes. William was here while I gave birth."

Harry furrowed his brows. "He was here, Mother? Why?"

"He . . . helped me. He was strong for me."

Harry shook his head in confusion. "That is odd, Mother."

"Why is that?"

"I thought you didn't like him."

"I do like him. I think. I don't dislike him."

"He has been very good to us."

"I know. I am grateful." She played with Quaid's tiny hand, which
opened and closed around her finger. "But I cannot forget who he
is."

"He saved you, Mother, he saved my brother, he saved me. Those are not
acts of a man given over to evil."

"I do not think he is evil, Harry, I think he is good. I think he is
kind. I think his heart is open. But for all his goodness, I still have
cause to worry. FitzJames has made him his heir. Your kingdom will be
his someday, if we do nothing to oppose it."

"Mother . . . I do not believe that is true."

"It is true." The door creaked open again, and Katherine looked up,
expecting to see Milly. But instead it was William, and he waited for
her to give permission for him to enter. "Come," she said formally,
and when he did not move she remembered she had been speaking the Irish
with Harry. "Come," she said again in the Saxon tongue, and he
smiled and entered.

"I wanted to see how the little one thrives."

"He thrives." William came to her, and he smiled down at the baby.

"Such a strong little bear," he said softly, and Katherine glanced
at him with surprise.

"We called him that," she said softly. "We called him little
bear."

"I thought you might. Walter means bear, does it not? As does
Quaid."

"You are right. We also considered Arthur."

William smiled as he looked down at Quaid, and Quaid's little hand
looked even smaller in his. "That is a name of sad portent," he
said. "Better is Quaid, that has no history attached. It is the name
of neither a hero nor a fool, and he may write his own story for it."

"Yes," Katherine said. "That is it, exactly."

The door opened once more and Milly came in, bearing a tray for
Katherine. "My lord," she said, quickly curtseying, and set the tray
on the low table at the side of the bed.

"Should we go, Mother?" Harry said.

"No--well, dearest, yes. I'd to speak to William. Alone."

Harry looked surprised, much as Katherine expected, as did William.
Milly put Quaid put in his cradle and set the breakfast tray over
Katherine's lap, curtseyed to her and William, and left the chamber
quickly, drawing out Harry as well. "Come, my lord," she said
demurely, and shut the door behind them.

William waited, but now that Katherine had his attention she was not
sure where to begin. She ate a spoonful of her breakfast, while William
moved down to sit on the floor by the cradle. She said finally, "I
would like to tell you a story."

"All right," he said, playing with Quaid's hand.

"I was very young when Walter and I married, only thirteen. The
betrothal was made several years before, of course, and I grew up
knowing I would marry him, though I, for years, didn't know exactly what
that would entail. I knew married people lived together and shared a
bed, but little else. He was like another brother to me, more of a
playmate than a lover."

William glanced up at her as she paused, and then looked back at Quaid.
She sighed and went on.

"I am not sure why we married when we did. Both Walter and my mother
thought I was too young. I suspect it had much to do with FitzJames, to
protect me from him. But it was over a year before Walter truly made me
his wife."

William raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Katherine said, "I do
not say this to shame him or me. I was very innocent, and he was afraid
of hurting me, of getting me with child before I was ready to be a
mother. That sort of thing. I doubt another sort of man would have been
so kind."

"Thirteen is very young," William said. "Your daughter is that
age, is she not?"

"She is fourteen. She will be fifteen in the spring."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I would like for you to understand me, William. I want you to
understand the situation that I came from. He was not just my husband
and my lord, he was my friend. He was my companion. And I miss him,
William," she said softly, "I loved him dearly and I miss him
terribly. And no one is going to take his place in my heart."

Slowly, William nodded. "I would not presume--"

"I don't know where you fit into all this."

William fell silent and waited.

"You have been beyond kind to me. Without you I would have died many
times in the past month--without you neither Quaid nor I would be here
now. "

"I don't think I had much to do with it."

"I think you did. I think you gave me strength last night. Without you
I would have died. I thank you for that, William."

He hesitated then said, "You are most welcome."\

"I don't know how to thank you for all of this."

"I don't expect thanks."

"You must expect something from me. I cannot imagine what, though. You
have already refused what little I have."

"You body is not currency, my lady, I am confused as to why you insist
that it is."

"What else do I have?" Katherine said honestly. "I have no money,
no possessions, no lands, I bring three dependents to your house, I
endanger your life and that of your people, I disturb your sleep--"

"I sleep better with you nearby."

Katherine leaned back against her pillow and looked at him with
exasperation. "I sleep better with you nearby as well," she
admitted. "I do not understand why this is."

"Affinity,"William said, smiling. "Do you want to be my mistress,
Katherine, is that what this is
about?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then why do you bring it up again and again? Let me take care of you.
Enjoy the hospitality of my home. I want nothing from you. Please
believe me."

Katherine said softly, "I believe you. I do."

"Very well, then. May I join you again tonight?"

"The child will disturb your sleep."

"Without you I won't sleep at all."

"This is so strange, William."

"But not altogether unpleasant?"

"No," she admitted. "Not unpleasant."

He stood and bowed to her. "Excuse me, if you please. I will send
Milly in to you. Rest well, Katherine."

"Thank you. Wait, before you go, would you give me the baby?"

"Of course." He lifted Quaid carefully from his cradle and laid him
in the little nest of blankets on Katherine's bed. He paused for a
moment, bending over the baby, and then he gently kissed Quaid's smooth
forehead.

Katherine wanted to reach out and touch him, push his hair out of his
eyes, do something to connect with him as he made this gentle gesture.
But she did nothing, and only bowed her head to him as he left the
chamber.

*** *** ***

"My lady," William said softly, "the time has come, I daresay, for
you to make up your mind of what is to happen next."

Katherine set down her cup and swallowed the wine she had drunk. It was
her first supper with all of the household of Weylin, and the noise was
slightly overwhelming. Throughout the day different groups would eat
their meals, but the evening meal was always eaten all together. There
were tables full of people she had not yet met, the field laborers, the
yeomen, the people who worked in the mill and stables, and so on. There
were singers at the end of the hall, and the great hunting dogs nosed
through the straw for tidbits. It was pleasant to no longer be alone,
but she felt she would not have happily endured the meal if William had
not set her at his right hand.

She said, "How do you mean, my lord?"

"I asked you to call me William."

"And I asked you to call me Kate."

He smiled, and said, "Yes. Of course. Kate, what do you wish to happen
now? Harry is well enough to travel, and I think he is beginning to
chafe at his confinement here."

"Yes, he is restless." She looked over to the table where Harry ate
with the other young men. They were boisterous and loud, grabbing at the
serving wenches, calling out to the singers, throwing food to the dogs.
Harry, she was glad to see, was not the worst of these. His attention,
she noticed, was often on the girl Edith, who had attended him while he
recovered from his injuries. Well, she was a pretty thing, and modest,
meeting Harry's gaze with a tiny smile and quickly averted eyes.

"I would like for you to start your journey before the winter storms
begin. The voyage to Ireland can be treacherous."

"Quaid is not yet ready to travel." She had tied him in a sling over
her chest, and the baby slept soundly against her breast, undisturbed by
the noise of supper. She stroked his smooth round head. "If your
people can spare the boat to take Harry on alone, I can follow later."

"That may not be until spring."

"Harry is ready to go and I am not. I don't know what else to do. I
cannot leave until Quaid is strong enough to travel."

William nodded. "I will send John By the Way," he said finally.
"He is trustworthy, and has been to Ireland before."

"Thank you."

"Of course. When you are ready to go I will escort you myself."

"That is not necessary."

"I think it is." He lifted his cup to drink, and smiled at her.
"To you, Kate, and your bonny lad."

She laughed softly and lifted her cup in response. Little Quaid was
indeed a bonny lad, hearty and pretty, and had won the heart of even the
crustiest of William's men with his sparkling dark eyes and sweet
cooing. Harry adored him and played with him often, and William, since
he was there anyway, would walk with him at night when he was fussy and
Katherine was too tired to tend him. Even Kit had overcome his fear of
dropping him long enough to hold him a few times. Katherine thought
everyone--nearly everyone--would be sad to see them go.

And she would be sad to leave this place.

"I'm going to write a letter for Harry to take with him," she said.
"I'm going to tell my father what has       happened, and what I
intend to do."

"And what do you intend to do?"

She looked at William and smiled. "I'm not sure yet. But I am trying
to decide what is best for all of us."

"What would be best," William said, leaning forward, "is for you,
and Harry, and Quaid, to stay until spring. I think that is what would
be best. I would like you to spend Christmas here."

"I will stay. Harry, I think, needs to move on."

"Edith is a very pretty girl."

"Now is not the time for Harry to be making attachments."

He nodded. "I see. He is too young still."

"Much too young," Katherine said emphatically, which made William's
smile broaden.

"I will speak to John after supper. We'll have Harry on his way
soon."

"Thank you." Quaid stirred against her breast, and Katherine excused
herself from the table to feed him in private. She went up to her own
chamber, her limbs still shaky after the climb, even a month after
giving birth, and eased herself into a chair. She untied the sling that
held Quaid to her and kissed his hands and head and his little round
belly. His elbows and knees were dimpled and his limbs were plump, and
he smiled with wide toothless gums and waved hishands at her happily. He
was a good-natured baby, going        without fuss from hand to hand,
equally comfortable with the boys' awkward handling and Margaret's
well-schooled touch.

She had fed Quaid and was patting his back and rocking him when a knock
came softly at her door. "Come," she said, covering herself with
Quaid's blanket.

The door opened and Harry peeked in. "Mother? John and William say
it's time for me to go."

"They've spoken to you? Good. You know I wanted you to go to your
Grandfather's, as soon as you were able."

"But you're not coming."

"Quaid isn't ready to travel yet. He won't be for several months. I'll
follow in the spring. It's for the best,
Harry."

"Are you sure you want me to go now? So soon?"

"I think it's safer for you, dear. FitzJames is still an ally to
William, if he comes over the holidays and sees
you--"

"If he sees you, Mother, it will be just as bad."

"Nonetheless, Harry, I want you to leave as soon as the ship is ready
to take you. I'm going to write a letter to my father, to tell him
what's going on with us and what I propose."

"Mother, I am not asking Grandfather to go to war for me."

"You won't need to ask."

"Mother--"

"Do not want your father's throne, Harry? You are still the king's
son, it is yours by right. He fought wars to keep his kingdom
together."

"Mother, don't. Don't. I have lost my father and my friends and so
many of our allies. I am not going to lose Grandfather and your brothers
too."

Quaid spit up some curdy milk, and Katherine wiped his face and rocked
him to quiet his wails. "Sh, my lovely, sh," she cooed to him, but
Quaid did not want to quiet down.

Finally Harry said, "Here, Mother, I'll hold him," and took the baby
and began to walk about the room, whispering to him. William would do
the same when Quaid was fussy, and Katherine wondered if Harry knew it
would help the child or if he were only copying William. Well, it hardly
mattered how he knew it, since it worked like magic on little Quaid.

She covered herself and folded Quaid's blanket, and said, "All right.
I will make no plans in that regard. I will tell my father only what has
happened, and let him decide what he wishes for us. I did not think,
however, that you would be satisfied with living in exile."

"Do you want this for me, Mother, or for you?" Harry said wearily,
and lay the baby back in her arms. She kissed Quaid and began to rock
him.

"I want it for you. I want you to have your birthright."

"I am tired of death, Mother. I am weary in the soul."

She smiled and said, "You are sixteen, you are hardly weary in the
soul. You have been ill, that is all. When you are fully recovered you
will know what you want to do."

"I already know. I want to marry and find a small patch of land, and
raise children and crops, and forget that I was ever a king's son. That
is what I want."

"Is it wrong for me to want to give you your inheritance?"

"We lost the war, Mother! It is no longer mine. It is no longer yours
to give. I will go, Mother, I will go happily to Grandfather, I will
find a place for myself at his court. Please do not ask anything more of
me. Excuse me."

"Go," Katherine said, feeling rather weary of the soul herself.
"Go and rest for your journey. I will give you the letter in the
morning."

He bowed and left the chamber, and she sighed and leaned her cheek
against Quaid's head, closing her eyes. She could not force Harry to
fight for something he did not want, she knew that well. She found it
difficult to believe, however, that he would not want his own kingdom
any longer.

But perhaps he truly was weary. She was, as well.

She kissed Quaid again and said softly to him, "Perhaps we do as he
suggests. Find ourselves a patch of land and forget. Would you like
that, little bear?"

Quaid only yawned, however, and blinked his sleepy eyes.

*** *** ***

The boat was ready within a week, so on the first fair day they prepared
to sail. Katherine went to the pier to see them off, and kissed Harry
repeatedly until he was blushing. "Be good for your grandfather,"
she said. "Tell Anna Rose I love her, and that her brother is
beautiful."

"I will, Mother."

"I will be with you in the spring. I love you, Harry."

"I love you," he said quietly. "Take good care of my brother."
 
"I will." She kissed him again and hugged him, and said to John who
was waiting nearby, "Take good care of him, John, he is my greatest
treasure."

"I will, my lady." He said to Harry, "We must board."

Harry nodded and hugged his mother once more. He picked up his sword and
his small bundle of possessions, and boarded the ship behind John. Soon
the ropes were cast off and the sails were raised, and Katherine watched
the ship sailed slowly away from pier.

William had hung back through all this, but as the ship became smaller
and farther away he stepped closer to Katherine and put his arm around
her shoulders. "The months will fly," he said.

"I know."

"Are you all right?"

"I am. I have not seen my father for five years."

"Does this worry you?"

"No, of course not. He is my father. He is my children's grandfather.
We have kept close ties over the years."

"So you are not worried."

"No. My children will be received and well-treated there. I know that
Anna Rose has been in good care. My brothers are rough but they have a
great deal of kindness in them." She looked up at William, and there
were tears in her eyes. "But I have never been apart from them. Not
for more than a day. I miss my little girl and I am going to miss my
son. I miss them terribly."

William rubbed her shoulders, looking out at the sea. He could think of
nothing to say to comfort her. But as she leaned her head back against
his shoulder, he supposed that was comfort enough.

 ~~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 looked
around uith wide eyes. "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 tend."

 "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 to Katherine and bowed to her. "Would you care to join us, my
lady?"

 "I would be happy to