My Lady's Favour

Chapter 13

Elena

In a curtained alcove on the sunnier side of the keep, Dorigen examines Isabella de Tybenham. I hover by the drape, keeping it closed against draughts or breezes while the pregnant patient lies on her back on the feather tester. I'm alert and ready to assist if needed, but Dorigen's the expert here.

My heart goes out to Isabella—such a frightening time. But such a beautiful one too.

As Gilbert's sister, Isabella will soon be my kin, too. She left the castle some years ago to join her husband in Lincolnshire but her first child, Emma, was born here at Waltham. Her second—which we pray nightly will be a boy and an heir for her husband Henry de Tybenham—will be born here too, under Dorigen's skilled hands.

I watch in admiration as my friend gently strokes Isabella's distended belly, cooing soft reassurances. Waltham is fortunate to have Dorigen, a distant kinswoman of the de Walthams. She boasts a romantic history, one which Simon of Sarisbury could happily use for a ballad. I wonder if he really cares for her?

My stomach flutters as I recall Richard St Aubyn's embrace, reliving it as I did time and time again in the night, unable to sleep. He offered no tokens, spoke no words of love. Yet he stirred me in the very deepest part of my soul.

No! Such feelings are forbidden, such yearnings must be forgotten. Kisses, touching, consummation between a man and a woman—are not things to be taken lightly. They can only be looked on favourably if blessed by the church, and sanctified by marriage.

So. I am to marry Gilbert and bear his children. They'll be fine and fair like their parents. They can be playmates for little Emma de Tybenham and the child as yet unborn. Then my duty will be done. Why does my heart not rejoice at the prospect?

"I think there cannot be long to wait now," Dorigen tells Isabella. "But don't take to your bed yet. The child is not rightly placed and will happily lie feet down if you don't take care. You must be up and about, moving, giving the babe discomfort to make him wriggle and kick until he turns."

"But I feel so heavy! I can barely walk, and my ankles are swollen. I burst another pair of boots the other day—Henry will chide me for wasting good leather."

I hope not. What manner of husband would do that? Well, I imagine Gilbert might.

"Now then, who is commanding this body?" asks Dorigen. "You or your husband?'

"My body is my husband's, given to him freely when we wed."

Dorigen snorts. "I don't see him here, though, do you? And surely, he won't begrudge you another pair of boots so you can walk as much as you need to? If I had a husband so careful of his coin at a time like this, I'd give him a clout, I swear!"

If Dorigen was hoping to lighten the mood, she's failed. Isabella's still pale-faced and anxious. I suppose I'm not surprised—soon she'll go through the greatest pain a woman can ever feel...and all because a man's placed a child in her. Great indeed must be her love for that man, that she'll risk her body for her husband's sake.

As her skirts are lowered, I relax my vigil, and push the curtain aside to allow more light into the corner. Isabella rises wearily to her feet, and I tell her, "I'll seek about for shoes for you—you may not need to buy new. But if there are none to be found, the cordwainer shall make you some. I'll have him sent for."

"A good idea." Dorigen smiles at me. "For then she'll be able to come outside to watch the combats between the knights."

Pleased to have something to do, I hurry away in search of shoes. Too often, I feel invisible and useless in this place, a feeling regularly reinforced by Dame Aline. Sometimes I wonder if she hates me. Is it for who I am, or because she fears I might surpass her in Gilbert's heart? Oft I want to tell her that I've no such intention but she rarely heeds what I say, and never lingers in conversation.

As I pass a window, I can't help but look out, in case I should catch a glimpse—

"Lady Elena? Why do you gaze out of the window like the captive Guinevere?"

All the breath leaves my body. Why does Richard have this uncanny ability to catch me unawares and startle me quite out of my wits? I draw myself up to my most dignified height and give him a cool greeting.

"And God give you good day, lady," he replies, in that warming voice of his. "Will you watch the combat?"

"Mayhap. It does depend...I have many duties."

"I'm certain you do. But you must want to watch your soon-to-be husband as he displays his skills. He'll be most disappointed if you don't." There's an edge to his voice. Is he mocking Gilbert? Or me?

I lower my eyes, as befits a lady, and my gaze comes to rest on the brown hand supporting Richard against the stonework. The contrast between the cold grey of the sill and the warm hue of his skin entrances me and immediately I'm recalling the thrill of that hand touching my shoulder, my waist...

Battling for calm, I answer, "If you advise it, coz, then I will come."

"Don't call me that. Until you wed Gilbert, I am no kinsman of yours."

I look up, shocked at the abruptness of his tone. But he's already walking briskly away, his black mantle billowing out behind him. I turn back to the window, shaking my head to dispel unwelcome thoughts, to distract from the pain around my heart.

I hear a footfall behind me.

Dame Aline stands there, in front of an open doorway opposite the window. How long has she been in that room, with the door open? Did she overhear what passed between Richard and myself? Nay—there was nothing meaningful in the way we spoke to each other and neither of us touched or made any move towards the other. Yet the look in Aline's eye is not friendly.

"Richard is my nephew," she announces. "His mother disliked my brother William. Richard was their only issue."

Why is Dame Aline telling me this? Has she overheard, sensed some tension between the Cornish knight and me, and divined the reason for it? It's unlike Aline not to simply say what she means—why the need to expound on her family history?

"He'll be treated well while he's here. I would not give Gytha St Aubyn any cause to complain of my hospitality. You will do as he says, and watch the fight. And you will treat Richard with the respect due his rank, you will minister to him if there is no servant about, see his bedding is shaken out, and ensure Morwenna collects his laundry. For the rest of his stay, he'll remain in the castle and his squire will live in their tent." She gives a quick nod of her head to indicate that her orders are complete, that she is done with me.

Once again, I gaze out at the late morning sunshine, at a loss for what to do. After what passed between myself and Richard, or what nearly passed between us, I should be avoiding him as if he were the Devil. Yet, Dame Aline has instructed me to wait upon him like any servant.

I take a steadying breath. Once Isabella is up and about, I'll seek Dorigen out, and ask her advice. For, though yet young, she has a wise head on her shoulders and I trust her as no other.

Down in the courtyard, the dark-haired man with the black mantle flung carelessly over his deep red cotehardie stops and turns back to look at the keep. His sight must be good indeed if he can see me here in this dark window from such a distance. But just in case he can, I'd best remove myself from his view. The less time he spends looking at me, thinking about me, the better it will be for all.

And I need to stop thinking about him.