TITLE: Katherine of Ireland
AUTHOR: Jenna Tooms
EMAIL: jenna@66exeterst.com
RATING: NC-17
KEYWORDS: alternate universe/past lives
SUMMARY: The King is dead. Long Live the Queen.


~~One~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have only to ask."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow? So soon?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May she survive tomorrow."

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

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

"Does he?"

"I don't know."

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

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

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

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

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

"Apparently he wants France now as well."

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

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

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

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

But he would not allow her to come to harm.

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

It took a long, long time.

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

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

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

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

"However, my lady . . ."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As soon as he saw her, he knew her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your Highness--" Alexander began.

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

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

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

"Thank you. Are you William or Alexander?"

"William. William Wolf's Son."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, his face twisting.

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

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

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

"Do you ride those, my lady?"

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

~~Two~~

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

"FitzJames. My regards to your mother."

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

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

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

"Ransom me."

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

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

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

"What is it," she said cautiously.

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

"I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why do you desire to provoke him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have heard our victory."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"More," William said.

"And she is with child," Alexander added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why would he care to help me?"

"Because . . . because . . ."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am not hungry."

"For the sake of the child--"

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

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

She had no reply to this.

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

"Please. I am too tired to talk."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~Three~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your boy is shy."

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

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

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

"Has your lady?"

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

"I am sorry."

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

"Did the child survive?"

"No."

"I'm sorry," Katherine said again.

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

"No. So Kit is not your son?"

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

"That will do."

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

"The shirt is fine."

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

"I think so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How soon is the birth?"

"Soon. Within the coming month."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Katherine whimpered despite herself.

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

"All right."

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

"Do you have a scarf? A kerchief?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And now you want to leave me."

"I am needed at Weylin."

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

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

"I will welcome you back in the spring."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is my lady doing all right?"

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

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

"Like a bantam cock."

Paul chuckled. "You like her, William."

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

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

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

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

"But not that he is dead."

"No. Not that he is dead."

"He may yet challenge FitzJames for his throne."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My lord?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not going to sleep."

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

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

~~Four~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, I know."

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

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

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

"I am sorry," William said.

Katherine simply nodded, and lay down her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So it is not a worry to you."

"We are always prepared, of course."

"And you do not consider yourself wealthy."

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

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

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

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

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

"No. That is Margaret."

"Oh. My lord's aunt Margaret."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please, call me Katherine. They hurt."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh. I see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, my lord, while Margaret sleeps."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Katherine."

"I'm sorry?"

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

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

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

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

~~Five~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I have no intention of disrupting this household."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am quite well. What is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is Anna Rose?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where would you send him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you. Only a cradle and blankets."

"Not a wet nurse?"

"I prefer to nurse my children myself."

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

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

"She will not. Excuse me."

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

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

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

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

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

"I -- I believe so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He is safe here, you know."

"I know nothing of the kind."

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

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

"My lady, I thought we were friends."

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

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

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

"I see. Good night."

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

~~Six~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Margaret," he said softly.

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

"I want to help."

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

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

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

"Why do you need a friar?"

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

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

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

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

"All over."

"What can I do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are the pains coming quickly?"

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

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

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

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

She smiled, closing her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

"Of what?"

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

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

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

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

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

"William," Katherine breathed.

"Yes, Katherine. I'm here."

"My friends call me Kate."

"Kate. Tell me what you need."

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

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

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

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

"Are you greater than God?"

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

"You speak madness, William."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I killed him!"

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

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

Katherine only shook her head.

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

"If I die--"

"Your child will be cared for, always."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is the hour?" she said softly.

"Near to dawn."

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

"Surely that is a good omen."

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

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

"So handsome," Milly agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~Eight~~

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

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

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

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

"I am enjoying myself."

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

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

"As am I."

"So tell me why you are not dancing."

"I don't like to dance."

"Neither do you like to sing or play."

"Why are you not dancing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love?

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

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

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

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

"William, I insist that you dance."

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

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

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

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

"I am not a very good dancer."

"It does not matter."

"I am very clumsy, Katherine, please."

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

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

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

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

"I had no idea."

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

"No, I didn't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. You should enjoy yourself."

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

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

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

"I--that is hardly the point."

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

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

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

"No, of course not."

"I truly do not understand you, William."

"I prefer to watch, that is all."

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

"Please try to be."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her jaw trembled and she whispered, "Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

William walked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"In a moment. Are you all right?"

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

"I know."

"I pray his temperament has not changed."

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

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

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

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

"What that be so terrible?"

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

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

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

"Perhaps you should be."

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

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

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

~~Ten~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will you miss it?"

"Yes."

"Will you miss me?"

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

"I'll miss you."

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

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

"No."

"You hate this place."

"No."

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

"No, it's not true."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do not trust myself."

"My dear--"

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

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

"Are you truly my friend, William?"

"I hope so, my dearest lady."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A ship approaches."

"What flag does it bear?"

He paused. "Ours."

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

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

"You knew I would not stay forever."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But is he trustworthy?"

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

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

"I sense there is more."

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

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

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

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

"Kate? What is it?"

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

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

"You may have to sing for you supper."

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

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

"I have more news for you."

"How is Harry?"

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

"Tell me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He is preparing for it."

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

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

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

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

"She is but fourteen!"

"You were younger."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bowed again and left her chamber.

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

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

Somehow, they would have to destroy him first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Was there a specific person?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's absurd."

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

"I think I have a way."

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

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

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

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

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

"I cannot marry her."

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

"I cannot do this, Katherine."

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

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

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

Katherine said softly, "You love me?"

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

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

"Yes. He will be good to her."

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

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

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


Katherine of Ireland 10

Katherine of Ireland 10

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

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

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

And her resolve along with it.

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

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

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

Take me, William.

God in Heaven, it would be sweet.

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

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

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

"Where is my lord?"

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

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

"Early, my lady, long before dawn."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh?"

"Mark and I are to be married."

"That's wonderful, Milly."

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

"That's very kind of him."

"He is most kind."

"Sleep well, Milly."

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed.

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

"I can't. I miss K--Quaid."

"Of course you do." He yawned. "Go back to Weylin, William. I can
make the arrangements myself."

"I promised to help you."

"You're going to be miserable, you know."

"I can spend a few days away from Ka--home."

"Go to sleep," Paul said impatiently from the other side of the fire.

"Go to sleep," John said gently. "Stay less than a week with me,
William, then go back to Katherine. I'm sure she'll welcome you back
joyfully."

"I doubt she misses me."

"Go to sleep, William."

William sighed, looking back up at the stars. He wondered if
Katherine was looking at the stars as well, and wished that she was--
that she was looking at this one right there, and thinking of him as
he was thinking of her.

The week dragged on listless feet. Katherine passed her time as she
was accustomed, only now with Mel for company. She sewed, she played
with Quaid, she read aloud to the others, she listened to the poems
and songs of her homeland with a regret-filled longing..

The nights were terrible. Quaid, thankfully, scarcely seemed to
notice things were different, but he was sleeping through the night
anyway. But she spent four restless nights, missing William so fully
she took to going to the window at every sound from the courtyard,
hoping it was him at last.

She had become too accustomed to William, the soft sound of his
breathing as he slept, his gentle voice when nightmares disturbed
her, his tenderness with Quaid. His tenderness with herself.

She wondered if he missed her too. She wondered how it would be when
he returned, if he was going to tell her he did not love her after
all. Or he might sweep her into his arms, declaring passionately that
he could not wait another day. He might throw himself at her feet and
beg for her favors, kissing her hands and bathing them with his
tears. Or he might simply kiss her, and whisper again that he loved
her, and maybe this time she could give a better response.

She did not know what that response might be, however. Saying I love
you would not be entirely honest. She cared for him deeply, that much
was true. But her love, her heart, belonged to Walter. She could give
everything else to William, if he wanted it, she could give him her
time and her affection and her body. But her love . . . no. She could
not offer him something that belonged to another.

There were so many stars. Every night she singled one out, and
wished on it that William would return to her soon.

William could not stay away any longer. He missed her. He missed the
baby. He wondered often how Walter had withstood it, being away from
his family so often for so many months. He knew that if Katherine had
been his bride all these years, he would not have been able to tear
himself from her.

William left John's home before dawn. He drove his horse to its
limits. He barely stopped to eat or drink, and finally arrived at
Weylin at sunset. He paused at the top of his hill and looked down on
his home. It seemed to him brighter, lit golden by the sun on its
stones, like a castle from a tale. And a queen, beautiful and sweet
and tender, dwelt within.

He smiled and urged his mount onward. It was time to come home.

He was greeted by a page who took his horse into the stable, and
went into the main hall. His men roared with gladness to see him, but
he only drank a cup of ale with them and then went searching for
Katherine.

He found her at last, in a small, cozy room. Edith and Margaret were
sewing as Milly played with Quaid and Katherine read to them in her
soft, calm voice. Edith noticed him first as he stood in the doorway,
and nudged Milly. They both looked at him, smiling expectantly.
Katherine stopped reading abruptly, and looked up at him as well, and
a hesitant smile crept over her lips and her bosom rose and fell as
she drank him in with her eyes. Margaret smiled broadly and rose to
greet him.

"Welcome home, William," she said, holding out her hands to him. He
took them and kissed her cheek. "How was your journey?"

"Fair enough. My lady," he said to Katherine, "John is eagerly
preparing for his marriage. Have you sent a message to your daughter
yet?"

"I have not. I did not want to send one of your people to Ireland
without your knowledge."

"Write your message," he said, "I will send someone in the morning."

"It is good to have you home," she said softly, and he shivered. He
could not take his eyes away from her sweet face.

"My lady, may I have a word with you in private?" he said, and her
eyes widened.

"Of course," she said, and he did not miss the looks the girls
exchanged.

"Come with me," he said, taking her hand, and led her out of the
room. Her hand was shaking in his.

They walked up to the top of the tower. "You're cold," he said, and
wrapped her in his arms to warm her up. She pressed her cheek to his
chest and put her arms around his waist.

"I have missed you unbearably."

"But you did bear it."

She rolled her eyes. "Not happily. Not when I would have rather had
your company."

"I shouldn't have left. Not like that."

She studied his face. "What are we going to do, William?"

"I don't know." He kissed the top of her head and whispered again,
"I don't know."

"I know I should go. I know I should leave you. I don't want to. But
if you say that I should, I will."

William closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to her temple. "Don't
go. Don't leave me. Stay with me, Katherine, and let me take care of
you, let me watch over you, let me--let me be what you need. Perhaps
with time you'll come to love me."

Katherine sighed heavily and stroked the side of his face with both
her hands, her lips turned down and trembling. "My heart is not my
own to give. But I know that I need you. I am willing--I know that I
need to--oh, William. I am at war with myself."

"Stay with me," he whispered again, cupping her face in his hand. "I
ask only for your company. I will be a good father to Quaid, if you
want me to be."

"What I fear is the day FitzJames comes, and sees that you lied to
him. What will he do to you, when he sees you have betrayed your
liege?"

"He is no longer my liege."

She pulled back from him enough to look into his eyes. "When did
this happen?"

"John took my offer of allegiance with him, and your father
accepted. FitzJames does not know yet, but he will soon enough."

"And then?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I will go to war, I expect."

"No. You must not go to war over me, I will not allow it."

"I must right the wrongs I have caused. It will not only be over
you, it is for your sons, for your family, for your honor."

"No, William. No more deaths. Love me as you wish but do not fight
for me. I could not bear losing you. Let FitzJames think that I am
dead, but do not endanger yourself or your people on my behalf."

"I would face all the demons of hell for you."

"I would rather have you safe by my side."

"Tell me to slay dragons for you, Kate, and I will do it." He kissed
her hand and pressed it over his heart.

"William. I will do not such thing. Stay with me. Live with me.
Share my life and my bed, but most of all, stay alive."

It took him a moment to understand this. "Your bed?"

"If you want me," she whispered, casting down her eyes, "I am yours."

He smiled. He couldn't help it. He nuzzled her soft cheeks and her
eyelashes butterfly-kissed his face. "But you do not love me," he
whispered. She started to pull away, but he pulled her gently back.
"Do not misunderstand me. I know what it costs you to offer yourself
to me. And I long to accept, most beautiful Katie, I do."

"I don't understand. I offer you all I have-"

"Sh, my dearest, sh. I would like your love, but if that is not
possible, I am satisfied with your companionship. Your body is your
own."

Her eyes were impossibly blue, and her face was pure and open as she
said, "And all that I have is yours."

"Oh, God," William whispered, stunned, and she pulled him down,
standing up on her toes, and kissed him. Her lips were so soft, and
her breath was sweet. Her hands stroked over his face and through his
hair.

She kissed his face with delicate, feather-soft kisses, and after
several moments of enjoying her attentions William began to return
them. Her skin was as he had dreamed it would be, sweet to the taste
and to the smell like honeysuckles off the vine. He kissed her
forehead and her eyes, her cheeks and her chin, her neck and her
ears, and again and again her lips, until finally her lips teased his
open and her questing tongue entered his mouth. He held her skull
between his hands, feeling that she meant to devour him with her
kisses and he was not opposed to it at all.

Finally she stopped, and rested her forehead against his. "William,"
she whispered, and he tightened his arms around her in response.
"William, I need you."

"My dearest, if you will regret this tomorrow-"

"I will not regret this. I no longer wish to fight my desire. You
are so precious to me, I want to show you in the only way I know how.
Let me love you, William, let me kiss your wounds and soothe your
heart."

"But you were so adamant before, what brings this change?"

She closed her eyes and kissed his fingertip, that was so-slowly
tracing her lips. "You love me," she said, and William wanted to weep.

"I do not want to tempt you into something that will make you hate
me."

"I will not hate you." She kissed him again, with so much
tenderness. "I will never hate you, my dearest friend. I give myself
to you freely. When you came home today I knew I could not spend
another night craving your touch."

"This is a rare and wonderous gift."

She smiled and kissed him once more. "Come, William." She took his
hands and started to lead him to the staircase.

"Katie," he said, still uncertain. "Tell me one thing."

"Yes, my dear?"

"This is freely done? You do not look on this as an obligation?"

"This is freely done. I look on this as a joy."

He drew her to him and kissed her, and they went down the staircase
to his chamber.

Katherine was trembling as William closed his chamber door and took
her in his arms. They held each other tightly for some time. She
kissed his neck and his big tender hands. He had not bathed after his
journey and his skin tasted of salt and sweat--a taste she did not
dislike, and she rubbed her nose against his skin, inhaling him and
tasting him with the tip of her tongue.

There were buckles to undo and knots to untie, and he raised his
arms to allow her to remove his tunic and the white shirt beneath.
She ran her hands over his chest, smiling, and he watched her through
his lashes. She looked up at him and smoothed her thumb over his
lips. "You're beautiful," she whispered, and he chuckled and kissed
her thumb.

"Will you allow me to see you, Katie?"

"Of course. Only . ."

"What, my dear?"

"Don't look at my back. I'm certain it's ugly."

"I'll judge that," he whispered, and began untying the knots of her
dress. He removed her clothing slowly down to her shift, and she
shivered and closed her eyes when he removed that as well. He turned
her and ran his hand lightly over her shoulders, and then bent and
kissed her back.

"William? Are they hideous?"

"They break my heart," he whispered, and kissed her scars tenderly.

"They don't offend you?"

"Never." He went on kissing her, one of his hands pressed against
her stomach and the other gently stroking over her scars, as if his
touch could heal them. Katherine looked down at his big tanned hand
against her white skin, and finally turned to face William, who was
kneeling at her feet. She touched his face and stooped to kiss him,
and as they kissed he stood, cupping her head in his hand. "My
beautiful Katie," he whispered, and she took hold of his wrist and
smiled at him.

"I like that. No one has called me Katie since I was a little girl."

"When I was a boy they called me Will."

"Shall I call you that?"

"I would like that. Katie, if I could have stopped him from hurting
you--if I could have prevented it--"

"Sh. It's the past. I have never blamed you."

He kissed her, drawing her to his bed, and he sat down and pulled
her onto his lap. "My dear, my dear," he murmured, and scattered
kisses over her breasts. "All the pain, all the suffering, my love,
if I could have prevented it--"

"Sh." Katherine ran her hand through his hair and kissed him. "What
pain? What suffering? There is only you, my dear, there is only this
moment."

William squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face against her
neck, and then raised his head and said painfully, "And then will you
leave me, Katie?"

She brushed his hair off his brow and kissed it, and whispered,
"Only if you tell me to go."

"Never." He kissed her firmly. "Never." He moved back further onto
the bed and pulled her down as he lay back, kissing her. He took the
combs from her hair and ran his hands through it, until it lay loose
over her shoulders and back. They kissed, bodies pressed together
tightly, and he wrapped her hair around his wrist and played with her
curls. Her breasts were leaking a thin stream of milk, and William
hesitated before gently licking what had spilled. "I don't want to
rob Quaid of his food," he whispered.

"There's more, don't worry. This is normal. I could put something
on, if it bothers you."

"It doesn't bother me. The taste is . . . different."

"You don't have to taste it, if you don't want to."

"But I want to taste you," he said, and began to suckle her breast
gently. Katherine tilted her head back and cupped his head, and
gently stroked his face, looking down at him, at the expression of
sheer bliss on his face. He kneaded her other breast with his hand,
rolling her nipple in his fingers and squeezing her breast. His hand
stroked gently down her body, squeezed her buttocks, and finally
parted her thighs and stroked her swollen lower lips. She moaned, her
hands twisting into his hair, and spread her legs wantonly open.

"Deeper," she whispered, and his fingers sank into her. A cry
escaped Katherine's lips and her body arched almost off the bed, and
she twisted her hips against his hand. He took his mouth from her
breast and kissed her mouth, and his fingers slid slowly within her,
spreading the wetness that seeped from her body, his palm grinding
against the center of her pleasure. Her fingers dug into his back as
they kissed, and she squirmed and whimpered, pulling on him with
increasing demand. His member was hard and hot against her belly, and
he ground his hips against her as his fingers moved inside her with
increasing speed. Katherine pulled her mouth from his kiss and
struggled to keep her eyes open, to watch him watch her. He was
smiling, and he kissed her face.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "You're beautiful, Katie."

She couldn't make a response in words, only in sounds that made his
smile broaden. When she had first been taught to love she had been
embarrassed by the sounds she made in her crisis, but Walter had
assured her it increased his own pleasure. It appeared William felt
the same. He kissed her, over her face and neck, licking up her sweat
and her tears and the milk that ran from her breasts, and she cried
out and buried her face in his neck, grasping at his shoulders, as
she shattered and broke all around him.

His hand stilled and he continued kissing her tenderly. He pulled
his fingers from her and grasped her hip, and whispered to her,
"Dearest? Shall I go on?"

"Don't stop." She almost begged it, pushing her hips against his
thigh. "Please don't stop."

"Mm, Kate," he groaned, lifting her hips, and he pushed into her
gently as she panted into his ear. She brought up her legs and
crossed her ankles over his back, wanting to feel him as deeply into
her as he would go. He touched her face gently, and she turned her
head to kiss his hand. She couldn't stop squirming, moving against
him, tightening herself around him so that grimaces of pleasure
crossed his face. He took her hands and wove his fingers into hers,
and held her hands to the bed up by her head. His eyes stayed locked
with hers, and his lips brushed gentle kisses over her brows and her
lips.

"God," she said simply. "William. Oh, God."

"Kate," he answered her, just as simply, and groaned against her
mouth as he kissed her. "My Katie."

She caught the beads of sweat that dripped from his hair with her
tongue. He held her hands down firmly, not so firm that she couldn't
move them but firmly enough not to want to, and she pushed her hips
to meet his at every stroke and pulled on him with her legs. She bit
the cords that stood out in his neck and laved her tongue over the
bites. She wanted his climax, she wanted his body to shiver and quake
and his voice to break over her name. She heard herself chanting his
name as he moved within her faster, "William William William," and he
grunted with every stroke. He drove into her deeply, twisting his
hips, and his neck arched and he threw back his head and moaned
something long and gravelly, and collapsed onto her.

They both lay still for a long time, holding each other. William's
head stayed buried in the crook of her neck, and eventually he
released her hands and she stroked his damp hair and sweat--slicked
back.

Finally he raised his head and planted tender kisses along her
jawline. "Still no regrets?" he whispered.

"None." She stretched out her arms and gathered him to her again.
His hand fluttered up her belly to play with her breast again, and
she sighed in contentment and kissed his head.

"You're not finished," he said softly, and his fingers closed gently
around her nipple.

"I'm all right . . . ohhh . . ." His fingers gently twisted and
tugged, and Katherine moaned and pushed her breasts upwards.

"Trust me, Katie," he said softly, and she whimpered as his hands
left her breasts and drifted down her body to between her thighs
again. He kissed her belly and her thighs, stroking her still--slick
folds with a gentle finger, and she cried out with surprise when he
entered her with his tongue. "Sh," he said even more softly. "Trust
me. You'll like this."

"I trust you," she gasped, her head already rolling back and forth
as he pleasured her with his fingers and tongue. She had never
experienced such a thing, had never even imagined it, and she
wondered how she had gone so long without knowing this act existed.
And she wondered if there was a way she could ask William to never
stop doing this, sucking her and licking her exactly . . . oh . . .
there . . . Her eyes were open wide with wonder and her arms and legs
thrashed, and her spine felt like a tightly wound spring suddenly let
loose. She cried out to William and her body arched as if her bones
would leave her skin.

When at last she was still he looked up at her and smiled. He
crawled back up her body and kissed her with salty lips. "Better?"

"Better," she confirmed, and curled herself up in his arms. She
wanted to sleep . . . just for a little while . . .

~~Eleven~~

Katherine stretched lazily, and then sat up, realizing she was not
in her own bed. And furthermore she was not alone in what was not her
bed. She started to get out of bed when she felt William's hand on
her back. "Kate?" he said sleepily.

"I have to feed Quaid." She turned back to him and dropped a kiss on
his cheek. "I'll be back."

"Don't stay away long." He turned over onto his stomach.

She paused for a moment and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders,
and kissed the back of his head. She hastily dressed, and went to her
own chamber. It was late, very late, and her breasts were full and
heavy, and she could hear Quaid fussing as she approached. She opened
the door to see Milly trying to soothe the baby.

"Oh, my lady, thank goodness," Milly said with relief. "He's hungry,
I think."

"Yes, indeed," Katherine said dryly, taking the baby. He squealed
and began to root at her breast, and she whispered to him as she
untied her gown.

Milly said with studied casualness, "You have been with my lord?"

"I have."

"And how is he?"

Katherine could not repress her smile. "Happy to be home," she said,
and inhaled sharply as Quaid latched on to her sensitized nipple.
"You're such a hungry little laddie," she said, kissing him, and he
smiled at her through a mouthful of milk.

"My lady?"

"Yes, Milly."

"This is probably not my place, but don't you think it isn't wise
to, um, with my lord?"

"To 'um'?"

"Outside of marriage?"

"Oh, Milly."

"I am only concerned with you, and what people think about you. You
know there are already people here who think you are his mistress,
and they dislike you for it. If it's true--"

"They will continue to dislike me, whether it is true or false. Now
they have a genuine reason. Of course we're not going to tell many
people, are we, Milly?"

"I suppose not."

"Thank you."

"But it's different with regular people," Milly said, and Katherine
sighed. "If it were me no one would care, but it's you, a queen, a
king's daughter. You're above such things."

"Above such things as passion?" Katherine said.

"Passion, my lady," Milly said, blushing.

"Passion. I think you understand it better than you let on."

"Oh, my lady."

"When he holds you in his arms, doesn't it thrill you to your very
core? Don't you want to touch every inch of his body, kiss his lips,
make him sigh your name . . ." Katherine sighed herself, letting her
eyes close at the memory.

"Oh, really, my lady," Milly said, but then climbed onto the bed
with her. "And isn't it wonderful when he starts to shake all over
and says your name like it's the cure for all the ills in the world?"

"And when he looks at you like you're an angel."

"And when he tells you how beautiful you are, each part of you."
Milly pressed her hands to her face, covering her blushing cheeks.
"And when he calls you sweet names . . . what does my lord call you?"

"Katie," Katherine said softly. "He calls me Katie." She could tell
by Milly's expression it meant nothing to her, and she added, "When I
was very small I was called Katie. No one has called me that for a
very long time."

"Oh. I see. But not sweetheart, or beloved, or dear one?"

"He calls me sweet things. I do rather enjoy it."

"Oh, you do, rather," Milly teased, laughing, and Katherine laughed
as well, startling Quaid, who blinked his sleepy eyes and let them
fall closed again.

"What I like better than the sweet names, though, are the kisses.
Kisses are wonderful, aren't they?"

"They are. They're wonderful. My lady, is it not wicked to talk this
way?"

"Wicked? Oh, no. Frivolous, perhaps. But not wicked."

"I never thought I'd have a lover," Milly said. "I never thought I'd
be a wife. Especially to someone so wise and tender." She lay down on
her side and leaned her head on her hand. "And maybe next year I'll
be a mother too."

"What will you name your firstborn?"

"Perhaps John, after my father. Why did you name your son Henry?"

"It seemed like a good name for a king."

"It is. It is a very good name for a king. Anna Rose is like poetry.
I don't know anyone who has two names."

"My mother's name was Rose, and his mother's was Anna. We just put
the two together."

"My mother's name is Mildred too, I'm not sure I want third in the
family. Perhaps Mary, or Elizabeth. Mark and I haven't talked yet
about what we want to name our children." She giggled and rolled onto
her back, covering her face with her hands. "My children. Oh, my
lady! How exciting it is! Were you like this, when you were to be
married?"

"Walter was more of a friend to me than a lover at first. We did not
talk about what we would name our children until we were actually
expecting one." She smiled, caressing Quaid's head gently. "How
wonderful it was to have that first child, too. All of my sweet
babies. So wonderful."

Milly sighed and played with Quaid's tiny bare foot. "What if . . .
what if you get with child by my lord, my lady?"

Katherine's eyes widened and she said, "As long as you're nursing,
your cycle is interrupted. By the time Quaid is weaned I'm sure my
lord will be tired of me."

"You think my lord will grow tired of you?" Milly said, shocked.

"I am quite sure of it. Passion is wonderful but it is short--lived.
I do not expect William to desire me forever."

"But you--but he--"

"Do not mistake me, Milly, I am happy with this arrangement. I have
no responsibilities to anyone but myself, and I can afford to act on
my desires. Perhaps it is wicked of me, but I am . . . quite
satisfied with the situation."

"My lady, I am entirely confused."

"Don't fret, Milly. I don't expect you to understand. I don't
suppose anyone will."

Soon Milly went back to her own bed. When Quaid had drunk his fill,
Katherine lifted him to her shoulder and began to pat his back. He
belched loudly and patted her cheeks with his hands. "My precious
pretty one," Katherine cooed softly to him, "my sweet little bear.
Soon you'll see your brother and sister, who love you so much. And
your mama loves you and your grandpapa loves you, and Milly loves you
and Margaret loves you, because you're so lovable and sweet, yes you
are. Are you going to go to sleep quickly now for your mama?"

"Are you going to stay here the rest of the night, my lady?" asked
Milly sleepily.

"No, I'm going to go back to my lord as soon as my precious is
asleep. My lord is expecting me." She nuzzled Quaid's nose, and he
yawned, curling himself against her.

"My lady, do you not fear what will be said of you, if you are seen
going between this room and my lord's?"

Katherine had to smile. No, she did not fear what people would say.
"Sleep well, Milly. We'll speak more in the morning."

"Good night, my lady."

Katherine lay Quaid in his cradle with many kisses, and blew out the
candle Milly had left on the table. She went back to William's
chamber, and stood for a moment beside his bed, watching him sleep.
He lay on his back now instead of his stomach, and one arms was
thrown out to the side. She stripped down to her shift and crawled
beneath the covers to lie beside him, her head on his chest and her
arm around him. William murmured in his sleep and he turned towards
her, pulling her closer to him. She dropped kisses on his chest and
closed her eyes.

"How is Quaid?" he murmured after a few moments.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right."

"Quaid is fine. He was very hungry."

William stroked her back, then said, "Perhaps you ought to bring him
in here. And your things, as well. For convenience's sake."

"It would be convenient. But would having him here not disturb you?'

"Why would it disturb me? I am quite used to him--and he, I think, is
used to me."

"Yes, he likes you," Katherine said softly, sighing in contentment
as his slowly stroking hand caressed her neck and moved up under her
hair.

"Katie." He played with one of the heavy coppery curls that hung
down her back, and looked at her through his lashes. "What happens
now, dearest Katie?"

"Perhaps you could kiss me and find out," Katherine said, smiling
mischievously and letting her eyes sparkle at him.

He smiled back, but much more seriously. "Dearest," he said, "I
don't mean now, I mean tonight and tomorrow and all the tomorrows to
come."

"I know." She sighed and moved closer to him, tucking herself up
beside him so she could kiss his neck and chest. "I know what you
mean. I don't want to think about tomorrow. I don't want to think
about consequences."

"We can't ignore what consequences will come, dearest." His hand
moved gently over her to rest on her belly, which was still soft and
loose from carrying Quaid.

Katherine sighed again and buried his face in his neck. She knew he
was right, but she didn't want to think about that, either.

"I suppose you ought to do what you normally do in such
circumstances," she said eventually, and William's sigh was cavernous
and sad.

"I've never been in such circumstances," he said quietly. "I have no
children, Kate."

"That you know of."

"None, Kate. I have had few lovers and none has ever breathed to me
the possibility they were with child by me. I would want to know such
a thing, were it to ever happen, but it never has."

"I find it difficult to believe you've chosen to live like a monk.
Even Walter had a son and two daughters by other women."

"I'm not Walter, Kate."

"No," she said quietly, "you're not."

He said, "Tell me: were these children born before or after you were
married?"

"One before. The others after."

"And were you not upset?"

"No, I was very upset. Though his oldest daughter is older than me
by a few years--he gave her a dowry and married her well, and I've
rarely seen her."

"But the others . . ."

"I was upset. Particularly when he brought his son to foster with
us. It was the only time Walter lost his temper with me, because I
refused to tell my children the boy was their brother." William
stroked her back sympathetically but said nothing. After a moment she
went on softly, "I knew that Walter was not always faithful to me. I
did not like being presented with the evidence."

"I am sorry, Katie."

"It was not long after my mother died. Perhaps Walter thought his
son would be a replacement for the child I had lost . . . but it was
not. William, I do not want to put you in such a situation--there are
precautions I could take--"

"You will not put me in such a situation."

Katherine puzzled over this, then said, "You are right. I will be
gone from your life when I leave for good, it will never arise."

"I thought you were only going to leave me if I told you to go."

"Yes, but that day will come soon enough."

"That day will never come. Even if you do leave me no other will
take your place."

"Even in my fondest daydreams I do not expect you to love me forever."

"Why is that?" he said, turning onto his side and looking at her
seriously. "I intend to love you as long as I live, dearest."

"I suppose you said these same pretty words to your wife."

"I did. I meant them. They are still true. But she is dead, and I am
alive and with you."

She gave him a skeptical look and said, "Love is not a toy to bandy
about on a whim."

"Neither is it a corpse to seal within a crypt." He lay his hand
over her heart, which beat on steady and rapid. "How alive you are,"
he said softly. "How alive and beautiful and passionate. How tragic
it would be for you to die now, at the height of your youth and
vigor. And what a pity it is that you seem to think you should."

She knocked his hand away and pushed herself away from him. "I think
no such thing."

"The way you carry on, I wonder if you wish you shared Walter's
grave."

"I do nothing of the kind. I have friends--family--children--"

"But what of your heart, Katie?" He looked at her sorrowfully. "You
let yourself fill my empty places, why will you not let me fill
yours?"

"I have no empty places."

"Liar. And a bad one, at that." He smiled at her gently, folding his
hands over his chest.

"The only empty place of mine that needs you to fill it is the one
that weeps for your touch," Katherine said quietly, again laying
herself onto him, and she dropped a hesitant kiss on his shoulder.
She kept her cheek on his chest and raised her eyes to meet his.

His eyelids were lowered and he slowly shook his head. "We're not
finished speaking of this."

"Later," she whispered, moving up his body to cover his mouth with
hers. "Later."

Mel Foalon had been waiting. The girl Milly had offered to locate
Katherine for him a few times, but he said simply he would wait. He
played with Quaid, who accepted him as a poor substitute for his
mother.

He could not think where she might be, away from her child
throughout the night. Milly seemed unconcerned, however, so he felt
he should follow suit. And soon Quaid would need to be fed, and
surely she would reappear then.

And soon she did so, and started when she saw Mel was waiting for
her. "Have you had a good evening?" she said, taking Quaid from his
arms.

"I did. The people here are very warm."

"Yes." She smiled a private sort of smile as she settled herself
onto her bed, her favorite position, he had noticed, for feeding
Quaid. "What brings you here at this early hour?"

"Where were you, at this early hour?"

"Never you mind. What is it?"

Quaid sighed. "Very well. I wish to know what you intend, now that
William Wolf's Son has returned."

"What I intend is to stay until Quaid is strong enough to travel.
That will not be for some months yet. If you wish to return to my
father when John By the Way goes--"

"Only if you do not need me."

She smiled down at Quaid, who lay on her knees and babbled to her.
"I always need you. You are my dearest friend, you know that."

"Then why will you not tell what is going on with you? There is
something different about you today, that I can't place."

She smiled again and shook her head. "I am happy, that is all."

"That is good to hear," Mel said uncertainly, and ran his hand over
his balding head. He stood and bowed to her and started to go, and
then paused at the door and turned. "Katherine," he said sternly, "I
have heard disturbing rumors around the castle, about you and
William. Are they true?"

"What have you heard?" she said, raising her eyes to him coolly.

"I know that he has shared your chamber. Tell me he does not also
share your bed."

"I will not lie to you, Mel."

He stared at her, then closed his eyes and shook his head.
"Katherine. Kate. Dearest child, is this the price he asks for your
life?"

"No. He has asked nothing of me."

"You do not need to cheapen yourself this way."

"I do not feel cheap. I feel loved, deeply loved, and I have missed
feeling loved."

"He tells you he loves you?"

"Yes. And I believe him."

"Do you return his love?"

Her gaze left his and she said softly, "I am not sure. I *like* him.
I enjoy him. When I am with William I do not miss Walter quite so
much."

"I fear for you, Kate. I fear for what will happen to you when his
passion dies."

"I will go home, that is all."

"And raise his brats in your father's house?"

She looked up and her eyes flared at him. "Mel, I love you dearly
but you may not speak to me that way. It is my decision. I will
handle what consequences may come."

"It may be your decision but it will affect everyone who loves you.
What if there is a child? You have seen what illegitimate children
cause."

"William has no wife or children to be affected."

"Then why will he not marry you?"

"He has not asked me."

"Why would he want to, when he already has you in his bed?"

"Mel!" she said sharply, and Quaid set about wailing in answer. "The
baby needs to be fed, and I am too weary to argue with you. I do not
need to justify myself to you."

"If you no longer trust me, child, to whom will you turn when you're
thrown out of this fool's paradise?" He slammed the chamber door shut
behind him, and went in search of William Wolf's Son.

He found him in his planning room, with the friar and some others of
his men. Mel slammed his hand down on the table opposite William, and
everyone looked up at him with surprise. "She is a sweet and trusting
girl, and I will not allow you to hurt her any more than she already
has been."

"I will never hurt her," William said softly. "Never, on my life."

"Then do not force her into this humiliating arrangement. Send her
home, where she belongs."

William's eyes were filled with pain. "There was no coercion. I
swear it. But I cannot send her home."

"Then for God's sake, marry her! For her soul and your own."

"She does not want to marry me."

Mel took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. "When I was ten
years old I was given to her to be her guard, her advisor, her
friend. All that I have done in my life has been to make hers easier,
to ease her pain, to give whatever wisdom I had. It was my destiny to
guard this girl. But how can I protect her from you?" he said with
some despair, for he honestly did not know the answer.

"You do not need to protect her from me. I love her. As much, if not
more, as you do. I do not have the advantage of having watching her
grow and living with her throughout her life, but I swear, I would no
more hurt her than you would. And you would sooner die, am I right?"

"You are right."

"Then please, trust me in this. My heart is hers, and anything else
that she desires. Please, could we discuss this later? In private?"

Mel looked at the other men around the room, and said shortly, "Yes.
You and I have much to discuss, I think." He turned and stalked out
of the room.

~~Twelve~~

Katherine came into William's chamber, to find William making faces
at Quaid to make him laugh. He sat cross--legged on his bed with the
baby on his lap, and Quaid laughed and bounced and clapped his hands.
Normally Katherine loved to see them play together, for William was
at ease with Quaid, and Quaid would spend many comfortable hours in
William's arms.

At the moment, however, she did not want to think about how happy
the two of them were together. She planted herself before William
with her hands on her hips and said,

"Where is Milly?"

"She wanted to spend some time with her sweetheart, so I said I'd
take Quaid. What have you been doing this morning?"

"Writing letters with Brother Michael." She pursed her lips and
said, "Why did you move my things in here without speaking to me
first?"

"I thought we had discussed it already. You agreed it would be best,
for convenience's sake. Did I do wrong?"

"I know we discussed it, but that's not the point."

"Then what is the point, dearest?"

"I would have liked to have overseen it myself."

"There is not much to oversee. Quaid's clothing, his cradle and
toys, your clothing--did I forget anything?"

"No. You didn't forget anything." She sighed and sat down beside him
on the bed, and Quaid squealed and reached for her. She took him,
smiling, and kissed him noisily.

"Then what's wrong?" William caressed her hair gently.

"I would not like to inform everyone in this castle that we--that I
am your mistress." She kissed Quaid again to keep from looking at
William.

William sighed and rearranged his legs so he could embrace both her
and Quaid to his chest. "Dearest," he said softly, "if you are
embarrassed or ashamed--"

"I am not ashamed. I merely do not want everyone to know." She
sighed, leaning back against his chest. He had drawn up his legs and
crossed them at the ankles, and she felt completely embraced and
sheltered by him. She said, "I wish there were no one in the world
but us."

"Oh, dearest Katie," he said, and kissed her face gently. "It's not
that bad, is it?"

"Mel scolded me." Her lips started to tremble and she pressed her
face against his arm. "If he thinks so poorly of me, what must the
people who already hate me be saying? That I've bewitched you? That
I've enchanted you? That I am going to be your downfall?"

"No one is saying anything like that about you."

"I am not so sure. This morning as I sat with Brother Michael, I got
several dirty looks from women under your care."

"What are you suggesting?" William said with a chuckle.

"I think they're jealous. I think there are any number of women here
who would love to be in my place."

"Hm. Too bad for them." He kissed her again and said, "There is no
one else I want in your place."

Katherine had to smile, and turned back her head to kiss him in
gratitude. In her lap Quaid babbled, amusing himself with his hands.
She kissed Quaid as well, and said, "Mel said I am cheapening myself."

William stiffened for a moment, then said, "Do you feel cheap?"

"No. Not at all. I told him how I do feel but it didn't seem to
satisfy him."

"How do you feel?"

She rubbed her cheek against Quaid's head, and said, "I feel loved,
William."

"Good," he whispered, and kissed her neck.

Katherine ducked away from the ticklish feeling of his lips,
chuckling. "William, it's the middle of the day."

"So it is. Do you have anything pressing going on?"

"Quaid is going to start wailing for his meal any moment."

"Oh, yes. I defer to the laddie. May I stay with you?"

"Yes. You may."

Quaid, however, did not seem to be hungry, and chewed on his fist
and patted Katherine's leg through her skirt. Katherine turned him to
lie him on his belly against her bosom, and he looked at her with his
dark eyes and kicked up his heels. William leaned back against his
cushions, still holding them, and Katherine wondered if he was
dozing. She would not have been opposed to a nap, herself, after
their sport the night before.

She said, "I know that Mel is only concerned for my well--being. He
has been my advisor and my friend all my life. I do listen to him,
yet . . ."

"Dearest, if your conscience is not resting easily perhaps we ought
to reconsider."

She turned and looked at him, puzzled. "Reconsider, William? Is that
what you want?"

"No, but if it is the only way for you to be happy here, we can
return to the way things were before." He touched her cheek tenderly
and kissed her. "If that will make you happy."

"No," Katherine said. "That will not make me happy." She began to
unknot her gown and William chuckled. "It is time for Quaid to eat,"
she admonished him as she bared herself.

"I know." He leaned his head against the back of her neck, and she
held Quaid to her breast. After a moment of searching he finally took
the nipple and began to suckle with determination.

Katherine had begun to drift into a comfortable languor when William
spoke again. "There is another course to take."

"Hm? Oh. What is it?"

He kissed her neck and whispered, "You could become my wife, and
then no one would question our being together."

Her eyes flew open and she stammered, "William, I--that may not be--
oh, my."

"Well, it may not be the wisest course, either."

"I couldn't, William. It would endanger you and your people far to
much."

"Are you still worried about FitzJames? He will discover soon enough
about my deception."

"William, you must not do anything to endanger yourself or your
people. I will not allow it. Even the alliance with my father should
be kept a secret until such time as he can come to your assistance."

"I would rather fight FitzJames over you than for any other reason,
even to defending the last stone of Weylin."

"Are you not listening to me? If you go to war with FitzJames over
me I will--I will--I will leave this place. I will go into a convent-
-I
will become a hermit--I will go to farthest islands of the Picts--"

"All right, all right. Forgive me. That obviously is an unsuitable
solution."

Katherine leaned back against him again, and murmured soothingly to
Quaid, who had started to become agitated as their voices rose. When
he was calm again and sucking peacefully at her breast, she said, "Do
not concern yourself overmuch. It will be as I have said. I will tend
to what consequences arise."

"Very well," William whispered, and lay his head on her shoulder.

William found Brother Michael in his chambers off the family chapel,
and he took the seat opposite Michael with a dramatic sigh. Michael
stopped reading and lay a page marker in his book, and looked up at
William with a patient expression.

William toyed with one of Michael's candlesticks and said, "I asked
her."

"And?"

"She said no."

"Oh," Michael said. "I must say, that is not the answer I expected
her to give."

"I was not surprised. I had rather hoped . . . but I was not
surprised. Why would a queen want to marry a man such as I? I offer
her no riches, a very small piece of land--"

"But one of the most beautiful in all of Britain."

"There is little wealth in beauty. And I am sure after the bounty of
Angria she sees it as stark and lonely. I cannot ask her to stay
here, Michael. She longs for her own home, her own people."

"The poets say there are ways of changing a woman's mind."

"I've heard poets sing of battles in which I fought, and I did not
recognize them from the tale. I put little faith in the words of
poets."

"So you do not think a show of strength would impress her."

"Of strength? No. I could not slay enough dragons or fight enough
giants. She would find it foolish and dangerous, were I to try."

"A great show of devotion, then."

"Such as what? She would not send me on a quest like a knight of
Arthur. If I found the Holy Grail for her she would thank me politely
and ask why I had stayed away so long." William sighed and lay his
head on the table.

"Try something simple, then. Write her a poem, or compose her a song."

"What could I say about her that has not been said a thousand times,
by poets far more skilled than I?"

"The difference between them and you being that you love her,"
Brother Michael said in a complacent tone. "William, my friend, if
you are trying to prove your love only she knows what method will
work. But you must do something or live with the regret of doing
nothing."

"I cannot convince myself it is right to ask her to stay."

Brother Michael reopened his book and said, "Very well, William."

William watched him read for several minutes, then said, "You speak
the Irish tongue, do you not?"

"I do."

"Teach me to tell her I love her in her own language."

Now Michael smiled as he put the book aside. "Very well, William."

William was not able to come to bed until late. His chamber was
dark, and he could hear the soft sounds of Katherine and the baby
sleeping. He knelt by Quaid's cradle to kiss him and make sure he was
covered by his blanket. The baby stirred but did not wake, and
William undressed himself and slipped into bed to join Katherine.

She also stirred at his touch, and after a moment she said, "Have
you had a good day? I've hardly seen you."

"It was a good day."

She turned towards him and kissed his mouth. "Are you very weary?"

"Not very. Enough."

"Here." She sat up and pulled him towards her, and began rubbing his
shoulders. "Does this help?" she asked after a few moments.

"Very much."

"What did you do today?"

He smiled. "Oh, the usual of a lord of the manor. And I had lessons."

"Lessons? What are you learning?"

"Things I have neglected. You know, I look at you with your books
and your languages and your letters . . . I have never written a
letter that was meant for only one pair of eyes. Nor received one."

"A man in your position does not need to know how to read and write."

"You know how. And your brothers as well."

"Learning has always been highly valued in my family. You were
taught to fight and I was taught to read. Is that what you learned
today? To read?"

"No. There were other lessons today. Oh, that's it, right there."

Her hands continued to massage his back, and then lingered over a
spot on his lower back. "How did you get this scar?"

"A sword cut through my armor."

Katherine leaned down and kissed it tenderly. "And this one?" She
had found one on his ribs.

"Quarterstaff."

She kissed that one was well. "And this one?" There was a large scar
on his shoulder.

"Thrown from a horse."

She kissed it. "This one?"

"The same horse."

She kissed it, and smoothed the puckered flesh with her fingertips.
"This one," she whispered, stroking an old and deep scar on his thigh.

"A mace. Broke my thigh. I couldn't walk for three months."

"You must have been bored."

"I was. Terribly."

"So what did you do for three months?"

"I drew."

"You draw?"

"I draw."

"Are you any good?"

"Well, I think so. I shall draw you someday and then you may judge
for yourself."

For a long time she continued rubbing his thigh gently, and then she
said, "I should like to see how you see me."

"I see you as everyone else sees you. As the most beautiful woman in
the world."

She bit his knee. "Don't call me that. It's absurd. There is no one
'most beautiful woman.' There are many, many beautiful women and we
are all beautiful differently."

"As you say, madame."

"Furthermore, you do not see me as everyone else sees me. I don't
know exactly how it is that you see me, but I know that you see me in
ways no one else has before. You always have."

William sat up and reached for her in the darkness, and gently took
hold of her shoulders and drew her to him. She was trembling even as
he held her tight. "Fairest of all Kates," he said and kissed her.
"Sweetest and most lovely of all Kates. Do you want to see yourself
through my eyes? You are the most beautiful woman in the world.
Perhaps I do see you differently than others do, but if I do it is
only because I love you."

She sighed and ran her hands through his hair, and said softly,
"Love me, then. Love me, William, love me." She pulled off her shift
without ceremony and pressed his hands to her breasts. He bent to
kiss them, and drew his tongue up her throat to suck on her ear.

"I do love you," he whispered, as her hands stroked over his chest
and pushed the blankets aside to touch him further. "And someday I
will draw you, and you will see how beautiful you are."

"Everything is beautiful, when I am in your arms," she said, and
covered his mouth with hers.

He left a portfolio on the table for her a few days later. At first
she thought he had left it there by mistake, but then realized, no,
he wanted her to see this. She untied the portfolio and looked
through the pieces of parchment and vellum within.

He was very good. She knew the subjects at once: Margaret, Kit,
William's steed, Weylin from one of the nearby cliffs, Quaid. And
then herself, a gentle portrait in charcoal. She looked as if she
were daydreaming, her face pensive, a tiny smile on her lips, her
hand pushing through her loosened hair. She looked soft, young,
untroubled. She did look beautiful.

Katherine smiled. So this was how he saw her. She liked it.

She was tying up the portfolio's ribbons when a knock sounded on her
door. "Come, she said, and smiled as Mel Faolon entered the room.

"My dear friend," she said, holding out her hands to him. "I have
not seen you for many days. How are you?"

"I am well," he said, frowning. "I have been pondering the situation."

Her smile faded, and she dropped her hands, as he had made no move
to take them. "And what have you decided?"

"I should leave you."

"Mel--"

"I have no place here. Neither you nor William Wolf's Son need me as
an advisor. Perhaps your father could find use for me, or one of your
brothers, or I could go with Anna Rose to her new husband. At any
rate, when John By the Way journeys back to Ireland, I will go with
him."

"Mel, you do not need to leave us. You know you are welcome here."

"I am not so certain. I feel that I have worn out my welcome.
William Wolf's son does not want me here, I grate on his conscience."

"He does no such thing. He likes you."

"He does not deserve you, and he knows it. My presence reminds him
that he has turned a queen into a common strumpet."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I am not a common strumpet, and how dare
you speak to me this way! I find your censure hypocritical, Mel. And
it wounds me deeply."

He scuffed his foot against the floor and muttered, "I fear for the
day he tires of you."

Katherine stared at him, and undid the ribbons on William's
portfolio. "I want you to see something." He stepped closer to her,
and she brought out the charcoal portrait William had made of her. By
his sharp intake of breath, Katherine knew he was as moved by it as
she had been. "Tell me," she said quietly, "if you think this could
have been drawn by a man who plans to abandon me."

He pushed the drawings aside. "You cannot judge a man's heart by
this kind of frivolity."

She sighed and closed the portfolio. "Perhaps you ought to leave, if
you are so determined to be unhappy. It wounds me, Mel, that you
cannot rejoice with me, that I have found a place where I am
comfortable, and that I have found a friend in whom I can place my
trust."

"I cannot rejoice in your degradation."

"I am not degraded. I am happy. I am adored. And there is the way he
treats my son, a child to whom he has no ties, owes no loyalty---but
he loves him, Mel, William loves my baby, and that speaks volumes to
me of his true character."

"It is hard not to love a newborn child."

"But you have not seen him walk the floor with Quaid nights, when
Quaid was too cranky or ill to sleep. You have not heard William sing
to Quaid and talk to him, as if he were his own son. You were not
there, Mel, the night Quaid was born," Katherine's voice broke and
she could not keep the tears back any longer, "when I was certain one
or both of us would die, and William held me and kept me alive with
his strength and his faith. He does love me," she whispered, the
truth of it filling her heart for the first time. "He does love me."

Mel looked at her, still frowning, but he said quietly, "Perhaps you
are right."

Katherine wiped her eyes and nodded. "I know what I have seen. I
know what it tells me. This man will never hurt me."

"So this is how you treat the memory of your lord and husband."

Her jaw tightened and she said, "He is dead. I am alive."

"You always were headstrong," Mel said.

"So you should not be surprised by my decision."

"Nonetheless," he said, "I will leave for Ireland with John By the
Way. And when your family asks after you, what shall I tell them?"

"Tell them the truth," Katherine said, raising her chin, and Mel
sighed.

"Yes, my lady." He bowed to her and left the chamber.

Katherine took several deep breathes and pressed her hands together,
surprised to discover that she was trembling. She wished Quaid were
with her, so she could smell his sweet baby scent and listen to his
soothing babbling. She wished William were with her, so he could hold
her and tell her that Mel was wrong.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head on her hands. Following her
heart was harder than she thought it would be.

But she could not give him up. Not now. Perhaps, not ever.

~~Thirteen~~

"May I have a word with you, my lord?" Mel asked, and William was
surprised at how cold he could make the honorific sound, as if it
took all his effort to get the words out.

"Of course you may," he said, and dismissed the falconer with a nod.
He and Mel left the falconry together, and their footsteps took them
past the stables towards the kitchen garden.

It was very cold out, and half--melted snow lay in patches at the
north sides of the buildings. The path was muddy, and William
grimaced as the cold mud worked its way inside his shoes. "I shall be
glad when spring is here," he said.

"Because then you will be sending my lady home?" Mel said, and
William looked at him, startled.

"No, I--I don't think she will be leaving then."

"Ah. Then you plan to send her home with John By the Way and myself,
when he goes to marry the princess."

"No--I am not planning on sending her home at all. I mean, I hope
this is her home now."

Mel growled, "This is not her home. She has no position in this
place. At least as a servant she would have honorable duties--as it
stands she is little more than a harlot."

William stopped walking. "I will not allow you to speak of Katherine
that way. She is an honorable woman."

"She was an honorable woman. She was a chaste and virtuous woman.
You bring her here and she becomes reviled, wanton, a Jezebel where
she had always been like unto Rachel or even the Blessed Mother
herself. I don't know what you said to her that convinced her this
folly was a wise decision, but I know it must have convinced the
angels themselves, to turn a God--fearing woman from her beliefs to
this--this--disgrace. It is a disgrace. Her father would kill you if
he
knew."

"Katherine made her own decision," William said, trying to keep his
temper. "I neither said nor did anything to lure her against her
will."

"You seduced her."

"I will marry her the very hour she agrees to it, if she wishes, but
though I have offered her my hand--my name--my lands--anything she
desires that is in my power to give her--she has refused."

"What if you get her with child?" Mel said contemptuously. "Will you
be so adoring then?"

William shut his mouth firmly. His feelings on the subject were not
something he wished to share with this man who hated him. He said
finally, "If Katherine gets with child I will be the first to
rejoice."

"You say that as if you mean it."

"I do mean it. I love her. And as much as you dislike me--as much as
you think I am a libertine and a sensualist--that fact remains. I love
her. I will not stop loving her because I am told it is wrong. I will
not stop loving her until the day I die."

"Pretty words," Mel sneered. "What do you know of love? Of years of
devotion, of watching her grow and learn and suffer and triumph? What
do you know of her soul?"

"I know it," William said, his voice low. "Perhaps not as long as
you, but just as deeply. Just as fully. Just as she knows me. There
is nothing you can say that will convince me loving her is wrong."

"You do not deserve her," Mel said.

"You're right. I know that well. And I thank God every day that she
deigns to even spend time with me. I have never had a truer friend or
a sweeter companion." He added, "No man deserves the woman he loves.
It is almost inevitable that she outrank him in every aspect: in
character, in virtue, in intellect. Katherine makes me want to be a
better man, in order to deserve her."

Mel stared at him, then said quietly, "I truly do not understand
you, William Wolf's Son. If you think so highly of her, why will you
not marry her, at the very least?"

"I will not force her to take such a step before she is ready or
willing."

"I think it would be better for all involved if you convinced her to
return with me. We would not have to mention this--interlude--to her
father."

"Is she ashamed of me?" William said. "Does she think he would
disapprove of me?"

"He would disapprove of this arrangement. She says I should tell her
family the truth of why she is staying, but I refuse to ruin her
family's opinion of her that way."

"I would hope her family is happy that she is safe and well--
protected."

"I will leave out the details."

"I would prefer you honor her wishes and tell them the truth. She is
not ashamed. I am not ashamed---"

"You should be."

"This is pointless," William exclaimed. "You refuse to believe
anything but the worst about me. You will not be happy for Katherine.
You cannot even admit that we are in love."

"You believe you love her. I think even she does not know what she
feels for you. This thing you call love for her is a pale, weak thing
compared to my lord Walter. He gave her everything: his name, his
kingdom, his lands--"

"His bastard son to raise," William said, and Mel's face reddened.

"Sir, you know nothing of the circumstances--"

"I know that he betrayed their marriage vows. That is enough to
condemn him in my mind."

"You do not impress upon me that you have a greater moral character."

"I have never betrayed nor caused another to betray their vows. I
agreed to this arrangement only because she would have me no other
way. I will devote every hour of the rest of my life to her
happiness. I will never harm or dishonor her. Even your own former
lord could not say as much."

"Do not speak ill of my lord Walter," Mel said from between clenched
teeth.

"I cannot admire him as you do," William said. "He was not a saint,
for all his goodness."

"He was a far better man than you," Mel spat. "He was just--he was
kind--he loved Kate from the start--"

"But not until the end, apparently," said William, and Mel made as
if he intended to take a swing at him.

But they were not alone, and before Mel could act Katherine was
between them. "My dear friends," she said, taking a gentle hold of
Mel's arm. "May I join you for your walk?"

"I was just leaving," Mel said, and bowed to Katherine stiffly
before stalking away.

William bit his lip and waited for Katherine to speak, but she only
sighed and wrapped her shawl more tightly around her. They began to
walk slowly up the path, back towards the buildings of Weylin.

Finally he said, "Did you look at my pictures?"

"I did."

"What did you think?"

She smiled, watching the muddy path. "I thought they were lovely. I
like the ones you made of Quaid."

"I like drawing him. We will want to remember what he looked like as
a baby. I will want to remember," he corrected himself, and Katherine
sighed again.

"William, come with me," she said, holding out her hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere we may speak in peace. Come." Her hand remained patiently
waiting, and he put his own in hers. She led him into the great shed
where raw wool was stored. "I love this place," she said, closing the
door behind them. "Have you ever lain on this pile, William? It's
like lying on a cloud."

"Not since I was a boy."

"Come," she said again, and climbed up the ladder to the top of the
pile. After a moment he followed her, and watched with amusement as
she threw herself, laughing, onto the enormous pile of wool. She
smiled up at him and held out her arms. "Join me, William."

"Yes, madame," he said, and jumped from the top of the ladder onto
the pile. The wool shifted and gave beneath them, but held them
comfortably, softer than a featherbed. He rolled into her arms and
lay his head on her shoulder, and she kissed his hair and stroked his
face.

"I heard a great deal of what you said."

"Mel hates me," William said. "I am convinced of it. And he loves
you desperately."

"Don't be absurd. He is protective of me, certainly. But we have
known each other since we were children."

"All the more reason. He despises me."

"Don't speak nonsense, my dear. I would like very much if you would
not take seriously what Mel says to you. Perhaps he does dislike you,
but . . ." She paused, and William turned onto his stomach and looked
at her, waiting. She smiled and played her fingers through his hair.
"But *I* like you, William."

Of course that made him smile, and he kissed her with great
tenderness. "I like you too," he whispered, and her responding sigh
was of a different tenor, a sound which with he was becoming
increasing familiar. It made his smile broaden, and he kissed the
base of her neck where it met her shoulder. "I like you very much,"
he said in a low voice, and she gave a responding chuckle.

"William, dearest, it's the middle of the day."

"So it is. And here we are in the wool shed. And I should be tending
to plans for tomorrow's hunt, and you should be . . ."

"Helping with the laundry."

"Helping with the laundry. Yes. Wouldn't you rather sport with me,
my love?"

Katherine's sea--colored eyes were dark, and filled with such
tenderness that made his heart soar. "Yes," she whispered, slipping
her hand into his hair to cup the back of his head. "Kiss me."

"Happily," he said, and obeyed her. He was always stunned at the
many tastes he found within her mouth, as if she were formed from the
most exotic sugars and the sweetest of fruits. Roses, he thought as
he pressed his face against her hair, it's the middle of winter and
she still smells of roses.

She pushed him gently onto his back and moved to kneel over him. He
watched her hungrily as she uncovered her bosom and bared herself to
the waist, and she gently leaned down and teased her breasts against
his lips. She moaned when he captured one dark nipple between his
lips and gave it an insistent tug. He sat up to reach her more
easily, and spread his hands over her arching back to hold her up as
he suckled her.

Oh, the little sounds she made were enough to drive a man insane.
Sighs and moans and whimpers and his name, spoken with rapture and
desire. Her hips ground against his and she stroked his hair and his
back and his neck, kissing him and biting him gently.

He looked up at her face and realized there was more to her boldness
than making love here, where they could be so easily discovered.
Always before they had made love in the shelter of darkness, learning
each other by touch and sound and taste rather than sight. She had
been shy about allowing him to see her body.

"What is it?" she whispered, cupping his face in her hands. "Is
something wrong?"

"You're letting me see you," he said. "I can see your face." He ran
his fingers delicately over her shoulder and down her arm. "You're so
pretty, Kate. I've never seen skin such as yours."

She blushed and said, casting down her eyes, "As long as it is
pleasing to you, my lord."

He put his finger beneath her chin and gently nudged her face
upwards until their eyes met again. "Everything about you pleases me.
My sweetest, prettiest, most lovely of all Kates."

Her eyes slipped closed and she tilted back her head, and he leaned
forward to kiss the base of her neck, the dip between her collar
bones, the warm secret valley between her breasts, down her body as
she leaned back to grant him access, until he reached her center,
which was warm and wet and so delicious. She writhed and moaned as he
pleasured her, with her skirts bunched up about her waist and her
still--stockinged legs trembling on either side of his head.

He lifted his mouth from her and she moaned with despair. "Will..."

"You had started something, dearest, I wonder if you would like to
finish it."

She gazed at him in bewilderment, then a smile crept over her lips,
and she rose up onto her knees and crawled up his body as he lay
back. "Lazy," she whispered, uncovering his member with gentle hands.

"Yes." His head fell back and he moaned as she took him into her,
and his hands grasped her hips to pull her down even further. "Oh.
Yes. Yes. Very lazy."

"Very, very lazy." Her hips began to rock, and their hands clasped
and their fingers intertwined. "Just for that, William, I'm taking my
time."

"As you wish." William gasped, and Katherine bent to crush his mouth
with a kiss. She held his hands down as he had done to her before,
and she smiled wickedly.

"Do you love me, William?" she whispered. "Do you worship and adore
me?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Do you want me to live with you forever?"

"Yes."

"And you will never stop loving me?"

"Never, Kate. Never."

"I believe you," she said, closing her eyes. "I believe you,
William." She began to move faster, and she let go of his hands so
that she could touch his face. He opened his mouth to her fingers and
sucked on her fingertips, and slipped his hands beneath her skirts to
cup her bottom.

"Open your eyes," he begged. "I want to see your eyes, Katie."

She forced her eyes open as he asked. I could drown in those eyes,
he thought, and pushed himself up and pulled her down to kiss her
mouth. There was no part to her that was not beautiful, inviting,
luscious like the sweetest morsel on a feasting table. And oh, the
way she moaned into his ear and her fingers dug into his shoulders
and her body shuddered and her inner muscles gripped and massaged
him--

"Oh, God!" he shouted and thrust up into her, and she groaned in
response and collapsed onto him.

William wrapped his arms around her sweaty back and ran his hand
lightly over her hair. "I'm not too heavy, am I?" she whispered, and
he chuckled.

"Not at all."

She chuckled as well and they lay there, holding each other.

"You know," he said eventually, "I've never done anything like this."

"Oh?"

"Yes. We could be discovered so easily. I've never taken such a
chance."

Katherine gave a low laugh, sat up and tossed her hair over her
shoulder. She'd braided the front locks and joined the braid at the
back of her head, but the rest of the golden--red curtain hung loose
down her back. It made her look, William thought, like a maiden fresh
from a cloister. "We could be discovered," she said. "I think that's
why I like it. Oh, William, I want you everywhere. In the woods, in
the fields, on the beach. I want you to take me like a peasant in the
open air."

He moaned at the thought and kissed the fingers she ran over his
lips. She looked like a convent girl, he thought with a smile, but
certainly didn't talk like one. "You've become brave," he said
softly, sitting up to kiss her white shoulders.

"You make me brave." She made a satisfied sound as he kissed her,
running her hands through his hair. "You make me want to be what I
never dared to be."

"What is that?"

"Free," she whispered, and smiled. "Absolutely free."

He cupped her face in his hand, and she opened her eyes. "Yes," he
said quietly. "I want to set you free." She smiled and kissed him,
wrapping her arms around his neck. "Katherine," he whispered,
breaking the kiss gently, "Katie---if you--if you think it would be
better---"

"What is it, dearest?" She stroked the side of his face with gentle
fingers.

"If you want to go. . ."

"William," she began.

"No, I mean it. If you want to go back to your people, if that's
what you need--"

"William. What I need is you." She kissed him again tenderly. "I
need *you,* William." She kissed him again, then again and again, and
then gently began to extricate herself from him. "But Quaid needs me,
so I must go. The milk is coming in."

"Ah," William said, and watched her rearrange her clothing until she
looked respectable and dignified again. He sighed. "It's going to be
hours before I can see you again."

"Occupy yourself, the time will fly."

"I will spend every minute thinking of you."

She smiled at him and knelt down to kiss him, and pushed his hair
out of his eyes. "Tonight," she said, and slid down from the pile of
raw wool like a child sliding down a snowy hill.

William grinned and dressed himself as well, slid down the pile and
followed her out of the shed.

Mel barely said goodbye to Katherine on the dock, and John looked
uncomfortably after him once he'd climbed aboard the ship. "My lady,"
he said, "perhaps he reaches his homeland again--"

She shook her head. "Take him home, John. I think I have lost him as
a friend."

John's eyes turned sorrowful, and he took her hand gently. "When
Anna Rose and I return, should I call you Mother?" he said, trying to
smile.

She returned the smile and squeezed his hand. "I would prefer you
call me Kate, as my other friends do," she said gently, and bestowed
a kiss on his cheek. "Take good care of my Anna," she whispered, and
he nodded and kissed her hand.

"We will return by spring," he said, and boarded the ship.

"This is becoming a familiar scene," William said as they watched
the ship pull away from the dock.

"Not much more often, I hope. There is no one else for me to send
on." She gave a choked sort of laugh and said, "The next time I see
my daughter she is going to be a wife. By this time next year I may
be a grandmother. It is very strange, William."

"I am excited to meet her. John says she is much like you."

"Perhaps we are. I feel as if it's been years since I've seen her.
And she will bring news of Harry, I long to hear how he is." She
turned to William and put her arms around his waist. "I hope my
family will not be too disappointed that I have not come."

"I am certain they miss you. Perhaps we ought to plan a journey for
you, later this year."

"Perhaps," she said, nodding, and then stood up on her toes to kiss
him. "But not until much later, and not for very long."

His eyes slipped to half--closed and he said softly, framing her face
in his hands, "No, not for long."

~~Fourteen~~

Spring. Spring at last. The sun was warm and the winds were gentle,
the fields were filled with newly budded grains. Lambs, calves,
piglets and colts gamboled in the stable yard. The rains were mild
and the fish were plentiful, and the people of Weylin were content.

None more than Katherine and William. He brought her the first
flowers of the fields and the first fruits of the orchard. She
massaged his sore muscles and read to him, and tried not to be
bashful when he wanted to draw her. They spent hours outdoors,
walking in the nearby woods, and when they got caught in the rain
they ran laughing to the temporary shelter of trees, and kissed
beneath the dripping branches. They played with Quaid, who could sit
up by himself and had started to hitch himself across the floor
towards familiar faces. They sang together and told stories, played
at riddles and spent hours talking of their deepest dreams and
fondest desires. They often slept on the beach beneath the stars, and
held each other tightly on as they slept on the soft blanket.

William's body was becoming leaner and sunburned brown from his work
in the fields. Katherine loved the taste of his skin when he came in
at evening, of salt and sweat and the outdoors. She loved to join him
in the bath or be joined, to make love in a tub full of warm water
scented with lavender flowers. She loved to turn to him when they
slept on the beach and make love to him in the moonlight. She loved
to caress and pet him, to watch him sleep, to feel his deep chuckle
and the eagerness in his hands when she woke him up with kisses. She
felt utterly safe in his arms, as if no harm could ever touch her
again.

She so wanted to believe that this was true. If it were just a
question of always remaining in the safety of his arms she would
never leave their shelter--but, she often thought wryly, one could not
spend every hour of every day making love, no matter how much one
wanted to. And there were, of course, as always, other considerations.

Every day she expected news that somehow FitzJames had heard of
their deception and was even now marching against Weylin, or even
against her father. News of visitors sent her heart to pounding with
fear until she heard who the visitors were. And even then she
worried, for any of William's friends could also know FitzJames and
let fall a careless word about his new lady--and a red--haired woman
named Katherine, surely he would suspect . . ?

William, as far as she could tell, never gave it a thought. It was
as if, to him, there was no reason to fear, and on an almost weekly
basis she vowed to follow his example and not worry so much. But then
the night would come and he would be asleep in her arms, and like
goblins lurking in the corners of her mind the worries would come.
William, bless him, often awoke when her worries were at their worst,
and would kiss her and whisper to her that she had nothing to fear.
And for that moment, she would believe him.

But as spring advanced it grew more difficult to dwell on dark
thoughts. When the sun was shining gently on her shoulders and warm
on her face, and her baby was playing beside her on the grass, and
William was tracing the petals of a flower over her lips and smiling
tenderly, it seemed there was no evil anywhere in the world. And
certainly no evil that could touch her.

It was very late one night in the beginning of May, when they were
awakened by pounding on William's chamber door. William rose from
their bed and pulled on a shirt, and went to answer the door. The
noise had awakened Quaid as well, and Katherine put on a wrap and
lifted him from his cradle to rock him back to sleep.

It was one of William's yeomen at the door, and the two men spoke in
low voices for a few moments. The yeoman saluted William and left,
and William lit a candle and started to dress more fully.

"Will? What is it?"

"Guests have arrived, and I will go to greet them. You might want to
rise as well."

"Must I?" She grimaced at the thought of greeting more strangers.

He smiled at her as he pulled on his shoes. "Only if you wish to,
dearest. But I think your daughter would like to see a familiar face
in this strange place."

"Anna Rose? She's here? Why didn't you say so?" She kissed Quaid and
gave him to William, and hastily dressed herself as William dressed
Quaid. They hurried downstairs to greet the new arrivals.

She recognized John's slim figure at once, but who was this tall
slender woman? "Mother!" she cried, and threw her arms around
Katherine and kissed her.

"Anna Rose," Katherine whispered, and embraced her daughter
tenderly. When had she changed from a girl to a woman? Had she always
been so beautiful?

Katherine held out a hand to John, who was smiling tenderly and
proudly at them, and he took her hand gently. "I am so happy to see
you. So glad that at last you have returned--and brought my little
girl home to me."

"It is good to be home," John said, and put his arm around Anna
Rose's waist. "Or nearly home."

"You will stay with a few days, won't you, before going on?"

"As long as William will have us," said John.

"Maybe not that long," Anna Rose said. "I want to see my new home."
She noticed William for the first time, who was standing aside
holding Quaid, and she exclaimed, "Oh, is this my brother?"

"Mine Anna, this is Quaid," Katherine said, taking the baby from
William's arms. Brother and sister regarded each other for a moment,
then Quaid reached out his arms and Anna Rose took him happily and
kissed him.

"He has Father's eyes," she whispered, her own eyes damp, and
Katherine nodded and took William's hand. He smiled at her and
squeezed her hand gently--and Katherine noticed that Anna Rose saw
that gesture and smiled as well.

"We have a bed prepared for you," William said. "There's not much
privacy, I'm afraid, but we are rather full right now."

"That's all right," John said. "Isn't it, my dear?"

"Yes, it's fine." She kissed Quaid's chubby neck again and handed
him back to Katherine. She embraced Katherine for a moment again, and
kissed her once more.

"We will talk more in the morning," Katherine said, and Anna Rose
nodded, and taking her husband's hand, followed him to bed.

When Katherine and William were again in their own bed, he said
quietly, "They do seem happy."

"I am glad to see it." She traced lazy circles on William's chest.

"I have not seen John so content for many years." His hand began
tracing similar patterns on her back, and she smiled and moved up to
kiss his face.

"It would appear marriage agrees with him," she whispered.

"It often is an agreeable state," he said. "Are you certain you
don't wish to follow their example?"

Katherine sighed. They had this conversation, or some variation of
it, almost daily as well. She whispered, "Not now, William," and
kissed him until he was trembling and forgot all about questions.

Not until after breakfast were Katherine and Anna Rose alone
together, along with Quaid of course. They climbed the hill above
Weylin and spread a blanket to sit on and for Quaid to play on, and
spent several minutes looking out at the sea, their arms around each
other's shoulders.

"We first heard you were dead," Anna Rose said quietly. "That
FitzJames had had you whipped, and that you had died from it."

"He did have me whipped."

"Oh, Mother." Anna Rose's arm tightened around her.

"William told FitzJames that I died, and he hid me and took me away."

"He seems like a good man, our William."

"Yes. He is a good man."

Anna Rose removed some grass from Quaid's plump fist, and said, "I
like John. From the first moment I saw him, I thought, Here is a man
I can admire. My uncles like him. Grandfather likes him, very much. I
am glad William sent him as a messenger, instead of--I don't know--
someone I would not like so much."

"I am glad too. It was a fortuitous choice. Tell me how Harry is, is
he doing well?"

"He misses you. He misses Quaid as well, I think he was attached to
him."

"They did play together a good deal."

"He speaks often of getting a piece of land, and raising turnips and
children. That seems to be the extent of his ambition now."

Katherine nodded, unsurprised. "And what does my father think of
this?"

"He accepts it," Anna Rose said with a shrug. "I think he will
support Harry is ever decides to fight for his birthright, but as
long as he does not wish to, he will not push him."

"Perhaps we need to recover longer, before we make plans to win back
your father's throne."

"Mother . . ."

"I will not allow that man to hold onto what belongs to your
brother. And lands that belong to you, as your rightful dowry."

"John has never said a word to me about a dowry."

"He did not ask for one, but Anna Rose, you need a source of your
own income. I hate not having lands of my own. FitzJames took even
those."

"Mother," Anna Rose said hesitantly, "tell me why I was married in
such haste. No one will tell me the full truth."

Katherine sighed and ran her hand gently over her daughter's dark
hair. "It all goes back to FitzJames, mine Anna. He thought that
marrying you would be a gesture of peace."

"He wanted to marry me? But he's as old as Grandfather."

"I know. But it would solidify his claim on the throne."

"So you married me to John to save me from FitzJames."

"Essentially."

"Essentially?"

"John was not my first thought."

"So who was?"

"William."

Anna Rose stared at her, and said, "William? But you and he--I mean,
perhaps I am making assumptions--"

"No. You're not making assumptions. This was before I realized the
depth of his feelings for me, however. It was my suggestion that he
marry you that prompted him to tell me how he feels."

"He loves you?" Anna Rose said, smiling. "He truly loves you, Mother?"

"Yes." She could feel herself blushing as if she were a starry--eyed
girl again, and she allowed some of her hair to fall in front of her
face.

"I wondered why you didn't return with Mel. To stay here with
William--how romantic, Mother."

"Oh, I don't know if it's romantic . . . did Mel tell my father why
I stayed?"

She stretched out her arms and leaned back on her elbows, and said,
"Not in my hearing. It's rather amusing, actually, how much they
sheltered me, while you and Father always talked about everything
before us."

"Not quite everything," Katherine said.

"Are you going to tell me now?"

"No," Katherine said, shaking her head, and Anna Rose gave a soft
laugh.

"Then at least tell me that William is kind and wonderful as well as
handsome."

"He is kind. He is wonderful. And he is handsome from his head to
his feet." She smiled as Anna Rose laughed.

"As is John," she said, and they both laughed.

"He said nothing to you of it?" William shook his head in surprise.
"Nothing at all?" They were walking in the garden. William could see
a bright patch on the hill above, Katherine and Anna Rose talking on
the hillside. It felt good to see them there. Reassuring.

"Nothing. He was disappointed that Katherine didn't come home, of
course, but he did not ask me why she had stayed. I think the
assumption sill was that Quaid is too young still to travel, and she
is waiting for him to be strong enough to travel." John waited for
William to respond, and when he said nothing, he added, "I did not
feel it was my place to give the real reason."

"That is the real reason. One of them. I'm not sure how I feel about
lying to her family."

"It isn't lying, don't you think? It's simply not telling them more
than they need to know, especially if it would only upset them."

"I would rather give them good news, that's true enough." He sighed
and ran his hand through his hair. "Have you heard any news from
FitzJames?"

"Well, the last His Highness heard from him, FitzJames was not
pleased that Anna Rose had refused him, but there was no other news.
I am more surprised that you haven't heard from him."

"No, I have heard nothing since the fall. But then, that often
happens, I hear nothing for months and then he turns up one morning
wanting me to join him for some campaign or another."

"You wouldn't go, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't. Nonetheless, this silence from him worries me. I
wish I knew better what is going on."

"Perhaps you ought to send a message to him."

"I don't want to attract his attention just now, though."

"So you wait."

"So I wait."

"And what of your lady? You can't just wait until FitzJames appears
to act, you must take precautions to protect her."

"But what would you have me do, John? I can think of no action I
could possibly take that would not end in disaster. It is better to
just not draw his attention to Weylin, not until I am ready to face
him on a battelfield. Preferably with help from Katherine's father.
Which," he added, "won't happen if he discovers Katherine and I are
lovers."

"I don't know," John said thoughtfully. "He might be more
understanding. And he loves his daughter very much."

"Nonetheless, I will not send any word until I have good news to
give. I would not expect anything to happen until late summer."

"Including the marriage?"

"I don't know if that's ever going to happen." He looked back up at
the bright patch on the hillside.

"But if there's a child--"

"I hope there is a child, that may be the only thing to convince
her. I try not to think about the future, it only upsets her. I will
act when the need arises, but until then . . ." He shrugged. "Until
then, I live from day to day. It seems to make her happy, and if she
is happy, what more have I to ask?"

"You're a lucky man," John said.

"I hope that luck remains," William answered.

It was a good day for a picnic. John and Anna Rose would be going on
to his home the next day, and Katherine wanted to do something to bid
them farewell, even though Anna Rose reminded her they would only be
two days apart. But Katherine got together some cold meat and bread
and cheese and fruit in a basket, and a jug of cold milk and a bottle
of ale, and the five of them went out to the meadow.

After they had eaten, John dozed off with his head in Anna Rose's
lap, and William amused Quaid while Katherine enjoyed the sunshine,
her eyes closed.

"You know what strikes me as odd," Anna Rose said.

"Hm?"

"How none of us saw this a year ago. None of us thought a year ago
that I would be married or that we would have new friends we never
imagined knowing . . ."

"No. None of us imagined it." Katherine opened her eyes to look at
William, who was talking seriously to Quaid about which flowers he
should not eat. He glanced at her and winked, and she smiled back and
held out her arms. "Give me that rascal, William."

"He's putting everything brightly colored into his mouth," he said,
handing over Quaid, who babbled enthusiastically and grabbed a
fistful of Katherine's hair, which went straight into his mouth.

"Are you eating the daisies, you silly child?" She lifted Quaid up
and rubbed her nose against his, and he laughed and clapped his
hands. "And are they tasty? As tasty as my hair, it would seem." She
gently worked his chubby fingers open and removed her hair from his
grip.

"I hope my babies are as pretty as Quaid," Anna Rose said softly,
and Katherine smiled at the joyful expression that crossed John's
face.

A thoughtful expression crossed William's, and he lay down on his
back and put his arm over his eyes.

Katherine did not miss that reaction either, and she mulled over the
suspicion she had been harboring the last few days. Now was not the
time to mention it, however. She wanted to be more certain before she
shared it with anyone.

So she said merely, "All babies are pretty, mine Anna, especially to
their mothers."

"We shall have very pretty babies," John said softly, looking at
Anna Rose with great tenderness, and Anna Rose ran her hand through
his hair.

Katherine watched them, pleased. That they were friends was
apparent, and he deferred to her and considered her first in all
things. He spoke to her gently, and did not, Katherine was glad to
see, laugh at her as husbands sometimes did to young wives; nor did
he treat her as if she were too simple or too innocent to fully
comprehend his world. He respected her opinions and her thoughts. And
his eyes followed her as she moved about, with a light that assured
Katherine he was as tender with Anna Rose when they were alone as
when they were in company.

On the whole, she was quite pleased. It had not been an obvious
match, but it was a wise one. Anna Rose had done well.

As always, her thoughts soon turned to William, who had turned onto
his side and was now tempting Quaid to crawl to him. She released
Quaid from her arms and the baby crawled across the blanket to
William and braced his arms on William's chest in an attempt to
stand. William's hand hovered near Quaid's backside should he fall,
and his eyes met Katherine's and he smiled a tiny bit.

He has no reason to love this child, Katherine thought as she
returned his smile, yet he does. He had no reason to help me, yet he
did. He has helped my family, he has protected my children, all to
great risk to himself. He has given me shelter and comfort and hope.

I love him, she thought, and wondered at herself. It did not feel
like a grand revelation--more like something she had known for a while
but refused to acknowledge. But she knew it was true, simply and
honestly true, like knowing the sky is blue and that water is wet. As
if the fates had known on the day of his birth what would please her,
he had been formed sweet and gentle and strong--and handsome, let's
not forget--and she could not stop herself from loving him, she was
helpless in the face of his perfection and even his imperfections.

Quaid came crawling across the blanket back to her, and looked up at
her inquisitively. "Yes, little one?" she said, taking his hands, and
he stood up on his wobbly plump legs and crowed in delight. "Look at
you! Standing all by yourself. You're getting so good at it."

"He'll be running around before we know it," William said, and there
was something in his eyes that made Katherine want to cuddle him as
she did Quaid and kiss his sadness away. She reached over towards him
and gently touched the side of his face, and he caught her hand and
kissed it gently. She patted his cheek.

"When he's strong enough I want you to teach him to ride," she said,
and his eyes lit up. "I want you to teach him everything you know."

"I think I can do that," he said softly, and Quaid grabbed at his
nose. William laughed and scooped him up, and held him over his chest
and shook him gently. "What are you doing, sweet boy? Hm? Do you need
something to play with?"

"Mother," Anna Rose said, "are those flags I see approaching?"

Katherine looked to where she was pointing, and her heart leapt in
her chest. She knew those banners, she had seen them before. She got
hastily to her feet and said, trying to keep her voice from shaking
and failing, "Someone's coming, William."

He looked too at the approaching banners, and said, "It's Alexander!
I was hoping he would come soon, he said he would. Come, dearest,
let's greet him."

"I think I need to get Quaid indoors," Katherine said, scooping up
her baby, and she kissed his warm soft head gently. Knowing that it
was a friend did nothing to ease the panic that filled her. "Please
give him my excuses." She hurried towards Weylin with Quaid in her
arms, leaving William stuttering after her in confusion.

~~Fifteen~~

William and Alexander embraced warmly as soon as Alexander got down
from his horse. He had brought a large entourage with him, soldiers
and attendants, and William said, "I'm not sure where we're going to
put all your people."

"They can camp in the fields, we won't be staying for long."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Our lord requires your presence, I have come to fetch you." He
grinned at William's surprise. "Have you forgotten? You promised to
visit him in the spring, and when you didn't come by the first of May
we started to get worried. He sent me to see that you're all right---
and still his loyal follower."

"Ah," William said. "Well. All in good time." He kept his arm around
Alexander's shoulders as they directed his men to make themselves
comfortable, and then took Alexander inside. "I should like to see
FitzJames but I have so many guests now, I don't like to leave them."

"They can fend for themselves for a month or so, can't they,"
Alexander said, and then fell silent as he caught sight of John and
Anna Rose. William watched the expressions cross Alexander's face,
and then Alexander stepped forward, holding out both hands.

"John. My friend."

"Alexander," John said with equal warmth, and they shook hands. "The
winter has been kind to you."

"To you as well, it appears," Alexander said. "Who is this vision?"

John laughed, and Anna Rose rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.
"This is Anna Rose. My wife. The daughter of Walter and Katherine,"
John said, and took Anna Rose's hand.

"My lady," Alexander said, and bowed to her.

"Lord Alexander," Anna Rose said quietly. "It is good to meet you at
last. We will welcome any friend of my mother's to our home, any time
you wish to come."

Her words were lost on none of them, and William had to wonder at
the flush that crept over Alexander's cheeks. All Alexander said,
however, was "Thank you, good lady," and the couple bowed to him and
left--going towards, William noted, the chamber where he was certain
Katherine was hiding herself.

Alexander turned to William and said softly, "You have not sent her
home."

"It was not entirely my choice," William said.

"She chose to stay with you?"

"Yes."

Alexander shook his head. "This is very dangerous business. It was
one thing when you were taking pity on her, spiriting her away to
prevent injustice--but William, you must think of your people, of
yourself."

"I do think of my people," William said. "And I do think of myself,
but Katherine comes first."

"She belongs at her own home. She belongs with her own people."

"This is her home. We are her people. This is where she wants to be
and I am not going to send her away, Alexander, I want her here."

"And what are you going to tell FitzJames about your new lady?"

William often wondered that himself. He said quietly, "I don't know.
Many things have changed since we last spoke, not the least of which
is Katherine's place in my life. But you must understand, there is no
one more important than Katherine and nothing more important than her
happiness. I will do nothing to jeopardize either."

He could see Alexander turn this over in his mind, and finally
Alexander said, "Very well. It is, of course, your decision, though I
must urge caution. I will return to FitzJames, but I do not know how
I will explain your absence to him."

"You will not need to. I do want to see him. I want to make a
proposal to him."

"What sort of proposal?"

"I will tell you when I have formed it more fully." He put his arm
back around Alexander's shoulders. "Come, let's go visit Katherine.
She will be glad to see you, I'm certain." He guided Alexander
upstairs to the solarium.

Katherine had Quaid in her lap, and looked up from playing with him
slowly. William had never seen her look so fearful, but she tried to
smile when they entered the room. She rose, holding Quaid to her
protectively, and all other conversation in the room paused as she
walked towards them.

"My dear," William said gently, "you remember my friend Alexander,
don't you?"

"I do. Greetings, my lord. Welcome to Weylin."

"My lady." He bowed to her, and she curtseyed in return.

"Please, join us for a while. Unless you would like to rest from
your journey."

"I would prefer to rest, my lady," Alexander said, "but I would be
happy to pass time with you later. Excuse me." He bowed to her again,
and said to William, "Where can I lie down for a while, William?"

It was not by Katherine's choice that she was alone with Alexander,
but he joined her in her closet uninvited that evening. She greeted
him quietly and went on sewing. Quaid was growing so quickly he
needed a new garment every week, it seemed.

"Why have you not joined the others downstairs, my lady?" Alexander
said, sitting on the floor at her feet, beside Quaid's cradle.

"I did not wish to disturb Quaid's nap. My presence is not required
at all times, at any rate."

"It denies William the chance to show off before you."

Katherine glanced at him, but his face was smooth and
expressionless. She said, "Why have you not joined them?"

"I dislike games." He slipped a finger into Quaid's tight grasp, and
smiled fondly. "It seems to me William enjoys playing the role of
father."

"I hope it is more than playing."

"I wonder. Knowing William as I do, of course, I must question how
long his interest will remain."

Katherine lowered her sewing and said as calmly as she could, "My
lord, you obviously have come here to tell me something. I would
appreciate it if you would come out and say it rather than hint
around it."

"Katherine, dear lady, has it ever occurred to you what will become
of you, should anything happen to William?"

"Of course I have. I am not a fool."

"Alone in the world, no one to protect you . . ."

"I am hardly alone in the world."

"But you are far from home. And you only have one friend here--"

"I have many friends," Katherine said coldly, getting to her feet.
"What exactly are you implying here? Are you threatening William?"

"Why would I threaten my friend?" Alexander said, smiling at her in
a way that brought goosebumps to her arms, and he gracefully stood
and faced her. "I am merely pointing out that a woman in your
position can never have too many friends."

"What are you suggesting," Katherine whispered, though she knew full
well what he meant.

He continued smiling at her, and he said softly, drawing one finger
delicately down her arm, "We are alone, Katherine, and are likely to
be for some time. And you are more beautiful now than you were when
we first met."

"You're trying to seduce me," Katherine said quietly, "and you're
doing a very bad job."

The smile left his face at last, and he said harshly, "Very well, my
lady. Lie with me and I won't tell FitzJames that you still live and
that William has been hiding you."

She drew in her breath sharply, and a tremor shook through her.
"That is an insult to me and an insult to my lord. How dare you speak
to me this way--how dare you!"

"I think you ought to remember your life and his are in my hands.
And what about the little laddie, eh? What happens to him if William
dies? If you die, what happens to the boy?"

It took all her strength to keep from shaking as she said, "I
thought you were a good man."

"I'm better than a good man. I'm a smart man. And I know where the
power lies, I think you should keep that in mind as well. You are not
in a position to negotiate."

"Touch me and I shall scream," Katherine whispered.

"They won't hear you above their revels."

He was standing too close to her. She could barely breathe. She
said, "Leave this room now. Leave Weylin tomorrow and I won't tell
William of your insolence."

In answer Alexander grabbed her by the back of her skull and dragged
her to him, and kissed her--a kiss with no tenderness, no affection,
nothing but the basest kind of desire. Katherine shoved him away, and
slapped him with her open palm. She was trembling as he put his hand
to his red cheek. "Leave," she whispered, and when he did not move
she shouted, "Leave!"

"Is that your final answer?"

"Would a dagger in the ribs be more convincing?"

He smiled at her again. "Very well, my lady. Very well. Good
evening." He bowed to her mockingly and left her chamber.

Katherine sank to the floor, her legs no longer able to support her,
and picked up Quaid from his cradle. He gave a startled mewl, but
then settled into sleep again as she rocked him and kissed his sweet--
smelling head and cried.

Somewhat disappointed that Katherine had chosen not to join them
again, William went up to his chamber. She had left a candle burning
for him but the chamber was otherwise dark, though he could see the
slight rise of her body beneath the covers. He bent to check on
Quaid, and then undressed and slipped into bed. He embraced Katherine
gently and kissed her bare shoulder.

She started and drew in her breath sharply, and said, "William?"

"Of course, dearest. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I--I'm sorry. I've been having strange dreams." She turned to
him and kissed his mouth gently, and wrapped her arms around him.

"What sort of dreams?"

"Dreams I don't understand and don't like." She turned her face up
to him and stroked his chest with her open hand. "Kiss me, William.
Kiss me. Make the bad dreams go away."

He kissed her and held her to him tightly. "No more bad dreams,
beloved. I've got you. You're safe."

She tensed, and whispered, "I may be, but you are not."

"Katie?"

"William, as long as I am with you, you are not safe. Any threat may
come to you. You cannot trust anyone, not your friends, not the
people who claim to love you--"

"Katie, Katie." He kissed her again. "I am not afraid of any threat
that may come to me. It is only what threats that come to you that
frighten me."

"That is a careless and reckless way of thinking. William, do
something for me."

"Name it."

"Send Alexander and his people away. Do it tomorrow. Please. Send
him away."

"Dearest, he is one of my oldest friends. We've known each other
since we were children."

"He is no friend to you. He loves you not, William. He respects you
not. He--he--" She pressed her face against his shoulder, and he felt
dampness. Tears. He stroked her hair tenderly and kissed her face.

"Tell me."

She shook her head. "Please, William. Just send him away."

"I can't send him away. He will leave soon, but I will go with him."

"What?" she whispered, horrified.

"FitzJames requests my presence--I must go, Katie."

"You owe him no allegiance--tell Alexander to bring him your regrets,
tell him about the treaty with my father--don't go, William, if you go
you will surely never come back."

"Dearest, I must. I have an idea. I think I can bring peace between
your father and FiztJames. I think I can be a bridge between them. I
think at the very least I can get some of your lands back for Anna
Rose. Perhaps I can do more. After all, despite everything I am still
his heir."

"I have often wondered at that," she said quietly.

"I cannot turn myself away entirely. There is too much history."

For a long time she lay against him in silence as he stroked her
hair. Finally she sighed and said, "You cannot serve two masters,
William. It will tear you apart. You must choose who you will serve,
and who will best serve you. You expect the impossible, wanting to
bring peace between them."

"I must try."

"I fear you will die in the attempt."

"I will always come home to you, Katie."

Again she sighed, curling herself into a tiny bundle at his side. "I
pray that is so, beloved," she whispered, and while he was stunned at
her use of the endearment she began kissing him, and she took him
with a tenderness and ferocity that left him shaking, but in no doubt
about the depths of her care.

William decided to concede to her desires on one point, and even
though Alexander's people were weary he decided to begin their
journey back to Angria by the end of the week. He would take only two
of his own men with him, as well as his squire Kit. "I would prefer
to travel quickly," he told Alexander, who agreed this was the wisest
course.

Katherine, however, was not so easily convinced. "Two men are not
enough to protect you," she said as she oversaw his packing.

"Alexander has twenty people. We will be fine."

"They are Alexander's people, not your own. They will act on his
interests first."

"And Alexander's interests are my own. Dearest." He caught her hands
and pulled her into his lap, and kissed her frowning lips. "I promise
you, I will be gone from you a month at the most, and I will return
hale and hearty. We will laugh at your fears, my love. You'll see."

"I hope we will laugh," she said, though there was no laughter in
her face now, and he sighed, wondering how to assure her.

After a moment he tugged off his heavy signet ring and picked up her
hand. "Katie," he said seriously. "Katherine. Wear this. Think of me
every time you look at it. You are my representative while I am away,
Katherine. You speak for me."

"William," she whispered, her eyes very wide, and he slipped the
ring onto her thumb. The women doing his packing had stopped their
gossip, and watched this action with stunned expressions.

"You are all witnesses," he said to them, and was pleased to see
that Margaret was smiling. He raised Katherine's hand to his mouth
and kissed it, and said to her, "There. Take care of things until I
return."

"I will," she whispered, and her eyes were sparkling with unshed
tears.

He decided it was time to try something he'd been working on a
while, and he said softly, "Taim i' ngra leat, Katie."

Her smile made the late nights and frustrations worthwhile, and she
kissed him. "When I return," he said, "we will continue the lessons.
And we will talk to each other in your language."

"I taught it to my children," she whispered, "and of course I spoke
it with Mel, but no one else has ever wanted to--not even Walter--"

"It's only fair," he said. "You speak my language so well, better
than I. I thought at the very least I could learn to speak yours."

"We will have much to discuss when you return," she said, and leaned
her cheek against his.

At last the morning of departure came, and Katherine stood shivering
in the morning light as last--minute preparations were completed. "I
shall miss you terribly," she said, holding William's hand, her eyes
downcast. "It has been so long since we've been apart."

He kissed her hand that wore his ring, and said, "The days will fly.
I will be home before you start to miss me."

"I miss you already." The eyes that she raised to look at him were
filled with pain and tenderness, and he touched her cheek.

"I will hurry home to you. Kit will take good care of me," he added
more lightly, "won't you, son?"

"Of course, my lord," the boy said, struggling mightily not to yawn.
"Do you have any instructions for me, my lady?"

"Only to take care of my lord. Make certain he comes home to me."

"Of course, my lady."

"Come," Alexander cried, swinging up onto his mount. "The journey is
long and the day is wasting, William!"

"One moment," William said, and turned back to Katherine. "I must go."

"I have something for you." She took a tiny object from within the
bosom of her gown, and handed it to him. It was a lock of her hair,
braided and tied at both ends with a bit of ribbon. "I know it is
only an old wives' tale," she said, "but they say it will keep you
safe, as long as you keep it on your body."

"I will wear it always," he said, tucking the lock within his shirt,
and kissed her one more time. He mounted his horse, and followed
Alexander and the rest of the company out of the environs of Weylin.

They had been on the journey many days, and William could not sleep.
He was used to this, for his longing for Katherine was very great.
Nonetheless, something felt different about this night. Something
felt . . . wrong.

The fire had burned low when he heard the movement, like several men
trying to walk softly. His eyes snapped open and he looked around the
dark forest, and reached slowly for his sword. If they were about to
be set upon by thieves he would not be caught unprepared.

One of his knights, Stephen, had volunteered for the watch, and
William caught sight of his familiar form. "Stephen?" No answer. He
rose from his bedroll and went to him, and touched his shoulder.
"Stephen, are you asleep?"

He watched in dismay as Stephen's body toppled from where it was
propped against a tree trunk. The handle of a dagger still protruded
from his chest, which was sticky with blood. "Oh, God," William
whispered, and lowered Stephen's body carefully to the ground. He
went to his other man, Daniel, and found him in the same state, a
dagger in his ribs. "Oh, God," he whispered again, and shook Kit,
fearing the worst.

The boy opened his eyes and blinked at him in confusion. "My lord?"

"Stephen and Daniel are dead, and I don't know where the other men
have gone. Dress, Kit, and prepare to flee." He began to dress
himself, his hands shaking. Kit stared at him for a moment, then
hastily followed him.

"Dead, my lord?" he whispered.

"Dead. Oh, God, where are the others?" He found the lock of
Katherine's hair, and kissed it gently before tucking it into his
shirt. I will come home to you, he thought. I will come home.
"Prepare the horses," he said to Kit, and the boy ran to obey him.

There were footsteps all around him, and he struggled to see their
attackers in the blackness. "I'm armed," he announced, clutching his
sword, but still there was barely a sound beyond that of men moving.
They were close to him--so close--

"Run, Kit!" he screamed, as two pairs of arms gripped him and a
third pummeled into his chest and belly. "Run!" He heard hoofbeats
and the sound of pursuit, and he could only pray the boy had gotten
away, before the pain became overwhelming and the night swallowed him.

~~Sixteen~~

The days were impossibly long without William. Actually, the days
were tolerable--she had companions and occupations, and the days
passed peacefully enough. The nights were the problem. She missed him
terribly. Their bed seemed vast and lonely, and she took to bringing
Quaid to bed with her for company. Being able to smell his head and
caress his plump arms and legs when she couldn't sleep was infinitely
comforting. Or she lay on her back and put her hand on her belly, and
wondered if what she suspected was true or only a wish. She would
know, by the time he returned.

She wrote to William, little notes that she knew he would never
read. But there was so much he would want to know when he returned,
and she wanted to remember everything.

"Quaid has discovered a new game, that if he crawls away quickly we
will chase him. He laughs as he crawls away, and he laughs when we
catch him. Margaret worries he will get into mischief before we can
catch him, but he never goes towards anything dangerous. He runs away
because he wants us to bring him back."

"Mark and Milly are so sweetly happy. He is tender with her, which
makes me glad. Young love does my heart good, but seeing them happy
together makes me miss you even more."

"I think Quaid is starting to learn our names. He has invented names
for us, at any rate. Edith is 'eeeee.' Milly, Margaret and I are
'mamamamam,' but he says it differently when he wants to go from
Milly to Margaret or from Margaret to me. I also know that he looks
for you, and is puzzled that you are not here. I hope he will
remember you."

"I miss you, dearest. I miss the touch of your hand and the kiss of
your lips. I miss you every day and every night. I want nothing more
than for you to come home to me. Come home, William. Come home
quickly."

Even though she knew it was too soon to start watching for his
return, every day, around sunset, she would climb to the top of the
tower and watch for approaching banners. No one came.

Katherine jerked awake suddenly, and Quaid, asleep in her arms,
began to cry. "Shh, shh," she whispered softly, cradling him to her
bosom, and she kissed him and soothed him until he was sleep.

Her heart had not stopped pounding from the nightmare that awoke
her. Her hands were shaking so badly she didn't dare carry the baby
around, and she tucked him carefully under a blanket and kissed him,
and paced about the room, shoving her hands through her hair.

The dream was too real. Too detailed. She could taste the blood in
her mouth, feel the pain in her ribs and her belly, feel his fear as
the strange men hurt him--

"Oh, God," she whispered, and fell to her knees. She clasped her
hands together and tried to speak, but her throat was closed with
tears. "God," she whispered, "God." She rocked back and forth on her
knees, pressing her clasped hands to her breast.

What was happening to her beloved? Who were these men? Why were they
hurting him? She hated feeling so helpless, not knowing if it were
true or merely a dream--oh, God, and if it were true--

Enough of this helpless weeping. She wiped her face with
determination and dressed herself and Quaid, and went down to the
main room where William's men slept. She went to his captain, Henry,
and gently shook him awake. "My lady?" he said sleepily.

"Henry, I want you to choose ten of your best men. We are going to
Angria."

"Now?"

"As soon as we are ready. Before sunrise, I would prefer."

"But what is wrong?"

"We have to bring my lord home. We have to go now. Please, Henry,
don't question me, just do it."

"But, my lady--"

"Please, Henry. His life depends on our speed."

He looked at her, puzzling, for a moment, then said, "Will you also
be coming, my lady?"

"Yes. Myself and the baby. A minimal accompaniment, Henry, we must
be going quickly. I'll wake Margaret."

He was already up and dressing himself. "We'll be ready by sunrise,
my lady. Make your preparations."

"Thank you, Henry." She thought, as she hurried to find Margaret,
Hold on, my love, hold on. We're coming for you.

They had tied his hands together, and then tied him to one of their
horses and forced him to run behind. They gave him nothing to eat and
only drips of water to drink. He could not see out of his swollen
eyes, but he knew their voices.

When they stopped for the night he fell to the ground and lay there,
unmoving. He heard someone approach him, and the person knelt down
beside him and untied his wrists from the rope that bound him to the
horse. William opened one eye as far as it would, and rasped, "Why?"

Alexander's face was cold. "Because you are a fool, and I intend to
make FitzJames see it. You had everything, William, everything you
could ask for, and you throw it over for a woman. Granted, she is the
most beautiful women in the world, but she is still no reason to give
up your inheritance."

"You would kill me for her," William said.

"Not just her. For Angria. For Britain. FitzJames will make me his
heir out of gratitude, and when you are dead I will take the fair
Katherine for my own." He finished tightening the rope around
William's ankles with a ferocious tug, and William groaned. "What do
you think of that, William? And someday our son will sit on the
throne of a united Britain."

"If I don't kill you she will," William said, and Alexander slapped
him.

"You're not in a position to make threats, William. I am the closest
thing you have to a friend."

Had there been any moisture left in his mouth, he would have spat in
Alexander's face. As it was, he grimaced at him and turned his face
away.

"Sleep well, my friend," Alexander said. "Tomorrow we reach the
castle of FitzJames." He waited for William to respond, but then
finally sighed and stood up. He ordered one of his men to give
William some water, and William drank eagerly from the dipper when at
last it was held to his mouth.

How could he have done this, to his friend, his childhood companion?
Katherine would never allow Alexander to touch her, much less
conceive a child with her. She did not feel her beauty was worth
going to war over--she would hate that Alexander killed to possess
her. She would hate *him,* if she didn't already.

Oh, Katie, he thought with despair, I should have listened to you. I
should have sent him far away and stayed with you, FitzJames be
damned. I could be with you right now, holding you in my arms, loving
you--instead of wondering if I will live long enough to see your sweet
face once more--

He ached with the need to cry, but there was no water left in him.
And when he slept it brought him no peace.

Quaid did not like traveling. He did not like the heat, the dust, or
the rough roads. Katherine knew he really was too young to make this
journey, but she did not dare to leave him behind when he was so
dependent on her. Neither did she dare stay behind herself--if her
premonition came to nothing she would have to explain their presence
somehow.

She did not know how she was going to explain their presence, at any
rate. She could not walk into FitzJames's court as if it were her
own, just to be sure William was unharmed.

Well, she would deal with it as circumstances arose. First she had
to find William.

They had been on the road for three hard days, and they stopped at
sunset to make camp. She walked about the clearing they had chosen,
murmuring to Quaid and stroking his back to soothe him, when she
became aware of the sound of hoofbeats. She drew in her breath
quickly and moved towards the road, to see who was coming so quickly.
Behind her, she sensed Henry drawing near, and she was reassured by
his presence.

It was a lone rider, on a mount she recognized, and she cried,
"Kit!" as the horse tore past her.

"Whoa!" the rider cried, and reined the horse to a stop. "My lady!"
He all but fell of the horse as he dismounted, and he stumbled to her
and fell at her feet. "My lady--thieves--my lord--all dead--"

"Kit, Kit, slow down." She knelt down, shifting Quaid to one arm,
and put her other arm around Kit's shoulders. "What has happened?"

"We were attacked, my lady--Stephen and Daniel were killed--" He drew
in a hitching breath. "They attacked my lord--he told me to run--I
should not have left him--"

"No, you did right, Kit. You can help us find him."

"But my lady, what if he's dead?" He looked up at her with a dirty,
tear--stained face.

"I'd know if he were," she whispered, stroking his cheek. "Come,
Kit, I know you are tired but we must go back. For my lord's sake."

He nodded, gulping. "For my lord."

One of the soldiers had been inspecting Kit's horse, and he said,
"My lady, this mount can go no further, it's worn out."

"We can go nowhere tonight," she said. "We shall have to see how it
is doing in the morning."

"My lady," Henry said hesitantly, "I have an idea, if you are not
opposed."

"Tell me."

"Perhaps three of us could go on with Kit, and discover what
happened to my lord. The rest of you could wait until we are more
certain of news."

Katherine looked from his face to Kit's, and released a slow breath.
"Very well. And I will be one of the party."

"But, my lady, with the baby--"

"I must know," she whispered. "I must know what has happened to him."

He nodded slowly. "Very well. Myself, my lady, Kit and Robert. The
rest of you will follow on in the morning."

Katherine put Quaid back into his sling and adjusted the sling on
her back. He protested sleepily, and she said to him, "I'm sorry,
sweetest, but we have to go on." She mounted her own horse carefully,
and watched as a weary Kit swung onto a fresh mount, joined soon by
Henry and Robert.

"My lady?" Henry said to her.

"I'm ready."

"We go, then." He dug his heels into his horse's side, and they
galloped onto the road, in the direction from which Kit had come.

The last time he had seen the castle of Walter the Bald, it had been
beautiful despite the siege they had lain upon it, its dark granite
walls clean, its flags proudly flying. It was comforting, somehow,
even though at the time it had belonged to an enemy.

Even though FitzJames had made improvements in the foreign style--
filling in the moat, rising a wall around the perimeter, adding more
towers--the castle was neither beautiful nor comforting to William's
eyes. It filled him with a sense of dread--the simple, unshakable
knowledge that he was going to die here.

Alexander turned around in his saddle and grinned at William. "All
this could have been yours," he said, and William lowered his aching
head.

God help you, Katie, he thought, and stumbled along behind the horse
he was still tied to.

FitzJames himself was waiting for them in the courtyard. "What is
the meaning of this?" he said at the sight of William. "Why have you
made William your prisoner, Alexander?"

"My liege." Alexander dismounted and went to FitzJames, knelt and
kissed his hand. "I have brought you William as a prisoner of war. He
has betrayed you, my lord, and lied to you, and I have brought him
here as punishment for his treachery."

"What treachery?" FitzJames's voice was low as he stepped closer to
the dirty, bleeding William. "What have you done, William?"

"Katherine of Ireland is not dead," said Alexander, and FitzJames's
head whipped around to stare at him, hard. Alexander went on rapidly,
"She was taken from your camp and hidden at Weylin these past nine
months. William made an offer of allegiance to Carrick of Ireland,
arranged the marriage of Anna Rose to his own man, John By the Way,
sheltered Walter's eldest son, and has these past several months
lived in sin with Katherine herself."

FitzJames looked at William with a face full of sorrow. He
whispered, "Is this true?"

"It is true," William said, and FitzJames closed his eyes.

"My son," he whispered. Even Alexander was silent, waiting for
FitzJames's reaction.

At last FitzJames opened his eyes again. He said, in his customary
tone of command, "You have betrayed me, William. You have betrayed
the promises your father made to me. I am . . . I am disgusted. I am
appalled. How could you have done this? How could you have sheltered
my enemy?"

"You saw an enemy," William said hoarsely. "I saw a woman in need. I
acted accordingly."

FitzJames shoved his face into William's and spat, "She was to have
been mine! She *was* mine, to do with as I pleased. And it was my
pleasure that she live out her days here, in humiliation, knowing
always that she could have been my queen. How could you disobey me
this way, William? How could you do this to me?"

"Because I could not allow you to do that to her," William said, and
jerked as FitzJames slapped him across the mouth.

"Could not allow! Your lord, your liege, your master! My word is law!"

"You do not rule me," William whispered, unable to make his voice
any louder, and FitzJames slapped him again.

"You are a fool. You are a bigger fool than I ever suspected. You
disappoint me, William. You are the only one I never expected to
disappoint me." He straightened and said, his voice carrying across
the courtyard, "We will teach William Wolf's Son a lesson. I order
him put in my latest importation from our Gallic friends. I order him
put in the oubliette."

Two soldiers lifted William by his arms and carried him across the
courtyard and out of the castle proper. William let his feet drag,
too tired to walk on his own. He'd never heard the word oubliette
before and he had no French, but he guessed from the reaction of
FitzJames's people that this was not going to be an ordinary means of
torture. Would it tear his limbs apart? Puncture his lungs? Crush
him, burn him, tear out his eyes?

Far in the back of the yards, beyond the stables, the falconry, and
the gardens, one soldier lifted the lid of a small hole in the
ground, and he and the other dropped William into it. It was a short
drop, less than his height, but still he groaned when his feet hit
the floor. The walls were smooth, packed dirt, painted with lime. He
looked up at the tiny circle of sky, and then the soldiers dropped
the wooden lid back on. He heard the sound of a lock clicking closed.

And then he realized what his torture was to be.

~~Seventeen~~

"It was here," Kit said, turning around from where he had been
inspecting the ground. "It was here, I am certain of it."

"I would say these are graves," Henry said, kneeling beside two
places where the earth had obviously been recently disturbed. "Poor
Stephen. Poor Daniel. They deserved better than this."

"But only two graves," Katherine murmured, and Henry glanced up at
her.

"Yes, my lady. Only two."

"Then he is still alive. We have to discover who attacked him, and
where they took him." Alive. She was certain of it. She would know if
more happened to him, but he was alive.

"My lady," Kit said timidly, "I have a thought. I think--perhaps this
is presumptuous of me--"

"What is it, Kit?"

"I think it was my lord Alexander. I think it was his people."

"Alexander," Katherine whispered.

Kit said quickly, "At first I thought they had deserted us, but my
lady, it is the only thing that makes sense. They attacked us. They
killed Stephen and Daniel. And now they have my lord and they are
taking him to FitzJames and perhaps they will kill him, my lady, I am
so afraid!" The boy was trembling, and Katherine put her arm around
him.

"Sh, dear. We'll find him."

"My lady," Henry said, "we are eleven men, a boy, and you, with a
child. We cannot go against FitzJames, with his fifty knights in a
stronghold."

"I lived in that stronghold for twenty years, I know it inside and
out."

"Do you know how to find my lord? And how to get him out?"

She looked away from his steely glare, and said, "No, but what else
do you propose? We cannot wait for more men to come."

Henry shook his head slowly. "I don't know how we are going to do
this, my lady. I don't want to desert my lord, but it seems hopeless."

"There is hope," Katherine whispered. "There is always hope. We must
go on."

Henry sighed and nodded. "Very well, my lady. We go on."

The oubliette was not high enough for William to stand up
completely, and was too narrow for him to sit. He stooped or
crouched, or tried to find a way to lean against the whitewashed
wall. His knees throbbed with the pain of these positions, and his
legs and shoulders ached. On top of that were the pain from his
wounds from the beating Alexander's men had given him, as well as
hunger and thirst. The tiny chamber was stifling as the sun beat down
upon the wooden cover.

He knew he would be dead by the time Kit reached Weylin. Hunger
would kill him if the thirst and heat didn't first.

He held the tiny braid of Katherine's hair, still miraculously in
his possession, and daydreamed of her. The scent of her hair. The
taste of her skin. The tenderness in her touch. The warmth in her
voice as she spoke his name. How she would drape herself over him to
warm him on cold nights. How she would sing softly into his ear when
he couldn't sleep. Her sweet kisses. Her small jokes, her warm smile,
her rich laughter.

It was nice to dream, Katie, he thought. But we were children
trusting in tales to think a bit of your hair would keep me safe from
harm. I should have listened to you. I should have told Alexander to
take my regrets to FitzJames, and dealt with the consequences.

He took comfort in the knowledge that his friends would take care of
her. And that even for so short a time, he had made her happy, filled
her life with pleasure and joy.

We could have lived, he thought, we could have lived so happily.
There might have been so many years together, children if you wanted
them, anything you could have asked for.

"I should have listened to you. I have wronged you, Katie," he
whispered, and prayed that somehow she would hear.

The castle of Walter the Bald sat on a hilltop, looking over a broad
valley. On one of the hills on the opposite side of the valley was a
small glade, from which one had a perfect view of the valley and the
castle and its environs. The valley was recovering from the battles
the summer before, golden and green with crops. The castle was much
the same as it had been, grey and ivy--covered and majestic and very
dear.

Katherine did not know what she expected to feel when she again saw
the walls of her former home. The sight caused her throat to close up
and her eyes to sting, and Henry said gently, "My lady, are you all
right?"

"I'm all right," she said softly, and decided not to whisper to
Quaid that this was his ancestral home. He would not remember it at
any rate.

"What do we do, my lady?" Robert said, concern etched on his face.

Katherine shook her head. "I don't know. We wait. We look around. We
discover things."

"We are not here on a pleasure trip," one of the other men said
shortly, and Henry growled at him.

Katherine arched her eyebrow at them both and said demurely, "I am
aware of our purpose. However, we have no plan, no forces, and we
don't even know where William is."

"I meant no disrespect," the soldier said softly.

Henry slid from his horse. "I suggest we set up camp and make our
plans."

Katherine looked at the castle once more, and shut her eyes for a
moment. "My lady," Henry said again, softly.

"I am rather disturbed to discover," Katherine said, "that I do not
remember where we buried my husband. We left his grave unmarked, so
that it would be unmolested."

"That was a wise decision, my lady."

"I hope so. But . . . where did we bury him? I don't remember. I
hardly remember that day at all." She smiled at Henry uncertainly.
"I'm sorry. I have missed my home."

"I understand, my lady." He gripped her around her waist to help her
down, and gave an affectionate pass over Quaid's head. "We shall camp
here," he said to his men, "and make my lady as comfortable as
possible."

Katherine smiled her thanks at him, and went to the side of the
clearing to wait for them to make the camp up. She took Quaid out of
the sling and held him so he could move his arms and legs around, and
he grunted and fidgeted and blew on his lips to make spitting noises.
"Don't like traveling, do you, my love?" she said to him, and he
grabbed one of the ties of her cloak and stuffed it into his mouth.
She laughed softly and kissed him, and worked it gently from his grip.

All the while she watched the castle, wondering if there was
anything they could do or if they could only wait.

Darkness. Nightfall. William ran his tongue over his dry lips, took
a deep breath, and shoved as hard as he could at the wooden cover to
the pit. He shoved and rattled and pushed with all his remaining
strength.

Nothing. It didn't budge an inch. He didn't know what was holding it
down, but there was no way he could break through the solid oak. The
lid fit tightly into the top of the pit, allowing only air and a
sliver of light to get through.

William put his hand under that sliver of light and turned his hand
so that the light played over it. "God," he said softly, "I have
tried all my life to do right. I have tried to keep my vows, honor my
obligations. To help those in need, to love those who love me. I do
not want to give up. I want to live, I want to love my Katie. God,
please. If there is a way . . . I want to go home." He closed his
eyes, to dried out even to shed tears.

Nothing. He was not surprised.

So he was going to die here. Forgotten in this place. And those who
loved him would never know what had happened--Katherine would always
wonder--oh, his poor darling--

He heard grinding above his head, and his eyes widened. The sound of
the lock coming undone was unmistakable, and he shrank back,
wondering what further torment was in store.

The cover lifted and at first all he could see was a light above his
head. It came into focus and he realized it was a torch, and there
was a hand extended down into the pit. "William," a voice said
firmly, and kindly. "William, take my hand."

"Who . . ?" he croaked, and clasped the hand tightly in his.

With difficulty, the man hauled him out of the pit and for a moment
William lay on the ground, gulping in the fresh cool night air. He
looked up at his rescuer, who was kneeling on the ground beside him.
"I have water for you, William," he said, and William rolled onto his
side and squinted at him.

"Harry. It is Harry, isn't it?"

Harry smiled at him and held out the wineskin. "Drink up, William.
We have far to go and we must leave before anyone notices we're gone."

William took the skin and sat up, and took a long drink of water.
"Harry. How did you get here? Why are you here? Katherine said
nothing to me--"

"Mother doesn't know," Harry said. "Grandfather wanted a spy here
and I thought it would be best if it were me. Can you walk, William?"

"I think so. Your mother is going to be furious when she learns of
this."

"I think she will be so glad to see you, she won't have time to get
angry with me." He stood, and held out his hand to William again.
"Come. I have food and clothes hidden in a cart. I shall have to hide
you under the straw."

"I don't mind at all." He took Harry's hand and got laboriously to
his feet. He felt dizzy for a moment and had to lean on Harry for
support. "No one has recognized you? You have been safe here?"

"No one knows me. I gave them a false name and I grew a beard." He
rubbed his chin, which was indeed sporting a short, dark beard. It
made his boyish face look much more mature and lean.

"Your mother isn't going to like that either. You look like a
Northman."

"I'll shave it. Eventually."

They made their way quietly in the predawn darkness to the stable,
and Harry put the torch into a holder nailed to the wall. He moved
aside some straw in a cart to reveal a basket with bread and cheese,
and clothing for William to change for his tattered rags. William
cleaned himself off in the water trough first, washing off the blood
and grime that had coated him for the last four days.

"William, we must be going," Harry reminded him, and William dried
himself off and got dressed. He climbed into the cart and tore open
the loaf of bread, and devoured half of it in a few bites.

"Won't they question you, Harry, at the gate? Or have you integrated
yourself so fully here they'll let you pass?"

"They'll let me pass. One of my duties here is disposal of the
garbage." Harry grimaced, an odd expression for his young face. "I
won't bury you under the garbage, however--I'll say it's dirty straw
I'm taking to the dump."

"And then what?"

Harry shrugged. "I take you home. It will be good to see Mother
again. And I'll be glad to be gone from this place. There are many
good memories here, but . . ." He shook his head. "They are all gone
now."

William lay down on the straw and closed his eyes. Harry covered him
over with more straw, and in a moment he heard Harry climb up onto
the cart and whistle to the horse.

The cart started up with creaking wheels. William lay under the
straw, listening, but soon the steady movement of the cart soothed
him, and he closed his eyes and slept.

He awoke abruptly, and lay tensely, uncertain of where he was. He
didn't dare brush the straw from his face, for fear they had been
stopped by FitzJames's people, and he clenched his fists, ready to
fight whatever threat they were to face.

"William?" The straw above him moved aside, and he looked up at
Harry. "Are you awake?"

"What is going on?"

"I have brought up to a safe place I know of--but there are others
there, and I am uncertain of to what to do."

"Where are we?" He sat up, groaning at the aches in his body, and
looked around the dark forest that surrounded them.

"The other side of the valley. My--" he pause, cleared his throat,
and said, "My father used to bring me here, on the hunt. You can see
all of the valley from that clearing there." He pointed, and William
looked, to where he could see a dying fire and horses, and men asleep
on the ground. "I suppose it is possible FitzJames's people know
about it, but I never heard it mentioned. Perhaps they are strangers.
Nonetheless, I was going to spend the rest of the night here and go
on in the morning, but I don't know what to do with them there. We
need to rest before dawn."

"You know of no other place to stop?"

"Not for many miles, not as secluded as this."

"Perhaps I could drive for a while."

"William," Harry said with some exasperation, "I grew up here, I
know this area for miles around. I know where to hide. You have been
here once, and you are ill. I shall find us a place."

William opened his mouth to argue, when the silence of the night was
broken by the sweetest sound William could hope to hear: a baby
crying. They both started, and William clambered down from the cart.
"It's Quaid--that's Katherine there!"

"Can you be certain?"

"I know his cry," William said, and stumbled towards the dying
embers. Yes, there near the fire was the unmistakable figure of a
woman soothing a child. "Katherine," William said hoarsely as he went
to her, and her face in the firelight was at once amazed and joyful.
She got to her feet just as he fell against her, and she supported
him as he held her and kissed her again and again.

"William," she said simply, returning kiss for kiss. "My dear."

Men moved all about them, exclaiming and asking questions, and soon
he heard Harry's voice explaining how they had come here and all that
had happened, but for himself all he could say was, "Katherine.
Katherine."

~~Eighteen~~

They could not afford wait, despite William's weakened condition,
and as soon as the sun was up they packed up their camp and headed
back towards Weylin. Katherine stayed in the cart with William and
Quaid, and the soft straw was a relief after riding horseback for so
many days. She held William so that his head was in her lap, and he
slept soundly despite their jolting mode of transportation.

When he had come stumbling out of the woods, for a moment Katherine
had thought he was a ghost, or at the very least a dream. No less
surprising was the sight of Harry behind him, sporting a beard like a
man twice his age and looking painfully like his father. She had had
little time to speak to Harry so far, so her questions had to wait.
She did wonder if Anna Rose had known Harry was here, if this was a
secret they had kept from all the womenfolk or just from herself.

She stroked William's soft hair and bent to kiss his warm forehead.
The bruises on his face made her heart ache, and she kissed the cut
beside his mouth as well. His beloved face seemed immeasurably dear,
and though Harry had said little of what they had done to William,
she knew, whatever it was, it had been terrible. The kind of thing
only a monster would do to a man.

She went on stroking his face gently, and leaned over to where Quaid
was sleeping beneath a makeshift canopy set up in the corner of the
cart. His sleep continued to be peaceful, and she stroked his head
with her hand. When she looked up Harry was riding beside them, and
he smiled at her.

What a wonderful day, she thought, three of my beloveds within a
hand's reach. It brought tears to her eyes. She wanted her family, in
whatever form they could now be, but she wanted them together and
safe and where she could touch them and talk to them.

She wiped her eyes with her hand and looked down at William again,
and noticed his eyes were open. She smiled at him. "You're awake."

"Am I? I'm not dreaming?" he asked softly.

"You're not dreaming." She brushed her thumb over his lips, and he
pursed his lips in a tiny kiss. "How do you feel? Are you thirsty?"

"I'm all right. I'm so glad to see you."

"And I am, to see you."

"I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would die
there." He cupped her cheek for a moment. "I thought I would give
anything to see you again."

"Sh, dearest. Sh. Rest. We'll stop soon and you can eat something,
and we'll get you home as quick as we can."

He reached into his shirt and drew out the tiny braid of her hair.
He pressed it into her hand. "It did what you wanted it to do."

"It's an old wives' tale." She closed her fist around the braid
nonetheless.

"It worked. It kept me alive. It gave me hope."

She tucked the braid away and kissed him again, and stroked his
face. "Sh, my love. Rest. Close your eyes. We're taking you home."

His eyes closed obediently, but he grabbed her hand and pressed a
warm kiss to her palm. "Home," he said softly, and his hand remained
clasped tightly around hers.

When they stopped for the night, Katherine first made certain
William and Quaid were comfortable and fed before she saw to herself.
William protested that he needed no special treatment, but his
weariness soon gave lie to his words, and he fell asleep with Quaid
nestled on his chest. Quaid had seemed happy to see him, and patted
William's cheeks and cooed to him repeatedly throughout the day.

Once they both were asleep, Katherine walked about the camp to
stretch her legs, and soon Harry joined her and took her arm. They
walked about companionably, and Katherine put her hand over his that
rested on her arm.

"I like the beard," she said.

"William didn't think you would."

"I do. It's very dashing. I suppose you broke as many hearts at the
court of FitzJames as you did at Weylin?"

"Oh, Mother," he said, rolling his eyes. "I don't break hearts. I
had more important things to do, at any rate."

"I would like you to tell me about that. Did Anna Rose know?"

"She did, and we decided not to tell you because you would worry too
much."

"So instead she told me you were only planning to raise turnips and
children with your future."

"We had to tell you something you would believe. I do want my throne
back, Mother," he said seriously. "I do want to take my rightful
place. I want to be as good a ruler as Father. Grandfather and others
have pledged their support."

"I'm sure you will have William's as well."

"I hope so. John By the Way has pledged his, also. I like him,
Mother. You chose a good man for our Anna."

"Her match pleases me. She seems happy. But what of FitzJames,
Harry? What did you learn there?"

He sighed, looking down at the leaves and grass at their feet. "He
hates you. He hates you immeasurably, Mother. I don't think he went
to battle with Father over the land at all, I think it was over you.
Even though he would not say as much to anyone, it was in his every
look and every action. Anything that he thought might be made by your
hand he destroyed. It took all my powers of persuasion to convince
him not to desecrate the graves of my little brother and sister."

"Oh, God," Katherine said softly, and she gripped Harry's arm tightly.

"I am grateful that Father's grave could not be found." He said
hesitantly, "Mother, I have spoken to Henry of this, and William must
know soon as well, but you also must know. FitzJames is planning to
attack Weylin. They will not be ready for several days, and we will
have the advantage of preparation, but I don't know how many men
William will have and FitzJames has fifty knights on hand at all
times. I'm certain there will be more."

"William has twenty men stationed with him at all times. There are
three other nobles nearby who support him, with ten men each. There
are also several individual knights on whom he can call."

"It may be enough."

"It never ends," Katherine said sadly and softly.

"It will end, Mother," Harry said. "It will end. FitzJames will die
on the battlefield, or I will die in the effort."

Katherine closed her eyes, and hugged her tall son to her tightly.
"I hate the necessity," she whispered, "but you are right. It is the
only way for this to end."

"He thinks you will be an easy target, with William gone and his
people in disarray. But," he added grimly, "we will prove him wrong.
We will present to him a challenge such as he has never faced."

"Careful, dear. I don't want to invite anything malicious to prove
you wrong."

"We will win, Mother, because we are on the side of good."

"I hope that is enough," Katherine said.

Katherine lifted her nose to the air and sniffed. Yes, there was
something different in the air, a scent she had been missing while
they were in the interior. Salty and cool and comforting. And there,
faint beneath the sound of hooves and creaking wheels, was the hiss
and crash of waves.

Home. Home at last. They would reach Weylin soon after sunset.

William opened his eyes, and he smiled at her. "I smell the sea," he
said softly.

"We're almost there."

"It's been far too long, Katie."

"It's only been a fortnight."

"Long enough. I don't think I'll ever stir from Weylin again."

"My lady." Henry drew up beside them. "I'd like to send one of the
men up ahead, and tell Margaret that we are returning."

"Very well," Katherine said. Henry barked an order and one of the
soldiers galloped ahead of them.

"So they take their orders from you now," William said, amusement in
his voice.

"Is that all right with you, my lord?" Katherine said in the same
tone.

"I could not approve more." He nuzzled his head against her thigh.
He still preferred keeping his head on her lap more than any other
position he could take. As long as Quaid did not mind sharing her
attention, Katherine did not mind it either.

Quaid was now riding with Harry, and fussing much less than he had
on the journey out. Katherine didn't think Quaid remembered Harry at
all, but she was happy to see they took to each other easily. He was
used to being passed from hand to hand, however, and had few problems
with strangers' laps.

And she had to admit she liked the sight of Quaid chewing on his
fist and looking up at Harry. It reminded her of when Harry was a
baby, and Walter would ride about with him proudly, showing him off.

The piercing sorrow she was accustomed to feel at thoughts of Walter
did not come--in its place was a bittersweet feeling she could not
name. I still love him, she thought, and I miss him, but . . . we
have all moved on. William will never fully take Walter's place, but
he has made a place for himself.

She looked down at him, dozing in her lap again, and smiled fondly
and ran her fingers through his hair. That he was quite at home in
this place in her heart was obvious, and it pleased her.

If he asks again, she thought, I'm going to say yes. She didn't know
how likely it would be that he would ask, but if he did, she had her
answer now.

"Weylin, my lady!" Kit cried, pointing. "Look, they've raised the
banner!"

"Good," Katherine said. She nudged William gently. "Dearest, we're
almost home."

"Mm," William said, and nestled his face against her belly. She
decided not to disturb him again until they had reached Weylin
proper. He would need his rest, if he was to handle the upcoming
battle.

The thought made her shiver, and she tightened her embrace around
him. She did not want to lose him--she did not want to lose any more
friends ever again--but this battle must fought. It must end. Somehow,
it must end.

Weylin was full to bursting of soldiers, peasants seeking refuge,
livestock, food to last them months if they were careful. There were
lookouts on every hilltop, with bonfires ready to be lit at the first
sight of the enemy. Swords, arrows and spears were sharpened and
armor was repaired.

Katherine hated this. Watching a battle was bad. Preparing for one
was terrible. She thought of her grandmothers, who had ridden
barebreasted into battle alongside their menfolk, screeching war
cries, their faces and bodies painted. How everyone would pale if she
so much as suggested it--she was the demure queen, the lady of the
house, it was her place to watch from the battlements and bind up
wounds when the battle was over. Not to fight alongside her man.

Even if the fight was really hers, not his.

Despite the summer heat she felt chilled, and had wrapped a shawl
around herself to watch the preparations from the highest tower.
William wanted it to appear there was no opposition to FitzJames
until he actually arrived at Weylin, to best preserve the element of
surprise. So from outside Weylin's walls all appeared as normal,
though the fields were quiet.

From among all the men she singled out William, and watched him as
he went about his work. As if he felt her eyes upon him, he turned
and looked up at her, and raised on hand, palm up, in salute. She
returned the gesture silently, but did not descend the stairs, as she
suspected he expected her to do.

If I left, she thought, this battle could be averted.

The night before she had said if she left and hid herself away in a
convent, no one would die, Weylin would be safe. And he said, Don't
leave. That was all. They had lain beside each other in the dark, not
touching, and his words hung in the air. Don't leave.

So she stayed. And she was uncertain now, as the preparations
mounted, if this was a wise decision. The men who died today or
tomorrow, their wives would resent her, their children would hate
her--
the peasants would suffer if FitzJames's men destroyed the fields,
oh, they would go hungry this winter--

Her jaw trembled and she wrapped her shawl more tightly about
herself. There was only one solution now. God. She could do this.

She hurried down the stairs to the bailey, and wended her way
through the people to William. She tapped him on the shoulder, and he
turned and smiled at her. "Are you all right?"

"If I surrender myself to FitzJames this battle will not take place."

All movement around them stopped, and the smile faded quickly from
William's face. He took her arm. "Come with me, Katherine." They
started walking away from the preparations.

"I've been thinking," she said quietly. "It is the only thing. I
don't want any more death on my behalf. I will meet FitzJames before
the gate and I will go with him wherever he wishes to take me."

He stared at her and slowly shook his head. "Do you think I could
live with myself, if I allowed you to do that?" he said softly. "That
is the action of the worst kind of coward."

"William--"

"Sh." He put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
"You know what he would do to you. You know it as well as I do. I
could never--I couldn't--" He voice caught and he pressed his cheek to
her hair. "I would sooner die than let him do that to you," he
whispered.

"But, William--"

"No. Do not mention it again. My precious Katie," he whispered,
kissing her lips. "I could never hand you ever to him--knowing what he
would do--"

"William," she said again, but it was no longer a protest. All
right. She had offered the only solution she had, and been rejected.
Now she could only stand and watch. She brought his mouth to hers and
kissed him deeply, and rested her forehead against his. "I love you,"
she whispered, and he drew in his breath and let it shudderingly out.
"I love you, William," she said again, gaining strength with the
words. "I am going to spend this night in the chapel, praying for
you. I want every saint on your side."

"I will pray with you, if you like."

"No, dearest, you need your sleep." She kissed him again. "I love
you. Survive this, William, survive this that I may show you
properly, for the rest of my life."

"I will, my love," he whispered, and kissed the hand that still bore
his ring. He had not asked for it back and she was loathe to part
with it.

They were holding each other and kissing gently, when one of the
watchmen in the tower cried, "My lord! A bonfire! The enemy
approaches!"

Katherine gasped and looked up at William, and found that words fled
her. She grasped his hands tightly.

"It begins," he said softly. "Do you trust me?"

"With everything."

"I will not fail you."

"My lord!" Henry, Harry, and others of his soldiers approached them.
"You still need to put on your armor, my lord," Henry said.

William nodded and touched Katherine's cheek. "I will not fail you,"
he repeated softly, and went with his men to prepare himself.

Katherine pressed her hands to her mouth and willed herself not to
weep. If anything happened to him--if he died this day--how ever would
she bear it?

There had to be a hundred men with FitzJames, and FitzJames himself
was at their head. His trumpeters blew a rill, and there was silence
but for the waves and the horses and the wind in the banners. William
wished he were close enough to Katherine to embrace her. He was sure
she needed him---he knew he needed her. But she was on the parapet
above the gate, and he was below with his soldiers. He could see her,
slender and small and straight, tiny compared to the guards beside
her.

"Katherine of Ireland!" FitzJames roared. "Show yourself!"

Katherine, her face emotionless as a mummer's mask, took a deep
breath and stepped up to the parapet. "I am she," she called calmly.
"Who summons me?"

"It is I, John, son of James and king of Angria and your rightful
lord! Your life is mine, as you may recall, and I demand my payment!
Descend, lady, and perhaps I won't kill you today."

"I will not." Katherine's voice was soft but firm, and carried to
every man. William looked at her from where he was waiting and smiled
proudly. Oh, she was a queen down to the bone.

"You will or I'll kill every man, woman and child of Weylin. I will
salt the fields and burn the castle. I will--"

"Stop," Katherine said. "You have no rights over me. You have no
rights to make this claim. You are an invader here, unwelcome and
unwanted. You have caused enough suffering. Go, FitzJames, leave us
in peace. Do something in your life that shows you are a man and not
a monster."

"You are very brave for a woman with no protection. Who do you
expect to defend you? Your husband is dead, your son is missing, your
father and brothers are an ocean away, and your protector rots in my
oubliette. Do you even know what that is, child?"

"I know," Katherine whispered. "And it sickens me that you would
embrace such a thing."

"Then come down here. Join me. If you are kind to me, child, I can
be surprisingly kind to you."

Katherine shuddered. "You repulse me. You offend me. My answer
stands, FitzJames, I will not join you."

"Very well," FitzJames answered, raising his arm, and his army
braced themselves to attack.

"Now," William said, and the gate opened and he and all his men
rushed through to the field before Weylin, swords and spears drawn.
Above their heads the parapet bristled with arrows as archers poised
to fire. William glanced over his shoulder, and saw Katherine still
stood in her place, looking terrible and fearless, a bow in her hands
and an arrow nocked. And she was smiling.

"Very well," she said, and FitzJames's hesitation at this unexpected
opposition was obvious to everyone.

His eyes landed on William and he smiled humorlessly. "You," he
said. "You're alive. I suppose I should not be surprised."

"Hello, old friend," William said. "I would like to make a
proposition to you."

"I'm listening." FitzJames's mount shifted on its hooves nervously.

"This fight is between you and I. I say that you and I face each
other in a duel. Whoever survives it . . . survives."

"William!" Katherine gasped above him, but this time William refused
to look.

"What say you? A fair fight between us?"

FitzJames looked around him. Their numbers were evenly matched,
William was sure of this, and there were still peasants in the
courtyard who wanted to fight, even if it was with scythes and hoes.

"I accept," FitzJames said, and dismounted his horse.

~~Nineteen~~

"I don't like this, I don't like this," Henry was muttering as
Katherine rushed past him towards William, and he caught her arm and
pulled her back behind the line of soldiers.

"Let me go!" Katherine snarled, her bow and quiver forgotten in her
hand, but he held her firmly.

"Don't, my lady. You'll only distract my lord and he cannot afford
to be distracted."

"I can't let him do this--you can't, Henry, you must stop this!" She
felt frantic with the need to pull William away from this mad plan.

"If my lord feels this is what is right, we must trust his
judgement. Please, my lady, I am charged with your protection, don't
fight me. We must just watch, and wait."

Katherine stopped struggling, and looked out to where William was
speaking to FitzJames. Harry and John By the Way were both with him,
and Alexander and other men she did not know were with FitzJames.
"Can he win?" she whispered to Henry. "Who is the better swordsman?"

"They are evenly matched, my lady," he said, not taking his eyes off
the precedings. "FitzJames has more experience, of course, and he
studied sword fighting in France. But my lord is younger and
stronger, and more agile."

"What are they discussing?"

"Terms, I assume. FitzJames tends to do things the Frankish way, and
the Franks have a code for duels such as this. They will both choose
seconds and decide on a marshal." He turned to another soldier and
said, "Fetch Margaret. We may need a healer." The soldier saluted and
rushed off to find her, and Henry said to Katherine, "It may be a
long fight, my lady. You may want to find a more comfortable place to
observe."

"If you wish me to hide away so that my lord will not see me, I
would prefer that you say so. I do not wish to move." She crossed her
arms defiantly, and Henry sighed.

"Very well. Forgive me. But you cannot interfere, my lady."

"I will not." She thought, If William falls I will kill FitzJames
myself, and she put her hand on the dagger she wore at her waist.

FitzJames's men had moved back from the strip of land between the
walls of Weylin and the road, and many of them had dismounted. It was
hard to tell who were talking among themselves more, FitzJames's men
or the people of Weylin, and though William's men all bore stoic
expressions the air around them was tense with waiting. There may yet
be a fight, Katherine thought, and she closed her eyes and folded her
hands together to quickly pray for these brave men, and for her
beloved.

Margaret pushed her way through the people and joined Katherine. Her
face was pale and drawn, and she looked out to William anxiously.
Katherine took her hand and squeezed it, and Margaret glanced at her
and smiled briefly. They clung to each other's hands as they waited.

Soon Harry broke away from the group of men, and jogged over to
where Katherine and the others stood. He said, "FitzJames has some
notion that the only proper time for a duel is dawn, but I think we
have convinced him not to postpone. John will be William's second and
Alexander will be FitzJames's. They have asked that you, Henry, be
the marshal."

"Very well," Henry said grimly. "My lady." He bowed his head to
Katherine and went out into the field to join the other men.

"It may be a long while, Mother," Harry said. "Do you want to sit
down?"

"I am not leaving."

Harry nodded, unsurprised, and looked out at the field. "FitzJames
does not practice swordplay regularly," he said. "He has been too
occupied with matters of his new kingdom. That may be to William's
advantage."

"William has not been practicing either," Margaret said. "And he's
been ill."

"But he has been working outdoors," said Katherine. "He is strong--he
recovered quickly. That is to his advantage." She took Harry's hand.
Flanked by her son and her friend, she did not feel quite so
terrified. Surely William's youth and strength could win over
FitzJames's experience and training. Surely William would prevail.
Surely the saints and angels were on their side--surely God would not
punish her so much as to take away her love for a second time--

"Mother," Harry said softly, and she looked at him, pressing her
lips together. If she spoke she would weep, and she had to stay
strong, for William's sake. "Mother," he said again, and touched her
cheek with his other hand. "You will always be protected, Mother."

"I am not afraid for myself, my dear," she whispered, turning her
eyes back to the field. Katherine felt as if she were truly seeing
William for the first time. Tall and slender and strong, his hair
dark and shining in the sun, longer than fashionable but so suitable
to him; his mobile, guileless face; his expressive hands, his agile
feet--even his sword and shield and studded leather armor seemed as
natural parts of him. But what astounded her at this moment was that
this strong, brave, handsome man, who owed her nothing and expected
nothing from her but her affection, would be so willing to give his
life for her sake.

I don't want to live without him, she thought. I know I can, and I
will if I must. But I don't want to. And I will not love again, if it
comes to that. Two loves in one lifetime is more than anyone has the
right to expect, particularly two loves such as I have had.

If you live, William, she promised him silently, I will spend the
rest of my days thanking you for this. You must live, my love.

William tied the gauntlet on his right hand, pulling the strap with
his teeth. He had walked a ways away from where FitzJames was
similarly preparing himself, oblivious to the dark looks his men were
giving him. William said softly to John, as he strapped his shield
onto his arm, "How does my lady?"

"Very unhappily, my lord."

William nodded. He knew she would be unhappy with this turn of
events, it was why he had not told her of his plan beforehand. He
said, "I hope I live to be scolded by her tonight," and John sighed.

"William, you have been ill, please reconsider."

"The offer has been made and the terms agreed upon. I cannot back
down. We fight, and we fight today."

"And one of you will die," John said.

"Perhaps."

"FitzJames will kill you, William, given the chance."

"Then I will not give him the chance." He put his hand on the handle
of his sword. "I am ready."

"I will tell Henry." He went to where Henry was waiting.

William took a deep breath and dared to look to where Katherine was
standing. At once he wished he hadn't--her fear and despair was plain
on her face, even in the way she was standing. She loves me, he
thought, and raised his hand to her in salute again, gazing at her
tenderly.

Katherine's own hand trembled as she raised it in salute, and she
did not smile at all. He wished there was enough time to go to her
and reassure her all would be well, but John was already returning to
him and Henry was stepping into place between them.

They had chosen the most level part of the field, free of rocks and
tree roots, and William watched as FitzJames and his people
approached. John took his place at William's side, and gave him a
tight, nervous smile.

"John," William said quietly, "if anything happens to me, take my
lady far, far away--take her home to her people, John, if you can--"

"If she will let me," John answered, and then FitzJames and
Alexander were facing them with Henry between.

FitzJames said, "I suppose I should not be surprised at all the
betrayals that have come. What did you promise the boy, William? His
throne, his kingdom, his pick of the lasses under your care?"

"I have made no promises I do not intend to keep," William said.

"The lands of Angria are rich and bountiful," FitzJames said.
"Surely they would be a great relief after the hardships of Weylin. I
suppose I should not be surprised either that you decided you want
your inheritance now."

"All I want is a life of peace."

"Your father--there was a soldier. There was a brave man. There was a
man who never let anything as trivial as a woman get in the way of
his loyalties."

"He never went to war over his insulted pride, either," William said.

Alexander, already shaking with nervousness, cried, "Are we here to
fight or to jaw?"

"Are you so eager to spill blood?" John shot back, and William put
his hand on his arm.

"Enough," he said. "I am ready." He tightened his fist around the
straps of his shield.

"To the death," FitzJames answered, and drew his sword.

A duel to show one's ability and grace, Katherine thought, was a
beautiful sight. She had loved to watch William and his men practice,
how they could switch so quickly from play to deadly concentration
and back, how William's whipcord strength bore him through even the
longest of brawls.

But this---

At least his feet were sure, and his legs showed no signs of failing
him. His arm was strong, his movements quick--bringing up his shield
to protect his side as he swung the sword towards FitzJames's leg,
dodging a blow, returning it--his face was tense and even from this
distance Katherine could see the sweat dripping from his brow.

First blood was his--the edge of his sword glanced from FitzJames's
jaw, and Henry called a stop to the fight as the wound was looked at.
William paced about as they waited, restless with undirected energy.
FitzJames fussed loudly at this, roaring he could fight all day and
all night, this was only a scratch, and his surgeon agreed he could
continue.

They began to fight once more, the sound of their clashing swords
louder than the waves. His wound had enraged FitzJames, and he
attacked William with fury. Parry and blow, parry and blow--until it
seemed to Katherine that William was retreating more than he was
advancing, that he could not hold his shield up so high.

She knew the wound was coming before it happened--FitzJames's sword
sliced through the air and through William's armor on his upper arm,
and once again Henry called a pause to the fight.

"Mother, no," Harry said again as Katherine prepared to go to him.

"I must," she said, and lifted up her skirts so she could run.

William's face was twisted with pain, and he was sitting on the
ground, clutching his wounded arm. "Katie," he said harshly, "you
shouldn't be here."

She went down on her knees and stroked his face with trembling
hands. "Make it stop, William," she said, "tell FitzJames anything he
wants, I'll do it--just please, stop this, William."

"No." He drank gratefully from the skin of water Margaret brought to
him and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grimaced as
Margaret poured the water over his wound and quickly bound it up.
"I'm ready," he said when his wound was tended, and Katherine leaned
her head against his neck and kissed him quickly. She tried to speak
but found she couldn't, and simply pushed herself to her feet and
stumbled back to the walls of Weylin to wait for the duel to end.
Harry took one look at her face and put his arms around her. They
watched silently as once more FitzJames and William began to fight.

His shield was heavy on his wounded arm, and William, though he knew
his skill was sure, was not certain he could win this fight. The
anger in FitzJames was driving him like a northman.

But William knew he had something much greater to fight for than
mere pride. The happiness of his love, his life--her little boy--her
entire family, his family, perhaps, to be--

He returned FitzJames's blows with renewed vigor, and FitzJames
reacted with surprise and William began to drive him across the
field. His arm was getting tired, William was sure of this, and he
knew FitzJames's habits and tricks. If he got tired he often became
careless, and would try for a simple death blow instead of a more
finessed movement--

He saw it--his chance--FitzJames's wrist was extended, vulnerable--
William brought down the pommel of his sword onto FitzJames's wrist
and FitzJames's fingers flew open.

His sword fell to the ground.

There were gasps from Weylin and murmurs from FitzJames's people,
and FitzJames stared at him and fell to his knees.

"Do it," he said, pulling at the collar of his shirt to bare his
neck. "Kill me, William. Fulfill your destiny."

Panting, William lowered his arm. "No," he said. "No, I am not going
to kill you. We have been friends and comrades. Despite everything
you have done, I cannot take your life. But in return for your life,
you must give up Angria."

"What?" FitzJames said, and the observers gasped and murmured again.

"Angria. You must give up Angria. It belongs to Harry, he is the
rightful heir. Go home, to your own home, FitzJames. Return to Angria
no more."

"Is it not enough that you have defeated me? You must humiliate me
as well?"

"Be glad I am not stripping you of your own lands as well," William
said shortly. "Rise. Leave my home. Leave my people alone. Put
Katherine out of your mind, for good. She is not and never be your
queen." He unbuckled the straps of his shield and let it fall to the
ground, and put his sword into the scabbard and turned towards
FitzJames's army. "All of you," he said, "we have fought together and
I respect you, and we can arrange for--"

He heard a roar from behind him and turned to see FitzJames coming
towards him, his sword upraised and his face purple with anger.

Oh God I have no defenses he's going to kill me---Katie I'm sorry---

There was the sharp whirr of an arrow flying through the air, and
FitzJames stopped. His face took on an expression of dismay and
wonder, and he put his hand to his heart, where the point of an arrow
protruded. His eyes widened and he said, "You---have won---" before he
fell onto his knees, and then onto his face. The feathered tip of the
arrow quivered in his back.

William gulped a breath of air, and turned to face Weylin. Who had
fired the shot? Who had acted so quickly? Whose aim was so true?

And he saw Katherine, her face flushed, the bow still in her hands.
Their eyes met, and she dropped the bow and ran out into the field.
He caught her in his arms--she was weeping, trembling, and her hands
were frantic as she touched him as if making certain he was not
further injured. "He was going to kill you," she gasped.

"I know, my love, you saved me."

"I could never let him hurt you more--William, my dear William--"

They kissed and she cried, and William's men surrounded them and
joined with those of FitzJames who had not fled when he fell. They
brought those remaining to William, and they all waited until he paid
them attention for his next order.

Katherine still in his arms, William finally looked to the waiting
men. He did not know what to tell them, but they were obviously
hanging on any order he could give them. He did not see Alexander's
face among them, but this did not surprise him. He tightened his arm
around Katherine and said, "My friends, we have been misled in the
past. The way is clear now, to make right what was wrong. Those among
you who feel you cannot support Harry as king, go now peacefully, and
do not oppose him. Those of you who can, you are welcome here. But
there will be no more deaths this day."

"William, will you not take the throne yourself?" someone cried, and
William could not read the expression that crossed Katherine's face.

"I will not," he said. "I have no need of a throne. I am not a
ruler. I am not a king. Harry is the rightful heir." He looked down
at her again, and was pleased to see a tiny smile on her lips. "Come,
friends," he called, "let there be no more fighting between us. We
will celebrate the restoration of a king!"

Cheers arose and Harry was lifted up on the shoulders of the men.
They bore him into Weylin, followed by the rest of the soldiers and
the inhabitants of Weylin.

Katherine and William were slower to follow. With the fight over,
William felt himself drained and weary. "Is it all right that I lean
on you?" he asked softly.

"You may lean on me all you need, my lord."

"Did I do right, Katie? Is this what Harry wants--what you want?"

"You did right. It is exactly what I want." She stopped walking and
cupped his face tenderly in her hand. "I want you exactly how you
are," she said. "My sweet, gentle, simple William."

"Simple?" he asked, smiling.

"Simple in life, not in mind. I am through with royalty and ruling.
I want only to raise my babies and watch the seasons pass." She
looked back over her shoulder, where FitzJames's body lay, forgotten.
"We need to bury him," she said softly.

"He will be put in holy ground. See, Margaret has already seen to
it." Indeed, servants were carrying out a bier on which to lay the
body. William sighed, and they continued their walk back into the
shelter of Weylin.

Something was nagging at his mind, however, and he said, "Babies? Do
I understand you, Katie?"

She smiled but did not look at him, and merely pressed herself
closer to his side. "It is good to start with one," she said. "What
do you think, William? A son for you at harvest?"

William stopped walking, and put his hands on Katherine waist. He
looked her seriously in the face, and she smiled more broadly and
moved his hands to her belly. Yes, there was the faintest roundness
there that he had not noticed before, being too preoccupied with
preparations for battle. Stiffly William got onto his knees and
kissed her belly and lay his check against it, and she stroked her
hands through his hair. "Does this please you?" she whispered.

"Beyond words," he said, and kissed her belly again tenderly. And
then he smiled and looked up at her. "My dear, you must marry me now.
I am not going to take 'no' for an answer. You are not going to have
an illegitimate child on my behalf."

"Very well, William," she said demurely.

"No arguments, Katie. In fact, every argument you have presented in
the past no longer applies. There is nothing to stand in our way now."

"You are quite right, William."

"Will you be my wife, Katie?"

"Yes, William," she said, and smiled.

William sighed again and pressed his face to her belly once more.
"But tomorrow," he said. "Is that all right?"

"One more day is not going to make a difference, at this point. And
you need to rest." She brought him to his feet and caressed his
cheek. "Come, my love," she said quietly. "Lie down so that I may
tend to you. I will watch over you as you sleep."

He kissed her hand and held onto it, and they went into Weylin.

And so they lived, if not happily ever after, certainly happier than
most. There were three beautiful, green--eyed children, who grew
strong and sturdy under their parents' care. There were grandchildren
in time, as John and Anna Rose made their own family and Harry took a
wife. Quaid grew to be a man much like his father, tall and handsome
and kind. Harry ruled well and wisely, and was much beloved by his
people. Angria and Weylin both were bountiful. Wars were fought only
to defend themselves against invaders, and most of their days were
filled with peace.

But time passed as it must do, and the day came when Katherine was
not so spry and merry as she had been. Her illness was swift, giving
them barely enough time to send for her children, and William could
not allow himself to sleep, not wanting to waste any of the minutes
that remained to them.

Near the end she said, holding onto his hand, "I have no regrets,
Will, I hope you know that."

"I have regrets," he said, and she looked at him with surprise. He
said, "I regret only that there was not more time for us. If,
perhaps, we had been friends as children, or young lovers, or given
to each other, bound together when we were but babies--"

"Shh," she said, putting her hand on his mouth. "I have praised God
every day that I have had you as long as I have. It is almost wicked
to ask for more."

"I will be wicked then, and ask for more."

"William," she said, in an affectionately frustrated tone he knew
well. "Forty years, more good than bad, is not enough for you?"

"Eternity would not be enough to enjoy you," he said, his voice
breaking, and he lay his head on her breast. She stroked his hair
gently as he wept, and he lifted his head only when her hand faltered
and stopped. He looked at her dearly loved face and closed his eyes
for a moment, and then closed her eyes with his hand and kissed her
lips. He folded her hands together on her breast and rose on stiff
knees to tell the children that their mother had gone on.

Before a year had passed, William took out his old drawings he had
made of her when they had first met. He bought a block of marble--the
finest white marble he could find--and hired a mason who agreed to
follow what he had designed. When the statue was finished he caused
it to be set upon Katherine's tomb, with but one word carved at the
base.

Beloved.



The End.

Thanks to Fabiana for the idea, to Kelly for editing and
encouragement, and to you for joining me on this strange little
exploration.