outside a castle on the way to Annandale, their flesh eaten by birds. But there had been something unreal about them. They weren’t people he knew.
8
Robert limped across the room, careful not to disturb the sleeping forms of his brothers. Alexander was curled on his side, his face in the nightlight’s glow tense with some inner concern. Thomas was on his back, one arm flung over the edge of his bed, the blanket tangled around his legs. Passing Niall, Robert saw his brother’s eyes were open, watching him. Putting a finger to his lips, he slipped out of the door.
He headed down the gloomy passageway, using the wall for support, the boom of the sea masking his footsteps. He passed the room his sisters shared. Further down, an urgent crying was coming from the small chamber adjacent to his parents’ room. The door was ajar and candlelight spilled out. Robert edged closer, his knee beneath the tight wrap of linen throbbing. He glimpsed the back of the wet nurse as she turned in a slow circle, cradling his sister Matilda, the source of the wails. Then he was moving on, heading for his parents’ room.
He paused outside, dreading to hear his father’s voice. Perhaps the council was finished already? But, no, it was still early and he hadn’t heard his father’s footsteps on the stairs. There was silence beyond. Robert pushed open the door, causing the flames of the candles in the room to flicker.
‘Is that you, Robert?’
His mother’s voice came from the bed, surrounded at the head by wine-red drapes.
‘No,’ murmured Robert, knowing she meant his father.
The covers shifted as she sat up. She parted the drapes, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. The room’s shadows were caught in her face, bruising her eyes and filling the hollows of her cheeks. The birth of Matilda the month before had not been easy and his mother had hardly left her bed since.
‘Are you in pain?’ Concern filtered through her tired voice.
Robert’s knee was aching, so too was the gash on his head that the physician had stitched, but he didn’t want this to get in the way of what he had come here for. ‘No,’ he said, limping closer to the bed, unable to imagine the old woman from the cramped house in the valley ever setting foot in this fine room, adorned with its drapes, rugs and carved furniture. ‘Tell me about my birth.’
His mother’s face filled with surprise, then she looked away. Something seized Robert inside. There had been guilt in that look.
‘Why such a question?’
‘I . . .’ He faltered. The cry of his baby sister filled his silence. ‘Matilda,’ he said suddenly. ‘It made me wonder what my birth was like. Was it difficult like hers?’
His mother stared at him, then sighed. ‘We thought for some time that you would never come into this world.’ She reached out and touched his cheek. ‘But you did.’
Robert pulled away at her touch, impatient for answers. He decided to be blunt. ‘I lied today.’ He saw her frown and he looked down, picking at a fingernail, torn in the fall. ‘I wasn’t on my own in the woods. Someone found me. Helped me.’
His mother had drawn back from him.
‘The old woman with the dogs.’
Her hand tightened around the bedcovers.
‘She said something.’ Robert met his mother’s gaze. ‘She said she delivered me.’
‘Yes,’ murmured the countess.
Robert shook his head, not wanting to believe it. ‘But she’s a witch! How could you let her . . .?’ He couldn’t finish. The thought of the old woman’s filthy hands being the first thing on his naked body made him feel sick. He didn’t stop to think that she would have been younger then. In his mind she had always been a withered crone.
‘Some might call her a witch,’ said his mother quietly, ‘others a healer.’
‘I thought Ede delivered me. You told me she delivered all your children, even Margaret.’ Robert noticed her face grow taut at the careless reference to his half-sister. His mother’s
8
Robert limped across the room, careful not to disturb the sleeping forms of his brothers. Alexander was curled on his side, his face in the nightlight’s glow tense with some inner concern. Thomas was on his back, one arm flung over the edge of his bed, the blanket tangled around his legs. Passing Niall, Robert saw his brother’s eyes were open, watching him. Putting a finger to his lips, he slipped out of the door.
He headed down the gloomy passageway, using the wall for support, the boom of the sea masking his footsteps. He passed the room his sisters shared. Further down, an urgent crying was coming from the small chamber adjacent to his parents’ room. The door was ajar and candlelight spilled out. Robert edged closer, his knee beneath the tight wrap of linen throbbing. He glimpsed the back of the wet nurse as she turned in a slow circle, cradling his sister Matilda, the source of the wails. Then he was moving on, heading for his parents’ room.
He paused outside, dreading to hear his father’s voice. Perhaps the council was finished already? But, no, it was still early and he hadn’t heard his father’s footsteps on the stairs. There was silence beyond. Robert pushed open the door, causing the flames of the candles in the room to flicker.
‘Is that you, Robert?’
His mother’s voice came from the bed, surrounded at the head by wine-red drapes.
‘No,’ murmured Robert, knowing she meant his father.
The covers shifted as she sat up. She parted the drapes, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. The room’s shadows were caught in her face, bruising her eyes and filling the hollows of her cheeks. The birth of Matilda the month before had not been easy and his mother had hardly left her bed since.
‘Are you in pain?’ Concern filtered through her tired voice.
Robert’s knee was aching, so too was the gash on his head that the physician had stitched, but he didn’t want this to get in the way of what he had come here for. ‘No,’ he said, limping closer to the bed, unable to imagine the old woman from the cramped house in the valley ever setting foot in this fine room, adorned with its drapes, rugs and carved furniture. ‘Tell me about my birth.’
His mother’s face filled with surprise, then she looked away. Something seized Robert inside. There had been guilt in that look.
‘Why such a question?’
‘I . . .’ He faltered. The cry of his baby sister filled his silence. ‘Matilda,’ he said suddenly. ‘It made me wonder what my birth was like. Was it difficult like hers?’
His mother stared at him, then sighed. ‘We thought for some time that you would never come into this world.’ She reached out and touched his cheek. ‘But you did.’
Robert pulled away at her touch, impatient for answers. He decided to be blunt. ‘I lied today.’ He saw her frown and he looked down, picking at a fingernail, torn in the fall. ‘I wasn’t on my own in the woods. Someone found me. Helped me.’
His mother had drawn back from him.
‘The old woman with the dogs.’
Her hand tightened around the bedcovers.
‘She said something.’ Robert met his mother’s gaze. ‘She said she delivered me.’
‘Yes,’ murmured the countess.
Robert shook his head, not wanting to believe it. ‘But she’s a witch! How could you let her . . .?’ He couldn’t finish. The thought of the old woman’s filthy hands being the first thing on his naked body made him feel sick. He didn’t stop to think that she would have been younger then. In his mind she had always been a withered crone.
‘Some might call her a witch,’ said his mother quietly, ‘others a healer.’
‘I thought Ede delivered me. You told me she delivered all your children, even Margaret.’ Robert noticed her face grow taut at the careless reference to his half-sister. His mother’s
Similar Books
