Peering into the cottage that seemed full of women, he saw a bed in the corner, where Wenna must be, and a crude cradle beside it. A fire burned in the hearth and candles—too expensive for a peasant, so likely provided by Bea—lit the low-ceilinged building.
Then Ranulf saw Bea standing beside the cradle and forgot everything and everyone else.
She held Wenna’s babe in her arms as if it were her own, and as he looked at her, a longing more powerful than anything he had ever felt before seized him. He yearned to see Bea with their child in her arms, a baby with golden hair and bright blue eyes.
Wenna murmured something and, smiling, Bea said, “You’re welcome to come in, my lord.”
He ducked under the lintel and the women made way for Bea to approach him. She was plainly dressed as usual, and her hair was in one long braid. Although her eyes sparkled with happiness, she looked as if she hadn’t slept all night.
“Here he is, my lord. Isn’t he lovely?” she said, raising the infant for him to see.
As far as Ranulf could tell, the child looked like most newborn babies, except that this one was completely bald. “Yes, he’s a very fine baby,” he agreed, once more imagining their child in her arms.
“He’s going to be called Gawan, after his father,” Bea said softly.
Ranulf wanted to vow then and there, in the hearing of Bea and all these women, that Gawan’s murder would be solved and avenged. But he wouldn’t promise what he couldn’t guarantee.
Instead, Ranulf went to Wenna, white and thin under the sheets, her belly still swollen from the pregnancy. After asking her leave to sit, he perched on the side of the bed. “Your son looks to be a very fine and healthy boy, Wenna. In time to come, I’ll need a page. I would be pleased to offer your son that place.”
And, it went unsaid, then he could become a squire and, quite possibly, a knight.
The dark-haired woman regarded him with wide, wondering eyes, although what he offered seemed little enough to him. The babe had lost his father, a fine fellow by all accounts, such as Ranulf’s had never been. “I need good men, and from what I’ve heard of your husband, your son should serve me well and be a credit to his family.”
Wenna burst into tears.
As Ranulf rather awkwardly got to his feet, the other women likewise started sobbing, and even Maloren surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes. Bea, however, looked at him as if he were an angel bringing glory, her eyes shining with happiness and a smile on her lips.
He was no angel, as he knew all too well.
“You must be tired, my lady,” he said to her. “Let me take you home.”
She nodded her agreement. “Maloren, come take little Gawan,” she said. “Please stay here and help Wenna.”
Bea suddenly seemed uncertain as she glanced at Ranulf. “Unless you want us to leave Penterwell today?”
“Not today,” he said firmly.Not ever. “You’re much too tired.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, as if he were doing her a great favor.
If she only knew how much he wanted her to stay!
“I’ll make sure she rests,” he said to Maloren, and to prevent Maloren from insisting on going with them. “I’m sure there’s no one better suited to look after a baby than you.”
He gave the other women a courtly bow. “Although I’m also sure you’ll not lack for willing and experienced helpers,” he added.
As the other women blushed, exchanged pleased looks and whispered among themselves, he fetched Bea’s cloak and wordlessly opened the door. Surprisingly, she said nothing. That told him she must be very tired indeed.
He saw at once that the fog was lifting, and they could easily make their way without a torch. They walked back toward the castle in silence. No doubt later, after she had rested, Bea would have much to say about the birthing.
Before she went back to Tregellas.
She tripped over a rock, stumbling forward. Without thinking, he caught her and swept her up in his arms, holding her close.
“What…what are you doing?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You’re exhausted. I’m going to carry you back so you don’t hurt yourself.”
“I can walk,” she protested, albeit halfheartedly.
