The Blue Falcon (19 page)

“
I beg to decline, seigneur,” she whispered faintly.
“
I do not feel well.”

Conan raised himself onto one elbow and looked down at her.
“
What troubles you?” he asked as gently as he could.

“
I beg your forgiveness, Conan,” she said softly.
“
I would not torture you. Truly, I feel ill.”

Concern for her health caused his brow to wrinkle.
“
What is it, love?” he asked.
“
What has made you ill?”

“
It is naught to trouble yourself with, Conan. This sickness
t
hat comes with the babe often passes when the child begins to move. The castle women tell me that it is a passing thing. I do not fear. But I cannot give you ease. I fear the sickness. I trust it will pass.”

“
Can I help you? I can bring you herbed wine or
--
”

“
Oh, please,” she moaned.
“
I dare not think of eating or drinking.”

Conan withdrew slightly. He gave her hands an under
standing pat, though his frustration by now was complete. He relaxed into the feather tick and lay quietly beside her, knowing she did not sleep any better than he. He could not lash out at her
--
it was his child that made her ill
--
but it took every ounce of his composure to keep from stomping like a spoiled child. Making love to Edwina would have been the one solace in an otherwise troubled day.

Visions of himself as the landholder and warrior flashed through his mind. His shield was respected and often praised in these parts. His handsomeness was declared by many women who openly swore their desire. His chivalry and courtly manners brought him attention from earls and dukes. But here, in his own home, he met with discord. His keep was not well managed in his absence, when he was hungry he could not find food, and when he sought to ease his troubled mind even his seduction could not be answered here. He held himself back from cursing this marriage and his hopeless lot, for the child growing in his wife’s womb was the start of a promise that answered a vital need within him. For that reason he could not be angry with Edwina. He held dear the fact that she suffered bravely with his seed.

He rose from the bed carefully so as not to disturb her sleep.

“
Conan?” she questioned softly.

“
Rest, love,” he murmured.

“
Where do you go?”

He turned to her guiltily, leaning over to place a kiss on her brow.
“
I find it difficult to lie beside you, love, and not take you in my arms. I will walk about the hall for a time.”

“
Conan, I know I have failed you,” she whispered.
“
I will not question you. Go where you will.”

“
Edwina, I do not leave your side to seek out another woman.”

“
I could not be angry with you
--
”

“
But have I shown myself to be a man of little faith? Have I given you cause to think I do not hold my vows dear?”

“
Never, Conan. But neither were you faced with so many disappointments in earlier days. I tell you now that I under
stand.”

“
Then understand this, lady. I care only that you are resting and nurturing the life I gave you to carry. My other problems I will manage without ever bringing a slight to your name.” And as he spoke the words, he felt them in his heart. He knew he could never hurt her. She, who would willingly give him to another who could serve his needs better, had learned the way of truly unquestioning love.
Would that I could return it,
he thought with some discomfort. But his mind was firm. He would do all he could to show her the same unselfish devotion she showed him.
“
I would do nothing to dishonor you, Edwina. Rest easy.”

“
You are a good man, Conan,” she said sleepily.
“
I could not have known how fortunate I would be.”

Wearily Conan made his way to the lower level of the hall, feeling more than seeing his way, for he had no torch or candle. There were a few who had made pallets in the hall, but many had found other lodgings for the night. There was one man still awake and sitting before the hearth, his dark mantle shrouding his face. As Conan approached, Mallory turned and looked. Neither seemed pleased with the other’s company.

“
The fire has died down,” Mallory said.

“
Dawn will come soon enough. Will you be ready to ride with the rest?”

“
Have I ever made you late, my lord?” he returned somewhat angrily.

“
Never,” Conan replied, staring back into the glowing embers.
“
The game may already be deep in the forest. It will be a long day
--
longer still to ride with a man plagued by some reluctant maid.”

Mallory’s head snapped up in surprise, and the look he gave Conan was not one of fondness.
“
What makes you think I am troubled by a woman?”

Conan laughed and drew himself up. He rummaged about a bit to find two mugs and filled them both from the pitcher. It
w
as a sight that would have left a simple serf bemused, for to see two great knights sitting upon the rushes before the fire quaffing ale was a rare sight. Conan was usually surrounded by much aplomb, taking the highest place in the hall, the lord’s chair. Serfs and peasants were the ones to sit on the floor.

Conan took a long pull on his drink.
“
You have no family to worry you, and Thurwell is no more surly than ever. He has found some wench from the village to warm the night, but what of you? The women upon the road never saw your smile, and you turned no favors their way
--
to their good fortune I am sure, for no doubt you would have disappointed them greatly.”

“
You should pay such close attention to your horses,” Mallory grumbled.

“
Who is the fair dame?”

“
Do not burden yourself, my lord. I have not touched the maid.”

Conan laughed and then whistled low.
“
More the bite! Will she have none of you?”

Mallory trusted in Conan’s friendship and understanding, but those could easily give way to wrath once Conan learned ‘twas Edythe that dwelt in every
corner
of his mind. He sighed.
“
Her family is wealthy.”

“
Ah,” Conan acknowledged.
“
Does her family not see the merits of having a knight of Henry in their household?”

“
I’ve had no dealings with her family on that score,” Mallory returned sullenly.
“
Nor do I intend to. I am not a suitable match for the maid.”

“
And what of the maid? Has she nothing to say on the matter?”

“
Nay, she will not speak of me, because I forbade her and she will honor me. I begged her hold her tongue so that no suspicion of ill doings would lay heavy on her father’s mind, though I tell you true, I have not spoiled her. Yet I would stay in the family’s good graces. I know they cannot have me.”

“
You have not thought of acquiring the wealth needed to buy her hand?”

“
There is no time. Her father’s wealth could bring her a fine lord, and a year of full moons could not bring me the livres to buy her.”

“
Perhaps her father would allow you the time.”

“
Without a family name to lean upon? Nay, he would not be so foolish.”

“
She must indeed be a goddess, for I have never known the dame that could leave you with such a low opinion of yourself. What is her preference?”

Mallory sighed.
“
She swears she will take the veil rather than the choice of her father. ‘Tis a burden of guilt greater than I had hoped to bear, since I cannot free the maid from such an oath.”

“
A better fate for her, I think, than should her wish come true.”

“
By the rood, Conan, ‘tis a poor time for jesting
--
”

“
Jest? Nay. In truth, the maid’s determination outpaces your own. If you love her, find a way to have her. What more risk than laying your life in your king’s hands? For a damsel worthy, I would risk all.”

Mallory looked at Conan closely. He could easily guess what problems Conan had.
“
What would you risk, Conan?”

Conan was quiet for a moment. Working hard and fighting would not bring him his love. That was no longer an option.
“
I am pledged to my lady wife and I would risk all for her
--
on my honor.”

Mallory made no response. Both men stared into the fire for a long while. Conan finally broke the silence.
“
We ride at dawn’s first light.”

“
I will be mounted with the rest,” Mallory returned, rising to leave.

Conan stayed before the fire, considering the events that had led him to this position. His decision to marry was hastened by his mother’s advice and warning. He regretted his haste now. Regardless of the stress of fighting for a maid, he would welcome the chance to try.

As the embers faded, he lay upon the rushes, his eyes closed as he tried to envision how things might have been. By the time the sun cast its first rays over Stoddard walls, he was up and in the stables, preparing for the long day ahead.

Strict orders were left with the bailiff to see to matters in the hall, and the word was passed that Conan would not return until he was well satisfied with the game.

Conan was astride before many of his men had eaten and finished dressing. His head was covered with the hood of his woolen gamberson, and a surcoat and heavy woolen mantle
o
f dull gray were still little protection against the biting cold. His helm was resting on his saddle horn, and he watched impatiently as his riders scrambled to mount their horses before he was far ahead of them.

Two men near the rear of the troop grumbled as they hurried to catch up with the departing troop.
“
Curse the lady for not keeping him abed until the sun rises,” said one.

“
He was up the night,” said the other.
“
There must be nettles in his bed.”

“
And for those nettles we will pay a dear price,” returned the first.
“
He will ride us until we drop.”

***

The game the hunters sought was deep in the forest. They returned with boar and deer, rabbit and fox. Conan kept his troop in the wood for three days, giving himself time to set his mind to his oath again and giving the castle folk time to prove their worth.

As he entered the keep, he thought perhaps he had returned too soon, for he found the hall cold and dark. He could almost feel the lash in his hand, believing the villeins had paid no attention to his warning. He did not wait for any report from the bailiff but strode in, barking orders. Fires must be stoked, pots hung, meat cleaned and applied to spits for cooking. Within moments there was a new light in the hall and a mad scurrying to comply with the lord’s wishes. Kegs of ale were swiftly provided, and the men entering met with servants eager to help them disarm themselves and to offer a drink.

Conan had not noticed that Edwina was not there to greet him. A castle woman approached him and gently tugged at his sleeve.
“
Monseigneur, your lady is ill.”

He frowned. Even though the condition of things in this hall had not pleased him when he had returned from his earlier business, the hall had not been so quiet and dark. Fear gnawed at him and he stared at the woman.

“
My lord, she calls for you.”

“
What is her ailment?” he asked.

“
She has miscarried, my lord.”

His eyes widened in surprise.
“
The child? Dead?”

“
Lost, monseigneur. ‘Twas a son, far too early born.”

Conan felt an ache creep into his throat. He had never wept, even as a child. A man child was taught early to mask
h
urt and pain behind a strength that was impossible to penetrate. He looked about the room for some sign of comfort, but there was none. Even this hall held no pleasure for him. But the men were quiet, watching him. The word had traveled quickly.

He turned abruptly so that no one would see the glistening of his eyes. He felt a sudden rush of tears threatening to spill. He moved quickly in the direction of his wife’s bedchamber. Just inside the door stood Mallory, watching Conan’s flight in confusion. Conan did not pause to explain his sorrow to his friend.