The Fatal Crown (36 page)

His lips scorched a path down her belly and beyond, to explore the warmth of her sex, fueling the fire within her until she almost screamed to have it quenched. She arched back in ecstatic abandon, and in one quick movement he was deep inside her, filling her with intense rapture.

When Maud finally opened her eyes, she felt she could not move so much as a muscle. A deep contentment welled up within her, and she thought she would overflow with love. Stephen stretched and reluctantly left the bed to peer outside.

“It grows late. Gervase will be here at any moment. We must dress,” he said.

“I’m so sore I doubt if I can ride back to London,” she complained, watching him pull on his underdrawers and hose.

“Indeed? Perhaps it is like the cure for a night’s carousing: A hair of the dog that bit you is a wondrous remedy.” He walked slowly toward the bed.

“No,” she cried, quickly jumping up. “I have had sufficient of your cures—for the moment. Sweet Marie, do you never get enough?”

“Of you? Impossible.” He began to imitate the strut of a preening peacock. “In truth, Madam, I confess I have not hit my full stride. This was merely an interlude while I warmed to the task. Had we time enough I would prove it to you.” He rolled his eyes as he pulled on his tunic, buckled his belt, and knelt to slip on his boots.

Maud laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. “Peacock, indeed! Do you know we have not had our clothes on since yesterday? I barely recognize you.” She looked around the room, suddenly aware that there was no tub for her to bathe in. “Is there a wooden tub about?” she asked.

“I have not seen one,” he said. “But the water is hot.” He pointed to the large kettle that stood on the trivet near the fire. “Will that do?”

She nodded, aware now that she had also forgotten to take the herbs yesterday. Well, there was still time, she reasoned. The kettle was not big enough to sit in, but once she dissolved the herbs in water, she could wash herself off at least. That would have to do.

Outside there was the sound of a horse approaching. Stephen grimaced, ran to the door, and poked his head out.

“Give us a moment,” he called, closing the door. “It’s Gervase,” he told Maud, walking over to her and clasping her in his arms. “Dearest, dearest Maud, what joy you have given me.”

She threw her arms around him and tenderly covered his face with kisses. “Sweet love, I cannot let you go.”

He laughed, fending her off as he searched for his mantle in the rushes. “Hurry. We are to join up with the others where the road to London forks outside the New Forest, and we must arrive first so it will appear we came from Winchester.”

“When will I see you alone again?” She followed him to the door.

“Really, Madam, and you call me insatiable? Soon, I promise you. I had best wait outside lest I be attacked again.” Laughing, he slipped out the door.

She emptied half the box of herbs into the kettle, and, singing softly, began to bathe. Totally fulfilled, at peace with herself and the world, Maud felt happier than ever before in her life.

I
N EARLY JULY, THREE
weeks after Maud and Stephen’s interlude outside Winchester, the court moved to Normandy where it became almost impossible for them to see each other alone. Much of the time Stephen was gone on the King’s business or seeing to his estates at Mortain. Thus he was away when Maud realized that her monthly flux was overdue.

At first she thought she was just late, even though she was as regular in her courses as the bells tolling the eight services of the canonical offices. After nine days had passed, Maud knew she could no longer put off confronting the horrifying possibility that she might be with child.

“What shall I do?” she asked Aldyth, one morning while they were alone in her chamber at the ducal palace in Rouen. She dreaded the reproach she felt sure would be forthcoming.

The Saxon nurse looked at Maud as one who, expecting the worst, is vindicated when it occurs. “When were your courses due exactly?” she asked in a calm voice.

“Eight or nine days ago.”

“Let me see now, that would be a fortnight after you returned from Winchester in mid-June. Did you follow my instructions with the herbs?”

Maud thought for a moment. “More or less. I could not follow them exactly. There was no tub to soak in and I did not remember to take the herbs after the first time—that is to say, I only took them later—” She let her words trail off, suddenly sick with fear.

“Very well, let us assume the worst and see about getting rid of the difficulty. A ride in a jolting cart or running up and down stairs is said to be most effective. Wild thyme, I have heard, often works with dispatch, as well as yellow dock or horseradish—why do you look like that?”

Maud had walked to the window slit to look down upon the courtyard where Queen Alix enjoyed the morning air with her women.

“The thought of—I cannot bear to think of getting rid of the babe,” she replied with her back to Aldyth.

“Naturally, for it is against Holy Writ.” Aldyth signed herself. “But it’s a bit late to be concerned about the wages of sin, if I may say so,” she added sharply. “Did I not warn you what to expect? ‘As you sow thus shall you reap.’ But all that is neither here nor there now. You have no other choice but to be rid of this unwanted seed.”

“Unwanted? For years everyone thought I was barren, including myself.” She turned from the window. “Suppose I were to have the babe?”

Aldyth looked at her in horror. “Have the—are you out of your wits, child? Consider the consequences! Should anyone suspect you carry a bastard seed, your hopes for the crown are gone and your reputation ruined beyond repair. Geoffrey of Anjou would be well within his rights to cast you aside, force you into a convent, or”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“even worse.”

“Worse?”

“If a husband learns that his wife is to bear another man’s child, who can say to what lengths he may be driven? And what do you think King Henry would do to one who brought such dishonor upon the House of Normandy? Not to mention Holy Church! Branded with the stain of adultery—”

“Stop! Stop! You have made your point. I agree we must terminate this—encumbrance.”

But later, as Maud walked down the staircase to the great hall, she was still in turmoil, still undecided. Ridding oneself of an unwanted child certainly occurred, despite the strictures of Holy Church. Women—especially midwives—often came to the aid of erring females who had nowhere else to turn. In theory Maud did not disagree with such a practice. The sensible thing to do, of course, was abort the babe, yet Maud shrank from the thought of destroying this evidence of Stephen’s love. How she wished he were here so that she might discuss the matter with him.

It was too early for the noon meal and the great hall was half empty but for the servants laying the trestle tables, a few barons gossiping in one corner, and the steward going over his accounts. On a raised dais at the far end of the hall stood the ancient seat of the Dukes of Normandy. Maud walked to the dais and reached up to touch the carved wooden back of the ducal chair. Richard the Fearless, Duke Robert the Magnificent, Duke William Bastard—all her illustrious forebears had sat in this chair since time out of mind. One day, as Duchess of Normandy, she expected to sit here as well, and her son and grandson after her.

Her son. She touched her belly with hesitant fingers. Could she really bring herself to abort Stephen’s child? Probably all she would ever have of him for her very own, the only tangible fruit of their all-consuming passion for each other. To destroy this tiny spark of life was to destroy the very essence of their love.

The steward blew his horn and the hall began to fill with the King’s mesnie and guests. Waleran of Muelan entered with his wife, whose face bore a dark bruise on her left cheekbone. One eye was half closed, she was pale as death, and in obvious distress. No one made mention of her unsightly condition for it was common knowledge that Waleran abused his wife if she earned his displeasure, and none wished to interfere in a husband’s conjugal rights.

Briefly, Maud forgot her own troubles as she spared the Countess of Muelan a sympathetic glance, and sent Waleran a hostile glare. The man was an animal, not fit for human company, yet he was entitled to do just as he pleased with his wife. As was Geoffrey of Anjou. During the remainder of the meal, Maud barely listened to the conversation at the table, totally preoccupied with the dire consequences of her condition and unable to decide which course to follow.

“Wool-gathering, Cousin?”

Maud looked up to find Stephen smiling down at her.

“I thought you still in Mortain,” she said, a wave of joy flooding through her as she made a place for him.

“I have just this moment returned. All is well with you?”

“I’ve missed you,” Maud said under her breath, avoiding his question. She toyed with a piece of guinea fowl on her trencher.

“If you could manage to be in your chamber directly after the meal, I would speak with you,” Stephen whispered. “Only for a moment, so there is no danger I will compromise you.”

“I will be there.”

Directly the meal was over Maud went to her chamber.

“I expect Count Stephen,” she told Aldyth, with a covert glance at her women. “Can you take my ladies outside for a moment?”

“You will see him alone in your chamber?” Aldyth’s face was aghast.

“For a moment only. I will leave the door open for propriety’s sake.”

“Does—he know yet?” Aldyth asked.

“I intend to tell him now.”

Aldyth’s anxious eyes met hers. “Listen to me, I beg you say nothing. Not to him, not to anyone.” She then left the chamber followed by the attendant ladies.

There was a note of urgency in Aldyth’s voice that disturbed her, despite Maud’s knowledge that the Saxon nurse had taken an unreasoning dislike to Stephen from the very beginning.

Her cousin appeared a few moments later. “I am off for a day’s hunting with Robin and Waleran, so there is not much time,” he said rapidly. “I’ve found a place for us, just outside the city gates, the home of a wealthy farmer who travels to Paris sometime tomorrow with all his family. The twins and I will spend the night outside Rouen so I must meet you the day after, about noon. Go to the marketplace—”

“There will be talk if I go alone.”

“Then take Aldyth with you. Linger at the silk stall. Gervase will meet you there and bring you to me.”

Stephen cast a quick look at the empty passage, then pulled her into his arms. “It’s been too long, and I’m on fire.” He kissed her hungrily. “Can you arrange it?” he asked against her lips.

“Yes,” Maud said, her eyes darting continually to the open door. Her heart began to beat heavily, her throat was so dry she could hardly speak. “Stephen—there is another matter—something I must—” She stopped.

“Yes, my love, must what?” he prompted.

Maud looked deeply into his green eyes, misty with desire. She opened her lips, but the words would not come. Her gaze suddenly dropped, and she moved back from the protective circle of his arms. She never knew what strength of will prevented her from blurting out to Stephen that she carried his child. With every fiber of her being she longed to tell him, but some primeval instinct for survival bade her hold back. A totally wild thought had entered her mind: She must protect the babe at all costs. Even from the one person she loved most in all the world.

“This is very dangerous—you had best go,” she stammered finally, as he reached for her again.

Reluctantly, he stepped back with a nod. Then his eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to one side. “I have the feeling you did not tell me what you had intended. Is something amiss, dear love?”

Maud forced a smile as an inspired thought occurred to her. “A female ailment. I am just at the end of my monthly flux, you understand how we women are at such times. I should be quite recovered when next we meet.”

Stephen’s face cleared. “My sympathies. You must try my wondrous remedy for ailing females, which I will be most happy to show you the day after tomorrow.” With a suggestive wink he whipped off his scarlet cap, made her an elaborate bow, then started for the door.

“Stephen!” Maud cried, running after him.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” she whispered, clinging to him as if her life depended upon it. “Whatever happens, you must always remember that. Promise me you will never doubt it.”

Stephen’s face radiated tenderness, and Maud felt her heart dissolve in anguish. “Never. How strange you are today.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, walked out the door, and disappeared down the passage.

Holding a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming aloud, Maud ran to the window slit. In the courtyard below, the de Beaumont twins waited on their horses, surrounded by huntsmen and grooms. After a few moments Stephen appeared. Stephen, her heart cried, Stephen, my love. As Maud watched, he mounted his mare and followed the twins out of the courtyard. There was something familiar about his retreating head, and suddenly she remembered that the first time she had seen him as a young boy, passing her on his way to Windsor, he had worn a scarlet cap set at the same jaunty angle.

Tears coursed down her cheeks, her body ached with the pain of her devastating loss. But she had made up her mind: She intended to go back to Anjou and have Stephen’s child.

After a sleepless night, Maud decided on how she might best accomplish her return to Geoffrey. Directly the morning Mass was over, she broke her fast in the great hall, then sought an interview with her father. She found him in his council chamber, crouched, as usual, over a charcoal brazier despite the warmth of the July morning. The Bishop of Salisbury sat across from him, his head nodding. Two old men, she thought, not long for this world, who, between them, held sway over the entire Norman realm. Maud had never liked Bishop Roger, whose loyalty, she felt, could be bought by the highest bidder. Well aware that he had never approved of her as the King’s heir, or the Angevin marriage, she was determined he should not be privy to her decision.