Chapter Thirteen
Warwick Castle
Anne awoke in a surly mood. It was odd the way she noticed her own ill temper. She was not hungry and did not care for what was offered to break her fast, either.
She sniffed at herself because what did it matter what was served to them in their prison if she was not hungry?
With a huff she paced around the solar. Anne stopped to pick at the finished tapestry, the silk thread having brought Brodick to life in stunning display.
She fingered his dark hair. Her mother was abnormally quiet this morning, slowly knitting on the round.
Looking back at the tapestry, she felt a shiver race down her spine.
It was almost as if she heard him riding towards her.
Which was foolish.
He’ll come for you…
Bonnie’s sweet words echoed from her memory.
It seemed so long ago that they had shared that last moment together.
One short season, and so many things were changed.
Her entire body quivered as she recalled watching her sire depart that morning.
Sweat popped out on her forehead as she heard Bonnie talking about the child she would birth in the fall.
Through the windows, she could see the scarlet leaves.
Bundles of barley were standing in the fields, drying in the last of the warm weather.
She was so lonely, the sight of the tapestry made her want to cry. She paced around the room, hating the stone walls. A chill raced down her back and then her entire spine turned warm. She stopped as a cramp tightened along her hip line.
Her surcoat was too warm. Opening the buttons that closed the top of it, Anne laid it over the foot of the bed. It was still much too hot in the solar. Her body shuddered as another cramp moved through her. A rush of warm fluid down her thighs made her gasp.
“Well, I thought it was that time.”
Her mother calmly knelt and wiped up the puddle. The cloth she used turned pink.
Ivy stood up. “Don’t worry, Anne, that is the way it goes. It is normal.”
She didn’t have time to argue with her mother’s calm statement. Another cramp began and this one was much stronger. Leaning over, Anne braced her hands on her thighs while the pain moved through her.
“Breathe, Anne. Long, deep breaths. You must for the child.”
The curtain suddenly moved, Lady Mary looking in.
“Is it time?”
Ivy glared at the girl but Mary didn’t wait for an answer. She smiled, greed brightening her eyes.
“Mother, Mother…it’s time.”
There was a scuff of shoes against the stone floor. Philipa peered into the room as Anne straightened up.
“Good. Very good. I’ll get the cook to keep the water at hand.” Philipa nodded. “Mind your screams, girl. Make too much noise and I won’t be able to make the staff believe that your child is Mary’s.”
“Now is not the time for threats.”
Philipa was stunned by Ivy’s words. She pushed her lips into a line of disapproval but Ivy was not intimidated.
“We’ve work to do here. Birthing is not an easy task.”
Philipa bit back her words. “No, it is not.” For a mere moment there was a glimmer of compassion in her face but it died quickly and the curtain dropped back into place.
“Bitter, poisonous woman,” Ivy said as she began arranging the items she’d had brought to the room. “Take no notice of her, Anne.”
Anne couldn’t have, even if she’d wanted to.
She was held captive by her own body. The day bled away as she walked around the solar, stopping for each cramp.
She shed her under gown, only able to tolerate her chemise.
Even her stockings irritated her legs. The stone floor was cool beneath her bare feet.
She sighed as she paced more, at last free of the overwhelming heat.
“It’s time…it’s time.”
Mary twirled around the room, adding a few dance steps into her motions. “Oh, Mother, you were so right.”
Philipa basked in the admiration from her child. Contentment mixed with a sense of achievement inside her. Mary would never have to endure the things that she had been forced to when her father ordered her to marry. She had succeeded in giving her child a better life than her own.
That was the greatest gift a mother could give.
“Here now, Toby, lend a hand.”
Joyce scolded her son when she caught him watching the guards in the lower courtyard. The clang of swords drifted in through the window, drawing his young attention. He’d watch them train all afternoon if she allowed it.
“Mother, can I be a knight?”
“If a saint or two looks kindly on you, blessing you with strength and skill. Mayhap.” Joyce kissed the top of his head, smiling with a mother’s joy.
“We’ll have to place you in the captain’s path and see that he gets a good look at how tall and strong you are growing.
You shall have to look him straight in the eye, though, so that he knows you have courage. ”
Toby grinned, showing off the gap where his front teeth had fallen out.
“But that’s for later. The mistress will be having her comforts and there is supper to get on the tables. For now, you earn your keep in the kitchen like your mother.”
Joyce turned to apply her tongue to the hands that had begun working slowly as the morning faded away.
Clapping her hands, she shook her long wooden spoon at her staff.
Lazy wenches, they took advantage of her good will when Toby was in the kitchen.
Aye, they slowed down knowing that she was soft toward her youngest child.
“Get that wine mulled before the mistress calls for it. I’ll see you bent over in the fields if you get me summoned to her chamber because you’re dreaming the day away.”
There was a clatter of copper pots as the coals were poked and the wine set to heating.
Toby waited for it, carefully balancing the tray as his feet moved swiftly toward the mistress’s chamber.
He lifted the heavy door knocker and let it fall onto the door.
It seemed to take a long time for the heavy panel to open.
“Mulled wine, Mistress.”
“Yes, yes. Well don’t stand there while it cools.”
With wide eyes, Toby scurried into the room, trying not to stare at the opulent furnishings. To his young eyes, the decorative wood carvings on the bedpost looked like something from Chaucer.
“Don’t forget the soiled tray. Its scent is foul.”
Forcing his gaze onto his task, Toby gathered the soiled linens that were lying on the table.
Dropping them on the soiled morning tray, he made sure to take the heavy silver goblet, too, so that it might be cleaned.
He was just picking up the tray when he spied the small glass jar sitting near a book.
It was full of spices and clearly belonged in the kitchen. He sat it among the used napkins.
A low moan drifted in from behind the tapestry curtain. He looked up with curiosity, wondering who was in the solar.
There was a crash from behind him. The mistress frowned as her mulled wine lay spilt on the floor. She glared at it for a long moment before waving her hand.
“Clean it up and bring me some more.”
Using the linens, Toby mopped up the wine before retreating from the chamber. He sucked in a deep breath, grateful to be on his way back to the kitchens. The mistress’s chamber might be full of beautiful things, but it sure made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
His mother was missing when he returned to the kitchen. Molly looked up as he brought her both silver goblets.
“The mistress wants more mulled wine.”
Molly shrugged, reaching for the wine. “Stay and wait for it to heat. You’ll have to take it back. I must mind the porridge.”
“Can I watch the knights practice while I wait?” Toby shifted from side to side as he waited to be granted permission.
“Aye.”
Toby skipped toward the window, a happy smile brightening his face.
While the wine heated, Molly cleaned the tray, pausing when she found the small glass jar.
Pulling the stopper from it, she sniffed it.
The odor wasn’t pleasing, but clearly the mistress had sent it with Toby to have it mulled in her wine.
Why else would she want more wine so soon?
Dumping it into a cloth, she gave it a twist and sat it in the warming wine.
It was some manner of relief from the ache that had kept the mistress in her chamber for the last week.
It must be nice to have the silver to pay for such comforts.
“Toby, the wine is ready.”
The boy shuffled his feet but left the window to take the tray to his mistress. She answered the door quickly this time, waving him in.
“Leave it and go.”
Toby did her bidding gladly, skipping down the hallway once the task was finished.
“Mother? Hurry. I think it’s time.” Mary sounded terrified, her voice echoing from the second chamber. She stood in the doorway, holding the heavy curtain up.
“Quiet down. If anyone sees you, this has all been for naught.” Philipa paused and took a long sip from the goblet. The warm wine soothed her nerves so she took a few more, draining most of it.
“Mother.”
“Do compose yourself, Mary. You aren’t doing any of the work. Try to have a bit of dignity.” She passed the silver goblet off to her daughter. “Have some wine. It will calm you.”
Mary frowned at her mother’s words but lifted the goblet to her lips. The wine was warm and she greedily drank every last drop.
“Good. Now where is this babe?” Moving through the doorway, she heard the muffled groans as Anne labored. Ivy crouched near her daughter as she sat in the birthing chair. A rag was between her teeth to keep her screams from reaching beyond the chamber.
“It’s coming, dear, push. Push hard.”
Philipa watched as the baby slid from its mother. The tiny body glistened as Ivy gripped it by the ankles patting the back firmly. With a shake the arms began to flail and the chest filled with air. A thin wail filled the chamber.
“Turn it around, woman.”