The Captive Heart

Chapter Three

At first Hayle Watteson would not allow them to either prepare for burial or bury his mistress and her infant. Only when Sir Udolf pointed out to his son that he was endangering Maida's immortal soul were the women in the girl's family allowed to wash and dress her. They laid her out in the gown that her lover had given her. It was a simple yellow jersey, but no woman in the village had anything nicer. They braided Maida's long black hair with the yellow ribbons he had given her to match the dress. The dead child they wrapped in clean swaddling clothes. The priest would not bury her, for by her actions she and her child were both damned souls. And so Maida was sewn into her shroud with her son and carried to her grave by her family.

Hayle Watteson did not go to see her buried. The thought of them placing his mistress in the ground and covering her with the earth was too painful for him to watch. But when she had been interred he went and sat by the grave for almost a week while he wept and called her name. He would not eat and he would drink but little. His heart was broken by his loss. Finally Sir Udolf went to his son, and with the help of two men they pulled Hayle from the graveside.

"You must come home," the baron told his only child. "Maida is gone, and your mourning will not bring her back."

"I want to be with her" came the dull reply.

"You have a wife," Sir Udolf snapped angrily. "And she has been more than patient with you. You have a duty to me, to her, to Wulfborn."

"The whore cannot conceive!" Hayle cried. "I have plugged her almost every night since you forced this marriage upon me. My seed does not take root in her womb. She is useless to me, to us, to Wulfborn. If you had but accepted Maida, Da." And Hayle began to weep inconsolably.

"Maida is gone," Sir Udolf repeated. "Neither she nor the lad she bore will come back to you. Nothing will be the same ever again, my son. Cleave to your wife, and do not again call her whore. Alix is a good girl. She will give you a son in time." He nodded to the two men holding Hayle's arms. "Bring him home, lads."

"Let me be!" the distraught man cried out. "I want to stay with my Maida!"

The two serving men, however, did their master's bidding, and half carrying, half dragging Hayle, brought him to the house. There servants forcibly removed his clothing and bathed him. When the candles and lamps were lit they escorted him to the hall where he was seated at his father's right hand while Alix sat on Sir Udolf's left. The meal was brought, but Hayle Watteson would eat nothing, and he only sipped at his wine. Sir Udolf conversed with his daughter-in-law, attempting now and again to bring his son into their light conversation, but Hayle Watteson would not speak to them.

When the food had been cleared away Alix arose and curtsied to the two men. Then, without a word, she departed the hall.

"You will go to her tonight," Sir Udolf said. "And you will treat her with kindness, for she has done you no wrong, my son."

"She allowed the queen and her father to make a marriage with me," he said. "She did not love me, and she knew I did not love her. She wanted a place for her father. She is little more than a whore, for she let herself be used by others. And she is barren."

"She is a good lass, my son. You have not given her a chance because of your overwhelming passion for your mistress. But now Maida is dead and buried. Alix has behaved well since your marriage. She has kept the hall, and the house servants have come to respect and like her. You would like her too if you would but cease this unreasonable behavior. You must have an heir. You have a wife. Do your duty!"

"Mount her yourself!" his son snarled angrily.

The baron's face grew crimson with his anger. "I have spoiled you," he said in a suddenly hard voice. "I saw no harm in your taking a mistress. It is what a man does, but you do not behave like a man. You behave like a child. Must you be put to your wife like a stallion to a mare? Will you shame her so? She has done you no ill, Hayle. Why do you persist in punishing her?"

"She is not Maida" came the stubborn reply. "Why can you not understand that? Your grandson, my heir, died with Maida. There will be no other, damn you!" And Hayle Watteson stormed furiously from the hall.

"Go after him," the baron ordered his servants. "And then take him to his wife." He reached for his goblet and drained it, nodding to a servant to refill the container.

In her chamber Alix had drawn the draperies wide, and an autumn moon shone through the glass, spreading a wide beam across the floor. She had dismissed Bab, for the serving woman's constant chatter and her lack of respect irritated Alix. Eventually she was going to have to find a servant who suited her better. She would wait until she was with child, for she knew Sir Udolf would give her anything at that point. Alix undid her long wavy hair and began to brush it out. Her mother had said its color was that of dark honey-rich and deep gold. The brush slicked down its length again and again and yet again. It was silky to the touch, Alix thought, as she plied her brush. Suddenly she heard a commotion in the hallway, and her door was flung wide and Hayle Watteson virtually thrown in by two husky male servants. Alix jumped up as he landed at her feet.

"Master said to bring him to you," one of the men said with a half leer. Then they were gone, pulling the door closed behind them.

He got to his feet slowly. Between the moon and the candles, the chamber was well lit. He stared at Alix in her simple batiste night garment, her long dark gold hair framing her heart-shaped face, hanging about her shoulders. "You aren't Maida," he finally said. His eyes were dull, showing no emotion.

"No, I am your wife, Alix, my lord," she answered quietly.

"You aren't Maida!" he repeated more forcefully, and began to become agitated. "My darling is dead, yet you live. You do not deserve to live!" He took a step towards her, his hands reaching out for her.

Frightened suddenly, Alix screamed a piercing cry. The blank look in his eyes had now been replaced by a mad fury. She shrieked again, falling back upon the bed.

He fell upon her, his hands wrapping themselves about her slender neck. "I will not allow you to live if my Maida is dead," he said in a cold voice. His hands began to tighten about her throat, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh.

Alix clawed at those hands, loosening them enough to scream again and yet again. "Help me! Help me! He is trying to kill me!" she cried as his hands again closed about her flesh. She fought the madman struggling to sit up, scratching his face, yanking at his hair as he sought to choke the life from her. And then, to her vast relief, the door to her chamber flew open again as the two serving men rushed in, pulling Hayle Watteson from atop Alix. Sir Udolf stood, staring with shock and dismay at the scene before him.

Alix reached up to stroke her bruised skin. The marks of his fingers were bright scarlet on her creamy flesh, and she was gasping for air. She tried to stand, but her legs would not hold her. And then, without warning, Alix began to cry.

Her husband, restrained by his father's servants, stared at her, and then with a shout he broke away from his keepers and ran from the room.

"Take him!" Sir Udolf roared. He was furious and dismayed all at once. "Alix, my child, I am so sorry," he began. "In my eagerness for a grandchild I forced him to come to you, and it was too soon. I see that now. Forgive him. Forgive me." And then the baron departed the chamber following the sound of his son's pounding feet and those of the servants pursuing Hayle. The madman moved up the stairs of his house, to the attics where his servants slept. There was a narrow corridor on that top floor, and reaching it, Sir Udolf saw his son standing in the open window at the hall's end. For a brief moment he thought that his heart had stopped, but no. It was beating rapidly. The two serving men seemed frozen where they stood.

"I'm sorry, Da. I have to go to my Maida," Hayle Watteson said in a clear, calm voice. And then he flung himself from the window's ledge.

"Jesu! Mary!" one of the serving men cried, and they both crossed themselves.

Sir Udolf stared at the open window. His son. His son had stood in that window but a moment ago, and now he was gone. The baron turned and ran with all possible haste downstairs, trying as he ran to remember which side of his house the attic corridor window was located. Two men from the stables came running, shouting, pointing. He followed them in the dusk of evening. Hayle Watteson lay sprawled upon the earth, his neck twisted at an odd angle. Sir Udolf knelt by his son's body.

"He's dead, my lord," someone said.

"Killed himself, he did," came another voice.

"Him and our Maida are together now for eternity," someone else murmured.

Sir Udolf was numb with his grief. He brushed a lock of his son's hair back from his forehead and rose to his feet. "Take him to the hall," he instructed to no one in particular. "I must tell his wife." Then the lord of Wulfborn turned away and walked slowly back into the house. His son was dead. He had no heir, and he was past forty. Finding his way upstairs to Alix's chamber he entered without knocking.

"My lord?" Alix looked up from her place on the bed where she was sitting. "What has happened?"

"My son is dead," Sir Udolf said slowly as if tasting the words. "My son has killed himself, but I shall deny it to the priest. Hayle must be buried by the church."

She grew pale with shock. "Why? How?" And then a sense of great relief swept over her. She would never again have to bear his company in a darkened room.

"He loved her," Sir Udolf said in a tone tinged with surprise. "And he threw himself from a high window to be with her. He really loved the miller's daughter. She was a peasant, but a few generations removed from serfdom. Yet he loved her though she was not suitable. A man marries for wealth, for station, for land, but not for love."

"My parents loved each other," Alix said quietly.

"Your father told me the Count d'Anjou made the match between him and your mother. That your mother and he barely knew each other. They were fortunate that love came afterwards. Hayle's mother was a good woman, and I had great respect for her, but I did not love her. She brought me land as a dower. It was land that matched mine. It was a good bargain," the baron replied.

"Yet I brought you nothing," Alix responded.

"Nay, lass, you brought gold and silver. You, too, were a good match. My son should have been grateful to have you as a wife. You were a far better bride than he might have expected. You are pretty. You know how to manage a household. You are devout and mannerly." The baron sighed. "I have done you an injustice, Alix, for I did not realize the depth of my son's passions for the miller's daughter."

"You gave my father a home in his dying days, my lord," Alix said, "and for that I will always be grateful. With your help I will now follow after the queen. Under the circumstances, she will surely give me her protection, if only for my parents' sake."

"You would leave Wulfborn?" He seemed surprised.

"My husband is dead, my lord. There is no place here for me now," Alix said.

"Is there any chance you might be with child?" Sir Udolf asked hopefully.

Alix shook her head. "Your son could barely stand to use me even in the darkened chamber he seemed to need. He said my scent was not Maida's, and he could not convince himself even in the blackness that I was she. While he entered my body, more times than not he did not spill his seed. And he had not come to my bed in the past few weeks. My courses came and went in the last week. I am sorry, but my womb is an empty one, my lord. There is no child of your son's to be your heir."

Sir Udolf nodded.

"I must go and prepare my husband's body for burial," Alix told her father-in-law.

Again he nodded. "I will leave you so you may dress," he said and, turning, he was gone from her.

It was sad, Alix thought, that Sir Udolf had lost his only child. But I am free now! she exulted silently to herself. Certainly Sir Udolf will give me escort to the queen, and someone will know where she is. She will take me back and all will be as it was. My parents would want it this way. She pulled her brown jersey gown over her night garment, stuffed her feet into a pair of house slippers, and hurried to the hall.

Hayle Watteson lay upon the high board, his head lolling to one side. He had been a handsome man despite the petulant twist of his lips and his round, childish face. No one had bothered to close his watery blue eyes and so now Alix did. "Bab," she called, knowing the woman would be lurking nearby.

Bab hurried forward. "He died to be with his Maida," she said, looking from beneath her eyelids to see what kind of a reaction she would get from Alix.

"Aye, he did," Alix agreed. "Does he have anything better to wear?"

Bab nodded.

"Then go and fetch it. He should be buried as befits his station as Wulfborn's heir." She turned to the other women servants who were standing in a knot nearby. "Go bring water and clothes, lasses. We must bathe him before he is dressed in his finest."

The serving women scampered off to do her bidding. Bab had already gone.

Alix looked at the body upon the high board. She felt nothing for it, but then why should she? Hayle Watteson had treated her badly. He had neither loved nor respected her. She had done her best to please, to be a good wife. He had felt no such compunction to respond in kind. She had no regrets, and she would shake the dust of Wulfborn from her shoes as quickly as she could. To have remained to publicly mourn him would have been hypocritical. The winter was close, and she needed to find Margaret of Anjou quickly before travel would be too impossible.

The women returned, and together they stripped the clothing from the dead man's body. Then they carefully washed him. They giggled and rolled their eyes at the sight of the young man's genitals. "No wonder our Maida was so happy," one said, and Bab cackled knowingly. A sharp look from Alix silenced her and prevented any further remarks. The older woman had brought a dark blue velvet robe whose sleeves were edged in gray rabbit fur. They dressed him in it, and Bab combed his hair before placing a strap of linen around his head and beneath his chin. His head straight now, Hayle did not appear so odd. They sewed him into his shroud, leaving only his head visible.

Alix called for candle stands to be brought and beeswax tapers to be lit. The frost had killed the last of the flowers, and so there were none. "Tell the village they may come on the morrow to pay their respects. We will bury him at noon."

"Where is the grave to be dug?" Bab asked.

"That is Sir Udolf's decision, not mine," Alix answered her.

"He'd want to be next to his Maida," Bab persisted.

"I care not, but it is still Sir Udolf's decision," Alix told the woman.

"The priest will not bury him. He killed himself," Bab said.

"You are mistaken, Bab, and if you spread such a rumor Sir Udolf will see you driven from Wulfborn, and winter is almost upon us. My husband fell when he attempted to dislodge a stuck window, and it opened suddenly, throwing him off balance. This is a tragic accident. Do you all understand that?"

Bab nodded, and suddenly there was a grudging respect in her eyes for Alix.

Another woman spoke up. "Why should he be given the church's blessing when our Maida was not?"

"Because he is the lord's son and was heir to Wulfborn. Maida was merely a miller's daughter. Will your family thank you if I have you driven from this place?" Alix's voice was soft, but there was definite menace in it.

"Shut yer gob, Molly," Bab said. "She's right, and shows more loyalty to Sir Udolf than you are showing. Listen to me, all of you. The young lord's death was an accident, and any says otherwise will be sorry they did."

The serving woman threw Alix a sullen look but said no more.

"You are dismissed, all of you, with my thanks," Alix said. She watched as they went from the hall, several of them whispering among themselves. Bab remained. Turning to her, Alix said, "Thank you. Now go and fetch Father Peter for me."

"At once, mistress," Bab replied respectfully. Then she hurried off.

Sir Udolf came into the hall, and walking over to his son's body, began to weep.

"I have told all who helped me prepare him that this was an accident. He fell trying to open a window in the attics. They will be silent, for I have said that any who says otherwise will be driven with their families from Wulfborn."

The baron looked at her with grief-stricken eyes. "You are clever," he said slowly. "It was a kind thing to do."

"I have but attempted to repay your kindness to me and to my father," Alix replied. "I hope you will forgive me if I do not remain here to mourn, my lord. You will surely understand why I cannot."

"In the morning I will send a messenger to Queen Margaret telling her of this tragedy," Sir Udolf said, brushing his tears away.

"Will you tell her I am returning to her service?" Alix asked him.

"I will tell her of my son's death, and then tell her I am sending to the archbishop in York for a dispensation to marry you," Sir Udolf said.

Alix grew pale with shock. "My lord! The church will never allow you to marry your son's widow. It is an unnatural thing! Besides, I do not wish to wed. I seek only to serve my queen in her exile. I am certain the reason she left: me at Wulfborn was only for my father's safety. She will surely take me back."

"For whatever reason, you did not give my son an heir and now my son is dead. I need an heir for Wulfborn. I am still young enough to sire one, Alix, and I shall not be cruel to you as was my son. We already know each other. The queen has no place for you, I fear. You must have a husband, and I am in need of a wife."

"The church will never approve such a dispensation," Alix said stubbornly.

He smiled a little smile and, rubbing his thumb and his forefinger together, said, "The church is not above certain persuasions, Alix. Surely, having been raised at court, you understand that. Anything is possible given the right circumstances. I will have my dispensation by the spring, and you will be my wife as soon as I do. Until then, I will respect your place in my house as my son's widow and Wulfborn's chatelaine."

She had no time for further protest, for Father Peter came hurrying into the hall. "I have heard of young Hayle's death, my lord, but two tales reach my ears."

"My son fell from an attic window trying to dislodge it," Sir Udolf said. "It was an accident, Good Father." He sighed sadly.

"A terrible tragedy indeed, my lord. I shall, of course, bury him on the morrow," the priest replied.

"At noon so the Wulfborn folk may pay their respects to their heir," Alix said.

"Of course, lady, and to you I offer my condolences. Despite the trials you have suffered in recent months, your example to all women is exemplary. I shall pray for Hayle, and for his father, and his wife," the priest told them.

"We are grateful, Good Father," the baron answered.

"I must go to my chamber, my lord, Father," Alix said.

"Of course, my dear," Sir Udolf responded. "This has been a terrible day for us all, and in seeing to the preparation of the body you have done your duty. It is late."

Alix curtsied to the two men, and forcing herself not to run, went from the hall. She was horrified by Sir Udolf's plans, but right now she wasn't certain what she could do about them. But she did know she had no intentions of marrying her late husband's father. And now her plan to rejoin the queen was blocked. She couldn't flee to her godmother, for it would be the first place Sir Udolf would look for her, and if he could indeed obtain a dispensation from the church to marry her, Margaret of Anjou would probably agree. As much as she hated admitting it even to herself, Alix knew that the queen in her desperation had matters more important to her to consider than her godchild for whom she had already made provision. She was alone. Truly alone for the first time in her life. She was a widow. Her family was gone, and she had no intention of permitting Sir Udolf to make decisions for her. She would make her own decisions.

When the morning came, Alix sat in the hall with her father-in-law as the Wulfborn folk came to pay their respects to them and view Hayle's body. She had dressed herself in her only good gown, the same violet damask silk she had worn on her wedding day almost seven months ago. The villagers shuffled by the body, but none, Alix noted, shed a tear. Hayle, despite his devotion to Maida, had obviously not been well liked by them. His father, however, was another thing. The loving respect they showed to Sir Udolf was touching, and the tears shed that day were his.

She had never paid a great deal of attention to him, but now she studied him surreptitiously as they sat together. He was taller than his son and heavier set. But where Hayle had had blond, almost white hair, Sir Udolf's pate was a bald one. He had but a fringe of grayish brown hair that ringed the back of his head. Where Hayle's light eyes had been emotionless, Sir Udolf's blue eyes were emotion filled. Alix believed him a good man, but the thought of marrying him repelled her. He was certainly her father's age, and while she knew many young women wed with older husbands, the thought of his coupling with her was horrific. She did not like coupling. It was distasteful to her.

The noon hour came and before the six serving men came to take her husband to the small village church. Alix arose, took the needle and thread Bab handed her and, drawing the shroud over Hayle's head, completed the sewing of the funerary garment. The heir to Wulfborn was then placed upon an open cart, which was driven through the village to the church where Father Peter said the Mass. Then the body was placed again upon the cart and taken to the grave.

"This is not hallowed ground," the priest said as he saw where Hayle Watteson was to be buried.

"He would want to be buried next to Maida and his son," Sir Udolf said. "What difference does it make, Good Father? Is the ground cursed?"

The priest raised his hand and blessed the open grave. "Not now," he said.

The body was lowered into the ground. The prayers were said, and then the grave diggers moved to fill the grave. They waited until the mound of earth had been raised, and then turned away, making their way back to the hall. Sir Udolf took the priest aside and began speaking to him earnestly. The priest listened, but no sign of what he might be thinking showed on his ageless face. When he turned briefly to look at Alix, she quickly lowered her eyes. Surely Father Peter would dissuade Sir Udolf from his plans.

But to Alix's shock, the priest came to see her several days later. She brought him to the fire in the hall and offered him a cup of cider. "Thank you, my daughter," he said as he settled himself, pointing his sandaled feet to the fire. "Has the lord spoken to you of his desires, lady?" the priest inquired gently.

"I am not certain to what you refer, mon père," Alix replied.

"Your modesty becomes you, daughter," the priest responded. "Sir Udolf wishes to obtain a dispensation so he may wed you. He is in need of an heir now, and still filled with vigor. You are young and, it is to be hoped, fertile. You need a home. This would seem a good solution to the problems that you both face."

"I would think a father attempting to wed his son's widow would be an anathema to Holy Mother Church," Alix said slowly. "And how can I think of Sir Udolf as a proper husband when I already think of him as a father? Would I not be committing the sin of incest, Good Priest?"

Father Peter looked briefly troubled, but then he said, "There is no blood link between you and Sir Udolf, for you did not give his son a child."

"But his son's seed entered me. Now you would ask me to accept the father's seed? Surely that cannot be right!"

"We must leave these weighty matters of philosophy to the archbishop's counsel in York, my daughter," Father Peter said. "As a woman, you are not competent to make such decisions. They will decide what is best in this matter, but as you are an orphan and there is no blood between you and Sir Udolf, it is possible the archbishop's counsel will decide to give him the dispensation, especially given the circumstances of your marriage. They will consider the fact that your inability to keep your husband by your side may have led to his unfortunate demise."

"But his death was an accident!" Alix insisted.

"Given the circumstances surrounding his death, the archbishop's counsel may have certain doubts," the priest answered her smoothly.

"But he was involved with Maida before I ever came to Wulfborn Hall," Alix said, in an attempt to defend herself.

"Still, as his bride, the church will believe you should have been able, by your good example, to bring him to your side and away from that of a wicked woman. And if it is thought that Maida lured him from beyond the grave, and you did not prevent it, the church will consider that you are in part responsible for the death of Sir Udolf's only heir, that you owe him a debt that can only be paid in kind. As the good daughter of the church I know you to be, lady, you will obey the directive of our Holy Mother Church," Father Peter concluded with a nod of his head. "Will you not?"

Alix swallowed hard. The priest reasoned skillfully, especially for a country cleric. "I will do what is right, Good Father," she told him.

He smiled at her. "I know you will, my daughter," he told her, "which is why tomorrow I will travel to York myself carrying Sir Udolf's request along with my own recommendation that the dispensation be given. Such permission will have to be discussed and is not likely to be given before spring, so I will return quickly for Wulfborn should not be left without its priest. There is much sin here, I fear. In the meantime, your presence as our lady will be a comfort to the folk." The priest arose from his seat. "I must return to the church, for it will soon be time for evensong and vespers. Thank you for your hospitality, lady. I am comforted to know that you are a sensible girl." And he hurried from the hall, his brown robes flapping about his scrawny ankles.

Alix shook her head. There was nothing for it but that she would have to flee. And soon. She knew Sir Udolf would be going hunting shortly so that the winter larder would be full. He had told her he would be away two days. The priest's trip to York as well as his return would take far longer. It would be several weeks before he returned. But how could she keep the nosy Bab from learning that she was gone? Alix suddenly knew. When Sir Udolf rode out she would say that she would spend the time he was off hunting praying and fasting in her chamber for Hayle's soul. She was not to be disturbed for any reason. Her strength of will after her husband's death had impressed Bab, and the serving woman was now treating her with grudging respect.

"When do you plan to hunt?" Alix asked Sir Udolf that evening as they sat at the high board for the light evening meal.

"A few days before Martinmas," he told her, taking her hand in his. "Is it possible you will miss me, my lass?" He kissed her hand, but did not release it.

With effort, she let him hold her hand and did not snatch it away. God's wounds, but he was attempting to play the lover! Alix fought back a shudder. "There is something I wish to do, but I did not want to deprive you of my company, my lord."

"And what is that, my sweet?" he asked her, smiling directly into her eyes.

Alix made her mouth turn up in a small return smile. "Father Peter has suggested that by not being able to comfort Hayle in his distress I might in part be responsible for his unhappy death, my lord." She cast her eyes down.

"That is ridiculous!" he responded, dropping her hand. "The priest is an old fool, Alix. He knows nothing of love and the lengths to which it can drive you."

"Still, my lord, it cannot hurt if I spend two days fasting and in prayer for my husband's soul," Alix replied. She sighed. "What can we know of God's will, my lord? We are but mere mortals. It can surely not hurt any if I take the time to do this. And prayers for a husband from his wife will certainly be of help, considering his sin against me, my lord."

"That you can forgive him!" the baron cried softly. "Ah, Alix, now I know I am right to make you my wife. What an example you will be to our children. I rue now that I did not wed you myself instead of giving you to my son. His lust for his mistress blinded him to your goodness and your beauty. I regret a long winter must pass before you will become mine." His look was an ardent one.

Alix blushed, for she could not help it. "My lord, there is no guarantee that the church will give you a dispensation for a marriage between us," she reminded him.

Sir Udolf smiled broadly. "Do not fret, my sweet lass," he told her. "Father Peter carries a generous gift with him for whoever can help me attain such an indulgence. The priest will know the proper person to choose. You are safe at Wulfborn, Alix. It will always be your home, and if God favors us, you will be with child, my child, by this time next year." And for the first time she saw a lustful look come into his eyes. "We should not have to wait," he murmured almost to himself. He squeezed her little hand.

"Should we not mourn Hayle a good year?" Alix said, pulling her hand away.

"Nay. When the dispensation is given, you and I will marry without delay. I am no stripling, my sweet, although I promise to be a vigorous lover to you," Sir Udolf told her. Leaning forward, he attempted to kiss her lips.

"Please, my lord," Alix responded, drawing back so that his mouth did not touch hers. "Your son is not even cold in his grave. Your tone is too intimate. Your manner even more so." Her tone had become scolding. Her look one of stern disapproval.

He was immediately contrite. "Forgive me, Alix," he said, genuinely remorseful.

Alix nodded graciously at him and arose from the high board. "I will go to my own chamber now, my lord," she told him.

"When we are alone together will you call me Udolf?" he asked her, rising too.

"If it would please you, my lord… Udolf," Alix answered him. Then she said, "You did not tell me when you plan to hunt, Udolf."

"Not tomorrow, but the day after. The weather is getting colder, but there are no signs of a storm on the horizon," he told her. "You will find I am a good provider."

"From the moment I entered this hall I have never wanted for anything, Udolf," Alix responded. Then she left him. This evening had helped her to make up her mind. She must leave Wulfborn, and she must go the moment he was gone hunting. She could not wed him, and she did not think he could keep his growing desire for her in check until a dispensation arrived. What if he got her with child? Then she would have no choice but to remain. She knew that many would consider her actions foolish, but she had to go. Sir Udolf was old enough to be her father. Had become her father's friend. The thought of being his wife, of being mounted by him, repelled her, made her nauseous.

The following day she prepared her chamber for prayer and fasting. She told Bab of her plans, saying, "I must not be disturbed while my lord is away. He has sent the priest to York, for a dispensation for he wishes to wed me himself and get an heir on me. Before I can be at peace with such a thing I must discharge a final duty to my husband. I will fast and pray for his soul while Sir Udolf is gone."

"Why, the wicked old devil," Bab said, grinning. "We all knew he needed a new wife. He should have taken one years ago, after the second one died. He has not even taken a mistress, although now and again I know he satisfies his naughty urges on one or two widows in the village. But they can't give him an heir. Only something young and juicy like you can give him what he wants. And you, being orphaned, are content, I suppose, to have him for a husband. Well, you're strong enough to manage him, lady. And old men always dote upon their young wives, especially them that gives them bairns."

"Of course I will do what is right," Alix said. "Now, do you understand that once I enter my chamber tonight I am not to be disturbed?"

Bab nodded. "Aye," she responded. "Say your prayers and clear your conscience, lady. I cannot fault you for that."

"No, you cannot," Alix replied sharply.

Bab cackled with laughter. "You look all soft and meek, but you are not," she noted. "I'll tell all to keep away. Shall I come to you when the master returns?"

Alix nodded. To do otherwise would have aroused Bab's suspicions. But where was she to go? She had had no family in England but her parents, who were now dead. The queen would-could-not take her back, and besides, Margaret of Anjou being a practical woman, would side with Sir Udolf. Perhaps if she could reach the coast she could take passage for France and then make her way to Anjou to find her father's family. It would not be an easy journey. Indeed, for a young woman traveling alone without even a servant it could be dangerous.

In the days before her father had died he had surprised her by giving her a pouch containing an amount just slightly in excess to the dower he had paid Sir Udolf. "A woman alone should always have her own wealth for emergencies," Alexander Givet had told his only child. "Sew these coins into the hems of your gowns and your cloak. And tell no one, my daughter."

Alix had followed his instructions, sewing at night in her chamber when she was alone. There had been eight gold coins and almost twenty of silver. She had put two gold and five silver pieces into each of her two jersey gowns. The remaining four gold coins, and ten silver she had hidden within her heavy wool clock, some in the hem, and others in a secret pocket she fashioned within the folds of the garment. She had put nothing in her silk damask gown, for it was too fine.

Alix had eaten the evening meal with Sir Udolf, who was now attempting a more intimate relationship with her. She managed to keep him at bay beneath a guise of shyness and propriety. It seemed to delight him and he praised her decorousness while attempting to kiss her now and again, chuckling when she fended him off with a scolding. Alix finally decided it was time to make her escape from the hall. She stood, but at the same time so did he. "I shall not come to table on the morrow, for I will at first light begin my prayers and fasting," Alix said, attempting to move away from him.

His arm reached out to clamp about her waist and he drew her to him. "Give me a little kiss for luck, sweet lass," he said to her. His other hand fumbled at her breast.

"My lord! Udolf!" Alix cried softly. "This behavior is most inappropriate. Let me go at once! Ohh, how can you shame me like this?" she protested to him.

"Forgive me, sweet lass," he said, but he did not release his hold upon her, and he could not resist giving her small round breast a little squeeze before he took his hand away. "From the moment I realized you were to be mine, I grew as eager as a lad with his first love," he admitted. "The thought that you will be my wife has made me alive again! My son was a fool, Alix. You are fair to gaze upon. You are sweet-natured. I am a man long grown, but I cannot seem to resist you. I do not know how I will wait the winter long to possess you." And then he kissed her mouth.

It was not an unpleasant kiss. More eager and excited. Indeed, almost boyish and sweet. Nothing at all like that first cruel kiss she had received from Hayle. Alix gasped, surprised, and pulled away from him. "Shame, my lord!"

"I will not apologize," he said almost defiantly, but he made no further move to touch her. "I will be a good husband to you. And I mean to kiss you and court you the winter through, sweet lass. You might as well know it now and be accepting."

Alix let a little smile touch her lips. She couldn't help it. Then she grew serious. "You must respect me, my lord," she told him sternly, "even as I respect you." Then she curtsied to him prettily. "Good hunting, Udolf."

He nodded. "Thank you, my lady love," he replied as politely. "I will see you upon my return, and prepare to be kissed then."

Alix hurried from the hall. Aye, it was time to go before the baron's newly discovered romantic nature aroused itself any further. Once a man's lust was engaged, he could not be stopped until he had attained his goal. She had seen that happen at court, and it seemed to be the same wherever men and women went. He was a good man, but she could not wed him. She did not want to ever wed again. But what would she do? She could not remain in England. The baron might come after her, and a man's word was always taken over a woman's. And as part of the queen's entourage her entire life until recently, she could be considered a traitor. She had overheard those who remained with King Henry until almost the end talking about how to save themselves and their families. Alix knew that association was often enough cause for guilt. No. She must leave England. She must go north, as the queen had done, into Scotland.

And what will you do in Scotland? the voice in her head asked her. That was a fair question, but also a conundrum. Perhaps she might seek out the widowed Scots queen, Marie of Gueldres, and ask for a place in her household. She would tell that queen her history, and say Margaret of Anjou no longer had a place for her now that she was widowed. Certainly the Scots queen would take pity on her. She had skills to offer. She was good with children. She had certain medical knowledge learned from her father that could make her useful. Aye! That is what she would do. She would make her way to wherever the Scots court was currently residing.

Alix prepared the soft leather pouch her mother had always carried when the court traveled. At its bottom she lay her father's few surgical instruments and several small containers of medicinals that she had made along with some bags of herbs. Sadly, she could not take her violet damask silk gown with her. She would wear one of her jersey gowns. The other she folded and put into the bottom of the pouch along with her camises, and two night garments. A smaller chamois pouch held her few bits of jewelry. She stuffed it at the bottom of the larger bag amid the folds of her gown. She would leave the sollerets, she decided, as she laid her leather house slippers atop her camises. They would only add weight to the pouch, and as long as she had her boots on her feet and her slippers, she could manage. She took two pairs of knitted stockings and stuffed them into the sack. Then, bathing her face and hands and brushing her long hair, Alix went to her bed. Who knew how long it would be before she slept in a clean soft bed again? Whispering her prayers, she asked God to protect her.

It was her habit to always wake early. Arising, she dressed quickly in two camises, one of lawn and the other of flannel. She pulled a pair of woolen stockings onto her feet along with her worn leather boots and drew her brown jersey dress over her slender form. Sitting upon the edge of her bed in the half-dark, half-gray light before the dawn, Alix braided her long hair into a thick plait. Then, lifting the strap of her pouch, she put it over her head to rest against one side of her body. Picking up her heavy wool cloak with its fur-edged hood and her gloves, Alix slipped from her chamber.

The house was completely silent. She knew that very shortly one of the servants would come to start the fires for the day. The cook would arrive in the kitchen to begin his preparations for the day. Alix hurried downstairs, and slipping into the pantry near the kitchen, took a loaf of day-old bread and a wedge of cheese. She tucked them into the top of her pouch and then filled the small stone flask she carried with watered wine. She listened, but the quiet was still deep as she crept quietly towards the kitchen door, which was rarely barred, even at night. It opened as her hand touched the latch. She quickly hurried outside and looked about her, but there was no one in her view.

If she took her horse from the stables they would know that she was gone. Reluctantly, Alix set off walking, hurrying away from the house as fast as she could. The sky was getting a little lighter with each passing minute. She didn't look back for fear she would see someone. Alix followed the track that led north. The very same one the queen had taken. She prayed that Sir Udolf would not come this way with his hunting party, but if she heard horses she would hide herself in a ditch. Then she laughed softly to herself. The lord of Wulfborn would go across the fields. He would not come upon the road that wound its way north. To her surprise, a weak sun rose as she walked. It was cold, but not unbearably so for November. There was little wind at all and it was at her back, coming from the southwest.

Alix walked for several hours and then suddenly realized that she was hungry and thirsty. Stopping, she sat herself in the grass on the side of the road. Reaching into the pouch beneath her cloak, she pulled a piece of bread from her loaf and bit off a large chunk of cheese from the wedge. She ate slowly, and when she had finished she opened the flask and drank several swallows. She would remember to add water to the flask when she came to a stream. She had already crossed one narrow little brook this morning, stepping from stone to stone to keep her feet dry.

Arising, she started on her way again. The track she was traversing was getting narrower and narrower, becoming more difficult to follow, but she trudged on, watching the feeble sun as she moved to keep her direction correct. The sun was already beginning to lower itself towards the horizon by early afternoon. It was almost winter, and the days were shorter now than at any other time of the year.

As she traveled Alix began to look about for a spot in which she might shelter for the night. She hadn't seen a living soul the day long, although once she had seen an antlered stag on a nearby hill. And then, as the sun was almost ready to set, she spied what appeared to be the remnants of a stone wall. Or perhaps, she considered, it was a cairn raised in memory of some long-dead warrior. She stopped and, looking about, decided it would be as good a place as any to spend the night, especially as the sun now sank behind the horizon. Clearing some stones to make a place for herself, Alix sat down.

About her the silence hung heavily. What had she done? she asked herself. She was in the middle of nowhere, and night was upon her. She had no means to start a fire, and there obviously wasn't a living soul, man or beast, for miles. Reaching into her bag, she tore off a chunk of her bread and bit off another bit of cheese. She ate slowly as the sunset faded and the night closed in about her. She didn't even know where she was. Had she already crossed the border into Scotland? The light breeze of the day had gone, and above her the skies were cloudy. Not a star shown in the dull firmament.

It was cold, but not unbearably so. Alix pulled her cloak close about her, drawing the hood tightly about her face. She began to pray. She would either survive the night or she wouldn't, but anything was better than being forced into marriage again. And with a man old enough to be her father. A man with a bald pate. Sir Udolf's son had been a lustful man, although his lust was not directed towards his wife. Last night she had seen where that lust had come from, for the father was equally, if not more, lustful. Alix had not a doubt he would have been in her bed before the week was out. And he would justify it because he was meant to marry her. She would have had a big belly at her wedding, and she was certain Sir Udolf would have been delighted.

Drawing her legs up, she tucked her skirts about her and put her gloved hands under her armpits for more warmth. Her back against the stones, Alix fell asleep, and she slept for several hours before awakening briefly only to sleep again. When she opened her eyes again the gray half-light was lightening the skies. Arising, she moved stiffly away from her sleeping spot to pee, lifting her skirts high so as not to splash them. The morning air was cold on her buttocks. Then, sitting back down again, she ate more bread and cheese and drank a few more swallows of the watered wine, now more water than grape.

Finally she arose, and she began to walk again. She passed several more piles of stones and decided that she surely must be in Scotland by now. As the morning wore on, the skies above her grew gray, and the wind began to rise, coming from the north. By late morning a light snow had begun to fall, and Alix knew if she did not find serious shelter and some warmth she could be in trouble. But the countryside about her seemed as deserted as it had been yesterday. Alix didn't dare stop to eat. She simply kept walking. The path was virtually obscured now. She couldn't be certain which way she was going. The wind began to rise and the snow grew heavier.

Alix hunched down into her cloak, pulling it closely about her. Her hands were cold despite her fur-lined gloves. Her feet were icy in her wool stockings. It was growing darker with each passing minute. There wasn't a bit of shelter in sight. And then ahead of her she saw what appeared to be large mounds in the heath. Approaching them carefully she found herself walking among a herd of great horned shaggy cattle. There had to be at least two dozen of them, legs folded beneath them, settled down to ride out the storm. Their hides were already well dusted with snow.

She could go no farther. For a moment Alix stood stock-still. This was the end. She was going to die. She would freeze to death out here in the borders. Her legs gave way and she slipped to the grass half wedged between two of the great shaggy dark beasts. Laying her head against one, she began to weep softly, and then suddenly it dawned upon her that she felt wanner. The two creatures were sheltering her with their big bodies. Alix pushed herself firmly between the two cattle. Aye! She was warmer. Warm enough to perhaps survive the long night ahead. She lowered her head and pulled her hood up as far as she could. The creatures made no protest, and their quiet, even breathing shortly lulled her into a deep sleep. If she died, Alix thought, she would be with her mother and father again. And she would not have to wed Sir Udolf. Despite her circumstances, it was a very comforting thought. And if she survived this night it would be a sign that she was not meant to marry Sir Udolf. She would never marry again, Alix decided. She would never again be at any man's mercy.