The Love Knot

Chapter 13

The hose were woven of the softest red silk with ribbon garters of the same. Catrin gazed at them in pure delight. Fond though she had been of her old pair, these surpassed them a hundred fold.

'Another reason I was delayed. Oliver smiled at her pleasure. 'I had to scour Gloucester for them. Fortunately, I found a hosier who fashions the Empress's undergarments.

Winding her arms around his neck, she kissed him. 'So I'll be wearing hose fit for a queen!

'I hazard they will look better on you than they would on Mathilda.

'Shall I show you?

His eyes lit up and, with a husky laugh, he gestured her to continue.

Catrin was wearing her chemise, ready to start the day. Outside, Saint Stephen's morn was dawning in pallid grey light. The fire had almost died, just the faintest glimmer of red among the ashes, and the room was cold, but she cared little for that just now. Last night had set a gloss on her world that nothing could diminish. Her only guilt was that they had denied Ethel her bed, but Catrin suspected that the old lady would be highly pleased at the turn of events.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she raised her chemise to a tantalising level, took one of the hose and arched her toes into it. Then she drew it slowly up over her calf, watching Oliver all the time. When she reached her knee, she paused. 'How good a lady's maid are you? she enquired, and dangled one of the binding ribbons at him.

'I have small experience, but large ambition and a great willingness to learn, he answered with a grin and, taking the ribbon, accepted her invitation to slide the hose on to her thigh and bind it in place. Of course, as she had known, he could not resist exploring further. His fingertips were delicious, but she yelped at the prickle of his beard stubble.

'By the Virgin, came Ethel's voice from without. 'I thought if I left you two alone last night, I'd at least have my house back by the morning!

Oliver shot backwards and up, colliding with a bunch of drying herbs tied to the rafters. Aromatic scraps of leaf showered down on him. Catrin flailed for a moment like a cast-over crab, righted herself and dragged her undershift down over her knees.

Ethel unhooked the door and stumped into the room. 'God's bones, you've been so busy kindling your own fire, you've let mine go out too! she snorted, and cast her gimlet eye over the couple. There was a gleam in her expression, but Catrin could sense the old woman's irritation.

So too, it seemed, could Oliver. He had already been wearing his shirt and braies. Now he quickly donned his tunic and chausses, and set about rescuing the fire from the brink of extinction. Catrin flashed him a rueful glance and pulled on her dress.

'If you're going to live here, best find a space for a pallet of your own, Ethel muttered, sitting down on her stool and glowering at the embers. 'If, of course, you've thought that far. Her tone was so crotchety that Catrin wondered if she had misread Ethel's earlier attempts at being matchmaker.

'To be honest, neither of us have thought much beyond the moment, Oliver replied mildly enough, but his eyes were wary as he gently piled dry twigs upon the embers.

'Hah, then you should.

'In our own good time, Catrin said with a frown.

Ethel chewed her lips and scowled. 'Time and tide wait for no man — and no woman neither, she retorted ominously.

Oliver blew gently on the fire and soon tiny flames were licking and crackling around the twigs. Leaving it to gain hold, he fetched a folded-up bundle from the corner of the room and presented it to Ethel. 'What's this?

'Your Twelfth-night gift, but I thought you should have it now to sweeten your mood. I'm sorry if we kept you from your bed last night.

She gave him a severe look. 'I'll not be bought, she said, but began unfolding it all the same, waving him aside with a tetchy 'I can manage, as he stooped to help her.

Casting a glance heavenwards, Catrin swung the cauldron over the new fire. Ethel was always grouchy in the mornings but she seemed to be uncommonly so today.

Oliver had bought the old lady a mantle of fine, soft, green wool. It was warmer than a cloak for it was donned over the head, the full drapes of fabric falling to the front and back. Nor did Ethel have to fumble with a cloak pin to secure it.

'You stand need to buy me fripperies like this when your own cloak is nigh on threadbare, Ethel said gruffly, the suspicion of a glitter in her eyes.

'The Countess has promised me a new cloak as my own Twelfth-night gift, Oliver shrugged. 'And for escorting the Empress, I'm to receive an extra day's pay. Don't go looking gift horses in the mouth.

'Aye, then thank you, lad, but I still say you've more money than sense.

'And you have more pride, Oliver retorted, and this time made her sit still while he unpinned her cloak and gently drew the mantle over her head.

Ethel's good hand stroked the soft, green wool. 'Your father would be proud of you, she murmured. 'He always set store by seeing those who depended on him clothed and fed, God rest his soul.

'Amen, Oliver said, thinking that his father's soul would have small rest whilst a Flemish mercenary sat in his hall. Every time the usurpers visited the church, they would trample on his grave.

The water in the cauldron started to steam and Catrin made them all an infusion of elderberry and rosehip, sweetened with honey. Ethel took the first, warming swallow and, closing her eyes, sighed.

'Shall I tell you why I'm being a cantankerous old woman?

'I had scarce noticed any different, Oliver said flippantly, then sobered as her gaze opened on him with a spark of warning. 'I thought it was because of Catrin and me — because we had stolen your bed and become lovers?

Ethel shook her head. 'Don't be so foolish. I've been hoping for that since the day you told me about her. It's been all I could do sometimes to stop myself from knocking your two stubborn heads together. No, what's set me on edge is that foolish young adjutant of yours.

'Gawin?

'Aye, Gawin. Her tone was eloquent. 'He's been bedding one o' the Countess's women and got her with child.

Oliver's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Catrin ceased patting out oatcakes for the griddle and stared. 'It's Rohese de Bayvel, isn't it?

Ethel sucked her teeth. 'Saw them together last night and they was arguing like cat and dog. She was all for calling him to account and he was having none of it. Soused as a pickled herring he was, but that ain't no excuse for the way he treated the lass, forcing her to her knees in the snow and calling her a slut. She might be a haughty bitch but she deserves better than he gave last night.

Oliver sighed. 'I'll speak with him as soon as I've broken my fast, for what good it will do. You know his morals where women are concerned.

'Speaking's no good, Ethel said sourly. 'Just take him by the scruff and dunk him in the nearest horse-trough. That's what he deserves.

Gawin looked blearily at Oliver. 'It's none of your business, he said belligerently. 'I'm only seconded to you, you're not my feudal lord. His breath was heavy and sour and he was still drunk.

Around them, the hall was groaning to life, everyone sluggish and the worse for wine. It would be the same again on the morrow, and the morrow after that, all the way to the twelfth and last day of the Christmas feast.

'If I was, your back would be flayed raw, Oliver replied coldly. They were sitting at the trestle near the door. A freezing draught fluttered the rushes on the floor and helped to dispel the vinegary stench of stale wine. 'Rohese de Bayvel is not some Shambles whore you can toss a coin and forget. She's one of the Countess's own maids.

'I know that. Gawin's voice was an irritated snarl. He pushed his fingers through his hair.

'From what Ethel overheard last night, I would doubt it.

'Look, she pursued me. Gawin gestured impatiently. 'Good God, she even put one of that hag's disgusting love philtres in my drink. He glared at Oliver. 'If you push me, I will claim that I was bewitched, and then see what happens to yonder midwife and her assistant.

Oliver saw red. Seizing Gawin by the tunic, he drew him face-to-face. 'If anything happens to Ethel or Catrin, you will pay the reckoning to me, in blood. If you cannot tell honour from shame, I do not want you riding at my side! Throwing Gawin down, he strode from the hall into the clean air of the bailey where he leaned against the forebuilding wall, breathing hard, mastering his fury.

When Gawin was sober and had his nose to the grindstone, Oliver would have trusted him with his life. But given leisure and a cup, the young man's personality degenerated with alarming speed. Usually his follies were set right with a handful of silver and a visit to the confessional, but getting Rohese de Bayvel with child and then spurning her was a different matter entirely — as was the petty, vindictive threat against Ethel and Catrin. Oliver was not sure that he could forgive him for that.

The Earl's younger squires and pages were out in the bailey having a boisterous snowball fight. As his breathing slowed, Oliver became aware of them; the flung snow, the joyful shouts. Thomas FitzRainald and Richard were part of the throng and playing their part to the hilt. A half-grown tan mastiff lolloped between the boys chasing the missiles and tossing lumps of snow between its black jaws. Oliver was spied and became an immediate target for both dog and boys. Sweeping up his own ball, he answered vigorously, flinging the last of his anger from him, before he retreated behind raised hands, begging for mercy and spluttering on showered snow.

The dog jumped up at him, barking and scrabbling with blunt claws. Richard grasped its collar and dragged the animal down. 'His name's Finn, he said. 'Earl Robert gave him to me for a Christmas gift. He's even allowed to sleep with me in the dorter.

Oliver dutifully admired the brute, slapping its taut, golden hide, and wiping his hands on his cloak after it slobbered upon him. He accepted that dogs had their role to play in castle life, but he was not particularly fond of them, much preferring the independent aloofness of the cats that stalked the kitchens and stables and occasionally found houseroom as pets. Still, if Robert had given the pup to the boy, it was a mark of how seriously he was treating the blood bond between them.

Richard turned to run back to his snow game but paused and looked hesitantly at Oliver. 'Will you come with me later to visit my mother's grave and lay a wreath of evergreen?

Oliver was touched. 'Of course I will, lad. I'm glad that you think of her.

Richard shrugged. 'It's my duty, he said, then redeemed himself by adding, 'I don't want her to be lonely.

There was a hint of forlornness in the boy's voice that told Oliver more than words. 'We'll pray for her. He squeezed Richard's shoulder. 'I know that if she were here, she would be very proud of you.

Richard nodded and squirmed, embarrassed by the sudden moment of intimacy. Pulling away from Oliver, he ran to join the others, his dog gambolling at his side.

Oliver watched them for a moment, then made his way across the bailey to Ethel's dwelling. Richard's mention of his mother's grave made him think of Emma's. Was it still attended, or had the passage of time and the new Flemish lord caused it to be neglected and forgotten? A pang went through him, wistful and forlorn like the boy's. But in the same manner he was also aware of the life flowing in his veins. How could he not be after the previous night? Head up, a curve to his lips, he approached the small house.

'You know how to protect yourself, girl? Ethel demanded, once Oliver had gone. 'I don't think for one moment that he's like yon young wastrel, but it's best not to bear a babe unless you're sure you want to.

'Yes, I know. Catrin managed not to sound impatient. 'Sheep's wool or moss soaked in vinegar. Besides, it's not as if I'm blessed with fertility. I was wed to Lewis for a year and a half and never once did I miss a flux.

'Hmph, t'aint always the woman's fault.

'I know that. Catrin smoothed the crimson gown beneath her fingers and looked at the grain of the fabric. 'But I know that my former husband's seed was fertile because he confessed to me that he had got one of the kitchen maids at Chepstow with child — although she miscarried in the third month. She raised her head and gave Ethel a look both candid and sad. 'He found it difficult to resist a pretty face, and they, most certainly, had few defences against him. He could have charmed the very birds down from the trees had he so chosen. Suddenly there was heat behind her eyes. How foolish to be mourning Lewis when she should be rejoicing that she had Oliver. 'Let the past lie, she said with a toss of her head, 'I take your advice to heart and I will be careful. Surreptitiously she rubbed her eyes, but Ethel was sharp and saw.

'I doubt such a man is worth weeping for, she said.

'I'm not weeping. It's the smoke from the fire.

'Oh, aye, it is that, Ethel said with double meaning that caused Catrin to flounce on her stool.

Unrepentant, Ethel sucked her teeth. 'So tell me, will Oliver move his pallet in here or will you go to him?

'It is too early to make a decision like that. Ethel was making her feel ever more defensive. Catrin would neither be led nor pushed. Her own free will or nothing. Between her and Oliver there was respect, liking and sheer, honest lust, but it was too new, too soon.

Her face must have shown her thoughts, for Ethel ceased to badger her, saying only, 'You are the daughter I never bore. I want to see you settled and happy. 'Of which I am both — Mother.

Ethel gave a tired smile and patted Catrin's cheek. 'I think I'll rest for a while. She went to lie down on her pallet.

Catrin watched her with a mingling of affection, exasperation and concern.

She knew that Ethel was failing. The unspoken knowledge lay between them, but not for one moment would the old lady admit that each day was becoming more of a struggle. Ethel too was stubborn and in that, indeed, they were as mother and daughter.

Catrin leaned forward to mend the fire and add two more pieces of split log. A shadow darkened the entrance. Glancing up, a welcome on her lips for either Oliver or Godard, she was surprised and alarmed to see a different man blocking her light. He was not one that she had noticed before, but then she paid small heed to the Earl's mercenaries except to be cautious of them and keep her distance.

He was taller than Oliver with thick, black hair and beard, the latter salted with grey. Attractive creases defined his eye-corners and his lips were thin, cruel and sensual. He wore a rust-streaked gambeson and beneath it a tunic of very fine blue wool with a hem of red and gold braid. The design on the latter looked familiar, but there were several braid weavers in Bristol who had their own personal colours and patterns.

Catrin stood up and dusted chips of bark from her hands. 'Can I help you, sir? Usually it was women who came to her and Ethel. Soldiers were a rarity, for which she was glad. His height and the way he looked at her as if she was a morsel to be devoured, were intimidating.

He showed his bandaged right hand. 'A dog bit me and the wound is festering, he said. 'I have heard that your healing skills are without compare in Bristol.

'A dog? With some misgiving, she gestured him over her threshold.

'One of the bitches in the hall. He entered the dwelling, glanced round, and sat down before the fire, the brass tip of his scabbard scraping on the rushes. On the bed-bench, Ethel did not stir. 'How long ago?

'Yesterday eve. He glanced up at her. The look in his eyes clung to her like oil.

Catrin wanted to say that she could not help him and bid him leave, but since she had not even looked at the wound, it would have been a patent lie, and ousting him, she suspected, would not be as easy as inviting him in. Swallowing her misgivings, she asked for his hand and unwrapped the grubby linen bandage. Beneath his gambeson, the cuff of his tunic bore the same braid pattern as the hem, and again she was struck by an elusive sense of familiarity.

His hand was that of a seasoned soldier; its texture halfway to leather and marked with the stigmata of a swordsman's blisters. It was also marked at the moment by a nasty bite wound. The teeth had gouged deep and the whole area was red and inflamed. It looked unlike any dog bite that Catrin had seen before, but she held her tongue on that score.

'It needs to be cleaned, she said, 'and then anointed with woundwort.

He gestured brusquely for her to do so. As she turned away to inspect the stores of herbs, she knew that he was watching her, sizing her up like a wolf planning its next meal.

'I thought that wise-women were all old hags, he said, when she came back to him and held open the jagged lips of the wound to receive a swabbing of strong, salt water. His tendons grew tight at the pain, but his face revealed none of it.

'Well, now you know differently. Catrin's tone was as brusque as her motions. 'Oh, indeed I do.

Tight-lipped, Catrin rubbed woundwort ointment into the injury, positive now that no animal had bitten him. The shape of the teeth, the angles were all wrong. She bound a fresh linen strip around his hand and tied it off neatly. 'You must try and keep it clean or it will fester.

He flexed his palm. 'It's the slack season; I won't be wielding a sword for a while… well, not one of steel anyway. Rising to his feet, he stood over Catrin. 'Well, Mistress Wise-woman, how much do I owe you?

'A halfpenny is the usual fee. She swallowed, hating the closeness.

'A halfpenny, he repeated, and paid her a coin from his pouch. 'But I hazard that I am not a usual customer, sweetheart. Perhaps, since it is Christmas, I should give you a gift to honour the season.

Catrin could see what was coming. Even as he took a step towards her, she took one back and grabbed the iron poker resting against the spit bar.

He stared at her, then he laughed with genuine amusement. 'Surely a small kiss is not cause for such fuss. I'll pay you the other half of the penny for it.

'I sell healing, sir, Catrin said icily, 'not myself.

He snorted. 'Every woman has her price.

'You could not afford mine. Catrin tightened her grip on the poker.

He laughed again but this time the sound was unpleasant. 'What do you think you could do against me with that little stick? I could break your wrist with a single snap if I so chose.

It was with the utter weakness of relief that Catrin saw Oliver walking up, and behind him, chopping-axe on shoulder, the massive form of Godard.

Sensing someone behind him, the mercenary turned, but to Catrin's dismay, instead of making himself scarce, he threw open his arms and embraced Oliver heartily, slapping his back. 'Pascal, you whoreson! Where have you been lying low!

Catrin watched Oliver return the embrace with considerably less enthusiasm, his entire body stiff and the smile on his face strained. But nevertheless, it was a smile. 'Nowhere. I've been on the Earl's business. And you, Randal? His eyes went to Catrin and she gave an infinitesimal shake of her head.

The mercenary shrugged. 'Got bitten by a dog, so I had the wench here take a look at it. He grinned. 'Her charity's as cold as an arse on a winter latrine though. Threatened me with that poker when I offered her the compliments of the season.

'It was no compliment, but an insult, Catrin said with revulsion.

'How can that be? Every pretty woman expects to be kissed more than once beneath the mistletoe. He flashed his eyes at her and grinned.

Oliver pushed past Randal de Mohun and joined Catrin. Godard began to split some fresh logs for the fire, one eye cocked for trouble. 'Not this one, Oliver said tersely. 'I will warn you now that she is under my protection and her life is mine.

The mercenary stared at him with narrowing eyes. Oliver stared coldly back, and the tension bristled between the two men like a wall of spines. Then de Mohun shrugged. 'And your life is mine, Pascal, or have you forgotten the road to Jerusalem?

'I forget nothing, but I'll not have you calling in the debt for every petty whim and fancy. There are women aplenty in Bristol if that be your need.

'But this one is too good for me, is that what you're saying?

'I am saying that she does not appear to want you.

'Women never know what they want, said the mercenary with scorn. Then he shrugged and a forced, white grin appeared beneath his moustache. 'It is the feast of Saint Stephen, our beloved King — a lost cause if ever there was one. I won't quarrel with you on this day and, besides, my sword hand is out of commission.

Oliver regarded him stonily.

'But I warn you, de Mohun wagged a finger, 'taking waifs and strays under your wing is a dangerous occupation, especially when you prefer them over old comrades to whom you owe your very life.

'I'd rather live with the danger.

Still grinning, with contempt now, de Mohun shook his head and turned away. 'You're a self-righteous fool, Pascal. No woman's worth it, even on her back. Seek me out when you come to your senses and we'll share a flagon at The Mermaid. He touched his temple in farewell. 'Since I'm generous at heart, I'll leave you to enjoy your waif in peace.

He took off across the ward, his stride jaunty and arrogant.

Catrin shuddered. 'Who is he, Oliver?

He grimaced. 'You remember I spoke in the summer about a band of mercenaries who happened upon us digging graves at Penfoss and stopped to help? Well, that is their leader, Randal de Mohun.

'The one who saved your life when you were a pilgrim? She recalled the conversation very well, since it had almost ended in a quarrel, with Oliver defending de Mohun's reputation. At the time, he had told her not to judge. Now that she had had opportunity she found little to commend.

'Unfortunately, yes. His expression hardened. 'The years have not improved him. When I knew him in the Holy Land, he was not so brutish.

'There is something familiar about him, she murmured with a frown, 'but I don't know what, and it disturbs me.

'He's been employed by the Earl since midsummer and, like me, in and out of Bristol all the time. You have probably seen him in passing. He will not trouble you again, that I promise.

Catrin smiled without humour. 'Another of your "promises"?

'Do I not always keep them? He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her hip-to-hip against him. Then he smoothed the frown from her brow with the tip of his finger and kissed her. Beneath his lips, hers curved into a smile and, for a moment, the world blurred at the edges.

Catrin pressed against Oliver, taking refuge from her anxiety in physical sensation until both of them were hot and gasping. Unfortunately, there was no bed to hand, unless they went looking for an unoccupied hay loft, and it was too cold a day to make love against a wall or spread a cloak in the fields. By mutual consent they broke apart. Holding her hand, Oliver sat on Ethel's stool before the fire and drew her on to his lap. She wriggled playfully and he squeezed her buttocks, but it was an ending, rather than a prelude, to their sport, for they were both aware of the sleeping old woman. Not that Ethel would have been much shocked, but she needed her rest, and they were loath to disturb her.

'Did you speak to Gawin? Catrin left his knee to pour them each a cup of mead.

Oliver sighed. 'Yes, for what good it did. He was still in his cups and not inclined to pay any heed. Indeed, he went so far as to say that if I pushed him, he would claim that he had been bewitched by Ethel's potions.

'But that's not true! Catrin flashed a look over her shoulder, but Ethel slept on oblivious, the coverlet drawn up to her withered cheek. 'There's nothing in her love philtres that could cause anyone to be bewitched. It's only rose petals and cinnamon steeped in water. What nonsense!

'That depends on your belief, Oliver said. 'I told her that it was dangerous to meddle in such things.

'Do you think Gawin believes? Catrin asked shortly.

'Of course not, it is just a convenient excuse to abstain from responsibility for his actions. He took the drink that she handed him and made a dismissive gesture. 'It was the wine talking. I threatened him with death in return and told him what I thought of his character. Whether it will be of any benefit once he sobers, or have no more effect than water off a duck's back, remains to be seen.

Avoiding the temptation of Oliver's lap, Catrin sat in the straw at his feet and, cupping her hands around the hot mead, gazed into the red heart of the fire. 'I feel sorry for Rohese, she murmured.

'I thought you disliked her.

Catrin looked at him. 'That does not mean I cannot have compassion for her situation. I admit we have not been friends, but I don't hate her. Countess Mabile will likely send her to a convent for the birth and then to live as a penitent for the rest of her life. Unless Rohese has a vocation, her life will be a living hell. She shook her head and her lips were twisted, as if the sweet mead had suddenly turned to vinegar in her mouth. 'Men such as Gawin act on their lust and think later, if they think at all. My husband was a little like Gawin, I know the kind.

Oliver's complexion darkened. Catrin gazed at him blankly for a moment, then realised that he had taken her words to heart. 'I do not number you among them, you fool! she cried. 'Yes, we acted upon our lust, but it was mutual and I know that you still honour me.

He lifted his shoulders. 'With my life, he said, 'but I want others to know of that honour too. How can I chastise Gawin when I am not in a state of grace myself? He cleared his throat, then said tentatively, 'Catrin, would you become my wife?

Catrin felt a hot chill of delight and fear run down her spine. Both acceptance and refusal hovered on her tongue and left her speechless. The silence stretched and began to strain.

She gnawed on her underlip, seeking with difficulty the words that would make him understand. 'I was married to Lewis on a winter morning just like this, she said at last. 'I do not want a second joining to hold memories of the first.

He frowned. 'I should not have asked you.

She felt him tense to rise and swiftly clamped her hand around his leg to make him stay. 'Perhaps not quite so soon, she said, her throat dry. 'Although I can see why you did.

'Then the answer is no?

His voice was far too expressionless for her comfort. She had hurt him and that had not been her intention. The only grounds she had for refusal were caused by old wounds that were not of Oliver's making.

Drawing a deep breath, she said, 'I swear that before the next Christmas feast, in a different season, I will become your wife. Is that grace enough? Finishing her drink, she returned to his lap and curved her arms around his neck, sensing that he needed more than words as reassurance.

After a moment, his own arms tightened around her, the mead sloshing over the rim of his cup. 'More than enough, he muttered against her throat. 'I thought you were going to refuse me.

Catrin laughed shakily and curled her fingers into the thick hair at his nape. 'I may have panicked, but not to the point of losing my reason. She toasted him with a sip from his mead. 'To our future.

'To our future, Oliver repeated, and drank from the place where she had set her lips.

Later that day, they visited Amice's grave to lay a wreath of evergreen and pay their respects. It was Richard who put the wreath on the grave and crossed himself. He had grown since the summer, his face elongating and his nose developing a sharpness that was more than reminiscent of his father, the old king. He bore himself with assurance, no longer a bewildered and bitter child but a boy on the verge of adolescence.

In the frozen, cold twilight the snow sparkled, and Catrin shivered within the warmth of her cloak as she looked at her former mistress's grave. For no reason she could fathom, the memory of Randal de Mohun intruded on her prayers and disturbed the melancholy beauty and silence of the cemetery. Oliver reached for her hand and squeezed it. Gratefully she squeezed his in return and stepped a little closer to his reassuring presence.