The Love Knot

Chapter 20

The Christmas feast of 1141 was celebrated on a grand scale by King Stephen's court at Canterbury. If no outright victory had been gained, at least the status quo had been re-established. Stephen and Robert of Gloucester had been exchanged for each other and both sides had drawn back from conflict to lick their wounds and regroup.

Louis and Catrin were given a place of honour at one of the high tables, below the salt of the magnates but on an equal ranking with the lesser barons. As the man who had captured Robert of Gloucester, Louis was in high favour, and he pushed that advantage for all it was worth. With style, with subtlety, with cunning. The wolf was running down the deer.

Catrin watched him set his snares with trepidation and pride. She was uncomfortable at the way he had reinvented her past with a mingling of half-truths and omissions. He told the curious that she had believed him dead and, as a skilled herb-wife, she had sought refuge and employment in Bristol, where her services had been invaluable in tending the King. Hearing a rumour that her husband might still be alive, she had braved the open road to find him. She was courageous, loyal, beautiful and wise. What man would not be blessed with such a wife by his side?

Catrin had not denied the tale, there was no point, but it worried her that the story flowed so plausibly off his tongue. Despite his promise that he had changed, he still used lies and manipulation to gain his ends.

She shied away from the thought that he had lied to her too, for it carried all manner of implications, not least about her own judgement. During the day, she could ignore the small, nagging voice that told her she should have stayed with Oliver and made her life with him, his wife in all but name. But in the darkest hours of the night she was vulnerable, and the voice would wake her from sleep, accusing her of skipping on quicksand instead of choosing firm ground.

She was full of guilt and grief over Oliver. She could not just act as if the year and a half during which she had come to know and love him had never been. But there was no one to whom she could talk about him. The women of the court already had their own friendships. Knowing the gossip of the bower, she would not have trusted them anyway, for all that they crowded around her and asked her advice for this ailment and that. She had never thought she would miss Edon's feather-brained companionship, but she did, terribly.

'Brooding again, Catty? Louis leaned round to look at her. There was an evergreen chaplet set slightly askew on his thick black hair, making him look even more like a faun from the wild wood. He clutched a mead cup in his right hand but, although his breath smelt of the drink, he was only a little merry. He had been mingling with the guests seated at other tables, telling jests, laughing at jests told, making himself popular. She had even watched him juggle five leather balls before the King with expert sleight of hand. It had earned him applause from the royal table and the gift of a fine, silver brooch.

She shook her head and forced a smile. 'Reflecting, she said.

'About what? He leaned closer. His hand crept up beneath her wimple and his cool fingertips lightly stroked the back of her neck.

'About what I'm doing here. A small, sensuous shiver ran down her spine.

He frowned. 'You made the right choice, you know that.

'Yes… yes, I know that. She gnawed her lower lip. 'It is just that I feel as if I don't belong.

'Well, you don't. . He jerked his head at the high table. 'At least not to them. He leaned closer, and her bones melted at the darkness in his voice. 'But you do to me, you've always been mine.

She laughed shakily. 'Are you so sure of that?

His dark eyes flashed a look that said he was supremely confident and she was foolish for even token resistance. 'Gome, he said. Dragging her to her feet, he led her to the large apple wassail tree in the centre of the hall around which guests were dancing to honour the season.

Catrin hung back, but Louis's grip was lean and strong and, with a laugh, he pulled her forward. From the tree's branches he grabbed a chaplet of evergreen like his own and pushed it down upon her wimple, the holly berries glistening like drops of fresh blood.

'Dance, he commanded, and kissed her lips, his tongue flickering lightly round their outline before he withdrew.

And Catrin danced, because Louis was the piper and his dark glamour called the tune.

As the evening progressed, and the wine flowed freely, Catrin's sombre mood lightened beneath Louis's determined onslaught. First she smiled and then she laughed. Enjoyment crept up on her, and suddenly she could almost forget.

Louis led her to join in boisterous games of bee-in-the-middle, hoodman-blind, and hunt-the-slipper. Catrin discovered that she had a knack for the latter which involved passing an item of footwear among a circle of other players and trying to keep the owner, who stood in the middle of the ring, from guessing who was in possession. Once the owner did guess, the loser had to forfeit their own shoe and become the hunter in the middle.

By sleight of hand, an innocent expression, and great good luck, Catrin succeeded in never being caught out. Louis, by far the best dissembler of them all, was finally trapped by the pure guesswork of the flushed wife of a baron whose turn it was in the centre.

With much good-natured rolling of his eyes, Louis got to his feet and stepped to the middle of the ring to take her place. He presented the shoe to its owner with a courtly flourish and a kiss on the hand. The gesture met with jovial banter and cat-calls and the red-faced woman laughed and gave him a hefty push. Grinning, Louis gave an exaggerated stagger, stooped to remove one of his ankle boots and gave it to her. She swept him a mock curtsey, returned to her place amongst the hiders, and the game began again.

Catrin, the merrier now for three cups of wine, could not quite smother her giggle as the man on her right sneaked the boot beneath a fold of her skirt. Louis caught the movement from the corner of his eye and, whirling round, pointed straight at her.

Flushed, laughing, Catrin spread her hands to show that there was nothing in them. Louis, however, was not fooled, and continued to advance. 'Being your husband, I command you to lift your skirts, wife! he declared, hilarity brimming in his eyes. There were loud guffaws at the sally.

Catrin sat a moment longer, hoping that her look of wide innocence would fool him, but he continued to advance. Grabbing the shoe from its hiding place, she sprang to her feet. 'Then you must catch me first, my lord! she cried, and fled from the circle.

To loud laughter and cheers of encouragement, Louis set off in pursuit.

It was impossible to run through Canterbury's packed great hall, but Catrin wove her way determinedly through the crowds and between the trestles. To mark the Christmas season Louis had given her a new gown of strong grass-green that suited her colouring. It also made it easy for him to follow the path she threaded through the other guests.

Catrin glanced behind her and saw Louis shouldering after her, drawing closer. In the pit of her stomach there was a tiny spark of panic, a response to the primitive instinct of being hunted, but that only added to the thrill. Obviously, even hampered by the lack of a shoe, he was going to capture her in the end, but she would make him work hard for his victory.

Round the wassail tree she skipped, then beneath the batons of two jugglers entertaining one of the trestles. Briefly she joined a group of women admiring someone's new lap-dog — a fluffy creature resembling a burst pillow — that had been purchased for an exorbitant sum from an Italian merchant.

Louis lost her for a moment. She saw him over by the jugglers, his eyes travelling rapidly from face to face. She hid amongst the women for a little longer, then rose on tiptoe and, clutching the shoe, waved her arm on high. Louis's gaze met hers through the crowd like a hunter's in the forest. Hot, dark, dangerous. Her loins contracted. She stuck out her tongue, then gave a little gasp of excitement as he started towards her.

She took off again, squeezed past a group of knights who were discussing the merits of Lombard war horses, and scurried behind an embroidered curtain that screened off a twisting stairway. It was difficult climbing the wedge-shaped steps in her full skirts. She had been breathless when she reached the stairs. By the time she gained the next floor, she was gasping, her calves too tight to carry her any further than the arched, stone walkway leading off to the rooms beyond.

She looked at Louis's shoe. He had small feet, not much larger than her own, and she could have worn his footwear without any difficulty — especially these, with their embroidery and green braid lacing. Putting her hand inside the shoe, she inhaled the tang of new leather.

The sound of her own breathing and the rapid thud of her heart concealed the scrape of Louis's footsteps on the stairs. The first she knew of his presence was the moment when he lunged at her from the last step and caught her against the wall.

She barely had time to scream, and that was muffled by the cupped palm he pressed over her lips. 'I've caught you now, he panted against her ear. 'I claim my forfeit.

Catrin was unable to speak, but she poked out her tongue and licked the salty skin of his palm. The wine sang in her blood, and the wiry strength of him was delicious. Her arms went around his neck and she rubbed against him.

'My forfeit, he repeated, his voice a little slurred, but more with lust than drink. 'I command you to lift your skirts. He took his hand from her mouth and raised his tunic to reach down inside his braies.

Catrin's eyes widened. She glanced around. 'What, here, on the stairs?

'Lost your daring, Catty? he taunted with a devilish grin. 'Forgotten that time against the salted herring barrels in Chepstow?

'I had bruises for weeks after, she protested, but the spark in his eyes was kindling enough, and she began to gather up her skirts. 'Someone might come, she added on a last thread of reason, as he seized her hips and angled her body towards his.

'I certainly hope so, Louis said incorrigibly, and thrust into her.

It was not the most comfortable coupling, but the excitement and novelty more than compensated for the rough stone at Catrin's back and the jolt of pain in her spine each time that he lunged. Sheer, raw lust was what had fired their marriage before, and it was as incandescent as ever. Catrin cried aloud at the pleasure, then, remembering where they were, clenched her teeth and held the sound in her throat.

'No, Catty, let it go! Louis panted in extremis. 'I need to hear you!

She shook her head from side to side.

'Please! Louis groaned.

Her climax struck, enhanced by his pleading, and her scream echoed along the walkway as her knees buckled. Louis took her weight and plunged into his own crisis with a long moan. Then he too lost his strength and staggered, pulling her down with him so that they ended in a tangle of limbs on the cold stone floor.

After a moment, Louis rolled on to his back, a blissful grin on his face. 'The best yet, he said breathlessly.

Catrin struggled to sit up. Her spine was sore, her loins tingled and burned. The pleasure had been intense, but she was not sure that it was 'the best yet' for her. It was fun to couple in unexpected places, but she also liked the slower, sensual comfort of a feather bed, and the small, niggling voice that she preferred to ignore informed her that Louis seemed to derive his greatest pleasure from coupling with her where the danger of being discovered lent an added spice.

'You don't answer me, wife. He glanced at her sidelong.

'You leave me no breath to do so, she retorted, then turned her head sharply towards the stairwell. The sound of voices and the scrape of shoe on stone were far too close.

She scrambled to her feet and frantically shook out and smoothed the skirts of her gown. Louis, in no such rush, slipped his genitals back inside his braies and stood up almost lazily. He was bending over to pick up his shoe when King Stephen and William d'Ypres stepped on to the walkway that led to the private solar.

Catrin performed a flustered curtsey, her face flaming. Louis flourished a bow and, at the same time, grasped the shoe.

Stephen raised his brows. 'Is a place of honour in the hall not good enough for you that you should choose the royal apartments instead? he asked with a smile. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and weariness dragged at his mouth corners. The months of imprisonment had taken their toll.

'No, sire, Louis responded smoothly. 'We are grateful indeed. It is just that I needed a quiet retreat to give my wife her Christmas gift.

'I see. Stephen eyed the shoe that Louis held in his hand, then looked at Catrin where she stood flushed and dishevelled. 'Was it well received?

Louis smiled. 'Yes, sire.

William d'Ypres snorted in amusement and shook his head. 'I do not know how you do it.

'I could explain, sir. Louis waggled his brows suggestively.

D'Ypres laughed and gave Louis a push. 'That wit of yours is sharp enough to carve you a path to success or cut you to the bone. Have a care which way you use it.

'As ever, sir. Louis bowed.

'As never, d'Ypres retorted, but his tone was indulgent. 'Perhaps in the New Year, I'll see what you can accomplish.

'You will not find me lacking, my lord.

'As to that, a gambler takes his chances, d'Ypres responded drily.

The two men made to go on their way, but Stephen stopped and turned round. 'Mistress healer, do you have a cure for a sore throat? He rubbed his larynx to indicate the pain.

'Surely, sire, Catrin answered, her colour remaining high. Louis had taken the brunt of the banter, and the King and his chief mercenary had been indulgently amused, hinting that they were well accustomed to discovering Louis in such situations. He had done no more than live up to expectations — theirs and his own. Catrin felt, rather ashamedly, that she had lived down to hers, and would gladly have remained overlooked. 'You must drink a tisane of blackcurrant, liquorice and horehound, sweetened with honey. It will ease, but not cure, she added as a safeguard to her reputation.

'Then mix it for me, and bring it to my chamber. His winning smile flashed across his face. It should have lifted his features, but instead it made him look all the more exhausted.

'Sire. Catrin bowed her head, and the men continued on to the royal chambers.

Louis hopped into his shoe. 'If I didn't know that Stephen was so attached to his wife, I'd think he had a fancy to you, he remarked with a grin.

Catrin gave her husband a withering look. 'Some men at least, carry their brains above their belts.

Louis knelt to fasten the horn toggle on the side of the shoe. 'Now why should I think that your blade is aimed at me?

'If the cap fits, then wear it.

Louis stood up and looked at her, his expression suddenly serious. 'It doesn't fit me, Catty, whatever you think. I've made mistakes, but I've learned from them.

'So you keep telling me, she said. 'But I believe that actions speak the louder.

'What do you want me to do? Have myself tonsured and profess a vow of chastity?

Catrin smiled at the notion, but then she sobered. 'No, she said. 'I would not put such a strain on our marriage. Keeping your faith to me will do. I am your wife, and you know how much I sacrificed to stay with you. Her voice took on depth and vehemence. 'I won't remind you of it again; I am not a martyr, but hear this, Louis. I will not have our lovemaking used as cheap coin to feed your self-importance and your standing in the eyes of other men!

'But you enjoyed it as much as I did! he blustered, spreading his hands in a gesture of disbelief. 'Your cries weren't for me to stop!

Catrin tightened her lips. 'It was the way you jested with the King and Lord William.

'That was nothing, harmless banter. All men do it.

'That is what I mean about the brains below the belt, Catrin retorted smartly. 'Condemned out of your own mouth. She gathered her skirts. 'I have a tisane to brew.

He watched her go to the stairs, chewed his lip and tugged at his hair in perplexity. 'Catty, he said as she set her foot on the first step.

'What? She gave him a glance over her shoulder.

He made a contrite, prayerful gesture. 'You're beautiful and I love you.

She gave him the ghost of a smile and put her nose in the air. 'That begins to make amends.

'And I humbly promise to keep the faith.

Still smiling, despite herself, Catrin went down the stairs.

'King Stephen is not well, she said later, as she and Louis lay together in a daub and wattle shelter in the bailey. Usually it held sheep, but it had been swept out to provide accommodation for the overspill of troops. All around them, others were settling down to sleep, huddling in their cloaks for warmth against the sharp winter cold. 'Serious?

'No, Catrin said doubtfully, 'but he is so thin and he looks so tired. If he cannot throw it off, then it might grow worse. I told him that he should rest, but he just laughed, and asked what I thought he had been doing all those months in Bristol. I said fretting.

Louis drew her close and nuzzled his lips against her throat. 'You are indeed a wise woman, Catty. His voice was teasing, but his thoughts were troubled. She was the one who had changed, and she was proving more of a challenge than he had first complacently thought. Instead of leading a saddle-broken, if somewhat contrary, mare to a mounting block, he was discovering that he had his fist around the rope of an untamed wild horse. And yet he would not let go for the world. She was too valuable. He had seen her worth written in the eyes of a disinherited knight and of the King of England.

'Am I? Her tone was almost forlorn. 'Sometimes I think I am very foolish.

'That's just the lateness of the hour talking, Louis dismissed easily, and pressed closer still within the cloak, letting her feel the swell of his erection, but making no greater move. After her earlier speech, he wanted to show that despite his needs, he was capable of consideration and restraint. 'Everyone thinks that sometimes.

'Even you?

He permitted himself a smile against the heartbeat in her soft, white throat. 'Even me. His lips touched a fabric cord. Setting his finger beneath it, he drew it up out of her gown and chemise. It was warm from her body. In the light from the horn lantern burning on a shelf above their bed of straw, he examined the plaited knot of red, black and white wool. 'Why do you wear this thing? he asked, unable to keep the distaste from his voice. It looked tawdry and cheap, the sort of trinket a peasant would own. 'Most women have crosses, or little religious badges.

She grabbed it from him. 'I'm not most women.

'True, but that does not answer my question.

She sighed, as if he were being awkward. 'It was given to me by the wise-woman who taught me all I know. As a sort of badge of apprenticeship, if you like, but it means more to me than that. It's a reminder of her and the bond between us. She was like a grandmother to me.

Louis concealed a grimace, imagining a toothless, smelly, old crone.

'In a way, it's a sort of talisman too, she murmured. 'It represents the three strands of womanhood. Maiden, mother and crone.

'Oh, he said without interest or enthusiasm. She tucked it firmly back inside her dress and chemise. 'But, if you want, I will wear a cross on top of my garments. 'I will buy you a cross, he said. 'A fine silver one inlaid with garnets from Midlothian. He stroked her spine. 'If I had the coin, I would invest you with jewels like a queen. 'I don't need jewels.

'Mayhap not, but I would still dress you until you glittered to show the world how much I value you.

She gave a little sigh — of contentment, he thought. Their lips met. The kiss could have been a preliminary to more lovemaking, but Louis kept it tender and gentle, proving what a good husband he was.

When their lips parted, he rolled half on to his back and stared at the rafters, the sparrow droppings illuminated by the glow of the lantern. Nearby, someone was softly snoring. He fixed the sights, sounds and textures in his mind. He wanted to remember this night so that in the future he could look back from a position of wealth and influence and see it as the threshold of his rise to fame. Once I slept in an animal shed. Look at me now.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

At Ethel's former hearth in Bristol, Oliver celebrated the Christmas season with wine and ginevra, with Welsh mead and Galwegian usquebaugh to deaden the pain. But although Oliver's body grew numb, his mind seemed to focus with all the more clarity. If anything, the grief of losing Catrin cut keener than his grief over Emma. Emma was dead and forever beyond his reach, but Catrin still lived, and breathed and loved. So near, and yet so impossibly far.

'You do yourself harm brooding out here, said Geoffrey FitzMar, finding him there. The young knight had been released with Earl Robert a couple of weeks after Oliver. 'At least come into the hall and get drunk with everyone else.

'I prefer my own company, Oliver said with frozen dignity.

Geoffrey scrubbed a forefinger beneath his nose in perplexity and sat on the spare stool by the hearth. 'Richard wanted to come and fetch you, but I put him off, said that I would do it.

'Is that supposed to bribe me with guilt?

Geoffrey shrugged. 'I just thought that you wouldn't want the lad to find you like this. I know you are deeply wounded, but it is the Christmas season. It might heal you a little to stand under a kissing bunch.

Oliver gave Geoffrey a vicious look. 'I don't want to be "healed a little", he snapped and took a gulp from the almost empty flask of usquebaugh. 'What is the point of having your heart ripped from your body time upon time? I will sleep with my sword from now on. He touched his belt to emphasise the point and, in so doing, felt the decorative love knot that Ethel had woven. Now he tore this free and, with a look of loathing at the mingled red, raven and flaxen hair, cast it on the fire.

Geoffrey began to exclaim, but bit the sound between his teeth. Lunging to his feet, Oliver wove his way unsteadily to the hall. He did not suppose it mattered where oblivion came from, just as long as it did.

Godard lumbered out of the shadows, snatched the poker from the spit bar and, with a deft movement, flicked the knot from the fire and stamped on it. The outer edge was charred and singed, but the inside was whole and the pattern still visible. Oliver's aim had not been good.

'He might regret it later, he said to a startled Geoffrey.

The young knight tugged at his curls and looked dubious.

'The old woman knew, but she never said nowt.

'Knew what?

'That the husband was still alive. Read it in the smoke she did — a dark-haired man from the enemy side who would bring misery and strife.

The hair rose on Geoffrey's nape and his gaze flickered anxiously. 'She had the sight?

Godard shrugged. 'Who's to say? All I know is that she knew. He gestured to the blackened token half-hidden under his boot. 'I'll keep it for the nonce. It'll not be mended else. With a nod, he set about banking the fire against any dangerous stray sparks.

Geoffrey turned to the keep. The sounds of merriment drifted like smoke on the wind. 'I'd best go and join his lordship before he injures himself or picks a fight, he said with a sigh.

Catrin was binding the sprained ankle of one of William d'Ypres' knights when Louis came running through the camp to find her. The King's army was heading for York, but had broken the march to rest overnight at Northampton.

The weather had held fine, and a soft, late April sun was warming the thatch on the roofs and gilding the wooden tent supports.

'Catty, leave that, Louis panted. 'The Queen wants you immediately.

Catrin stared at her husband. 'The Queen?

'Yes. The King's been taken with a high fever in the night, and he's refused all his doctors. Quickly, there's no time to lose. He snapped his fingers at her.

Catrin resented the gesture. She was not a dog to come to heel, but in the next moment she forgave him as she saw the agitation in his eyes.

'A moment will make no difference, she soothed, and wrapped the last layer of bandage around her patient's ankle, securing the support with a bone pin. Beside her, Louis fumed and bit his thumbnail. Finished, she picked up her satchel.

'More haste, less speed, she could not prevent herself from saying.

Louis scowled but said nothing, obviously too preoccupied to either rise to the bait or make a retort. Instead, he set off at a striding walk that ought to have belonged to a much taller man.

Catrin ran along beside him. 'I am surprised he has not been taken ill before now, she remarked. 'I said at Christmas that he looked exhausted. He has driven himself too hard, and Lenten fare is not the food to put flesh back on a man's wasted bones.

'Just see that he recovers now, Louis said grimly as they entered the great hall.

Catrin glanced at him. She had never seen Louis so out of countenance before. Life was lived with a gambler's jauntiness. That much had not changed since the Chepstow days. 'I will do what I can.

He stopped abruptly and swung her round by her arm.

His face was so close that she could see the faint sprinkling of freckles across his nose, and the tiniest barber's nick on his cheekbone. 'You'll save him, and you'll let him know that it is your skill that has kept him out of a shroud. His upper lip curled into what was almost a snarl.

'Louis, you're hurting me. She tugged herself free and rubbed her bruised elbow.

He stepped back and, with a little shake of his head, breathed out. His tone softened and he stroked her cheek. 'Catty, if he dies, then so do my hopes of becoming a baron. Save his life, and you will have not only his eternal gratitude, but that of the entire royal party, and we can make what we want of it.

Now she understood. He was in the midst of the largest gamble of his life and her skill was the luck that loaded his dice. 'Everything has its price in your eyes, doesn't it? she said with contempt. 'I wonder about my own worth to you. If I had not been known to the King and desired by another man, would you have valued me enough to bind me with old wedding vows?

His eyes narrowed. 'You know I would. Don't be such a shrew.

Without a word she turned from him and approached the stairs to the royal chamber.