“My brothers and cousins are here,” she said through clenched teeth, “and I’ll not have you shaming me before them.” Even as she spoke, she knew she was going about this the wrong way, for Geoffrey balked at the merest prick of the spurs. But she could not bring herself to beg for the respect that ought to have been hers by right.
Although Geoffrey was scowling, the taunt she was expecting died on his lips. That imperious tone was all too familiar to him. But this was not his enemy the empress, the reluctant wife who’d wanted neither his title nor his embraces, prideful and stubborn and damnably desirable. This was a tired, tense woman with a swollen belly and slumped shoulders, much too pale, great with his child. “Fair enough,” he said grudgingly. “You need not fret, Maude. I’ll give you no reason to complain whilst your kin are here.”
Maude was momentarily at a loss, wondering if she was supposed to thank him. She settled upon a sardonic echo of his own terse “Fair enough” and rejected his offer to escort her into the hall. Almost at once, she regretted it, for their confrontation had sapped the last of her dwindling energy, and the kitchen now seemed miles away. She opened her mouth to call Geoffrey back, but pride prevailed over exhaustion. She just needed to catch her breath, she decided. She’d only taken a few steps, though, before she was jolted by a sharp pain, and for a frightening moment, the earth lurched beneath her feet. She gasped, but she did not fall, for Geoffrey had suddenly materialized at her side, his arm around her shoulders, holding her upright until her world stopped spinning.
Maude’s dizziness soon passed. But when her vision cleared, she gasped again, this time in astonishment. “Stephen!”
“Do you think you can walk now? Or would you rather wait a while?” Stephen asked, and when she nodded, he guided her into the stables, toward a nearby bale of hay.
Maude sank down on it thankfully, but as their eyes met, she flushed, for by now she’d solved the mystery of his providential appearance. To have reached her so fast, he must have come from the stables, and that meant he had overheard her conversation with Geoffrey.
“I…I would rather you say nothing of this,” she said, and although the words seemed to refer to her dizzy spell, she was asking more than that, and they both knew it.
“I’d gone out to the stables to check upon my roan’s foreleg. He gashed it on the road yesterday. But I cannot imagine that being of interest to anyone else.”
“No, not likely,” Maude agreed, and some of the color began to fade from her face. This was not the first time she’d had reason to be grateful for his gallantry, and as she beckoned him to sit beside her on the bale, she found herself remembering those unhappy months after her marriage foundered.
It had not been an easy time, for all knew her father was furious with her, and theirs was a society in which cues were taken from the king. What scant sympathy she’d gotten had been surreptitiously offered-Adeliza, her father’s young queen-or left unsaid-Brien Fitz Count, his foster son. It was true that her little brother Ranulf had spoken up for her, asking with an eleven-year-old’s forthrightness, “If Geoffrey told her to go, why are people not blaming him?” But only one man had dared to make a public defense; only Stephen had pointed out-as Ranulf had- that she’d not been the one to end the marriage. She’d been heartened by his loyalty, and comforted by his private comment, that “Geoffrey was a fool to let you go.” A harmless bit of flattery-Stephen was always one for flirting-but her bruised and lacerated pride had needed such balm. She’d not forgotten his kindness, meant to reward it well once she was England’s queen.
Stephen was worried by her pallor. “Shall I summon Minna?” he asked, not at all surprised when she stubbornly shook her head. “Maude…do you want me to talk to Geoffrey? You ought not to be under stress now, not with your time so near.”
“Thank you, Stephen, but no. Actually, Geoffrey and I have been getting along better of late. He was truly pleased when I got with child, has his heart set upon a son, of course. But then, so do I,” she said, and smiled.
They were quiet after that, but it was a companionable quiet. Maude slid her hand under her mantle, pressing it against her abdomen. Once she’d become pregnant, she’d envisioned her womb as a placid pool, with her baby swimming in its depths like a tiny tadpole. He was almost ready now to break the surface, to come up for air. “Stephen…I would ask you a question. But I want the truth, not what you think I need to hear.”
Stephen stiffened, for he was afraid he knew what she was about to ask: if he thought she’d make a good queen. “Go on,” he said warily, all the while wondering what he would say.
“This is likely to sound foolish, but do you think I’ll be a good mother?”
His relief was considerable; he had not wanted to lie to her. “That is an odd question,” he acknowledged, “not one to occur to most of us. People have babies if it is God’s Will, and no one frets much over how they are raised. But yes, I think you will be a very good mother. I’ve heard it said that no earthly creature is as fearless as a mother lioness, defending her cubs unto the death!”
“I take it there is a compliment in there somewhere,” Maude said, and laughed. “I barely remember my own mother. Of course I was so young when they sent me to Germany-just eight-and she was dead by the time I set foot again on English soil. But…but I never felt her presence, Stephen. There was always a distance, and it had naught to do with miles. I do not want that for my children. I want to matter more to them, to give them all that I can and make of them all they can be, to teach them to strive for excellence, to obey God’s Commandments, and- for my eldest son-to be a good king.”
“There is one more lesson I hope you teach them, Maude-that it is not sinful to fail,” Stephen said, and she stared at him in surprise.
Surely he could not be speaking of himself? Maude knew her aunt was a demanding woman, but she thought any parent would be proud of a son like Stephen. He showed courage on the battlefield, courtesy in the hall; he had earned a king’s favor, made an advantageous marriage, and sired sons of his own. Moreover-and it was this talent that Maude secretly envied, for she knew it was one she lacked herself-he had a knack for putting others at ease, had more friends and fewer enemies than any man she knew.
“If Aunt Adela is truly disappointed in you,” she said, “then she must be beyond satisfying. What more could she ask for in a son?”
“One with more flint in his soul,” he said with a wry smile. “My lady mother, bless her, sets standards that the Holy Christ Child could not have met. You know nothing then, of her feud with my eldest brother?”
Maude shook her head. “I thought she and Theobald were on good terms.”
“They are, but Theobald is not the firstborn. I meant my brother Will. He and my mother were always at cross purposes. They fought through most of his boyhood. I do not know the whole of it, for I was too young, but I’ve been told Will swore a public oath that he would kill the Bishop of Chartres. He was just a lad, talking crazed, most likely drunk at the time, but my mother never forgave him. She and the bishop acted to deny Will his birthright, vesting my father’s titles in Theobald, the second son. I am not surprised that you knew none of this, for you were but a babe, and it was skillfully and discreetly done. There was no scandal. Will did not fight her, and lives quietly upon the lands of his wife, at Sully, seemingly content…but not the Count of Blois.”
Maude was silent for a time. “I could not disinherit my son,” she said. “It would be like cutting out my own flesh.”
“Is it wise to be so set upon a son? It could be a girl, after all.”
“I want no daughters,” she said, “not ever.”
Stephen was puzzled by her vehemence. “Matilda recently confided that she may be with child again, and if so, we both hope for a lass this time. Why would you want to deny yourself the pleasure a daughter would bring?”
“Because,” Maude said, “daughters are but pawns, utterly powerless-”
She broke off so abruptly that Stephen knew she’d had another pang. “Is it common to have these pains?”
“The midwife assured me that they come and go in the days before the birthing begins. But the ones I’ve had today have been different, in my back, and I-” Maude’s mouth contorted, and then an alarmed expression crossed her face. “Jesu!” she cried. “My water has broken!”
Stephen jumped to his feet. “We’d best get you inside straightaway.”
“No…you go in and tell them.” Maude was looking everywhere but at Stephen’s face. “I…I will follow in a moment or so.”
“Maude, that makes no sense!” He stared at her in utter bafflement and had his answer, then, in her crimson cheeks, averted eyes, and sodden skirts. God save the lass, she was embarrassed! “Sweet cousin, listen. You must
