his arms outstretched to take the baby. She still sat on the birthing stool, the afterbirth as yet undelivered, her hair loose to her hips and sweat-soaked at the brow.
She tightened her grip on the bundle she held and immediately the new-born ceased to screech as loudly. 'Your daughter, you mean, she said. 'Louis, we have a girl child.
He stopped as if he had run into a castle wall and his arms dropped to his sides. 'A girl child? he repeated, the joy freezing, then falling from his face to leave an expression of deep affront. 'That is impossible. My line always breeds boys.
'Well, God has seen fit to bless you with a daughter. Louis glared narrow-eyed at the baby in Catrin's arms. 'This is your doing, you bitch. Any other woman would have borne me a son. You have thwarted me deliberately with your wise-woman's tricks.
Catrin opened her mouth to deny that she had done any Much thing, but found that she was too weary to stand against his petulance and rage. She just wanted him to go away. 'You have thwarted yourself, she said, 'at every turn. Louis clenched his fists. For an appalling moment, Catrin thought that he was going to strike her while she sat on the birthing stool, still in the last stage of labour. Raising her eyes to his, she saw the intent, but some tiny spark of control held him in check. Abruptly he turned from her, let out his breath with harsh contempt and strode from the room, slamming the door in a shudder of cold air.
Catrin hung her head over her tiny daughter. 'I chose the wrong man, she whispered. 'God forgive me, I chose the wrong man.
' Now then, mistress, don't you worry. He'll come around in time, said the older midwife. Her face was pale with shock, but she had rallied bravely. 'Men need daughters to make good marriage alliances. He'll be right proud of her once she comes into her looks, you mark me.
'His pride is the problem, Catrin said, as her womb began to cramp and expel the afterbirth. 'He has boasted far and wide that he will soon have a son to follow him. He will blame me for failing him, not God for ordering. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and pushed down. The pains were not as bad, but they were still deeply uncomfortable.
'Things will seem better in the morning, the woman soothed. 'Now, we need a name for this little lass.
Catrin parted the linen towel and looked down into the baby's tiny, crumpled features. While she owed her a great debt, she could not saddle the infant with a name like
Etheldreda. 'Rosamund, she said, 'after my mother, her grandmother. She gave the slightest of bitter smiles. 'Our line always runs to girls.
Louis stared down at his small daughter in her cherry-wood cradle. She was sound asleep, her eyelids no larger than telin shells and seeming too delicate for their edging of dense black lashes. Her name suited her; she was as pink and soft as a rose. Over the past six weeks some of his initial disappointment had waned. As several people had pointed out in the process of commiseration, daughters were useful providing you did not have too many, and at least Catrin had proved that she could bear children with relative ease. Only a few days after the birth she had been chafing at her enforced confinement in the bower. The next one would be a boy for certain. Catrin had been churched that morning and thus was free to take up her wifely duties again, amongst them those of the bedchamber. Not that Louis had been on short rations during her confinement. Wulfhild, the kitchen maid, had been most accommodating in the stables, and there were a couple of women in the village too. If Catrin suspected, she had said nothing. Since the baby had been born, there appeared to be no room in her life for anything else, including him.
Usurped by a puling infant, and a girl at that. Louis's lip curled. She had even insisted on feeding the baby herself, like a peasant woman, instead of doing what was proper to her rank and obtaining a wet nurse. When he protested, she stood her ground so firmly that he had been forced to retreat and sulk in the stables for an hour with Wulfhild.
'I am a midwife; I know what is best for my daughter, she had said with quiet assertion, no blaze of temper on which he could feed his own. She was a bitch, a contrary, irritating bitch, but she was also comely and, despite his other amours, he still desired her, not least because of the way she ignored him.
She entered the room now, clothed in her undergown and chemise, her black hair curtaining her shoulders. It was not as long as it had been during her pregnancy. The child had apparently taken the strength from her hair, and she had shorn off a good six inches. Still, it did not detract from her looks. At least if Rosamund inherited them she would make an appetising marriage prospect.
Louis sat on their bed and began disrobing. Catrin went to the cradle and looked down at the swaddled baby. An expression of melting tenderness filled her face. It was a look that Louis recognised because once, back in the days at Chepstow, it had been bestowed on him.
'She's asleep, he said brusquely. 'Come to bed.
Catrin raised her head and looked at him, the softness lading. 'May I not check upon my own daughter?
'I've checked already. That cradle is like a shackle around your ankles. You're never more than a pace from it.
'That is not true. She left the baby and approached the bed. He could sense the reluctance in her step, and it was made all the more galling for the alacrity with which she had approached the cradle.
'If you had done as I said and employed a wet nurse, we could still have the bedchamber to ourselves, he complained.
'You need not sleep here if it troubles you so much. She gave him a cool stare and pulled off her undergown, then, more reluctantly, her chemise.
He snorted. 'I'll not be thrown out of my own chamber by a couple of women! Her body glimmered in the candlelight. Her breasts were full from suckling the baby. She had recovered her trim waist, if anything she was more slender than before. There were a few small, silvery stretch marks on her belly, and an area of raised pinkish-white flesh on her side from the sword wound she had sustained at Bristol. The scar itself never ceased to fascinate him, because it was the sort of wound seen frequently on men but never on a woman.
Taking her hand, he pulled her down beside him on the cold silk coverlet. She shivered and gazed past him at the rafters. Louis ran his thumb delicately along the scar and kissed her cold, goose-pimpled skin. 'Two months, Catty, he murmured against her throat. 'It's been a long, dry wait.
She shifted slightly beneath him and her hands clasped behind his neck. 'Don't tell lies, she murmured. 'I know you've been drinking at different fountains.
He thought about making a vehement denial, but decided that it would begin another quarrel and he had patience for neither argument nor placation. 'Only because I could not have the one I wanted, he muttered against her breasts. 'Open for me, Catty, let me in.
Obligingly she raised and spread her thighs. He felt their satin touch against his flanks and then the clinging, liquid heat of her inner body.
'This time it will be a boy, he panted as he worked himself deep inside her. Her body swayed with his movements, but she made no response of her own, except to wriggle a little and interrupt his rhythm now and again as if she was uncomfortable. When he looked into her face it was blank, apart from a slight frown between her eyes and the catching of her underlip in her teeth.
He ceased to move and rose on braced elbows. 'What is wrong with you tonight? You're as welcoming as a lump of venison on a slab.
'Does it matter, as long as you obtain the son you desire? She looked at him, her hazel eyes weary.
'Of course it matters, he said furiously. 'I'm your husband. In the past I've made you scream like a banshee at the gates of hell. You know how much it pleasures me.
She sighed. 'You want me to scream?
'God damn you, woman, I want you to want me! He felt himself begin to wilt inside her; something that had never, ever happened to him before with any woman. He lunged desperately, but the heat and strength had gone and he slipped from her body with a wet plop.
'Jesu, you witch, what have you done? He looked down at his softened organ in growing horror.
'Nothing, she said scornfully. 'It is your own mind that unmans you. You cannot always have what you want for the smiling, Louis. It is your right as my husband to command my body, but do not look for desire when all you desire is to slake your lust and beget yourself a son.
'Christ, that would be the desire of any man. You put something in my wine, didn't you? He seized a handful
