of her glossy, black hair. 'Didn't you!
'Don't be so stupid! she flared back. 'If I had put anything in your wine, it would have been wolfsbane and you wouldn't be worrying about a limp cock, you'd be dead!
He wound her hair around his fist and seriously thought about strangling her. Heat pulsed in his groin as he imagined the act; her struggle. He pushed her flat, his wrist across her throat, sought, fumbled, and plunged.
This time she did scream, after a fashion, and her body arched against him. Louis fixed his eyes on her face, watching the war between her fury and fear. He had never taken a woman in rape before and the experience was so novel, his pleasure so great that it was almost a pain.
Catrin continued to spit and struggle, but Louis was in no hurry to complete the act and took his time, holding back, toying with the delightful sensations. Begetting his son was going to be a pleasure after all.
In her cradle, Rosamund started to cry. Catrin's struggles became desperate.
'Lie still! Louis snarled, tightening his grip until she choked.
Above the sound of Catrin's fight for air, his grunts of pleasure and the baby's wails, came a vigorous pounding on the bedchamber door.
'Go away! Louis yelled.
My lord, come quickly, we are under siege! an agitated voice responded. 'There is an army outside our walls! 'What?
An army, my lord, with siege machinery! the voice repeated, and pounded the door again.
For the second time, Louis lost his erection. 'All right, all right, he bellowed. 'Keep the skin on your knuckles! Releasing Catrin, he levered himself off her and flung on his clothes. 'We'll finish this later, he snapped over his shoulder and, pushing his feet into his shoes, strode to the door and banged out of the room.
Coughing and choking, Catrin sat up, her black hair spilling wild. There was a raw throb between her thighs and her scalp was sore. She lurched to her feet and staggered to the cradle where Rosamund was now bawling for all she was worth. Stars
fluctuated before her eyes and she had to steady herself for a moment before she was able to stoop and lift the screaming infant from the cradle.
'Hush, she soothed, 'hush, not knowing if she was talking to the child or herself. Holding Rosamund to her breast, she rocked the baby back and forth, her hand cupping the tiny, fragile skull. Rosamund rooted against her flesh. Catrin cradled her and put her to suck.
Until recently she would not have thought Louis capable of the kind of violence he had shown just now. Too late, she was coming to understand that the changes he had promised her were not for the better. The child in him was too strong for the man to defeat, and a wilful child in a man's body was so dangerous it was terrifying.
She brushed her forefinger over Rosamund's downy, dark hair, and wondered with quiet desperation what she was going to do. She could live the lie and play his soul-destroying game, or she could fight him every step of the way as she had fought tonight and lose not her soul but her life. Or she could, as she had taunted, put wolfsbane in his cup.
Afraid of her own emotions, she wrapped her cloak around herself and the suckling baby and, going to the bower window overlooking the gate house, freed the catch.
A bitter, rain-laden wind beat into her face. The fields were brown, the winter trees dark and skeletal. Where smoke should have been rising in gentle twirls from the village houses, there were thick black gouts instead, interspersed with the red lick of fire. Closer to the keep, she could make out the forms of the soldiers, both mounted and on foot. They were spreading out to encircle the castle and they had brought siege machinery with them.
Frozen to the marrow as much by what she saw as by the weather, Catrin jerked the window shut and, nursing her daughter, turned to the small charcoal brazier burning in the middle of the room. Part of her fear was for herself, but most of her terror was for the baby lying in her arms. The sight of the smoke and the soldiers flooded her mind with the images of what had happened at Penfoss. Only it was not Aimery de Sens who sprawled across the gateway with a cut throat but Louis, and she was lying where Amice had lain. She had heard the tales of what Welsh and Flemish mercenaries did to the small babies whose mothers they had raped and butchered. It did not help her state of mind that while Louis was a good reconnaissance soldier, he had never been faced with this kind of challenge before.
'Jesu, be silent! she snapped at herself. Gently prising a sleepy Rosamund from her nipple, she returned the baby to the cradle and donned a chemise and warm gown. Worrying would only make the situation worse. If the maids saw her panic then they would panic too.
She bound her hair in a wimple, took Rosamund and carried her from the room and down the stairs. If the village was in flames, there were bound to be people seeking succour within the keep.
They were the soldiers of Aubrey de Vere, Earl of Oxford, Catrin was told by a weeping village woman, who had watched them take her cow and her pig and set fire to her cottage.
'One of 'em says to me, 'tell your lord that the Earl of Oxford's come to call. ' She stared round the great hall, her body rocking back and forth in a rhythm of grief. 'He said that they'd cut the right hand off every man in the village.
'Soldiers often make empty boasts. He said it to frighten you. Catrin set her arm around the woman's shoulders and tried to ignore her own misgivings.
' Even if he did, they'll still burn it all to the ground and leave us nothing. My animals gone, my home a heap of ashes! The woman rocked harder and wailed. 'I'll starve!
'Of course you won't, Lord Louis will see that you do not.
'He ain't done nothing but take from us since he came, she answered and turned her head away, refusing all Catrin's efforts to comfort.
Leaving her in the care of another village woman, Catrin went to the large iron cauldron set over the hearth and helped to dish out pottage and sympathy but quickly realised that it was a fruitless exercise. The villagers might have been forced to take refuge in the keep, but they had closed ranks. It swiftly became obvious to Catrin that they hated Louis and had much preferred their previous, irascible, wine-swilling lord. At least he had not dwelt in luxury while they strove to eke a living from their fields. Catrin discovered that they blamed her too. Old Lord Humphrey had not been married and he had never shown a desire for fancy hangings or glass in the windows.
Unable to bear the sidelong hostile glances any more, Catrin left the baby with Amfrid and went up to the battlements to speak with Louis.
The wind bore the acrid stink of smoke, and beneath their walls the soldiers were setting up camp and preparing to roast a yearling calf. Loaded on baggage wains were shaped sections of wood and lengths of rope which would be assembled into siege machinery.
Louis's complexion was greenish-white as he peered out of one of the wooden crossbow towers jutting out from the wall walk. 'The whoresons, he spat. 'The stinking whoresons.
'We were always going to come under threat of attack. Catrin watched the busy purpose of the men below and contrasted it with the stunned shock of the troops within the keep. 'They look as if they know their business, she murmured.
Louis stiffened and threw her a narrow look. 'Since when have you been so knowledgeable on military matters?
She felt the anger in him, his need to bolster his confidence by striking out. 'I don't need vast experience to believe the proof of my eyes.
He made a curt gesture of dismissal. 'Your place isn't up here. You should be with the other women tending your sewing and rocking your precious cradle.
Catrin tightened her lips. 'With all the villagers taking refuge within these walls, my place is everywhere, she pointed out. 'You read meaning into my words that does not exist. I came to look, nothing more.
'Then if you have seen enough, you can go. His gaze flickered sidelong as a soldier approached.
Catrin lowered her eyes. She had sense enough not to continue the argument in front of others, especially when every ounce of morale was required. Besides, he was sure to find ways of twisting whatever she said.
'Yes, my lord, she said sweetly, dipping him a curtsey, which she never did, and left the battlements, her
