Blood Runs Thicker by Sarah Hawkswood (best electronic book reader txt) 📗

there be in me going out to see how the harvest is advancing before it is all brought in?’

‘You might have tripped over, and you did not tell anyone where you were going.’

‘But it was to the North Field, not … York, and I am not incapable, just with child. Besides, almost the entire manor from swine boy to Father Achard is out in the fields, so I had nobody to tell except Nurse.’ She huffed. ‘Stop treating me as if I had no more wit than baby Gilbert.’

‘Then act like the sensible woman you are and obey me.’

She looked mulish, and her bosom rose and fell rather distractingly.

‘You play the tyrant.’

‘No, I play the husband. It is a good role.’ His calm voice infuriated her the more.

‘And sometimes they are one and the same.’

He stepped close to her then, unfolding his arms so that he could hold her, though she stiffened and leant away from him.

‘No tyrant. I just want you safe and …’ He closed his eyes for a moment.

‘Hugh, this is not about me, but about you. How can I make you understand there is nothing to fear? I keep telling you that what happened to Ela will not happen to me.’

‘You cannot promise that.’

‘No, I cannot promise, but I can tell you with certainty. This child will be blessed.’ She relaxed a little and placed her hands upon his chest.

‘It is not just the child, Christina. It is you. I could not bear to lose you. I have said it so often.’ It was true. It still gave him nightmares, the thought of her suffering as Ela had suffered, dying as Ela had died.

‘You will not lose me, my love.’ Her voice softened, and she stroked his cheek. ‘But do not turn me into a wasp-tongue wife with over-cosseting. I am enjoying being with child, with your child, as I have never done before, and now it has quickened … I feel as if I am doubly alive.’

‘I am no tyrant,’ he repeated, but it was more of a plea than an assertion.

‘No. But you are an overcautious lord. I will be dutiful and obey, but only in that I will not go outside the walls of the manor without telling you or Alcuin the Steward. I am happy. Be happy with me.’ She gave an encouraging smile, and he bent to kiss her, even as he heard voices in the passage that crossed the end of the hall. They curtailed his kiss, and he turned as Serjeant Catchpoll appeared in the opening, looking disconcertingly cheerful, and followed a few paces to the rear by Walkelin, his serjeanting apprentice.

‘Why is it that when you look like that, Catchpoll, I worry?’ Bradecote’s lips twitched.

‘Like what, my lord?’ The cheerful look became his death’s head grin.

‘Like that, you wily bastard. Have you come to drag me in to Worcester?’

‘No, that I have not.’

‘Then …’

‘I have come to drag you off to Lench, where the lord Osbern de Lench has been found dead and the heir is keen to see his brother hang for it.’

‘This fills you with joy, Catchpoll?’

‘Well, I looks at it this way, my lord. The lord Sheriff has been in a temper for days over some squabble with his kindred and lashes out at all in range, which mostly means me, and the wife has been scolding me since the day before yesterday for breaking her best pot so …’

‘So investigating a killing is as good as a treat for you?’

‘Seems fair to say so.’

‘And for me?’

‘Well, we cannot all be happy, my lord.’ Catchpoll sounded the voice of reason.

Christina laughed, and shook her head. It occurred to her that however much she loved having her lord at home, it would do him good to have something else to think about than her thickening figure for a week.

‘You must go, my lord, and ensure that brother does not end brother without cause. You need have no fear,’ she paused, for her true meaning was between herself and her lord, and then continued smoothly, ‘for the harvest is all but in, and Alcuin will oversee the threshing. I shall do no more than admire the hard work and ensure there is ale for parched throats at the end of the day.’

‘Are you …?’

‘Must I command you to your duty, my lord?’ Her eyes held a twinkle.

‘No, but …’ He sighed and grinned, though a kernel of concern remained within him. ‘Take yourself a beaker of beer, Catchpoll, and you also, Walkelin, and I will be ready by the time you have drained it. We can reach Lench before nightfall if we are not sluggards.’

‘We are not, my lord, but I cannot say the same for my horse,’ complained Walkelin.

‘Well, you just kick him more, so as I do not have to kick you afterwards,’ said Serjeant Catchpoll, still looking as though upon some treat.

Hugh Bradecote withdrew into the solar with his wife, who indicated that the nursemaid should leave the chamber with a waft of her hand. Bradecote took his son from her arms, and Gilbert Bradecote batted his sire’s cheek with a pudgy hand. He laughed.

‘Good,’ declared Christina. ‘I want you to depart without gloom. These things do not take months, but barely weeks, and if anyone is to be worried, it is me, for I shall do nothing but get rounder of belly, and you will likely attempt foolishly brave things.’

‘I have too much care for my wife and son.’

‘Did you have that when you launched yourself into the Severn when you cannot swim?’

‘No.’ He had the grace to blush. ‘But there are no rivers near Lench, and I swear to you, love, that never again will I launch myself into deep water, even after a murderer.’

‘Small comfort that is, but I shall take it, nevertheless.’ She came close, stroked a hand down his cheek and offered her lips. At which point both discovered that kissing was remarkably difficult when one of the couple