He swore at her in the darkness, reaching out to grasp her long hair. "Have I not warned you, whore, that you are never to speak to me when I come to your bed?" Then he began to beat her, but Alix pulled from his grip and quickly jumped from the bed before he could do any damage, hiding in a corner where he could not see her. With a violent oath, Hayle arose from the bed and stormed from the chamber. He did not return for several nights, much to her relief. But when he did, it was the same as it had ever been. Alix put him from her mind but for that one hour each night when she was forced to bear his company in the pitch-black silence.

Her father had encouraged her to revive the old herb garden they found in the larger walled garden of the hall. "Look," he said that late April day when he had spied it, "lavender, rosemary, sage, peppermint, and rue, mignon. You must begin to supply your apothecary. You will be responsible for your people should illness strike the hall or the village. Have you not learned from me the remedies necessary for caring for the sick?"

"And how to bind and heal a wound," Alix replied. "And to sew a cut."

"My physician's bag with its tools is yours, Alix," her father told her. "Now, let us see to this little garden."

She worked with young Wat beneath her father's supervision to bring the garden into full flower by early summer. And she walked out into the fallow fields gathering flowers, seeds, and grasses that held medicinal value, digging up certain roots. And each day when she returned to the hall she would go first to her father, telling him of what she had found, listening to his advice, learning more about what she had found. One afternoon she showed him the seeds of the wild carrot she had found. "These are what you give me for strength," Alix said with a smile.

Alexander Givet sighed. For her own sake she had to know the truth before he could no longer tell her. "They are not for strengthening," he said. "They have another use, mignon. They are to prevent conception."

Alix paled. "Papa! What have you done to me?" She was horrified by the revelation. "You know I must have a child."

"Non!" he said in a hard voice such as she had never before heard him use. "You must never have your husband's child. If you do not give him a son but rather a daughter, he will berate you for it. If you do give him an heir, he will try to take the child from you and make your life even more miserable. Sir Udolf is in his prime, and hearty in his health, but what if an accident befell him? You would be left with his son and none to protect you, mignon."

"Papa, he has already called me barren. If I do not have a child I am of no use to him, and even Sir Udolf will see that. What will happen to me then? My very life is in peril and especially if Maida has more children."

"Wait at least until I am gone," her father begged.

Alix sighed. "I will wait," she said.

The summer passed, and autumn arrived. No one had come to Wulfborn Hall seeking King Henry. It was obvious that the new king had more important matters to attend to, and Sir Udolf was relieved. Loyal he might have been to Henry Plantagenet, but now his loyalty must belong to the Yorkist king should he be queried.

Isolated though Wulfborn was, the lord of the Northern Marches was not above paying him a visit.

On a gray, oddly warm day in mid-October Maida went into labor with her child. And it was on that same day that Alexander Givet chose to die. He had been fine in the morning. Alix had left him seated by the warm hearth as she departed to seek any useful plant that she had earlier missed in her harvesting. There had been a hard frost, and Sir Udolf told her it but portended an early winter. Hayle had run into the hall as she was leaving to announce that his mistress was in labor with their child, and he smirked at Alix. She shrugged and walked past him.

The warm weather after the past cold days was strange. The ground had thawed enough for her to dig some roots she had missed. She found a patch of wild carrot, and carefully snipping the flower heads, shook the seeds into her pouch. She felt no guilt at doing so now. Hayle's behavior had hardened her heart even more. She had meant what she had said to him. When her father was gone and buried she would go. She could not remain in a loveless marriage. But where she would go she had no idea. She couldn't return to the queen. The queen would send her back to Wulfborn and to Hayle Watteson. She would have no choice.

Alix walked though the village as she returned to the hall. She passed the house where Maida lived with her mother. She could hear the laboring woman's howls and groans as she walked by. The girl's little sister stood in the open door watching her as she passed, and unable to help herself Alix made a rude face at the child. The child turned and fled back into the cottage. Alix laughed, feeling better at being able to make this simple gesture of defiance towards her husband and his mistress.

Entering the house, she went immediately to her little apothecary and set aside her pouch. She would sort everything out later. Hurrying to the hall she found her father as she had left him, but he was now sleeping. "Papa, I'm back," Alix said, bending to kiss his brow and kneeling by his side. It was cold, and Alexander Givet did not move. "Papa? Papa!" Her heart began to hammer in her chest. "Non! Non! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Papa, do not leave me," Alix sobbed, and then she began to weep wildly.

The servants coming into the hall saw her grief and quickly realized what had transpired. One of them ran to find Sir Udolf, who hurried quickly to Alix's side.

"My child! Ahh, my poor lass. He is gone, is he?"

Alix looked up at her father-in-law and nodded. Then she said, "Why was no one with him? Why was he left to die alone, my lord? Where was Wat?"

Wat stepped forward. "I brought him wine when he asked me, mistress. Not more than an hour ago. He drank some and then said he would rest for a while and dismissed me. I went to his chamber, for he had a robe that needed repair, and my mother said she would do it. I brought it to her and waited. I was not gone long, I swear it!"

Alix looked at her father. His body showed no signs of distress. His face was at peace. Indeed, there was a small slight smile upon his lips. It was obvious to her that he had just gone to sleep. "There is no blame to be had here," she finally said. "Wat, go and fetch the priest."

"He will be buried on the hillside with our own family," Sir Udolf said. "I am so sorry, Alix. He was a good man even as his daughter is a good woman."

Alix rose to her feet wearily. "Thank you, my lord," she said.

Hayle did not come to her that night, and Alix was relieved. She could not have born his cruelty right now. She felt vulnerable and alone. In the morning she learned that Maida was still in labor. She briefly felt pity for the girl. The priest had come the night before and blessed the body of the physician. Alix and two of the women servants had bathed his frail body and dressed him in his best dark blue damask silk robe. His body had been carried to his chamber, and now with morning the men brought a coffin into the house. Alexander Givet was put into it and carried to the church at the end of the village, where a Mass was said for his soul. He was then buried on the hillside, Alix, Sir Udolf, and Wat following the coffin to the graveyard.

Alix remained by her father's grave for much of the day. The winds had begun to blow from the north, and she was glad for her heavy wool cape with its furred hood. Finally, with the red slash of the setting sun burning through the gray clouds on the horizon, Alix arose from her sire's grave and returned home. Passing Maida's cottage once again she heard shrieks from within and the roar of her husband's voice as he protested something that did not please his childish nature.

Alix went to her bed, for she was exhausted from her sorrow and her weeping. She had never felt more alone in her life. And then in the morning Bab came into her chamber filled with the latest gossip.

"Good morrow, mistress, and it is certainly a good morning for you. Maida has died, and her babe with her! It was a lad. A great big creature like his father, and it almost split the lass in two birthing it. When it came out the cord was about its wee neck and its face was blue. And then she began to bleed and it couldn't be stopped, so she died, Maida did."

"Why was I not called?" Alix asked Bab. "Perhaps I might have stopped the girl's bleeding. There are herbs."

"Call you?" Bab laughed harshly. "Why would we call you? You hated our Maida. Why would you help her? She was the lass your husband loved. You probably wanted her dead. Her sister, Nora, says you made a wicked face as you passed the cottage yesterday. Did you spell our Maida?"

"I stuck my tongue out at the brat," Alix said. "She looked rudely at me."

"He's mad with grief," Bab said. "Aye, he is."

"I am sorry," Alix replied, not knowing what else to say. She had seen Maida several times, but she had never spoken a word to her, nor had the girl addressed her. As for Hayle, he would undoubtedly find another girl to love, for like any child who loses a toy he would want it replaced. It would not, Alix knew, be her, but maybe before he found another she might soften his heart long enough to conceive a child. And it would not be done in the dark. She would have no more of that foolishness, Alix decided. As soon as Hayle's grief had eased, she would cease taking the wild carrot seeds her father had prescribed. She would attempt to win him over enough to give him a child. A child who would not be overshadowed by Maida and her son. She would try to make peace with him for both their sakes, and for Sir Udolf, who so desperately wanted to know that his son had a legitimate heir to follow him.

It would not be easy, Alix knew. But it was her duty. Both her mother and the queen would be pleased that she was attempting to make things right. Had they both not taught her that a woman had a duty to her lord and must honor it? She couldn't run. There was no place to go, but she would do her best to be the kind of lady that Wulfborn Hall deserved. And surely her husband could be brought around even if only temporarily.

Chapter Three

At first Hayle Watteson would not allow them to either prepare for burial or bury his mistress and her infant. Only when Sir Udolf pointed out to his son that he was endangering Maida's immortal soul were the women in the girl's family allowed to wash and dress her. They laid her out in the gown that her lover had given her. It was a simple yellow jersey, but no woman in the village had anything nicer. They braided Maida's long black hair with the yellow ribbons he had given her to match the dress. The dead child they wrapped in clean swaddling clothes. The priest would not bury her, for by her actions she and her child were both damned souls. And so Maida was sewn into her shroud with her son and carried to her grave by her family.

Hayle Watteson did not go to see her buried. The thought of them placing his mistress in the ground and covering her with the earth was too painful for him to watch. But when she had been interred he went and sat by the grave for almost a week while he wept and called her name. He would not eat and he would drink but little. His heart was broken by his loss. Finally Sir Udolf went to his son, and with the help of two men they pulled Hayle from the graveside.

"You must come home," the baron told his only child. "Maida is gone, and your mourning will not bring her back."

"I want to be with her" came the dull reply.

"You have a wife," Sir Udolf snapped angrily. "And she has been more than patient with you. You have a duty to me, to her, to Wulfborn."

"The whore cannot conceive!" Hayle cried. "I have plugged her almost every night since you forced this marriage upon me. My seed does not take root in her womb. She is useless to me, to us, to Wulfborn. If you had but accepted Maida, Da." And Hayle began to weep inconsolably.

"Maida is gone," Sir Udolf repeated. "Neither she nor the lad she bore will come back to you. Nothing will be the same ever again, my son. Cleave to your wife, and do not again call her whore. Alix is a good girl. She will give you a son in time." He nodded to the two men holding Hayle's arms. "Bring him home, lads."

"Let me be!" the distraught man cried out. "I want to stay with my Maida!"

The two serving men, however, did their master's bidding, and half carrying, half dragging Hayle, brought him to the house. There servants forcibly removed his clothing and bathed him. When the candles and lamps were lit they escorted him to the hall where he was seated at his father's right hand while Alix sat on Sir Udolf's left. The meal was brought, but Hayle Watteson would eat nothing, and he only sipped at his wine. Sir Udolf conversed with his daughter-in-law, attempting now and again to bring his son into their light conversation, but Hayle Watteson would not speak to them.