Her eyebrows lifted. “At seven years of age he must become a man?” she shook her head. “That is ridiculous. He is still a child.”
“He wants very much to be a man. You must let him.”
She cocked her head “If he was your flesh and blood child whom you had raised from birth, I wonder if you would be so eager to see him grow up?”
“I suppose we shall find out one day if God is merciful.”
Her smile abruptly faded and she turned away from him, hoping he would not see her change in expression. But Gart was extremely observant and noticed immediately. He also noticed she was trying to hide it from him.
“What is wrong?” he asked softly. “Why do you look that way?”
She shook her head but he wouldn’t let her get away so easily. When she tried to move away, he blocked her path.
“Tell me what is wrong,” he begged softly.
She grew frustrated and stepped back from him, still not meeting his eye. “Do you have any idea what you ask for?”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at him then. “You pray for a child of your flesh and mine.”
“I realize that.”
“It will be a bastard!”
She lifted her voice and he shushed her softly. “It will not be that way forever.”
She rolled her eyes miserably. “You do not know that for certain.”
“Aye, I do.”
She burst into quiet tears. Unsure why she was so emotional, Gart looked around quickly, spying the buttery in the corner of the kitchen yard. It was a little stone shack where cold dairy products were stored. It was also sturdy and private. Not wanting Emberley’s tears to be seen by everyone, he took her by the elbow and gently pulled her into the buttery. She followed without a fight.
He shut the door behind them. It was cool and dark inside, a small window near the roof allowing for ventilation and a small amount of light. Gart pulled her into his arms now that they had some privacy, rocking her gently.
“What is the matter, my love?” he asked, his lips against her head. “Why do you weep?”
She sobbed miserably. “We are in trouble.”
Other than the obvious, he had no idea what she meant. “Why?”
She was sobbing so much that it was difficult for him to understand her. “Since… since Julian and the queen have been lovers, he has not… not… touched me. He said that it would not be right.”
Gart digested that statement, the ridiculousness of it, feeling a great deal of happiness in the declaration. But he was still confused.
“I see,” he wasn’t sure what more to say. “What does that have to do with anything?”
She pulled back, gazing up at him with a harried, frightened expression. “Because he will know he is not the father.”
Gart still wasn’t quite following her. “What do you mean?”
She struggled to calm herself, gazing into his handsome face and laboring to bring forth the words. “The baby,” she said softly. “He will know it is not his.”
“What…?”
“I am pregnant, Gart,” she interrupted him softly. “You have your wish. But Julian will know the baby is not his.”
Gart stared at her, such shock invading his features that, for a moment, it looked as if the man were about to blow the top of his head off. He was stunned. Genuinely speechless, he pulled her into a crushing embrace.
