The masons had also busied themselves during the winter with the wall that encircled the keep. It would be graced with a walk at the summit when it was done and the gate would be doubled at the one side. Within the enclosure, which was only partly completed, there was already that stable and a new smithy, with an armory market out upon the ground. The kitchen garden was fenced in where the sun would be greatest. Greens grew there even now and Isabella had plans for an herb garden, one she would plant with Rosalie’s help. There would be both culinary and healing herbs cultivated there. The countess had sent cuttings of fruit trees, which had been planted alongside the kitchen gardens.
Roland had gone to Sant-André to serve the count until his planned nuptials to Thalia the following Christmas. In his absence, Sebastian took the responsibility of Captain of the Guard, and Amaury could find no fault with the change in his brother. Philip was now a knight in service to Montvieux and a more loyal warrior could not have been found.
He could not imagine that matters could proceed better, then he had word that his companion Lothair arrived on the road to the north. The Viking was greeted with enthusiasm andwelcomed to the hall where Amaury called for a cask of wine to be opened in celebration.
“What cause for this unexpected pleasure?” Amaury demanded when they were seated together.
“I have been summoned back to Tulley by the lord himself,” Lothair admitted.
“Were you told why?”
Lothair surrendered the missive, which provided little detail beyond the summons itself. The Lord de Tulley, Amaury recalled, was inclined to be imperious in his demands. “He must have taken an affection to you,” he said and Lothair shrugged.
“I did not realize he had noticed me.”
“You must linger a few days at Montvieux,” Isabella insisted. “I would have your advice about the gardens.”
“I would be honored,” Lothair said with a bow.
Amaury sent a runner to Marnis village that Luc and Thierry might not miss the opportunity to see Lothair and a fine repast was arranged for that night.
That night there were tales to be told by all of the knights and Amaury watched Isabella become drowsy listening to their merry reunion. She was ripe with their child and tired easily.
“You could retire without Lothair being offended,” Amaury murmured.
“Indeed, my lady.” Lothair agreed.
“I thank you for your consideration,” Isabella said. “I would leave you all to your tales.”
When she rose from the board, she gasped aloud and clutched Amaury’s arm. The rush of fluids left no doubt that the babe would arrive soon. Amaury sent Philip to fetch Rosalie and swept Isabella into his arms.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“It might be better if she did walk,” Lothair commented, his words a reminder to all that he was a healer as well.
There was a smaller chamber to one side of the hall that Amaury and Isabella had been using as their own. Lanterns were brought and pallets for the floor, a plump mattress and pillows, as well as an abundance of hot water and clean cloth. Lothair commanded all calmly and with such surety that Amaury strove to be reassured. Rosalie and Lothair conferred when the healer arrived and they two were in complete agreement, even upon the wisdom of banishing Amaury from the chamber.
It was not a good evening to recall that both Isabella’s mother and Amaury’s own had died in childbirth. He told himself that two healers should ensure Isabella’s welfare but when she cried out in pain, it was difficult to believe as much.
Indeed, that night was the worst torment imaginable. Amaury clenched his fists whenever Isabella emitted a cry, despising that there was naught he could do to ease her pain. He promised his all and more in his prayers that night and day; he swore himself to chastity to spare Isabella a similar torment in future, he paced so relentlessly that the master mason bade him not wear down the stone.
The jest, if it was one, was not appreciated by the Lord de Montvieux.
Amaury did not deign to eat, not so long as his lady did not. He would not be consoled or distracted. He could be reassured by one detail only – the cessation of his lady wife’s labors.
Just before the dawn, there was one great cry from Isabella, then silence.
Amaury rose to his feet, heart thundering in fear. Lothair returned to the hall and accepted a cup of ale, granting Amaury a nod.
Rosalie then appeared, looking tired. “My lord, my lady summons you,” she said. Despite her smile, Amaury feared the worst. He lunged through the door and crossed to the makeshiftbed with all speed, only to hear a different cry when he was but steps away.
A babe’s cry.
“Isabella!” he whispered and to his relief, she reached for his hand. She looked to be exhausted, her hair damp and her cheeks pale. He kissed her hand and crouched beside her, bending to touch his lips to hers in his relief. “You are hale?”
She laughed a little. “I am tired but hale enough.” She studied him with sparkling eyes. “You do not even ask about the babe.”
“I care more for my wife,” he said for it was true.
