Captives (14 page)

“No.” Strength had returned to Adeliza’s voice, but it was not the word that Catheryn was expecting.

“No?”

Adeliza shook her head weakly. “I will not go to see Fitz. He is still unwell, he could still be contagious. I will not risk it –”

“Your own husband? You do not care to go and see him?”

Adeliza’s eyes met Catheryn’s, and they were hard as glass.

“I will not see him.”

Chapter Twenty One

Neither Catheryn nor Adeliza really slept that night. The wind howled, and it was often accompanied by Adeliza’s moaning. Even as she slept, she wept.

Catheryn did not sleep at all. She could not drag her eyes away from the woman who had just lost one of the most precious things to her. Adeliza turned frequently underneath the covers where Catheryn had placed her, unable to settle, unable to rest.

Her mouth murmured, “Isabella.”

Catheryn had to hold back tears. It did not seem possible, it did not seem fair that someone so young and so full of life had had it swept away from her. She shuddered to think of the possibility that her own child had received a similar fate. There was no way of knowing where Annis was living, where she had had to live after the Normans took their home. Perhaps she, too, had perished on a cold night, after attempting to sleep beneath the stars.

Dawn broke slowly. The light ebbed through the translucent glass, and Catheryn tried to think of what would happen that day. A judge would be called, to see the body. A priest, too. Emma would have to be told.

Despite not having eaten anything for many hours, Catheryn felt sick.

“Isabella?”

Adeliza was stirring, but the dream that she was surfacing from centred around her dearest concern.

“Isabella, is that you?”

“No, my lady Adeliza,” Catheryn said gently. “It is Catheryn. Your… guest.”

Adeliza’s blinking eyes suddenly found their focus.

“Catheryn! What are you doing here – in my bed chamber?”

Catheryn said nothing, but watched as remembrance of the night before filtered into Adeliza’s mind.

“No,” she said slowly, forcing herself up and looking desperately into Catheryn’s face. “No. It cannot be – Isabella is alive?”

Catheryn would have given anything to be elsewhere at that moment; to allow someone else to tell a mother, again, that she had lost a child.

“No,” she said gently. “The Lord took Isabella last night. She is at peace.”

A tear blossomed in Adeliza’s eye, but to Catheryn’s surprise, she did not descend once more into the hysterical sobs that she had been expecting.

“I knew that,” she said softly. “I know it, as a sleeper knows she is in a dream. And yet I was so convinced that
this
was the dream. That I would wake, and find no hand of death had touched my family.”

Catheryn said nothing. There was nothing to say.

“I must rise,” Adeliza said suddenly, clawing at the fur over her, “I must prepare to meet the priest – he has been summoned, of course?”

“I… I do not know,” stammered Catheryn, “I expect that Ursule has sent for him. Shall we go down together, to see how your husband is coping with the news?”

Adeliza paused in her struggle to free herself from her bed, and looked at Catheryn with eyes of steel. The tear was gone.

“I thought that I made myself clear last night. I will not go and see Fitz. He may still carry the disease which has just killed my daughter! You would ask me to risk myself?”

“I would ask you to be with your husband. He has just lost his daughter.”

Catheryn spoke calmly, but she did not feel it. Did this woman have no wifely feelings at all? Surely she would want to comfort her husband, and be comforted in turn after this tragedy? But no: Adeliza would rather be alone, and far from the danger of death, despite the fact that her husband was an unwilling victim.

Catheryn forced herself to take a deep, long breath. The chamber spun slightly, and she reminded herself that she would need to eat as soon as possible.

“I am going to see him,” she said simply.

*

Catheryn found Ursule guarding the door.

“What do you want?” she said, disgruntled. Reginald was snoozing around her neck.

“I need to see Fitz,” Catheryn said quietly. “How has he reacted to… to Isabella’s death?”

Ursule shifted slightly, looking uncomfortable, and Catheryn realised why at once.

“You haven’t told him.”

“And how could I? Sick as he is, near death’s door himself, as he was last night, was I to give him a reason to give up? I am not to be the bringer of bad news, my lady, even if you think that I should be.”

“She died within five steps of him!” Catheryn hissed angrily. “She died just beyond his reach, and he still does not know?”

“Be my guest if you want the honour,” snapped Ursule. Reginald awoke with a start, and hissed.

Catheryn rolled her eyes to the heavens. Was she continuously going to be telling parents the most awful thing that they could possibly hear?

Pushing past Ursule and not even bothering to reply, Catheryn walked into the room. Fitz was lying in bed, dozing. His hair was greasy, and pushed back against his forehead. His skin was sallow, but his breathing was regular.

“He will live.”

Catheryn spun around to look at his nurse. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be. It will take him a month to recover completely, but he will live.”

Tears filled Catheryn’s eyes, and she berated herself silently for being so relieved that the man she loved would live. He would live as another’s, she reminded herself, and his daughter had just died. This was not the time to dwell on her feelings. This was a time for grieving.

Catheryn knelt by the side of the bed, and gently put a hand on his arm.

“Fitz,” she said softly.

At first it seemed that he had not heard her, but after a squeeze of his arm, his eyes opened.

“Adeliza?”

Catheryn winced. It seemed that she was doomed to be mistaken for many people that morning.

“No, my lord. It is Catheryn.”

“Catheryn.” Fitz’s eyes were bright, but they seemed to struggle to focus on her. “I am afraid that I feel very weak.”

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Catheryn said with a smile that she forced onto her face. “You have battled against a great sickness, and you have won. It was certainly not the first battle you have faced, although I pray that it will be the last.”

A smile flickered over Fitz’s features.

“I know that you have aided Ursule in my care, and I am grateful.”

“You know that I would do… much to ensure your happiness.” Catheryn did not trust herself to continue, and had just decided to bring the subject around to Isabella, when Fitz turned his head.

“And how is my daughter doing? Already up and out of bed, I see?” Fitz smiled, and it was a glorious smile. “How the young do shame the old. I had no idea that it was possible to recover from such a sickness in that time.”

Catheryn did not need to look around to know that Ursule had left the chamber. Strong as she was in many ways, she was unable to watch this.

“Fitz,” she said softly. “Isabella has not recovered. She was very sick, and last night… she lost her own battle.”

Fitz stared at her. The words that she was saying did not make sense; he must have misheard her. But as he gazed up at Catheryn’s beautiful face, he saw within it the truth. Isabella had died. His daughter was dead.

Tears filled his eyes, but there was only one word on his lips.

“Adeliza,” he croaked. “Where is my wife?”

“She is very upset. She barely slept last night; I was with her.”

Fitz waved away those concerns with a weary hand.

“But why did she not come and tell me this, herself?”

Catheryn hesitated. How was she to tell this man, who had suffered so much, that his wife was so fearful of becoming ill herself that she had laid aside all concerns for any other?

“She needs to rest,” Catheryn said finally. “My lady Adeliza is weak, and she did not want to upset you with her tears.”

Fitz once more just stared at Catheryn. The room seemed small, and dark, and they were alone.

“So what you are telling me,” Fitz said with a dark expression, “is that the person who came to tell me, whilst I lie here on my own sickbed, that my daughter is dead, is the only woman who truly loves me.”

Chapter Twenty Two

The moment that followed his words seemed to Catheryn to be long. Longer than long: she didn’t know where to look, and almost forgot to breathe.

“Say that again,” she managed, voice shaking. She was only too aware that her hand was still on Fitz’s arm, and it seemed to burn like fire.

“Let us pretend no longer. You love me – and I have certainly felt the love from your eyes every time you have looked at me.”

Catheryn opened her mouth, but Fitz continued before she could say any more.

“Try to deny it.”

“I cannot,” breathed Catheryn, “and I will not. But I must admit that I find it incredible.”

“That I should love you?” Fitz struggled to sit up. “That I should be attracted to such a wonderful and caring woman as you?”

Catheryn shook her head, trying not to smile. “More that it is finally spoken.”

“I have felt it for months,” confessed Fitz. “It has been ever dancing around my lips, and yet I never allowed it to be spoken.”

Catheryn almost smiled, but the remembrance of the empty bed in the room caused it to disappear as swiftly as it had come.

“Catheryn?”

Catheryn swallowed. “It is tragic that it has taken this – circumstances such as these to allow us to finally speak the truth.”

A sharp look of pain passed across Fitz’s face. “You mean my sickness, catching this fever that stole my daughter from me and almost robbed me of my life?”

Fitz reached for Catheryn’s hand, and clasped it tightly. Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Hot tears flowed across Fitz’s cheeks, and Catheryn tried to show through the way that she clutched at his hand just how she shared in his sorrow, how she felt for the terrible loss that he had suffered.

Eventually Fitz regained control once more.

“It is done,” he said heavily, “and it is terribly done, but it is done and there is naught I can do to change it.”

“I mourn for you,” Catheryn said quietly.

“And I appreciate the companionship,” said Fitz. “When her own mother will not join me in the sadness, it is good to have some company.”

Catheryn knew that she should leave him; that Fitz needed to rest, to completely recover his strength; that Adeliza would need caring for as well. But nothing beyond her mind made any sort of move, because every nerve in her body wanted to stay where she was. It was as if there was nothing else for her beyond the four walls of that sick chamber.

“Catheryn,” Fitz said hesitantly. “You must know… you cannot fail to realise that there is absolutely nothing that we can do about these feelings that we have.”

His words were like iron fists into her stomach, and yet Catheryn could not help but admit that she had been expecting them.

“Despite the fact that we love each other?”

Fitz smiled wryly. “Because of that very reason. This love we have… it cannot leave these walls. We can never speak of it again, and we cannot change the way that our lives are.”

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It was not until Catheryn said the words that she realised just how true they were. Her husband – Selwyn, the man that had taught her so much about the world – was dead. He had been killed on a field and lain where no one knew until the ground reclaimed its own. Her son had been cut down beyond her reach; she had no knowledge of what his last words were, his last sights, and sounds. Her other child could be dead or alive: she had no way of telling. Home taken, friends killed, country ruled over by a foreign lord that she had sworn no oath to. Catheryn had no other reason to continue, except this brave and honest man who lay before her.

“I am married.”

“I know,” Catheryn said, a tear in her eye that she would not let fall. “And despite my feelings for you, I cannot dislike Adeliza. She is a good woman, despite her faults.”

“She is a good woman,” Fitz agreed, “and she has given me a family. I have three children still living, and I cannot wrench away from them.”

“I would not ask you to!”

“I would be forced to if I chose to leave their mother, you must know that,” said Fitz. “Divorce… it is not permitted unless there are extreme circumstances. I made vows to Adeliza a long time ago, but they were made until death, and I am not a man to break them.”

Catheryn was very aware of just how close Fitz was. His breathing was deep, and his shirt was not closed at his neck. The silver strands of his hair were just beyond her fingertips – and yet it was a divide that she knew she would never cross.

“And even,” Fitz pushed through, heart breaking that his words would cause Catheryn pain, “even if Adeliza did not even exist, even if I was a widower, alone in the world, I am too close to the King. You are a disgraced Anglo-Saxon and I am the King of England’s cousin. There is just – there is nothing to be done.”

Catheryn sighed. “If only I had land, and power; or wealth, and friends.”

Fitz smiled. “Small recompense for my loss, I suppose, but –”

“Do not misunderstand me!” laughed Catheryn bitterly. “I do not suggest them as alternatives. I just thought – if I had but one of them, then I would certainly be a more interesting and suitable marriage prospect.”

Fitz shrugged, and then winced as something in his shoulder gave him pain.

“And I suppose that is that,” Catheryn said quietly.

Fitz pulled a hand out to brush against Catheryn’s face. His fingers felt warm, and the comfort that they gave to Catheryn could not be put into words.

“My love,” Fitz whispered, “and I will call you my love, even if it is for the first and last time – just because I do not say that I love you, show that I love you, marry you, that does not mean that I do not feel what I feel for you.”

Catheryn smiled sadly. “That will have to be enough.”

She rose, carefully putting Fitz’s arm back underneath the covers so that he could keep warm. Walking to the door, she opened it, and was about to walk through it when Fitz spoke.

“Catheryn?”

She looked at him: the man that she wished she could pledge her heart to.

“What will you do now?”

There was real concern on his face, and Catheryn smiled to see it.

“Do?” she said lightly. “There’s only one thing I can do. I am going to break out of here, and find my daughter.”