Maud explains

Sigefrith stood beside the bed and watched his wife sleep. Her loosened hair was draped over the pillows, and though she wore her night clothes, she lay atop the blankets, and the bed was still still made. She had fallen asleep waiting for him.

She no longer liked to go to bed without him. Sigefrith didn’t know whether to be touched or saddened. Was she afraid to sleep alone after what she had experienced? Of course, that had happened outside in a garden, but certainly the idea of being in a bed might be troubling to her…

But she did not at all mind sharing a bed with him, and that—at least for him—helped very much.

He sat gently on the edge of the bed, hoping not to wake her, but he felt her jolt awake behind him.

By the time he turned to her, she was already smiling.

“Sigefrith,” she breathed.

“It is only I, darling. I didn’t mean to wake you. You looked so happy.”

“I was dreaming of horses,” she said.

He smiled. Her outbursts of spontaneous speech were still quite rare. She still preferred to choose her words among those she heard spoken by the people around her.

Gingerly, as if she might flee at a sudden movement like her beloved deer, Sigefrith stretched out on the blankets beside her.

“Dreaming of horses!” he said. “It must be a bit of Brit rubbing off on you.”

“Brit dreams of horses too?”

Sigefrith chuckled. “I don’t know whether she goes riding in her sleep, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Maud blinked at him. The candle light brought out the warm brown of her eyes and the bronze sheen of her tumbled hair. How delicate she looked! Even the fine, bleached linen of her nightgown appeared coarse and dull against her white skin.

Sigefrith’s gut tightened every time he looked at her, as he remembered that somewhere close by there walked the sort of monster who could hurt such a delicate being. He felt a little crude for wanting to touch her himself. But want he did.

He laid his arm out along the pillows. “Will you come near?” he whispered.

“Come near,” she repeated, as if testing the words. For a moment her eyes were vague, and then they lit with understanding, and she wriggled across the blankets to snuggle into his shoulder.

“That’s right,” Sigefrith reassured her. He laid his head against her silky hair and sighed.

She did seem to be making progress. He had not expected to find her dreaming of horses, much less talking about them. Perhaps she would soon be her old self. Perhaps she would be her old self, only better: perhaps she would continue to smile at him and cuddle against him and cling to him the way she did now. That would be so close to heaven, he thought, that he would never need die.

“Do you know where I have been tonight?” he asked, expecting he would need to answer his own question in a moment.

Again she surprised him. “Nothelm.”

He laughed. “Why—how did you ever know?”

“You smell of mead.”

“I do? Oh, honey, I had only a cup. I should not have, but Matilda is making up for lost time. She could not have mead while she carried her baby.”

“Is her baby well?”

Sigefrith closed his eyes, savoring the moment, and found himself swallowing back tears.

“He is not very well,” he said, “but he is well. It is only now that he should have come into the world, I think. Perhaps he may live.”

“I hope he does.”

“Do you, Maud?” he whispered.

“I hope our baby does as well.”

“Of course he shall,” he said, squeezing her.

His heart was leaping. He had not had anything resembling a conversation with her since September.

“And how are you feeling, Maud? You seem very well.”

“I feel very well.”

“I’m so happy to hear it.”

Should he risk talking to her about what had happened? What if, once reminded, this living Maud dashed into hiding again?

On the other hand, he feared that tomorrow he might find her as she had been, and would lose the opportunity to learn more before it was too late to find the brute who had hurt her. Perhaps it was already far too late.

He decided he would risk it—gently. He would not be truly happy until he had held the man’s head in one hand and his sword in the other.

“Maud, since you are feeling well, perhaps you might like to talk with me for a while?”

“Of course I should like to talk with you for a while, husband.”

He chuckled. This calling him “husband” was a new trick of hers, but he rather liked it.

“I wanted to ask you about your time at the abbey, dear.”

“At the abbey?”

“Yes. I wonder whether you remember anything about that time in October that you spent there.”

“Remember anything?”

“Yes, dear. Do you remember when I came to you?”

She broke into a dreamy smile. “Yes.”

“It was not the end of the month as I had promised, was it?”

“No.”

“Do you remember why?”

She looked away and considered this for a long while. Sigefrith let her think.

Finally she said, “I… fell.”

“You fell?”

What did this mean? Had she been the one climbing trees?

She looked at him expectantly.

“Maud, I want to know—had somebody been in the garden with you?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. This was more difficult than he had expected.

“Did he hurt you?”

Again she thought a while. “No.”

Sigefrith stopped and tried to calm himself. His breath was coming fast, and if he did not clench his hands he feared they would shake. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her.

“What did he do to you?” he asked.

“He kissed me.”

So, he hadn’t merely been climbing trees.

“He kissed you? Is that all?”

“That is all.”

“Are you certain he didn’t hurt you? He didn’t do anything else to you?”

“He kissed my hands.”

“No more? He didn’t hurt you? He didn’t touch you?”

She drew her brows together and looked at him strangely.

“He… would not let me cry out,” she said, “and he would not let me go. I did no wrong.”

“I know you didn’t, darling.” He drew her head down and kissed her hair.

It was not as bad as he had feared. It had not been what he had been unable to prevent himself from imagining these past months. Soon she would be quite well, and everything would be as it had been before, only better.

But there was still the man. “Did you know who he was?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Lucifer.”

Sigefrith’s gut clenched. He lifted his head and looked at her. Her eyes met his own and did not waver.

“Lucifer, darling?”

“He fell from the heavens.”

Sigefrith sighed. “Honey, it was only a man who had climbed a tree to get over the wall. It wasn’t Lucifer, it was only a man.”

She stared at him.

“Was it a man you know? Was it one of the lay-​brothers? Do you know his name?”

“Lucifer,” she repeated.

“Maud, it wasn’t Lucifer. I shall have Father Brandt come and explain to you—it wasn’t Lucifer. It was only a man. Perhaps he told you he was Lucifer, to frighten you?”

“I am not frightened now,” she said, snuggling down against him so that he could no longer look into her face. “I have come home to my husband.”

“Yes, yes, you have,” he whispered, “and no one shall hurt you again.”

A certain amount of piety was, no doubt, a virtue, but he was beginning to believe Maud had taken it entirely too far. If she believed that Lucifer himself had come to her in the garden, then it was no wonder she was so troubled in her mind.

But Father Brandt could make her understand… and if she understood, perhaps she would be put at ease, and then everything would be as it had been before. Only better.