Lady Eadgith's heavens are clouded

Lady Eadgith’s religion was more a matter of habit than of faith, but even she could be moved at times to something like rapture.

Tonight she had been moved to come sit alone in the candlelit gallery and look out into the darkened chapel. Now she counted out her blessings in her mind as if they were beads on a rosary.

Only the night before, her young niece Affrais had been delivered of a strong and squalling little girl who was already her father’s darling. She had been named Madrun for Affrais’s Welsh mother, but the name had only been pronounced once or twice. Her father had already imposed the nickname Nubbin on her, as it was the only word he could find that implied a greater smallness and dearness than Button.

Baldwin was rather like his uncle when it came to babies, Eadgith thought, and she smiled.

Only two days before they had received word from Thorhold announcing the birth of the new Baroness’s son. Eadgith was certain that Theobald’s happiness and Affrais’s would soon so overshadow the ill will between the Baron and Baldwin that they would forget why they had ever quarreled in the first place.

Of course, naming the child Osfrey had seemed to her a subtle barb aimed at Sigefrith, but, aside from her regret at missing the look on Sigefrith’s face when he learned of it, even this pleased Eadgith. She thought it just the thing to inspire the King to offer to be little Nubbin’s godfather, than which there was no higher honor in Eadgith’s eyes. And if he were not so inspired, Eadgith herself planned to mention the idea to him, and then they would see!

Only nine days before, Britmar’s and Judith’s prayers had been answered, and their third child had been born a son. Britmar had an heir at last, and the boy was even named Aelfden for his father’s father, Leofric’s own brother. Nothing, Eadgith thought, could have been more fitting than that her beloved Britmar have a son named Aelfden who had waited to be born until the survivors of their family had come together again. This was worth a Gloria Patri.

Only nineteen days before, her son had been married before her eyes to a very dear, very gentle young woman. If it had been anyone but her son, Lady Eadgith might have turned up her nose at the idea that a young man with such blood was to marry a farmer’s daughter who hadn’t the sense to resist the advances of a nobleman…

But he was her son, and she knew him well enough to know that he was in love, as he had never been with Hilda. She knew the little wrinkle between his brows that he had been wearing around for the past year or two, and she had seen it vanish when Wynflaed smiled at him.

Sigefrith mourned his first wife with the respect that befitted a gentleman, and which she had not entirely earned except by presenting him with four handsome children, but it was clear to Eadgith and Leofric both that he had found the sort of simple, sensitive woman he needed.

Leofric had even confided to her that Wynflaed was just the sort of girl he would have liked their daughter to have had as a friend when she was growing up. Eadgith knew that Leofric could find no higher praise for a young woman than blessing her marriage with his son, and hoping she would be friends with his daughter.

And in only a few months there would be a new grandchild as well! Eadgith could almost wink at the circumstances of its conception, so delighted was she that there would be such a short wait between the wedding and the birth. But Leofric had done winking enough for the both of them. She had not seen him so delighted since Drage had been on his way.

The only cloud in Lady Eadgith’s bright heaven was the suspicion that she would not be able to attend Wynflaed at the child’s birth. Wynflaed was expecting to be confined around Holyrood Day, and Eadgith feared Leofric would not allow her to go.

However, the reason for this was such that she considered it perhaps her greatest blessing of all: only two months before, directly after little Mae was weaned, she had conceived another child, or so she had come to fiercely believe.

She had not yet told Leofric, but she delighted even in her little secret, and with such happiness as they both had had in the past weeks, he had been more affectionate with her than ever – more even than when they had first been married, more even than when baby Sigefrith had come to them, more even than when he had brought her back to live with him a second time, more even than when Mae had been born.

She was forty, but she was still pretty, he told her, and she still felt young. She could still be a mother, and yet delight in being a grandmother. She was forty, and she had never been happier. How many women could say that? This was worth a Gloria in altissimus Deo.

When she had finished her prayers of thankfulness and praise, Lady Eadgith put out the candles and went out of the gallery. She was looking forward to visiting the babies: Judith and Aelfden first, and then dear Affrais and her newborn. Then she would go to bed and wait for Leofric. They would talk for a while, and then…? She knew she would have her baby. Now she needed only think of her pleasure and his.

She walked slowly down the corridor, still with her beatific smile, too happy even to remember that Leila’s room was on the other side of the wall. She was only reminded when the door at the end of the corridor opened and Leila stepped out of the shadows beyond it.

Both women stopped and gasped. They rarely met, for Leila had her own apartments on the middle floor of the keep, and she seldom ventured out of them. But the chapel and gallery had been built for the convenience of the lord when the lord still slept in Leila’s bedchamber. This corridor was the one place where she stood a chance of meeting her.

Lady Eadgith felt her arms and hands tense, as if her instinctive reaction was to claw at the woman’s face. She had thought herself so far above Leila for so long that such a meeting would scarcely have bothered her before, but her maid had informed her that the servants were beginning to gossip about a growing bulge on Leila’s belly. Now she had met the woman in her nightgown. Now she would be able to see for herself.

Lady Eadgith lifted her head as befitted a mother of a queen before a brown-​​skinned daughter of heathen dogs, and she continued down the corridor.

Leila ducked beneath the arch to let her pass, but Eadgith did not miss the way her hands fluttered around her belly as if to hide it or protect it, nor did they miss the way the fabric of her nightgown was stretched over her waist.

Eadgith stopped before the woman. She could not resist speaking to her. “Good evening, Leila,” she said coolly. “How are you both?” she asked with a meaningful glance at the young woman’s belly.

Leila cringed away from her. “My lady, no…” she whispered.

“I am going to see my husband. Shall I greet him for you?”

Leila only shook her head miserably.

“Good night,” Eadgith said and went out towards the stairs. She had forgotten her visits to the babies. She had forgotten her happiness. Leofric had lied to her. Her heavens were clouded over as before a storm.