The Scarlet Lion Read Free Page B

bloodline.
       "He chose to come feet first into the world and frighten everyone into thinking he might be stillborn, but he's behaved himself ever since." Isabelle joined him in his scrutiny. "From the tales I have heard of your days as a squire, he takes after you."
       He looked amused. "In what way?"
       "It was said that you did naught but eat and sleep and earn yourself the nickname 'Guzzleguts.'"
       "Unfair," William protested. "I liked food and sleep when I could get them—what youth of those years does not? But I had to work for them."
       "Still, the name suits him. He's already got a tooth and he's started eating pap." She looked at him through her lashes. "I employed a wet nurse last week."
       William said nothing, but his body reacted instantaneously. Isabelle liked to suckle the children herself for a time at least, viewing it as both a maternal pleasure and an obligation. Her offspring were of de Clare blood and it was only fitting they were nourished from that source, at least until they were ready to begin weaning. However, the Church declared it a sin for a nursing woman to have carnal knowledge of her husband. While he and Isabelle sometimes ignored the strictures, the burden of guilt in disobeying them added furtive worry rather than piquancy to their marriage bed. It was always a relief when the time came to employ the wet nurse, especially following a long, dry summer.
       He became aware of another presence at his side and, looking down, met the wide solemn gaze of his three-year-old daughter. Her bottom lip was caught in her teeth as if she wasn't quite sure who he was and what her response ought to be. He squatted on his heels so that his gaze was on a level with hers. Her eyes were winter-deep like his own and her hair was rich brown with coppery lights. Freckles peppered her dainty nose and there was a smear of dust on her chin. He raised his hand and gently thumbed it away.
       "And how goes it with you, young mistress?" he asked solemnly.
       Mahelt made a face at him and giggled. She presented him with some of her poupées to admire, including two he hadn't seen before: a swaddled baby and a knight with a surcoat and shield of green and gold.
       "Who's this?" he asked.
       "It's you," she replied, eyeing him as if he was a lackwit.
       "I thought you already had one of me," he said.
       "Yes, but that's when you're my papa at home. This one's you when you're gone. Mama's going to make me a king next."
       He bit his lip to avoid laughing, and at the same time felt a little sad. He swung her up in his arms. "Well, I'm home now, sweetheart."
       "Yes, but you'll go away again." She touched the rich braid edging the neckline of his tunic.
       "Not for a long while yet…plenty of time to make kings and queens and princes."
       "And another baby?" she asked, eyes wide.
       He spluttered. "You'd have to ask your mother about that," he said with a grin at his wife.
                                 *** Tucking a towel around his waist, William stepped from the bathtub. Isabelle dried his torso and conducted a careful scrutiny. Apart from the scars of wounds taken in his youth, of which there were very few given his career in the tourneys and on the battlefield, she was disturbed to notice one or two recent additions, mainly of bruises fading to yellow. Since he was a senior commander and overseer of campaigns these days, there should not have been any bruises at all.
       "What?" he asked warily as she moved from his back around to his chest.
       "We heard a preposterous tale about the siege of Milli." She handed the damp towel to a maid and folded her arms. "Apparently you ran across the ditch, led an assault up a scaling ladder, and fought single-handed on the wall walk."
       He shrugged. "You should know by now not to listen to
    tales, my love."
       "It depends who's telling them. When it's one of my own