Winter Song Read Free Page A

it was her
fault—that was monstrous! Why should he go and fight in Gascony? Crude
creatures could be hired to do ugly, dangerous things like that. Why could Raymond
not see that it was better to stay at home and speak of poetry and philosophy,
to dance, sing, and gather flowers?
    Lady Jeannette wept loudly over her son’s cruelty, and her
daughters wept with her. They bewailed Raymond’s hardness of heart, each
reminding the others of incidents that had displayed his lack of consideration
for their tender feelings. At last they heard his voice in the large chamber
outside the solar. All of them stiffened before emitting even louder wails as
he entered, but the sound of his words came no nearer.
    Their indignation grew as they heard the thin, high voices
of two little girls mingling with Raymond’s. He had stopped to speak with his
baseborn daughters. Disgusting! Surely his mother and sisters should have
precedence over the daughters of a common serf-woman elevated to a weaving
woman.
    Actually their indignation was wasted. Raymond did not give
much thought to his bastard daughters and would not have stopped to seek them
had they not run out to him. He was kindhearted, however, and had taken them in
his arms to kiss and fondle, remembering with a faint pang of guilt that it had
been his custom to bring them little toys and geegaws when he had been away for
some time. He was apologizing for neglecting this and promising them that he would
have something for them later in the day when their mother came hurriedly
forward to draw them away.
    “I beg your pardon, my lord,” she said softly. “I was busy
and did not see them run to you.”
    “They did no hurt,” Raymond responded, but he felt somewhat
awkward. He had realized as he spoke that he must get rid of Lucie before he
brought Alys home. “You are looking well, Lucie,” he added uneasily, wanting to
say something pleasant.
    Her expression changed infinitesimally. Raymond would not
have noticed if he had not been wondering how to avoid hurting her more than
necessary. He had never before thought about what Lucie felt, although she had
been his bedmate at Tour Dur whenever he felt the need for a woman. He had
first seen her when he was eighteen, some seven years before, in her father’s
hut on the demesne farm, and had bought her for a few copper pieces with the
old man’s blessing. It had not occurred to Raymond to wonder what Lucie had
felt about it. He had assumed she would be grateful and overjoyed.
    The assumption was quite correct. Lucie would have kissed
Raymond’s feet in gratitude even if he had used her harshly for the lot of a
serf-woman who has lost her man is not pleasant. To be elevated to service in
the castle, even if that service included rough usage, was a miracle of good
fortune. But Raymond was not cruel in his love play. He was gentle and
good-humored, if somewhat indifferent.
    At first that did not bother Lucie. She was so happy with
the new clothing he gave her, with the fact that her stomach was full all the
time, and with dry and warm lodging, compared to her previous lodging, even
when she was not called to her master’s bed. All she feared was that when
Raymond’s term of leave from his duties in the court of Navarre was over, she would
be sent back to the horrors of life as a field serf. Pregnancy saved her from
that fate. Raymond freely acknowledged that the child was his and directed that
Lucie be taught skills that would make her useful in the castle so that his
child could be fittingly raised.
    The next time Raymond came home he called Lucie to his bed
again, and she came gladly. However, she was more accustomed to her better
condition, and she began to realize that Raymond did not “notice” her. When he
needed a woman, he would seek her out and remark that she was pretty and give
her a length of fabric to make an overdress or a tunic, or some trinket with
which to adorn herself. At other times he could pass right by her and