Winter Song Read Free Page B

not even
nod his head in recognition.
    Naturally Lucie did not resent this, she was no one and
nothing. She knew Raymond could casually order her killed instead of casually
flinging her a trinket. Nonetheless, she found that she no longer dreamed about
him or particularly desired that he summon her to his bed. She began to notice
the men around the keep, and it warmed her heart that they obviously noticed
her.
    Lucie was with child again before Raymond left, and glad of
it because the second babe would secure her position. The first had been only a
girl, perhaps the second would be a boy. Or, if one died, the other would still
bind her to the keep. However, with her belly full, it was safe to look around.
Gregoire, one of the huntsmen, looked back with such longing in his eyes that
Lucie was moved to comfort him.
    She found in the end as much comfort as she gave. Gregoire understood
her condition. He, too, had come out of the fields by an accident of fate. He
could no more be jealous of a lord than of God, nor would he have thought for a
moment of refusing or expecting Lucie to refuse any demand a lord made. What
was more wonderful to Lucie was that Gregoire was as happy to be with her, to
talk to her and listen to her, when she was unable to satisfy his lust as when
she had first yielded to him.
    When Raymond came home again, there was only another
daughter to offer him. He did not mind, but he was not much interested. He was
not much interested in Lucie, either, however, his mother objected to his
playing about among the maidservants, so he used Lucie when the mood moved him.
There were plenty of women of the better sort in the court of Navarre who were
drawn to his pale, brilliant eyes and dark skin. For all her lush beauty—and
Lucie was lush now, being well fed and ten years older than Raymond—she bored
him.
    Raymond was so uninterested in Lucie that he had never
realized that she did her best to avoid him. Both her daughters had survived—a
great surprise, which she attributed to the healthier situation of the
castle—and she had become a skillful weaver. Thus, she was reasonably sure she
would not be cast out, even if Raymond no longer desired her. Of course, she
had never dared deny him. All she dared was to keep out of his way as much as
possible.
    Had she been less fearful, Lucie would have achieved her
heart’s desire years earlier, but she had not been bred in the castle. She
still saw the lords as creatures apart, superhuman, and as incomprehensible as
God. So when Raymond summoned her, she came. She had conceived once more, but
as soon as she missed her flux she had gone to an herb-woman who cleaned out
her womb. Gregoire’s get had gone the same way, but she had wept over those.
Even so, she prayed Raymond would stay away. She found it harder and harder to
seem willing.
    This time when he said how well she looked, Lucie could not
quite keep all expression from her face. She cursed herself for coming forward,
but she had been afraid Raymond would be angered by the importunities of his
daughters and punish them. Hastily she looked down at the little girls and sent
them away, struggling to bring some welcome into her expression.
    When she raised her eyes, fear almost stopped her heart.
Raymond was staring at her with raised brows.
    “Why did you not tell me you did not find my attentions
pleasing, Lucie?” he asked.
    “No,” she whispered. “No, please! I—”
    “Do not be frightened,” Raymond hastened to assure her, much
surprised by her reaction. “I am not angry. To speak the truth, I am glad. I am
about to be married, and that means you must be married, also.”
    “I? Married?” Lucie breathed. “To whom, my lord?’
    “I had not thought about it,” Raymond admitted easily.
    In fact, if his daughters and Lucie had not accosted him, he
probably would not have remembered their existence. This notion made him rather
grateful to little Fenice and Enid and to Lucie, also. He smiled at