Aside from Heaven

Chapter 04A

Head like a Hole

Fall 1308

According to family myth and legend, Roland FitzGisborne – he who won and procured a rather large chunk of Nottinghamshire for himself – spent his last breath making sure his great-grandson and eventual heir would breathe. William Edward FitzGisborne knew this was fact. He had been Roland and he was that baby. However, to hear his parents and grandparents to speak of it so often, irritated him greatly.

Then again, pretty much everything irritated William. Servants irritated him, whiny peasants irritated him. His parents dying in a shipwreck in the English Channel the year before he reached his majority very much irritated him. It was because of their untimely death, that he was where he was at this very moment.

At an altar. In front of a priest, with a bride; a bride not of his choosing, certainly not of his father's choosing. His father *eyeroll* knew there were families to stay away from. God knows he... excuse us... Roland... drummed that into his and his grandson's head from before time was recorded. There were families to avoid like the plague!

But tell that to England's newly-crowned king! Had William's parents waited a day or two to return from that trip to France, visiting his uncle in Aigues-Mortes, this wouldn't be happening! It didn't matter he was close to being of age. Edward II had a mess on his hands, a mess of his own making, and he had favorites to pander to. And right this moment, one fourteen year old chit, with a run-down estate, and debt; debt out the arse, had his inner circle in an uproar. She had a cousin with a gambling problem and a drinking problem and women problems – the problem being they didn't like him, his bad teeth, his receding chin or hairline, or his bad breath and belly, so his only refuge was to pay for his women. Thanks to his care-taking and guardianship, what once was a fair piece of property, was now close to ruins, drafty and crumbling, and deep in debt.

And he tended to keep a rather itchy case of crabs.

Rumor had it the man was planning to petition The Church for permission to marry the girl, in order to gain full access to the rest of her funds.

She had gone screaming to her dearest friend, who happened to be related to the king's favorite, Piers Gaveston, of all people.

He agreed with her. Best to find her a suitable husband, one young enough to satisfy her budding womanly wiles, but powerful and wealthy enough to do what needed to be done to her small, ramshackle estate. Everyone knew that the more prosperous an estate, the more taxes could be drawn from it. It would also be nice if the husband had no one to answer to; no family to aid him, guide him. That way, the king, or Piers, would truly be in control of two estates.

FitzGisbornes had a reputation, a reputation of taking something that was not profitable and turning it into something that was. So rather than force some poor heiress to marry Henry Harridston, Edward II, or actually, Piers, came up with the bright idea of marrying Mellisande Harridston to young William Edward FitzGisborne. William was astute and snarky, had little conscience when it came to fighting. Even his friends said he fought dirty; winning was everything and Piers figured if anyone could pull the Harridston estate up by the bootstraps, it would be young FitzGisborne. FitzGisbornes were loyal to The Crown to a fault. They were spies, a sneaky bunch, and William seemed to be malicious as well. His temper was whispered about, that by the time of his parents' untimely death, he had killed two thieves, a highwayman, and maimed a servant caught lifting the family silver.

William laughed at that. Pondering his state before his parents' deaths, he found it amusing that while Roland worked hard at being good and laying a foundation to build what would become a dynasty, William, in his current reincarnation, couldn't care less about being nice to anyone. His main interest, in this life, was creating and establishing a power base. He had land, a lot of land; he considered Aigues-Mortes as well as Nîmes his; he could add to that land easily through marriage, so at this moment, he was concentrating on power. Vaisey, the old reprobate, was right about that. Power was everything. And that meant keeping his ears and eyes open, his mouth shut, and pandering to people who, at some point, would owe him favors. Silly, stupid people who he could hold things over their heads. Things that they wouldn't want known to the general population. Or their spouses. Or their lovers.

He also needed sons and while he didn't think to marry for at least five to ten years, here he was at the beck and call of King Edward, or truth be told, Piers Gaveston. Piers was power mad and bent the king's ear much. Edward was stupid and if he wasn't careful, his bride would be passing children off as princes and princesses of England who didn't have a drop of Edward's royal blood in them. In his one week, so far, at court, William spent more time with his ear to the wall than he did with his future bride.

The wench was comely enough; however her mouth seemed to be turned down in a permanent pout, which William found very unbecoming and after walks with her in the garden, it became quite clear she was more suited for a cloister.

She would have preferred it, save she didn't want her cousin to take possession of her estate. Therefore, she and William came to an agreement. Three children, at least one son, hopefully two sons and a daughter and then if she still desired, she could retire to Ripley's once the third babe was weened. Or she could hand the child over to a wet nurse and she could enter the nunnery sooner. This way, the eldest would inherit FitzGisborne lands, the second son would inherit William's mother's estate and the Harridston estate would be the daughter's dower house. The FitzGisbornes in France seemed to marry barren women or women who had a difficult time conceiving and as a result, that branch was long and narrow. At some point, Aigues-Mortes and Nîmes would return to the English branch, but William knew that time wouldn't be several centuries, so he kept that in the back of his mind. As his parents before him, best to stay on good terms with the French branch of FitzGisbornes, or de Gisbournes, as they seemed to be called. The more Frenchified they were, the less irascible the King of France would be when he finally brought the area under French control.

He repeated the vows. So did she.

There was a feast, a party. William noticed a man in the back, ugly as sin and scowling. He leaned towards his man, his chief knight, Richard, and nodded towards the angry shadow. "Who would be so furious at a wedding?"

Richard squinted towards the back of the room, found the man Lord William motioned to. "Ah, that would be Lady Mellisande's cousin. Royce Harridston." He leaned closer. "The hour is late, m'lord. They're getting drunk and rowdy. Best take your wife to bed, quietly. There will be guards at the door."

"Slip a few crowns to the lute player," William whispered back. "Have him embarrass someone in the back of the room." He reached and grabbed Mellisande's hand. So intent on the proceedings, he didn't realize her palms were clammy. While the hall's populace was focused on the musician and some poor sot in the back, the newlywed couple slipped off the dais and behind a tapestry, which covered a door to the back hall.

The only one who noticed them leave was Mellisande's cousin.

~~~...~~~

November 1317

Nine years later

~~~...~~~

It was raining, cold in that drafty castle Edward preferred to call home. Of all the places William would rather be, King Edward's private chambers were not it. Truly he felt Edward's chambers at two in the morning were as cold as Mellisande's bed. As he stood before the fire, drinking mulled wine and waiting for Edward to finish doing what he was doing – masturbating most likely – he decided that on his return, it would be time to take the family to his cousin's abode in France. The FitzGisbornes had been there twice since their marriage; the first time a year after their nuptials. They returned some four years ago, a time where Mellisande was...

more amenable.

Mellisande was ill, ill in the head, in the mind.

William had hoped, prayed for fondness of the woman and the first few months, she appeared to enjoy his attentions, his company. He showered her with gifts, took her to bed with gentle thoughtfulness, and she seemed happy when Hugh was conceived.

However, she fell into a deep melancholy at the babe's birth, one that lasted months longer than even the midwife could account for. Herbs, spirits, were tried; nothing helped. She took no interest in little Hugh and a wet nurse was quickly found. It was over a year before William and Mellisande returned to the marriage bed and quickly conceived. As she quickened with Fulks, she became moody, cruel. She was nasty to the servants, hateful to the cook, to Hugh.

A wet nurse was waiting the moment the baby was born.

Mellisande's post-partum depression lasted longer, went deeper, with the birth of Fulks. William seriously considered sending her to Ripley's the moment Fulks was born, sex of the child be damned, just leave it at two, before deciding that they made an agreement, by Jesu, they would have three FitzGisbornes. And during a period of lucidity, she agreed.

She seemed happier with the birth of Cecilia. The servants weren't tip-toeing around her like they had when the boys were born.

But sometimes, there was a look in her eyes, a look of pure evil, that no one saw but William.

And William knew evil.

He hoped whatever chore Edward was sending him on, would be a short, easy one. An easy assassination. He didn't trust Mellisande. Aye. The minute he returned home, he would speak to the abbess at Ripley's, confirm Mellisande's conditions, make sure she had suitable housing and the minute she was settled, he would quietly take the children and go to France and stay until he damn well felt like coming back. Or until his how-ever-many-great uncle was fed up with him and his children.

For not the first time, he wished he'd rebuilt Gisborne already. A hunting lodge, put her in it, with a small staff and guard. Out of the manse. Away from the children. For some reason, he feared for his children.

A small cottage on the grounds of Ripley's would suffice.

"William."

William's mind jerked back to the present, the here and now. Outwardly, he looked bored. "Your Majesty?" He made a proper bow. "I came post haste."

Edward's eyebrow rose and he took in the measure of the man standing in front of him. "Are you loyal to me, FitzGisborne?"

"Yes, sire."

"Are you loyal to England?"

"Yes, sire."

"Are you willing to prove this to me?"

Please do not ask me to murder my children.

Every time Edward called him, from the day Edward informed William of his marriage, he asked him these questions. And every time, William answered affirmatively.

And in his mind, he prayed he would not tell him to murder his children. Or hand them over to the Despensers for fostering. The day he did, William would say yes, grab his children and leave. He might take Mellisande. Might. The vast majority of FitzGisborne wealth lay hidden in the catacombs of Ripley's. It would wait until William could retrieve it at a later time or another life. There had been a time Guy of Gisborne hadn't cared less about his illegitimate off-spring. Now, each and every child he sired was precious. His lineage depended on them. He depended on them.

Genevieve depended on them.

"I have enemies, FitzGisborne."

"Name them. They are dead. I will make sure of it."

"They plot against me."

Inwardly, William rolled his eyes. What man did not have enemies, plot against each other? William knew where this was really heading. Hugh Despenser wanted something. Younger, Older, it mattered not. They cast covetous eyes and demanded and Edward gave.

The Despensers visited William once. He entertained them at Mellisande's childhood home. It was small, no wealth, her cousin stripped it to the core. William made sure the servants wore their most thread-bare, anything of value hidden away. It was dead of winter, the place was cold and William made sure the fires were barely lit. The fare was peasant hardy, the lamb was tough. William's cook wrought miracles; she could also destroy. William rewarded her well after that weekend. It rained, it was miserable, the place was drafty.

The Despensers left thinking the rumors were grossly over-stated. The Lord of Locksley was poorer than a church mouse. Small wonder he was never seen at court.

Which was how William desired it. William liked the dark, the shadows. It's where he worked best. He was unseen, disregarded, and that's exactly how he wanted it. By the time anyone figured out FitzGisborne wealth, it would be too late for anyone to do anything about it.

"Who plots against you, sire? Tell me. I will deal with them."

There was only one way William dealt with one of Edward's problems. William was Edward's assassin, his spy, and truth was, no one knew this. Not even the Despensers. Unbeknownst to Edward, William was the one who quietly coordinated the execution of Piers Gaveston, Edward's previous favorite; hired thugs dropping whispers in ears, thugs, who after having done their job and were paid for it, met untimely demises over a cheap brew or suffered deadly injuries in fights. Widows found themselves compensated by an unknown stranger, and typically the compensation did not last long. When the time came, he would do the same to the Despensers. England suffered under Edward's rule and Edward was unaware of it. Either that, or he didn't care. Most likely the later. The English suffered a humiliating loss to Robert the Bruce of Scotland, a battle they should have won and won easily. There was a famine, a famine that had gone on for some years. Torrential rains, bitterly cold winters, all added up to wretched harvests and sickly livestock.

The people and the barons blamed Edward, blamed the Despensers. England was suffering because of her King and his friends. The barons were grumbling amongst themselves again.

And Edward was hearing it.

"There is a younger son of a baron, in Wexford," William's ears pricked. "Thymon Winchester."

"The second son of Harold." William made it a point to know who was who and everyone they associated with.

"His father is difficult," Edward was toying with his chess set, fingering the ivory queen. Ah, his wife is worrying him. "But rumor has it this Thymon speaks against us, is riling up the minor barons against us."

You mean against the Despensers. Either that or Thymon has something Hugh wants. The major barons are already riled. Or you simply wish to put Harold in his place.

"I want him silenced." Edward's back was to William, so he spat over his shoulder. "Quietly. Efficiently. Make it look like an accident or someone else."

"Yes, sire."

"And when you are finished," William groaned inwardly. So much for this being a quick and easy job. "Go to the borders of Wales. I hear the Marcher lords are amassing, meeting, grumbling among themselves. Quietly survey all of their estates." Edward was now looking closely at William. "I do not wish a repeat of earlier ugliness."

Ah. Piers. Edward still grieved, was still angered at the concessions his barons forced him to concede to. Little did he know...

"Take no action, simply observe. Report back to me."

More to gift to...

"William. You know I well reward my faithful subjects."

...the Despensers.

"I will leave in the morning."

~~~...~~~

The steward showed William to a small, but cozy room, in a dark, private corner of the castle. The fire was already roaring and it was with great relief William shut the door behind him. His previous life had been a good one. He wasn't surprised this one was so horrid.

The hair raised on the back of his neck.

He spun, hand on his sword.

"Surely, you would not kill a defenseless woman." Isabella, Edward's wife and Queen of England, came around from the bed curtain. She was in a velvet robe, belted tightly around her waist, showing generous curves. Her hair was unbound.

"I do not think the Queen is so defenseless." William backed up. "Where is your maid this hour? Or do I have the wrong room?" he smirked. He gestured obviously to his saddlebags set on the end of the bed.

"No, you have the right room." She was staring him like a starving lion stalked prey. It made William uncomfortable and angry. "I was awake and saw you come in through the shadows. I wondered why my husband was sneaking such a beautiful man into his chambers at this hour." By now, she was against him, one long manicured finger tracing his jawline. "You are not his type."

William gently grabbed her by the wrists and set her back from him. "Either you are in the wrong room, or I am."

"It is cold and my husband will not look at me for some moons. I have brought wine." She nodded towards a small table, a bottle and two glasses. "It is quite good. It comes from a winery in France; from Aigues-Mortes." She smiled coyly. "Join me in a drink."

With great effort, William shook his head. Beautiful as she was, William was no fool. Being caught with her would mean his head and everything he'd worked for, given to those less deserving. "'Tis late and I must be away in a few hours."

She turned her back to him and sauntered to the table, hips swaying, her velvets caressing the rugs. She uncorked the bottle and began to pour. "Surely where you need to be is not such a pressing matter. You walk in the shadows and death follows you. I think," with this she turned and handed him a glass, "you are a very dangerous man."

For what seemed forever, William stared at the glass and the beautiful woman standing in front of him. His wife had no intention of being a wife to him ever again; however she was still his wife, the mother of his children and for that, she deserved a bit of his respect.

Not to mention this woman was his queen.

He clenched his fists to his side. "Again, I must leave and would very much like to sleep."

"Alone? In a cold bed?" The woman was actually pouting.

"If one wishes to actually sleep, alone is usually the best way."

She set the glasses down and pressed herself to him. "You are a very comely man. I wonder who you are?" Her tongue touched the tip of her lip. "I have seen you a few times. Always at night, always fleeting. I think you are too well dressed to be a lowly courtier or servant. Obviously, my husband pays you well for your services."

"My services are none of your concern."

She continued on as if she had not heard him. She ran her hand under his shirt, fingers tantalizing the crisp hairs of his chest. "I think I would enjoy lying under you. My maid says her lover ties her up and the thought tantalizes me."

William pulled her hands from his body. "Ask your husband to restrain you. I must re-"

"You know, I could order you to stay."

The dark knight smirked. The queen was making plans and alliances of her own. She was starved for attention and most likely, lonely as well. While her husband kept his own assignations and friends, William rightly suspected she was insulated of anyone to confide in, much less have anyone to be a true friend to her. While the things she suggested excited William under normal conditions, he was, regardless of the state of his marriage bed, a married man and he was determined to honor those vows. The forwardness and crudity of Edward's wife drowned William's ardor and he could not wait to leave the royal family's presence, finish his assignment, and come home. Home to his lands, his children.

William knew this woman would not take no for an answer and his patience, which was notoriously short, was at an end. Grabbing her tightly by the wrists, he set her away from him. She would bruise by morning and he didn't care. "You could try. But as you say, I am a dangerous man and death follows me."

The woman hissed at the implication. "I AM your queen!"

"Then act like it," this was spat through clenched teeth, "for at this moment, you act the slattern!"

He expected the crack to his face and he forced himself to laugh. With a huff, she tightened her belt and stormed from the room.

Leaving William furious, too angry to sleep and worried that she would retaliate. He picked up the glass and drained it, before corking the forgotten bottle tightly. Considering it and its place of origin, he shoved it in his satchel and throwing on his fur-lined cloak, shouldered the saddlebag and headed to the royal stables. He ignored the heat from her slap on his cheek. He would ride until he collapsed. Sleeping during the day would suit his mood.

~~~...~~~

6 weeks later

~~~...~~~

William's stomach was in a knot. His soul was not at ease and this worried him. He wanted to go home. Home, to his hearth, to his children. His baby daughter had been scarce a week old when Edward summoned him. The entire time, he feared for his children, planned his return, his visit to Ripley's.

Ripley's was fond of the FitzGisbornes. After all, William's ancestor, Sir Guy of Gisborne, had been very generous to the abbey, as were his descendants. Sir Roland had been very generous, as was Sir William. Of course, it was widely whispered among the locals, that Sir William was paying penance for his rumored evil deeds. People did not realize just how close to the truth they were when it came to King Edward's Black Knight.

The famine was breaking England; William saw the devastation first hand, while spending the last six weeks doing Edward's bidding. William's estate stores were lean, but his people were not starving, unlike the majority of Great Britain. Much like Moses, the Angel gave William a foreshadowing, a warning, therefore the FitzGisborne lands had been storing excess grain for years and hadn't sold the livestock. The fields were deeply irrigated and giant cisterns were buried around the estate where excess water was collected and stored. Even the Harridston Estate was managing to survive. In addition, the French de Gisbournes were aiding the English FitzGisbornes; sending grain, fruit, and wine. The lower classes would be shocked and the upper classes would be incensed if they truly knew how close the two families were.

Killing Tymon Winchester had been relatively simple and easy. The boy was hot-tempered, and yes a trouble-maker and instigator. He started a drunken fight in a rough tavern the night after William arrived and too many were accused of his death by the time William left.

William prowled the darkened corridor. Few lamps were lit, as it was well past midnight. He sensed, knew he was being followed, but he maintained his quiet stride. The moment he shook off or killed his stalker, he was leaving. Going home. He had spoken with Edward earlier in the evening and as was his wont, William preferred to travel at night.

Four weeks were spent scouring the Welsh border, in one case, pretending to be a hired thug for one Marcher lord suspected planning to over-throw the king, or more certainly, meeting with others to demand more power taken from Edward and the Despensers and executing them as well. The Marcher lords were ripe, ripe for a fight, ripe for bringing the king down quite a bit. They felt he had too much power, the Despensers had too much power. Edward's friendship with Hugh the Younger worried the barons more than Edward's friendship with Piers and, in the end, Edward had been forced to sign ordinances when Gaveston had been exiled and eventually put to death. Gaveston had been hungry for power, but he was a grain of sand, a mild annoyance, compared to the Despenser family. The barons were aware of this, William was more than aware of this. There were no boundaries, no limits when it came to the Despensers. But unlike William, they did not downplay their wealth or power. They had no idea the Despensers sent their own spies into their lands, looking, coveting.

He caught a Despenser spy in Locksley the previous summer. That was one body that would never be found.

William had been standing in the shadows of the balcony of the large room, watching the festivities with hooded eyes. None realized he was there, which was how he liked it. All were focused on the musicians and the Queen, dancing with Roger Mortimer.

Her husband was either oblivious or an idiot. William decided he was both. Roger wasn't acting very intelligently either. It occurred to William to warn Mortimer, let him know the Despensers were eyeing his lands, his home. While his wife and children sat patiently at home with his knights in attendance, Roger was falling under the spell of Edward's neglected queen. William kept close council in regards to Roger Mortimer. That one had a part to play in the future of England and rather than report his findings back to Edward, William kept his counsel to himself. Mortimer's comeuppance would come, but not right now and it would be at the hands of someone else. At this time, Edward was particularly incensed with his cousin, the Earl of Lancaster, who fought him at every turn. The Lord of FitzGisborne spent some days nosing around the royal cousin as well, with William again keeping more information to himself than he gave to the king. He saw the shadow enter the balcony from the far side, so he stepped back into a particularly dark recess and put his back to it.

"Lord William," the voice hissed in the dark. William recognized the voice; Hugh the Elder. "The king wishes to know if your... errand was successful."

"Really? What errand?" Despenser was digging deep. Obviously, the king didn't divulge everything. Then again, William made it very clear from the start if word got out, Edward would regret it. He paid his taxes, he openly stayed out of the business of running the country. He didn't ask for favors, nor did he demand money or land or someone else's title. It was the reason Edward loved him so.

There was a low chuckle. "I will tell his majesty aye, whatever it was, it was successful."

He already knows, you dimwit.

"I have a request," Hugh continued, looking about to make sure no one was around or listening. "And I have heard rumor that you are discrete and thorough." With his chin, he pointed to Mortimer, dancing attendance on Queen Isabella. "About Sir Roger. He is a Marcher lord and all know that the borders are a hotbed of ill-tempered rabble."

"I know the borders."

"They are the king's enemies," Hugh continued as if William had not spoken, "as they work to undermine him and I would not have him disturbed in anyway." Hugh put his hand over his heart. "I would keep as much disgruntlement from the king as possible. Running the country is such hard work." The man's dramatic sigh rent the air. "My son and I would keep as much ill-will from him as possible."

"Ease his road." For not the first time, William wished he had more than a small dagger at his side. Or at the very least, a glass of wine in his hand. He could drink the wine and smash the glass over this idiot's head and use the shattered stem to gouge his eyes out.

"Yes," Hugh was nodding happily. Obviously the man thought he had found a like-minded ally. "Perhaps tomorrow, you and I could sit together and discuss the goings-on of the borders. I would pay you well to look into the situation. As I recall, your hall could use renovation. The king is very generous to those who aid him."

William was in no mood to talk and he was looking forward to going home. If he left this evening, he would reach Nottinghamshire in three days. He'd sent word a week past to expect him, so a group of his knights would meet him on the road in the next day or so. He looked forward to being in the company of his men, to seeing his children. Again, he thought fleetingly of Aigues-Mortes, the grapes, the wine. The seas would be rough and he would have to keep the children occupied below deck. He would have to bring a few servants, a wet nurse.

"I know the Marcher lords," William repeated. "If they harbor discontent, perhaps it is because they safeguard England's borders without aid or remuneration. Rather than being compensated for a job well done, those less deserving eye their lands and call it just."

"'S'lud!" the Elder hissed. "That's treasonous talk!"

William shrugged. "'Tis truth."

"You should heed my words, FitzGisborne!" Hugh leaned in and William could smell the soured wine on the man's breath. "I would aid you, bring you power. Money, riches, wealth. You could rebuild that hovel you call hall or I could bring you down!"

William shoved back on the man, knocking him into the wall. Before he could recuperate, William grabbed him by his tunic, the Black Knight's knuckles white against the rich color. "You can't afford me." He shoved him again against the wall, knocking the breath from him, before sliding out the door and stalked down the corridor.

In ten minutes, he was gone.

~~~...~~~

The knot in William's stomach was getting tighter, when it should be loosening. His soul was not at ease and this worried him. Normally, when his horse stepped across the path that marked FitzGisborne lands, his spirit lifted, he became happier, his countenance lightened. He was home. Home, to his hearth, his two sons Hugh and Fulks, and baby daughter, Cecilia. Edward kept him, Hugh the Elder irritated him and Isabella frustrated him, reminding him of the one thing he would be missing in this life; the warmth of a woman. As corrupt as William FitzGisborne was, one thing he promised himself was he would not forsake those holy vows he stated in a church in front of a priest.

But finally, he was allowed to return home, to his lands, his family. Strange, this tall, powerful dark man, whose very look caused men to tremble, was such a gentle person with the little ones that bore his name.

His wife was a different matter and she was the reason why he was ill at ease. Richard, his personal knight and servant assured him all was well when he and the others – twelve in all – left just two days hence to meet him on the road. William had a niggling feeling, something that turned his gut sour, that all was not well.

The turrets of the castle come into view, over the trees of Nottingham Forest. Locksley had been added to, the original manse now a minor, inner part of the castle. The bailey was huge. If anyone tried to starve them out, it would be a long, long, long undertaking. A secret passageway had been built in the tunnel, exiting in – of all places – the church graveyard, within feet of the forest. William's ancestors had learned from The Black Knight in the Crypt.

The town was quiet, bleak, most unusual and it gave William's knights pause and William's soul to turn to utter darkness. Hearing the horses come across the drawbridge, William and his retinue was met by the steward's wife, Margaret, the only person not terrified of Lord William. She'd been around since he was a suckling babe, in fact, had been his wet nurse. She had sat and held his hand when word came his parents were dead and he allowed her to.

She was wringing her apron and sobbing. It looked as if she had been weepingfor a long time.

Margaret never cried. Not even when his parents died. Or her own husband.

"My Lord, I'm sorry I'm sorry, I didn't think-"

In an instant, he was dismounted and had her by the shoulders. "Margaret? What is wrong? What has happened?"

"Lady Mellisande-"

"Wot of her?"

Finally, the woman looked up, fresh tears flowing. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He shook her once. "Wot happened?"

Margaret swallowed once. "She's killed the baby. Blessed God on his throne, that witch murdered Cecilia."

tbc