June Francis - The Adventurer's Bride

‘Better than yesterday, thank you, Margaret,’ he replied. ‘And how are you feeling this morning?’

‘I’m pleased you are here and that you remember my name. Master Mortimer gets our names muddled up,’ she said, looking chagrined. ‘Perhaps it is because he is old like my father was. You’re not going to die, are you, Master Hurst? You’re not as old as either of them.’

‘I certainly hope to live a lot longer,’ said Nicholas, unaccustomed to such conversation, but wanting to reassure the girl.

‘Mama says that when you are properly Simon’s godfather it will be as if you are one of our little family. Does that please you?’

Had Jane really told Margaret that? The thought warmed him and he said, ‘It pleases me very much.’

‘Good!’ Margaret sighed happily. ‘I am hoping that Mama will say that we can have a small feast to celebrate your being here.’ She smacked her lips. ‘Maybe she will kill one of the hens. It will make a change from fish or cheese or just vegetables and barley as is customary during Lent. Although one less hen will mean less eggs once they start laying again. Still, the hens are sitting on eggs and so there will be chicks in the hen house that will grow into more hens.’ She beamed at him and skipped over to the window and climbed onto the seat beneath. ‘Most of the snow has melted. Good. I will go and tend to the poultry as that is my first task of the day. Oh, and here is Mama with the bread and ale and Simon or...’ She scrambled down and looked into the cradle before turning to Nicholas. ‘Perhaps it is your baby because there are no babies here?’

Nicholas agreed that it most likely was his daughter, Matilda. He forced himself to walk over to the front door and opened it and smiled down at Jane. ‘May I help you?’

She frowned up at him and hesitated before carefully placing his daughter in the crook of his unaffected arm. ‘You should be resting. Matilda is fed and changed. I notice you still have no shirt on. Is there one in your saddlebags?’

He nodded, gazing down at his sleeping daughter.

‘Good. You really should be resting.’

‘I will rest soon enough.’ He kissed Matilda’s cheek before carrying her over to the cradle and placing her down.

‘Have you eaten?’ asked Jane, thinking that he really did look drawn and weary.

‘I was about to do so when we had a visitor and Margaret woke up,’ he replied.

Jane looked startled. ‘A visitor?’

‘Aye, can you not hear the loom clacking? The man says he has come from Kent with Sir Gawain. His name is Willem Godar.’

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