She recovered some of her senses and looked into Ranulf’s eyes, soft and gentle, and so near her own. He moved his hand away.
“So you know me. It has been so long I thought mayhaps…” He stopped talking when he saw she began to cry. Quickly he pulled back the covers and lay beside her, gathering her in his arms.
She cried violently for a while, the deep sobs tearing at her body, then gradually beginning to lighten.
“I take it you are glad to see me again?” His light words did not match his ragged voice or the catch in his throat. He ran his hand down her body, her shoulder, her arm and came to rest on the hard, enormous mound of her stomach, caressing, feeling the gentle movements of the babe. It was a quiet moment between them, a sharing of what they had created.
He grunted, his hand still but possessive on her belly. “You are grown so fat I hardly knew you.”
“I am … not fat.” She sniffed, controlling her tears. “It is only the babe who sticks out. The rest of me is the same,” she said in her defense.
“Nay, you have not seen yourself from behind. You walk like a duck, swaying forward and back, from side to side. Even your feet turn out. Have they perchance turned orange?”
“Ranulf! You are horrible! You should say I am beautiful when I carry your babe, not tell me of my ugliness.”
He lifted her face to his. “Aye, you are beautiful.” He kissed her sweetly on her mouth, then on her damp eyelids. He saw that her tears began anew. “But you are still as a duck, a most beautiful duck, but a duck nonetheless.”
She smiled, her tears ceasing and she snuggled again on his shoulder. “What think you of the duck you have made of me?” She covered his hand with her own and the child’s sharp kick was felt by them both.
“Does the child move?”
“Aye.” She felt him straighten in pride.
“He is strong then.”
“I am sure he shall be born with a lance in one hand and a sword in another,” she answered sarcastically.
“I would hope he’d have more consideration for his mother. You have not changed. You are as insolent as ever.”
“Then you do remember me? You have not forgotten?”
“Forgotten? I could no more forget you than I could forget … to carry my right leg with me.”
“Ah, so now I am compared to your leg. You are a most unromantic knight.”
“You dare to call me unromantic! Look you at what I wear! I dress as a serf. This horrible wool has worn me raw as no chain mail ever could. I have even chopped wood so that I may be near you. And you say me to be unromantic. I have gone through hell to be here.”
“Ranulf, my sweet. I am sorry to have caused you so much misery. It is all my fault.”
“Here, do not cry again. The wetness makes the wool scratch worse and the smell blinds me. You will get no argument from me. It is all your fault and I demand to know why you left me. You constantly tell me I am ignorant, but never have I come near to equaling this stupid act of yours.”
“I have not told you you are ignorant,” she said.
“Do not evade me. Tell me why you left me.”
“Ranulf, this is not the time. You must leave before those men find you are here. Alice tells me often of their treachery.”
“Bah!” He waved his hand. “They are little more than an exercise before dinner. How can Alice tell you aught of them when she is a mute?”
“You know overmuch of me. Why do you not kiss me some more?”
“Nay.” He pushed her back down to his shoulder. “I will not fight my son for you. One of us at a time will be in you.”
“Ranulf!” She gasped at his crudity and then giggled.
“Now tell me why you left me.”
“You are most persistent. I worry that my skin will never return to the way it was, that it will always be stretched and loose.”