“And you would say this is fine? Fine to leave him like this?”
“I can well see you’ve already prepared a cold poultice and willow bark tea. It will help soothe him and, by noon already, I reckon he’ll feel better. Perchance he will be a bit fitful again in the night, but that should be nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?”
The woman gave her an odd look, then shook her head with a sigh.
“He’s teething again. So there’s naught to fret over. See? That last back tooth which is giving him some trouble. Yet toddlers have far less trouble with the last of their milk teeth than babies have with their first.”
The woman had spoken in a soothing voice, and Emma suddenly felt as if an immense weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She peered at the child’s mouth, but she could glimpse nothing other than a bit of swollen back gum.
“Truly?” she found herself muttering.
“Truly,” the woman told her while she was ruffling the child’s brown hair. “I’ve raised three children who are now grown and in good health. If something were amiss with this one, I would know.”
Emma nodded with a sigh, thinking of the child she’d not even gotten to hold and that a part of her still mourned. The new child in her life soon dozed off, probably because she’d plied him with too much willow bark tea, as the woman told her with a cocked eyebrow.
“Arthen may be right after all. You seem changed, Rowena,” she added, casting Emma a measuring look.
“Changed? How?” Emma asked, suddenly uncomfortable and half expecting this woman had already seen through her deceit.
“You never used to care for the boy. It was fortunate Hild was here to care for him in your stead, but now, with her gone, you’ll have to learn to watch over him if you plan to stay.”
Arthen, Hild…Emma understood that Arthen was Master Archer’s Christian name. A Welsh name, which meant he must be all or at least part Welsh. Welshmen were skilful archers, so it was perchance no wonder that Master Archer should be Welsh. Emma also recalled Master Archer having mentioned Rowena’s mother. Was this the Hild this woman was telling her about? And who was this woman? Someone close to Master Archer by the way they addressed one another. A member of his family. An aunt perhaps…
Plan to stay. The words suddenly rang loud in her ears. Certainly, she could never stay. But soon her eyes unwittingly fell upon the child, and she clearly recalled how her heart had skipped a beat when he’d called her his mother. She’d fallen irrevocably in love with his wide blue eyes and irresistible smile as soon as she’d laid eyes on him. And she’d always fervently wished for a child. That she did not wish for a husband as well suddenly seemed far less important. Things were what they were. And it was plain as the daylight she wanted to be Robin's mother. Perhaps she'd been fated to meet Robin, and that was why her path had become entwined with Rowena's. A new life. Wasn't that what she'd always wished for? And a child to always cherish.
“Will you teach me, Auntie?” she found herself saying and squaring her shoulders with newfound resolve.
The elderly woman’s gaze upon her was shrewd and assessing. Yet, Emma noted that, unlike before, she was not glancing upon her with resentment, but, rather, with grudging approval.
CHAPTER 7
Arthen went back home at lunch, just as he had promised, to inquire after the child. Robin had not seemed unwell to him, and he thought the fever Rowena had appeared to worry about just a passing thing. It had been strange Rowena should fret over their son so. If this was not another of her wicked games, then perhaps he should mind what she had said. She was, after all, Robin's mother, and maybe her worries over the child's state had good cause. So he decided not to entirely dismiss them, even if he doubted something was truly wrong with his son.
“How’s Robin?” he asked Aunt Royse, as soon as he set foot in the kitchen.
“Teething, but fine otherwise.”
“Oh, that back tooth at last, upon him? The one before kept both me and him awake for a full week last month,” Arthen said with a smile, feeling somewhat vindicated that Rowena had been kept awake just as he had on many other nights when she’d not cared at all to see to their child.
Yet he felt somewhat remorseful recalling the look of sheer concern she’d had over the child this morn. Surely, it couldnot be feigned. Rowena was deceitful, yet she’d never feigned interest in their child before.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“In the chamber, still watching over him like a mother hen.”
Arthen frowned. Still, it was so unlike Rowena to fret over her son in any way. Could this indeed be another of her wicked games?
“I do not think she’s lying,” Aunt Royse said, perceiving the worried look on his face.
“You don’t?”
“She was white as a sheet and nearly trembling this morn. If this is deceit, she’s gotten far cleverer at it than before.”
Arthen nodded, breaking his bread and thanking his aunt for the bowl of broth she put in front of him. He ate hurriedly, knowing there was but little time he had, before he went back to his lessons. He supposed he should thank Almighty God that this year so many lads had chosen to come to be taught archery by him and John, yet this meant he had little time to spare. Before, with Hild and a serving girl here, it would have been easier to cope, as he’d felt sure the household and his son were well supervised in his absence. And Aunt Royse had her own household and ailing husband to care for, and was not getting any younger. Like so many times before, he wished Rowena was different – a help to him instead of a burden. But things were what they were and he could never undo his wedding vows, even if reckless Rowena decided to leave him again.
“The parish priest asked of her,” Aunt Royse said, and Arthen sighed, knowing the whole parish was well apprised of Rowena leaving him.