By King's Decree. Shari Anton

mother.”

      He headed for the door, stopping only to grab a blanket from a servant’s pallet to toss over Kirk.

      “He misses Daymon,” Corwin said in a low voice.

      “Daymon?”

      “Gerard’s son is about a year older than Kirk.”

      Ardith’s heart fell. “I did not know Gerard had wed.”

      “He has not wed. Daymon is his by-blow, but you would never know from Gerard’s treatment of the boy.” Corwin sighed. “I had best find Belinda. If Gerard has taken a liking to Kirk, I fear she is in for a scolding worse than you could hope to match.”

      Corwin strode off to find Belinda. Seething, Elva stomped toward the cauldron. With a sigh, Ardith walked toward the sleeping chamber. Bronwyn followed.

      “Oh, dear,” Bronwyn moaned, picking up the scissors.

      “Be quick,” Ardith said quietly.

      With a few snips, Bronwyn trimmed the frazzled ends from Ardith’s braid, hair never before touched by scissors.

      “Your gown is scorched beyond repair. ’Tis a miracle you were not burned,” Bronwyn said.

      Ardith shook out her hair. “Since my hair is wet, I may as well wash it.”

      “You will catch your death,” Bronwyn protested.

      “I must dry it by the fire anyway.”

      Bronwyn fetched a bucket of warm water and bar of rose-scented soap. Together they washed Ardith’s auburn tresses and wrapped her head in a length of linen.

      Ardith changed into the dry clothing that Bronwyn had laid out—a chemise of ivory, and a wool gown of saffron yellow.

      With bone combs in hand, they sought the heat of the fire and untangled the mass atop Ardith’s head. She bemoaned the loss of hair as she combed. No longer did the tresses reach down over her rump. When properly plaited, the braid would only hang to her waist.

      But what import had the loss of a few inches of hair when measured against the possible disaster to Kirk? She hoped Gerard would truly throw the fear of God into Belinda for neglecting the babe. If not, Ardith planned to take Belinda to task after the evening meal.

      Duty demanded she speak with Belinda to ensure Kirk’s safety. And there was one particular question she needed to ask of the woman. Belinda had never named Kirk’s sire. If Ardith’s hunch was correct, if Kirk was indeed her half brother, Belinda need never worry about the babe ever again.

      Ardith wondered if her father would object to the plans forming in her head. Would Harold acknowledge a bastard son? She could cite Gerard as an example—and Baron Everart. She could also praise the king’s acknowledgment of his bastard children. According to Bronwyn, at last count the king had ten children, only two of them legitimate.

      Would Belinda protest, refuse to relinquish the boy? No. Not having to care for her son would leave Belinda free to flit about as she chose.

      The whore certainly had her place in the manor, keeping Harold’s few men-at-arms from molesting the village maidens. But there were times when Belinda’s chosen trade grated on Ardith’s nerves.

      Like now, as Ardith wondered if the meeting in the tent would end with Belinda offering her body to Gerard—and Gerard accepting. Maybe, tonight, Gerard would have company in his tent, on his fur pallet.

       Chapter Four

      The cooking fire had died down to coals, so little light eased through the shuttered windows of the kitchen. Standing within the meager light, Ardith confronted Belinda.

      “I will take better care of Kirk, milady,” Belinda said.

      Ardith didn’t doubt Belinda would, at least as long as Gerard remained at Lenvil. According to Corwin, Gerard had threatened to strap Belinda to the post the soldiers used for spear practice should any harm come to Kirk.

      Gerard’s threat had jolted Belinda. All evening she’d stayed close to Kirk, as if tethered to the babe. Even now Kirk slept against Belinda’s shoulder, wrapped within the folds of his mother’s mantle.

      “I believe you will,” Ardith said. “My concern for Kirk goes beyond his safety, however. Belinda, could my father be Kirk’s father?”

      “Nay, milady,” Belinda said.

      Disappointed, Ardith pressed, “Are you sure? Do you know who Kirk’s father is?”

      “Quite sure ‘bout lord Harold, milady. As a man grows old his parts wither. Poor Harold has to work hard to get his manroot stiff.”

      “Oh?” Ardith choked.

      “Aye, his days of begettin’ wee ones are over. You see milady, for the seed to take root, a man has to plant deep inside a woman. Harold just don’t stay long enough or hard enough for the sowin’ anymore.”

      “I see.”

      “Now you take a young, strappin’ big man like the baron. Lay enough wenches beneath him and he could sire his own army, he could. Aye, he would furrow deep. Wager he could plant three or four babes before takin’ a rest.”

      Blessed Mother! How could Belinda so blithely speak of male private parts and the act that led to conception? Her father’s male private parts…Gerard’s!

      Ardith knew how men and women coupled. One had only to walk into the hall at night to see men-at-arms and maids, servants and serfs, bouncing on pallets.

      The sight and sounds had so disgusted her sister Edith that she’d fled to a nunnery. Not so her other sisters, who knew they would wed and were resigned to servicing their husbands. Though Bronwyn had never said as much, Ardith suspected her sister enjoyed the experience with Kester.

      The one time Ardith had dared broach the subject, while learning midwife skills, Elva had dismissed the act as a needless waste of energy. “‘Tis men who cannot resist the urge to fornicate,” Elva declared. “They measure their worth by the size of their rod. A woman need only lie still and hope he is quick about his business. Be glad you need never endure the demands of a male.”

      Ardith had wanted to ask if Elva judged from firsthand knowledge but lacked the courage. She suspected not, because Elva had never married. Nor could Ardith quite believe Elva’s statement. Too many maids smiled brightly on the morn after sharing a man’s pallet. Belinda certainly didn’t show any sign of suffering from male demands.

      Had Belinda lain with Gerard? Was that how she knew his size and stamina? No, she hadn’t. Belinda had used a wistful tone as though she would like to, but hadn’t yet shared Gerard’s furs.

      Embarrassed, but fascinated, Ardith asked, “How can you judge Baron Gerard’s, or any man’s…without…”

      Ardith lost her courage, but Belinda understood.

      “By his hands, milady. You take a look at the baron’s fingers. They be long and thick, so his rod be long and thick. Aye, he would be a real handful, mayhap two, that one. Do you want me to describe him for you should he—”

      “Nay!” Ardith took a deep breath and regained her composure. “My interest is not personal, you understand. My duties as healer bid me ask. I must know how things work if I am to treat ailments and the like properly.”

      “Of course, milady.”

      Ardith knew from the smile in Belinda’s voice that she hadn’t fooled the whore.

      

      Gerard pushed aside his empty goblet.

      The hall was quiet except for a low crackle from the fire pit and an occasional intruding snore. Corwin had succumbed, lay sprawled