Sigefrith enters without knocking

King Sigefrith smiled a little sadly as he heard Maud begin to sing softly behind the door. She had such a lovely voice—it was a shame he could rarely convince her to sing for him these days. But she still sang for her children.

It was painful to be jealous of one’s own children. Colburga had finally admitted that some women forgot they were wives when they became mothers. None of the other wives he knew had forgotten—it seemed a little unfair. But then the wives he knew had married willingly.

He supposed things could have been different for him as well if he had taken a wife like the others’—and as the others had—but he could not imagine being married to a Colburga or a Matilda. There was only Maud, even if his hold on her was as light as the hold she had on the deer around the castle, who came shyly to her garden in the mornings to eat corn out of her hands. When he had asked her whether she would not prefer a pretty mare to eat out of her hand, and to ride besides, she had said she preferred the deer. If he thought of it in that way, he could understand.

It was a pleasure to have her so close to him during the day now, in the chamber just beyond the one where he worked. He could hear her singing to the baby, laughing at him and talking to him—it could be quite distracting, in fact, he thought ruefully. Here he had been standing by the window for God knew how long listening to her sing. But it must have been lullabies, for the room had grown quiet now.

All the same, he did not think he preferred to have her near him in the day if it meant being far from her at night. In the day, she was with her baby. At night she had been—had ought to have been—with him, and the baby asleep.

But there was nothing to be done—the wise woman had said Colban must be kept away from the other children lest they catch the fever as well. Thus he had installed her on the other side of the castle, in the chamber adjoining this, it being the prettiest and warmest available. He had meant it for guests; she and Prince Colban would be the first.

But it had pleased him to see her delight when she realized she could see both the rising and the setting sun through the windows on either side. All that lacked was a view upon her garden—but he would see to that when he finished their bedroom in the new tower. Then she would be able to look out onto every corner of her little kingdom.

He heard her talking softly again to the baby. Well, he must not have been so tired after all.

He could smile now at a restless baby—it seemed the danger had passed. The fever was gone, the rash had almost disappeared, and Colban smiled and laughed just as before. If Egelric didn’t hurry home, it was likely that the little prince would be perfectly well by the time his godfather arrived.

Perhaps he would have Maud back in his own bed by then, and he could offer this chamber up to Colban and Malcolm. Wouldn’t they laugh to see the luxury, and demand their beds of chaff! Sigefrith laughed to think of it.

Well, he thought happily, if the little prince was awake, and as long as he was distracted from his work, he might as well go see how he fared.

“Sigefrith, I wish you would knock,” Maud said testily as he pushed the door open.

“I’m sorry, dear. I heard you talking so I thought he wasn’t sleeping.”

“He isn’t, but that’s no reason.”

“He’s not feeling poorly, is he? Good afternoon, little man!”

“I don’t know, he doesn’t seem quite himself yet.”

“He looks like his own self to me,” Sigefrith said, for Colban was grinning broadly up at him. “Let me hold him, Maud.”

“Oh, you don’t want to bother him now, do you? He’s tired.”

“I don’t intend to bother him, I intend to hold him. Look at him, he wants me.”

Maud reluctantly passed the baby over to him, and he settled over Sigefrith’s shoulder with a contented sigh.

“There now, sometimes a boy just likes to see his father. See if he doesn’t fall asleep on my shoulder.”

Maud turned fretfully to the window.

“I shall not hurt him, Maud,” Sigefrith said quietly, but she did not respond. He rubbed the baby’s back for a while before remarking, “He’s not hot at all. Don’t you think we can bring him back over to our room? He doesn’t have to go back with Caedwulf and Britamund just yet.”

“Do you want to kill your children?” she said, turning back to him.

“No, Maud,” he growled. “I do not. But I do not believe this child is ill any longer. Look at him,” he said, holding the baby up before his face. Colban laughed. “Is this the face of a sick baby? Or is this the face of a happy baby?”

“Don’t!” Maud cried. “Don’t—don’t!”

“Maud! One would think I had never held a baby before! I shall not hurt him, I tell you.”

“Please, give him back to me,” she said anxiously. “He’s ill, Sigefrith. You shouldn’t play with him like this.”

“I don’t believe he’s ill any longer, Maud,” he said, handing the baby back to her. “Why don’t you have the wise woman back to see him?”

“Because I am his mother, Sigefrith, and I know him better than she. I know he is ill.”

“I had been hoping to give this room to Colban and Malcolm when they arrive.”

“Is this room more important to you than the health of this baby?”

“Of course it isn’t,” he sighed.

“Then allow me to do what is best for him.”

“Of course you may. Do what you need.”

He must not be too hard on her, he told himself. He could not imagine what it must be like for a young mother to come close to losing her baby. Caedwulf and Britamund had always been absurdly healthy. Perhaps this little man was more delicate. He certainly had finer features.

He smiled tenderly at her as she bent her long neck and gazed lovingly down at her son. She was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He would have considered himself lucky even had he been granted only the right to look at her from time to time.