than usual. I don't know. ... I tended some accounts and joined him in the bed and went to sleep too. When I awoke," she whispered, "he was dead."
Galeran stared at her as if her frozen face could provide answers. "Of what?"
"I don't know."
"Don't be foolish! You must know. Did you overlay him?"
"No." But she wouldn't look at him.
"Jehanne. It can happen... ."
She turned on him. "I did not overlay him! Drunken women do that I was not drunk. I'm even a light sleeper and he was eight months old If I'd begun to smother him, he'd have struggled...." Her lips trembled and she pressed them together. "He did nothing. . . ."
"Was he sick?"
"No. No.... He had some marks about him, but nothing to kill. . . . Don't you think this hasn't been gone over?"
"Then how, in God's name, did my son die?"
She turned icy eyes on him. "Perhaps I killed him. Is that what you're thinking, like Gil? You were dead, or so that passing monk said. Lowick was here, wanting to replace you, but not wanting your son replacing his.
Easy enough to get rid of a small child. A hand covering mouth and nose ..
."
"Easy enough for him."
Her face changed and he knew it wasn't a novel idea. "I was sleeping with Gallot," she said shakily. "It isn't possible."
"Perhaps you were sleeping with both of them. Rutting with Lowick beside my son's body."
"No!"
He lunged to his feet. "By the Holy Nails and Spear, Jehanne, I'll have the truth!"
An unsteady hand covered her mouth. "Oh, Galeran, no more vows ..."
The squawk of a babe pierced the moment, the demanding squawk of a hungry young babe. Jehanne put her arm over her breasts and Galeran saw a damp patch begin to spread there. Those breasts had poured fourth milk on demand for his son once, and now they gushed for the child of Raymond of Lowick.
"Go feed it," he snarled, and she left almost at a run.
Galeran fisted the wall hard enough to bruise. So much for any idea of bodily ease. He could summon her back later, but he knew he wouldn't. No matter what had happened, he couldn't use Jehanne like a privy for his relief. There had to be something between them, something more than this.
He collapsed back on the bench and sank his head in his hands. Was it possible that she had killed the child?
No. Never. He would never believe that.
Was it possible that she had connived at Lowick killing the child?
He didn't think so, but love could do strange things. Look what it was doing to him.
He couldn't deny that there was something very strange about Jehanne now, and the events as he knew them made no sense. She had clearly conceived the bastard at about the time of Gallot's death, and soon after the news of his own supposed death.
Was it possible Lowick had raped her?
He shook his head Jehanne would have cut off his balls and choked him with them.
Instead, she had kept Lowick here, and when Galeran had approached, had let him leave. He could see no sign of enmity.
He'd have to find out what had really happened before he could have any chance of peace. What was he going to do, however, if Jehanne and Lowick had caused his son's death in any way, even if only by neglect?
Kill them both.
He would have no choice.
He rose to pace the room, seeking desperately for some explanation that he liked and finding none.
He'd intended to sleep after the bath, but now nervous energy fought with exhaustion so that he could neither think straight nor sit still. He might as well get dressed.
If he had anything to wear.
Yet again he was painfully reminded of the time Jehanne had thrown his clothes out the window, for if she'd thought him dead she would surely have given his clothes away. If Lowick had left anything behind, it would be too large.
He threw open a wooden chest and stopped in surprise at the sight of his belongings neatly stored.
Everything was in excellent condition, well interspersed with herbs to ward off moths and other pests. He found clean braies and shirt - a new shirt finely made by Jehanne's own hand - and his favorite red wool tunic with marten fur trim. His shoes were even in excellent condition, kept oiled and supple.
He turned a shoe thoughtfully in his hand. If Jehanne had believed word of his supposed death nearly a year ago, why this