Walter, the gatekeeper, was never one to want to stir from his fireside after supper, even on a hot summer's night, and he certainly did not disguise his annoyance at being roused at this late hour in the bitter cold. He stamped his feet and blew ‹›n his hands, grumbling that the wicket door was very likely frozen solid and if he did manage to prise it open, he'd likely not be able to get it shut again for the rest of the night.
"You'd think folks'd have the wit to get their business done in daylight,' he muttered, 'not go traipsing around the countryside when they should be abed. Second time this night I've been fetched out of my cot. All these comings and goings, it's enough to daul a man to death.'
Raffe was in such a foul mood that he scarcely registered what Walter was saying, but the man's fumbling with the frozen latch only served to irritate him the more and he pushed Walter out of the way so hard that the gatekeeper slipped on the frosty cobbles and fell heavily to the ground. Raffe didn't even bother to apologize.
Elena bent to help the man, but Raffe caught her arm and pushed her out through the wicket door. He ducked under the frame, following her. Elena stood shivering on the path outside, clutching her small pack of belongings and staring hack at the towering walls of the manor.
Raffe glanced sourly up at the swollen moon, which seemed closer and heavier this night as if it was taunting him with its belly-ripe fecundity. Holding the flaming torch aloft, he strode off in the direction of the village at a deliberately cruel pace, knowing Elena would almost have to run to keep up with him.
How could she have done it? How could she have betrayed him, after all he had done for her? When he thought about how useless she was at almost any task in the house, her clumsiness, the pots and flagons she had broken — other stewards would have taken a stick to her long ago. But he had covered up for her, turned a blind eye to her slipping out of the manor whenever she chose, had even given her gifts to take home for her mother. By God, if he had a stick in his hand right now, that little fool would smart for it. If he'd a whip in his belt he'd have flogged her every step of the way from the manor to the village.
Raffe's fury was not soothed by the knowledge that it was entirely his own fault that he was having to put himself through this private agony of delivering Elena into the arms of another man. For Lady Anne would have willingly allowed Elena to stay until morning when a cart could have been sent to take the girl home, but it was Raffe who had insisted Elena leave at once and now, though he told himself he'd gladly drown her in the nearest ditch, he found he could not bring himself to let her walk alone at night without protection.
Raffe sensed Elena glancing fearfully up at him as she scuttled to keep pace, but he wouldn't look at her. He couldn't bring himself to speak. When he had dragged her into Lady Anne's presence, with that shrew Hilda triumphantly bringing up the rear, Elena had started sobbing. He didn't know if her tears sprang from her fear of Lady Anne's anger or from the pain of his vicious grip on her arm. At that moment he didn't care why she was crying, and he refused to slacken his grasp.
But Lady Anne had not been angry. Raffe knew she wouldn't be, whatever Hilda had hoped. Anne had shaken her head gravely, but said it was only to be expected. Elena had done no more than any pretty girl would do, especially now that marriage was impossible because of the Interdict. Then she had turned her face away and stared silently into the firelight for a long time, a silence no one dared to break.
Finally, she spoke without lifting her gaze from the flames. 'It is not that I disapprove of what you have done, my dear.
Young love is not a crime to be punished. But you must understand that I cannot bear to have babies around me. It is too painful for me. Even a pregnant woman reminds me ... of what I have lost ... seeing