Elena smiled wanly, and tried to look reassured, but she was grateful when one of the maids called out that the milk was ready for churning. At once all the women set about their tasks and soon the steady slap-slap of the churn paddles filled the small building.
When Elena had confided her fears to Athan, he too had agreed that the dream signified nothing, although later when they were alone he had whispered to Elena that perhaps his mother had been right after all and they should not have made love in her condition. No doubt that was what was causing the night terrors. But Elena was not convinced by any of the women's tales. She had never in her life dreamed anything that seemed so real to her.
Ever since the first night she had used the mandrake and seen the end of the dream, she had tried repeatedly to dream it again, praying each night that it would end differently this time. She had become obsessed by the dream. Even in daylight she could think of little else. Days began to drag by as she waited impatiently for the night to come again. She was terrified by the dream yet, like someone with a sore tooth who can't leave it alone, she convinced herself she had to try again, and again. This time, this night it would be different. Once more, just once more, and it would surely change, it had to.
Even if she had not been pregnant, Elena could never have brought herself to make love to Athan with his mother in the same room, but neither could she persuade Athan to make love to her in the barns or fields, after she revealed her nightmare. However, she quickly came to learn that no matter how faithful men are when they are awake, they are helpless in their sleep. That wanton temptress, the night-hag Lilith, came often to Athan and seduced him in his dreams, so that Elena would waken to find the milk seed she needed was already spilling from him. She had learned how to steal a few drops, gently catching them on her fingers so as not to wake him, and slipping out of bed whilst Athan and his mother were still snoring in unison.
Day after day she fed the mandrake, and night after night she was rewarded with the same dream until she knew beyond any doubt or reasoning that she would murder the baby she was carrying in her belly, though how or why she did not understand. Perhaps she would do it in a moment of madness or hatred or revulsion, for she felt all those things in her dreams. But one thing she knew for certain, whatever Marion, Athan or Joan said, she would not be able to stop herself. There was nothing she could do. She would kill her own son, because she had already seen herself do it.
Raoul was feeling distinctly uneasy. Osborn had retired to the solar with Hugh and dismissed all his men, save Raoul, to talk, it seemed, about the manor. At least, that was how the conversation had started, but Raoul had spent enough time at court to know that just as a viper may lie hidden in a basket of roses, so the most innocent remark can conceal a deadly trap.
Osborn leaned back in the carved chair which creaked in protest at his weight.
'Do you really imagine I want to spend days kicking my heels in this midden? Why do you think John gave me Gastmere? It wasn't for my own amusement. He knows half the barons in the land are plotting rebellion against him and he wants the land in the hands of loyal men he can trust, strong men who can put down any sign of discontent.'
Raoul still couldn't see where this conversation was leading. To cover his confusion, he rose and refilled his goblet from the flagon on the side table. He glanced towards the casement of the solar where Hugh was standing gazing morosely out at the rain which was falling harder than ever. Even though he had his back to Raoul, it was plain from his hunched shoulders that he was sulking. Hugh considered a day without hunting or hawking was a day completely wasted. Raoul hadn't known either of the brothers long, but he'd spent enough time with Hugh to realize that hunting was the only thing that filled his head, whether he was awake or asleep.