Cait and the Devil

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Cait murmured. “I’m just tired.”

“Tired?” asked Henna, perking up. “And sick? Are ya feeling ill at ease when you eat? In the mornings, is your stomach ailing you?”

“No, not really. Why?”

Henna shrugged. “It could be that you’re growing a baby. Have your courses come on you this month?”

“Yes, last week.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Then you couldn’t be with child, I’m afraid. That’s how you know for sure. Your courses stop.”

“No. They’ve been coming right as rain.”

“Well, now...I don’t know why... Are you still...you and the earl...?”

Cait nodded emphatically.

“That’s strange. Well, don’t you lose hope.”

“Duncan told me babies come when they’re ready. It doesn’t depend how good or bad you are.”

“No, it doesn’t depend on that, lass. Duncan’s right. If it did, there would be a lot less babies born into this world. If only good people could have ’em.”

Cait frowned. “If that was true, I wouldn’t ever have been born at all, because my father is awfully bad.”

“Is he now?” chuckled Henna. “Your father the king?”

“He’s a king, but he was very bad to me. I don’t like him.”

“And what of your mother, child? What kind of woman was she?”

“A liar and a slut.”

Henna gaped, then quickly composed herself. “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.”

Cait shrugged. “My father said so.”

“And you don’t know anything else about her? Your nurse never said anything about your ma?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You never asked? You were never curious?”

“I think she probably had very black hair,” Cait offered mournfully.

“Oh, dearest,” Henna said, leaning down to peck her on the cheek. “You rest now if you’re tired. Don’t let Henna upset you about where you’ve come from. What’s important is that you’re happy now. You are happy now, lass, aren’t ya?”

“Yes, of course I am, Henna. And someday, maybe soon, a baby will grow. Then I’ll be even happier.”

Henna frowned. “Yes, I hope so, lass. Perhaps soon.”

* * * * *

Henna went in search of him directly. It troubled her very much that the earl’s young wife wasn’t conceiving, especially when she seemed so disappointed about it.

Well, Henna knew all about women and babies. She would give whatever help she could. Sometimes it was a matter of timing, or a nutritional matter. Perhaps Cait just wasn’t eating enough, or getting enough rest.

She found him in the small room off the main hall where he often gathered his men for planning and conferences. At present he was alone—daydreaming, if she didn’t know any better. She knocked softly on the half-opened door to gain his attention.

“Yes, Henna. What is it?”

“Am I disturbing your peace?”

“Peace? I have no peace,” he sighed, only half joking. “But I have time for you, if you’ve a problem or concern.”

“Well...” Henna began, not knowing exactly how to broach the subject.

“Let me guess, my wife is brooding up in her room again.”

“Well, she does seem a little tired today, my lord, and a little woe-be-gone if I do say so.”

“We had a late night. A somewhat exhausting night.”

Henna reddened. She thought she might as well just come out and say it.

“Why do you think the lass does not conceive?”

Duncan stood up to stare out the window. She detected a slump to his shoulders that wasn’t normally there.

“If you’re having problems, perhaps I can be of some assistance. There are herbs to use to make it easier to bring on a baby, certain foods that can help, and then the issue of timing—”

“It’s not food or timing or any of those things, Henna.”

“I know this can be a sensitive issue,” the old woman said. “I don’t mean to cause you distress. I only want to help.”

“She does not conceive because I don’t wish it. I don’t use her that way. I thought you knew that.”

Henna’s mouth dropped open. “But she said she’d become a true wife to you! Some three months past! And I know for a fact she shares your bed every night.”

“Yes, very enthusiastically.”

“She said you gave your seed to her, every day!”

“Well, she might learn a little circumspection. Yes, it’s true that I do, but only in places that will do her no harm.”

“What do you mean, no harm?” asked Henna, narrowing her eyes. “What on earth—”

“Henna, it is none of your business.”

“What are you saying? You’re using your wife in unholy, unnatural ways, while she remains a...a virgin?!”

“Technically, I suppose she is a virgin, but in general, no, she’s no longer very pure.”

“Oh, oh...” Henna spluttered in outrage. “I just...I never...I don’t believe—”

“She enjoys my attentions as they are, old woman, so don’t look so horrified. And she doesn’t know any better—”

“No, she doesn’t! When you spend in her...her mouth,” Henna moaned, “she believes you will plant a baby in her stomach! Poor misguided child—”

“She’s not a child! And it’s not really my fault she doesn’t know, now is it? You’re a woman, why don’t you teach her the facts of life? Actually,” he muttered, reconsidering, “I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Oh, you’re a smug, horrid blackheart, to use her this way and snicker about it behind her back.”

“I don’t snicker, nor am I smug or horrid. I’m very happy. We both are, not that it’s any of your concern.”

“She’s not happy. She wants a baby!”

“Yes, I know she does. Believe me, I know it. Don’t think this doesn’t prick at my conscience every day.”

“And she walks around still a virgin, completely ripe for the taking by any blackguard who might have designs on her. With the king’s own blood in her, no less!”

“What blackguard? Who wants the king’s bastard? She’ll bring no power to anyone.”

“And what of her mother? Who on earth knows who her mother might be!”

“Some poor victim of the king’s and nothing more, surely. Some gentlewoman or whore he forced to spread her legs. He values Cait not at all, so her mother can’t be anyone of consequence.”

“Really? And yet she’s raised in seclusion? Hidden away in a cottage in the woods for seventeen years? Then sent to marry an earl at the edge of Scotland as soon as she’s of age, out of the eyes of the countrymen and court? It seems to me you should guard her more carefully.”

“I do guard her, Henna. She’s guarded all day.”

“Then at night, you wrong her, that poor innocent trusting lass. You wrong her and you know it in your heart.”

“How do I wrong her?” he shot back, losing his temper. “Because I try to protect her from the fate that befell my first wife? Because I don’t care to see her bleed to death in pain and agony for a fate I selfishly visited on her?”

“Duncan,” whispered Henna. “You cannot blame yourself forever. Lenore’s death was not your fault.”