Page 121 of The Forsaken
The bed hangings were partially closed, but once Guy stepped around the side of the bed, he could see clearly. Kate lay uncovered on the bed, her eyes wide open, staring at something just off to the left, her face frozen in a grimace of pain. Her skirts were bunched up, the fabric soaking up the dark red blood that pooled beneath her hips. A tiny baby lay between her legs, its nearly translucent skin covered in blood. Its eyes were closed and it was curled into itself, but beneath the slimy cord that tethered the child to Kate’s body was the unmistakable stub that identified the child as being male.
The desperate sob that tore from Guy’s chest forced Hugh to look up. He staggered to his feet and came toward Guy, catching him in a bear hug. “She’s gone, brother. She’s gone,” he cried. “And so is my son.”
“What happened?” Guy cried, his anguish there for anyone to behold. “I don’t understand. She seemed fine at the picnic.”
“She took her own life,” Nurse replied. She held up a small brown vial. “This is oil of rue. Some use it to dislodge a babe from the womb, but a large dose is fatal. Perhaps she got the notion from Aileen, who’d used the same poison.”
“But why?” Hugh cried, his voice hoarse with agony. “Why would she do that? She was so excited about the coming babe, so filled with hope for the future.”
Guy grabbed for the basin just in time as his innards turned themselves inside out and he retched and retched, until he sank to the floor and curled into a ball on the cold stone. He knew why Kate had done it. She couldn’t bear the weight of her guilt or the fear of what was about to happen. Taking her own life, which she’d see as the ultimate sin, had been preferable to what he was about to subject her to. He’d as good as killed her. He’d killed hislove, and his baby. And Kate, as a final act of atonement, had become the instrument of her own punishment, since as a suicide she’d be forever condemned to hell, her remains denied proper burial.
Guy forced himself to his feet. He was eviscerated by grief, but he couldn’t allow anyone to discover the truth. No one could know what he and Kate had meant to each other, or what they’d planned to do. Hugh was already devastated by his loss, and Guy would do anything to spare Kate further shame or judgement. The truth would die with him when the time came.
“Come,” Guy said to Hugh as he wrapped an arm about his brother. “Come away.”
Hugh looked at Guy, his eyes unseeing. He seemed utterly lost, as if he suddenly had no idea where he was or what had just happened.
“Come, Hugh,” Guy urged him.
“Ye go on, pet,” Nurse said to Hugh. “I’ll see to Kate and the babe. Ye shouldn’t see her like this. This shouldn’t be yer last memory of her.”
Hugh nodded and allowed Guy to steer him toward the door, but not before Guy watched Nurse slip the vial into her pocket. There was nothing odd in that—she wouldn’t leave poison lying about—but the one thing he had noticed, even in his state of shock, was the writing on the bottle, the penmanship that of his late mother. The label was written in tiny letters, the ink faded after years of exposure to the light. Kate would never have been able to read that. Her sight was failing. Had she perhaps been seeking relief from her sickness and taken the wrong thing by mistake? Was there hope that she hadn’t done this awful deed on purpose? The knowledge that she hadn’t taken her own life wouldn’t bring her back, but it would ease his heart. God would still take her into his embrace, as well as their son, and grant them life everlasting. Salvation would have meant everything to Kate.
Guy and Hugh spent the night in the parlor, drinking themselves into a stupor and talking about Kate. Neither one could bear to be alone yet. They were united in their loss, bound by grief. Hugh didn’t understand the extent of Guy’s loss, but he’d recognized that Guy bore great affection for his sister-in-law and leaned on him for support, knowing that Guy was likely the only person who could truly understand his grief. By the time the first rays of the sun sliced through the gloom of the parlor, a decision had been made, and a pact had been struck.
Kate would not be buried at a crossroads with a spike through her heart, as was the custom with suicides. They would bury her in the chapel in consecrated ground, in the place that had meant the most to her and where she’d found solace in life and would also find peace in death. No one would learn the truth of what had happened. No one. For if word got to Father Jonas, he might order to have Kate’s remains exhumed and reburied as the Church demanded. She would be forever safe beneath the stone floor of the chapel, sleeping peacefully with her rosary in her hands.
By the time Hugh and Guy abandoned the parlor, Kate’s body had been washed and wrapped in a shroud—one that Nurse had prepared for herself to be used when the time came. Kate’s remains were laid out on the table, a thick candle burning at each end.
“Where’s the child?” Hugh asked.
“In there, with her.”
Hugh nodded. “Come, brother. Let’s go dig a grave.”
“Dig a grave?” Nurse asked, gaping at them.
“Kate’s to be buried in the chapel,” Hugh replied, his tone brooking no argument.
“But she’s a suicide,” Nurse protested. “It’s a sin to keep it from the Church. And she died unshriven.”
Hugh paled, his eyes boring into his old nurse. “Kate will be buried in consecrated ground with all the respect due to her. And if you ever breathe a word of what transpired to anyone, you will find yourself buried right next to her. Do you understand?” Hugh didn't raise his voice, but the depth of his threat was clear.
“Aye, do as ye will,” Nurse conceded.
They held the funeral for Kate in the evening. The chapel was hardly large enough to accommodate all six of them, but they wanted to pay their respects to her. Hugh, Guy, and Eleanor stood closest to the grave, with Alf, Jed, and Walter bringing up the rear. The chapel was alight with candles, the tiny flames dancing in the draft from the ill-fitting window and casting eerie shadows onto the mourners. After Hugh did a reading from the Bible, Guy and Walter filled in the grave and replaced the stone slabs. There would be no mark on the stones, and no name or date etched into eternity. Kate would remain hidden forever, safe in her resting place.
After the funeral, they all retired to the hall where Nurse had laid a cold supper in honor of Kate’s memory. Eleanor sat next to Hugh and spent the meal seeing to his every need. He hardly seemed to notice her ministrations, but Eleanor was patient. She’d had to be.
Guy waited until everyone had gone to sleep before returning to the chapel. He was exhausted, and his arms ached from digging the grave and lifting the heavy stone slabs, but there was one more thing he had to do, and he had to do it in secret. Guy removed his doublet, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and reached for a crowbar. He’d dig all night if he had to, but he’d lay his sword in Kate’s hands before morning came. It was the most precious thing he owned, and he wished for Kate and his son to be buried with it. It was the only honor he could accord his loved ones, and he’d see it done. And once the new day dawned, he’d leave Castle de Rosel, maybe not for good, but for a time. Hecouldn’t bear to remain in the place where he’d loved and lost so much.
As Guy left his childhood home the following morning, a spare sword he’d taken from the armory slapping against his hip, he suspected that Hugh would marry Eleanor within the year. The marriage would be based on lukewarm affection and mutual gain. Hugh would continue as lord of the manor until Adam was ready to take up the management of the estate but would remain nominally in charge for the rest of his life, being Adam’s stepfather. Hugh would be set for life, one way or another. And Eleanor was still young enough to bear children, so perhaps Hugh would become a father after all. He genuinely cared for Adam, or so Guy wanted to believe, but if the boy fell in battle or died of an illness, Hugh’s child would become the next Baron de Rosel.
Guy knew he would never marry. Kate had been his great love, and he would honor her by remaining pure for the rest of his life, however long that might be. From this day on, he’d live by the sword and, hopefully, die by the sword, since his life had become a burden to him. He no longer had a reason for being but didn’t dare end it all in the hope that Kate’s death was accidental and they might meet again in the afterlife.
Guy spurred on his horse, eager to get away from Castle de Rosel. He’d get to London after Ascension Sunday and offer his services to Warrick, if the earl was still there. Guy wasn’t sure of anything at the moment, but there were two things he knew for a fact—the conflict between the houses of Lancaster and York was not over, and the Earl of Warrick would not be thwarted in his plans to see one of his daughters as the Queen of England, a dream that was no longer as accessible as it had been even a year ago since rumor had it that King Edward had refused Warwick’s request for a betrothal between his brother Richard and Anne Neville. There would be another rebellion, and there would always be another battle. Guy’s life might have some purpose yet, even if that purpose wasn’t his own.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
