Margaret of Anjou came to her side. "You are all right? It went well?" she inquired softly.
"The deed is done, madame," Alix answered.
"But it went well?" the queen pressed her.
Swallowing back any outward sign of anger, Alix said to the older woman, "He will not have me but in a totally darkened room. I am not permitted to speak, but must spread myself open to him and not touch him. He came twice last night, mounted me, and did what was necessary. Nothing more. Not a kiss or caress. I can only pray to the Blessed Mother that I am quickly with child so I may be done with him, madame."
"Ahh, m'fant," the queen cried softly. "What have I done to you?" Tears sprang into her eyes. "But for the Yorkists, none of this would have happened!" Briefly she looked genuinely distraught.
"You did what was necessary to protect Papa and me, madame," Alix said quietly, feeling guilty that her anger had permitted her to tell the queen of her misery. "Sir Udolf is good to both Papa and me. All I need do is give him a grandchild, preferably a lad. Pray for me, madame, as I will pray for you, the king, and Prince Edward." Alix brushed away the tears that now stained Margaret of Anjou's face. "Your husband and son are at the high board now, madame. Let us go and join them. Your day will be long."
Alix oversaw the meal expertly. The cook had served up oat stir-about with bits of dried fruit in it. There were hard-boiled eggs, a small ham, half a wheel of hard yellow cheese, newly churned butter, a pitcher of heavy cream, and freshly baked bread. "Donald, the steward, has seen to food for your travels. The blacksmith has given the horses new shoes, and they stand ready for your departure," she told the royal couple.
The king suddenly spoke. "You have done well, mistress. Your hospitality has been gracious, and we will not forget you when we come again. We are traveling to Windsor today, you know."
Alix smiled. "God travel with Your Highness," she told him, and he nodded. Poor man, Alix considered. He knows not where he is, or where he goes. What will happen to them? And for the first time since Blanche Givet had died her daughter was glad, for at least her mother did not have to witness the fall of Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou, whom she loved. God help them, Alix thought, for who else will?
Their meal eaten, the royal party prepared to depart Wulfborn Hall. They were accompanied by the fifteen loyal retainers left to them, and their three servants. Edmee and Fayme hugged Alix, both weeping copiously as they were boosted onto their horses. Alexander Givet gave the king's body servant, John, the few remedies left to him that would ease the king's anxiety or help him to sleep. He bowed to the king, who nodded vacantly, shook hands with the little prince, and finally he came to the queen.
"So, madame, we come to the end of this long road we have traveled together," he began as he took up both of her hands and kissed them reverently. "I would continue on if I could, but while my daughter continues to deny it, I am dying."
Margaret of Anjou nodded. "I know, Alexander," she replied. "You have been the loyalist of the loyal and I am not unaware. I fear, however, I have repaid you and Blanche ill by arranging this union for Alix. Yet if she will give the baron a grandchild her place in his house and heart will be safe. The son is a couchon, but the father is a good man. Alix will not suffer in his care."
"I will be here for my daughter as long as I can be," the physician said. He kissed the queen's hands again. "Go with God, madame. Leave England to the Yorkists for now, and take the prince home to Anjou, where he will be safe and live to reclaim his kingdom one day. I know you are hurt, and angry, but take my counsel in this, madame."
"I cannot desert my husband," the queen said.
"The king, God protect him, will never rule again," Alexander Givet told her. "Save yourself, madame, and save the little prince. You have never in all the years I have known you failed in your duty, Highness. Forgive me if I speak candidly, but it is the privilege of a dying man."
She squeezed the two hands holding her. "My duty is first to my husband, Alexander. Do not fear for me. It will be God's will that prevails in the end."
He kissed her elegant gloved hands a third and final time. "Le bon Dieu and his Blessed Mother protect you all," Alexander Givet said, his eyes wet with his tears. "Farewell, my beloved lady."
Margaret of Anjou nodded silently and quickly turned away from the physician lest he see her own tears. A servant helped her to mount her mare. The captain of the little troop raised his hand and called out, "Allez!" The small royal party began to move off, down the narrow dirt track that led north. The weather was fair. The hills beginning to green up. The queen turned but briefly in her saddle to raise a hand in farewell to Alexander Givet and his daughter.
Around her everyone went back to their duties. Her father was helped into the house by Wat, but Alix stood silently before the hall watching until the riders were no more than specks on the road, finally disappearing over the horizon. The life she had known was almost entirely gone. Only her father remained. Yet for how long? How long until she was entirely at the mercy of Hayle Watteson, who loved not his wife but the miller's daughter, who would bear his first child. If he truly loved the girl, she couldn't blame him for resenting the wife foisted upon him. Still, it wasn't her fault, was it? She turned and reentered the house. I will not allow him to punish me because of something neither of us can help, Alix thought. I will be strong for my father. For Sir Udolf who is good to us. For my husband who is a child.
It startled her to face that realization. Hayle Watteson was a child in a man's body. A mature man would have realized his wife had to be of equal blood to him. He would have wed such a woman and kept his mistress discreetly in the background. If his mistress bore him children, he would provide for them, but he would never force his lover or their children into his wife's realm. His wife's children would be his heirs. Perhaps in such a rural setting as she now found herself her husband's children would know one another, but they would all keep their place.
She knew this wasn't going to happen with her husband. Hayle Watteson would crow and boast when Maida delivered her child. If it was a male child so much the worse for them all. And if Alix did not give him a strong legitimate son, he would blame her alone. And if Sir Udolf should die what would happen to her? Alix grit her teeth. If anything happened to her father-in-law she would flee Wulfborn Hall as quickly as she could. She would not remain to be hated by a peasantry who didn't even know her, and a husband who was little better than a brute. She had agreed to this marriage for her father's sake, but although she would not admit it aloud, Alix knew that Alexander Givet would not live for very long. He would stay as long as he could for her sake. But one day even that would not be enough, and he would die.
In the days that followed the royal family's departure Alix found those who served her doing so with a grudging respect. They had expected someone associated with a queen to be high-blown and arrogant. Alix, however, was gentle-spoken and patient. She knew exactly how her household should be managed, and she guided her servants with a firm hand but kind words. Sir Udolf managed his poor lands carefully, attempting to teach his son who would one day inherit them, but Hayle had no forbearance for planting schedules, haying, harvesting, counting sheep or cattle. He wanted nothing more than to spend his time riding the hills hunting, or being with Maida.
And each night, but for when her courses were upon her, he visited Alix's bed in his attempt to sire a legitimate heir upon her. Alix hated that brief hour each night, but she bore it, for it was just about the only time she ever came in contact with her husband. But as Maida's belly swelled Hayle began to become impatient that Alix showed no evidence of being with child.