Wulfgar gave a chuckle. It was more likely that Morik had stayed on at the castle for a fine meal and was warming himself before the hearth at that very moment. The barbarian retreated again to his shelter to brush down his horse, telling himself to be patient.
Finally Morik did return, wearing a grim expression indeed. "I was not met with friendly hugs," he explained.
"Your disguise did not hold?"
"It's not that," said the rogue. "They thought me Lord Brandeburg, but just as I feared they considered it a bit odd that I disappeared at the same time you did."
Wulfgar nodded. They had discussed that very possibility. "Why did they let you leave if they were suspicious?"
"I convinced them it was but a coincidence," he reported, "else why would I return to Auckney? Of course, I had to share a large meal to persuade them."
"Of course," Wulfgar agreed archly, his tone dry. "What of Lady Meralda and her child? Did you see her?" the barbarian prompted.
Morik pulled the saddle from his horse and began brushing his own beast down, as if preparing again for the road. "It is time for us to be gone," he replied flatly. "Far from here."
"What news?" Wulfgar pressed, now truly concerned.
"We have no allies here, and no acquaintances even, in any mood to entertain visitors," Morik replied. "Better for all that Wulfgar, Morik, and Lord Brandeburg, put this wretched little pretend fiefdom far behind their horses' tails."
Wulfgar leaned over and grabbed the rogue's shoulder, roughly turning him from his work on the horse. "The Lady Meralda?" he demanded.
"She birthed a child late last night," Morik admitted reluctantly. Wulfgar's eyes grew wide with trepidation. "Both survived," Morik quickly added, "for now." Pulling away, the rogue went back to his work with renewed vigor.
Feeling Wulfgar's eyes on him expectantly, Morik sighed and turned back. "Look, she told them that you had ravished her," he reminded his friend. "It seems likely that she was covering an affair," Morik reasoned. "She lied, condemning you, to hide her own betrayal of the young lord." Again, the knowing nod, for this was no news to Wulfgar.
Morik looked at him hard, surprised that he was not shaken somewhat by the blunt expression of all that had occurred, surprised that he was showing no anger at all despite the fact that, because of the woman, he had been beaten and nearly brutally executed.
"Well, now there is doubt concerning the heritage of the child," Morik explained. "The birth was too soon, considering our encounter with the girl on the road, and there are those within the village and castle who do not believe her tale."
Wulfgar gave a profound sigh. "I suspected as much would happen."
"I heard some talk of a young man who fell to his death on the day of the wedding between Lord Feringal and Meralda, a man who died crying out for her."
"Lord Feringal believes he's the one who cuckolded him?" Wulfgar asked.
"Not specifically," Morik replied. "Since the child was surely conceived before the wedding-even if it had been your child, that would have been so-but he knows, of course, that his wife once lay with another, and now he may be thinking that it was of her own volition and not something forced upon her on a wild road."
"A ravished woman is without blame," Wulfgar put in, for it all made sense.
"While a cheating woman. . " Morik added ominously.
Wulfgar gave another sigh and walked out of the shelter, staring again at the castle. "What will happen to her?" he called back to Morik.
"The marriage will be declared invalid, surely," Morik answered, having lived in human cities long enough to understand such things.
"And the Lady Meralda will be sent from the castle," the barbarian said hopefully.
"If she's fortunate, she'll be banished from Feringal Auck's domain with neither money nor title," Morik replied.
"And if she's un fortunate?" Wulfgar asked.
Morik winced. "Noblemen's wives have been put to death for such offenses," the worldly rogue replied.
"What of the child?" an increasingly agitated Wulfgar demanded. The images of his own horrible past experiences began edging in at the corners of his consciousness.
"If fortunate, banished," Morik replied, "though I fear such an action will take more good fortune than the banishment of the woman. It is very complicated. The child is a threat to Auck's domain, but also to his pride."
"They would kill a child, a helpless babe?" Wulfgar asked, his teeth clenched tightly as those awful memories began to creep ever closer.
"The rage of a betrayed lord cannot be underestimated," Morik answered grimly. "Lord Feringal cannot show weakness, else risk the loss of the respect of his people and the loss of his lands. Complicated and unpleasant business, all. Now let us be gone from this place."
Wulfgar was indeed gone, storming out from under the overhang and stalking down the trails. Morik was quick to catch him.
"What will you do?" the rogue demanded, recognizing Wulfgar's resolve.
"I don't know, but I've got to do something," Wulfgar said, increasing his pace with the level of his agitation while Morik struggled to keep up. As they entered the village, the storm again proved an ally, for no peasants were about. Wulfgar's eyes were set on the bridge leading to Castle Auck.
*****
"Give the child away, as you planned," Steward Temigast suggested to the pacing Lord Feringal.
"It is different now," the young man stammered, slapping his fists helplessly at his sides. He glanced over at Priscilla. His sister was sitting comfortably, her smug smile a reminder that she'd warned him against marrying a peasant in the first place.
"We don't know that anything has changed," Temigast said, always the voice of reason.
Priscilla snorted. "Can you not count?" she asked.
"The child could be early," Temigast protested.
"As well-formed a babe as ever I've seen," said Priscilla. "She was not early, Temigast, and you know it." Priscilla looked straight at her brother, reiterating the talk that had been buzzing about Castle Auck all day. "The child was conceived mid-summer," she said, "before the supposed attack on the road."
"How can I know for sure?" Lord Feringal wailed. His hands tore at the sides of his pants, an accurate reflection of the rending going on inside his mind.
"How can you not know?" Priscilla shot back. "You've been made a fool to the mirth of all the village. Will you compound that now with weakness?"
"You still love her," Steward Temigast cut in.
"Do I?" Lord Feringal said, so obviously torn and confused. "I don't know anymore."
"Send her away, then," the steward offered. "Banish her with the child."
"That would make the villagers laugh all the harder," Priscilla observed sourly. "Do you want the child to return in a score of years and take your kingdom from you? How many times have we heard of such tales?"
Temigast glared at the woman. Such things had occurred, but they were far from common.
"What am I to do, then?" Lord Feringal demanded of his sister.
"A trial of treason for the whore," Priscilla answered matter-of-factly, "and a swift and just removal of the result of her infidelity."
"Removal?" Feringal echoed skeptically.
"She wants you to kill the child," Temigast explained archly.
"Throw it to the waves," Priscilla supplied feverishly, coming right out of her chair. "If you show no weakness now, the folk will still respect you."
"They will hate you more if you murder an innocent child," Temigast said angrily, more to Priscilla than Lord Feringal.
"Innocent?" Priscilla balked as if the notion were preposterous.
"Let them hate you," she said to Lord Feringal, moving her face to within an inch of his. "Better that than to laugh at you. Would you suffer the bastard to live? A reminder, then, of he who lay with Meralda before you?"