The Champion
“He had been grisly for the past two days, and despite being dosed with feverfew tisanes and having prayers said over him, had grown worse, not better.John glanced impatiently at the crying infant, obviously seeing him as an obstacle, not his flesh-and-blood son. ‘Leave him,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Let the nurse earn her money for once. She does little enough but sit on her fat backside.’ He raised his voice so that it would carry to the store room where Hilda had retreated at John’s entrance.Mo...nday grimaced to herself. Since his return from England at the end of May, she had sensed a change in him. The mantle of power clothed his shoulders, and he had no time for the things of the past that had kept him from boredom while he waited to succeed, herself among them. She was no longer a novelty, and rumours of other women had become solid fact. ‘I am his mother, I won’t leave him.’ It took all her courage to defy John; she knew just how brutal the lash of his tongue could be, but she would not leave the baby when he was so sick in order to attend the court because of her lover’s whim.John prowled around the room, twitching his shoulders with irritation at the lack of space, his dark eyes fixing with disparagement on the small tunic left on a chair, the napkins airing by the fire, the pile of dyed wool in the corner with a drop spindle on top.MoreLess
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