The Winter Crown Read Online Free

time.’ Henry had recently returned from his lightning travels round England. The deep snow had prevented him from hunting, so he would be closeted in his chamber with Becket and de Lucy busy with matters of state. She sipped the drink, welcoming the sweetness of the honey. ‘When Will was born, Henry was away on campaign, and by the time he did set eyes on him, he was seven months old!’
    The next contraction surged, stronger than the last, and with a gasp of pain Alienor returned the cup to Emma.
    The senior midwife performed a swift examination. ‘Very soon now, madam,’ she said with cheerful encouragement.
    Alienor’s face contorted. ‘Not soon enough!’ she panted. ‘I tell you, men have the better part of the bargain in every way!’
    It was almost noon before a baby’s wail filled the birthing chamber, and Alienor slumped against the bolsters, gasping and exhausted.
    ‘Madam, you have a fine, lusty boy!’ Beaming, the midwife lifted the child from between Alienor’s bloody thighs and placed him, all damp and squirming, on her belly.
    Alienor laughed triumphantly despite her weariness. With two sons vouchsafed to the succession, she had more than accomplished her duty.
    The midwife cut the cord and dealt with the afterbirth, tending to Alienor while her assistant bathed the baby in a brass bowl by the fireside. Once dried and wrapped in warm linen and furs, he was returned to his mother. Alienor cradled him in her arms, stroked his birth-crumpled little face and counted and kissed his fingers. A glance towards the pale light shining through the window leads showed her silent feathers of green-tinted snow whispering past the glass, and she knew she would always remember this moment. The stillness after bloody struggle; the warmth of fire and pelts protecting her and her new son from the cold; the sense of hushed, enclosed peace that was almost holy.
    Alienor awoke from slumber to the sound of London’s church bells and the closer peal from Saint Saviour’s ringing out the joyous news that a prince was born. The window showed quenched afternoon light fading towards dusk and the snow had ceased. Henry was standing at the bedside looking down into the cradle with a beatific smile on his cold-reddened face.
    Alienor pushed herself upright against the pillows, wishing that her women had woken her before his arrival and given her a moment to prepare.
    He turned at her movement and she saw the shine of tears in his eyes. ‘He is beautiful,’ he said, and his throat worked.
    Alienor seldom saw this vulnerable side of her husband. His expression, the way he spoke, filled her with aching tenderness, as if her maternal instincts were flowing out over him too. He lifted the swaddled baby from his cradle and sat down with him on the side of the bed. ‘You have given me everything,’ he said. ‘You have fulfilled every part of the bargain. I do not give my trust lightly, but I give it to you here. You are my dearest heart.’
    There was complete candour in his stare, and Alienor’s own eyes filled because she knew how much courage it took for him to lower the shield and admit so much. Clearly the sight of his newborn son had had a profound effect on him. Yet she was wary, because she knew from hard experience that with Henry something meant sincerely now was open to change at a later moment. She said nothing and looked demure while the bells rang and rang.
    Eventually he rose to leave, and with reluctance handed the baby to one of her women. ‘I will arrange for his baptism – Henry as we agreed. The Bishop of London will perform it in the morning. I’ll leave you to your rest. You need to recover and grow strong again ready for the next one.’
    He kissed her and departed in his usual flurry. Alienor smiled, but she was exasperated. A moment ago everything had been enough and ‘perfect’ for him, yet already he was anticipating the next one, and it was not what a sore, bruised wife wanted to hear just hours