She was being roasted alive. Overwhelming heat awoke Willa. It forced her to rouse enough to strip away several of the furs causing her discomfort. By the time she'd removed all but one, she was wide awake and not pleased at the waking. She felt terrible. Horrendous. Her mouth was dry and filled with the most unpleasant taste. Her whole body seemed to ache. For the first several moments, Willa lay grimacing over her discomfort, then a grunt and a movement drew her head sharply around.

For a moment she stared blankly at the shifting mound of furs beside her; then Willa's memory kicked in. She was married now. The mass under the furs must be her husband. Last night had been her wedding night.

Of course, the rest of the memories quickly followed. Yesterday's ceremony. The feast. Hugh sending her above stairs to prepare for the bedding. That was where her memories got a bit fuzzy. Willa remembered mixing the herbs Eada had given her in the ale that had been set out. She remembered pinching her nose and downing the concoction. She remembered being suddenly dizzy and tired and realizing that she'd taken too much of the potion. She had a vague image of her husband leaning over her.

Willa glanced down at herself sharply. If Eada were right - and Willa had never known the woman to be wrong - he'd planted twins in her belly last night. Grimacing as she ran her hand over her stomach, Willa decided that was a good possibility. Her stomach was hard and cramping this morning. She'd never heard that planting babies hurt the woman's belly, but it was as good an explanation as any for her pain and discomfort. The consummation must have been quite energetic. Actually, considering the fact that she felt as though she'd been trampled by a horse, Willa decided that she was rather grateful she'd overdosed herself with Eada's potion. If this was how she felt afterwards, she wasn't all that eager to experience the act itself.

Grimacing at the thought, she slid carefully from the bed, doing her best not to jostle her new husband. Much to her relief, Hugh didn't even stir at her slight movements. Keeping one eye on him, Willa began to tiptoe around the room in search of clothes. There was no sign of the lovely gown she'd worn the day before. The only nice gown she had. She did come across the bed linens. That gave her pause. They were rolled up in a ball and lay in a corner of the room. Eada had told her that there was blood the first time, that the blood would prove her innocence. Now she stared at the wadded linens and thought with some horror that surely there had not been so much blood? But what other reason was there for her husband to have stripped the bed?

She turned away from the linens and found the small chest holding her belongings. The mourning gown Eada was making for her wasn't finished yet. The gown she'd worn yesterday was the only fine garment she possessed, but Willa had other ones, less fine, that she'd brought with her. She dragged one out, donned it, then made her way out of the room.

It had been a long time since Willa had lived in a castle, not since she was a child. But in her memories the castle had always been a busy, bustling place. At least Claymorgan had been. The silence that met her in the hallway was a bit disturbing. Ignoring the shakiness of her legs and the cramping in her stomach, she made her way to the top of the stairs. Her gaze slid around the great hall as she started down. One glance was enough to explain the unnaturally quiet castle. Most of the inhabitants were sprawled about the hall, snoring. No doubt the celebration had gone on well into the early hours of morning. The castle's inhabitants were still sleeping off their drink. She imagined most of them would be suffering the ale passion when they woke. Their sore heads would make them useless for the better part of the morning.

Willa was just stepping off the stairs when one of the figures at the table shifted and stood. Willa smiled widely. "Good morn, Eada."

"Good morn." Eada patted her back gently as Willa embraced her, then studied her face. "How do you feel?"

"Horrid," Willa admitted with a groan and the old woman nodded.

"I expected as much. Come along. Some dry bread and fresh air will make you feel better." She led Willa through the sleeping servants to the kitchens.

While the rest of the castle almost appeared to be caught in the grip of a sleeping spell, the kitchens showed some life, though it was sluggish. Alsneta and several servants were stumbling about baking bread and other pastries. Eada ignored the fresh bread cooling on the table and sought out some day-old bread instead. Handing it to Willa, she moved off to find her something to drink. She rejoined Willa a moment later, with a mug of meade in hand, then herded her back out into the hall. She led her along the table to a clear spot where the two of them could sit. She then made Willa eat some of the bread and drink some of the meade, watching her closely the whole while.

Willa wasn't hungry, but dutifully she ate and drank, knowing that Eada would not be satisfied until she did. She was halfway through the small hunk of bread Eada had given her when the woman suddenly stood and moved off toward the kitchens again. Willa watched her go, then glanced around. Spying one of the castle dogs eyeing her hopefully, she broke off a good portion of the bread and held it out to him. The animal was at her side at once. Willa watched him gulp down the bread, then glanced toward the kitchen and started to eat the last of her bread as Eada returned. The old woman glanced sharply from Willa to the dog and back, but merely held out the small sack she carried.

"What is this?" Willa asked curiously, accepting the sack.

"For Wolfy and Fen. They must have followed us to the castle yester morn. I heard them out baying at the moon last night. 'Twas a mournful sound. They're missing ye. Besides, the fresh air and walk will do ye good."

Concern filled Willa's eyes. "I did not hear them."

"Nay. Well, I'm not surprised. Ye were otherwise occupied."

Willa blushed slightly at those words, took a sip of the meade, then stood. "I will go find them."

"Ye do that."

Hugh awoke with a groan. Most of the night had been spent fretting over his wife. She had not slept well. Even once she'd finished vomiting up the poison, she'd tossed and turned fitfully for hours. It was only once her struggles had ceased that Hugh had allowed himself to doze off. That had been near dawn.

His gaze slid to the bright sunlight slipping around the covering in front of the window. By his guess, he'd had only a couple of hours' sleep. It hadn't been nearly enough. His chest felt as if a great cow were sitting on it, his eyes were scratchy and his head was splitting.

Ah, married life, he thought dryly. At this rate, the old witch's prediction that he would die ere the next full moon was likely to come true despite his crawling through the mud to Willa. A burst of coughing wracked his body and Hugh quickly covered his mouth, attempting to muffle the sound to keep from waking his wife. Willa would be weak and in need of much rest after last night's ordeal, he was sure.

That thought made him glance toward her, but she was buried under a mound of furs. Hugh sniffled and eased onto his side. He winced at the pain shooting through his derriere, a reminder of the sore he had there. All that rushing about and getting up and down last night to tend his wife had done his butt little good. He was exhausted and suffering a head cold and a pain in the arse. Aye, he was a mess, Hugh conceded as he began gently lifting aside the furs. He had perhaps overdone it with the furs, but winter was coming and the nights were cool. Now he lifted skin after skin away in search of his wife, only to discover that she was gone.

Hugh ignored his complaining backside and tossed aside the furs covering him. Willa had left the chamber. He couldn't believe she'd had the strength after the ordeal she'd been through. He couldn't believe she'd had the nerve after what she'd put him through. Hugh had seen a lot of blood and gore over the years. A man could not go to war and come back with innocent eyes, but dear God, he'd never seen the likes of last night. Give him blood and guts any day over a vomiting woman.

Cursing, he reached for the clothes he'd worn the night before, started to lift them from where they lay on the linens, then remembered why they were bundled there. They, along with Willa's gown and the linens, were soiled.

Tossing the soiled clothing aside, he gritted his teeth against the pain in his arse and stomped to the chest that held his things. He dug through it until he came up with some fresh braies and a tunic. Hugh donned the tunic as he walked to the door, then hopped from foot to foot as he pulled on the braies. Tugging the door open, he let it hit the wall with a satisfying crash, then continued to the stairs and down to the great hall. The crash of the bedchamber door had acted like a rooster's crow to those loafing in the hall. Most of them were awakened by it. Others were startled awake by the activity of their companions. They were all milling and stumbling about by the time Hugh reached the bottom step, but he ignored every last one of them. His gaze settled on the hag who sat, patiently waiting, at the table. He immediately started in her direction.

"Where is she?" he asked without preamble, pausing at her side.

"She went for a walk."

"Alone?" There was no mistaking the fury and fear mingled in his voice.

"She is safe enough," the hag assured him calmly. "She's safer with Wolfy and Fen than she is anywhere else in this world."

Hugh didn't miss the rebuke in her words. He'd allowed Willa to be poisoned. She'd been put in his care and he'd failed her. Cursing, he turned away, then paused and glanced back. "Is she on foot or on that horse of hers?"

"On foot. But she's been gone a while. Mayhap an hour," Eada told him.

Nodding, Hugh strode out of the castle. Willa had a head start and he had to find her quickly. Someone had tried to kill his wife before they had even consummated their marriage. Uncle Richard's worries and fears were already coming to pass. Willa's life was under threat, and Hugh didn't have any idea why.

His mouth tightening with displeasure, he headed for the stables. He would quickly hunt her down and bring her back to the castle. She obviously wasn't safe. And Hugh could hardly believe that the witch had let her wander off on her own, wolves or no wolves.

"My lord!"

Hugh slowed his step and glanced around at that call. Spotting Father Brennan rushing toward him, he stopped and tried not to appear as impatient as he felt at this delay. "Good morn, father."

Father Brennan was a little out of breath as he reached Hugh, but he was beaming. "Good morn, my lord. I am so glad to have come across you this morning. I fear yesterday was all so rushed, I did not fulfill my duties as I should have."

"Did you not?" Hugh asked politely, but his gaze was wandering toward the stables. He wished his squire was about so that he could send him ahead to ready his horse. Where was his squire anyway? He'd released the lad from duty at the feast yesterday, thinking he wished to be alone with his bride. He scowled as the memory of his wedding night rose up to plague him. Gad! Had ever a man been so beset by misfortune? A sore arse, a nasty cold, and a poisoned, puking bride.

"Nay. First you were off guarding Lady Willa. Then when the two of you arrived here, everything was so chaotic that I never managed the time to counsel you on the matter of the... er... bedding."

"The bedding?" Those words caught Hugh's attention and drew his wandering thoughts and gaze back to the priest's now slightly flushed face. "There was no bedding. My bride was poisoned."

"Aye. Lord Wynekyn informed me of the situation and I must say I see it as somewhat fortunate - not fortunate!" he amended when Hugh scowled down at him. "I did not mean fortunate, I meant... well, under the circumstances, since I had not counseled you - "

"Father," Hugh interrupted, no longer bothering to hide his impatience, "now is not the time. Willa has gone off on her own and I must find her and bring her back. She - "

"She is returned, my lord," Father Brennan blurted as Hugh started to turn away. He spun back at once.

"She is?"

"Aye. So you see, I brought this treatise." He held out a rolled up and beribboned scroll. When Hugh merely stared at it blankly, the priest undid the scroll and began to unroll it. " 'Tis De secretis mulierum and it gives advice on matters - "

"Father," Hugh interrupted again. This time his impatience was gone, replaced by mild amusement. He knew Father Brennan had good intentions, but a priest was the last person whose advice he needed on bedding his bride. Not wishing to embarrass the fellow, Hugh managed a solemn expression and patted his shoulder. "I am not an innocent, father. I have been with women before. There is no need for counsel."

"Oh, certainly, certainly." The priest nodded his head, then shook it. "But Lady Willa is not some tavern doxy. She is a young, innocent bride. The consummation of your new relationship has been sanctified by the church. Your marriage bed is sacred. You cannot simply... er... give her a tumble like some pretty milk maid. If you see what I mean?"

"Well..." Hugh paused, uncertainty creeping into his mind. He'd not considered the actual act. Well, alright, he'd considered it, but mostly from his own perspective. He had spent one brief moment wondering how she would greet his arrival in their chamber; then his thoughts had been rather full of the idea of finally sliding into her moist warmth. He hadn't considered the act from her point of view. Her pure, virginal point of view. Willa would not be a laughing tavern maid, dropping into his lap and grabbing his groin to let him know she was willing. She would be...

This new line of thought was giving him pains in his head. But Father Brennan was waiting patiently for an answer. What had the question been? Oh yes! "Nay. Of course not. I have never taken a woman's innocence."

"Just so. Which is why you are in need of counsel." He finished unrolling the scroll and moved closer, turning the parchment so that they could both read it. "De secretis mulierum is quite useful in providing instruction for marital... er... relations." A sudden squeak in his voice drew Hugh's glance from the scroll to the priest's now flushed face. The man was terribly embarrassed, but rushed gamely on, "It does advise preparing both the mind and body beforehand."

"Preparing the body?" Hugh echoed curiously. He didn't think he would have trouble with preparing his mind. His mind seemed more than ready. However, if there were special instructions on preparing the body, he would be interested in reading them. A bath perhaps... that they could share. He had a brief picture of running a damp bit of linen over Willa's sweet breasts, her nipples coming to life, standing up and begging him to -

"Aye. Emptying the bowels and bladder is suggested, for instance."

Hugh's erotic imaginings died abruptly and he made a grimace of distaste. That would be the church's idea of preparing.

"It also gives other detailed instructions," Father Brennan said meaningfully, recapturing the earl's wandering attention. The bit about emptying the bowels had rather lost him, but his interest perked up a bit now.

"What sort of detailed instructions?" he asked, looking over the Latin script. When the holy man didn't answer right away, Hugh raised a questioning glance to find the priest cherry red and looking mortified.

"Well, they - " he squeaked, then cleared his throat and evaded Hugh's gaze as he tried again. "They suggest 'tis necessary to... er... fondle the wife's 'lower parts' to... er... raise her body to the proper... er... heat - "

"Heat?" Hugh interrupted with surprise.

"Aye. You see women differ from men in that they are cold."

"They are?" Hugh asked with surprise. He had never noted women to be especially cold. Neither in behavior, nor to the touch.

"Aye, they are," Father Brennan assured him. "Men, by contrast, are hot."

"Really?" he asked with interest, recalling now a time or two when he'd been startled awake by a cold foot seeking his for warmth under the furs.

"Oh, aye!" Father Brennan exclaimed. "Heat is the male's essential quality. It... the man's heat creates the... excitement in the woman and through intercourse with a man, she gains that vital heat she is lacking."

"She does, does she?"

"Aye. So you see, the wife is thereby strengthened by the joining."

"Hmm," Hugh grunted, but his attention was on the treatise the priest still held open for him. He was looking for the section stating that there must be sufficient fondling of the "lower parts" to get the woman to the right temperature. He wasn't having much success. Scowling, he asked, "How do you know when she has reached the correct temperature?"

"Er... I believe it states..." the priest ran his finger over the words, then nodded, his face flushing again. "Aye. Here 'tis. She will begin to 'speak as if she were babbling.' That is when you shall know to commence with the actual - " he waved a hand vaguely - "commencing."

Hugh nodded as he read the section the man was pointing to.

"Well. I am sure that you can read this on your own. I hope you find it useful."

Hugh nodded distractedly and murmured his thanks, sensing when the priest left.

"Speak as if she were babbling," he read aloud. "Hmm."

"Good morn, my lord husband."

Hugh glanced up with alarm at that greeting. It was his errant wife, of course. Who else would call him husband? Flushing guiltily, Hugh straightened and quickly hid the treatise behind his back. "Good morn."

"What is that you were reading?" she asked curiously, leaning to the side to glimpse the scroll he held.

" 'Tis nothing," he lied.

"Nothing?" She gave a soft laugh. "It does not look like nothing, my lord. It looks like parchment with writing on it."

"Nay, 'tis just something Father Brennan gave me to read. A treatise on... the church's instruction on... confession." He winced as he spoke, thinking that he would now have to confess this lie. But it was rather embarrassing to admit that he felt he needed instruction on such a personal matter.

"Oh." Much to his relief, she appeared to have lost interest in the matter. She straightened and offered him another smile. "Well, I should leave you to it then. Good day, my lord."

"Good day." He watched her go, his gaze dropping to the sway of her hips as she walked away.

Becoming aware that he still held the treatise De secretis mulierum behind his back, he relaxed and brought it around to glance over it. His original intention was to reroll it and put it through his belt to be read later, but his gaze caught on a line and, instead, he found himself caught up in reading it again.

"Good morn, Hugh."

Just as before, Hugh straightened abruptly at that greeting. He stashed the parchment guiltily behind his back as he turned to face his friend. "Lucan. Good morn."

"What have you there?" Lucan asked curiously.

" 'Tis nothing," Hugh answered, then grimaced. It was a ridiculous answer when he was hiding the parchment behind his back as if it were an erotic love letter. Relaxing his stance, he brought the parchment around between them and began to roll it back up as he said, " 'Tis a treatise Father Brennan gave me... on... marital relations."

"Ah. My father's priest gave my brother just such a treatise on the night before his wedding. 'Twas full of what you could not do and when you could not do it. Let me see, as I recall you were never to indulge in marital relations on holy days, Sundays, or feast days." Lucan shook his head. "I vow once you take out all the days you cannot bed a wife, there is one day a month left to do the deed." He put a hand on Hugh's shoulder as they began to walk, and advised, "I shouldn't pay attention to that, my friend, or you shall never see children. You shall also surely go insane."

Hugh grunted in response. He suspected Lucan was thinking of another treatise altogether, but in case he wasn't, Hugh would stick to reading only the instructions on the actual bedding itself. Surely a man couldn't go to purgatory for a sin if he did not know it was one, he reasoned. And there was no way he would restrict himself to bedding Willa only once a month. Dear God, he hadn't even managed to bed her once, yet already the church was trying to limit him.

"Have you decided what you intend to do about the poisoning attempt?" Lucan asked.

Hugh grimaced. "Aye. I intend to question everyone about the meade and discover who put it in the room. But first I am going to arrange for a food taster. Nothing shall pass Willa's lips that has not first been tasted by another."

Lucan nodded at that. "The cook?"

"Nay. Alsneta hasn't the time for that. But it should be someone she cares for. It will reduce the possibility of her getting distracted and allowing anyone near the food."

His friend nodded at the wisdom of that decision, then said, "Wynekyn mentioned that Alsneta has a nephew amongst the soldiers here. Gawain. He should do nicely."

"Aye. He will. Thank you."

"You are welcome." Lucan raised an eyebrow. "Did you plan to have Baldulf guard her again?"

"Aye. But I shall need others to guard her as well. I can hardly expect the man to watch her night and day here." Hugh shook his head. The soldiers at Hillcrest had all been his uncle's men. Hugh had none of his own, other than his squire. He didn't know which were trustworthy and skilled and which weren't. He would have to trust someone. Baldulf, alone had been able to guard her at the cottage, but the castle was much bigger. "Aye. Baldulf during the day, and then two guards outside our door at night. I shall have to interview the men. See whom I can trust her with."

Lucan nodded as they walked. "Have you learned anything about her past?"

"We have a name now. Evelake." He murmured the name thoughtfully, sure he'd heard it before. He spent a moment trying to recall where he knew it from, then shook his head. "I thought I should send some men out to learn what they could about her family. Then I thought to look in Uncle Richard's room and see if I cannot find this mysterious missing letter."

"How were Wolfy and Fen?"

Willa smiled at Eada and bent to press a kiss on her withered cheek, then settled on the bench beside her before answering. "They are well enough. I worry about them being so close to the castle and village though."

Willa had found the two wolves skulking on the edge of the woods that surrounded the castle. They were far too close for her comfort.

"Did Lord Hillcrest find ye?"

"Nay. I came upon him on my way back. Was he looking for me?"

"Aye." Eada grinned. "He was distressed that ye'd wandered off on yer own. I believe he intended to reprimand ye sternly and order ye never to do so again."

Willa stared at the woman with surprise. "Nay!"

"Aye."

She bit her lip. "Odd, he did not seem distressed when I came upon him. He was reading some treatise the priest gave him."

"Hmm." They both puzzled over that briefly, then the old woman examined her face. "The walk did ye good. Ye've more color to ye now, at least. How are ye feeling?"

Willa shrugged mildly, her hand going to her stomach. "My stomach is a touch tender, but no doubt that is due to his planting the twins there last night. Other than that I am well enough."

"Planting the twins?" Eada turned an amazed expression on her. "There was no planting of twins last night. Ye were far too sick for that."

"Sick?" Willa felt confusion well up in her. "What - ?"

"Ye were poisoned, child," the woman told her. "Don't ye recall? Ye were sick the night through. The only thing Dulonget managed to plant was his palm on yer forehead as he held ye while ye tossed yer innards out."

"What?" Willa gaped at her in horror. "Nay!"

"Aye."

"But you said he would plant twins in me the - "

"I said the first time ye were together. Last night wasn't it."

Willa slumped where she sat, pondering this unwelcome news. She'd been so sure she was with child... well, with children. She grieved that loss briefly, then as Eada's other claim sank in, she straightened and confessed, "No one poisoned me. I took too much of that potion you gave me."

"Aye, ye did. And that's what saved yer life. It didn't sit well. Started ye purging before the poison could do much damage."

Willa frowned at this news. "You mean to say that someone truly did try to poison me?"

"Aye. 'Twas in the meade."

Willa grimaced as she recalled the bitter tasting meade mixed with Eada's herbs. It had not gone down well. She did recall feeling ill, then her stomach trying to fight its way up her throat, but everything else was rather fuzzy. Willa had assumed the nausea was caused by too much food and drink, nervousness, and Eada's herbs reacting badly together. Instead, it seemed someone was trying to kill her again. That was a depressing realization.

Willa had grown up knowing that someone hated her enough to wish her dead. That reality had affected her whole life. It had stolen loved ones and even her childhood. But there was nothing she could do about it. She didn't even know who or why someone wanted her dead. That was something Uncle had refused to explain to her, no matter how she begged to know. The pitying expression on his face made her suspect that learning who it was would be unbearably painful to her. Which had made her think it was someone who should love her... like her father. This suspicion was only increased by the fact that the subject of her father was another one Uncle would not discuss.

All of it was terribly upsetting and frustrating. The only way to cope was to put the matter from her mind. Hugh was her husband now. He would keep her safe. She had other problems to consider. Like the fact that the marriage hadn't been consummated last night as she'd assumed. Now she would have to get through another anxious day and night of anticipating the act yet to come. Bloody hell! Willa had thought herself an old hand at it now - an ignorant old hand, but an old hand just the same. Instead she was still an untried bride. This was awful! She had yet to suffer the pain of the first time.

Willa felt anxiety begin to swirl within her and forced herself to take a deep breath. She let it out on a sigh. They would consummate the marriage tonight and be done with it. She would conceive her twins, and he would... well, with luck he would live to see them. Eada hadn't made any promises in that respect. In fact, the old woman had bluntly told her that the future was murky on the matter. Hugh might live. Then again, he might not. She had best get the twins off him tonight, Willa thought. Just in case it worked out the "might not" way. Then she frowned and rubbed her stomach. She was still suffering from mild cramps.

"You are sure there was no consummation?" she asked hopefully.

"Nay. Ye were in no shape for that." Eada's lips curled with amusement at the disappointment on Willa's face. "Trust me, my girl. When it happens, ye'll recall. Ye won't be having to ask the next day."

"Oh. I suppose," Willa said doubtfully, then asked, "You are sure there is nothing I need know? Nothing I should do?"

"I told ye, child. He will know what he's about and tell ye what ye need to do. I have already told ye what to expect. There is nothing for ye to - "

"Well then, is there anything I should not do?" Willa asked.

Eada started to shake her head, then paused as Willa began to look fretful. "Very well. There may be something I can tell ye not to do."

Willa perked up, her expression becoming expectant. "Aye?"

"Ye know how ye like to talk? How ye tend to babble on endlessly about everything?"

Willa bit her lip to keep from laughing at this accusation. Many was the time she'd driven the old woman wild with her babbling over the years. But that had been due to loneliness. She'd had no one else to talk to. She hadn't yet shown that side of herself to Hugh. Willa supposed she wasn't completely comfortable with him yet. She didn't mention that to Eada though, but merely nodded.

"Well... don't!" Eada said firmly. "There's nothin' a man hates more than a babbling bride in his bed. Just keep yer mouth shut. Say nary a word. That shall please him more than anything else ye could do, I'm sure."

"No babbling," Willa murmured and nodded. She could do that.