Margaret Moore - [Viking 02]

by The Saxon

  Endredi glanced at her companion. That was a lie, if Endredi was any judge, and she was. If Bayard died without issue, who would inherit his lands and his property? Ranulf, probably, as his nearest male heir, unless Bayard had written a will that stated otherwise.

  She would ask him. She had no liking for either Ranulf or Ordella, whose eyes gleamed with greed like those of a rat in the dark.

  Of course, should she bear Bayard a son, the child would inherit. A man like him deserved a son. Many of them.

  She should be happy to have them. She would be. Please God and Freya, she would be.

  Chapter Four

  “Adelar!” Ranulf cried. He hurried to catch up with the Saxon as he strode toward the hall. Adelar did not stop or even slow his steps.

  Arrogant bastard, Ranulf thought angrily. But he was in Bayard’s favor, so Ranulf knew it would be wise to seem pleasant.

  “Adelar!” Ranulf repeated insistently.

  This time Adelar halted, because he had reached the door of the hall anyway. “What do you want?” he demanded. “Is there something of import you wished to say? I must show Bayard’s wife the burh.”

  Ranulf nodded and drew Adelar aside, down a narrow way between two bowers. “I don’t trust the Danes.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “Bayard appears to.”

  “For the moment, at least. I would not be certain that he trusts them completely.”

  “He married a Viking woman.”

  “He agreed to this marriage because it was prudent to do so. If the Danes break the bargain in any way, I am certain Bayard will not hesitate to strike.”

  “I don’t trust her, either.”

  “I see no reason to distrust the woman. She is Bayard’s wife now. If he comes to harm, so will she.”

  “Perhaps—or perhaps she is sent to spy upon us.”

  Adelar’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any proof of such a charge?”

  “I make no formal accusation,” Ranulf replied, remembering well the penalty for slander. He had no wish to lose his tongue. “I merely think the woman should be watched. Surely you must agree it would be a sensible precaution.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you will help me?”

  “To spy on her?”

  “No,” Ranulf said, a hint of frustration in his tone, “not spy. But if we find out anything—”

  “Naturally Bayard will be told.”

  “Perhaps Bayard will not believe you. The woman seems to please him,” he noted. “You are in your cousin’s counsel. Do you think otherwise?”

  “I think Bayard’s marriage is none of my concern,” Adelar replied gruffly.

  “I hope for Bayard’s sake he is happy. I suppose any wife is better than an empty bed.”

  Adelar gazed steadily at Ranulf, his dark eyes as sharp as the point of his dagger. “That tongue of yours is going to get you killed, Ranulf.”

  “I meant no harm,” he said innocently, surprised by Adelar’s vehemence. Indeed, he had expected Adelar to be only too willing to keep watch on the woman who was, after all, a Viking. Instead, Adelar seemed almost anxious to defend her.

  Or only Bayard, perhaps.

  “But what of you, Adelar? Are you quite well?”

  Adelar looked at his interrogator with a raised eyebrow. “I mean no impertinence,” Ranulf said, smiling. “It is just that you do not seem yourself.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Godwin said, coming up behind them. “You used to be so jolly and now you are as grim as Father Derrick on All Soul’s Day.”

  Adelar gave the gleeman a rueful grin. He had certainly never, ever been what could be described as “jolly.”

  “I was only wondering if he was ill,” Ranulf said peevishly. “And should you not be elsewhere, gleeman—assisting the other servants?”

  Godwin’s eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment Adelar thought he was going to protest before leaving, but he did not. No doubt Endredi would say Godwin was the wiser for holding his tongue.

  “Good day, Ranulf,” Adelar said truculently as he turned away and proceeded on his errand.

  Adelar had spoken the truth when he had told Endredi she did not understand the enmity he bore Ranulf.

  When Adelar had arrived at Oakenbrook, he had realized immediately that he was not welcome to Bayard’s nephew. He guessed that Ranulf feared he had come to make some claim on his cousin or seek to take Ranulf’s place in Bayard’s esteem, although it was quite obvious that Bayard had little esteem for Ranulf anyway.

  Immediately rumors started concerning Adelar’s family, and Adelar did not doubt that they had come from Ranulf, or his wasp-tongued wife.

  And then, one day, Ranulf chanced to speak of Adelar’s mother when he did not realize Adelar was standing behind him, near enough to hear every word and understand every nuance.

  As much as Adelar hated his father, he had loved his mother. He had heard the tales of her lover, and although he was loath to believe his mother capable of dishonor, he had learned enough about his father to allow him to sympathize with her actions.

  When Ranulf saw the faces of those to whom he talked and slowly turned to face a furious Adelar, he looked as if he would gladly slither beneath the nearest building like the snake he was. There was a long moment of intense silence as Adelar came very near to drawing a weapon on the red-faced man, for not only had Ranulf insulted Adelar’s mother, he had contrived to put his words in such a way as to blame all the women of the family, which included Bayard’s mother. An insult from Bayard’s nephew to himself was one thing; an insult to Bayard quite another.

  Nonetheless, because the man was Bayard’s nephew, Adelar kept his sword sheathed. His face betrayed every thought, every emotion, however, and he saw no need for it to be otherwise. Ranulf knew precisely what Adelar had been thinking, and Adelar was quite certain it was Ranulf’s fear of Adelar’s vengeance that kept him from being even more obvious in his greed.

  If it aided Bayard to have Adelar as his watchdog, he would be as fierce as Baldric’s most savage hound.

  * * *

  “This is the new chapel,” Adelar said later that day. He gestured toward a building that was nearly complete.

  Endredi looked at the impressive wooden structure with a high thatched roof located beside one of the rivers that bordered the village. Huge hardwood trees surrounded it, promising cool shade in the summer and protection from the snow in winter.

  Like most of the buildings Adelar had shown her, it was very well-built, strong and solid. It was quite evident that Bayard expected this burh to be a permanent town, not just a temporary fortress. She could tell him about the large trading towns the Vikings visited and maybe even make some suggestions for this one. For instance, there was only one pier on the largest of the two rivers. They could easily build more to accommodate trade in the summer months, especially if there was going to be peace.

  Yes, there were many improvements she could suggest, provided Bayard wanted to hear them.

  “Father Derrick is anxious to obtain a holy relic for the chapel,” Adelar remarked, breaking the silence.

  “I think he expects a piece of the True Cross or a saint’s bone to fall from the sky, for he certainly is loath to pay for them,” Godwin noted.

  “He can purchase such a thing?” Endredi asked incredulously.

  “Certainly,” Adelar replied, turning away from the chapel to look at her. “The question would be, though, was it real, or something made of chicken bones or old wood.”

  “Do you mean people sell false relics?”

  “All the time,” Adelar said. “To those foolish enough to trust whatever they are told.”

  Endredi did not reply. It was appalling, of course, to think that anyone would seek to profit by such a fraud. However, she was also struggling not to attach any significance to Adelar’s words. She kept thinking he was speaking in riddles. For instance, was she foolish to trust his words long ago? Was she foolish to trust him now? Or was he speaking of trus
ting someone else? Or was he merely referring to the relics? Whatever he meant, she hoped they had seen all of the burh she needed to see. She was not anxious to spend more time in Adelar’s company than she had to.

  Godwin nodded toward the river. “Would you care for some water, my lady? I can fetch a cup from the workmen at the chapel.”

  “I would be grateful, Godwin.”

  The gleeman gave Adelar a grin. “Do not gossip about me when I am gone,” he said, “unless it is only good things.”

  The gleeman trotted off toward the building, leaving Adelar and Endredi to stroll along the riverbank. They halted under the shelter of a large and ancient oak tree in an awkward silence. The trees were just coming into blossom and the air was heavy with the scent.

  Endredi’s gaze moved along the river. Nearby, a group of peasant boys laughed and unsuccessfully tried to shoot at birds with small bows and what appeared to be arrows of their own manufacture.

  How happy and carefree they looked! She glanced at Adelar, remembering him at their age, although he had been less happy and certainly never so carefree.

  He was tall now, and imposing and aloof. He had grown into the strong, lithe warrior she had always envisioned. The warrior she had often dreamed would come sailing back into the fjord at home and take her away with him, until she realized that he had abandoned her forever.

  Her throat grew tight and she returned her attention to the boys.

  “Where is your crucifix?”

  His question in the Viking tongue made her start. Her hand flew to her chest as she realized he was staring at her. “The crucifix? I...I do not always wear it.”

  “Did your father give it to you?”

  She shook her head. “Meradyce.”

  He turned away as if he was going to leave her there.

  “Do you not wish to know how she fares?” Endredi demanded. She knew what Meradyce had been to him, nursemaid, friend, the first love of his boyish heart—and a traitor for becoming a Viking’s wife and Endredi’s stepmother. “She is well and happy.”

  “I did not ask. I only wanted to know about the crucifix because it was my mother’s. Your father stole it.” How harsh and hate-filled were his words!

  “And what did your father do in return?” she retorted. “You may have the crucifix. I will fetch it at once. And later you can tell all here that my father is a thief. Or have you already? What is one more lie?”

  He glared at her, his full lips drawn tight. “I have told no lies.”

  “Do not play the ignorant fool with me, Adelar.”

  “I have said nothing of my time in your village.”

  She eyed him skeptically. “Not even to Bayard?”

  “He is the only one who knows anything at all, and then only what concerned my father. Others merely know that my sister died and I learned your language. Does it surprise you now that Bayard allows me to remain? That he trusts me as he does? As he seems to? I thought you were too clever to trust to appearances, Endredi. Perhaps he simply uses me to annoy Ranulf.”

  “If I were to trust to appearances, I would say you enjoy the role,” she noted angrily. “Is that what you have become, Adelar? Some kind of gleeman whose purpose is not to entertain but to annoy? Is that why you questioned me about the crucifix? I suggest you take care, gleeman. I would not be so quick to insult and annoy Ranulf, who is Bayard’s nephew and a rich thane.”

  “You do not understand about Ranulf.”

  “Then explain it to me, gleeman.”

  “It does not matter,” he replied coldly.

  She looked at him squarely and tried not to see in his face the boy she had known. “If it concerns Ranulf, it concerns Bayard. And if it concerns Bayard, it concerns his wife. Explain it to me.”

  Adelar’s eyes grew wide for a brief moment, then he shrugged. “Very well, Bayard’s wife. I do not have to hide my disgust for him, for he knows it well enough anyway.”

  “What has he done to make you hate him?”

  “He said my mother was no better than a whore. I would have killed him then, except that he is Bayard’s nephew and a wealthy thane,” Adelar finished sarcastically.

  He could not fool her with appearances now, either. She knew him too well, so she saw that Ranulf’s insult had caused him bitter pain, a pain she herself had felt. Truly, she could believe it was only Adelar’s loyalty to Bayard that had spared Ranulf’s life.

  “That I have no love for Northmen is no secret,” he continued. “Why should it be? You know what they did to my people, my family.”

  “I know that my father treated you like a son.” She made no effort to subdue the twinge of bitterness that knowledge always gave her. “I know that it was your own father who was a traitor, who paid to have your mother killed. I dare say you forgot to tell them that not one of your father’s villagers was killed, yet when he came to my village seeking you, he and his men slaughtered many innocent women and old men. And then he was going to sell the rest of us—or have you conveniently forgotten that, too?”

  “I remember everything. Especially your father’s face when he told me what kind of man my father is.”

  “You had to know, and so did your people.”

  “Did we? Did I? Do you expect me to be grateful for the knowledge that the man who sired me was a base traitor? Whatever else he is, he is my father. But Einar thought nothing of a son’s need for a father, or the loyalty owed to a parent. He was so completely sure he knew the right thing to do.”

  “Einar treated you like a warrior, Adelar. You had to know.”

  “I wish your father had never come to my village,” he whispered fervently, his dark eyes full of pain and anger and, she thought, guilt. “I wish he had left me there, as he was supposed to. I wish I had never met you!”

  His words stung her deeply. “And I wish you had not been a coward when your father took me to his hall to rape me. But you did not come to my rescue. You did not even try to help me!”

  “Forgive my tardiness, my lady!” Godwin called out. He hurried up to them, a crude wooden cup in his hand. “Would you believe not one of them had anything to drink from? I had to go to the alehouse!”

  Endredi tried to smile placidly at him, although her heart continued to beat as if it would burst. Finally she had been able to accuse Adelar to his face, to give voice to some of the pain she had harbored for so long!

  She risked a glance at him. He stood casually, his weight on one leg, his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable. It was as if she had said nothing at all.

  * * *

  As they continued to walk through the burh, Godwin realized that Endredi had grown disinterested and Adelar distracted.

  To be sure, they had not been the most loquacious of company, but the sudden change after he had left them alone together was most interesting.

  Had Adelar said something to insult her? Perhaps, yet she did not seem overly offended. No, she appeared triumphant—but not happily so. And Adelar? His silence was nothing very unusual, for he was a grim and quiet fellow most of the time. But today he seemed pensive.

  Something had gone on between the two of them. If the woman was more attractive, he might guess that Adelar had said something flattering that could be construed as an attempt at seduction. The woman would be mistaken, of course, for Adelar always kept away from other men’s wives. Indeed, the Saxon’s preference for willing serving wenches allowed Godwin to make much sport at the warrior’s expense.

  Nevertheless, something had changed between these two, and he would do his best to discover what.

  * * *

  Godwin was not the only one who was curious, at least about Bayard’s new wife. The very next morn- ing, Ordella sidled into the space beside Endredi that Bayard had vacated when he left to oversee the completion of a weapons storehouse. The others who usually dined in the hall lingered, finishing their bread and ale. Father Derrick, who had returned unexpectedly, complaining of obdurate priests—thereby unknowingly telling everyone he had quar
relled and left in a fit of temper—ate in stony silence. Gleda, Merilda and Ylla began clearing off the remains, and Baldric could be heard outside, already training a new brace of hounds.

  Adelar had not been in the hall at all.

  “I trust you were pleased with your walk yesterday,” Ordella said, her lips smiling and her eyes displaying that avid curiosity Endredi had noted from the first.

  “I was most impressed,” she answered truthfully.

  “I must say I was quite surprised at Bayard’s choice of escort,” Ordella replied, frowning slightly. “I hope the gleeman did not talk too much. He believes himself to be quite amusing—an unwarranted opinion, if you ask me, but then he is vain, like all the Mercians.”

  “I found him very entertaining,” Endredi said coolly.

  Ordella gave her a measuring stare. “Well, I suppose he would at least exert himself for Bayard’s new wife. I don’t suppose Adelar said more than ten words the whole time.”

  “He was very informative.”

  “Was he, indeed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Beware a wagging tongue,” Father Derrick suddenly warned. He rose majestically. “Especially the sly tongue of a woman or a man who dreams of becoming a bishop!” He gave them a malevolent glare before striding down the hall and outside.

  “Ah, and to think he was once notorious for his bawdy verses,” Godwin said loudly from his place below the salt. “There was one in particular, something about the Moist Nest of My Desire—”

  “Gleeman! I am shocked!” Ordella said sharply.

  “I have it on the best authority,” he replied innocently. “I wonder what sent him scurrying to the priesthood?”

  “Perhaps a woman broke his heart,” Endredi said quietly.

  “Perhaps,” Godwin admitted, but he did not look convinced. “Perhaps several.”

  “Whatever happened to him,” Ordella complained, “he is a most tiresome fellow, priest though he be! Really, I wonder that Bayard does not send him to some monastery, preferably back in Rome.”

  “He was born here,” Godwin observed.

  Ordella turned to him with a sour expression. “I do not recall asking your opinion, Godwin.”