Margaret Moore - [Viking 02]

by The Saxon

  “Get out.”

  “I thought you knew and didn’t care. I knew you liked the girl, my lady, and didn’t want you to think I was jealous or anything, as if I could be. Why, I can do twice the work she can—”

  “Get out!”

  Helmi stared at Endredi as if she had suddenly changed into an ogre, then she flushed deeply and hurried out of the bower.

  Endredi sat on the nearest stool, so heartsick and nauseous she could barely think. Had Adelar been leaving her at night to go elsewhere, to be with another woman? He had said he would pay attention to Ylla to draw away suspicion. Just how much and what kind of attention did he mean?

  Oh, what had she done?

  She laid her hand on her stomach, fighting the feeling of queasiness, although she could no longer fight the knowledge that she was with child, a child who was not Bayard’s. Who could not be Bayard’s. He had not been with her since her last woman’s time. Bayard had claimed he was unwell. She had seen some evidence of this and taken it as an explanation for why he preferred not to make love with her.

  Fool! Blind, lovesick fool! She would surely pay for her folly now! Justly so, for she had betrayed her husband.

  He deserved a loyal wife, and she had deceived him. Worse still, she wanted to keep on betraying him.

  With a man who might be—no. She simply could not believe what Helmi said. It had to be a lie, or a mistake. Adelar cared for her too much. Nonetheless, despite her faith, a small remnant of doubt remained, for she would have said it impossible for her to commit adultery, too.

  But what about the baby? In her heart, she knew that whatever punishment Bayard decreed, he would not seek her death. Banishment, perhaps. A life apart from Adelar seemed as bad as death.

  Yet her child would live. Must live, so that she would have a part of Adelar to love for the rest of her life.

  She rose and went to the small chest where she had put the broken pieces of her spice box. Her marriage—her life—was like the box, broken and with seemingly no way to be mended.

  Soon she must tell Bayard.

  Undoubtedly it would be better to keep the knowledge of the child’s sire to herself. But what of Adelar? He would guess it was his. Surely he would know that they must keep the secret. As for the child, the two men looked so alike, no one would question the identity of the babe’s father.

  Endredi fingered the broken pieces, then fitted them together. She, too, had been the product of an adulterous relationship and knew the stain that could color her child’s life.

  She had not been at fault for her birth, and neither would the child she bore, even if she had to lie to make certain he did not suffer any shame because of his parentage. That would mean Bayard could not have even the slightest suspicion—

  As if in answer to her thoughts, Bayard came limping into the bower and sank onto a stool with a sigh.

  Endredi hurried to him. “What is it? Are you injured?”

  He smiled wanly. “No. It is nothing. A slight pain in my side. That is all.”

  Endredi knelt beside him. “Let me help.”

  He winced when she touched him and drew back. “It is not perilous. I have had it before.”

  She eyed him warily. “How many times before?”

  “All my life.”

  “Oh.”

  “It will soon pass.”

  Endredi rose. She had heard of this, people who had a weakness in the bowel that flared into pain from time to time, then subsided. That would explain the drawn look on his face and the lines of strain. She examined his eyes. If the whites were yellowed, it would be a sign of a more potent illness. She saw nothing amiss, but she also knew the yellowing could come on so gradually it might be easily overlooked. And she had been so wrapped in her own concerns, it could be that she had missed the changes. “This pain, is it sharp or dull?” she asked anxiously.

  “It has passed already.” He grinned with his more usual good humor. “I thought it best not to tempt fate by hunting anymore. Besides, I was loath to have you sitting alone here.”

  He picked up the pieces of the box. “I will set someone to mending this.”

  “No,” she said, “it was quite intricate. It would not be the same.”

  “I am sorry it was ruined.”

  “You are so kind to me, Bayard,” she said softly as she faced him, determined to do what she must, for her child’s sake. She placed her hands on his arm and knelt before him. “The servants are not here and I...I have missed you.”

  “I am glad I left the hunt, then.”

  She put a smile on her face. “I mean, you spend so much time in the hall.”

  “The men like it when their lord spends time in their company. Since it is very likely we shall have to do battle soon, it is important to breed a sense of brotherhood.”

  Her hand slid upwards toward his shoulder. “I understand. But sometimes I get lonely.”

  He smiled at her again, and this time, she knew he understood her purpose. “Not now, Endredi, please. As much as I would care to, I fear the pain would return. It would be better if I were to rest awhile.”

  Disappointed and relieved and hating herself for acting no better than Gleda, Endredi nodded her acquiescence.

  “Are you feeling better today?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. People are beginning to remark upon your absence from the hall. It has been a long time since you have joined us there.”

  “I was too ill to be good company, my lord.”

  “I understand, of course. Your attendance at Mass, despite your illness, has been noticed. You have certainly won over Father Derrick. I, too, admire your devotion, but others wonder if you are truly sick, or simply seek to be alone—which they consider a slight.”

  “Especially Ordella and Ranulf, I suppose,” she noted dryly.

  “I see you know my nephew and his wife well. Yes, especially those two.”

  “I will go to the hall for the evening meal.”

  Bayard watched her as she put away the pieces of the box. His scrutiny disturbed her, and she could not look at him.

  “You are better, are you not?” he asked kindly. “If you are ill, what those two think does not matter.”

  “I am much better.”

  Bayard hesitated a moment. “I had hoped it was the sickness that comes of being with child,” he said wistfully. “I would give anything to have a child, Endredi.”

  If he had been with her recently, she would have told him of her condition then. But he had not, and so she knew she must say nothing, no matter how melancholy he seemed. To be sure, there would be some questions later, when the child was born. She would say the baby came earlier than its time.

  Still, she must give Bayard reason to believe the child was his. She reached out and pulled him to her, kissing him gently. “Stay with me now, Bayard,” she whispered, hating herself and this deception.

  He drew back, a pleased yet unusual expression on his face. “Not now,” he said.

  She tried to smile. “Then is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, Bayard?”

  “Some of that strong wine Duff has hidden away in the kitchen stores always helps,” he said. “Would you mind asking him to bring it?”

  “Of course not,” she replied. “Would you like Godwin to come to amuse you with a story? There may even be time for Beowulf before the evening meal.”

  “No. I am in no mood for jests,” he answered truthfully. “And I hate Beowulf.”

  Endredi gave him a strange look as she went to the door. Perhaps he had sounded in more pain than he intended, Bayard thought. Nonetheless, she said nothing and hurried out of the bower.

  When he was sure Endredi was gone, Bayard bent over and moaned in agony. The pains were worse and coming with increasing frequency. The wine would help some.

  He went over to his own chest, beside the bed, and slowly lifted the lid. Hidden in a compartment was a small vial containing a very rare, very expensive mixture made in t
he East from poppies. He put the vial to his lips and drank a small amount. He had done so whenever the pain was bad, and every night before he went to the weaving shed, lest he have an attack when he was with Ylla.

  He lay down on the bed and thought about Ylla and last night. She was so sweet and eager, so proud and happy to think herself chosen by Adelar.

  Although Bayard liked and respected Endredi, he always felt there was a part of her she would never let him near, some deep core to her heart that she would not share with him.

  Another pain assailed him, and with a groan, Bayard put his hand on the tender spot and hoped that God would forgive him all his treachery when he died.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What do you want, gleeman?” Ordella demanded as she glared at Godwin on the threshold of her bower.

  “I...I know not who else to trust with this,” he said conspiratorially.

  “With what?” As Ranulf waited for Godwin’s answer, he tried to fill his empty goblet from the silver vessel that also stood on the small table. Unfortunately, his hand was not steady, and more ale spilled on the table than landed in his goblet.

  Ordella gave her drunken husband a disgusted look and gestured for Godwin to enter. “This had best be important,” she muttered.

  Godwin forced his dislike from his face and made himself look properly concerned. “I believe this is not something for servants’ ears,” he said pointedly, looking at the woman who waited upon Ordella.

  She waved impatiently at the middle-aged female, who hurriedly left. “Now, what is this that is so important and so secret, eh?”

  “It is about Adelar and Bayard’s wife.”

  That got their complete attention. Ranulf straightened like one of Bayard’s hounds on the trail of a wounded animal. Ordella’s reaction was slightly more subtle. Slightly. “What about them?” she asked.

  “I...that is, the other night— Oh, perhaps it is nothing after all.” He turned to leave.

  “Stop!” Ranulf almost shouted. He lurched to his feet and grabbed Godwin’s arm, dragging him back inside the bower. The stench of ale was almost overpowering, but Godwin let himself be led. “Si’down,” Ranulf slurred, pushing the gleeman onto a stool.

  Ordella hovered over Godwin like a carrion crow. “What about the other night? Which night?”

  “It was a few days ago,” Godwin answered with seeming reluctance. “I was late returning from an...assignation.”

  “We don’t care what you were doing,” Ordella said.

  “Well, it was late. Very late. I was on my way back to the hall when I saw someone come out of Bayard’s bower.”

  “Someone?” Ordella and Ranulf leaned so close to hear, he feared they were going to fall on top of him.

  He stood up, unable to bear their proximity, and began to pace as if agitated. “It was not Bayard. I am quite certain it was Adelar.”

  “Are you sure?” both demanded at once.

  “As sure as I can be,” he replied. “I thought of going to Bayard, but I simply could not tell him of this...this base treachery! He trusts Adelar like a brother.”

  “I always knew that was a mistake!” Ordella cried triumphantly. “I knew those two would make mischief.” She gave Ranulf a significant look. “Now Godwin, Adelar’s greatest friend, has seen it.”

  Ranulf staggered to the door. “I mush revi...revel...tell Bayard,” he mumbled.

  “No!” Ordella and Godwin cried in unison. Ranulf halted so abruptly he fell over.

  As Ranulf climbed to his feet, Godwin looked at Ordella, instantly suspicious. What was she up to? “I’m not sure that would be wise,” he began uncertainly, hesitating until he saw the way the wind was filling Ordella’s sails.

  “No, it would not. Not now, when his wife has been ill. And it must not be a mere gleeman who accuses him. It must be you, Ranulf.”

  Her husband grinned like a simpleton.

  “But we must wait until one of us has seen this for ourselves, to give our words credence.” She looked pointedly at Godwin, and he knew exactly who she wanted that to be.

  “Very well. But we must wait a little yet. I...I may be mistaken, but I believe Adelar may have seen me. He might be watchful, in case someone is spying on him.”

  “How could you be so stupid?” Ordella demanded.

  Godwin shrugged.

  “Very well,” she said peevishly. “We will wait a few more days, but then I will see this treachery myself.”

  * * *

  “Endredi?” Adelar whispered as he entered her bower. He removed the cloak and moved closer to the bed surrounded by closed drapery. “Endredi?” He reached out and pulled back the curtains.

  She lay on her side with her back to the opening. “Why are you here, Adelar?” she asked in a sorrowful whisper.

  “Because I cannot stay away.”

  “If you are lonely, perhaps Ylla will be happy to keep company with you,” she replied, getting out of the bed and drawing her fur robe over her shoulders.

  He came around the bed toward her. “Endredi!”

  “Are you such a marvel, Adelar? First me, then Ylla, all on the same night?”

  He frowned. “You know otherwise. I thought that if anyone suspected there was more between us than there should be, their suspicions would waver if I seemed occupied with Ylla.”

  “What do you mean, occupied?” She walked away from him, and the action made him suffer.

  “Endredi, I desire no one but you. You know that. You cannot doubt it, after what we have shared.”

  “What we shared was a sin, Adelar. A terrible sin.”

  He went to her and took her in his arms, holding her gently. “No, we were destined for each other, Endredi,” he said firmly, believing it. “Why else would God send you back to me?”

  She embraced him tightly and sighed softly. “I am sorry to doubt you, Adelar. But Helmi said—”

  “Never mind what Helmi said. All that matters now is us.”

  “No. There is Bayard, too, who deserves better.”

  When Adelar did not respond, she took a deep breath and went on. “I...I am with child, Adelar. Your child.”

  A host of emotions flooded through Adelar. Joy that he and Endredi had created a child. Fear for Endredi’s health. Relief for Bayard, that his goal had been achieved. But under everything, he felt an overwhelming sorrow that this child could never be rightfully acknowledged as his.

  She pulled back and stepped away. Her stern eyes were so relentless, it was as if all the strength of her Viking blood was there for the world to see. “Bayard must believe the child is his. You should leave, Adelar. If I have to continue to be Bayard’s wife and the mother of the child everyone thinks is his, then you must not come to me again.”

  “Endredi, would you kill me?” Adelar pleaded softly, stepping toward her with outstretched hands. He drew her once more into his arms. “I cannot live simply watching you, not being able to do this—” he kissed her cheek “—or this—” he pressed his lips to her eyes “—or this...” His mouth touched hers.

  Strong she was, and resolute, yet she was not strong enough or resolute enough to resist the man she had always desired. Who was a part of her, and would be forever.

  She took a deep breath. “Then we must run away together.”

  “We will be dishonored.” And Bayard’s dream will be destroyed. Ranulf will win.

  “I know. But I want to be with you, Adelar. We cannot live here, with such deceit and lies. How long will it be before someone discovers our crime?”

  Adelar took her face gently in his hands. “Endredi, the die was cast when you came back into my life, but it is not only ourselves we must consider. Bayard, too, would be dishonored. And there is something more.” He hesitated, then went on. “He is not well, Endredi.”

  “What?”

  “Surely you have noticed?”

  “He told me he was merely tired.”

  “I believe it to be worse.” There was no need for her to know the full e
xtent of Bayard’s condition. Not yet. It would only add to her anxiety, and she was troubled enough. “If we were to run off, he might worsen. Then Ranulf would be like a vulture over his sickbed.”

  “Yes. Ranulf,” Endredi said softly, moving away from him. “I was forgetting Ranulf.”

  “Have you told Bayard about the child?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then you should, and soon. It will cheer him.”

  “Yes.” She gazed into Adelar’s eyes, which were as dark as a moonless night. “Adelar, you will never be able to acknowledge this child. It must always be considered Bayard’s.”

  “I know that. It would be better for the child’s sake, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “But in my heart, I will always know that it is our child, Endredi. The offspring of our love.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, lifting her face for his kiss.

  Then she thought no more of Bayard or betrayal or deception. All she knew was that Adelar was here with her, wanting her, needing her as she needed him.

  Passion flared, heat licking along their veins. With swift, eager hands and hushed commands, they disrobed each other and sank onto the pile of their clothing.

  His body covered hers, strong and hot. Eagerly, she raised herself to meet the thrust of his loins, delighting in the feel of him as he joined with her. Swiftly, surely, he possessed her. And she possessed him.

  * * *

  “I drink to your continued health!” Dunstan bellowed a few days later, raising his drinking horn in a salute in Bayard’s general direction. Around the hall, others followed suit, including Endredi. The smell of the smoke was making her feel ill, so she leaned as far away from the hearth as possible and tried to listen to the conversation—and not watch Adelar, seated some distance away with several of Dunstan’s soldiers.

  Dunstan had arrived that afternoon with more orders from his father. The young man obviously appreciated the food Duff prepared and the wine Bayard offered, for he had been sampling both most liberally.

  “My father was very concerned for your health,” Dunstan reiterated, leaning so close to Bayard that he came perilously close to tumbling from the bench. “He heard you were unwell.”