Bound to the Warrior

by Barbara Phinney

  She read on, straining in the dying light to see the scrawl of Olin’s poor script. He confided that he would not fight, for he believed Harold’s hold on the throne was weak. To that end, Olin wrote, he would hide in the tower.

  Here in the keep? Ediva lifted her head, trying to remember if her cowardly cousin-in-law had visited then. Nay, he had not. He must have found elsewhere to hide, for he certainly had not fought. He was so ill-trained, he would have been quickly killed, and had he tried to desert or avoid fighting, he would have hanged as a traitor.

  Shaking her head, Ediva took her powdered pumice and some milk ordered from the kitchen to scrub away the writing. Once it was dry, she worked quickly before the sun set completely. She offered her sister greetings and asked about her family. Both her sisters had found happiness and already each had children. Ediva said little of her own situation before she began the real reason for the missive. She asked if her sister had a suitable wife, perhaps the daughter of a steward, for Geoffrey. Mayhap the girl could come and they could see what might happen.

  She blotted it and set the letter by the window to dry. Should something not stir between the girl and Geoffrey, Ediva wouldn’t force them into marriage, as she and Adrien had been.

  ’Twas not fair that Adrien suffer for her stubbornness, tied to a wife that was his in name only—one who barely shared his life and did not share his faith. The thought of such soured in her stomach and she rose to pace away the feeling.

  When the sun washed her solar with red, she made her decision. Tomorrow was the Sabbath. She’d go to the services. Neither may want this marriage, but she’d at least make it as palatable as possible, and that would start with Sunday services.

  Chapter Twelve

  A smile jumped unbidden to Adrien’s lips when he spied Ediva step onto the main floor that Sabbath morning. He’d just come from his chamber beside the hall and had locked the door firmly. Having secured the record book into the strongbox and taken Geoffrey’s key until the riddle of the missing money was solved, he’d decided to lock up everything, including his chamber.

  Smile widening, he held out his hand to Ediva as she approached.

  “I’m on my way to services. Can I assume you are also headed there?” she asked with remarkable calm.

  He bowed. “Aye, and I’m pleased you have chosen to attend them with me.”

  She nodded, taking his arm to allow him to lead her out to the warm, sunny bailey. There, he glanced down at her hand. Her knuckles were cracked. She worked hard, right along with her servants, to ensure the keep ran smoothly.

  As they strolled toward the chapel, she said, “Very early this morning, I sent one of your soldiers to my sister’s home with a letter.”

  He stopped. “My sergeant? Aye, I haven’t seen him yet today.”

  “Kenneth is his name.”

  “Ediva, he is my responsibility. I should have been told.”

  Her eyes flashed for a minute before she lowered them. “My apologies. ’Twas wrong not to ask you first, but you weren’t available and I wanted him to be on his way immediately.”

  Impressed with the apology, Adrien lifted his eyebrows in surprise. After services, he’d ask her what had been so important that she needed to send a missive immediately, but for now he was grateful for the small mercy that was her contrition.

  Though slipping into the pew beside her, he kept his distance. The memory of their kiss by the river would steal his focus far too easily and he didn’t want his mind to be wandering about in a daze of adoration during the time intended to be worshipping the Lord.

  The scent of candles wound around him as he struggled to keep his mind on the service. But with Ediva beside him in a cyrtel of pale green and a veil and diadem as delicate as her features, she proved to be a difficult distraction. Even the tiny space between them fairly hummed with life, as the air did after a thunderstorm. Alive, tense, brushing his skin and the tiny hairs on his arms.

  Finally, the service ended, but Ediva still sat quietly. Adrien held out his hand to her, but she shook her head. “Nay, my lord. I will sit here for a bit. I won’t be long, I promise.”

  Adrien slowly dropped his hand and left her alone. Her back was sword straight and her shoulders were equally rigid. He could see in her profile how her jaw was firm and unmoving. ’Twas not the stance of a woman bowed in reverence.

  But he would not rebuke her. She’d come to services and wished to tarry in the chapel. ’Twas all that mattered.

  * * *

  Not wanting Adrien to urge her to leave, Ediva bowed her head. She’d come today to the services because of the need to strengthen the rapport between them. But now a desire to sit seeped into her soul. She didn’t want Adrien to hate their marriage so much that he would seek any pretext to rush away. Sitting and waiting for some answer seemed a viable option—if God would send one, that is.

  Perhaps one small prayer...

  Her eyes strayed toward the pulpit. The old chaplain had left his Bible there, neatly closed and guarding its secrets.

  The candles glowed, although now stubs. The flames would soon sputter and die and plunge her into darkness. Careful not to make noise and encourage someone to peer back into the chapel, she slid silently to the end of the pew. With a fast glance toward the slightly open door, she confirmed no one lingered there. Only sunshine peeked in at her.

  She stood and reached for the Bible. It was heavy for its size and the leather binding groaned as she opened it. She glanced up again at the door, but she remained alone.

  Scripted in Latin, the words forced her to adjust to the lesser practiced language. Aye, she understood it, but in her daily life she spoke English to her staff and French to Adrien, though he was quickly learning her mother tongue. Latin needed to be drawn from her memory.

  She turned a page. The drawings there were exquisite. Ediva allowed her fingers to trace the elaborate pictures that showed love and forgiveness. The words she read were even more confusing. ’Twas not the God who’d put her in Dunmow Keep. The God who lived in this book loved freely.

  Her lips pursed tightly, she flipped back to search where Jesus taught how to pray. Finally, the familiar words leapt from the page to her. The congregation often recited that prayer from memory. But now, the verses reached into her.

  “...as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

  She slammed the Bible shut. The draft she caused extinguished the candle nearest her.

  At that very moment, a shadow appeared at the door, and she snapped her head up. The small silhouette tipped its fluffy head, allowing the sunshine to radiate from the curly locks. Ediva jumped, unsure of what she was seeing.

  Then the creature spoke. “The candle blew out, milady.”

  Ediva sagged. ’Twas just the little girl who’d wanted summer to last forever. She stepped away from the pulpit. “I see that. Go home, my dear, or your mother will worry about you.”

  The girl disappeared, but a cloud chose that moment to plunge the chapel into a dimness that even the remaining candle could not fill. Ediva quickly extinguished it before hurrying out.

  She found Adrien waiting for her in the hall. It was busy, noisier than it had ever been in the months since Ganute died.

  Ediva liked the quiet. But with the scents of delicacies floating about her, the sounds of happy people, the warmth and light from the torches burning merrily, Ediva’s emotions surged upward, surprisingly.

  Dunmow a happy keep?

  At the table set up on a dais, Adrien rose. Beside him, the chaplain also rose, as did the rest of the people in the hall, but Ediva found herself staring only at Adrien. When she reached him, he offered her a seat beside him.

  Such protocol. After Ganute died, she’d let it slip away, caring little for it. But to have Adrien treat her so well...

  The mood was
lifted. And as the hall brimmed with people and food, her spirit lifted also.

  Flushing, she waited until grace was said before sitting. The meal was served, each course tastier than the last. Geoffrey directed the servers well. Adrien kept the conversation innocuous and she appreciated that. Not once did he ask her why she’d chosen to remain in the chapel or even why she’d come to services. He offered her the meat served to them and she found it spicier than her usual preference. Indeed, ’twas almost as if the food reflected the mood. Warm, spicy, interesting.

  But Adrien ate little, and she noticed the chaplain’s appetite was also minimal. They talked on about the keep, and Adrien offered teasing tales of Ediva’s minimal success in turning his brother’s soldiers into farmers.

  She smiled between bites of food and the sips of the juice she needed to keep the spices in check. Adrien was showing a lighter, more humorous side of himself she hadn’t seen before. Soon, all were laughing at how one young soldier spent an entire morning trying to catch a nasty rooster that had escaped his coop. Finally, at the end of the morning, impish Harry told the young man the rooster would simply walk into his coop at sunset.

  And all the time Ediva watched her husband’s handsome profile. His straight nose and strong chin, the dark eyes that could hold her captive with a single, warming look.

  A haze usually accumulated from the torches above, but today was fine enough for the windows high above them to be opened fully. A strong breeze carried away the smoke and left a freshness Ediva appreciated. Yet was it getting warm in here?

  They sat about lazily until the sun had shifted far to the west and the wind had cooled. Around them, the servers gathered up the platters and what was left of the trenchers. Geoffrey began to clear away hers and Adrien’s place.

  “Another sweet?” Adrien offered her the last on the platter before Geoffrey could remove it.

  She looked down at the trencher they’d shared. Crumbs filled it as she realized she’d eaten the majority of pastries. “But you had hardly any!”

  “I couldn’t get them quickly enough. I fear I need to increase my training if my wife can best me at the sweetmeat tray.” His eyes twinkled.

  “’Twas not that bad, sir.” She flushed. “But I do fear that my appetite is as large as young Harry’s over there.”

  Adrien glanced over to see Harry sitting between a pair of young soldiers, studying them whilst still shoveling food into his mouth with great force.

  “He’s certainly enjoying himself. However, I do not share his delight in eating today. The meat was strongly spiced and I prefer a blander roast.”

  “Aye, and I think I drank the most juice as a result.”

  Beyond, one of the maids sneezed several times in succession, slopping the pitcher she carried. Ediva frowned. “She may be getting sick. Several of the children have coughs.”

  “Hot water and onion was always my mother’s cure for everything.” He smiled. “My brothers and I dared not to sneeze or cough within her hearing.”

  “I would think the spices used would do much the same. They are certainly clearing my nose.” Her stomach clenched and she touched it. “I fear that mayhap I have indulged too much.”

  Adrien stood. “’Tis the day of rest. And it looks as though you could use it.” He pulled back her chair and she stood. Beside Adrien, the chaplain excused himself, leaving them alone at that end of the hall.

  “I am tired,” she admitted.

  “Sometimes you need to stop, Ediva. Did you stop at all whilst I was in Colchester?”

  “Of course I did.” She sighed. “Though I shouldn’t have made the promise of keeping your soldiers strong. I didn’t look in the larder first. ’Twas far less foodstuffs than I realized.”

  Aye. ’Twas far less supplies than she’d expected. She thought hard, remembering several hinds of ham and barrels of ale down in the cellar after her wedding that were not there when she inventoried her larder a month ago. They had not used them all up, surely.

  But Adrien was smiling, his expression warm as he leaned close, and her concerns scattered. “’Twas why I returned with foodstuffs. Eudo also knew you couldn’t keep your promise but was impressed by your boldness. Norman women are more subdued, less easily provoked.”

  “Really? Do you have any sisters?”

  He pulled a face. “Too many. And come to think of it, they are often provoked. Mostly by Eudo, not me. But I bore the brunt of it because he was the babe of the family.”

  They walked leisurely up to her solar. There, she stopped and leaned her back against the heavy jamb. “Adrien, your brother knows how to provoke you. Is that what he did before you grabbed him?”

  Adrien swallowed. With little light from several small slit windows, Ediva found it hard to read his expression. “Aye. He sought to anger me by telling me that he was offered your hand before I was given it.”

  She gasped. “Was that true? Or did he say it only to annoy you?”

  “Both, I expect. Eudo suggested that he might ask the king to annul our marriage, thinking he could build a castle in Colchester and have you as his wife at the same time. The castle was important and ’twas why he wasn’t given you.”

  “Could that happen?” A myriad of thoughts raced through her. She had no desire to change husbands, even if it were possible.

  “I do not know.”

  “Nay! Having met Eudo, I would say he was merely provoking you.”

  “Nevertheless, he won’t do it again.”

  As she searched her husband’s expression, her breath seemed to lodge in her lungs, and her face felt heat rise from deep within. But Adrien remained impassive. Oh, what she would give to know his thoughts.

  Still, shock lingered. An annulment? Eudo instead of Adrien? ’Twas not a marriage she could fathom. Nor could she fathom giving up the husband she now had.

  She touched his arm. “Adrien, I...I cannot think of having any husband...save you.”

  The dark corridor refused to reveal her husband’s expression, but she heard his indrawn breath. She could sense his strong frame tense. Finally, he stepped back and said, “Enjoy your rest, milady.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  After bidding good day to Adrien, Ediva entered her solar and sagged against the door. She was coming to care for her husband far more than she had ever intended. She swallowed to relieve her dry throat. But with the heat and the tightness within her belly, she strode to her pitcher set and poured some weak juice Margaret had left for her.

  She drank deeply. Still, it did not soothe her throat.

  In fact, heat and dizziness surged into her head and she fought to keep the room from spinning around her. Staggering to the bed, she gasped. Pain shot through her belly and she curled like a newborn atop the furs.

  Then, with telltale tingling at the back of her mouth, she realized the worst. She rolled over quickly and pulled out the pot from under her bed before retching into it.

  When she could, she rolled over and shut her eyes. Oh, she hadn’t felt this sick for a long time. The day before her first set of nuptials she’d retched with anxiety, but ’twas different now.

  After lying on her bed for a while, she tried to sit up. That being successful, she stood tenderly and took a mouthful of the juice again. This time, it stayed. Uneasily.

  She pulled off her outer tunic and fell upon the bed again. The room took up its spinning again. But as she closed her eyes to the terrible sensation, her thoughts turned to Adrien. Then darkness floated over her and stole the spinning room from her vision.

  * * *

  “She’s waking, Lord Adrien.”

  Movement around her. Ediva forced open her eyes and found her solar dim and quiet. Her hair fell across her face, and a rough hand swept it back, causing a streak of pain to slash through her. She tried to speak, but her mout
h felt glued shut with dryness.

  Her attention shifted. Her maid took a cool cloth to her face, gently dabbing her chapped lips.

  “Thirsty,” she whispered.

  Her maid hurried to the ewer and poured a small amount into a cup. Ediva grabbed it and drank deeply, but the relief was short-lived. “More.”

  “Nay,” a male voice beside her said. She turned, finding herself in Adrien’s thick arms. He shook his head. “Too much will only make you sick again.”

  “I was only sick once. I feel better now.”

  Her maid gasped. Adrien tossed a sharp look of reprimand at her. “Nay,” he answered softly. “You have been sick many times these past few days.”

  “Days?” She blinked. The sun had set, though the windows were unshuttered. “How many?”

  “Five. We weren’t sure you’d even awaken, but Margaret was able to get some herb broth from the midwife into your belly.”

  She tried to sit up but was punished with more pain. “My head.”

  Adrien helped her. “A headache. ’Tis not good to go so long without drinking.”

  Her maid fluffed the pillows behind her back and Adrien eased her against them. She touched the pillow with her hand, finding that her fleece pillow had been replaced with several feather ones. “Not mine,” She croaked.

  “They’re mine,” Adrien explained. “I’m afraid you messed yours.”

  “Sorry.” Margaret gave her a dram of water and Ediva sipped it, though she ached to quaff the entire contents of the jug just beyond her reach. Adrien ordered her maid to the kitchen for herb broth and some bread.

  “I’m grateful for your help, my lord,” Ediva whispered.

  “You’re my wife, Ediva. I wouldn’t be anywhere but here.”

  The words sounded sweet to her ears, but she remembered the truth he had told her so many times. He was and would always be a soldier. Her keep was not somewhere he wished to stay. And yet he was too honorable to leave her when she was ill.