She trotted down the slope to stand in the center of the bailey near where the messenger stood as he prepared to return to Colchester. The only good news these riders could bring her was news of the return of her men.
With knuckles pressed against her hips and feet planted firmly, she waited for the men to stop before her.
The first rider did but looked over her shoulder. “My lord.”
Lord? Ediva spun and found Adrien standing there, magnificent in his light tunic, his belt slung about his slim waist and his beard trimmed. He’d taken on the Saxon style of a beard but kept his hair short, though not as short as a Norman’s usual cut. He also stood akimbo, but with his height and breadth, he was far more intimidating.
He glanced down at Ediva, then stepped in front of her. Piqued, she stepped to his left to stand there beside him.
He glared down at her. “Woman, times are dangerous. Stay behind me or I will have you carried into the solar and kept under lock and key.”
His voice was so fraught with warning, Ediva relented and stepped back. The mounted soldier’s horse skittered about, forcing Adrien to grab its bridle as the man spoke. “My lord, we have been searching the king’s woods for several days and bring disturbing news.”
“What has happened?”
Several other riders trotted into the bailey, two men on one mount leading another. Ediva peeked out from behind Adrien and gasped.
The last horse carried the bloodied and beaten body of a soldier.
Chapter Eighteen
The missing courier, Adrien thought. He shot Ediva a glare to warn her to stay before striding up to the horse that bore the body.
Indeed, it was the soldier, and the marks of violence on him were enough to shock even Adrien.
“We found him closer to Little Dunmow than Colchester, my lord,” the first rider announced as he dismounted.
Disgusted, Adrien turned to find Ediva’s face as pale as she’d been when she first saw his leg injury.
He turned back. “Take the body into the chapel and set a guard on it. Ask my sergeant if he can tell how he died. He has experience with that. Though ’twould seem his injuries alone could kill a man.”
Nodding, the man ordered his troop into action. Adrien returned to Ediva. “Go inside. ’Tis not a sight for a lady to see.”
“I saw Ganute’s body. Though I must say, it didn’t shock and sadden me as this poor fellow’s death. He looks so young.”
“He was. Ediva, your countrymen did this.”
She shot him an eye full of daggers. “My countrymen are defending their land. Would you not do the same?”
Adrien glared back. “William was promised the throne!”
They stared at each other for a long moment. No one moved. Then, from somewhere behind him, a dog barked excitedly.
Ediva jumped. Her gaze lit on his sergeant. “I told you to chase that dog away! And if you find its owner, bring him to me!”
She steeled her spine and pulled up on the hem of her cyrtel. “Adrien, regardless of our opposing views, this man has died, and he deserves our final respects. I will prepare for his funeral. Since it isn’t safe to send him to Normandy, we’ll bury him in Ganute’s family cemetery.”
“’Tis a Saxon graveyard, Ediva.”
She rolled her eyes. “’Tis true. In fact, I plan to bury him right beside Ganute.” Then, her voice dripping with sarcasm, she added, “They can sort out their differences on the judgment day.”
Adrien watched her stride away. What was Ediva thinking? Ganute’s cemetery was full of Saxon nobles, and to bury a lowly Norman foot soldier there was unthinkable.
Unless Ediva was punishing Ganute and his family with it.
His heart fell. She needed to let go of her anger toward that man.
Lord, show her how to do that. Heal her heart.
The dog returned to its yipping, pulling his attention away. And since when did Ediva hate dogs so? There were plenty of mongrels about, some small enough to capture rats, whilst others were trained to herd sheep. They were hardly a threat.
But suddenly, Ediva thought differently. Why?
* * *
Ediva ordered the men who’d carried the young soldier into the chapel to clean his body and dress him in some decent clothes she found in her keep. Hardly the boy’s style, she knew, but ’twere better than the ripped and blood-soaked tatters he wore.
Then she sent a servant to find the man who’d made the casket for the midwife. She entered the chapel later that day to ensure her orders had been carried out, only to find Adrien standing over the remains. She stopped and held her breath, afraid she’d disturb him from his prayers.
But he looked up at her, his expression grim. “I’m only here to offer my respects. This man belonged to Eudo, so ’twould seem appropriate that I stand in my brother’s stead.”
She walked to the front. The rough-hewn wooden casket had already been delivered. ’Twas a simple one, not the fancy one Ganute had had hewn from limestone many years ago.
“’Tis kind of you to buy him a coffin, Ediva. I know that many Saxons use only a strong cloth.”
She nodded, not wanting to test her voice for fear it would shake. She couldn’t allow this boy to go to his grave a pauper. She pulled from her right pocket a small scroll and set it on the coffin.
“What’s that?” Adrien asked.
“’Tis just a Saxon prayer. When my father died, my sister said it at his funeral. I had memorized it.” They stood in silent reflection for a moment and before she did or said something foolish, she turned and walked out.
For the rest of the day, Ediva kept busy. Her servants stayed quiet, but she knew ’twas not in reverence as it had been for Ganute’s funeral. None wanted a Norman soldier buried with their lord, but the more Ediva thought of it, the more adamant she became. And the more her servants sensed her stubbornness the more they kept out of her way.
’Twas odd, of course. Had this death occurred earlier in the spring, she’d have been the first to send the remains back to Colchester, but an ache deep within her grew and formed the desire, nay, the need, to bury the man here.
Still, one important question remained. She sought out Adrien and found him outside strengthening his upper arms.
“Is it wise to exercise?”
“The wound is healing well and I’m not using my legs. Besides, I must do something useful until we bury the soldier.”
His muscles were fairly bursting from his tunic, leading Ediva’s mind to wander. Why was he spending so much time training? To stay busy, as he had said? There was enough to keep all, servants and master, occupied. Nay, he was training himself—preparing for battle. Her heart turned to stone and sat heavy in her chest. “Adrien, the man who was killed was coming here to deliver a missive. Was the letter found?”
Adrien set down the weights he was heaving about and grabbed a cloth from Harry to wipe his face and hands. He led her to a stone bench set against the bailey wall near the steps that led up to its battlement.
“Nay, but Eudo told me what he’d written.”
“Which was?”
“He said he left a quarter of the money behind. He guessed you were speaking hastily when you promised you’d make the soldiers stronger and fitter. So he left you some money to do so.”
“But Geoffrey recorded only what was in the strongbox after that, which was nothing. Eudo must have taken it all.”
“I see no reason why my brother would lie to me.”
She couldn’t explain it, either. But there were others in the room at the time, and she knew her arrival had distracted them. “Mayhap the guards took the rest?” she asked quietly. “’Twould only take a sleight of hand to snatch up the few coins left.”
Adrien thought a moment. “My soldiers are trustwort
hy.”
“Are they? I know you have forbidden plunder for your men, but King William allows it.”
“Taking from a defeated man all he has is wrong. ’Tis fine to take enough to prevent the man from raising arms again, but I see no reason for greed.”
“Mayhap your soldiers disagree.” She eyed the men as they continued their training. “They will return to the garrison in London with nothing but their meager wages, whilst others have fine clothes and jewelry or money from the sale of such items.”
His mouth tight, Adrien stood. “My soldiers respect my orders. Talk no more of this, woman.”
Frustrated, Ediva flew to her feet. “Someone stole from us, Adrien, and you can’t see it was your men or your brother. Nay, all you want is to serve the king as his slave! You’re only here at his bidding until you can fight again. Go, then, fight for William at Ely! I’m sure we’ll soon hear of the orders to move north!”
Adrien’s face grew dark. “I am no man’s slave!”
“You are, and you are proud of it! You think that your faith can hide that fact? Go, die at Ely for your king! You torment me by staying here with your silver-tongued promises. But soon, I’ll be left alone!”
She stormed away, hating that she’d allowed herself to care for Adrien, so much that ’twould cause her to lose control, only to have him turn cold.
In her solar, she dismissed her maid. Tears had already filled Ediva’s eyes and she swiped them furiously away. The door opened and closed again, and she spun to throw her maid out again.
Adrien stood there, hands on hips, determination reigning over his face. “I will not have you argue with me. Nor will I have you storm away like a spoiled child.”
She drew back her shoulders. “I’m mistress of this keep, and I’ll do as I please. Having Normans treat their women harshly doesn’t allow you to treat me that way.”
“When have I treated you harshly?”
Nay, he hadn’t, except with her heart and his desire to go to battle. “You say you can stand a bloody nose, my lord, so you should be able to stand a woman’s scorn.”
His lips tightened. “If I have earned the scorn, I’ll accept it, but I see no reason for your foul mood.” He pulled in a breath and let it out with great control. She blinked as he grimaced. “Ediva, ’tis not the way I want us to be, but I can’t change who I am. I’m a soldier.”
“You are also Baron of Dunmow! You promised to keep these people safe, and yet you plan to go to battle again! How can that give me—us—security?”
“Fighting will secure the land.” He shook his head. “But we’ve had this argument too much. I know something else lies beneath it. What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t say it. The coarse voice of the man who’d nearly strangled her lingered in her memory. She was to kill Adrien or villagers would die. Such was the determination of the Saxon men who hid in the forest and fought to rid their land of a foreign king.
She had to protect her people. But she didn’t want Adrien to die. The very thought clutched her heart with cold fingers. Yet the midwife had already died. Smothered to prove the threat against Ediva was real.
Finally, she spoke. “The midwife was murdered, wasn’t she?”
Adrien waited a moment before answering. “Aye. How did you know?”
“Your sergeant told me whilst you slept. We have a killer here.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“I’m not concerned for me. I have soldiers about me for guards, but the women in the village have nothing! They don’t even have their husbands and sons.”
“They’ll return very soon.”
“And you’ll leave for Ely. While the man who has killed will still be here.” Her voice sounded flat to her ears, and she turned away.
But she heard Adrien approach, felt his warm hands upon her shoulders as he turned her and hoped that her eyes didn’t shine too brightly with unshed tears.
“I won’t allow you to carry the burden of this keep alone. Nor will I die at Ely. I promise.”
She shook her head. “You can hardly promise that!”
“God will protect me.”
She rolled her eyes. “And I have been so good a servant of His that He would allow you to stay safe for me?”
Adrien reached to cup her face with big, warm hands. Despite the lingering summer heat, she felt cold and found herself grateful for Adrien’s strong frame.
“God doesn’t hate you, Ediva. But I hate that you have been hurt by people who should have protected you. From your parents who sanctioned your bitter marriage, to the chaplain who feels ’twas fine for Ganute to be cruel. But you must find peace and love and learn to forgive them all for what they did to you. Starting with Ganute.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. He lowered his hands to her upper arms and kept her close. “Aye, forgive Ganute or you’re as trapped as he is in his own sin.”
“You don’t know what he did to me!”
“I have seen plenty in my time, Ediva. And I saw the scrap of clothing he tore from your body. I know what he did, and it turns my stomach to think on it, but unless you allow God to heal you, the hatred will eat you alive. I find it difficult to forgive him, but with our Lord’s help, I am slowly doing so.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She could smell the late summer sun on him. She could feel the beating of his heart against her cheek. She slid her arms around his torso and held him as tightly as he held her. Her veil fell from her head.
“Ediva, you can’t love as God wants you to love until you set aside this hatred,” he whispered into her hair.
“How does God want me to love? To have compassion? I have had that with the young soldier. To protect my people? I do that also.”
He set her away from him slightly and then lifted her chin so she could see his eyes. “This love, too.”
He dipped his head and met her parted lips. She could taste tart cider on him and felt the brush of his beard on her cheeks. But the surge of emotion was far more compelling. Should she feel this desire? It was a longing she couldn’t explain, a want for something that she’d never felt before.
She wanted to love him. She could sense the deep satisfaction that a divinely sanctioned love could offer.
She kissed him back, snaking her hands over his shoulders to catch the nape of his neck. She wanted so badly to love him fully, heart and soul. But what was the point? He’d soon be off to Ely, giving in to his king and his love of battle.
’Twas what had angered her so. But no anger could tear her away from his kiss. He pressed further into her, tightened his grip and demanded an answer that matched all he was giving her.
She held him fast. All she wanted that moment was to stay in his arms. For as long as they were this close, he couldn’t leave her. Nor die in battle.
Weakened from the kiss, they broke apart. He blinked, wet his lips and drew in a breath that was as ragged as her own.
“We should go and offer prayers in the chapel before the funeral,” he finally said. “Change and meet me in the hall. ’Twould be wise to be seen together, to be seen as a united keep.”
He lifted his hand to her face, brushed her cheek with his knuckles and studied her well-kissed lips before backing away and leaving her alone.
She reached for her chair and sank into it, trying all the while to steady her breath. She was a fool to fall for Adrien. But her heart cared little for good sense. Her head ached with confusion and she turned to her ewer and bowl to splash water on her face. It soothed her but she still found her hands shook as she donned a more appropriate cyrtel for a funeral. With a fresh veil and modest diadem, she was ready.
With her insides still feeling tight and her heart still pounding blood up to her face, she opened her solar door and stepped into the corridor. When she reached the stairw
ell, she saw a leather-clad hand close over the nearest torch and extinguish it.
Chapter Nineteen
The darkness of the stairwell swamped her and Ediva grappled to find the cold wall as she eased herself back up the stairs.
She stumbled and fell, her hip cracking on the stone tread. Feeling the closeness of evil, she stilled her frame.
Whoever was there leaned into her. She could see nothing but felt him pressing on her. His foul breath plowed through her skewed veil, making her gag.
“I warned you,” was his hoarse whisper.
She fought to free her feet from her tangled cyrtel, but the more she fought, the more trapped she became. She tried to scream but a hand clamped over her mouth and pressed her against the steps.
“If you scream, I’ll strangle you. And after you are dead, I’ll kill your husband and your tenants.”
She strived to listen to the voice. ’Twas Saxon for sure, but it sounded strange. An accent? She jerked her head from the sour smell of filthy wool and squeezed her hands up between her and this evil creature to shove hard. But he barely moved. And under the stench lingered something she couldn’t identify. Something sharp and foul on his breath.
Ediva turned her head. “If you want Lord Adrien dead, try it yourself. But he’ll kill you before you lift your blade.”
“He cannot kill someone he doesn’t see coming.”
She listened, realizing that her assailant had chosen this timing well. Everyone was outside, on edge from the death of the young soldier and either preparing for the funeral or avoiding the keep altogether.
“If you tell him, I’ll kill another villager.”
“They’re innocent!”
“They’ll die for freedom, my lady. A noble cause for any Saxon. ’Tis why you’ll murder Lord Adrien before any more deaths happen.”
“I won’t murder anyone!”
“You will, milady.” The voice sounded different, cracked as before, yet different. “You are the only one he lets close.”
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