Bound to the Warrior

by Barbara Phinney

  Much relieved, Ediva stepped through, while Adrien ordered Harry to remain outside the closed door.

  “My lady, I’ll see you on the morrow.”

  She thrust out her hand but stilled it. She wanted so badly to tell Adrien of her prayers, but ’twas not the time.

  He noticed her movement, but said nothing as he closed the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  For a long time, Adrien stared up at the ceiling of his chamber, thinking only of how Ediva had kept the truth from him. She didn’t trust him.

  Of course, even if he had been aware of the threat, he wouldn’t have felt himself to be in any true danger. He wasn’t intimidated by some Saxon cur. Hadn’t he driven off the man in the wood? ’Twas easy with his mount, aye, but he could have easily sent the man to his Maker without his horse.

  Adrien sat up on one elbow. Was the man who’d attacked Ediva the same as the one in the wood? Had he not been as injured as Adrien suspected? How could a stranger simply wander into the keep and—

  A stranger couldn’t. But someone from here, or Little Dunmow, could easily wander about freely. The bailey gate was open and many had business here, people like the midwife who’d often deliver herbs. Or her neighbor, who was called to sit as juror against Olin. That man had not liked the task one bit.

  The herbs the midwife delivered. He was sure Ediva had been poisoned and had wondered why.

  Because she was a traitor in their eyes. As soon as the righteous indignation rose in him, shame also swept over him. Hadn’t he also thought her a traitor to him?

  With head dropped to his hands, he could do only one thing.

  Father in heaven, I have sinned against You and against Ediva. Forgive me and guide me with wisdom here.

  Yet, despite the prayer, the hurt still weighed heavily on him. Ediva still didn’t trust him because all he’d said to her was about his return to battle.

  How could he expect her to believe he’d protect her people if he was off fighting their countrymen? He looked up. Through the slit window above dawn was lightening the sky. He should rise and begin his investigation. Today, he’d find who’d attacked his wife.

  By chapel time, Adrien had studied and counted all the men. The village men who Eudo had dismissed early were at their homes. They’d been in the fields and far away from the village when Ediva had been attacked. Adrien doubted these men would have entered the keep and threatened their mistress. Those few men had been injured in Colchester and could barely work the fields, let alone attack anyone.

  He returned to prepare for services. The sky was light when Adrien reached the chapel. The chaplain opened the door. When the man’s widened eyes strayed to the keep, Adrien turned.

  With Margaret and Harry following, Ediva was descending the keep’s steps, her lightweight blue cyrtel matching her sheer, silvery veil. His breath stalled, a single, savage catch in his throat at his wife’s fair beauty. Blue made her skin glow, her eyes brighten. It was an expensive color but it became her.

  He bowed as she approached, saying nothing as they entered the chapel. What could he say? He dared not even breathe for fear this was a foolish dream. Ediva walking, albeit carefully, toward him, sitting with him, showing reverence and awe and interest.

  Adrien shifted edgily beside her. Something had changed. He’d seen her sit stiffly and pay attention. She’d done all that was proper. But something was different today. He stole a glance at her.

  Her expression. She looked at the chaplain with softened eyes. Yet, her lips lay straight in a contrite line and her chin wrinkled slightly as it would before she cried.

  When the service was over, she stayed seated a moment and bowed her head. Then, standing, she blinked several times.

  “Ediva?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She waited for him to leave the pew and allow her to exit also. The men and women behind them also waited.

  He did not move.

  “No one can leave until you have exited, my lord,” Ediva quietly reminded him.

  “Then let them wait,” he answered softly. He continued to study her.

  “Why are you staring? Have I grown an extra nose overnight?”

  “You’re different.”

  “Dismiss the people. Then we can talk.” She lifted her chin and blinked as he motioned for the people to leave. When they were gone, she continued. “I’m still the woman who has hurt you. I’m still the woman whose husband looks forward to a battle at Ely, rather than protecting his own people, something he’d vowed to do.”

  Ire rose in him. “I can do both.” Then, remembering his contrition from last night, he crushed his anger. “I’m also the man who realized last night that I was angry at a man who considers my wife a traitor, when I also considered her one. I was hypocritical.” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “And wrong. You were doing only as you’d promised.”

  Her stiffness watered and she took up his hand. She seemed to begin to speak, but instead turned him and gently shoved him into the aisle. She nodded to the chaplain as she took Adrien’s hand and led him from the chapel. He allowed her to guide him out the gate, but instead of taking the well-worn path to the villagers’ huts, she led him to the right, and soon they were alone, walking along the sheep trail that led to the stone bench that overlooked the River Colne.

  She didn’t speak until she reached the stone and sat down. “I should have told you immediately what had happened. But I was afraid for you. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want anyone else to die.”

  “What have you decided then?” Had she brought him here to attempt to take his life? At half his size, she was no match. Besides, he knew she would never hurt him.

  “I prayed for help.” She looked up at him. “You were right about me needing to forgive Ganute. I need to forgive if I expect God to forgive me. And I most definitely need God to forgive me. Before Ganute died, I had wanted his death many times. When my attacker pointed that out to me, I knew I was a sinner.”

  He sat down beside Ediva, hardly believing her words. “Go on.”

  “I knew I could get help only from God. And peace from Him.”

  He smiled, took her hands in his and kissed them warmly. He held his breath for a moment. “I’m thrilled beyond measure, but there’s still something that’s bothering you. What is it?”

  “I have peace, but just not as much as I thought. I am still afraid you and others will die. I don’t have much faith, I fear.”

  “We all die, Ediva. Faith will help you learn not to fear it. Remember it takes time for a seed to grow. Within the Scriptures, there is a man called Paul—”

  “I know the Scripture stories, Adrien. At one time, I enjoyed chapel services. But my life became bitter when I married.”

  He looked across the river, where an apple tree stood, its fruit now taking on the first blush of ripeness. “Just as it takes a summer to grow good fruit, we need to allow ourselves time to change.”

  “I know this. I just...” She looked at him. “You have so much patience. I admire that.”

  With a smile, he shook his head. “No, I don’t. Eudo still calls me Prado, that horrible childhood nickname. I have little patience with him. But he is slowing understanding how I feel. Last time we met, he called me Adrien. It’s a good start for both of us.”

  She smiled back. They sat on the rock for some time. He took her hand in his and held it between them, and they watched the river roll lazily past on its way to the town of Colchester and finally out to the North Sea.

  He thought of why she had not trusted him. He couldn’t blame her for it.

  But he also couldn’t change what was. He was loyal to the king, born to be a soldier. ’Twas all he’d ever wanted to do. Ediva needed a husband who could be there for her and he could never guarantee that.

&nb
sp; Slowly, he peeled free his hands. “We should return to the keep.”

  “And what should we do about the attacker?”

  He didn’t want to tell her the conclusion he’d come to early this morning. He still believed the cur lived within the keep or in Little Dunmow, so very close to them.

  “I plan to keep the men separate and always accounted for. I’ll order the soldiers to patrol more often. We’ll find your attacker, Ediva. I know you don’t think much of my promises, but I promise you I won’t let another person be killed in Dunmow Keep.”

  She set off ahead of him, her frown deepening as she hiked up her cyrtel to move more easily through the long grass. “I don’t doubt your sincerity, Adrien. I only pray you can do it all.”

  They returned to the keep and found it quietly busy. Adrien looked up at the wide wall and found the soldiers patrolling as ordered. A wave of uneasiness rippled over him as everyone began to gather for the noon meal. The soldier’s funeral had been completed without Ediva, and it now left a pall on everyone.

  After the chaplain said the blessing for the meal, Ediva reached to choose the meat for them, but Adrien stopped her.

  “I’ll taste it first.” He tossed a hard look at the young server who stood with the platter extended and eyes as big as the brooches on Ediva’s cloak. Beside him the steward stiffened. As he should because ’twas his responsibility to ensure the safety of the food. Even the chaplain beside him tensed.

  Adrien cut off a small portion of the choice meat and sampled it. The only thing he tasted was a light salting. And it sat well in his stomach.

  He tasted the drink and found it simple and bland, with no spices to hide a poison. Satisfied, he served Ediva the small piece of meat and some boiled vegetables.

  * * *

  Adrien was testing her food? Ediva found herself holding her breath as he sipped from their cup. Please, Lord, make this meal safe.

  Smiling uneasily at him when he set down the cup, Ediva felt a little more of that elusive peace drift in, and she welcomed it.

  “Milady?”

  Ediva looked up, startled. Geoffrey stood in front of the table, his expression emotionless, holding out the savory pastries.

  She shook her head. Geoffrey moved to serve the chaplain. Her gaze followed the man around the room as he completed his task with calm efficiency. Then her attention returned to the chaplain, who, oddly, had also refused the pastries.

  “Eat while the food is still warm,” Adrien suggested, knocking her out of her study.

  She picked at her meal. She’d ordered Geoffrey to find who hated the Normans so much that they planned to attack the keep.

  Was it someone she trusted? Was it her attacker? The thoughts churned within her.

  The meal’s conversation remained innocuous, with everyone lingering far too long for her liking. Finally, it was over and many returned to their chores. But Adrien remained at her side all afternoon.

  When the night had deepened and fatigue seeped into her, Ediva excused herself to retire. She found Margaret in her solar, and after Adrien left them alone, she ordered her maid to her side.

  “Bring Geoffrey here.”

  * * *

  Geoffrey arrived with Margaret shortly after Ediva had settled in her chair. With her maid remaining for propriety, Ediva turned to him, her words blunt. “You were to find out who wants Lord Adrien dead.”

  Margaret gasped, but Ediva shot the young woman a silencing glare. The woman hastily returned to the embroidery she’d started days ago.

  “Milady, I’ve found out only a few things. The man who has started this plan to attack now bides his time.”

  “I can see that. But I want to meet whoever spoke to you. On the morrow.”

  “I—I fear I cannot arrange that.”

  Ediva pulled back her shoulders. She didn’t believe that. “You’re a resourceful man. We both know the man who spoke to you is probably the one who wants Lord Adrien dead and not just speaking for someone else.”

  His face remained impassive. “What should I say?”

  “That he should expect to be offered coins if he comes to me. I wager that money—not loyalty to England—motivates him for Dunmow has not seen any brutality since Ganute died.”

  The steward lowered his eyes. Geoffrey knew they had no coins to offer him, but thankfully he said nothing. “Aye, milady.”

  She dismissed the man. No sooner had the door clicked shut did Margaret rush up to her. “Is it true, milady? Someone wants Lord Adrien dead? I knew you’d been poisoned, I just knew it! I even told Lord Adrien of it!”

  Ediva snapped up her head. “You did what?”

  The girl stepped back. “He needed to know. You were so sick, and I had helped you nurse your poor mother and Lord Ganute’s mother, remember? ’Twas not a fever that struck you.” Her hand reached for her throat, her expression full of worry. “I was terrified. You don’t deserve to die!”

  “I’m a sinner like you.” She turned away from her maid.

  But Margaret was not done. She scurried around to face her mistress. “Not in my eyes, milady. How could anyone want you dead?” She moaned aloud. “Who attacked you? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have surely died for you!”

  Ediva smiled grimly at her. “That’s exactly why I said nothing.” Standing, she laid a heavy hand on her maid’s shoulder. “I couldn’t let you get hurt.”

  The woman’s eyes misted over as she nodded. “You can’t shoulder this all yourself. Nor can you meet with this brute alone. Let me go with you, please, Milady. I’ll take a sword from the armory—”

  Ediva laughed. “Neither of us can lift a sword from the armory, and certainly going down there to ask for one would only alert the guards. They’d tell Lord Adrien in a blink of an eye.”

  Margaret gasped. “So you don’t plan to tell him?”

  “Nay.” Her eyes narrowed. “And nor will you.”

  Her maid lowered her gaze.

  “If he were to learn where I plan to go, he’d go instead and that cur would wait in ambush for him.”

  “Lord Adrien has outwitted one man who ambushed him.” The girl wrung her hands and moaned again. “When Lord Adrien first arrived, I feared his hand would be as heavy as Lord Ganute’s, and I hoped that the many Saxons hiding in the woods would rid our keep of all Normans.” She shook her head. “But Lord Adrien is kind and good and keeps his men well-disciplined. Nay, if one of them even looks sideways at us maids, he reprimands them.”

  “Then you don’t want him dead?”

  “Nay, I want none of them dead! I want an English king on the throne, but right now, this Norman duke keeps the Danes away. M’maw says that the Danes were far more brutal. Oh, milady! If ’tis God’s will for us to have a Norman king, then we must trust in Him.”

  “Aye. So not a word to Lord Adrien.”

  “But he can help!”

  “And he can also get hurt or even killed.” She felt her mouth turn into a thin line before she continued to speak. “I require your silence not only for Lord Adrien’s protection but also for ours. He has the king’s ear. I can’t allow him to die and risk far worse for us here.”

  Margaret studied her, her silence pensive.

  Ediva frowned at her maid. “You want to say more, don’t you? Say it then.”

  Her maid blushed. “’Tis not fear of the king you have, milady. Methinks you’re falling for your husband.”

  Ediva felt the rush of heat and turned away. ’Twas hardly the time for romantic notions. “I’m merely saying that I’ll confront the man who tries to ruin our safety.”

  The maid waved her hand. “How, without Lord Adrien?”

  “I’ll buy him off. Even addled men see the value in quality goods. I have jewelry and finery he can sell as he sees fit. We’ll gather it t
ogether on the morrow. Now, ’tis late. We need our sleep.”

  After the lamp was extinguished, Ediva lay on her bed, still as stone. All that had happened, all that would happen, churned within her, until she felt the gentle, coaxing love of God come to her, reminding her to take her rest in Him.

  So she began to pray quietly to herself, until she fell asleep.

  * * *

  By the noon meal, Ediva had gathered together her finest linens, some embroidered with gold, along with her best diadem and jewelry. She ordered her maid to hide it all in a rough sack and store it in her bed.

  From below the window, shouts rose, and Ediva hurried up onto the parapet.

  “What’s going on?” she asked the guard there.

  “Your tenants are home, milady!”

  Smiling, Ediva leaned between the merlons and peered down. They were back!

  By the time she reached the bailey, the gate had been opened and not only the returning men, but their families had poured in. The chaplain held up his hand and offered a prayer of thanksgiving. When it was finished, she lifted her eyes to meet with Adrien’s own smiling gaze.

  One of Eudo’s guards sent to escort the men home rode up to Adrien and handed him a folded missive. Across the bailey, she could see Adrien’s expression darken as he read it, and her heart hitched in her chest.

  She hurried over, her progress delayed by several villagers who hugged her in gratitude. The air about was fast becoming festive, with songs and joy and laughter bouncing off the stone walls. When she reached Adrien, his scowl had truly deepened.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He refolded the note and tucked it in his tunic. “The uprisings have strengthened in the north. William has spent the summer in Normandy but is returning soon. Eudo fears that some Normans to the west have treated the English nobility poorly. Word of such has reached an exiled Saxon lord by the name of Hereward the Wake. He plans to return to England.”

  “I heard once that a Hereward was exiled for poor behavior. He made Ganute look like a gentle maid.” She shook her head. “Will Eudo send the soldiers here to Ely?”