“He awaits the king’s orders, but likely he will. He says I’ll accompany them.”
Geoffrey’s warning rolled over her. Her attacker wanted Adrien dead to ensure he never fights at Ely.
“And you’ll go?”
“Of course.”
She bit her lip and spun, heading toward the chapel. If Adrien called out to her, she did not answer. The chaplain met her at the chapel door, a question on his face.
A dog ran about the bailey, barking madly. It raced past her and she shied away from it.
“Milady?” the chaplain asked. “Is there something wrong?”
She shook her head as she hurried inside. “Nay. I want to offer my thanks for the men’s safe return.”
’Twas obvious to her that the old man didn’t believe her. But his opinion mattered little. ’Twas God who she wanted to hear her prayers. Only God could give her peace in her mind and heart at the thought of her husband returning to war.
* * *
Ediva didn’t want him to go to Ely, Adrien thought grimly. But what choice did he have? If he was ordered to fight, he would.
Still, those words sat like bad food inside of him. He no longer wanted to fight.
How was that possible? He’d spent a lifetime honing his skills and training his horse. Fighting was in his blood.
Over the din of festivities in the bailey, a dog’s snippy barking broke his thoughts. He watched Ediva speak briefly with the chaplain before slipping into the chapel. He should be happy she was going to pray, but the consternation on the chaplain’s face unnerved him.
Ediva was worried.
The revelry around him stole his concentration. A young girl grabbed his tunic and offered him some flowers she’d picked. He accepted them with a smile and allowed himself to be led into the impromptu festivities.
In the midst of the revelry, he waited for Ediva to exit the chapel, and when she didn’t, he ordered the cook to start a feast worthy of this homecoming. He wanted to bring Ediva out to enjoy the festivities, but before he could, he found himself distracted by yet another small child.
* * *
Ediva heard the chapel door open and close. She turned around, but with only one lamp lit, all she could tell was that a man, not as tall as Adrien, had entered.
She held her breath, hoping it would still her pounding heart. She had the benefit of being used to the dimness, as opposed to the man who’d just entered. Staying deadly still, she watched him scan the interior and prayed he would not see her.
“Milady?”
She sighed. ’Twas Geoffrey. “Aye?” she called out to her steward.
He came hesitantly forward, his hands reaching out to the back of the front pews for the security that the dimness refused to offer. “I have news, milady. The man agrees to meet.”
Her heart hammering, she stood. “Where?”
“On the road that leads to the tithe barn is an abandoned watch tower.”
“I remember the place. It sits at a fork in the road. I passed it when I first came here.”
“Aye. It’s been abandoned for years and is open and gutted. The man who plans a rebellion will wait there for you, tonight.”
She blew out a sigh and nodded. “Good. Thank you, Geoffrey.”
He hesitated. “’Twill not be safe for you to go alone.”
“True. That’s why I’m taking you with me.”
That startled him. “Will you try to kill him?”
She nearly laughed aloud. As if she could. “Nay. I’ll go to pay him off. With the price I’ll offer him, he can leave Essex and start anew elsewhere or buy arms and fight in some other place. I don’t care what he does as long as he leaves this county and does not return.”
“But, milady, if you plan for us to leave at night, how will we find our way?”
“We’ll leave at dusk. The night should be clear and the moon is full.”
“He’ll want you dead, milady!”
“I’m of no value to him dead. He knows that or else he’d have killed me already. Aye, I know he is the one who attacked me.” She stepped out of the pew and touched her steward’s shoulder. “Say nothing of this, Geoffrey. We have God to protect us.”
She saw his features harden but brushed past him. Geoffrey didn’t believe her, and why should he? He’d seen her skirt her religious duties for years. Never mind. She had no time to convince him of her newfound faith.
She found the addled boy, Rypan, in the stable, feeding the horses, completely unmoved by the celebration in the main bailey. His father had died at Hastings, and his mother shortly after. His aunt, the cook, had asked Ediva if she’d keep him on. So Rypan remained doing whatever was needed. He’d never been quite right, but he was a good boy, willing to work. He was fast approaching manhood, but Ediva hoped he’d stay the sweet, shy boy he’d always been, despite now being slightly taller than her.
Ediva hesitated at the entrance. The old nag Adrien had given her to train on was still in her stall at the back. She looked up at Ediva, expecting another lesson with the nervous rider who tugged too hard at her bit. Immediately, she snorted her disapproval.
The boy noticed her. “Rypan,” Ediva said gently, “I need that old nag and another pony. Geoffrey and I will ride out at dusk. Have them ready, but take them behind the midwife’s house.”
Rypan was thin and wiry, older than Harry by several years but younger in spirit and mind. Ediva knew he could saddle the ponies, just not Adrien’s courser or the gift mare. Rypan nodded mutely for he spoke little, as his voice often cracked. Immediately, he set about the task of finding the tack needed.
She returned to the keep to find Adrien had ordered a feast that would combine the noon meal with a supper one. The cook looked up from her work of dressing a bird. “Do you need a bit to hold you over, milady?”
She was about to decline because since Adrien had arrived, she had returned to the protocol of sending her requests to the cook through Geoffrey. But she stopped. “A large, sweet pastry, please. Send it to my solar.” She planned to enjoy the banquet, then slip away, saying she was tired. With the whole of the keep and village celebrating the men’s return, she’d be able to reach the watch tower, buy off the man and return before anyone missed her. ’Twas not so far that she couldn’t accomplish such a task within the span of an early evening.
Now, for the other matter she needed to accomplish before leaving... Though she was taking Geoffrey, he would not be the only one armed. But acquiring a blade from the armory would raise suspicions. She glanced around the kitchen and spied a fine filet knife. The cook was preparing game and birds, so there was no need for a fish blade. Carefully, she slipped it and its sheath to her side as the cook busied herself, and she trod quietly out.
Chapter Twenty-One
After leading two ponies from behind the midwife’s empty hut later that evening, Rypan handed Ediva their reins. With a shy smile, he accepted her thank you gift of the large pastry filled with sweetmeats that she’d ordered sent to her solar earlier.
With Geoffrey, Ediva had been able to slip out of the bailey. Her steward’s comings and goings had long been ignored by the Norman guards. So the steward and his slight companion dressed in old braes and tunic would hardly warrant a second glance. Many would think she was Rypan.
Ediva allowed the boy to help her mount, and once she was seated, Geoffrey handed her the plain sack that held her treasures. Swallowing her apprehension, she nodded to him.
The scents of roasting meats drifted over from the keep now mixed with an unpleasant smell. She sniffed the air, but when she couldn’t immediately identify it, she curtailed the thought. She had no time to waste with trivialities.
Looking down at Rypan, she said, “Stay until we return.”
He nodded, and she spurred her pony into an ungai
nly trot northward.
The sun had set, but ’twas not yet night. They trotted along, Ediva aware that the last time she was on this road was for her first nuptials, five years ago. She hoped that her memory of the distance was still intact.
Ahead trees closed in on them, blocking the rising moon from lighting the path. She thought of Adrien, her last words to him wishing him a good night.
Lord, be with me.
The nag beneath her sensed her apprehension and slowed. “Nay, old girl,” she said softly, patting the dun-colored neck. “Just a bit longer. I need to do this for Adrien’s sake.”
“Milady?” Geoffrey trotted up to her side.
“Just talking to my pony. How much further is it, do you think?”
“At the end of these trees, I believe.”
Ediva urged her mount on. For your master’s sake, old girl, she thought instead of talking to the mount. We both need to protect him. I fear Margaret is correct when she says I’m falling for him.
The pony returned to a trot and they soon cleared the wooded area. Moonlight bathed the open field, and Ediva dared a glance over her shoulder. The forest behind them lay like a thick, dark blanket. She could no longer see the keep, and Geoffrey had become like a dark, bobbing mound.
Inhaling deeply to steady her nerves, she tried to soothe herself with the clean smell of summer. She needed her wits about her. Ahead, catching the moonlight on its battered front flank, the old watch tower very nearly glowed.
Ediva slowed the nag and pulled alongside a low wall east of the tower. Thankfully, the old boy’s clothes aided her dismount. She set the reins onto the top of the wall and secured them with a rock before freeing her sack from the saddle. Adjusting her belt, she pulled gently on the hilt of the knife secured there to ensure it could be freely released from its scabbard.
Lord, protect me.
By now, Geoffrey had dismounted. He said nothing, but Ediva could feel the tension in him.
She found the broken doorway in the back, well-shadowed by the position of the moon. Pausing, she strained to hear something, anything, but only silence answered. Had something happened to keep the man away? Or did he lay in wait for her? She turned to Geoffrey. “Stay here.”
“Allow me to go first, milady!” he whispered back.
“Nay, ’tis my duty.”
She stepped inside the door as soundlessly as she could. Chips of broken wall crunched under her foot, causing her to stall her footsteps and hold her breath.
Nothing happened. No movement, no scurrying of vermin to warn her assailant.
She slipped further inside. The bottom floor was overgrown with decades of debris. Moonlight filtered down, hitting a sapling that had taken root in the center of the main floor. To her right stood a flight of narrow stairs.
Climbing softly, she shifted her sack to her left hand and eased the knife out of its sheath with her right. She passed a slit window. Moonlight glinted onto the blade for a lightning-flash moment. She tried to take each tread as silently as possible, but her clothes remained determined to rustle loudly.
So she continued her climb.
* * *
Adrien scanned the hall, a well-pleased smile growing on his face at the incredible happiness around him. ’Twas good to see families reunited. Aye, the villagers weren’t overly happy to share this day with Norman soldiers, but they set aside the animosity for one evening. Eudo’s few men were well-behaved, and the sergeant was wise enough to see the need for good relations. All was pleasant.
Only Ediva’s absence marred the occasion. She’d said she was tired and that the day had been too much for her. Mayhap she didn’t find anything worth celebrating.
Why would she? The missive Eudo sent had carried bad news. Even he found himself regretting that he would have to go to Ely. Hereward the Wake’s return to fight for his country was inevitable, so therefore was the battle at Ely. But at the same time, Ediva’s concern touched him deeply.
Adrien stood. The soldiers, catching their baron rising, also rose, as did the villagers. “Enjoy your night,” he called out to them and headed for the door.
He turned for one last look at the revelry. The dais was empty. Where was the chaplain? Had he slipped out during Ediva’s more obvious exit? Mayhap he’d also grown tired as he was no longer a young man.
Spying Ediva’s maid, he motioned to her. She’d been chatting with several maidens but now hurried over. “You followed your mistress upstairs, didn’t you?”
“Aye, my lord.” She paused before adding, “But she dismissed me so I could return.”
“Are they relatives, the ones you were speaking with?”
“Nay, these women are good friends.” She shook her head. “I have no family here. My sisters serve in Lady Ediva’s family home.”
With a frown, Adrien left the hall. The festivities weren’t the same without Ediva, but unlike Margaret, he found he could not celebrate without his family. Namely, his wife.
* * *
The top of the tower had long since collapsed, taking the ceiling of the upper floor with it. Now exposed, the second floor filled the task of look off. Ediva picked her way over the rubble toward the edge, hoping to see her attacker before he arrived. A soft breeze rustled some tall weeds growing within the mess around her. Moonlight washed the floor in a pale yellow, except where the wall had only partially collapsed. She waited. But no one came. Was he already near, waiting for her?
Her patience eroded, she stepped further away from the stairs with careful movements, half afraid the old floor would give way. But it seemed sturdy enough. With a deep breath, she called out, “This is Lady Ediva. I want to talk to you. Show yourself. I know you’re here.”
A bat darted by, startling her. With her breath still tight in her lungs, she held herself rigid.
When she could stand still no longer, she set down the sack and sheathed the knife she’d gripped so tightly that it hurt her hand. She stepped into the center of the exposed room.
“You shouldn’t have bothered bringing your treasures, my lady. I have no need of them.”
* * *
Not yet ready to retire, Adrien headed for the parapet. He faced the south, staring down at the bailey. One guard patrolled the battlement, his form clear in the bright moonlight. Another, merely a shadow now, stood sentry at the gate.
To his left, the village lay quiet. Only a few had retired from the feast, mostly those with young children who would be impossible tomorrow if they had their sleep disrupted.
Adrien leaned forward, his attention caught by something.
A slight figure skulked about the midwife’s house.
Who was it? Eudo had added a postscript to his disconcerting letter, the one that mentioned he had found a young woman with birthing knowledge and planned to send her. Geoffrey had no claim to his mother’s house, as it was leased from the king. The new midwife could have it. It should be empty.
So who was that down there now? He peered hard, but the hut sat in the keep’s shadow, and the figure had long disappeared around the far side. He considered investigating for himself, but the urge to see his wife right away won out.
Adrien turned and reentered the keep, pausing at the long corridor that led to Ediva’s solar. He needed to talk to her. He took a single step down the corridor but stopped. What would he say? That he didn’t really want to fight now? Nay, but being here, being close to Ediva, was becoming a lure like no other.
He wanted to tell her how much he cared, but hadn’t he already proved he was an idiot when it came to speaking? Hadn’t he already called her old like some battered pot and told her to prepare to be pruned like a bramble bush?
Nay, first he needed to sort out his feelings before he stumbled over words trying to express them. He headed back the way he came. And while weighing and measuring
his thoughts, he would use the time to confront whoever it was sneaking about the midwife’s house.
* * *
The voice had come from behind. Ediva spun. Standing in the shadow of the only remaining wall was a man.
He stepped forward and picked up the sack she’d set down. “Do you think that I came here seeking jewels and fine cloth?” His voice bore a familiar hitch.
“Nay. But what you have demanded, I cannot give. I want you gone from my estates. This would ease your passage.”
“Your estates?” his cracking voice mocked her. “The land is now King William’s, not yours.”
She slowly reached across her body to the scabbard.
“Nay!”
She stilled her hand. The voice, not as sharp and tight as she remembered, was faintly familiar. Yet different. As was the movement of this man. Had the darkness of the stairwell painted a different picture of him in her mind?
She swallowed. Her assailant stood there, ready...but for what? Some sign of acknowledgment or recognition?
The scent carried to her by the soft wind was more familiar than his shape. The sharp, pungent odor her assailant wore.
Stripped of other smells, the air carried the scent freely.
She knew that odor well, from more than just her attacks. ’Twas the scent near the midwife’s house. But ’twere other times she’d smelled it. Why could she not recall those instances?
“Drop your blade, Ediva. Slowly.” Her Christian name carried easily on his tongue, similar to when he’d spoken it in a hoarse voice. But it was so curiously familiar.
She stayed still, her hands remaining at her sides. “Nay, I will not drop it.”
The screech of unsheathing sword rent the night air. A Saxon blade reached into the space between them.
Her assailant stepped closer, forcing her to retreat. The wooden floor beneath her gave slightly like a wet fen. Dirt had accumulated, capturing seeds that had sprouted to hold more water and rot the wood planks further.
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