A creak of protest rose from the floor, and she froze.
She didn’t dare move backward any more.
“Do as I command, Ediva.”
That voice! Who was it? Ediva ducked to the left, but the floor there had softened further. The man ahead of her shook his head. The cowl was thrust too far forward for her to glimpse his face. The moon had reached its peak and shone down from atop, casting the man into shadow.
“Look in the sack. I’m offering you all my riches,” she suggested.
“You think you can buy me off?”
Aye, she thought. She’d been willing to relinquish it all for the chance to save Adrien and begin a proper, loving marriage with him. “Aye. And you’d be a fool to let it go without looking at what’s there.”
“I know what you have, woman! And I know what I want. I want Lord Adrien dead!”
He jerked closer with a groan. His gait was labored.
She stepped to the other side. The floor remained firm beneath her feet, but there was nowhere to go. Ediva feared the wood at the edge had rotted more.
She glanced up at her assailant as he took another awkward, limping step. His voice sounded labored and cracking.
She couldn’t think, but felt realization lay just outside her grasp.
It didn’t matter right now.
Lord, protect me. I know I’m not worthy of Your protection, but I need it now. Show me what to do.
She stood straight. “Who are you? Do you want Adrien dead only because he’s a Norman? Why are you so interested in our lives? We are a small keep in the middle of nowhere!”
“You’re valuable to me, Ediva. That’s why I haven’t killed you yet.”
The Saxon accent chilled her very core. And the words sounded frighteningly familiar, too.
She gasped as realization washed over her. Only one person spoke like that.
But she’d buried Ganute. She’d put his dead body in the cold ground nearly ten months ago.
How could this be?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adrien ordered the gate opened, drawing his sword as he bolted through it. His steps slowed as he approached the village. He heard movement and, oddly, a soft humming.
His blade high, he stepped around the corner of the midwife’s hut. The slight form gasped before opting to take flight.
Adrien acted fast. He caught the dark, baggy clothing with his sword’s tip and lunged forward to imprison his hostage against the daubed wall.
The creature cried out, wiggling so much he nearly ripped his captured shirt. Adrien yanked back his sword. At the same time, he grabbed the youth to shove him against the wall. Dried daub showered down on them.
Adrien turned his hostage into the moonlight.
Rypan! “Hold still, boy!” he ordered, “or you’ll hurt yourself!”
Rypan stilled, though his limbs shook. Adrien’s grip remained tight. “What are you doing here?”
A coarse howl let loose from the boy’s lungs. Impatient, Adrien leaned close to tell him to stop his caterwauling.
Then he sniffed. And sniffed again. What was that smell?
“What do I smell on you?”
Rypan shook with fear. Immediately, Adrien eased up on his grip. What was the use? His English wasn’t good enough for the youth to understand it fully.
Still, he sniffed again, then held the youth back. He stank like the wool covering he’d found in the stairwell.
Tightening his grip on the youth, Adrien dragged him into the bailey and up to the kitchen. He called out for a cook, who was standing in the corridor watching the festivities. The woman was Rypan’s aunt—she would know how to get him his answers. Spying them, she hurried over.
“My lord, has Rypan been bothering you?”
“I found him at the midwife’s house. Ask him what he was doing there.”
Instead, the cook leaned forward to sniff him. She grimaced. “’Twould do no good, milord. He’s been into the midwife’s herbs. He won’t be able to speak for a while.”
“’Tis impossible. Geoffrey brought all the herbs here.”
“Not that one. I won’t have it in my kitchen. It stinks too much. The midwife grew it in her garden but kept it separate.”
“What did she use it for?”
“For the boy.” The cook took the boy’s wrist, allowing Adrien to release his hold on him. With her free hand, she smoothed down Rypan’s clothing and hair, all the while shaking her head. “He’s always been a bit stupid, so his mother had asked the midwife for some herbs to make him smart. The midwife would give him that herb each week.”
“Did it make him smarter?”
The cook shrugged. “It made him mute. I didn’t like that, but it never affected him for too long. Rypan must have taken some, thinking ’twas time for his dose.” She asked her nephew if he took his weekly dose. The boy nodded.
She grimaced. “There you go, my lord. I dare say he misses the midwife. She would feed him right after she dosed him. When that muteness wears off, he’ll be able to talk.” The cook shrugged. “He’s a bit smarter, but his mind still wanders.”
“What causes the smell?”
“’Tis the juice, really. The juice dries up like a ball of dung and smells about the same. The midwife called it stink gum.” She kept on smoothing her nephew’s clothes, all the while looking sadly grim.
“I’ve not heard of it before.”
“Count yourself blessed, then, milord. The midwife said it came from the Far East, grown by Romans ages ago, like it was something better than what we have here.”
“And it makes the boy mute?”
“Aye. Not as bad as when he was younger. He would be mute for several days when he was small, but as he got older, he could talk a bit and sounded normal much sooner. I expect he’s just scared of you. Watch.”
She released the youth and he let out a squall and dashed off. “See?” the cook said with another shrug. “He can speak now, though he will be hoarse. As he gets older, the herb will just change his voice for a short time.” She sniffed the air, and shook her head. “’Twill take all night to clear this air.”
Adrien frowned. “’Twill just change his voice when he’s older?”
“Aye, my lord. ’Tis the effect it has on adults.”
“How does it taste?”
“The midwife claimed it went sweet when fried but I won’t try it. It’s to ease stomach troubles also, so mayhap if we don’t get a midwife, I’ll have to try it out when someone gets sick.”
Adrien pulled a face. The herb would not be used as a poison if ’twere used for stomach troubles.
The cook flapped the front of her apron to force the foul smell out the open door. “I should burn something fatty in the fire.”
With the cook bustling off, Adrien stepped outside. Had Rypan gone to the midwife’s house to get his weekly dose? Although the boy was slightly addled, surely he wouldn’t go in the midst of this reunion, when good food was being offered? The boy liked to eat. Such illogic sat cold and hard in his belly.
The answer lay with Rypan, and Adrien set off to find him, heading first for the stables. The boy was more comfortable with animals than people.
The stables were dark, but outside, attached to the wall, a spark box, left by the chandler, held glowing embers. Adrien lit a tallow lamp and took it inside.
“Rypan? Where are you, boy? I’m not mad at you. I want to talk to you.”
No one moved. His courser and the gift mare were side by side and both snorted at him. He walked down the line of stalls until the roof dipped low. The stalls in the back were reserved for smaller ponies. A quiet rustling alerted Adrien, and he peeked over the half wall with the lamp.
Huddled low, Rypan stared up at him, eyes wide.
/> Adrien opened the stall door, determined not to frighten him further. “Come out, boy,” he said in his quietest, most gentle English. “I won’t hurt you. I just need to talk to you.”
When the boy didn’t move, Adrien hung the lamp on a nearby hook and crouched down beside him. “Are you hungry?”
When the boy nodded, Adrien grimaced. He should have brought some sweetmeat to tempt the youth. “I’ll give you a fine meal if you answer my questions. Would you do that for me?”
The boy nodded again.
“Can you speak?”
There was a short squawking noise, but Adrien could hear the “a bit” in it. “Did you take your dose of herbs tonight?”
Again, there was another short bob of the head.
“Where did you get them?”
“Garden.” The answer was more like a rusty hinge than a spoken word, but Adrien understood it.
“Who else knew of this herb?”
The boy drew up his knees and set his head into them.
Adrien sighed and shifted to sit and lean against the stall door’s jamb. He closed his eyes. Not the most appropriate place for the lord of the keep, but he needed Rypan to trust him.
He opened his eyes and stared at the empty stall, trying to decide what else to ask the boy that wouldn’t close him off any more than he already had. But he was distracted by a sudden realization.
The stall was empty. No mounts were needed tonight; the stables had been full to capacity earlier. Indeed some mounts had been doubled up as the soldiers who’d escorted the tenants home stabled them for the night. So why was this stall empty?
He stood. The nag Ediva had used was gone, as was another pony. He looked at Rypan. “Where are the ponies?”
Rypan looked into the stall and then at Adrien before mumbling something.
“Say it again, boy. Slowly.”
“’Twit milady.”
Adrien blinked. Had he heard right? “With Lady Ediva?”
The boy nodded. Adrien stared at him, feeling his mouth drop open.
“Both ponies? Why? Where did she go?”
Rypan shrugged. He pointed to the north.
Frustration rising in him, Adrien stood. Ediva had been too tired and retired early. She couldn’t have left. “Quand?” he barked at the boy, demanding to know “when” in harsh French.
The boy looked confused. Adrien reached for him, but Rypan ripped past to disappear into the night.
Adrien grabbed the lamp and hurried out, but the bailey was empty. With a growl, he tore into the keep, pushing past several villagers who were exiting the hall and thrusting the lamp at one of the guards.
He took the stairs two at a time as he raced to Ediva’s solar.
He threw open the door and startled the maid who was now lying on her pallet. His first glance was to Ediva’s empty bed. “Where’s your mistress?”
Sitting up, the woman pulled up on her blanket, and gaped at him. She’d added coals to the brazier, and it offered only the thinnest of light to the room.
“Are all the people in this keep addled?” he thundered. “Woman, tell me where Ediva has gone, or I will have you cleaning the stables all winter!”
“I don’t know, milord! She wouldn’t tell me. I think she went to buy off her attacker. The man who wants to start a rebellion!”
“When did she leave?”
“Shortly after she came up here, milord. She talked to Geoffrey about meeting the man at a tower on the road to the abbey.”
“Geoffrey let her go by herself?” But as soon as he spoke, he guessed who the other pony was for. Geoffrey had accompanied her.
Adrien strode out, slammed the door and stormed down the stairs. In his chamber, he lit a lamp and pulled out the map from his trunk.
After spreading on the table, he smacked his forefinger onto the vellum. There, to the north! The main road, where it forked. The symbol of a tower.
Grabbing the map, Adrien rushed into the corridor. Harry was nowhere to be found, so he stalked down to the nearly empty hall. Many of the men who’d returned had left for their huts. Only a few soldiers still enjoyed the evening.
Adrien spied his sergeant. He motioned to him and the young man hurried over.
“Saddle my courser. Take a horse for yourself and one other. Choose your most sober man who is good with a bow. I want you both armed and ready to leave immediately.”
“Has there been an attack, my lord?”
“Lady Ediva has ridden off to confront the man who attacked her.”
The sergeant’s brows shot up in horror as he pivoted sharply to shout at another man. Blood pounded in Adrien’s head as he watched the man leave. He could only hope that Ediva and Geoffrey had just left.
What had they been thinking, going off like a pair of children on a lark?
Adrien did not like the answer forming in his head. Ediva was determined that he not die. So much so, she’d risk her own life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Nay, you cannot be Ganute!”
The man peeled off his cowl, and Ediva gasped in absolute fury. “Olin! How dare you!”
“How dare I?” He took another limping step forward. “You’re the one who allowed that Norman dog to beat me! I should be the master of Dunmow Keep, not him!”
“You’re addled. I’m the mistress, and Saxon law allows me to keep my estate if my husband had no issue.”
His lip curled. “And wasn’t it convenient that Ganute fathered no children?”
“’Twas the Lord’s will.”
He snorted. “It had far more to do with you fighting your place with Ganute than your ‘pious’ prayers.”
Ediva refused to answer. How dare Olin bring up the horror that was her marriage to Ganute? She drew in her breath to calm herself. “My marriage was not your business, fool.”
“You will not address the master of Dunmow in that manner!”
“You’re not the master of Dunmow!” She quickly chose a different tactic. “Olin, I’m offering you riches that nearly match that of the keep. Just look in the sack I’ve brought.”
“I don’t care for them! I want the keep!”
“But the Normans have taken everything! We Saxons have nothing.”
“Idiot woman.” He waved his short sword. “I’ll collect more taxes and give only what I see fit to the king.”
“The records will show what is given.”
Olin laughed. “Have you never heard of lying? And no one will believe the stupid villagers should they complain.”
Ediva bit her lip. “The king will find out!”
“Our keep is one of thousands. ’Tis too expensive to scrutinize all of England. What’s one small keep with a loyal Saxon there? I have already made myself known in London as one who can be trusted.”
She nearly laughed aloud at his boast. The Normans were hardly stupid. And the king, whilst cruel, was no fool. And only a fool would trust Olin. Besides, if anything were to happen to the Norman knight to whom he’d entrusted the keep, William would burn it to the ground before he’d put it in the hands of a Saxon. Olin was deluding himself if he thought otherwise.
Ediva glanced around. What she needed to do was get away. The ground was down too far for her to jump, but she could manage the steps better than the limping Olin.
Limping? Why? His whipping wouldn’t have hurt his legs.
She took a step forward, her mind spinning swiftly. The attack on Adrien? Hadn’t Adrien said that he’d injured the man?
Nay, Olin could never have attacked her, being so injured. He was working with someone—but who? “You are addled, Olin. You blame me for not giving an heir to Ganute, but had it been so, you’d have no claim on Dunmow Keep. What will you do now? Do you plan to kill me?”
<
br /> Olin laughed heartily. She shivered, recalling to her mind how Ganute would sometimes laugh when she cried for mercy. ’Twas the same sound and she hated it.
“I have no intention of killing you. But my plans needed changing after I realized you wouldn’t kill your husband. You’re what will draw him here. I’ll take something special of yours and have it delivered with a note to Adrien. When he comes, I’ll kill him and blame you. And since you have so kindly offered me your jewelry, I’ll have even more money.”
“Your plan will fail.”
“Nay, Adrien will come for his wife.”
“He cares little for me. I’m only part of the property given to him.”
“But as his property, he won’t give you away. He’ll come if only to take back what is his and punish you for your willfulness.”
She grit her teeth. “Nay, he will not!” Adrien’s kindness and respect, and his love for the Lord told her ’twould not be so. And the words he quoted from the Scriptures: A man is to love his wife as Jesus loves the church.
A jot of peace settled into her and blossomed within her very soul at her certainty in her marriage. Ganute held no more power over her—and neither did Olin. She would not let him use her. Which meant that she needed to get away.
At the moment, Ediva took a step forward. “You think you’ve planned this all out, Olin, but look at what I have brought first. ’Twould surprise you, I believe, and you can still walk away a very rich man. All you need to do is look into the sack.”
His greed greater than his desire to berate her, Olin turned. Now was her time to move.
* * *
In the bailey, Adrien found several men mounted, with Harry gripping his courser’s reins firmly, a look of worry haunting his face. Several of the men carried torches. He swelled with pride when he saw both Norman and Saxon faces in the crowd of rescuers.
“Leave all but one torch here,” he told the men. “’Tis best if we don’t give ourselves away.”
The torches were relinquished and the remaining one was extinguished. A young squire fetched a spark box to ignite it later.
Continuing, Adrien said, “The road forks at the tower. We’ll close in from two sides.”
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