Boadicea's Legacy

by Traci E Hall

  Ela shook off the foreboding and went inside to sort furniture.

  She was pulling out a three-legged stool when she heard a voice. Find Boadicea’s spear.

  But where is it?

  You have it. You must hide it before the enemies of Britain steal it.

  Who?

  France. King Philippe and Arthur. Arthur must not have the throne.

  Ela thought back to the Earl of Norfolk’s comments. Would he support Arthur against John as king? She rubbed the chills from her arms. She’d wondered what could happen to break the union of love between her and Os.

  It had happened before.

  He’d believed the Romans would win.

  What if this time he chose his liege? Against England’s rightful king? She dropped to her knees in her fear. Are we destined to disappoint one another forever?

  This is your last chance.

  “This is the tower. What is it? Three miles from the keep? No wonder we didn’t see it. By God’s bones, there’s the main road!” Os rubbed his chin. “I hadn’t realized we were so lost.”

  He wouldn’t think about the old man in the keep, either, or where he’d disappeared to.

  Not that he was afraid. But it was hard to protect his wife against things he didn’t understand.

  “Some tower. Burnt almost to the ground, except for that one side wall,” Warin pointed to the jagged black wood. “Looks like his men lived in these huts—hardly better than tents.”

  Os studied the haphazard housing. “He wasn’t here long. Looks like he wasn’t planning to stay either.” He probably thought to move into—or take over—Montehue Manor.

  His wife had no idea how close her impetuous nature had come to ruining the one thing she loved most—her family. Her plan to marry Thomas to keep her family safe from King John’s avarice was an emotional leap that would have landed her directly in the bowels of hell.

  I saved her from you, you sodding bastard. He grinned at the charred shell of tower. Thomas de Havel had played on Ela’s tender heartstrings. No doubt Lady Steffen had researched for vacant properties by charming a clerk—then she’d studied who lived in the area and found that the Montehues had an unmarried daughter and were vocal against John in their support of Richard. It would have given her, and Thomas, leverage.

  Os shook his head.

  It wasn’t that difficult to fool unsuspecting people with good natures.

  But Os suspected everybody. And from what information he’d gleaned, John wasn’t overly fond of his dead brother Geoffrey’s bastard, Thomas. Os almost felt sorry for the rotten cur, imagining the reception he’d get upon arrival in France. John might just take his head off and toss it to the wolves.

  Who would know? And who would care?

  “What are you thinking, Os?” Warin punched him in the arm. “You looked ready to kill.”

  “I swore I was tired of battle, but if Thomas de Havel ever sets one foot on this land again, I will gladly run him through. Now,” Os exhaled, then marched across to the huts. “We will tear these down and build better, closer to the keep. I want the tower razed flat to the ground and the road to the keep cleared. I will make a sign. Edyvean.” He rubbed his hands together.

  Warin slapped him on the back. “We’ll get to it,” he said. “But we’ll need more men.”

  “Aye. Where to start? We are secluded here.” Os gestured to the open fields.

  “I’ll take one of the new knights, and we’ll find a village or town. We’ll put out the word.”

  “Bless you, Warin. There is so much to do, ‘tis hard to think.”

  “Where are ye goin’?” St. Germaine asked. His muscled bulk blocked the sun.

  “Warin is going to try and find us men. We’ll need many hands to get this home self-sufficient. I haven’t even thought about food.” Os rubbed at the tension between his brows, but it didn’t work the same as when Ela touched him there.

  Or anywhere.

  “I’ll go too.”

  “Leave Albric then, so that I have at least one trained knight, eh?” Os leaned down and picked up a handful of soil. Ela was right—there was power in the earth. Even he could feel it.

  Chapter

  Twenty-One

  The morning sun shining in through her window roused Ela from the comfort of her large feather bed. She sat up and plumped her pillows, stretching from her toes to her neck. Had it already been two weeks since they’d arrived? Where had the time gone?

  She’d made love with her husband, learned to cook something besides pottage, and hired servants. Wiggling her toes, she’d never dreamed she’d be so happy as lady of the keep. It helped that her husband encouraged her outdoor activities too—like archery practice. She’d shown Albric how to improve his knife toss. Her greatest failure was the herb garden.

  Her parents had already been to visit twice, each time bringing more things that would make her house a home. They’d even brought Bertha, which made Henry very happy. Ela glanced over at the tapestry hanging on the wall—Boadicea and her daughters. In the picture, Boadicea was carrying the spear and wearing the gold torc from Ela’s dream.

  She whistled to herself, recalling the apprehension and pride she’d felt as her parents rode down the newly raked road leading to Edyvean, pulling a wagon behind them. She and Os had met them at the steps of the keep, her toe tapping nervously while Os rubbed his stress furrow. “Will your parents forgive me for marrying you without their consent?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, her fingers crossed in hope.

  Her mother’s posture was perfect, her red hair barely peeping beneath the fashionable hat she wore. Her father’s wild blond mane had more gray in it.

  They were both fine.

  She’d burst into tears, and her mother joined her, until soon everyone was hugging and crying and laughing all at once. Her father had blustered and clapped Os a lot on the back. “Anybody would be better than Thomas, but I rather like you.”

  “Did you find the spear?” Deirdre had asked, her hands clasped with Ela’s.

  “Nay, but I met an Iceni seeress who saw my dreams.”

  “What did she look like? Did she have tattoos and bones in her hair?” Deirdre’s green eyes sparkled at the thought.

  “No. I was disappointed too. But Kailyn is lovely. She explained that whoever holds Andraste’s spear—”

  “Who the hell is Andraste?” Robert had tossed his hands to the side, the way he did when he was exasperated. “Never heard of her.”

  “Andraste is an ancient British goddess of war—it was who Boadicea prayed to. Human sacrifices.” Ela smiled as she remembered her father turning pale.

  “This spear is very powerful, and whoever holds it in battle will win.” She’d taken Os’s hand in hers, deciding not to tell the story of how he had lost the battle for Britain a millennia ago. He’d thanked her for her discretion after her parents had gone home—very nicely. She hummed.

  The door to her chamber opened, and Os stalked in, his dark blond hair streaked with gold from his hours outdoors. “And what are you humming about? Lazybones—I’ve been up and working since dawn.”

  Os jumped on the bed and kissed her bare shoulder.

  “You’ve been working hard, and I’ve been dreaming the morning away.”

  He took a red curl and wrapped it around his finger, laying his head across her belly. She stroked his hair and smiled. “Dreaming of what the keep will be like with the sound of children running through it.”

  “That will be nice … Ela?”

  He looked appalled and excited and terrified all at the same time.

  “Aye, Osbert?”

  He sat up and pointed at her belly. “Why didn’t you say something? I could have squashed it!”

  Ela grabbed a pillow and smashed him in the chest. “Really, Os. There are three.”

  He scooted backward so fast he fell of the bed.

  “Os?” She leaned over, but he was in a daze, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling.r />
  “Triplets? How can you know?”

  She shrugged. “I just do.”

  “Girls? Boys?” His voice was a croak.

  “That I don’t know. We will have to be surprised, I suppose.” She looked down at her flat stomach.

  He looked up, his eyes caught at her breasts. “Oh God, I am lusting after a pregnant woman.”

  She teasingly thrust her chest out. “I should hope so! Otherwise it will be a very long nine months.”

  Os groaned in defeat. “I came to tell you that we have a visitor. But five minutes more won’t hurt, will it? Let’s celebrate your fertility.”

  Ela clasped his buttocks as he mounted her eager body. “And yours, my lord. Triplets.”

  “I command you not to say another word.” He kissed her so deeply that she couldn’t have spoken if she tried.

  Os waited for Ela to finish washing and dressing, his mind a jumble of emotion. His lady wife made him feel, whether he wanted to or not. Triplets, by God—he’d need to double the guards posted at each of the gates.

  They walked down to meet their guest together. “You don’t know who this is?” Ela asked in a whisper.

  He shook his head, the image of a man in perfect control. “But I imagine our neighbors are curious as to who lives here now. The trees are trimmed, the roads raked, the fences around the fields are being repaired.”

  “No more burning towers or mercenaries roaming the villages.”

  “Aye, they’ve probably come to thank us.” Os stepped into the hall. “Welcome to Edyvean.”

  The man stood. Of average height, with brown clipped hair and a neat appearance, he looked like a man of the courts.

  His gut tightened. Hadn’t things been going too well? He knew better than to accept happiness at face value.

  “Edyvean, you are calling it? My client would disagree. He wants to know what you are doing in his home. I am Mr. Lloyd, from Lloyd’s in London.”

  Ela gasped and stepped forward, but Os held her back with a cautionary hand on her arm.

  “I have documents transferring the property to me, signed and filed with the courts.” Osbert kept his voice courteous.

  “Oh? Who signed them?” The man’s attitude seemed to deflate a small bit.

  “The Earl of Norfolk, High Steward of England. My liege.” Osbert remained calm. He took in the sweat dotting the man’s forehead as he reached into a satchel and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “There must be some mistake … I have the original documents granting one Thomas de Havel this keep and the fifty acres surrounding it.”

  “When were yours dated?” Os felt the strain along his shoulders.

  “February of this year.”

  “Mine are dated two weeks ago. As the newest documents, they are the ones that count.” He wouldn’t lose his home, not now when he finally had one.

  Mr. Lloyd shuffled his documents. “I see. If I could read the claim transfer, my lord? Then I can tell my client that he has no further business here.”

  “For certes.” Os walked to a locked desk, pulled the key from a string around his neck, and opened it. He passed the bundle of papers from the earl over to Ela. “Would you find what the man wants, please?”

  He kept his gaze on Mr. Lloyd. He wouldn’t trust an associate of de Havel. “Take a seat. I see that Bertha has already brought you something to drink.” Os accepted the sheet of paper Ela handed him, noting the white lines around her mouth.

  “It will be fine,” he whispered before sitting down opposite Mr. Lloyd. He handed over the document.

  The man’s hands shook as he read the paper slowly—almost desperately. “These are just as you said, legal and binding.”

  Os inwardly sighed with relief.

  “Why are you afraid?” Ela asked the question Os had been wondering for himself. He thought he knew the answer but waited to see if the man would confirm it.

  “I’m not afraid,” he said with a squeaking laugh.

  “Oh?” Ela took a seat next to Os. “Mayhap you should be.”

  Mr. Lloyd’s eyes widened. “Why would you say that?” The man reached for his drink, but his hand was shaking too hard to pick the mug up without spilling it.

  “Is Thomas holding information to threaten you?” Ela reached over and touched the man’s knee. His trembling stopped.

  “Aye.”

  “He did that once to me. It is not a good feeling. Tell us what he really wants, and we can offer you some sort of protection. My husband is very good at protecting.”

  Did he detect a slight jab in that compliment?

  “I’ll need to know everything.” Os glowered at the man who wiped his brow and started talking.

  “Thomas approached me in London. He was setting sail for France but wanted to ensure that he had a place to come home to.”

  Mr. Lloyd took a deep breath and continued. While Ela listened with compassion, Os noted the ease in which the man slipped into telling the story. As if it were just that. A story.

  By the end of the sad tale, Os gave the man a coin and sent him on his way.

  “Why didn’t you offer him hospitality? He could easily have stayed here.”

  “He was lying.”

  “Oh!” Her mouth turned downward with disapproval. “You always think people are lying—he was being used, just as Thomas used me.”

  “You think with your emotions. You didn’t notice how relieved he was to leave. Mr. Lloyd had played his part.”

  Ela tilted her chin, her green eyes gleaming. “What do you mean?”

  “Thomas never went to France.” Os crossed his arms, forming a plan. He’d man the palisades with the fifteen knights he now had in the house and—

  “Excuse me? Mr. Honorable? Mr. Suspicious? Mayhap I am the naïve one, for certes, I never thought to suspect that I married a spy.” She stomped her foot to the ground and threw the letter from the earl after it. “Pox on you and your honor, Osbert.”

  “Ela, wait—I can explain.” He reached out for her, but she smacked his hand away.

  “Don’t even think about talking of trust and love to me. Liar.”

  “I should have told you,” he called after her retreating back.

  “Told her what, Os?” Albric, St. Germaine, and Warin stood in the great hall. Albric added, “Who was that gent who just left as if his arse was on fire?”

  “Thomas de Havel is toying with us.” Os turned his back on his wife, angry that she hadn’t given him the chance to explain. Angry that he’d agreed to act in secret for his liege. Angry at being caught as the liar she accused him of being.

  He was well and truly pissed off.

  “Warin, those new men you hired, how are they with their sword arms? St. Germaine, we will need to double the guard at the gatehouse—both entrances. Damn that man. Albric, every one of those knights better be armed for battle and at the ready. I will not let that bastard catch me unaware.”

  Os grabbed his sword and stormed out of the keep, determined to show the knights how fighting was done.

  Ela cried. Because she was angry. Furious that she’d married a man who could hide his feelings so easily. What other secrets did he have? A spy. For pity’s sake. She remembered wondering what he’d meant when he’d called himself the earl’s man of business. Obviously that was a code phrase for spying arsewipe.

  Now that she knew, well, he would find his wife not as obedient and docile as before. She came from a long line of women who would not be taken for granted. Ela crossed over to the tapestry, tracing the chariot and the figures that would have been her and Diyani. Boadicea.

  It amazed her that the curse had lasted through the family history but the spear and the torc had not.

  “Diyani, what happened to you?” She touched a kiss to her finger and pressed it to the figure on horseback. “Do you have the spear that everyone is looking for?”

  Ela remembered her dream, recalled how she’d crawled through the dead to reach Andraste’s spear. But what had happened after that?

>   If Kailyn were here, then she would ask to be put in a trance again—for answers, once and for all.

  She was a healer. She knew about herbs. She’d smelled the valerian in the tea. Could she do it herself? Force a dream?

  The old man had said she had the spear. She’d searched, but had come up with nothing. She’d asked her mother to check the bed frame at home, as well as the one in Gram’s old room. Nothing.

  The voice, Boadicea, demanded that she find it before her enemy did. If Osbert was right—and he usually was—then Thomas de Havel would be on his way here. Lady Steffen had asked about the spear. What if Thomas thought to bring it to King John?

  Or worse?

  What if Thomas thought to bring it to Arthur? He and Arthur shared a father—Geoffrey. What if they joined forces against the king?

  She shivered with revulsion. If Thomas was on his way, then she had better try to dream seek for herself—the fate of England could be at stake.

  Because she was pregnant, she lightened the amount of valerian in the infusion. Bertha agreed to sit and watch Ela while she slept. “I don’t think anything bad will happen, but ‘tis best to be prepared. Remember everything I say, Bertha, do you understand?”

  Her maid gave a frightened nod. “Why can’t ye wait and do this when your mam is here?”

  “Osbert thinks Thomas de Havel is a danger to us. Now. We must have the spear—to hide it and make sure he doesn’t ever find it.” Protect England.

  “Aye. I’m ready then, my lady.” She sat on a chair, blocking the door.

  Ela lay back on the bed and sipped the tea until it was gone. She waited for the calming effects to come over her, surprised at how fast she was pulled under.

  Or mayhap Boadicea was that impatient.

  Ana grabbed the spear, and she felt Andraste’s power pour through her body and spirit. Her wounds healed, but she would never grow her fingers back.

  She refused to think about her lover or that she wouldn’t be able to give him the proper burial he deserved. He was a good man, honorable in his way, until the end. He should have believed in me, Ana thought bitterly. I could have saved us all.

  She forced her way to the rear, where the Romans had massacred children, women, and the injured. Revenge would be bitter. She found her mother’s chariot, empty. There was no sign of Rondel or Diyani or Boadicea.