“Who was he?” Jobert asked.
“One of the herdsmen, He does not live in the village.”
Jobert drew nearer. “The man seems brawny and strong. We could use men like that when we begin work on the curtain wall next spring.”
“I don’t know if he would be willing to serve you,” Edeva said breathlessly. “I think he would rather live in poverty in the forest than work for a Norman.”
“A pity. Men like him will find that there is no place for them in William’s England.”
Jobert’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact. Edeva could not tell if he believed her explanation or not.
“Come to the hall. You have medicine to make.”
They went to the manor hall, and Edeva stopped briefly to check on the injured women. Edwina was sitting up, eating heartily, and Edeva spared no more concern for her. But Wulfget had worsened. Her face was paler, her breathing more erratic. “Did you bring her something?” Beornflaed asked.
“Aye, but I must prepare it first. Fetch me some water and put it to boil over the fire. I will go upstairs and find some other things to mix in the brew.”
She hurried up the stairs. Thankfully, her mother had taught her something of herbal lore, and she knew how to steep thyme leaves to soothe a cough. And mayhaps there was some poppy juice left, to ease Wulfget’s pain. She would have to be careful of the dosage. Wulfget’s lungs were badly damaged. If she lay too still, she would be more like to succumb to a fever and die from that.
Edeva used the taper she had taken from the hall to light the lamp in the bedchamber, and then went to the storage chests where her mother kept her supplies. Finding the thyme, she wrapped a portion in a cloth to carry downstairs, and then remembered the herb she’d brought from the miller’s house.
She opened the small sack and spilled a little of the contents in her hand, examining it by firelight. ’Twas difficult to discern one kind of seed from another, but the color and scent of these aroused a memory.
Caraway seeds, she decided. A remedy for griping bowels as well as impotence. She recalled a peddler trying to sell the herb to her mother, jesting with her.
Suddenly Edeva knew the reason for the miller’s foolish actions. He dreaded losing his fair young wife to a more virile man. He had even sought out an aphrodisiac to aid him.
Edeva stared at the caraway, trying to decide what to do with it. No need to dose the Norman, for certes. The very thought was ridiculous. As if he was not as potent as a prize stallion already! But she could not bring herself to discard the seeds. Besides its medicinal uses, caraway was said to be good seasoning for breads and pastries.
Crossing to one of the chests, she stashed the bag inside. If the Norman checked to see that she had made use of the medicine they had gone to so much trouble to procure, she would tell him that it did not take much to make the salve.
Edeva went downstairs and brewed a tea for Wulfget over the fire. She added a bit of poppy juice and swirled it around before offering the drink to the invalid.
Wulfget drank haltingly, gasping between swallows.
Then her eyes closed and she fell back, still breathing in uneven rasps.
Edeva watched her a moment, frowning. The thought that the young woman might die brought her guilt rushing back. She’d promised to look after Wulfget. But how was she to guess the danger would come not from the Norman knights, but her own kinsmen?
Anger quickly replaced Edeva’s worry. Her brothers had never considered that innocent people, Saxons, might die in the fire!
“How fares she?”
Edeva looked up to see the Norman standing near. “I do not like the sound of her breathing. If she contracts a fever, there will be little I can do.”
“The villagers have left. I was surprised at their numbers. I do not recall so many joining us in the hall.”
Edeva said nothing. Though relieved that her brothers and the other men had gone peacefully, she was unsettled by the thought the Norman had guessed their scheme.
“You look tired, Lady Edeva,” he said. “Mayhaps you should retire.”
She looked at him, wondering if he meant to join her. Edeva forced her dry mouth to form the words, “Do you come?”
Something flickered in his eyes, then he said, “Mayhaps later. I have things to attend to.”
* * *
He lay in the silence of the night, wide awake. The bench beneath him seemed unbearably hard. He thought of the comfortable bed in the chamber upstairs. As lord, he had every right to sleep there—as well as avail himself of the other pleasures Oxbury offered.
’Twas ridiculous to deny himself. The woman was clearly willing, even eager, to bed him. If it turned out she was a deceitful, scheming bitch, he would still have had his pleasure of her.
Why shouldn’t he climb the stairs and crawl into the soft, warm bed? Relieve his burning lust between Edeva’s silken thighs?
The thought made a shiver of yearning vibrate through him.
Which was why he did not do it. Because he wanted her far too badly. He could not be sure that in the act of joining their bodies, he did not lose what little objectivity and reason he had left.
Alan argued that she was a traitor. Jobert’s instincts told him that she was not. But those instincts might be hopelessly skewed by his feelings for the woman. If he bedded her, knew the wonder of her compliant, passionate response, he would be even more lost.
He wanted to trust her, ached to trust her. But to do so would be madness. His grip upon Oxbury remained tenuous. Tonight, they had come within a hairsbreadth of attack.
He knew it. Felt it in his very bones. The rebels had been inside the palisade. He had seen Edeva talking to one of them. A tall, well-made Saxon. Her lover?
Jealousy heated his blood.
Nay, Edeva had been a virgin when he took her. If she’d had a fondness for one of her father’s warriors, she’d not acted upon it.
Jobert recalled the brief scene in his mind. Although he had not understood their words, he believed that Edeva and the Saxon had been arguing. There was tension in their bodies, an edge to their lowered voices. Could it be that Edeva had persuaded the rebels not to attack? That she had been trying to help him?
His heart favored this explanation. His weak, blind, foolish heart.
But how could he trust that part of himself? His devotion to Damaris had nearly cost him his life, had caused him years of disquiet and unhappiness. ’Twas dangerous to care for a woman.
And all the more dangerous if the object of a man’s affections was not an unattainable Norman maiden, but a passionate, fiery hellcat whose people were his deadly enemies!
Edeva was no meek creature to be forced into accepting the will of her conqueror. She would do what she believed right, and damn the consequences. If only he had convinced her that supporting him was the wisest course. She obviously cared deeply for Oxbury and its people. If he could make her understand that he had Oxbury’s best interests in mind, she might decide to uphold his authority.
But that was what he had been trying to do, and still he was not sure of her. He could not forget she had ties to some of the rebels—brothers, uncles, cousins. There was always the worry those bonds of kinship were stronger than her concern for Oxbury.
Jobert shifted on the bench as his tired muscles protested. He could not endure this self-denial and doubt much longer. He must find a way to determine Edeva’s loyalties or he would lose his mind.
He turned over again, then forced himself to close his eyes and seek a few hours of sleep before dawn.
TWELVE
Edeva awoke to the sound of banging and crashing. The realization that they were tearing down the remains of the kitchen shed spurred her to get out of bed and dress.
’Twas barely dawn. Only the faintest light seeped through the crack between the shutters. The Norman was up and ordering his men very early, especially considering all the activity of the night before. Mayhaps he had not slept at all. Certainly, he had not joined
her in the bedchamber.
Why not, after his tantalizing words? Did he think her a traitor, and was loath to be near her because of it? If only he had not seen her talking to Godric. She sensed discovering her in the company of a Saxon had made Brevrienne suspicious.
But was that all it was? Doubts suddenly crowded her mind. ’Twas foolish to assume the Norman cared for her, or even desired her. His passionate words might have been a means of getting her to let down her guard so she would reveal her involvement with the rebels. Once he was satisfied she did not plot against him, there had been no reason for him to follow through on his whispered promises.
A stab of anguish went through her. The Norman might have no interest in bedding her at all. He’d used the threat of rape to manipulate her in the beginning, but since then, he’d made no advances except when he wanted something of her—her aid in running the manor, her help in winning the support of the people of Oxbury, and finally, last night, her promise not to betray him to the rebels.
The wretched truth stared Edeva in the face. Golde had said Brevrienne meant to wed some elegant Norman woman. If he had a betrothed to take his name and bear his children, and Golde to ease his lust, he really had no use for her, except to manage his household and smooth his way with the servants and villagers.
Edeva’s stomach felt queasy as she began to comb the tangles out of her hair. Her brothers had called her an “overtall, unfeminine wench.” They said that no man would want her, except for her rich dowry. Now her dowry was gone. The Norman already possessed her lands. He did not need the bride who went with them.
She fought her growing anger and despair. The Norman had bedded her once, and to her mind at least, it seemed he had enjoyed it. He had said fond words to her on several occasions, and sometimes the look in his eyes seemed genuinely admiring. Mayhaps he did care for her a little.
’Twas not enough!
The vehemence of the thought startled Edeva. How had she come to hunger so terribly for her enemy’s regard?
She jerked the comb through her hair a final time, and then rapidly began to plait it. ’Twas witless to worry about these things. She had much more serious problems to occupy her. There was Wulfget to tend... rebuilding the kitchen shed... getting the manor back to normal...
She forced her mind to concentrate on the multitude of duties awaiting her. With a twist of a worn ribbon, she fastened the braid, and then left the bedchamber.
As soon as Edeva entered the hall, Beornflaed approached her, looking grim. Wulfget had worsened. Beornflaed feared she now had a fever.
The young woman’s forehead did feel warm to the touch, and Edeva advised Beornflaed to steep some willow bark and give the infusion to the injured woman. She would see about having the healer come if Wulfget did not improve.
Edeva left the hall, wondering if she should wait to fetch the healer, Helwenna. It would require another journey to the village, and Edeva was not certain how the Norman would react to the idea. He might wonder why she did not mention the healer the night before, but instead insisted on getting the herb from the miller’s house. In truth, Edeva simply had not thought of fetching Helwenna. In her desperation to get the Norman out of the palisade, she had seized upon the first excuse that came to her.
Edeva crossed the yard to where the knights and workmen were demolishing the black skeleton of the kitchen. She gained their attention, then warned them not to drag everything away as refuse, but to search for things that might be salvaged and reused. Pottery, stone and metal objects did not burn and could be cleaned up and refurbished. She especially admonished them to be on the watch for the hearthstone, the walls of the bread oven, even bits of wooden utensils that might not have been ruined.
As usual, she had to repeat her instructions in both Saxon and Norman French so both groups of workers could understand her. As the men nodded and expressed their consent, Edeva wondered where Brevrienne was. The restoration of the kitchen was crucial to the well-being of the manor. Why wasn’t he supervising the job more closely?
* * *
“I tell you, the fire was set deliberately, and some of the Saxons know who did it,” Alan said. “Mayhaps they would tell us if the right sort of pressure was applied.”
“You mean torture?”
Alan shrugged. “Or even the threat of it. Most servants and peasants are weak-willed, full of fear and anxiety. ’Tis only a matter of intimidating them, and I believe they would give up the rebels.”
Jobert fingered the pommel of his sword and stared at the rows of mail shirts and helmets hung on pegs on the stable wall. He had agreed to join Alan here to talk privately about the events of the night before.
“What good would it do if you did get them to speak?” he asked. “If they told us the name of the man or men who set the fire, we would still have to find them. And you know my feelings about scrambling around in the woods searching for the rebels’ camp. ’Twould be pure foolishness.”
“How can you be so certain that it was one of the rebels? One of the workmen or the villagers could have set the fire.”
“Because I believe the rebels were inside the palisade yesterday.”
“One or two, mayhaps,” Alan said doubtfully.
“Not one or two. The whole lot of them.”
“But how?”
“Can you discern the difference between a village sokeman and one of the old thegn’s warriors?” Jobert shook his head. “They were here. I noted a large discrepancy between the number of Saxons who came in the gate and those who joined us in the hall. The enemy was within our very walls. They set the fire.”
“But why didn’t they attack?” Alan demanded.
Jobert stroked his whisker-roughened jaw. “I don’t know. I pondered the matter for most of the night, but could come upon no explanation except that Edeva convinced them to leave peaceably.”
“Edeva?” Alan snorted. “Why would she miss a chance to rid her home of us hated Normans?”
“She cares for the welfare of her people, and she must realize that an armed conflict inside the palisade would be disastrous.”
“She cares for her people, yea, but she also cares for the cause of the rebels. The Saxon wench obviously has ties to some of them. I vow she will not forget her kin!”
Jobert sighed, acknowledging the truth of Alan’s words. Despite the angry exchange between Edeva and the Saxon warrior, they clearly knew each other well.
Alan’s voice softened. “’Tis clear you care for her, which is exactly why I question your judgment. Remember, this is not some shy, gentle-hearted maiden like Damaris. When we first encountered her, Lady Edeva appeared as fierce and formidable as any warrior. There is no reason to think her nature has changed.”
“Mayhaps you are right. When I see her dressed in feminine garments...” Or spectacularly naked, the voice in Jobert’s head added, “Then I forget how ruthless and determined she can be.”
Alan nodded. “I tell you, I am wary of Saxon women. Though some of them are fair to look upon, I would not marry one, unless the king himself ordered it. After I make my fortune here, my intention is to return to Lisieux and find a proper Norman wife.”
He had also tried not to entangle himself with a Saxon woman, Jobert thought, but it had not worked. In the beginning, he’d seen Edeva as a means to an end, a way to secure his newly-acquired manor and see that it prospered. But things had changed in the past few weeks. His passion for Edeva had grown, her place in his thoughts expanded until he could barely remember what Damaris had meant to him.
“Have you ever bedded a virgin?” he asked Alan.
Alan shook his head. “Nay, that sort of woman can seldom be had except by marriage, and until now, I’ve not dared hope to wed.”
Jobert stared off into the distance, remembering the incredible experience of making love with Edeva. Was it because she was a maiden that it had seemed so wonderful, so utterly unforgettable?
An alert sounded at the gate, breaking his reverie. Both men reache
d for their swords, then hurried into the yard.
Edeva was in the buttery, trying to figure out what they were going to eat until the bread oven could be rebuilt, when she heard the commotion. She made her way past the precious foodstores and went out, locking the door behind her with the key at her belt.
Anxious thoughts whirled through her mind, mostly concerning her brothers mounting an attack against the palisade in broad daylight. But her worries did not prepare her for the sight of a dozen Normans in full armor riding through the gate.
She shrank back against the sheltering wall of the manor house and watched as Brevrienne went to meet them. He wore no armor, only the tunic and hose she had made him, but he appeared formidable, taller than all the rest of the men, his long hair blowing wildly around his face.
He spoke with the visitors as they dismounted and squires took their horses.
Edeva left her hiding place and hurried to the manor house. In the breathless moments before the visitors entered, she tried to compose herself. Should she greet them as though she were the lady of the household? And how would Brevrienne behave? How would he introduce her?
She waited in the shadows as the knights entered. Brevrienne gestured that the men should seat themselves. Then he called to the women spinning wool by the fire, “Bring us wine.” The Saxon women regarded him with frightened eyes but made no move to obey.
Edeva stepped forward and the Norman saw her. “Ah, Lady Edeva,” he said. “See that refreshments are brought for our guests.”
Edeva tried to get his attention, finally moving to his side. “Milord,” she said. When he looked at her, she bent low to speak in his ear. “I thought the wine was gone.”
“There is another cask in the stables. I had my squire hide it in a recess in the wall behind where the armor is kept. Find Will and have him drag it out for you.”
“What of food? We have no oven and naught but a few loaves of bread left from yesterday.”
“Bring what bread there is, and the remainders of the beef. ’Twill have to do.”
The Conqueror (Hot Knights) Page 13