The Tarnished Lady

by Sandra Hill

  "When Steven contacts you, you must be within range of Wilfrid or Jeremy so they may signal me and my men. You must obey my orders totally, do you hear me, Eadyth?" Eirik had told her over and over before he left.

  On the third day, Eadyth was so jittery and frustrated she decided she had to do something to keep busy. "We will work on my honey today," she told Bertha and Girta.

  The cook muttered something about the mess she would make of her kitchen, but was silenced by a quick glare from Eadyth. Britta would be unable to help since she was still bedridden, though recovering slowly from her battering. Eadyth instructed Oslac, one of the beekeeping assistants she had brought from Hawks' Lair, to gather as many honeycombs as were ready from her hives. Eirik had forbidden her to go even to the orchard where her hives were located, lest Steven be lurking about.

  When Oslac returned a short time later, pushing his bee-keeping veils back off his face, he brought with him three dozen honeycombs and said there were at least that many more for him to fetch. "It has been way too long, mistress, since we have harvested the honey, though the bees have enjoyed the feast mightily."

  Eadyth nodded, realizing that she had been busy with other things the past few days. She sent Oslac off for more of the honeycombs and made sure the fire was hot enough and all her utensils were set out on the table.

  Girta went to get more pottery containers from the scullery. Bertha wiped the sweat from her forehead with a forearm and grumbled, "Well, best we get this over with."

  A short time later, Eadyth already had the three dozen honeycombs decapped, dripping nectar through the straining cloths near the fire, and Oslac had not yet returned. She fidgeted and glanced impatiently about the kitchen, wanting to complete her work.

  "Wash all the empty combs for me, Bertha," she said and stepped to the doorway leading to the kitchen courtyard.

  Oslac was approaching, carrying a huge armful of the honeycombs in one of her beecatcher boxes—at least six dozen. There must have been many more than he had originally thought. He stopped near the well and laid his box down. At first, Eadyth was puzzled by his behavior, but then she saw him sit down on a boulder and remove his shoe, then shake out several loose stones.

  Smiling, she stepped out into the courtyard, lifting her face to the warmth of the midday sun. She missed being outdoors, working with her bees, being free to ride her horse through the cotters' fields, or go into the markets of Jorvik. She ambled closer to Oslac and remarked, " 'Twould seem our bees have been industrious. We will have a great supply of wax for my candles this year, do you not think?"

  He nodded as he rubbed the bottom of his bruised foot, then replaced his shoe and stood.

  An odd tingling prickled Eadyth's scalp, then raised the fine hair on the back of her neck. It was Oslac's height. She had not realized he was so tall, or that—

  Before she had a chance to assimilate the warning signals, Oslac threw off his beekeeping veils and grabbed her arm in a pincerlike grip. She started to scream, but he pulled her back against his body, one arm wrapped across her chest like an iron bar, the other clamped over her mouth.

  It was Steven of Gravely.

  "You bloody bitch! Where have you hidden John? Oslac says he has not seen him in the keep for days."

  Eadyth twisted her head to peer at Steven's face over her shoulder. He was dragging her toward some bushes where they would be hidden from view.

  Her blood ran cold at the tremendous change in his appearance since they had last met. Although still a handsome man, he had lost much weight and his cheeks were sunken. Illness cast a grayish pallor over his once healthy skin. His bloodshot eyes raked her feverishly, darting about the kitchen courtyard searchingly. There was madness, too, in his wild eyes, and Eadyth suspected that the disease of his male parts had moved to his brain.

  "I asked you a question, bitch," he said and tore a length of fabric off her sleeve, using it to tie a gag around her mouth. He did the same with her other sleeve and bound her hands behind her back and her ankles together. Then he shoved her to her knees and slapped her mightily across the face. "I am going to remove your gag for a moment, and if you dare to cry out, I swear I will slit your bloody throat." He pulled a dagger from his belt and held it to her neck while he untied her gag with the other hand.

  "Where is John?" he asked once again.

  Apparently he already knew that John was not within the keep, thanks to Oslac's treachery. Oslac must be the spy in their midst.

  "In Jorvik," she lied.

  "You cannot hide my son from me, you know. Already Edred has promised him to me in return for my past loyalties. 'Tis only a matter of time."

  "Then why are you here?"

  She saw her mistake when Steven's eyes flashed angrily and he backhanded her across the other cheek. She reeled under the impact and almost fell over, but Steven grabbed her painfully by the neck and held her upright.

  "My grandsire is dying of the wasting disease in Frankland as we speak, Eadyth. He has an aversion to me, for some unfathomable reason, but has agreed to pass his estates on to my heir. If I do not bring my son to him afore his death, all his lands will go to the church. I cannot allow that."

  "Go to your own wife, Steven. Breed sons on her," Eadyth said, unsure if Eirik's tale of Steven's sterility were true.

  At first he appeared about to strike her again, but then lowered his hand. "Did you not know my wife died two sennights ago?" he asked, slitting his red-rimmed eyes slyly. " 'Twas a fearsome stomach ailment... came on Eneda of a sudden... the poor soul." He chortled most unsympathetically and pulled a small vial from his robe, holding it in her face. "She did not suffer much in the end, thanks to this sleeping draught I gave her."

  Eadyth felt a suffocating, squeezing sensation in her chest, and a ripple of fear passed over her body. She knew without being told that the vial held poison which he had administered to his wife. But why?

  He soon answered her question.

  " 'Tis the exact same potion you will be giving to your husband."

  Eadyth inhaled sharply. The man had truly lost his senses. "Why would I do that?"

  "Now that I am free to marry, you must be the same."

  Stark fear, black and deadly as a tidal wave, washed over her, and Eadyth could barely control her tremors. "But you said the Witan will grant you custody. Why would you need me as wife?"

  He sneered at her question but answered anyway. "There are a few on the Witan who will not heed the new king's orders. They believe your husband's claims of paternity... or seek his good favors. In the end, the Witan will grant me custody, you can be sure of that, but time is of the essence. I cannot wait. Quite simply, Eirik must die, and you will perform the deed."

  He jerked her to her feet then. "But first, we go to, Jorvik to gather my son."

  "I think not," a steely voice said behind them.

  Eadyth looked back to see Eirik emerging from the kitchen, sword raised, and a dozen men coming behind him. Others came from the bailey and even more from beyond the orchard.

  Steven tightened his hold on her bound body and held the dagger harder against her throat, drawing blood. Eadyth saw Eirik's eyes rivet angrily on her neck and feared he would act precipitously.

  "John is not here, or in Jorvik. You will never, see him again, Gravely. In truth, you will not live to see another day," Eirik said in a hard, ruthless tone as he advanced slowly.

  Steven laughed harshly. "I think not, you bastard, unless you wish your sweet wife to go to her reward with me." He pressed the knife deeper, and Eadyth felt wet rivulets running down her neck and under her tunic.

  Eirik's thinned lips twitched with tension, and he halted in his progress toward them.

  "A trade then," Eirik offered with obvious reluctance. "Your escape for Eadyth's freedom."

  "You have no bartering power. The bitch goes with me. Methinks you would not risk Eadyth's life, though I fail to see its worth."

  " 'Tis worth much to me," Eirik said huskily, holding Eadyth's
eyes significantly for a moment. Then he looked back to Steven. "But I would kill you, and endanger her life as well, afore I would allow you to take her from my keeping. Take your loathsome hands from my wife's body."

  Heedless of the danger, Steven cackled demonically and pressed the knife tighter, placing his other hand familiarly over her breast and squeezing. Eadyth moaned with the pain and saw Eirik's hands clench tightly at his sides as he tried desperately to restrain his temper.

  Steven started to back up, taking her with him. With each step backward he took, Eirik and his men moved forward, carefully.

  "I give you my oath," Eirik said finally, when they were almost at the point where Steven's horse was tethered to a tree, "if you will release Eadyth now, I will not follow you for at least one hour. Nor will any of my men."

  Steven hesitated, seeming to consider Eirik's vow.

  "You know I honor my oaths, Steven. Give over, for now."

  Finally, Steven nodded and leapt up into his saddle, viciously kicking Eadyth to the ground in the process. Eadyth could not fail to hear his alarming message to her as he rode off.

  "I will be back, Eadyth."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eirik insisted on carrying her back to the keep and up to their bedchamber, where he wiped the blood off her neck with gentle care and tried to wrap a linen around the wound. He shooed a clucking Girta away, declining her offers to minister to Eadyth. "I am capable of caring for my own wife," he said huskily. "Go off and tend to Britta. She is sore distraught."

  Eadyth kept telling Eirik it was just a deep scratch and refused to have it bound. "Blessed Saint Beatrice!" she finally snapped, swatting his fussing hands away. "You will have me looking like Bertha with her elephant dressing. Besides, air will heal the cut best."

  "Lie quietly for a while, Eadyth, and stop trying to 'manage' everything. You have suffered a great shock today," he rebuked her with a soft smile. Sitting on the edge of the bed next to her, he brushed the curly strands of hair off her face as he spoke and kissed the tips of her fingers. Eadyth could not fail to see the concern in his rigid jaw and stormy eyes. His gentle ministration bespoke more than husbandly duty, and she was hopeful that he was growing to care for her more.

  "Tykir and Sigurd are readying my retainers for departure," he continued, "but we must talk on my return... of other matters. When I saw Steven holding that knife to your throat today, I... I..." His words trailed off as he clearly fought for composure.

  He does care for me, Eadyth thought joyously.

  "You are going after Steven then?"

  He nodded. "I will give him his promised hour, but not one minute more."

  Eadyth took pride in her husband's honor and reached up to caress his whisker-stubbled jaw with her knuckles. He had been living in that dismal underground room for three days now and could use a bath and warm food and a soft bed. But there was no time for that now. Not yet.

  "The bastard will, no doubt, have escaped by now," he grumbled, standing abruptly.

  "There will be another time."

  "For a certainty." His pale eyes glittered like shards of blue ice as he gritted out the words.

  He lay down next to her on the bed for a time, just holding her as if she were a fragile piece of fine glass, not the hard rock she had been forced to be these past few years. And love swelled her soul with hope for a better life they might have together.

  He kissed her softly as he finally arose with reluctance. Pressing his fingertips to her lips, he halted the love words he must know she was about to utter. Warm tears of regret welled in her eyes.

  After he left, Eadyth surprised herself by dozing off. She awakened hours later when she heard the tower bell ringing, announcing visitors to the keep.

  She quickly whisked the wrinkles from her garment with her hands, and splashed cool water on her face. Ignoring Girta's pleas that she stay abed and rest, Eadyth drew on a soft, white wimple, then a head-rail, which hid the thin, blood-encrusted line across her throat.

  When she emerged from the great hall onto the steep stone steps leading to the bailey, she saw Earl Orm and his retainers entering the gates, with Eirik and his men close behind.

  "We met up on the road," Eirik explained when he dismounted, glancing with distaste at her wimple and head-rail. He had told her on more than one occasion how he hated for her to cover her beautiful hair. "Am I married to a nun now?" he whispered near her ear.

  "Did it feel like a nun with her legs wrapped 'round your waist yestereve, husband?" she retorted boldly.

  Eirik hooted with laughter and put an arm around her shoulder with an easy familiarity that would have been unthinkable to Eadyth a few short sennights ago. Then he drew her along with their company into the hall.

  Suddenly, Eadyth noticed the concern on Eirik's face and the stiffness with which he held his body. She stopped and put a palm to her chest in dismay. "What? What is it now? Has Steven done something more? Oh, will his evil never end?"

  Eirik shook his head. " 'Tis not Steven. Earl Orm has just returned from Gloucestershire, and he brings us... news," he said grimly. "But let us discuss this new matter in private."

  Alarm rippled over Eadyth's skin like butterfly wings, and her heart began to race wildly. Gloucestershire? Tis where the Witan has been meeting. Has it made a decision regarding John? Oh, Blessed Mother, please... please help us.

  Girta followed them into the private chamber off the hall, carrying several trenchers of manchet bread, slices of cold meats and hard cheeses. A servant followed behind her with goblets of mead.

  Eadyth sat down with trepidation next to Eirik at the trestle table, wringing her hands nervously in her lap, while Orm, Tykir and Wilfrid sat across the table from them. Even Tykir, who usually had a flippant, teasing word for, her, was ominously silent.

  She refused the drink Eirik placed in front of her, and he did not insist. Another ominous sign.

  Wasting no time, Eirik soothed her. "Now, do not be frightened, Eadyth. 'Tis not as bad as it will sound."

  She gazed at him questioningly, unable to speak.

  "The Witan demands that John attend Edmund's funeral at Glastonbury Abbey with me. Then John will travel to Winchester where the king will appoint a temporary guardian for him."

  "A guardian! Oh, Sweet Mother of God!" Then she choked out, "Temporary?"

  " 'Til the new Witan meets officially next month."

  "Oh, Eirik, how can you say this news is not as bad as it sounds? 'Tis the worst possible news."

  He reached out his hands and took both of her trembling ones in his. "Trust me, Eadyth. I will not let John come to harm."

  "How?"

  Earl Orm took a deep swallow of mead and wiped his forearm across his mouth. "I have already spoken with several members of the Witan—Ealdormen Byrhtnoth of Essex and Elfhere of Mercia. They are sure to stay on the Witan, even with Edred as king, along with Ealdormen Elfheah of Hampshire and Ethelwold of East Anglia. All are powerful nobles who see the danger in the new king allying himself with Steven of Gravely. They promised their support."

  Eadyth saw the wisdom in Eirik's words, and she knew some of these men herself—good men of honest intention. Mayhap they would help her and Eirik in the custody battle.

  "Despite his youth, Edred has to know the political tight-rope he walks," Wilfrid remarked. "His brother Edmund managed to bring all of Britain under his domain. One slip and Edred could lose power with the dissenting kings."

  "And Edred needs to watch his back in his own territory, as well," Tykir noted. "His nobles have become so wealthy and influential in these times of prosperity. Their own self-interest weighs heavier than their loyalty to their liege lord. And Edred is not as popular as his brother Edmund was. He will have to work harder to win their favor."

  "Yea, all you say is true," Eirik said, looking at each of the men in turn. Then he gave his full attention to Eadyth. "More important to our concerns—I will travel to Glastonbury Abbey and then to Winchester with John. I will ask
Edred to appoint me as the boy's temporary guardian," Eirik assured her. "Archbishop Dunstan, Edred's cousin, will be there, and he, more than any other, can influence the king. Long has Dunstan been a favorite advisor of the rulers of the House of Wessex. Furthermore, Dunstan owes me for a favor I did him once in Frankland. An immense favor. I will call in my marker now."

  "Would we take Larise and Emma with us, as well?"

  "Nay, Eadyth, you must stay here at Ravenshire with them. I have already sent Sigurd to fetch them home."

  She started to rise indignantly, but Eirik pushed her gently back into her chair. " 'Tis best that you not show yourself at court. No matter how you may mislike the bias, the Witan would resent the interference of a woman. And you do have a tendency to lose your temper and turn shrewish on the odd occasion." He said the last with a slight smile. "You will have to let me handle this."

  Eadyth knew she must trust in her husband's judgement, have faith in his abilities to solve her problems. Even so, it was hard to place her concerns in another's hands.

  But she nodded in silent agreement.

  * * *

  A sennight later, Eirik had not returned, and Eadyth missed him and her son desperately. Eirik sent daily missives, however, telling of his progress, or lack thereof. The ealdormen that Earl Orm had mentioned appeared supportive to their cause, but they were a small part of the king's larger council.

  Eirik laid his hopes more with Archbishop Dunstan, but the wily cleric was negotiating a harsh deal with Eirik for the favor. Among other things, Dunstan was demanding that Eirik agree to serve as ealdormain himself on the king's advisory council, a political position Eirik had long disdained. Dunstan hoped to have more bishops appointed, as well—men who would do his bidding.

  Unfortunately, Eirik had been unable to speak directly with King Edred since he was suffering mightily from a physical ailment that ran in the blood of his family—a debilitating and most painful swelling of the joints. With all the wet weather of late, he had been bedridden for days following his brother's pompous funeral at Glastonbury.