Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  Agneta suddenly tensed. “Pass me the bundle I gave you at the abbey.”

  “The bundle?”

  “Quickly, pass it to me. I want to conceal it, under my skirts.”

  “What?”

  “Just pass it to me.”

  He was perplexed at her urgency. He passed her the bundle and she hid it, a moment or two before a Norman sentry blocked their path.

  He held up his hand. “Arrêtez! Where are you bound, Saxons?”

  Caedmon fought to control his ire at the disparaging way the man spoke to them. “My wife and I journey to Ruyton, in the Welsh Marches.”

  “A long journey—on one mount. Who are the old women?”

  His mother bristled and looked away from the sentry, her nose in the air. “My mother and her maidservant.”

  The sentry’s eyes wandered over the horses, scanned Caedmon, then lingered on Agneta. He barely glanced at the others. “Why are you going there?”

  “We’re en route to Shelfhoc Hall, it’s my—it’s a manor house, under the protection of the Earl of Ellesmere. I’m to be the new steward.”

  “An earl, eh? A steward who sounds like a Scot?” Once again the sentry’s eyes wandered over Agneta. “Allez. Safe journey to you, then.”

  His mother’s lips twitched into an imperceptible smile.

  He urged the horse forward across the bridge and felt the tension leave Agneta’s body as she sucked in a deep breath. He wondered what was hidden up her skirt that had her in such a state. “The Normans and their much vaunted Peace of God, my arse,” he whispered. “Saxons are only safe if they can lay claim to a Norman protector. I wanted to rip out his cursed eyes for the way he looked at you.”

  Agneta cuddled into him more tightly and he pressed his arms over hers. “Once across, we’ll follow the river and the Roman Wall westward, to Carlisle.”

  She shivered. “I daren’t look down. I hate water. I’ll feel safer once we’ve crossed, and I can hand back this burden. The sackcloth is chafing my skin.”

  But Caedmon sensed there was much more to it than a minor discomfort. Would she ever allow him to share her burdens?

  The lodging house in the tiny village of Wylam didn’t have enough room for all of them. Caedmon, Leofric and Agneta slept in the stables. A beck ran behind the building. The current was too swift for them to enter the water, especially since Agneta couldn’t swim, but Caedmon was able to draw water for drinking and washing. Agneta wouldn’t go near the water.

  “This isn’t very grand, I’m afraid,” he lamented.

  “It’s all right. We have no alternative,” she replied coldly.

  “I’ll keep you warm,” he offered.

  “I’m not concerned about warmth. I just don’t like things that scurry and crawl and stables are full of them.”

  He teased her by walking his fingers up her arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t let the wee beasties bite you.”

  She pushed his hand away with a grimace. “Stop that!”

  He could see she wasn’t in a good mood. In an effort to lighten it, he suggested, “Let’s go inside and at least sample their ale.”

  “Will we be welcome?”

  “I think so. It’s an old Saxon village. Haven’t seen any Normans about.”

  “Aye, the cursed lord of Balliol gave our village to the Priory at Tynemouth,” one of the villagers complained, once the travelers had been judged acceptable, and the conversation inevitably turned to the invaders. “Nigh on eight year sin’.”

  “And do the monks ever come here?” Leofric asked as he joined them.

  “No, Godemite, but they take their due from us. Curse the Normans.”

  “Aye. I’ll drink to that curse,” Caedmon replied, raising his tankard.

  “But you’re Scots. What do you care?”

  “No. We’re not Scots. We’re Saxons. I’m the son of a hero of Hastings, a housecarl to King Harold,” Caedmon retorted proudly. “My fellow knight here, Leofric, is a hero of Alnwick. And my wife is a Northumbrian girl, born and bred.”

  “Northumbria? One of us then? Whereabouts?”

  “Bolton, near Alnwick,” Agneta murmured, looking uncomfortable.

  Caedmon’s heart lurched. Why had he mentioned Agneta was from Northumbria?

  “Ah, de Mowbray’s territory,” one of the villagers observed.

  “Aye,” Caedmon replied, unable to look at Agneta.

  “God go with thee, then, young Saxons.”

  “My father told me of this Hadrian’s wall, but the height and length of it is astounding,” Agneta remarked as they continued their journey. “It must have taken years to build.”

  “Aye, I estimate it’s about ten feet wide and we’ve passed many ruined forts built into it. The Romans surely wanted everyone to recognize they held the power. Just like the Normans. After hundreds of years, you can still see the whitewashed plaster in some places. The sun on it would have made it visible for miles. Arrogant bastards.”

  “Caedmon,” Lady Ascha remonstrated.

  “Sorry, Mother. I’m used to the company of men. My tongue ran away with me. You’d think I was a Scot.”

  He regretted his jest as Agneta stiffened behind him.

  She kept her hands on his hips, but withdrew her body, and sat rigidly.

  “Keep tight hold,” he tried. “The going here is treacherous in places on these moors. They say it will improve once we reach the old Roman road at Corbridge. The Stanegate will take us all the way to Carlisle.”

  They rode in silence for a while, and Agneta slowly relaxed. “I love this landscape,” she mused.

  “But these Pennines are bleak and barren,” Caedmon replied.

  “It’s true, but there’s a wildness, an earthiness to the hills and moorlands. Look at the all bracken and heather. I suppose I’m a child of the moors.”

  He pointed to a group of sheep in the distance, clustered near a gnarled tree. “They seem to like it, but they’re lucky to have thick woolly coats. Too cold, windy and wet for me. Though I must admit, the hare I’ve snared are tasty—lots of flesh on their bones.”

  “You’re right. I’ve enjoyed them. Your snares are effective. You’re a good provider, and a good cook.”

  Caedmon flushed at the rare words of praise, enjoying the pleasant arousal caused by watching her bite into the succulent meat with relish, licking her lips and fingers and flashing one of her infrequent smiles.

  They encountered many becks and streams and, despite the icy lick of the water on their skin, Caedmon and Leofric often took advantage to cleanse themselves at the end of a long day. Only a few lodging houses had a bath available. But Agneta was afraid of the swift rushing waters that teemed out of the crags and fells. She made the excuse she didn’t like cold water, but he sensed it was fear kept her crouching nearby, hugging her knees, longing to be clean.

  “Come on, Agneta. I’ll keep you safe. Leofric will give us privacy. Come join me. It feels good.”

  She always shook her head.

  The lodging house in Corbridge did have baths available and Agneta asked, “Do we have enough money? I’m freezing, and badly in need of a bath.”

  “Aye. We do, and we’d both benefit from a good scrubbing.”

  “I’m definitely ordering a bath,” his mother told them.

  “Me too,” Leofric laughed.

  “I’d love one too,” Coventina Brightmore murmured.

  Her mother bristled. “It’s not seemly to say such things in front of Sir Caedmon and Sir Leofric.”

  Coventina blushed and gave Leofric a strange look as her mother hurried her away.

  Now, in the warmth of the cozy room above the lodging house, barefoot and stripped down to his braies, Caedmon watched Agneta lather her body in the soapy water. He abruptly peeled off his last piece of clothing and joined her. She squealed in surprise. The water slopped over onto the floor as he sat facing her. The size of the tub forced him to bend his long legs, and his knees stuck up out of the water.

  “
What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking a bath with my wife.” He dunked his face and came up covered in suds.

  She laughed and wiped his face. It lightened his heart. He opened his legs wide and reached out to feather his thumbs over her nipples. They hardened more beneath his touch.

  “Caedmon,” she whispered, half closing her eyes.

  He took her hand and drew it to his shaft. “Touch me, Agneta. Take me in your hand.” He curled his hand around hers and moved it on his arousal.

  “It’s silky,” she whispered.

  “Move your hand on me,” he rasped. “That’s it, oh God, that feels good. Keep going.”

  He squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “I like that, Caedmon,” she whispered. “It makes me feel—oh—” She parted her lips and threw back her head.

  Caedmon couldn’t resist leaning forward to kiss her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. “We’re clean enough,” he rasped, lifting her and striding out of the tub.

  “We’ll get it all wet,” she protested when he laid her on the bed.

  “I don’t care, wetness pleases me, and you are wet—and warm.”

  As expected, the winding old Roman Stanegate did provide a smoother journey as it followed the easiest gradients, and they came at last to Carlisle. The town was teeming with Normans, all seemingly occupied with the expansion of a motte and bailey.

  Caedmon clenched his jaw. “This is what infuriated King Malcolm, the thing that drove him to the ill-advised foray into Northumbria that ended in his death. He was maddened that Rufus was determined to cut the Scots off from their traditional influence in Cumbria. I’m glad I didn’t see him fall at Alnwick. He was a good man.”

  Agneta said nothing.

  “In a way, if the Norman king hadn’t undertaken this fortification, you and I might never have met.”

  Agneta remained silent.

  “We won’t stay in Carlisle itself. Too many Normans.

  Agneta stiffened. “Sometimes I get tired of your constant complaining about Normans.”

  This time Caedmon kept quiet, seeing no point in bringing up her resentment of him and his Scottish allies. He was an optimistic man at heart, but despaired she would ever forgive him. Did she care for him at all?

  “Are we far from the sea?” Agneta asked. “I’ve never seen the sea.”

  Caedmon sniffed the air. “I can smell it.”

  Lady Ascha smiled. “Reminds me of the smell of the Firth, back home.”

  Her mouth dropped open and a look of resignation passed between Caedmon and his mother.

  “We might be well advised to head in that direction and avoid Lancaster,” he suggested.

  They turned west after seeking directions from a villager and after about two hours, came to the sands of Heysham. They sat for a long while perched on their horses atop the cliffs overlooking the beaches, gazing out to sea.

  Agneta found it soothing to watch the waves curl and break on the beach. She tightened her arms around Caedmon’s waist, using him as a shield against the wind. “Can we go down there?”

  “We’ll stay with the mounts,” Lady Ascha said. “I’ve no wish to get sand in my boots.”

  Caedmon, Agneta and Leofric set off to look for a path, but Leofric stopped and came back to the group. “May I ask Lady Coventina to join us?” he asked her mother.

  Coventina’s eyes lit up. “Please, mother,” she begged.

  “Very well, since Sir Caedmon and Lady Agneta are accompanying you.”

  Leofric awkwardly assisted Coventina to dismount, and the four hurried off to find the way down. Once at the beach they took off their boots and prepared to walk along the wet brown sands, rippled into ridges by the tide. Coventina offered to assist Leofric with his boots.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll do it,” Caedmon offered, and Agneta admired her husband for trying to spare Leofric’s feelings.

  “I can manage it myself,” Leofric objected, but she could see he was grateful for Caedmon’s offer of help.

  “The sand feels strange,” Agneta murmured. “It sticks to my feet.”

  Caedmon took her hand and the four walked briskly. The wind whipped the wimples off the women’s heads. Coventina gasped and looked worriedly at Agneta, then struggled to adjust the flapping wimple back around her hair. Suddenly Leofric took her hand. The girl glanced up at the cliffs then smiled at Leofric and the two kept walking.

  “He’ll have to marry her now,” Caedmon whispered in his wife’s ear with a grin. “Not only has he seen her hair, he’s holding her hand.”

  Agneta pulled Caedmon to a halt. “Does she know? About Bolton?”

  Caedmon looked down at the sand. “I’m not sure. But if not, please let him tell her.”

  Agneta nodded. “I want to go in the water.”

  She shivered in the winter breeze and Caedmon wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing the hand he held to his lips. “You taste salty. The water will be cold this time of year,” he warned.

  She pouted. “But I want to at least put my toes in. We might never see the sea in Ruyton.”

  He pulled her to the water. She squealed when the cold waves lapped her feet, and ran away from the incoming tide. She instantly missed the warmth of Caedmon’s hand, the comfort of his arm around her.

  “You’re a coward, wife,” he taunted, reaching down and playfully splashing water towards her.

  She tiptoed back to join him, holding the edge of her skirts out of the water, and put her hand in his again. They stood watching the water suck the sand from beneath their toes as the waves rolled in and out.

  “Let’s walk along the beach. I’m getting cold, and walking might warm us.”

  “I’m warm already,” Caedmon whispered in her ear, moving her hand to his groin and pressing it against his arousal. “You look beautiful with the wind in your hair.”

  She drew her free hand through her locks. “At least it’s getting a bit longer.”

  Their eyes met, and she pressed her hand against his hard maleness.

  He gathered her to his body and kissed her deeply. “Mmm. Salty. I want to make love to you, but it’s too cold here—and too sandy. Leofric,” he shouted. “Let’s go find a place to stay nearby.”

  Turning back to her, he murmured in her ear, “We can make love to the sound of the sea.”

  A Watery Grave

  Days later they were following the River Dee, south of Chester, another town they’d skirted because of the likelihood of a heavy presence of Norman soldiers. The older members of the company were finding the pace taxing. Lady Ascha had intimated to the others that they give Caedmon and Agneta some time alone together and the newly-weds were a fair distance ahead. Leofric had agreed to stay with the women. Caedmon and Agneta were tired and hungry after an early start and decided to stop for a midday meal.

  “It will give the others a chance to catch up. I’ll try for some fish in the river,” Caedmon told her.

  Agneta glanced over at the river. “We have food enough left. It looks treacherous.”

  Caedmon shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go out on that fallen oak over there. I won’t even get my boots wet.”

  Agneta was nervous. The water was flowing swiftly, and the tree Caedmon climbed onto looked none too safe to her. She set about preparing a fire, unable to watch him as he made his way out to the large branches that stretched over the river like the gnarled hand of a giant. She heard him whistling and peeked over her shoulder to see him unwind his line and drop it into the water.

  “There’s a nice deep pool under here. Should get some brown trout, or maybe a grayling,” he shouted.

  She waved and then looked away.

  A loud crack, followed by a splash, caught her attention. She cried out in horror as Caedmon grasped desperately at the remains of the tree limb that had broken off, catapulting him into the water. The current took him quickly. He disappeared beneath the waters. She hurried along the bank, desperately trying to keep
pace, wailing his name. “Caedmon, Caedmon, oh God, no. Caedmon!”

  He resurfaced, but she could see he was having difficulty holding on to the branch. He went under again, then the current carried him closer to the bank. To her relief he grabbed hold of a half submerged tangle of tree roots. The water buffeted him, and then rammed a log against his head, but he held on for dear life, struggling to catch his breath. Blood oozed from his forehead.

  “Agneta,” he spluttered, coughing up water. “My legs—”

  She screamed as he disappeared again, only his arms visible, white hands clamped onto the roots.

  “My legs—caught—beneath the water,” he yelled when he resurfaced.

  “Caedmon—I—” she choked, staring at the swirling black water.

  “Can’t hold—on—much longer,” he rasped.

  A memory of the first time she’d ever seen him on the battlefield at Alnwick flashed before her. “I didn’t save your miserable life for you to drown here,” she cried.

  She struggled along the muddy bank, holding up her skirts, until she was close to where he held on. Already up to her knees in the frigid water, she stretched out her hand. He took one hand off the root and reached for her. As their cold, slippery fingers meshed, their eyes locked. There was fear in those blue depths. Determination steeled her.

  I will not let him drown. Where is Leofric?

  She took hold of his numbed hand in both hers and pulled with all her might. The blow from the tree and the repeated dunking seemed to have weakened him. “You have to help me. Not strong enough to heave you out. You’re pulling me in deeper.”

  She lunged then and latched one hand onto the back of his sodden jerkin.

  “Push!” she screamed. “Push!”

  Caedmon struggled to free himself, to no avail.

  “Let go, Agneta. If I’m—to drown, I don’t want to drag you with me.”

  Their eyes locked again. This time, Agneta saw resignation.

  Don’t let him die not knowing you love him.

  “No! Caedmon, I—”