by The Saxon
“I am not privy to that kind of information, but I believe so, yes.”
“Then he must keep her. Or do what you Christians do with unfaithful wives. It matters not to me.”
“But a possible adultery should. Bayard would be disgraced.”
“So?”
“So it is a sign of weakness. Some of his thanes might be persuaded to abandon him. He—and his burh—would be less protected.”
Dagfinn put a purse heavy with silver coins down on the table in front of him. Women’s bracelets jangled on the arm of the traitor who reached for it. “Find proof of an adultery and Bayard’s disgrace, and there will be more. In the meantime, discover everything you can about this meeting.”
“That may take some time, and it will be more difficult to leave the burh when Bayard has returned.”
“Even with such a fine disguise?” Dagfinn replied. “I would not have taken you for anything but an ancient crone myself.” He handed the traitor a drinking horn. “Why do you do this?” he asked, unable to stifle his burning curiosity.
“Because I hate the thought of a Saxon of Wessex ruling over my country.”
“England?” the Dane asked, suspicion in his voice.
His companion’s expression was scornful. “Mercia. The rest of the country doesn’t matter a whit to me except as provinces under the rule of a Mercian king.”
Dagfinn frowned. “You do not include the Danelaw?”
“Of course not. You Northmen are too established here to be driven out. Better we should work with you than against you. There will be plenty for both the Danes and the Mercians when we have Wessex.”
“Edward will not be easy to beat. And the men of Kent will fight hard to prevent another Mercian ruling them.”
“They have been nursing their wounds for so long, surely they are too weak to fight.”
“Beornwulf never should have humiliated Eadbert Praen that way.”
“He led a rebellion. It was only fit that his eyes be put out and his hands cut off.”
“And if you are caught fomenting rebellion against your king, will you think that fitting punishment then?” Dagfinn asked.
“I will not get caught,” the traitor replied.
* * *
At the evening meal, Dunstan made every effort to show Bayard and Endredi that he harbored no ill will toward them, and indeed regretted his earlier doubts about Endredi’s loyalty. To most of those watching, it would have seemed that Bayard was pleased and Endredi mollified. Adelar knew it was not so, for Endredi’s carefully guarded expression did not fool him. She did not trust Dunstan, she did not like him and she certainly wasn’t going to be duped into believing he had changed his mind so radically after the forceful words he had uttered that morning. However, clearly she recognized Dunstan was, unfortunately, a powerful man, and that it would not be wise to offend him.
Dunstan was also all too interested in the women of the hall. He surveyed each one with his slow, impertinent, arrogant gaze. Gleda smiled enticingly and looked boldly back. Ordella gave him a vacuous stare, a fit response to the slight curl of Dunstan’s lips when he looked at the very slender, hook-nosed woman. Ylla reddened and hurried so at her task that she spilled the wine she was pouring into Ordella’s goblet. Ordella rebuked her with a swift, harsh word.
Ylla’s eyes filled with tears as she hurried outside to fetch more ale from the storehouse. Ordella had a sharp tongue, and she had better learn to curb it, Adelar thought. Endredi had made it very clear that she liked Ylla. Indeed, everyone guessed that it had been Endredi’s request that Bayard give the girl her freedom.
Dunstan rose and belched loudly. “If you will pardon me, my lord,” he said. “My cask needs emptying.”
Bayard nodded and returned to whatever he was saying to the fellow on the other side of Endredi. He leaned close to his wife, his smile warm as he looked at her.
Godwin took his place in the center of the hall. “A song for your amusement, nobles? A game? A joke? What say you, my lady? My lord?”
“A song,” Bayard said. “Something new.”
“I have composed one in honor of your wife,” Godwin said. “I call it, `The Lady of the Lovely Eyes.’”
Bayard beamed his approval, and Endredi flushed prettily.
Adelar couldn’t bear to stay another moment. He rose abruptly.
“Leaving?” Ranulf asked, his voice thick with drink.
“I am tired. I am going to sleep.”
“Alone?” he said with a grotesque leer.
“Jealous, Ranulf?”
“Not of you. Not of a man who beds nothing but servants or slaves.”
Adelar grinned slowly. “At least I do not have to pay any penalties for my indiscretions.”
“I do not think Gleda will be waiting for you this time.”
“That is nothing to me. Sleep well, Ranulf. With your charming wife.”
With a bow toward Bayard, Adelar excused himself and went outside. The haunting, beautiful melody of Godwin’s song followed him into the stillness of the night. From habit, he surveyed the outer wall of the burh and checked that the sentries were patrolling the perimeter. Although Dagfinn’s Danes would probably honor the alliance, there were other bands of Vikings who would not. And the men of Kent had only joined with the West Saxons within recent memory; they might yet be planning a revolt of their own.
He sauntered toward the stable, away from the music. The bowers around the hall were silent, most of the inhabitants being in the hall. They would continue to drink and listen to Godwin for some time yet.
He passed the hut where Baldric keep the bitches when they gave birth. He heard the dog keeper’s low, rough voice crooning what sounded like some kind of melody of praise. Bayard’s best bitch had outdone herself that day, producing a litter of ten puppies, most of which looked strong enough to survive.
Adelar continued toward the stable. It would be warm, and he could lie on the straw and try to sleep, or at least think of something other than Endredi. He would not meditate on everyone’s apparent happiness and his own extreme distress.
Then, from inside the building, he heard the sounds of a struggle and a woman’s stifled scream.
Chapter Eight
Adelar pushed open the stable door. From the shadows came whimpers and a low, insistent, guttural voice. A man’s voice. Then a whisper—a young woman, saying, “No, please, my lord!”
Adelar shoved the door so that it hit the wall with a crash. “Who is here?” he demanded while his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Dunstan stepped out of the shadows. “Leave us!”
“Who else?”
“It is none of your concern.”
Adelar smiled coolly. “If you have a servant of my lord and you have injured her, then it most certainly is my concern.”
Ylla appeared, holding the torn bodice of her gown together with trembling fingers. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and her shoulders shook with sobs.
“She is not injured.”
“You may go,” Adelar said to the young woman. With a lowered head but grateful eyes, she hurried past him and outside.
“You had no cause to do that,” Dunstan protested. “Everyone knows women struggle only to increase a man’s ardor.”
“Perhaps,” Adelar replied with a shrug. “But she is a favorite of Bayard’s wife. If she claimed you hurt her, Endredi would not be pleased.” He let his words hang in the air, hoping Dunstan would understand the implication that if Endredi was not pleased, Bayard would not be, either.
“My father said Bayard’s hall would be hospitable,” Dunstan muttered as he reached for his belt.
Adelar waited for the man to join him at the door. “I will tell you this in confidence, Dunstan, only because I am certain I can trust your discretion,” he said, his tone serious. “Endredi’s father is a very fierce man. I think Bayard is wise to keep her happy, at least for the time being.”
“I am not afraid of any Dane, and I am surprised to hea
r that Bayard is.”
“Bayard is merely being cautious. Endredi’s father is not one of the tamer Norsemen of the Danelaw. Bayard, and your father, would not want to have to fight him and his men, I can assure you. They make the men who attacked Alfred look like children only playing at war. Should his daughter be made unhappy, I have no doubt the fellow would come himself.”
Dunstan eyed Adelar as they crossed the yard together. “Is that why Bayard married her? To keep her father from his lands?”
“As you know, Bayard keeps his own counsel, so he has not said so. But you and I also know that Bayard is a far-seeing man. Perhaps he has heard rumors of impending trouble, which this call to counsel by your father seems to confirm. With this marriage, he insures he will have one less enemy to fight.”
Dunstan let his breath out slowly. “I see.” He glanced at Adelar. “I am glad you told me of this. I never would have touched that woman had I known.”
Adelar chuckled. “I like a woman to warm my nights as much as you, so I will give you one other small piece of advice. That serving wench with the mountainous breasts has been casting her gaze at you all night. I think you have but to crook your finger to have her.”
“She is not so pretty.”
“She is very skilled, Dunstan. In a variety of ways.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Dunstan grinned lustfully. “My thanks to you, Adelar,” he said as he entered the hall.
What a fool, Adelar thought scornfully, turning away.
“My thanks to you, too, my lord,” Ylla said softly from the shadows nearby.
He pivoted toward her voice as she stepped out into the moonlight. “He came upon me after I left the storehouse and dragged me to the stable. I was too frightened to call out.”
“Your mistress would have been very angry if he had hurt you.”
She put her hands on his arm and pressed against him. “I am very glad you came.”
Suddenly he was aware of the sensation of the young woman’s breasts against his arm and the desire gleaming in her eyes.
He could not have Endredi. Why should he not have this willing wench instead? With a low chuckle, he pulled Ylla into his arms. “Grateful, eh? But perhaps you are too young for a warrior’s ways.”
She smiled at him. “I am older than I look, my lord. It is to a woman’s advantage to appear a child when she has no rights.”
“You are a clever girl—woman, Ylla.”
“I am happy to hear you say so.”
She pressed against him again, this time with more of her body. Why not? Why not? He picked her up easily and strode across the yard toward a building used for storing grain, pushed open the door and kicked it shut after they entered.
The smell of barley and oats filled his nostrils as Adelar let Ylla slip down in the darkness. She was shorter than Endredi and thinner, but as he ran his hands over Ylla’s body, he did not doubt that this was a woman in his arms. Her brown hair was long and thick, and he buried his hands in it.
She put her arms around him, embracing him. “I am a virgin, my lord,” she whispered tremulously.
Endredi was no longer a virgin. She had given that to another man.
He would not think of Endredi now. He would enjoy himself. He bent and kissed Ylla fiercely, letting his needs rule his actions. He caressed her expertly and felt her relax into his arms.
Still kissing her, he lifted her and carried her to the back of the building, laying her on a pile of coarse sacks. His eyes now used to the dark, he looked down at her and smiled to see the hunger in her face as his body covered hers.
She wanted him, and there was no reason he could not have this woman. With slow, undulating movements he sought to increase her yearning for him. He kissed her again, this time tenderly to ease whatever fears might lurk beneath her want, and let his lips journey slowly across her cheek and down her neck. She whimpered when he licked her collarbone while his hips thrust against her, letting her feel his arousal.
His mouth continued to make slow progress down her body to her breasts exposed by her torn gown. He paused for a long moment to tease the hardened peaks with his tongue. His hand meandered between her legs, upward, pushing her skirt toward her waist. He loosened his breeches, raised himself up and—she was not Endredi.
His ardor died, and with a low groan of despair, he rolled away.
“What is it, my lord?” Ylla asked, her voice small in the darkness.
“It is not for me to take what you offer,” he muttered. The lack was in him, not Ylla, and he did not want her to blame herself. Nor could he reveal the true cause of his tribulation.
“My lord,” she whispered, moving close to him in the stuffy little building. She ran her hand over his chest. “Please, my lord,” she persisted. “I want you to take me.” Her cool fingers entered the warmth of his tunic.
He didn’t reply, so she went on, her words heartfelt and unmistakably sincere. “I am a virgin only because most men, like you, thought I was a child yet. But that safe ruse is clearly at an end. When Dunstan seized me, I feared the time had finally come when a man would take me against my will. I have often dreaded that day.”
“You are no longer a slave. You can refuse.”
“How many servants have refused you, my lord?”
“None, but—”
“But you are a nobleman and they were nothing but servants.”
He lay back against the grain sacks, suddenly ashamed. He had always arrogantly assumed... Oh, dear God, how like his father that sounded!
“I am a servant still,” Ylla continued. “I knew in my mind that Dunstan could do what he liked, but I found I could not simply lie still and let him. And then you came.” Her voice grew softer, and she laid her head against Adelar’s chest. “I have long admired you, my lord. I wanted...I hoped you would be the one. If I could have a choice, I would choose you.”
“Ylla, I—”
She pressed a kiss to his lips. “Please, my lord, let me finish. I know that you are a nobleman and I am but a servant. I know that I can ask nothing of you. But I will, this once. Please, my lord, I would like you to be my first. Then, no matter what happens or who else forces me, I will have one memory that I can cherish.” Her voice caught in her throat. “One choice I made.”
Adelar gently brushed Ylla’s hair from her damp cheeks. “Things may change for the better for you,” he said softly.
“Or they may change for the worse,” she replied bitterly. “I was not born a slave, my lord. I was stolen as a child and sold. Endredi is a good woman, and Bayard a just lord, but they may die. And then my fate would rest in other hands.”
Adelar gasped at her matter-of-fact words, because they were true. Endredi might die—and then so would his heart.
“I am sorry to say such things of your cousin,” she said quickly, misinterpreting his reaction. “But we both know that war may come, and battles, and so death.” She raised herself to look upon him, her gaze intense. “Please, my lord, please. Take me. It need be only this once.”
He shook his head. “Ylla, what you offer is a gift I cannot take. I...I do not deserve it.”
The door opened suddenly, and on the threshold he could see a woman’s shape illuminated by the weak flame of a lamp. Before he could move away from Ylla, Endredi called the girl’s name.
“My lady!” Ylla gasped.
Endredi strained to see the two figures who moved apart hastily.
One was Ylla, hurriedly getting to her feet. As the other person rose beside her in the dimness, Endredi’s hand went to her throat as if to strangle the cry of pain building there, for it was Adelar, his naked chest gleaming in the lamplight.
Her gaze darted from him to Ylla, noting her flushed face and slightly swollen lips. Adelar had taken Ylla, made love to her here, on a pile of grain sacks!
“Endredi,” Adelar whispered, stepping toward her.
His action and the sound of his voice saying her name jolted her. “Y
lla, you have been remiss in your duties,” she snapped.
“I am sorry, my lady—”
“Go.”
The girl hurried past her as Endredi turned to leave.
“Endredi!”
She ignored Adelar’s pleading tone. She could not look at him. Could not bear to think what must have happened here. He grabbed her arm. “Endredi!”
“Let me go, Adelar, or I will tell Bayard you dared to lay a hand on me.”
He did as she asked.
She ran out of the hut, clutching the lamp in her numbed fingers, running away from him. Not to the bower. Ylla would be there.
She shoved open the stable door and closed it behind her. Her throat ached from the struggle to subdue her sobs, and now that she was alone, she gave up the fight. Tears spilled from her eyes, and the flame danced from the trembling of her fingers. She blew it out, then sank to the floor, her shoulders heaving and her breaths coming in great, shuddering gasps.
She had no right to feel the jealousy coursing through her body, filling her mind with anger and her heart with pain. She was married to another, sworn to be loyal to him, to bear his children. To do otherwise was unthinkable to her, and yet—and yet she craved Adelar to the very marrow of her bones. Long ago, he had listened to her, spoken to her, treated her with respect and allowed her to feel that he needed her, too. He was like a part of her too long absent from her life. Now he was there again, but his presence gave her no comfort. How could it, when having him near was to feel like a man dying for lack of water who finds a poisoned stream?
The stable door creaked open. Swiftly, Endredi put her fist in her mouth to still her sobs and blinked back the tears to see who entered. Adelar, now fully clothed and wearing a cloak.
“Endredi?” His deep voice reached out to her, but she did not answer.
He found her anyway. She scrambled to her feet, moving away quickly from his outstretched hand. “Adelar, leave me.”
He drew off his cloak and held it out to her. “You are cold.”
She was shivering, so there was no point in denying his observation, but she did not take the cloak. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I will go to my bower.” She could not prevent the trace of bitterness that crept into her voice. “It should be ready now.”
