by The Saxon
For a time she talked to Ordella of medicines, then plants that made dyes, then how various fabrics took the hues. Anything that would prevent Adelar from taking part.
At last Adelar rose to leave. Endredi watched him depart, then looked down at the table to hide her eyes. No one must see how troubled she was.
Troubled? No, it was more than that. She knew only too well how deeply Adelar cared for her and that they both must force themselves to disregard their feelings.
It seemed he was attempting to do so. Ever since that night in the stable, he had stayed as far away from her as it was possible to stay. His aloofness pained her, although there could be no alternative. His attention and his championing her as he had before the servants only added to her misery.
She had hoped that the more time she spent here, the easier it would be to treat Adelar as simply another one of her husband’s men. That was impossible. Whenever she entered the hall, the first thing she did was see if he was there. When he was, she had to fight to keep from looking at him. When he was not, she felt a dismay that was nearly overwhelming.
But she must fight her passion, her needs. She must not give in to temptation. And she must betray nothing to the others, not just for her sake, but for Adelar’s. And Bayard’s. Adultery would give Ranulf the power to destroy them all, and that must never be.
She told herself that her denial must make her strong, over and over again.
Yet every night she committed adultery in her dreams, imagining that it was Adelar in her bed. Was that so very wrong? Could she help her wayward thoughts?
Was it her fault that the man she desired so much was the very image of her husband? Did it harm anyone to let her have this small recompense?
Surely not.
She sighed raggedly. She felt so weak, so helpless.
So alone.
* * *
Adelar approached Godwin as the gleeman prepared to help distribute the alms. “Let me know of the old women to whom you give alms,” he said.
“Since what time have you been interested in old women?” Godwin asked with a chuckle. “Is it not the younger ones you would like me to note?”
Adelar scowled. “This is a serious matter, Godwin. There has been talk of a strange woman in the woods. I myself have seen such a person while I was out hunting.”
“You did not recognize her?”
“No, I was too far away. But I do not like the thought of anyone hiding in the forest, not even an old woman.”
“Perhaps she belongs to someone in the burh?”
“No one is claiming her if she does. She may only be a harmless old woman, but I want to know.”
“I shall keep my eyes and ears open,” Godwin said solemnly.
Chapter Ten
Adelar was both relieved and sorry to see Bayard, Father Derrick, Ranulf and the rest of the retinue ride through the gates of Oakenbrook over a fortnight later. His command had been somewhat easier for the absence of Ranulf, but it had been a tense and anxious time.
He would have preferred waiting for a battle to begin. At least then you knew exactly how to fight the enemy.
How did one fight a foe like Ordella, who was the eyes and ears of the less intelligent Ranulf? She had shadowed Endredi like a malevolent spirit. He would have put a stop to it had he not been certain that such an act would only arouse Ordella’s curiosity. He would have risked that, however, if he had not also been sure that Endredi could hold her own with a woman like Ordella.
Yet neither Ranulf nor Ordella nor even the army of the Danes was his worst enemy. That name belonged to himself, or rather, his traitorous, tumultuous feelings. There could be no mistaking the passion he felt for Endredi, and no release. He would not act as his father might, ignoring the bonds of loyalty and honor to satisfy his own needs.
Now, as he watched Bayard greet Endredi and follow her into their bower, he hated himself anew for the jealousy he could not subdue. He could ignore Ranulf’s boasting about the thanes they had met and the important churchmen with whom they had dined. In the hall, he could smile at Godwin’s jokes and pay attention to Father Derrick’s long-winded accounts of his meeting with Father Absalom and the news from the Church in Rome. But he could not stop imagining Bayard and Endredi alone together.
Worse was yet to come. At the meal to celebrate Bayard’s return, he insisted that Adelar sit to his left between himself and Endredi, so that Adelar was closest to Bayard.
“We have business to discuss,” Bayard explained when Adelar looked about to protest.
Adelar took his place beside Endredi. She wore a gown of fine wool in a lovely blue color that made her eyes appear even more green, although she did not look directly at him. Her hair was covered by a filmy silk scarf that brushed her smooth cheeks. Two brooches of ornate silver that he had never seen before were at her shoulders. Probably gifts from Bayard, he thought. He watched her slender hands reach out for her goblet and remembered how she used to slap his fingers playfully when he would try to grab food in the days when they were youngsters together. She would look sternly at him, but there was always a smile lurking in the depths of her eyes.
“Adelar, I did not mean to offend you by having you on my left,” Bayard said quietly when the meal was under way.
With a guilty start, Adelar glanced at his cousin. “I am not offended,” he answered honestly. “I am honored to be at your table.”
“Good,” Bayard said. He sounded listless, but Adelar supposed listening to interminable discussions on political matters would have that effect, as well as the journey home. “I take it nothing untoward happened during my absence?”
“No, my lord.”
“Endredi tells me you were a good commander.”
“I am pleased for your wife’s commendation,” he replied, flushing slightly and wishing he was not.
“Endredi has made a conquest!” Bayard said knowingly.
Adelar looked quickly at Bayard, then at Endredi, who appeared shocked. “A conquest, Bayard?” she asked hesitantly. “I do not understand you.”
“It’s Adelar.”
“My lord!” Adelar protested.
“Come, Adelar, everyone can see it. Confess it—you no longer think I made a mistake marrying a Viking.”
“My lord, I—”
“If you did, you would have ignored her completely while I was gone, and I know for a fact you did not. Now, contradict me at your peril,” he challenged jovially.
Adelar sensed Endredi’s relief, which matched his own. “You may have found one Viking worthy of your trust,” he replied.
“Not quite the answer I hoped for, but it is a start.” Bayard leaned back and laid down his knife. “It is a relief to me to hear that at least my small part of the kingdom has few troubles. Marriage is a good thing, Adelar.”
“In your case, I must agree.”
“Several other thanes were asking about you. The ones with daughters, particularly.”
Adelar merely grunted and reached for more meat, acutely aware of the silent Endredi beside him. “You are still considered a worthy article on the marriage market, Adelar.”
“That is not my trouble.”
“Do you intend never to marry?”
“Why should I? I won’t have any land to bequeath.”
“Your father—”
“Can rot in hell as far as I’m concerned, as you well know, Bayard.”
“Don’t you want sons?”
“I have no great desire to bring a child into the world.” He saw Bayard’s frown and realized that this was not the time to voice his opinion. Bayard, after all, made no secret of his obsession to have sons. Adelar forced himself to grin. “If it meant chaining myself to only one woman.”
Bayard chuckled, and Adelar felt the tension pass.
“What do you think of my fine cousin, Endredi, eh?” Bayard asked cheerfully. “Him and his talk of chains!”
“If he considers marriage vows chains,” Endredi said softly, “perhaps it is
better that he not wed. For the woman’s sake.”
Adelar regarded her steadily. He did feel chained by marriage vows, but not because he was married.
“Well answered,” Bayard cried. “Don’t stare at her like that, Adelar. She’s right, after all. Did you hear what Endredi said, Ranulf? And you tried to convince me not to marry her!”
Ranulf smiled halfheartedly. “From all I have seen and heard, my lord, it is evident I was mistaken. I most humbly beg your pardon.”
* * *
Still later that night, Bayard eyed Adelar as they sat together in the hall. The men who had not yet retired sat upon benches, talking among themselves, drinking and occasionally singing snatches of song. Godwin was attempting to juggle stools, without much success. The fire had burned down so that the only light in the hall was the glow from the coals and the feeble flames of some oil lamps burning upon the table.
“I am glad to think that most of the thanes agree with Edward’s plans. We do not need more dissension among us,” Adelar said thoughtfully, running his fingers along his smoothly carved drinking horn.
“Yes. It is a good thing Alfred also married a daughter to a Mercian, though, or perhaps we would not be so united.”
“The Mercians need us.”
“The Kentish men continue to complain.”
“Only to voice their hatred of the Mercians, it seems to me. I am certain when it comes to a battle, they will all unite with us against the Danes.”
“I hope so.” Bayard sighed wearily.
“Are you tired?”
“No.” Bayard reached for his drinking horn. “Endredi told me today that she is not with child.”
“Unhappy news for you, Bayard.”
“Yes. It may be that this collection of buildings is all that will be left to show I ever lived.”
Surprised by his cousin’s unusual melancholy, Adelar said, “Cynath is pleased, is he not?”
“Yes. But the burh is still nothing more than a collection of wood and stone, easily destroyed.”
“You are keeping your people safe with this collection of wood and stone,” Adelar pointed out. “And it is more than I shall leave behind me.”
Bayard smiled at his cousin, his face ruddy in the firelight. “That is the reward of duty and responsibility, Adelar. The knowledge that the world has been made a little different for your presence in it.”
“You have made more than a little difference, Bayard.”
“Perhaps. It pleases my vanity to think so, just as it disturbs me to know that I may have to turn all this over to a man who sees only the power he will be able to wield, not the obligations that attend it. You are still certain, Adelar, that you have no wish to command?”
“I have no desire to be so burdened.”
“But the rewards—” Bayard’s gesture encompassed his vast hall. “They can be worth it.”
“No.”
Bayard toyed with his chalice. “Perhaps you are right. I would give all this away to have a son, Adelar. A legacy of warm flesh and blood, not cold stone and hard wood.”
Adelar looked at his uncharacteristically serious cousin and wished he did not have to say what he must, but he had already delayed too long. He spoke slowly, raising his gaze to Bayard’s face. “Bayard, I am leaving.”
“Why? I thought you had gotten over your objections to my wife.”
“It has nothing to do with her. She is my lord’s wife, and as such, I must accept her. I leave because my time in the fyrd is at an end. I wish to go tomorrow, at first light.”
“How have I offended you?”
“You have not, Bayard. Believe me, you have not.”
“Then why go?”
Adelar hesitated, more torn than ever by his decision. Bayard was different tonight, so sad and seemingly filled with dark thoughts.
Bayard eyed him shrewdly. “Adelar, I know you well enough to understand that you have made this decision and will seek to abide by it. I...I wanted to wait a while yet before I say what I must, but you seem so determined, you give me little choice.” He leaned closer and spoke in a whisper. “I have a great favor I must ask of you, and I can ask it of no other man.”
Adelar saw the intense expression in Bayard’s face and wondered what need could put it there. “You know you have but to ask, cousin.”
With his eyes downcast, Bayard said, “I want you to make love with my wife.”
“What?”
“I want you to make love with Endredi.”
“Are you mad?” Adelar fought to keep his voice low even as his mind struggled to comprehend what Bayard was saying.
“I am dying.”
Bayard meant it, believed it. His conviction was there in his eyes, plain to be seen. “I...I do not understand,” Adelar said haltingly, hoping that there could yet be some mistake.
“I have been ill a long time and I have seen more doctors and monks and even reputed witches than I care to remember. There is no hope for me. I want Endredi to bear a child before I die, and you are my only hope.”
“I do not believe it! You do not even look sick.”
Bayard smiled sardonically. “How many times in the past weeks have you told me I look tired? I was well-rested. Adelar, you know how much I have wanted sons. Now, more than ever, I need one.”
“What are you saying? That you are too sick to...” He hesitated, not willing to broach the sanctity of Bayard’s bower.
“Make love to my wife? I have, Adelar.” He emptied the drinking glass, which gave Adelar time to fight both the moment of elation and then the disappointment of Bayard’s response. “I do not believe I was ever capable of fathering children. You know that I have loved many women, Adelar. But I have never fathered a child.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I promised every woman I bedded that if she was to bear my child, I would reward her handsomely. Some tried to collect, but there was always evidence that the child might not be mine. Now I am sure I cannot, because of the illness.” His expression grew hard and determined. “I have no wish to leave my lands and my possessions to Ranulf. I would leave them to you, Adelar.”
“I do not want them!” he protested at once.
“I know, as I also know Ranulf would never rest until he had taken them from you. So, if I cannot will you my possessions, I will give them to a son. Your son, who will look enough like me that no man will dare to question his parentage, should anyone ever suspect.”
“Bayard...” Adelar wanted nothing more than to be able to love Endredi, but not this way. By all the saints and martyrs, not this way.
“There is another reason I have chosen you. Do you remember that serving wench at Cynath’s burh, Janeth?”
“Janeth? No.”
“You should—she gave you a son three years ago.”
“This is the first time I have heard of it,” Adelar said warily.
“I had heard a rumor of the babe and thought you knew. Since you never spoke of it, I wondered if they were simply rumors and nothing more, so I questioned Cynath about her. Cynath is not sure who the sire was, but there is no doubt in my mind that the child could be yours.”
“You think I have a son?”
“You had a son. The child fell ill and died.”
“Oh.” Strange it was to have a child, then to lose it in such a short space of time. But no more strange, perhaps, than anything else Bayard was saying.
“At least you know you can sire sons,” Bayard said softly. “I would give anything, pay any price, to know that I could. But I cannot.”
“You can’t be sure of this, just as I cannot be sure Janeth’s child was mine.”
“I have no time left to waste in vain hopes, Adelar, or vague dissembling. I need a son—and so does Endredi. I think you are our last, best chance. Think what might happen when I am dead if Ranulf inherits. He will have no compunction about sending her back to that lout Dagfinn, or even something worse. If she has what everyone believes to be my child, she will
have some security. I am certain she will fight for that child’s rights as fiercely as a mother bear protecting her cubs.”
“That is why you asked Dagfinn if she was strong-willed.”
“Yes. I had been thinking of marrying again for some time, but I wanted a woman who could, and would, fight for herself. I believe I have got her.”
An image flashed unwanted into Adelar’s mind, of the night Endredi and the others escaped his father. She had been so strong, so determined to get home. Fight for her child? She would, unto death.
“Then Dagfinn made his proposal. I believed it was a sign from God and dared to hope that my bride would answer my other prayers. That has not happened. I do not know how much time God will give to me, Adelar, so I must ask this of you. If you come to care for her, you might even consider marrying her yourself when I am gone. But I want to be certain Ranulf’s greed is thwarted before that.”
“Endredi—does she know of this...this proposal?”
“No. I would rather she did not know I asked you.”
“You want me to seduce her?”
He smiled wistfully. “To leave myself a little pride. That is another reason you are my choice, Adelar. You have no trouble charming women.”
“I will if the woman is Endredi. Her loyalty to you will be beyond my skills.” Even as he said it, he knew it was true. And that—God help him—he wished it wasn’t. “Tell her about your sickness. She might be able to help.”
“Does the thought of sleeping with Endredi hold so little appeal for you?”
“Bayard, I have no wish to be a stallion to service another man’s needs,” Adelar said truthfully, fighting the temptation. “And you are asking me—us—to commit adultery.”
“I know.”
“What if Ranulf or someone else finds out? You will have to punish us.”
“If they do, obviously I will not condemn you. If you have a child by her, I will claim it for my own. No man would dare to question me, not even Ranulf.”
“Is confession and absolution supposed to make up for such a sin? What if I die unshriven? I could go to hell.”
“I have thought of that too, Adelar, and so I will understand if you refuse. Believe me when I say I wish things were not as they are. I would give nearly everything for a child of my body, but God has seen fit to deny me. Perhaps I am doing wrong to try to change that. I have spent much time thinking about it, and all I can say is, if you agree, you would be giving me a great gift and protecting Endredi.”
