Bound to the Warrior (Love Inspired Historical)

by Barbara Phinney

  Oh, how different they were. She’d not even seen Colchester and he was longing for more adventure than she could ever imagine. She’d heard of the sea beyond Colchester, with its stretches of beaches. A lady her mother knew who had visited once brought a selection of shells. As a child, Ediva had admired them over and over, rubbing the smooth surface inside the shells with her forefingers until they cramped.

  While Adrien, a man older than her, had seen battles and countries and crossed the channel she’d only heard about in a boat so large it could carry a hundred men. Adrien longed for adventure. How dreadful life here must be to him.

  But she knew Adrien—and his honor. If he knew she cared for him, he’d be honor bound to stay and ’twould hardly be fair to him.

  Suddenly, she decided as she watched him disappear into the forest, she didn’t want to be unfair to him.

  Nay, not one jot.

  * * *

  Adrien returned late, both he and his mount sweaty and tired. He’d pushed the stallion far too hard and though the beast didn’t complain or slow, ’twas a difficult ride for both. Adrien ached, giving him a hint of what Ediva might have endured after her travel to London.

  Dusk was near and without conscious thought, he looked up at the top floor of the keep, to Ediva’s solar. The windows were already shuttered against the cool night. Should he seek her out? The kiss they’d shared still lingered on his lips.

  But what good would it do? One kiss would not turn a sensible woman like Ediva into a woman willing to overlook her husband’s flaws and love and trust him.

  Although well-schooled, thanks to being born into an affluent family faithful to Duke William, he would easily drop anything and go to battle again. ’Twould be pointless to care for Ediva too much. She might begin to love him back, and then what? Men sometimes didn’t return from war, or returned maimed. Was that what he wanted for his wife so shortly after they’d just begun to care for each other?

  A strong distaste for war burst on his tongue. He dismounted and handed the reins to Rypan, who had raced out of the stables near the back of the bailey. Nay, he would not visit her. He would clean up and then send young Harry to check on the smithy’s wife. And he’d see if Olin was healing. As soon as that man was fit to travel, he would be escorted off the Dunmow estates for good.

  “Lord Adrien?”

  Adrien turned, finding the chaplain hurrying toward him. The man’s long robes swooshed in his haste to reach him.

  “How is your guest?” he asked the stern man when he was close enough.

  “As well as possible. Your lashes dug deep and were not necessary, but he will recover. I’ve given him a draught to ease his pain and help him sleep.”

  Adrien’s jaw tightened. “As you say, he will recover.”

  “We have frankpledges here, milord. The men of Olin’s tythe would have simply been fined—”

  “I am well aware of frankpledges, sir,” Adrien snapped. “But the ten men in his tythe are not here to pledge for his innocence or simply accept the fine on his behalf. I clearly saw him accosting the woman, and fining innocent men is foolish. Nay, without those men here, I assumed the role of constable.” Indeed, his brother had already assumed that role in Colchester, with the support of the townsfolk there. “The few landowners left here sat as jurors and found Olin guilty. I meted out a fair punishment in accordance to Norman law.”

  “A fine would have sufficed, sir! The crime was not so great and not all of Olin’s doing. Women should learn their place and not lure men to sin!”

  Adrien dusted off his tunic, thankful to keep his hands busy while the chaplain spoke so ridiculously. “You say that Wynnth, with her babe in her arms and another in her hut was bent on luring a man of questionable honor?”

  “Olin was Ganute’s cousin! Not some reprobate of questionable honor!”

  “The woman’s ripped clothing would disagree. And Olin’s kinship with Ganute is no recommendation to me.”

  The chaplain fumed. “Lord Ganute kept the estate well.”

  “He brutalized his wife regularly!”

  The man stiffened. “He was well within his rights as master! She is willful, my lord. She needs a firm hand, as all women do!”

  Adrien took a threatening step toward the chaplain. “Your Saxon laws balk at whipping a man, but a woman may be brutalized? You’re addled, old man.”

  “And Norman law is better?”

  Adrien pursed his lips. Nay, Norman law was harsher, and ’twas well known that Saxon laws protected women more. But Adrien would not be dragged into a useless debate. “I will expect you to keep your peace about my wife and treat her with respect.”

  The old monk leaned forward to force his point. “Your wife fights the order to attend services each morning. I ask you, how often has she been to chapel since you married her?”

  Adrien stepped back, feeling the sting of the words. But he refused to let this man’s rebuke weigh on him. He knew of gentle men of God, kind and loving like the man who taught him his numbers and letters. He also knew of harsh chaplains who kept their parishes tight with fear. Adrien had no cause to suspect that this man wasn’t devout, but his way was harsh. ’Twas little wonder Ediva had turned from God.

  “Lady Ediva should be setting a good example for the women here, but she does not. She didn’t once come to chapel while you were gone, my lord. ’Twould be wise to reprimand her, as you have Olin. Otherwise, you will regret this marriage!”

  The man spun and headed back into the chapel. Adrien crushed the urge to follow him and punish him for his harsh words.

  But ’twas not his way to reprimand a man of the cloth. Adrien ground his heel into the dew-dampened earth as he turned to stalk into the keep. Having lost his desire for food, he ordered warm water for his ablutions. While waiting, he found himself staring out the narrow window at the hastening dark.

  What the chaplain had said about Ediva not attending chapel services was most likely true. Whilst he was here she’d only come when he’d ordered it. But he could not order her to change her heart. Jesus stood at her door and knocked only. He did not burst in unwanted. His eyes shut, Adrien prayed.

  What am I to do, Lord? Ganute hurt her, the chaplain threatens her and I keep talking of leaving. She deserves freedom from her pain, but I fear I know not what to do.

  No answer came, and with a heavy heart, he opened the door to allow the two servants to carry in water. After he’d bathed, he sat at his table and pulled out his prayer book. With a wide iron hinge and yellowed pages bound to leather, it creaked open. How long had it been since he’d read this? So much had happened, and he hated that his life had taken him from his routines.

  But he was learning much about Ediva. Surely that was good, aye? Nay. What he learned disturbed him.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Ediva spied a young soldier gallop out of the bailey and into the forest, eastward toward the rising sun. Where was he going in such a hurry?

  She watched from the grass outside the wall, where she supervised the spreading of linens and clothes to dry. The earlier they were set out, the better the chances they had to dry, and she was glad to be up early and kept busy. Running the keep was the task for which she’d been well-trained.

  Helping the maids, she dug into the basket of wet linens for more. ’Twas a servant’s job, but several had fallen ill last night, leaving Ediva to supervise necessary chores with a reduced staff. So she pulled free a large under tunic and fluttered it once.

  “Milady!”

  She looked over the cloth to her maid. “What’s wrong?” she asked, fearing that the sickness had spread to her.

  “You have tossed out some coins.”

  Ediva peered over the cloth to the grass, where her maid had spotted the coins, and quickly scooped them up. Ediva asked, “Whose tunic is this?”

  “Geoffrey’s, milady. I washed it this morning. They must have been in his pocket.”

  Ediva frowned. “Why were you washing his tu
nic? I thought his mother did that.”

  “Aye, but she’s been busy with those who are sick, and she isn’t young anymore. I offered to help.”

  Looking down at the coins, Ediva mused, “He must have forgotten he had them.”

  Though Geoffrey worked as steward, he also helped his mother, the midwife, keep fowl for their eggs in a coop behind her house. Ediva had begun to purchase the eggs to feed the soldiers, and as the midwife preferred payment in coin over meat, Ediva had sent the sum with Geoffrey to give her.

  She nodded and slipped the coins into the drawstring pouch attached to her cyrtel. “I’ll return them as soon as we’re done here.” With Geoffrey busy elsewhere, she’d walk into the village. ’Twould be a pleasant diversion from the chores.

  By the time the sun had moved to shine upon the clothes they’d laid out, Ediva was crossing the path toward the village. She found the midwife busy in her garden.

  The old woman smiled. “Good day, milady. What brings you here this fine morn?”

  “My maid found some coins in Geoffrey’s tunic.” She stretched out her hand, noting the amount. “I believe they were payment for your eggs.”

  The woman frowned as she hastily pocketed the money. “Would you also be here for herbs for a nice tea? I have this new season’s batch.”

  Ediva shook her head. The teas she’d drunk for the pain were no longer needed. “Nay, I have no need of them.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I also have ones that can make you strong. Strong enough to give your lord good, healthy babes.”

  Ediva backed away. She had no desire to discuss with anyone Adrien’s promise not to touch her, least of all the midwife.

  Someone cleared his throat behind her and she spun. Geoffrey stood at the front gate. His mother smiled at him.

  “Milady,” he asked Ediva, “is there something wrong? Are you ill, too?”

  She shook her head. “I came to return the coins that fell from your tunic when it was washed.” She stiffened. ’Twas a menial task she’d done, and yet, as she spoke of it, she couldn’t deny the edginess that had suddenly settled over the trio.

  Her skin fairly crawled for some odd reason. Because she’d done something below her station? Looking at Geoffrey’s pale face and stricken expression, she frowned. “Are you sick? You look ill.”

  His mother bustled past Ediva, her stout frame a far cry from her Danish roots. “Come inside, my son. I’ll make you a draught.”

  Ediva bid her farewell, slipping past Geoffrey who bowed in respect. Behind her, she could hear the woman fussing over her son.

  Some distance out, she turned and looked again at the midwife’s small house. Something was amiss. She just wasn’t sure what it was. She only hoped that the deadly fever that had killed her mother and mother-in-law wasn’t returning.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thankfully, the illness that swept through the keep passed quickly with no one becoming too sick. Ediva wiped her moist brow during her walk back from the village the next week. She’d been to visit the young mothers, all the while wondering why neither she nor Adrien had caught the fever.

  But did it truly matter? She was glad they hadn’t—and that no one had died, as so oft was the case. As she entered the bailey gate, her gaze fell upon the exercise yard where the soldiers had gathered. ’Twas midway between noon and the late meal, and the bailey was bustling. With the crops planted and sheep out to pasture, the soldiers had less to occupy their time. So Adrien had ordered some drills.

  In case they were called to Ely. Ediva’s stomach clenched. Standing inside the gate, she watched her husband work with several archers, strengthening their muscles on an odd instrument full of wheels and cords. He’d shed his tunic and now stood with a short under tunic and lightweight braes that were popular in the warmer weather. A belt cinched at his trim waist. She could see his muscles straining under the effort of tightening the lines of gut.

  He didn’t see her, and standing still gave her the opportunity to study him. He worked well with the men, smiled often and enjoyed the exercises he shared with the archers. He was truly a wonder to look at. A far cry from Ganute, whose form had rounded and softened over the years. He’d cared not that he was growing fat as long as he was stronger than she was.

  While Adrien worked hard to keep himself fit.

  Then he turned. And spotted her.

  Flustered, she hefted up the bundle of clothes that most of the babes in the village had outgrown. She’d ensure they were washed, mended if necessary and stored ’til the next babe’s entrance. Yet, as she hurried about her work, she felt Adrien’s stare upon her as brilliant as the sun that beat down this early May day.

  The chaplain trotted into view. He had just exited the keep and was hurrying toward the chapel. He bowed and scowled out a greeting that was barely polite. She frowned at him as he hurried by. Mayhap he was sick, for as often as she’d known him, he was never surly with her. He’d long told her what he’d expected of her and faulted her for being barren, in a voice as cold as winter winds, but he’d never been openly sour and discourteous.

  Aye, she often found excuses for not going to his services, but she was there whenever something important was scheduled. What more did he expect?

  Pay him no heed, she told herself as she pressed on toward the keep. She had more important matters on her mind than his conduct. But at the entrance to the keep above her, she stopped. Some instinct caused her to turn.

  Adrien had abandoned his training and was now striding with purpose into the chapel. Had the return of the old chaplain prompted Adrien to enter for prayers?

  Oh, to have the faith he possessed! The strength within him came not from smooth and toned muscles, but from faith as strong as their keep. It gave him a peace when he went to war. But ’twas not a quiet strength. It troubled him to explain it.

  She bit her lip. Adrien should not battle to explain his beliefs and she shouldn’t expect him to minister to her. Mayhap he was going to pray about it.

  She swallowed and entered the keep, the load of clothes heavier than before.

  * * *

  Adrien found the cleric in the front pew, praying. He would always assume the man faithful, but his attitude toward Ediva needed to change. Adrien approached the pew and waited for the man to sense him and end his prayer.

  The chaplain lifted his head. In the dimness, Adrien could still not see his expression. “’Tis not time for services,” the man said. “Or do you need me for something else, my lord?”

  Adrien hesitated. A year ago he’d never have considered reprimanding any chaplain. He’d been a simple knight, knowing his place. But now he was Baron of Dunmow. And Lady Ediva was his wife, his Baroness. The man had no right to throw surly glares at her as he hurried by. ’Twas by her generosity this chaplain had stayed, and now by Adrien’s own grace. Adrien hated the pride in those thoughts, but he hated the old chaplain’s rudeness far more.

  “I need to speak with you,” he stated flatly as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark interior. “About your conduct.”

  The man looked genuinely perplexed as he rose. “My conduct?”

  “I saw the look you cast upon my wife. She is the Lady of Dunmow. She deserves no such disdain.”

  The chaplain’s expression hardened. “She has sinned.”

  Adrien’s fingers dug into his palms. “We have all sinned.”

  “She resists her duty to come to services.”

  “And your attitude will remedy that? Did you also reprimand Lord Ganute?”

  The chaplain fell silent.

  “Answer me, Padre.”

  The man suddenly blurted out, “Nay, ’twas not my place! But Lady Ediva has stayed away from services and fights my preaching. Both she and that sinful midwife. They conspire together.”

  Adrien considered the old woman. Margaret had informed him that Ediva had returned some money that belonged to the woman. The old midwife was a secretive crone, sly and comfortable in her position of minor
power in the village. Adrien had ignored her for the most part.

  But was there another reason for Ediva to visit her? Did Ediva need more herbs for something nefarious? Did the chaplain suspect something?

  Nay, the old chaplain was finding fault where none existed. He crossed his arms. “What did they conspire to do, Padre? Did you see your lady go to the midwife’s house? Did you hear their words?”

  The chaplain hesitated, not answering the question.

  Adrien’s stared hard at the priest. The man was unnecessarily hard on Ediva and ignoring the fact that he’d allowed Ganute far more sins. It had to end. “Answer me!”

  With a shifting look, the chaplain answered, “Nay, I heard and saw nothing. ’Twas just what was said.”

  Adrien straightened, taking the time to pray quickly for the right words. He’d failed to say the right ones for Ediva, so mayhap God would guide him now. “Did Ganute always obey your counsel and come to regular services?”

  The old chaplain colored. “’Twas not my place to order Lord Ganute!”

  Adrien narrowed his eyes. “’Twas your place to scold the lady of the keep but not its lord? You are a hardly a shy man closeted away from the world. You knew Lord Ganute well for how many years? You can’t tell me ’twas not your duty to counsel him.”

  “’Twere a few times...” the man began.

  Adrien pulled back his shoulders. “And he would not listen, so you badgered Lady Ediva instead?” He pressed his hands to his hips. “Lady Ediva endured much in her marriage, and I don’t care if you feel ’twas proper for her to be battered. Her lack of faith needs your prayers, not your reproof. More flies come to honey than vinegar.”

  He wanted to add that he had the power to send the man away, but the chaplain already knew how tenuous his position was. There was no need to say it. When the older man’s gaze fell to the stone floor, Adrien left the dimness of the tiny chapel.

  The sunshine outside prompted Adrien to pull in the warm air seeping through the open doorway. But his exhalation was shaky. He had no wish to reprove the chaplain—he only wanted to bring Ediva the respect she deserved. A respect so strong, his heart pounded in his chest at the very thought of his lovely wife.