“Excuse me, please.” The steward bowed to Ediva and Adrien and left them alone in the hut for a moment.
“We have no midwife,” Ediva noted. “And we’d been spoiled too long with such a good one. She trained no one to take her place. I hope she kept a journal of her dispensing, but I doubt it. Her skills were more to herbs, not reading and writing.”
Adrien grimaced. “I’ll ask Eudo if there is anyone in Colchester willing to come to the keep for this work.” His grimace deepened. He’d have to spare several good men for such a missive—he would not risk sending one man alone. Fast horses also, to blaze through the woodlands too quickly for any Saxon churl who may want to ambush them.
They returned to the keep and Adrien agreed that a rest would be in order. Alone in his chamber, he wrote out a missive to his brother and ordered the sergeant to find the fastest men and good steeds to carry it there.
Normally, he’d wait a while for a replacement to come from the village itself or allow the villagers to find one on their own. ’Twas a small village and none were sick. But with Ediva already ill once, he would take no chances on being without a healer.
No chances.
Chapter Seventeen
Ediva listened to her maid quietly sob throughout the funeral the next day. The chaplain offered brief prayers, but Ediva wondered if mayhap the old man was thankful the woman was gone. The chaplain had had several altercations over the years with the midwife. Her crafty ways and secrecy often made the chaplain suspicious.
Immediately, she reprimanded herself. ’Twas unfair to judge people, especially when she had been so cruel in her own thoughts.
She stole a glance at Adrien. What kind of advice would he offer?
As if hearing her private question, he took her hand in his. Her heart swelled at his strength, his stamina, the rough feel of calluses scraping her knuckles. He was healing faster each day. Today there was no limping and she’d loosened the bandage more this morning, allowing the air to reach the cut. In a few more days, the stitches could come out.
But until this moment, he’d kept his distance from her. He’d seemed on edge, too much for her to wish to trouble him with the story of her attacker. There was no time for such things, or even for the mild flirtations they’d formerly exchanged. Oddly, she missed the light banter.
Before long, the funeral was over and the villagers and tenants gathered in the keep for refreshments. Adrien stayed only a brief time before announcing he needed some air.
She found him on the parapet, staring out at the woods, deep in thought.
Ediva noted the frown that creased Adrien’s brow when he scanned the edge of the forest. Was he looking for a sign of the messengers he’d sent to his brother?
She slipped up beside him. A light wind buffeted his long tunic. “You’re concerned for your men?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “The forest is filled with churls who defy William’s curfew. And we have not found the first courier who went missing.”
“We will see the men soon enough, perhaps they will be more successful than the other men sent out.” When he didn’t answer, she wondered when the best time to approach him about her experience was. Together they could discover if the attack on him was connected to the attack on her. Was it all related to the fact she hadn’t bowed to her attacker’s demands?
Until this moment, she’d had the luxury of time, doting on her husband to the exclusion of all other thought. She hadn’t left his side, except to gather herbs or berries and, even then, she’d posted a guard on his chamber. She’d allowed him only the privacy he needed to attend to his routine.
Now, she had no other tasks. If the midwife had died as part of the threat against her, she needed to speak up. What would Adrien do? He’d be furious, and mayhap see her secrecy as traitorous.
The thought gripped her stomach and she regretted holding her tongue. She would not kill her husband. But if she didn’t, she’d become a traitor to her own people. It had been one thing when the threat was merely words spoken. But now the midwife was dead. Had her attacker shown himself willing to follow through on his threats? Perhaps he had offered clues in his words as to who he might attack next. Fear had clamped not only her throat that day, but also her memory. She struggled to remember that man’s awful words.
But all she could recall was that he’d said something about her being the only one to get close to Adrien.
She thought of her illness, most likely a poisoning. That day, she’d eaten nearly all of Adrien’s meal and hers. Mayhap her attacker had tried to kill Adrien but failed.
She felt her insides go icy cold.
“You looked furious, then fearful, Ediva. What are you thinking?”
She glanced up, surprised. Aye, she told herself sharply, she’d been reluctant to speak and still was.
Lord God, give me strength.
Adrien took her hand and kissed it. “I should like to hear your thoughts.”
She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. He’d turn Dunmow Keep into a fortress. Then her assailant would surely attack again, knowing she’d told Adrien what he’d done to her. Who would he choose?
She shook her head, ignoring her sweaty palms and pounding heart. “’Tis nothing. In fact, it’s left my head, already.”
They stood in silence as the sun dipped lazily below the horizon. All the while Adrien watched the road to Colchester. “You need to rest,” she finally said. “You have been standing on that leg all day.”
With an indrawn breath that seemed to savor the cooling air, he nodded. “Walk with me to my room.”
There had been no banter to make her smile, and longing for it rolled over her.
Nay! Don’t think of your own foolish heart, woman. There is too much danger about. With an unsure smile, she took his arm and with gentleness and a hint of gallantry, he folded her hand into the crook of his elbow. They made their way carefully down to his room.
Only when he’d said good-night, and she’d pretended to walk away, did he finally close his door. Upon hearing it shut, she spun. She sought out the sergeant and ordered him to put a guard on his lord’s door.
The sergeant nodded, and she started up the stairs but turned. “Sergeant,” she began after a thought. “Have you seen the small, wiry dog anywhere?”
“There are several around, milady. Has one bothered you?”
She nodded. “I know ’tis hard to remove them all, but should they become nasty, we need to be rid of them.”
“Aye, milady. The only good they do is bark out warnings.”
She bit her lip. Warnings? That dog usually ignored her, but had it seen her assailant behind her and tried to warn her?
She bid the man good-night, feeling even more unsettled. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs, happy that the torches had been replaced. Both the chandler and her steward had been warned, but she was grateful that her maid waited for her in her solar.
* * *
Whilst a not-as-pale Ediva examined his wound the next day, Adrien gritted his teeth and sent up a prayer for faster healing. The pain was no longer sharp, but the muscle had been cut and he hated to keep still whilst it healed. ’Twould take longer to build it up again.
But a small commotion outside curtailed the examination. They hurried out to see who it was. The men he’d sent to Eudo had returned with a letter. The leader of the messengers handed over his missive in the Great Hall. “My lord, I bring you Baron Eudo’s greetings.”
Adrien unfolded the letter.
My brother, I greet you in the name of our Lord. I am saddened to hear of your injury. We’re still searching for the missing soldier, but I fear the worst. Saxons who oppose the king will do anything to drive us from this land. Beware, Adrien. If a Saxon wants you dead, he may not care who he kills first. Lady Ediva could easily die, too, being seen as a traitor. And keeping your tenants here adds to their hatred, I fear. The rebels may see them as slaves, not hired men. So I’ll keep the men only as long as necessary. The wor
k of moving rock is nearly complete.
I’ll also see to a replacement for your midwife. A good apothecary will help, but I can’t guarantee that one would come. The guilds in this town are tightly knit. They asked for me to allow them control over their own people and I granted it, so they may not wish to send anyone.
Keep on guard. Your brother in Christ and in blood, Eudo.
Adrien crushed the letter into a ball and shoved it deep into his tunic’s pocket. Thankfully, the words were written in French and only Ediva would be able to read it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He led her inside. “Nothing. Eudo says that he’ll return the tenants soon.”
“That’s good news. So why are you frowning?”
“He says he’ll ask the guilds for someone to send here as midwife but fears no one will want to come. Eudo granted the guilds a measure of autonomy over themselves.”
“No doubt your brother will use his charm.”
Adrien sighed. At least Ediva believed his distress was due to the fact that they may not acquire a midwife. She must not know the truth. She already knew that the woods were dangerous but not to the extent that her life was at risk.
He needed his wits about him. He needed to be vigilant for Ediva’s sake. Should something happen to her, he would surely die also.
To that end, Adrien’s decided as he watched Ediva wrap a fresh bandage about his leg that he needed to stop wooing his wife and focus on her safety. He dared not be distracted. Yet, hadn’t he already realized that since he had been hurt?
Still, she was softening toward him and a powerful moment of temptation rolled over him. He wondered how much more would it take for her to fully accept him.
Nay, ’twould not be wise. He would be gone soon enough to battle at Ely. He dared not risk turning the sensible wife he had into a love-softened woman who’d too easily let down her guard. She needed to remain alert. His sisters had been besotted with their husbands and he’d see how carelessly they wandered about in those romantic early months of marriage.
The moment the bandage was tied, he stood. “’Tis healing well. It feels as if I was never cut.”
She scoffed lightly. “I doubt that, but I think I can remove your stitches without feeling ill.”
“In a day or two, perhaps. Now, I must attend to my duties—and you must see to yours.”
Her brows lifted, she said, “The wound’s still mending and you keep moving the muscle. Let me stay and tend to you.”
“My prayers and your ministrations have worked well. Now, your duties are sorely in need of you.” He had no desire to be brusque. Indeed, the memories of the kisses they’d shared squeezed his heart, but neither of them could afford such indulgences.
Ediva stepped away, and with a look more hurt than agreeable, she left to supervise the noon meal.
* * *
She didn’t stop at the kitchen. Instead, Ediva fled through to the garden. She dropped onto the stone bench where the cook often sat to peel the vegetables. Since Adrien had ordered all waste, peelings included, to be thrown in the heap at the other side of the keep, the small garden had taken on a fresh air. A maid had been assigned to weed it, and the scents of summer greens and blooming violets soothed Ediva’s battered nerves.
She sat back, her head pressed against the stone wall. Though the sun warmed and soothed her weary body, but her heart remained troubled. Why was Adrien so gruff?
Because he was anxious to get her tenants back so that he may march to Ely to fight alongside the king?
The only good the war did was make her a widow. And she did not wish for Adrien to die.
Her throat tightened. Her eyes watered and loosened their hold on her tears.
A shout cut through the quiet garden, followed by a dog barking and the thundering of hooves. Ediva jerked forward. Could it be the tenants returning? She hurried around the keep and onto the small patch of green motte that allowed her a clear view of the bailey below.
Norman soldiers were galloping into the keep, barely missing Rypan, who’d opened the gate. The standard they flew was the king’s, but she’d already met the king, and knew these men were merely on Eudo’s business.
She trotted down the slope to stand in the center of the bailey near where the messenger stood as he prepared to return to Colchester. The only good news these riders could bring her was news of the return of her men.
With knuckles pressed against her hips and feet planted firmly, she waited for the men to stop before her.
The first rider did but looked over her shoulder. “My lord.”
Lord? Ediva spun and found Adrien standing there, magnificent in his light tunic, his belt slung about his slim waist and his beard trimmed. He’d taken on the Saxon style of a beard but kept his hair short, though not as short as a Norman’s usual cut. He also stood akimbo, but with his height and breadth, he was far more intimidating.
He glanced down at Ediva, then stepped in front of her. Piqued, she stepped to his left to stand there beside him.
He glared down at her. “Woman, times are dangerous. Stay behind me or I will have you carried into the solar and kept under lock and key.”
His voice was so fraught with warning, Ediva relented and stepped back. The mounted soldier’s horse skittered about, forcing Adrien to grab its bridle as the man spoke. “My lord, we have been searching the king’s woods for several days and bring disturbing news.”
“What has happened?”
Several other riders trotted into the bailey, two men on one mount leading another. Ediva peeked out from behind Adrien and gasped.
The last horse carried the bloodied and beaten body of a soldier.
Chapter Eighteen
The missing courier, Adrien thought. He shot Ediva a glare to warn her to stay before striding up to the horse that bore the body.
Indeed, it was the soldier, and the marks of violence on him were enough to shock even Adrien.
“We found him closer to Little Dunmow than Colchester, my lord,” the first rider announced as he dismounted.
Disgusted, Adrien turned to find Ediva’s face as pale as she’d been when she first saw his leg injury.
He turned back. “Take the body into the chapel and set a guard on it. Ask my sergeant if he can tell how he died. He has experience with that. Though ’twould seem his injuries alone could kill a man.”
Nodding, the man ordered his troop into action. Adrien returned to Ediva. “Go inside. ’Tis not a sight for a lady to see.”
“I saw Ganute’s body. Though I must say, it didn’t shock and sadden me as this poor fellow’s death. He looks so young.”
“He was. Ediva, your countrymen did this.”
She shot him an eye full of daggers. “My countrymen are defending their land. Would you not do the same?”
Adrien glared back. “William was promised the throne!”
They stared at each other for a long moment. No one moved. Then, from somewhere behind him, a dog barked excitedly.
Ediva jumped. Her gaze lit on his sergeant. “I told you to chase that dog away! And if you find its owner, bring him to me!”
She steeled her spine and pulled up on the hem of her cyrtel. “Adrien, regardless of our opposing views, this man has died, and he deserves our final respects. I will prepare for his funeral. Since it isn’t safe to send him to Normandy, we’ll bury him in Ganute’s family cemetery.”
“’Tis a Saxon graveyard, Ediva.”
She rolled her eyes. “’Tis true. In fact, I plan to bury him right beside Ganute.” Then, her voice dripping with sarcasm, she added, “They can sort out their differences on the judgment day.”
Adrien watched her stride away. What was Ediva thinking? Ganute’s cemetery was full of Saxon nobles, and to bury a lowly Norman foot soldier there was unthinkable.
Unless Ediva was punishing Ganute and his family with it.
His heart fell. She needed to let go of her anger toward that man.
Lord, show h
er how to do that. Heal her heart.
The dog returned to its yipping, pulling his attention away. And since when did Ediva hate dogs so? There were plenty of mongrels about, some small enough to capture rats, whilst others were trained to herd sheep. They were hardly a threat.
But suddenly, Ediva thought differently. Why?
* * *
Ediva ordered the men who’d carried the young soldier into the chapel to clean his body and dress him in some decent clothes she found in her keep. Hardly the boy’s style, she knew, but ’twere better than the ripped and blood-soaked tatters he wore.
Then she sent a servant to find the man who’d made the casket for the midwife. She entered the chapel later that day to ensure her orders had been carried out, only to find Adrien standing over the remains. She stopped and held her breath, afraid she’d disturb him from his prayers.
But he looked up at her, his expression grim. “I’m only here to offer my respects. This man belonged to Eudo, so ’twould seem appropriate that I stand in my brother’s stead.”
She walked to the front. The rough-hewn wooden casket had already been delivered. ’Twas a simple one, not the fancy one Ganute had had hewn from limestone many years ago.
“’Tis kind of you to buy him a coffin, Ediva. I know that many Saxons use only a strong cloth.”
She nodded, not wanting to test her voice for fear it would shake. She couldn’t allow this boy to go to his grave a pauper. She pulled from her right pocket a small scroll and set it on the coffin.
“What’s that?” Adrien asked.
“’Tis just a Saxon prayer. When my father died, my sister said it at his funeral. I had memorized it.” They stood in silent reflection for a moment and before she did or said something foolish, she turned and walked out.
For the rest of the day, Ediva kept busy. Her servants stayed quiet, but she knew ’twas not in reverence as it had been for Ganute’s funeral. None wanted a Norman soldier buried with their lord, but the more Ediva thought of it, the more adamant she became. And the more her servants sensed her stubbornness the more they kept out of her way.
Bound to the Warrior (Love Inspired Historical) Page 18
