’Twas odd, of course. Had this death occurred earlier in the spring, she’d have been the first to send the remains back to Colchester, but an ache deep within her grew and formed the desire, nay, the need, to bury the man here.
Still, one important question remained. She sought out Adrien and found him outside strengthening his upper arms.
“Is it wise to exercise?”
“The wound is healing well and I’m not using my legs. Besides, I must do something useful until we bury the soldier.”
His muscles were fairly bursting from his tunic, leading Ediva’s mind to wander. Why was he spending so much time training? To stay busy, as he had said? There was enough to keep all, servants and master, occupied. Nay, he was training himself—preparing for battle. Her heart turned to stone and sat heavy in her chest. “Adrien, the man who was killed was coming here to deliver a missive. Was the letter found?”
Adrien set down the weights he was heaving about and grabbed a cloth from Harry to wipe his face and hands. He led her to a stone bench set against the bailey wall near the steps that led up to its battlement.
“Nay, but Eudo told me what he’d written.”
“Which was?”
“He said he left a quarter of the money behind. He guessed you were speaking hastily when you promised you’d make the soldiers stronger and fitter. So he left you some money to do so.”
“But Geoffrey recorded only what was in the strongbox after that, which was nothing. Eudo must have taken it all.”
“I see no reason why my brother would lie to me.”
She couldn’t explain it, either. But there were others in the room at the time, and she knew her arrival had distracted them. “Mayhap the guards took the rest?” she asked quietly. “’Twould only take a sleight of hand to snatch up the few coins left.”
Adrien thought a moment. “My soldiers are trustworthy.”
“Are they? I know you have forbidden plunder for your men, but King William allows it.”
“Taking from a defeated man all he has is wrong. ’Tis fine to take enough to prevent the man from raising arms again, but I see no reason for greed.”
“Mayhap your soldiers disagree.” She eyed the men as they continued their training. “They will return to the garrison in London with nothing but their meager wages, whilst others have fine clothes and jewelry or money from the sale of such items.”
His mouth tight, Adrien stood. “My soldiers respect my orders. Talk no more of this, woman.”
Frustrated, Ediva flew to her feet. “Someone stole from us, Adrien, and you can’t see it was your men or your brother. Nay, all you want is to serve the king as his slave! You’re only here at his bidding until you can fight again. Go, then, fight for William at Ely! I’m sure we’ll soon hear of the orders to move north!”
Adrien’s face grew dark. “I am no man’s slave!”
“You are, and you are proud of it! You think that your faith can hide that fact? Go, die at Ely for your king! You torment me by staying here with your silver-tongued promises. But soon, I’ll be left alone!”
She stormed away, hating that she’d allowed herself to care for Adrien, so much that ’twould cause her to lose control, only to have him turn cold.
In her solar, she dismissed her maid. Tears had already filled Ediva’s eyes and she swiped them furiously away. The door opened and closed again, and she spun to throw her maid out again.
Adrien stood there, hands on hips, determination reigning over his face. “I will not have you argue with me. Nor will I have you storm away like a spoiled child.”
She drew back her shoulders. “I’m mistress of this keep, and I’ll do as I please. Having Normans treat their women harshly doesn’t allow you to treat me that way.”
“When have I treated you harshly?”
Nay, he hadn’t, except with her heart and his desire to go to battle. “You say you can stand a bloody nose, my lord, so you should be able to stand a woman’s scorn.”
His lips tightened. “If I have earned the scorn, I’ll accept it, but I see no reason for your foul mood.” He pulled in a breath and let it out with great control. She blinked as he grimaced. “Ediva, ’tis not the way I want us to be, but I can’t change who I am. I’m a soldier.”
“You are also Baron of Dunmow! You promised to keep these people safe, and yet you plan to go to battle again! How can that give me—us—security?”
“Fighting will secure the land.” He shook his head. “But we’ve had this argument too much. I know something else lies beneath it. What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t say it. The coarse voice of the man who’d nearly strangled her lingered in her memory. She was to kill Adrien or villagers would die. Such was the determination of the Saxon men who hid in the forest and fought to rid their land of a foreign king.
She had to protect her people. But she didn’t want Adrien to die. The very thought clutched her heart with cold fingers. Yet the midwife had already died. Smothered to prove the threat against Ediva was real.
Finally, she spoke. “The midwife was murdered, wasn’t she?”
Adrien waited a moment before answering. “Aye. How did you know?”
“Your sergeant told me whilst you slept. We have a killer here.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“I’m not concerned for me. I have soldiers about me for guards, but the women in the village have nothing! They don’t even have their husbands and sons.”
“They’ll return very soon.”
“And you’ll leave for Ely. While the man who has killed will still be here.” Her voice sounded flat to her ears, and she turned away.
But she heard Adrien approach, felt his warm hands upon her shoulders as he turned her and hoped that her eyes didn’t shine too brightly with unshed tears.
“I won’t allow you to carry the burden of this keep alone. Nor will I die at Ely. I promise.”
She shook her head. “You can hardly promise that!”
“God will protect me.”
She rolled her eyes. “And I have been so good a servant of His that He would allow you to stay safe for me?”
Adrien reached to cup her face with big, warm hands. Despite the lingering summer heat, she felt cold and found herself grateful for Adrien’s strong frame.
“God doesn’t hate you, Ediva. But I hate that you have been hurt by people who should have protected you. From your parents who sanctioned your bitter marriage, to the chaplain who feels ’twas fine for Ganute to be cruel. But you must find peace and love and learn to forgive them all for what they did to you. Starting with Ganute.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. He lowered his hands to her upper arms and kept her close. “Aye, forgive Ganute or you’re as trapped as he is in his own sin.”
“You don’t know what he did to me!”
“I have seen plenty in my time, Ediva. And I saw the scrap of clothing he tore from your body. I know what he did, and it turns my stomach to think on it, but unless you allow God to heal you, the hatred will eat you alive. I find it difficult to forgive him, but with our Lord’s help, I am slowly doing so.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She could smell the late summer sun on him. She could feel the beating of his heart against her cheek. She slid her arms around his torso and held him as tightly as he held her. Her veil fell from her head.
“Ediva, you can’t love as God wants you to love until you set aside this hatred,” he whispered into her hair.
“How does God want me to love? To have compassion? I have had that with the young soldier. To protect my people? I do that also.”
He set her away from him slightly and then lifted her chin so she could see his eyes. “This love, too.”
He dipped his head and met her parted lips. She could taste tart cider on him and felt the brush of his beard on her cheeks. But the surge of emotion was far more compelling. Should she feel this desire? It was a longing she couldn’t explain, a want for something that
she’d never felt before.
She wanted to love him. She could sense the deep satisfaction that a divinely sanctioned love could offer.
She kissed him back, snaking her hands over his shoulders to catch the nape of his neck. She wanted so badly to love him fully, heart and soul. But what was the point? He’d soon be off to Ely, giving in to his king and his love of battle.
’Twas what had angered her so. But no anger could tear her away from his kiss. He pressed further into her, tightened his grip and demanded an answer that matched all he was giving her.
She held him fast. All she wanted that moment was to stay in his arms. For as long as they were this close, he couldn’t leave her. Nor die in battle.
Weakened from the kiss, they broke apart. He blinked, wet his lips and drew in a breath that was as ragged as her own.
“We should go and offer prayers in the chapel before the funeral,” he finally said. “Change and meet me in the hall. ’Twould be wise to be seen together, to be seen as a united keep.”
He lifted his hand to her face, brushed her cheek with his knuckles and studied her well-kissed lips before backing away and leaving her alone.
She reached for her chair and sank into it, trying all the while to steady her breath. She was a fool to fall for Adrien. But her heart cared little for good sense. Her head ached with confusion and she turned to her ewer and bowl to splash water on her face. It soothed her but she still found her hands shook as she donned a more appropriate cyrtel for a funeral. With a fresh veil and modest diadem, she was ready.
With her insides still feeling tight and her heart still pounding blood up to her face, she opened her solar door and stepped into the corridor. When she reached the stairwell, she saw a leather-clad hand close over the nearest torch and extinguish it.
Chapter Nineteen
The darkness of the stairwell swamped her and Ediva grappled to find the cold wall as she eased herself back up the stairs.
She stumbled and fell, her hip cracking on the stone tread. Feeling the closeness of evil, she stilled her frame.
Whoever was there leaned into her. She could see nothing but felt him pressing on her. His foul breath plowed through her skewed veil, making her gag.
“I warned you,” was his hoarse whisper.
She fought to free her feet from her tangled cyrtel, but the more she fought, the more trapped she became. She tried to scream but a hand clamped over her mouth and pressed her against the steps.
“If you scream, I’ll strangle you. And after you are dead, I’ll kill your husband and your tenants.”
She strived to listen to the voice. ’Twas Saxon for sure, but it sounded strange. An accent? She jerked her head from the sour smell of filthy wool and squeezed her hands up between her and this evil creature to shove hard. But he barely moved. And under the stench lingered something she couldn’t identify. Something sharp and foul on his breath.
Ediva turned her head. “If you want Lord Adrien dead, try it yourself. But he’ll kill you before you lift your blade.”
“He cannot kill someone he doesn’t see coming.”
She listened, realizing that her assailant had chosen this timing well. Everyone was outside, on edge from the death of the young soldier and either preparing for the funeral or avoiding the keep altogether.
“If you tell him, I’ll kill another villager.”
“They’re innocent!”
“They’ll die for freedom, my lady. A noble cause for any Saxon. ’Tis why you’ll murder Lord Adrien before any more deaths happen.”
“I won’t murder anyone!”
“You will, milady.” The voice sounded different, cracked as before, yet different. “You are the only one he lets close.”
“’Tis not true! He’s a fine lord who—”
The man smacked his hand on the stonework, making her jump. “Do not insult me! Did he not come up here just now? I can smell his stench on you. You betray your own people!”
She felt the heat rise into her face and shimmied up another tread. Her hip ached. As if he could see in the blackness, her assailant followed her up.
“You will kill him. Before those at Ely do.”
“Why do you force this on me?”
“Because you are the only one who can do it. Do not worry, milady, for the village will say nothing when his brother comes looking for him.”
She shoved hard against the man and managed to shift him off her. He laughed, the cackle cutting through her, hoarse and broken. “Your midwife is dead, thanks to you. Who will be next? The young wife, Wynnth?”
She gasped. Did he really kill the midwife? Would he...nay, not Wynnth! She had two small babes!
A short whimper escaped her and she knew she had to stop this evil. She lunged at him with a screech, but, too late, she learned that he’d stepped to one side.
She found herself toppling headfirst down the stairs.
* * *
Adrien released a sigh of thankfulness as Ediva’s eyes fluttered open. He’d feared she’d never awaken. A servant had found her at the bottom of the stairs and called to him immediately. His heart had nearly stopped at the sight of her crumpled body.
He gently carried her no farther than his own chamber. After he ordered extra furs for the pallet, he lay her bruised form down as tenderly as possible.
She’d moaned and shifted her legs. Although he cringed, he’d sent up a prayer of thanks. Her movement meant she wasn’t paralyzed. He’d heard of men injured on the battlefield, struck on the head or spine and unable to walk. They’d died slow, agonizing deaths.
He also ordered her pillow be brought down. And when it arrived, he adjusted it to support her shoulders, all the while setting her braids neatly down her prone form.
“Ediva?” he asked gently. “Can you hear me?”
She blinked, as if bringing him into focus. One look at him and she burst into tears. He tried to pull her close, but she cried out. “Nay, I ache all over!”
“Of course,” he said, berating his foolishness. “You fell down the stairs.”
“’Twas dark. The torch...”
“The torch is lit again. It went out.”
She looked around the room with confusion. “How did I get here?”
“I brought you in. I didn’t want to risk more injuries by carrying to your solar.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Only as long as it took your maid to fetch your bedding. I’ve sent them off again for cold water and cloths.”
She gasped. “How long was I at the bottom of the stair?”
“It couldn’t have been more than a few moments. I was there not long before.”
She grabbed his arm. “He might still be here! You must find him!”
“Find who?” He sat back in shock. “Did someone push you?”
“Aye! A man.” She shook her head. “You must—”
He flew out of his chamber. The first person he spied was young Harry, who’d sat himself down along the wall, his face pinched with worry. The boy scrambled to his feet when the door opened.
“Get me the sergeant! And seal the gate! No one leaves nor enters this keep!”
Harry bolted away. Adrien ordered a young soldier who’d come at the sound of shouting to guard the door. Then he stalked straight to the armory to find a more suitable blade. His own ’twas best when mounted. A shorter Saxon blade was better when on foot.
The sword firmly in hand, he charged back to the chamber. His sergeant was already waiting at the door to his chamber.
“Lady Ediva has been attacked. I want the keep emptied top to bottom, except for your most trustworthy man to guard this door. Line everyone else up outside. Now!”
Behind him, the door opened. Ediva stepped out. “Adrien! You must listen to me—”
Shocked yet relieved she could stand, he barked at her, “Stay inside! You’re safe there, Ediva.”
“But how safe are you?”
Disgusted, he scooped her up and set her ba
ck on the bed. “I’ll be fine. I’ll return shortly.” He stalked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.
* * *
Ediva jumped as the door slammed. She dare not chase him, for she’d discovered that her body ached with even the slightest movement and moving to the door had been pure agony.
And her stomach churned like a waterwheel in spring. She swallowed the taste of rising bile as she pressed her head against her pillow. Adrien was gone to find her attacker, an unknown man. How would he even recognize him?
What would happen if that man felt threatened? Would he run Adrien through should he turn his back? Geoffrey’s warning returned to her. Saxons wanted him dead.
A sob rose in her. She shut her eyes tight against the tears and pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out loud.
Her heart twisted for peace. Her attacker could easily kill again.
Kill who? A tenant who’d trusted her with his or her very life? She’d fought so hard to protect her people, to help them and care for them. Was it possible that one of them truly hated her that much, simply for marrying a Norman? Slowly, she realized something. Her attacker could never forgive her for betraying her people with her marriage. As she could never forgive Ganute.
Lord Jesus, what should I do? Help me forgive.
She stared up at the ceiling, the walls catching what little light angled in through the slit windows, all the while recalling to her mind the chapel’s mural with its compassionate faces and open arms. The subtle offer of help.
She’d been burdened by hatred and unforgiveness for far too long. She could now see what the hatred did.
To her, and to her attacker, too. Many of the villagers thought she’d married Adrien willingly, and some of them must hate her for what appeared to be a betrayal.
So how could she expect forgiveness from them, while not forgiving Ganute?
Bound to the Warrior (Love Inspired Historical) Page 19
