Bound to the Warrior (Love Inspired Historical)

by Barbara Phinney

  “We all die, Ediva. Faith will help you learn not to fear it. Remember it takes time for a seed to grow. Within the Scriptures, there is a man called Paul—”

  “I know the Scripture stories, Adrien. At one time, I enjoyed chapel services. But my life became bitter when I married.”

  He looked across the river, where an apple tree stood, its fruit now taking on the first blush of ripeness. “Just as it takes a summer to grow good fruit, we need to allow ourselves time to change.”

  “I know this. I just...” She looked at him. “You have so much patience. I admire that.”

  With a smile, he shook his head. “No, I don’t. Eudo still calls me Prado, that horrible childhood nickname. I have little patience with him. But he is slowing understanding how I feel. Last time we met, he called me Adrien. It’s a good start for both of us.”

  She smiled back. They sat on the rock for some time. He took her hand in his and held it between them, and they watched the river roll lazily past on its way to the town of Colchester and finally out to the North Sea.

  He thought of why she had not trusted him. He couldn’t blame her for it.

  But he also couldn’t change what was. He was loyal to the king, born to be a soldier. ’Twas all he’d ever wanted to do. Ediva needed a husband who could be there for her and he could never guarantee that.

  Slowly, he peeled free his hands. “We should return to the keep.”

  “And what should we do about the attacker?”

  He didn’t want to tell her the conclusion he’d come to early this morning. He still believed the cur lived within the keep or in Little Dunmow, so very close to them.

  “I plan to keep the men separate and always accounted for. I’ll order the soldiers to patrol more often. We’ll find your attacker, Ediva. I know you don’t think much of my promises, but I promise you I won’t let another person be killed in Dunmow Keep.”

  She set off ahead of him, her frown deepening as she hiked up her cyrtel to move more easily through the long grass. “I don’t doubt your sincerity, Adrien. I only pray you can do it all.”

  They returned to the keep and found it quietly busy. Adrien looked up at the wide wall and found the soldiers patrolling as ordered. A wave of uneasiness rippled over him as everyone began to gather for the noon meal. The soldier’s funeral had been completed without Ediva, and it now left a pall on everyone.

  After the chaplain said the blessing for the meal, Ediva reached to choose the meat for them, but Adrien stopped her.

  “I’ll taste it first.” He tossed a hard look at the young server who stood with the platter extended and eyes as big as the brooches on Ediva’s cloak. Beside him the steward stiffened. As he should because ’twas his responsibility to ensure the safety of the food. Even the chaplain beside him tensed.

  Adrien cut off a small portion of the choice meat and sampled it. The only thing he tasted was a light salting. And it sat well in his stomach.

  He tasted the drink and found it simple and bland, with no spices to hide a poison. Satisfied, he served Ediva the small piece of meat and some boiled vegetables.

  * * *

  Adrien was testing her food? Ediva found herself holding her breath as he sipped from their cup. Please, Lord, make this meal safe.

  Smiling uneasily at him when he set down the cup, Ediva felt a little more of that elusive peace drift in, and she welcomed it.

  “Milady?”

  Ediva looked up, startled. Geoffrey stood in front of the table, his expression emotionless, holding out the savory pastries.

  She shook her head. Geoffrey moved to serve the chaplain. Her gaze followed the man around the room as he completed his task with calm efficiency. Then her attention returned to the chaplain, who, oddly, had also refused the pastries.

  “Eat while the food is still warm,” Adrien suggested, knocking her out of her study.

  She picked at her meal. She’d ordered Geoffrey to find who hated the Normans so much that they planned to attack the keep.

  Was it someone she trusted? Was it her attacker? The thoughts churned within her.

  The meal’s conversation remained innocuous, with everyone lingering far too long for her liking. Finally, it was over and many returned to their chores. But Adrien remained at her side all afternoon.

  When the night had deepened and fatigue seeped into her, Ediva excused herself to retire. She found Margaret in her solar, and after Adrien left them alone, she ordered her maid to her side.

  “Bring Geoffrey here.”

  * * *

  Geoffrey arrived with Margaret shortly after Ediva had settled in her chair. With her maid remaining for propriety, Ediva turned to him, her words blunt. “You were to find out who wants Lord Adrien dead.”

  Margaret gasped, but Ediva shot the young woman a silencing glare. The woman hastily returned to the embroidery she’d started days ago.

  “Milady, I’ve found out only a few things. The man who has started this plan to attack now bides his time.”

  “I can see that. But I want to meet whoever spoke to you. On the morrow.”

  “I—I fear I cannot arrange that.”

  Ediva pulled back her shoulders. She didn’t believe that. “You’re a resourceful man. We both know the man who spoke to you is probably the one who wants Lord Adrien dead and not just speaking for someone else.”

  His face remained impassive. “What should I say?”

  “That he should expect to be offered coins if he comes to me. I wager that money—not loyalty to England—motivates him for Dunmow has not seen any brutality since Ganute died.”

  The steward lowered his eyes. Geoffrey knew they had no coins to offer him, but thankfully he said nothing. “Aye, milady.”

  She dismissed the man. No sooner had the door clicked shut did Margaret rush up to her. “Is it true, milady? Someone wants Lord Adrien dead? I knew you’d been poisoned, I just knew it! I even told Lord Adrien of it!”

  Ediva snapped up her head. “You did what?”

  The girl stepped back. “He needed to know. You were so sick, and I had helped you nurse your poor mother and Lord Ganute’s mother, remember? ’Twas not a fever that struck you.” Her hand reached for her throat, her expression full of worry. “I was terrified. You don’t deserve to die!”

  “I’m a sinner like you.” She turned away from her maid.

  But Margaret was not done. She scurried around to face her mistress. “Not in my eyes, milady. How could anyone want you dead?” She moaned aloud. “Who attacked you? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have surely died for you!”

  Ediva smiled grimly at her. “That’s exactly why I said nothing.” Standing, she laid a heavy hand on her maid’s shoulder. “I couldn’t let you get hurt.”

  The woman’s eyes misted over as she nodded. “You can’t shoulder this all yourself. Nor can you meet with this brute alone. Let me go with you, please, Milady. I’ll take a sword from the armory—”

  Ediva laughed. “Neither of us can lift a sword from the armory, and certainly going down there to ask for one would only alert the guards. They’d tell Lord Adrien in a blink of an eye.”

  Margaret gasped. “So you don’t plan to tell him?”

  “Nay.” Her eyes narrowed. “And nor will you.”

  Her maid lowered her gaze.

  “If he were to learn where I plan to go, he’d go instead and that cur would wait in ambush for him.”

  “Lord Adrien has outwitted one man who ambushed him.” The girl wrung her hands and moaned again. “When Lord Adrien first arrived, I feared his hand would be as heavy as Lord Ganute’s, and I hoped that the many Saxons hiding in the woods would rid our keep of all Normans.” She shook her head. “But Lord Adrien is kind and good and keeps his men well-disciplined. Nay, if one of them even looks sideways at us maids, he reprimands them.”

  “Then you don’t want him dead?”

  “Nay, I want none of them dead! I want an English king on the throne, but right now, this Norman duke keeps
the Danes away. M’maw says that the Danes were far more brutal. Oh, milady! If ’tis God’s will for us to have a Norman king, then we must trust in Him.”

  “Aye. So not a word to Lord Adrien.”

  “But he can help!”

  “And he can also get hurt or even killed.” She felt her mouth turn into a thin line before she continued to speak. “I require your silence not only for Lord Adrien’s protection but also for ours. He has the king’s ear. I can’t allow him to die and risk far worse for us here.”

  Margaret studied her, her silence pensive.

  Ediva frowned at her maid. “You want to say more, don’t you? Say it then.”

  Her maid blushed. “’Tis not fear of the king you have, milady. Methinks you’re falling for your husband.”

  Ediva felt the rush of heat and turned away. ’Twas hardly the time for romantic notions. “I’m merely saying that I’ll confront the man who tries to ruin our safety.”

  The maid waved her hand. “How, without Lord Adrien?”

  “I’ll buy him off. Even addled men see the value in quality goods. I have jewelry and finery he can sell as he sees fit. We’ll gather it together on the morrow. Now, ’tis late. We need our sleep.”

  After the lamp was extinguished, Ediva lay on her bed, still as stone. All that had happened, all that would happen, churned within her, until she felt the gentle, coaxing love of God come to her, reminding her to take her rest in Him.

  So she began to pray quietly to herself, until she fell asleep.

  * * *

  By the noon meal, Ediva had gathered together her finest linens, some embroidered with gold, along with her best diadem and jewelry. She ordered her maid to hide it all in a rough sack and store it in her bed.

  From below the window, shouts rose, and Ediva hurried up onto the parapet.

  “What’s going on?” she asked the guard there.

  “Your tenants are home, milady!”

  Smiling, Ediva leaned between the merlons and peered down. They were back!

  By the time she reached the bailey, the gate had been opened and not only the returning men, but their families had poured in. The chaplain held up his hand and offered a prayer of thanksgiving. When it was finished, she lifted her eyes to meet with Adrien’s own smiling gaze.

  One of Eudo’s guards sent to escort the men home rode up to Adrien and handed him a folded missive. Across the bailey, she could see Adrien’s expression darken as he read it, and her heart hitched in her chest.

  She hurried over, her progress delayed by several villagers who hugged her in gratitude. The air about was fast becoming festive, with songs and joy and laughter bouncing off the stone walls. When she reached Adrien, his scowl had truly deepened.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He refolded the note and tucked it in his tunic. “The uprisings have strengthened in the north. William has spent the summer in Normandy but is returning soon. Eudo fears that some Normans to the west have treated the English nobility poorly. Word of such has reached an exiled Saxon lord by the name of Hereward the Wake. He plans to return to England.”

  “I heard once that a Hereward was exiled for poor behavior. He made Ganute look like a gentle maid.” She shook her head. “Will Eudo send the soldiers here to Ely?”

  “He awaits the king’s orders, but likely he will. He says I’ll accompany them.”

  Geoffrey’s warning rolled over her. Her attacker wanted Adrien dead to ensure he never fights at Ely.

  “And you’ll go?”

  “Of course.”

  She bit her lip and spun, heading toward the chapel. If Adrien called out to her, she did not answer. The chaplain met her at the chapel door, a question on his face.

  A dog ran about the bailey, barking madly. It raced past her and she shied away from it.

  “Milady?” the chaplain asked. “Is there something wrong?”

  She shook her head as she hurried inside. “Nay. I want to offer my thanks for the men’s safe return.”

  ’Twas obvious to her that the old man didn’t believe her. But his opinion mattered little. ’Twas God who she wanted to hear her prayers. Only God could give her peace in her mind and heart at the thought of her husband returning to war.

  * * *

  Ediva didn’t want him to go to Ely, Adrien thought grimly. But what choice did he have? If he was ordered to fight, he would.

  Still, those words sat like bad food inside of him. He no longer wanted to fight.

  How was that possible? He’d spent a lifetime honing his skills and training his horse. Fighting was in his blood.

  Over the din of festivities in the bailey, a dog’s snippy barking broke his thoughts. He watched Ediva speak briefly with the chaplain before slipping into the chapel. He should be happy she was going to pray, but the consternation on the chaplain’s face unnerved him.

  Ediva was worried.

  The revelry around him stole his concentration. A young girl grabbed his tunic and offered him some flowers she’d picked. He accepted them with a smile and allowed himself to be led into the impromptu festivities.

  In the midst of the revelry, he waited for Ediva to exit the chapel, and when she didn’t, he ordered the cook to start a feast worthy of this homecoming. He wanted to bring Ediva out to enjoy the festivities, but before he could, he found himself distracted by yet another small child.

  * * *

  Ediva heard the chapel door open and close. She turned around, but with only one lamp lit, all she could tell was that a man, not as tall as Adrien, had entered.

  She held her breath, hoping it would still her pounding heart. She had the benefit of being used to the dimness, as opposed to the man who’d just entered. Staying deadly still, she watched him scan the interior and prayed he would not see her.

  “Milady?”

  She sighed. ’Twas Geoffrey. “Aye?” she called out to her steward.

  He came hesitantly forward, his hands reaching out to the back of the front pews for the security that the dimness refused to offer. “I have news, milady. The man agrees to meet.”

  Her heart hammering, she stood. “Where?”

  “On the road that leads to the tithe barn is an abandoned watch tower.”

  “I remember the place. It sits at a fork in the road. I passed it when I first came here.”

  “Aye. It’s been abandoned for years and is open and gutted. The man who plans a rebellion will wait there for you, tonight.”

  She blew out a sigh and nodded. “Good. Thank you, Geoffrey.”

  He hesitated. “’Twill not be safe for you to go alone.”

  “True. That’s why I’m taking you with me.”

  That startled him. “Will you try to kill him?”

  She nearly laughed aloud. As if she could. “Nay. I’ll go to pay him off. With the price I’ll offer him, he can leave Essex and start anew elsewhere or buy arms and fight in some other place. I don’t care what he does as long as he leaves this county and does not return.”

  “But, milady, if you plan for us to leave at night, how will we find our way?”

  “We’ll leave at dusk. The night should be clear and the moon is full.”

  “He’ll want you dead, milady!”

  “I’m of no value to him dead. He knows that or else he’d have killed me already. Aye, I know he is the one who attacked me.” She stepped out of the pew and touched her steward’s shoulder. “Say nothing of this, Geoffrey. We have God to protect us.”

  She saw his features harden but brushed past him. Geoffrey didn’t believe her, and why should he? He’d seen her skirt her religious duties for years. Never mind. She had no time to convince him of her newfound faith.

  She found the addled boy, Rypan, in the stable, feeding the horses, completely unmoved by the celebration in the main bailey. His father had died at Hastings, and his mother shortly after. His aunt, the cook, had asked Ediva if she’d keep him on. So Rypan remained doing whatever was needed. He’d never been quite right, but he was
a good boy, willing to work. He was fast approaching manhood, but Ediva hoped he’d stay the sweet, shy boy he’d always been, despite now being slightly taller than her.

  Ediva hesitated at the entrance. The old nag Adrien had given her to train on was still in her stall at the back. She looked up at Ediva, expecting another lesson with the nervous rider who tugged too hard at her bit. Immediately, she snorted her disapproval.

  The boy noticed her. “Rypan,” Ediva said gently, “I need that old nag and another pony. Geoffrey and I will ride out at dusk. Have them ready, but take them behind the midwife’s house.”

  Rypan was thin and wiry, older than Harry by several years but younger in spirit and mind. Ediva knew he could saddle the ponies, just not Adrien’s courser or the gift mare. Rypan nodded mutely for he spoke little, as his voice often cracked. Immediately, he set about the task of finding the tack needed.

  She returned to the keep to find Adrien had ordered a feast that would combine the noon meal with a supper one. The cook looked up from her work of dressing a bird. “Do you need a bit to hold you over, milady?”

  She was about to decline because since Adrien had arrived, she had returned to the protocol of sending her requests to the cook through Geoffrey. But she stopped. “A large, sweet pastry, please. Send it to my solar.” She planned to enjoy the banquet, then slip away, saying she was tired. With the whole of the keep and village celebrating the men’s return, she’d be able to reach the watch tower, buy off the man and return before anyone missed her. ’Twas not so far that she couldn’t accomplish such a task within the span of an early evening.

  Now, for the other matter she needed to accomplish before leaving... Though she was taking Geoffrey, he would not be the only one armed. But acquiring a blade from the armory would raise suspicions. She glanced around the kitchen and spied a fine filet knife. The cook was preparing game and birds, so there was no need for a fish blade. Carefully, she slipped it and its sheath to her side as the cook busied herself, and she trod quietly out.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After leading two ponies from behind the midwife’s empty hut later that evening, Rypan handed Ediva their reins. With a shy smile, he accepted her thank you gift of the large pastry filled with sweetmeats that she’d ordered sent to her solar earlier.