Bound to the Warrior (Love Inspired Historical)

by Barbara Phinney

  With Geoffrey, Ediva had been able to slip out of the bailey. Her steward’s comings and goings had long been ignored by the Norman guards. So the steward and his slight companion dressed in old braes and tunic would hardly warrant a second glance. Many would think she was Rypan.

  Ediva allowed the boy to help her mount, and once she was seated, Geoffrey handed her the plain sack that held her treasures. Swallowing her apprehension, she nodded to him.

  The scents of roasting meats drifted over from the keep now mixed with an unpleasant smell. She sniffed the air, but when she couldn’t immediately identify it, she curtailed the thought. She had no time to waste with trivialities.

  Looking down at Rypan, she said, “Stay until we return.”

  He nodded, and she spurred her pony into an ungainly trot northward.

  The sun had set, but ’twas not yet night. They trotted along, Ediva aware that the last time she was on this road was for her first nuptials, five years ago. She hoped that her memory of the distance was still intact.

  Ahead trees closed in on them, blocking the rising moon from lighting the path. She thought of Adrien, her last words to him wishing him a good night.

  Lord, be with me.

  The nag beneath her sensed her apprehension and slowed. “Nay, old girl,” she said softly, patting the dun-colored neck. “Just a bit longer. I need to do this for Adrien’s sake.”

  “Milady?” Geoffrey trotted up to her side.

  “Just talking to my pony. How much further is it, do you think?”

  “At the end of these trees, I believe.”

  Ediva urged her mount on. For your master’s sake, old girl, she thought instead of talking to the mount. We both need to protect him. I fear Margaret is correct when she says I’m falling for him.

  The pony returned to a trot and they soon cleared the wooded area. Moonlight bathed the open field, and Ediva dared a glance over her shoulder. The forest behind them lay like a thick, dark blanket. She could no longer see the keep, and Geoffrey had become like a dark, bobbing mound.

  Inhaling deeply to steady her nerves, she tried to soothe herself with the clean smell of summer. She needed her wits about her. Ahead, catching the moonlight on its battered front flank, the old watch tower very nearly glowed.

  Ediva slowed the nag and pulled alongside a low wall east of the tower. Thankfully, the old boy’s clothes aided her dismount. She set the reins onto the top of the wall and secured them with a rock before freeing her sack from the saddle. Adjusting her belt, she pulled gently on the hilt of the knife secured there to ensure it could be freely released from its scabbard.

  Lord, protect me.

  By now, Geoffrey had dismounted. He said nothing, but Ediva could feel the tension in him.

  She found the broken doorway in the back, well-shadowed by the position of the moon. Pausing, she strained to hear something, anything, but only silence answered. Had something happened to keep the man away? Or did he lay in wait for her? She turned to Geoffrey. “Stay here.”

  “Allow me to go first, milady!” he whispered back.

  “Nay, ’tis my duty.”

  She stepped inside the door as soundlessly as she could. Chips of broken wall crunched under her foot, causing her to stall her footsteps and hold her breath.

  Nothing happened. No movement, no scurrying of vermin to warn her assailant.

  She slipped further inside. The bottom floor was overgrown with decades of debris. Moonlight filtered down, hitting a sapling that had taken root in the center of the main floor. To her right stood a flight of narrow stairs.

  Climbing softly, she shifted her sack to her left hand and eased the knife out of its sheath with her right. She passed a slit window. Moonlight glinted onto the blade for a lightning-flash moment. She tried to take each tread as silently as possible, but her clothes remained determined to rustle loudly.

  So she continued her climb.

  * * *

  Adrien scanned the hall, a well-pleased smile growing on his face at the incredible happiness around him. ’Twas good to see families reunited. Aye, the villagers weren’t overly happy to share this day with Norman soldiers, but they set aside the animosity for one evening. Eudo’s few men were well-behaved, and the sergeant was wise enough to see the need for good relations. All was pleasant.

  Only Ediva’s absence marred the occasion. She’d said she was tired and that the day had been too much for her. Mayhap she didn’t find anything worth celebrating.

  Why would she? The missive Eudo sent had carried bad news. Even he found himself regretting that he would have to go to Ely. Hereward the Wake’s return to fight for his country was inevitable, so therefore was the battle at Ely. But at the same time, Ediva’s concern touched him deeply.

  Adrien stood. The soldiers, catching their baron rising, also rose, as did the villagers. “Enjoy your night,” he called out to them and headed for the door.

  He turned for one last look at the revelry. The dais was empty. Where was the chaplain? Had he slipped out during Ediva’s more obvious exit? Mayhap he’d also grown tired as he was no longer a young man.

  Spying Ediva’s maid, he motioned to her. She’d been chatting with several maidens but now hurried over. “You followed your mistress upstairs, didn’t you?”

  “Aye, my lord.” She paused before adding, “But she dismissed me so I could return.”

  “Are they relatives, the ones you were speaking with?”

  “Nay, these women are good friends.” She shook her head. “I have no family here. My sisters serve in Lady Ediva’s family home.”

  With a frown, Adrien left the hall. The festivities weren’t the same without Ediva, but unlike Margaret, he found he could not celebrate without his family. Namely, his wife.

  * * *

  The top of the tower had long since collapsed, taking the ceiling of the upper floor with it. Now exposed, the second floor filled the task of look off. Ediva picked her way over the rubble toward the edge, hoping to see her attacker before he arrived. A soft breeze rustled some tall weeds growing within the mess around her. Moonlight washed the floor in a pale yellow, except where the wall had only partially collapsed. She waited. But no one came. Was he already near, waiting for her?

  Her patience eroded, she stepped further away from the stairs with careful movements, half afraid the old floor would give way. But it seemed sturdy enough. With a deep breath, she called out, “This is Lady Ediva. I want to talk to you. Show yourself. I know you’re here.”

  A bat darted by, startling her. With her breath still tight in her lungs, she held herself rigid.

  When she could stand still no longer, she set down the sack and sheathed the knife she’d gripped so tightly that it hurt her hand. She stepped into the center of the exposed room.

  “You shouldn’t have bothered bringing your treasures, my lady. I have no need of them.”

  * * *

  Not yet ready to retire, Adrien headed for the parapet. He faced the south, staring down at the bailey. One guard patrolled the battlement, his form clear in the bright moonlight. Another, merely a shadow now, stood sentry at the gate.

  To his left, the village lay quiet. Only a few had retired from the feast, mostly those with young children who would be impossible tomorrow if they had their sleep disrupted.

  Adrien leaned forward, his attention caught by something.

  A slight figure skulked about the midwife’s house.

  Who was it? Eudo had added a postscript to his disconcerting letter, the one that mentioned he had found a young woman with birthing knowledge and planned to send her. Geoffrey had no claim to his mother’s house, as it was leased from the king. The new midwife could have it. It should be empty.

  So who was that down there now? He peered hard, but the hut sat in the keep’s shadow, and the figure had long disappeared around the far side. He considered investigating for himself, but the urge to see his wife right away won out.

  Adrien turned and reentered the keep, pausin
g at the long corridor that led to Ediva’s solar. He needed to talk to her. He took a single step down the corridor but stopped. What would he say? That he didn’t really want to fight now? Nay, but being here, being close to Ediva, was becoming a lure like no other.

  He wanted to tell her how much he cared, but hadn’t he already proved he was an idiot when it came to speaking? Hadn’t he already called her old like some battered pot and told her to prepare to be pruned like a bramble bush?

  Nay, first he needed to sort out his feelings before he stumbled over words trying to express them. He headed back the way he came. And while weighing and measuring his thoughts, he would use the time to confront whoever it was sneaking about the midwife’s house.

  * * *

  The voice had come from behind. Ediva spun. Standing in the shadow of the only remaining wall was a man.

  He stepped forward and picked up the sack she’d set down. “Do you think that I came here seeking jewels and fine cloth?” His voice bore a familiar hitch.

  “Nay. But what you have demanded, I cannot give. I want you gone from my estates. This would ease your passage.”

  “Your estates?” his cracking voice mocked her. “The land is now King William’s, not yours.”

  She slowly reached across her body to the scabbard.

  “Nay!”

  She stilled her hand. The voice, not as sharp and tight as she remembered, was faintly familiar. Yet different. As was the movement of this man. Had the darkness of the stairwell painted a different picture of him in her mind?

  She swallowed. Her assailant stood there, ready...but for what? Some sign of acknowledgment or recognition?

  The scent carried to her by the soft wind was more familiar than his shape. The sharp, pungent odor her assailant wore.

  Stripped of other smells, the air carried the scent freely.

  She knew that odor well, from more than just her attacks. ’Twas the scent near the midwife’s house. But ’twere other times she’d smelled it. Why could she not recall those instances?

  “Drop your blade, Ediva. Slowly.” Her Christian name carried easily on his tongue, similar to when he’d spoken it in a hoarse voice. But it was so curiously familiar.

  She stayed still, her hands remaining at her sides. “Nay, I will not drop it.”

  The screech of unsheathing sword rent the night air. A Saxon blade reached into the space between them.

  Her assailant stepped closer, forcing her to retreat. The wooden floor beneath her gave slightly like a wet fen. Dirt had accumulated, capturing seeds that had sprouted to hold more water and rot the wood planks further.

  A creak of protest rose from the floor, and she froze.

  She didn’t dare move backward any more.

  “Do as I command, Ediva.”

  That voice! Who was it? Ediva ducked to the left, but the floor there had softened further. The man ahead of her shook his head. The cowl was thrust too far forward for her to glimpse his face. The moon had reached its peak and shone down from atop, casting the man into shadow.

  “Look in the sack. I’m offering you all my riches,” she suggested.

  “You think you can buy me off?”

  Aye, she thought. She’d been willing to relinquish it all for the chance to save Adrien and begin a proper, loving marriage with him. “Aye. And you’d be a fool to let it go without looking at what’s there.”

  “I know what you have, woman! And I know what I want. I want Lord Adrien dead!”

  He jerked closer with a groan. His gait was labored.

  She stepped to the other side. The floor remained firm beneath her feet, but there was nowhere to go. Ediva feared the wood at the edge had rotted more.

  She glanced up at her assailant as he took another awkward, limping step. His voice sounded labored and cracking.

  She couldn’t think, but felt realization lay just outside her grasp.

  It didn’t matter right now.

  Lord, protect me. I know I’m not worthy of Your protection, but I need it now. Show me what to do.

  She stood straight. “Who are you? Do you want Adrien dead only because he’s a Norman? Why are you so interested in our lives? We are a small keep in the middle of nowhere!”

  “You’re valuable to me, Ediva. That’s why I haven’t killed you yet.”

  The Saxon accent chilled her very core. And the words sounded frighteningly familiar, too.

  She gasped as realization washed over her. Only one person spoke like that.

  But she’d buried Ganute. She’d put his dead body in the cold ground nearly ten months ago.

  How could this be?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Adrien ordered the gate opened, drawing his sword as he bolted through it. His steps slowed as he approached the village. He heard movement and, oddly, a soft humming.

  His blade high, he stepped around the corner of the midwife’s hut. The slight form gasped before opting to take flight.

  Adrien acted fast. He caught the dark, baggy clothing with his sword’s tip and lunged forward to imprison his hostage against the daubed wall.

  The creature cried out, wiggling so much he nearly ripped his captured shirt. Adrien yanked back his sword. At the same time, he grabbed the youth to shove him against the wall. Dried daub showered down on them.

  Adrien turned his hostage into the moonlight.

  Rypan! “Hold still, boy!” he ordered, “or you’ll hurt yourself!”

  Rypan stilled, though his limbs shook. Adrien’s grip remained tight. “What are you doing here?”

  A coarse howl let loose from the boy’s lungs. Impatient, Adrien leaned close to tell him to stop his caterwauling.

  Then he sniffed. And sniffed again. What was that smell?

  “What do I smell on you?”

  Rypan shook with fear. Immediately, Adrien eased up on his grip. What was the use? His English wasn’t good enough for the youth to understand it fully.

  Still, he sniffed again, then held the youth back. He stank like the wool covering he’d found in the stairwell.

  Tightening his grip on the youth, Adrien dragged him into the bailey and up to the kitchen. He called out for a cook, who was standing in the corridor watching the festivities. The woman was Rypan’s aunt—she would know how to get him his answers. Spying them, she hurried over.

  “My lord, has Rypan been bothering you?”

  “I found him at the midwife’s house. Ask him what he was doing there.”

  Instead, the cook leaned forward to sniff him. She grimaced. “’Twould do no good, milord. He’s been into the midwife’s herbs. He won’t be able to speak for a while.”

  “’Tis impossible. Geoffrey brought all the herbs here.”

  “Not that one. I won’t have it in my kitchen. It stinks too much. The midwife grew it in her garden but kept it separate.”

  “What did she use it for?”

  “For the boy.” The cook took the boy’s wrist, allowing Adrien to release his hold on him. With her free hand, she smoothed down Rypan’s clothing and hair, all the while shaking her head. “He’s always been a bit stupid, so his mother had asked the midwife for some herbs to make him smart. The midwife would give him that herb each week.”

  “Did it make him smarter?”

  The cook shrugged. “It made him mute. I didn’t like that, but it never affected him for too long. Rypan must have taken some, thinking ’twas time for his dose.” She asked her nephew if he took his weekly dose. The boy nodded.

  She grimaced. “There you go, my lord. I dare say he misses the midwife. She would feed him right after she dosed him. When that muteness wears off, he’ll be able to talk.” The cook shrugged. “He’s a bit smarter, but his mind still wanders.”

  “What causes the smell?”

  “’Tis the juice, really. The juice dries up like a ball of dung and smells about the same. The midwife called it stink gum.” She kept on smoothing her nephew’s clothes, all the while looking sadly grim.

  “I�
�ve not heard of it before.”

  “Count yourself blessed, then, milord. The midwife said it came from the Far East, grown by Romans ages ago, like it was something better than what we have here.”

  “And it makes the boy mute?”

  “Aye. Not as bad as when he was younger. He would be mute for several days when he was small, but as he got older, he could talk a bit and sounded normal much sooner. I expect he’s just scared of you. Watch.”

  She released the youth and he let out a squall and dashed off. “See?” the cook said with another shrug. “He can speak now, though he will be hoarse. As he gets older, the herb will just change his voice for a short time.” She sniffed the air, and shook her head. “’Twill take all night to clear this air.”

  Adrien frowned. “’Twill just change his voice when he’s older?”

  “Aye, my lord. ’Tis the effect it has on adults.”

  “How does it taste?”

  “The midwife claimed it went sweet when fried but I won’t try it. It’s to ease stomach troubles also, so mayhap if we don’t get a midwife, I’ll have to try it out when someone gets sick.”

  Adrien pulled a face. The herb would not be used as a poison if ’twere used for stomach troubles.

  The cook flapped the front of her apron to force the foul smell out the open door. “I should burn something fatty in the fire.”

  With the cook bustling off, Adrien stepped outside. Had Rypan gone to the midwife’s house to get his weekly dose? Although the boy was slightly addled, surely he wouldn’t go in the midst of this reunion, when good food was being offered? The boy liked to eat. Such illogic sat cold and hard in his belly.

  The answer lay with Rypan, and Adrien set off to find him, heading first for the stables. The boy was more comfortable with animals than people.

  The stables were dark, but outside, attached to the wall, a spark box, left by the chandler, held glowing embers. Adrien lit a tallow lamp and took it inside.