Bound to the Warrior (Love Inspired Historical)

by Barbara Phinney

  “Rypan? Where are you, boy? I’m not mad at you. I want to talk to you.”

  No one moved. His courser and the gift mare were side by side and both snorted at him. He walked down the line of stalls until the roof dipped low. The stalls in the back were reserved for smaller ponies. A quiet rustling alerted Adrien, and he peeked over the half wall with the lamp.

  Huddled low, Rypan stared up at him, eyes wide.

  Adrien opened the stall door, determined not to frighten him further. “Come out, boy,” he said in his quietest, most gentle English. “I won’t hurt you. I just need to talk to you.”

  When the boy didn’t move, Adrien hung the lamp on a nearby hook and crouched down beside him. “Are you hungry?”

  When the boy nodded, Adrien grimaced. He should have brought some sweetmeat to tempt the youth. “I’ll give you a fine meal if you answer my questions. Would you do that for me?”

  The boy nodded again.

  “Can you speak?”

  There was a short squawking noise, but Adrien could hear the “a bit” in it. “Did you take your dose of herbs tonight?”

  Again, there was another short bob of the head.

  “Where did you get them?”

  “Garden.” The answer was more like a rusty hinge than a spoken word, but Adrien understood it.

  “Who else knew of this herb?”

  The boy drew up his knees and set his head into them.

  Adrien sighed and shifted to sit and lean against the stall door’s jamb. He closed his eyes. Not the most appropriate place for the lord of the keep, but he needed Rypan to trust him.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the empty stall, trying to decide what else to ask the boy that wouldn’t close him off any more than he already had. But he was distracted by a sudden realization.

  The stall was empty. No mounts were needed tonight; the stables had been full to capacity earlier. Indeed some mounts had been doubled up as the soldiers who’d escorted the tenants home stabled them for the night. So why was this stall empty?

  He stood. The nag Ediva had used was gone, as was another pony. He looked at Rypan. “Where are the ponies?”

  Rypan looked into the stall and then at Adrien before mumbling something.

  “Say it again, boy. Slowly.”

  “’Twit milady.”

  Adrien blinked. Had he heard right? “With Lady Ediva?”

  The boy nodded. Adrien stared at him, feeling his mouth drop open.

  “Both ponies? Why? Where did she go?”

  Rypan shrugged. He pointed to the north.

  Frustration rising in him, Adrien stood. Ediva had been too tired and retired early. She couldn’t have left. “Quand?” he barked at the boy, demanding to know “when” in harsh French.

  The boy looked confused. Adrien reached for him, but Rypan ripped past to disappear into the night.

  Adrien grabbed the lamp and hurried out, but the bailey was empty. With a growl, he tore into the keep, pushing past several villagers who were exiting the hall and thrusting the lamp at one of the guards.

  He took the stairs two at a time as he raced to Ediva’s solar.

  He threw open the door and startled the maid who was now lying on her pallet. His first glance was to Ediva’s empty bed. “Where’s your mistress?”

  Sitting up, the woman pulled up on her blanket, and gaped at him. She’d added coals to the brazier, and it offered only the thinnest of light to the room.

  “Are all the people in this keep addled?” he thundered. “Woman, tell me where Ediva has gone, or I will have you cleaning the stables all winter!”

  “I don’t know, milord! She wouldn’t tell me. I think she went to buy off her attacker. The man who wants to start a rebellion!”

  “When did she leave?”

  “Shortly after she came up here, milord. She talked to Geoffrey about meeting the man at a tower on the road to the abbey.”

  “Geoffrey let her go by herself?” But as soon as he spoke, he guessed who the other pony was for. Geoffrey had accompanied her.

  Adrien strode out, slammed the door and stormed down the stairs. In his chamber, he lit a lamp and pulled out the map from his trunk.

  After spreading on the table, he smacked his forefinger onto the vellum. There, to the north! The main road, where it forked. The symbol of a tower.

  Grabbing the map, Adrien rushed into the corridor. Harry was nowhere to be found, so he stalked down to the nearly empty hall. Many of the men who’d returned had left for their huts. Only a few soldiers still enjoyed the evening.

  Adrien spied his sergeant. He motioned to him and the young man hurried over.

  “Saddle my courser. Take a horse for yourself and one other. Choose your most sober man who is good with a bow. I want you both armed and ready to leave immediately.”

  “Has there been an attack, my lord?”

  “Lady Ediva has ridden off to confront the man who attacked her.”

  The sergeant’s brows shot up in horror as he pivoted sharply to shout at another man. Blood pounded in Adrien’s head as he watched the man leave. He could only hope that Ediva and Geoffrey had just left.

  What had they been thinking, going off like a pair of children on a lark?

  Adrien did not like the answer forming in his head. Ediva was determined that he not die. So much so, she’d risk her own life.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Nay, you cannot be Ganute!”

  The man peeled off his cowl, and Ediva gasped in absolute fury. “Olin! How dare you!”

  “How dare I?” He took another limping step forward. “You’re the one who allowed that Norman dog to beat me! I should be the master of Dunmow Keep, not him!”

  “You’re addled. I’m the mistress, and Saxon law allows me to keep my estate if my husband had no issue.”

  His lip curled. “And wasn’t it convenient that Ganute fathered no children?”

  “’Twas the Lord’s will.”

  He snorted. “It had far more to do with you fighting your place with Ganute than your ‘pious’ prayers.”

  Ediva refused to answer. How dare Olin bring up the horror that was her marriage to Ganute? She drew in her breath to calm herself. “My marriage was not your business, fool.”

  “You will not address the master of Dunmow in that manner!”

  “You’re not the master of Dunmow!” She quickly chose a different tactic. “Olin, I’m offering you riches that nearly match that of the keep. Just look in the sack I’ve brought.”

  “I don’t care for them! I want the keep!”

  “But the Normans have taken everything! We Saxons have nothing.”

  “Idiot woman.” He waved his short sword. “I’ll collect more taxes and give only what I see fit to the king.”

  “The records will show what is given.”

  Olin laughed. “Have you never heard of lying? And no one will believe the stupid villagers should they complain.”

  Ediva bit her lip. “The king will find out!”

  “Our keep is one of thousands. ’Tis too expensive to scrutinize all of England. What’s one small keep with a loyal Saxon there? I have already made myself known in London as one who can be trusted.”

  She nearly laughed aloud at his boast. The Normans were hardly stupid. And the king, whilst cruel, was no fool. And only a fool would trust Olin. Besides, if anything were to happen to the Norman knight to whom he’d entrusted the keep, William would burn it to the ground before he’d put it in the hands of a Saxon. Olin was deluding himself if he thought otherwise.

  Ediva glanced around. What she needed to do was get away. The ground was down too far for her to jump, but she could manage the steps better than the limping Olin.

  Limping? Why? His whipping wouldn’t have hurt his legs.

  She took a step forward, her mind spinning swiftly. The attack on Adrien? Hadn’t Adrien said that he’d injured the man?

  Nay, Olin could never have attacked her, being so injured. He was working w
ith someone—but who? “You are addled, Olin. You blame me for not giving an heir to Ganute, but had it been so, you’d have no claim on Dunmow Keep. What will you do now? Do you plan to kill me?”

  Olin laughed heartily. She shivered, recalling to her mind how Ganute would sometimes laugh when she cried for mercy. ’Twas the same sound and she hated it.

  “I have no intention of killing you. But my plans needed changing after I realized you wouldn’t kill your husband. You’re what will draw him here. I’ll take something special of yours and have it delivered with a note to Adrien. When he comes, I’ll kill him and blame you. And since you have so kindly offered me your jewelry, I’ll have even more money.”

  “Your plan will fail.”

  “Nay, Adrien will come for his wife.”

  “He cares little for me. I’m only part of the property given to him.”

  “But as his property, he won’t give you away. He’ll come if only to take back what is his and punish you for your willfulness.”

  She grit her teeth. “Nay, he will not!” Adrien’s kindness and respect, and his love for the Lord told her ’twould not be so. And the words he quoted from the Scriptures: A man is to love his wife as Jesus loves the church.

  A jot of peace settled into her and blossomed within her very soul at her certainty in her marriage. Ganute held no more power over her—and neither did Olin. She would not let him use her. Which meant that she needed to get away.

  At the moment, Ediva took a step forward. “You think you’ve planned this all out, Olin, but look at what I have brought first. ’Twould surprise you, I believe, and you can still walk away a very rich man. All you need to do is look into the sack.”

  His greed greater than his desire to berate her, Olin turned. Now was her time to move.

  * * *

  In the bailey, Adrien found several men mounted, with Harry gripping his courser’s reins firmly, a look of worry haunting his face. Several of the men carried torches. He swelled with pride when he saw both Norman and Saxon faces in the crowd of rescuers.

  “Leave all but one torch here,” he told the men. “’Tis best if we don’t give ourselves away.”

  The torches were relinquished and the remaining one was extinguished. A young squire fetched a spark box to ignite it later.

  Continuing, Adrien said, “The road forks at the tower. We’ll close in from two sides.”

  “Aye, my lord. I have learned the layout from several men,” the sergeant added. “If we’re quiet, we’ll be able to slip past the tower to the west and surround it, but there are brambles to the north that choke off that side. I suggest we also stay at the fork, for it is closest to the east side entrance.”

  “Excellent,” Adrien finished, liking the plan. “Keep near the woods so the moon doesn’t catch you. I’ll take half the men up the abbey road and call like a bird.” He demonstrated, so the men would know the sound. “When you hear that, begin your attack on the west side. Keep your archer far enough for him to see the top of the tower. A sentry may be there. I will enter the tower to retrieve Lady Ediva.”

  “Several villagers warn the floor is rotting and trees have already begun to sprout through it,” the sergeant cautioned him. “Be careful, my lord, where you stand, and beware of the winding stairs on the right, for they may hide our attacker.”

  With a nod, Adrien mounted his stallion and turned it to face his sergeant. “You have devised a good plan, sergeant.”

  “’Twas formed by these Saxons, my lord, not me.”

  With a curt nod, he ordered the gate opened and they charged out. The moon had passed its zenith, now casting longer shadows on the road ahead. Adrien allowed his mount to gallop as long as he dared. When the trees parted ahead and he spied a misshapen tower, he slowed the group to a walk. His courser nickered with complaint. With the night being far calmer than he expected, the sound echoed loudly.

  “We dismount here,” he ordered, not wanting the horses to give away their position. A few minutes later, on foot, they reached the fork in the road. He indicated for the sergeant and his men to move to the west, as he took the other half to follow the abbey road.

  The tower was silent, and two ponies stood by the wall. Ediva’s nag lifted her head and sniffed the night air, smelling their approach.

  Please, Lord, keep her silenced.

  She snorted once, but after months of dealing with the soldiers, she was used to their smell and returned to her attempt to reach the tall grasses growing up the side of the short wall. A quick, stealthy walk beside the wall, and Adrien found the entry gate. He could see the broken door at the rear of the tower, now bathed in moonlight. Beyond lay a thicket of brambles.

  Adrien stilled his men and listened carefully.

  “Stay still, woman!”

  The words cut clearly through the night, followed by a cry. ’Twas Ediva’s cry, followed by the sickening scrape of wood and stone giving way underfoot.

  He prayed swiftly for Ediva’s safety. As he plunged forward, a sharp scream rent the air. Immediately after, he caught the cold gleam of moonlight on steel directly in front of him and he swung out his sword.

  * * *

  Olin grabbed for Ediva as he ordered her to stay still, but she ducked and lunged for the stairs.

  ’Twas no good. Olin was faster, despite his limp. With a grunt, he caught her arm and swung her around.

  “I will have the keep and all your goods before long, woman!”

  Ediva struggled against him, all too aware that the dew-slickened wood would not hold their combined weights much longer. Below her, the sharp clank of steel on steel reached her. Who was down there? Who was Geoffrey fighting?

  Olin’s grip tightened as he dragged her down the stairs to be free of the tower. But the ground floor only revealed a more dangerous predicament. Two men were battling at the entrance to the tower.

  Olin hauled Ediva closer to him, as she gaped at the men. “Adrien!”

  He turned and, at that moment, his attacker stepped back to readjust his swing. Moonlight bled down on that man, exposing his identity.

  Geoffrey! He was fighting Adrien!

  Olin clamped his filthy hand over her mouth and hauled her back up the stairs. She lost sight of Adrien and could only pray he turned in time to defend himself.

  At the top again, Olin threw her into the center of the floor. It groaned under her weight and sagged downward. On her knees, she stilled, daring not to move lest it give way.

  Olin slunk into the shadows, hidden in a safer section. Then he pointed the tip of his sword into her arm. She dared not move away from the blade’s reach for fear she’d fall through the floor. “One word and I will run you through.”

  She could barely breathe. Below them, the fighting stilled with a cry of pain and the thump of a body.

  A man pounded up the stairs to them. She bit her lip when moonlight hit him.

  Adrien!

  He stopped when she gave him the barest shake of her head. Ediva knew he couldn’t see Olin. And there was only one way she could expose the evil man.

  “Adrien, to your left!” As she called in French, she rolled further away from Olin, whose raging anger spewed as he burst from the shadows.

  He lifted up his sword in fury. Adrien met the weapon and thrust it away with the murderous clang of steel on steel.

  Below her, Ediva felt the floor creak further and reached out to grab the rubble scattered ages ago. Her fingers closed over a hunk of rock and she tightened her grip.

  Adrien shifted and let out a shrill whistle. Confused, Olin stalled his actions. Ediva heard the hiss of something fly over her head. She gasped when she saw Olin.

  An arrow had pierced his chest, and with a look of shock, he slumped forward to fall at her side.

  But the sudden weight was too much for the rotting floor and it relented. She grappled about, but her hands slipped, and with a scream, she plunged deep into the bowels of the tower.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Nay!
” Adrien lunged forward. The tower had swallowed Ediva like a hungry beast.

  He dropped to his knees and peered down. “Ediva? Can you hear me?”

  There was no answer, so he raced down the stairs to the ground floor. “The torch!” he called to the men. “Bring it here!”

  It took far too long to light the torch, but once lit, it sent the darkness scurrying. Ediva, in a heap amid the rubble that was the ground floor.

  Adrien stormed to her side. She lifted her head as he rolled Olin’s body aside. “Adrien, you’re safe. I heard a hiss and feared that arrow was for you.”

  “Nay, I called for the archer to shoot Olin.” He lifted her head and shoulders carefully. “Do you hurt much?”

  “Aye, all over.”

  “’Tis a good sign then. If the injury was great, you would feel naught but numbness. I thank God you fell only a short distance.”

  “I hung onto the wood up there for a moment, and fell onto Olin. But I may have twisted my ankle.” She gripped Adrien as she struggled to sit up. “Were you fighting Geoffrey?”

  “’Tis strange, but I was. I had not thought him disloyal to you, but his dislike of Normans was obvious. Mayhap he attacked you? With his mother’s herbs he discovered a way to alter his voice.”

  “I think both men attacked me. I knew something was different in the second attack. I think it was Geoffrey.” She gasped. “Of course! The herb she would give Rypan! ’Tis foul and would render the boy mute at first, then change his voice for a few hours. Geoffrey must have used it.”

  When she tried to stand, he held her down. “Not yet, my love.” He paused and the moment filled with promise. “Please. I don’t want you to make your injuries worse.”

  With that, he eased up on his grip and slid his arms closer. She immediately obliged, snuggling into him. “But why Geoffrey?”

  “We’ll never know for sure. He’s dead. I’d wager it was Olin who had convinced him of some evil plan.”

  “Olin wanted—”

  “Not another word, my wife,” Adrien interrupted. “Save your strength for the journey home. Shall I order a cart here for you?”