This time Caedmon kept quiet, seeing no point in bringing up her resentment of him and his Scottish allies. He was an optimistic man at heart, but despaired she would ever forgive him. Did she care for him at all?
~~~
“Are we far from the sea?” Agneta asked. “I’ve never seen the sea.”
Caedmon sniffed the air. “I can smell it.”
Lady Ascha smiled. “Reminds me of the smell of the Firth, back home.”
Lady Ascha’s mouth dropped open and a look of resignation passed between Caedmon and his mother.
“We might be well advised to head in that direction and avoid Lancaster,” he suggested.
They turned west after seeking directions from a villager and after about two hours, came to the sands of Heysham. They sat for a long while perched on their horses atop the cliffs overlooking the beaches, gazing out to sea.
Agneta found it soothing to watch the waves curl and break on the beach. She tightened her arms around Caedmon’s waist, using him as a shield against the wind. “Can we go down there?”
“We’ll stay with the mounts, Caedmon. I’ve no wish to get sand in my boots,” Lady Ascha said.
Caedmon, Agneta and Leofric set off to look for a path, but Leofric stopped and came back to the group. “May I ask Lady Coventina to join us?” he asked her mother.
Coventina’s eyes lit up. “Please, mother,” Coventina begged.
“Very well, since Sir Caedmon and Lady Agneta are accompanying you.”
Leofric assisted Coventina to dismount, and the four of them hurried off to find the way down. Once at the beach they took off their boots and prepared to walk along the wet brown sands, rippled into ridges by the tide. Coventina offered to assist Leofric with his boots.
“Don’t worry, Coventina, I’ll do it,” Caedmon offered, and Agneta admired her husband for trying to spare Leofric’s feelings.
“I can manage it myself,” Leofric objected, but she could see he was grateful for Caedmon’s offer of help.
“The sand feels strange,” Agneta murmured. “It sticks to my feet.”
Caedmon took her hand and the four walked briskly. The wind whipped the wimples off the women’s heads. Coventina gasped and looked worriedly at Agneta, then struggled to adjust the flapping wimple back around her hair. Suddenly Leofric took her hand. The girl glanced up at the cliffs then smiled at Leofric and the two kept walking.
“He’ll have to marry her now,” Caedmon whispered in his wife’s ear with a grin.”Not only has he seen her hair, he’s holding her hand.”
Agneta pulled Caedmon to a halt. “Does she know? About Bolton?”
Caedmon looked down at the sand. “I’m not sure. But if not, please let him tell her.”
Agneta nodded. “I want to go in the water.”
She shivered in the winter breeze and Caedmon wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing the hand he held to his lips. “You taste salty. The water will be cold this time of year,” he warned.
She pouted. “But I want to at least put my toes in. We might never see the sea in Ruyton.”
He pulled her to the water. She squealed when the cold waves lapped her feet, and ran away from the incoming tide. Instantly she missed the warmth of Caedmon’s hand, the comfort of his arm around her.
“You’re a coward, wife,” he taunted, reaching down and playfully splashing water towards her.
She tiptoed back to join him, holding the edge of her dress out of the water, and put her hand in his again. They stood watching the water suck the sand from beneath their toes as the waves rolled in and out.
“Let’s walk along the beach. I’m getting cold, and walking might warm us.”
“I’m warm already, Agneta,” Caedmon whispered in her ear, moving her hand to his groin and pressing it against his arousal. “You look beautiful with the wind in your hair.”
She drew her free hand through her locks. “At least it’s getting a bit longer.”
Their eyes met, and she pressed her hand on his hard maleness. He gathered her to his body and kissed her deeply. “Mmm. Salty. I want to make love to you, but it’s too cold here—and too sandy.”
“Leofric,” he shouted. “Let’s go find a place to stay nearby.”
Turning back to her, he murmured in her ear, “We can make love to the sound of the sea.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Days later they were following the River Dee, south of Chester, another town they’d skirted because of the likelihood of a heavy presence of the Earl of Chester’s soldiers. The older members of the company were finding the pace taxing. Lady Ascha had intimated to the others that they give Caedmon and Agneta some time alone together and the newly-weds were a fair distance ahead. Leofric had agreed to stay with the women. Caedmon and Agneta were tired and hungry after an early start and decided to stop for a midday meal.
“It will give the others a chance to catch up. I’ll try for some fish in the river,” Caedmon told her.
Agneta glanced over at the river. “We have food enough left. It looks treacherous.”
Caedmon shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go out on that fallen oak over there. I won’t even get my boots wet.”
Agneta was nervous. The water was flowing swiftly, and the tree Caedmon climbed onto looked none too safe to her. She set about preparing a fire, unable to watch him as he made his way out to the large branches that stretched over the river like the gnarled hand of a giant. She heard him whistling and peeked over her shoulder to see him drop his line into the water.
“There’s a nice deep pool under here. Should get some brown trout, or maybe a grayling,” he shouted to her. She waved and then looked away.
A loud crack, followed by a splash, caught her attention. She cried out in horror as Caedmon grasped desperately at the remains of the tree limb that had broken off, catapulting him into the water. The current took him quickly. He disappeared beneath the waters, and she screamed as she hurried along the bank, trying to keep pace.
“Caedmon, Caedmon, oh God, no! Caedmon!”
He resurfaced, but she could see he was having difficulty holding on to the branch. He went under again, then the current carried him closer to the bank where he was able to grab hold of a half submerged tangle of tree roots. The water buffeted him, and then rammed a huge log right up against him, but he held on for dear life, struggling to catch his breath. Blood oozed from his forehead.
“Agneta,” he spluttered, coughing up water. “My legs—”
She screamed as he disappeared again, only his arms visible, his white hands clamped onto the roots.
“My legs—caught—beneath the water,” he yelled when he resurfaced.
“Caedmon—I—” she choked, staring at the swirling black water.
“Can’t hold—on—much longer,” he rasped.
A memory of the first time she’d ever seen him on the battlefield at Alnwick flashed before her.
“I didn’t save your miserable life for you to drown here,” she cried.
She struggled along the muddy bank, holding up her skirts, until she was close to where he held on. Already up to her knees in the frigid water, she stretched out her hand. He took one hand off the root and reached for her. As their cold, slippery fingers meshed, their eyes locked. There was fear in those blue depths, and a surge of energy went through her.
I will not let him drown. Where is Leofric?
She took hold of his numbed hand in both hers and pulled with all her might. She could tell the blow from the tree and the repeated dunking had weakened him.
“You have to help me. Not strong enough to heave you out. You’re pulling me in deeper.”
She lunged then and latched one hand onto the back of his sodden jerkin.
“Push!” she screamed. “Push!”
Caedmon struggled to free himself, to no avail.
“Let go, Agneta. If I’m—to drown, I don’t want to drag you with me.”
Their eyes locked again. This time, Agneta saw resignation.<
br />
Don’t let him die not knowing you love him.
“No! Caedmon, I—”
“Hang on there,” came a strongly accented voice on the wind. Agneta turned her head, hoping at last to see Leofric, but through her tears saw a blurry image of several men running towards them.
“Help,” she sobbed, on the point of exhaustion, relief washing over her. “My husband’s legs are caught fast—under the water.”
“We’ll get him out of there,” one of them shouted.
Strong hands dragged her away from the water. They had to pry her frozen fingers from Caedmon’s hand.
“It’s all right. You can let go of him now. We have him,” one of them coaxed.
Someone took hold of her hands and rubbed them. She looked up into the eyes of a smiling lad of about four and ten years, kneeling at her side. “I’ll soon have your hands warm again,” he said with a lilt.
One of the three men held Caedmon firmly around the chest, while the others dove to free his legs. Gradually, they were able to pull him up onto the bank. On hands and knees he coughed up water then collapsed beside Agneta, trembling and gasping for breath.
“Good knights—I thank you—I was a dead man.”
The men nodded.
“You saved my life, Agneta. Don’t cry. You were brave.”
Agneta’s teeth chattered. “No, it was these good men saved you. Thank God you came, sirs.”
Caedmon looked into her eyes. “But you kept me afloat.”
Sobbing, she followed as the men hauled Caedmon further from the water. She fumbled to unfasten his clothing, but her fingers were too cold and she was trembling.
“I’ve never seen you in such a hurry to undress me,” he jested.
She scowled at him. “You need to get out of these wet clothes, Caedmon. You must get dry and wrap yourself in blankets.”
“She’s right,” said one of the men, a black-haired giant, who seemed to be the leader. “You need to keep warm.”
The three had pulled bundles of dry clothing from their saddlebags, and were stripping off their wet clothing as they headed to the trees. Agneta turned away and looked at Caedmon, her face grim. “You scared me to death, silly man, taking such a foolhardy risk for a fish.” She whispered so the lad couldn’t hear. He was busy building up a fire.
Caedmon grimaced. “I have to admit, I scared myself.”
When the three Welshman returned, Caedmon proferred his hand to their leader and said hoarsely, “We’re in your debt, sirs. I’m Caedmon Woolgar. Agneta is my wife.”
The giant took his hand. “Good thing we came along when we did. I’m Rhodri ap Owain, Prince of Powwydd. These good men with me are Aneurin and Andras. And this bright lad is my son, Rhys. We’re part of a band paused in yonder copse. We heard the commotion.”
“You’re Welshmen then?” Caedmon asked.
Rhodri nodded. “We are. And you’re Scots?”
“No, we’re Saxons.”
The Welshman arched his brows as he crouched by the fire. “Where are you bound?”
“My late father was the thane of Shelfhoc Manor in Ruyton. I’m returning there to take up residence. I was raised in Scotland.”
Rhodri looked surprised. “Ruyton? Isn’t that a protectorate of the Earl of Ellesmere?”
“Aye. Do you know him?”
The Welshman smiled. “Yes, we’ve met. My wife, Rhonwen, is a friend of the Countess, Mabelle de Montbryce. In fact, we named our daughter Myfanwy Mabelle. Rhys has been to Ellesmere Castle several times.”
The Welshman winked at his son. Rhys nodded and returned his father’s enigmatic smile, but she paid no heed, busy as she was trying to strip off Caedmon’s wet clothing and tend the wound at his temple, which had stopped bleeding. “It shouldn’t scar,” she said. “It’s not deep.”
The tree branches in which he’d become entangled had left livid scratches along her husband’s calves and thighs. She wrapped a blanket around him and rubbed his arms to warm him up.
The Welshmen turned their backs and walked away while Caedmon held a blanket around Agneta and she removed her clothing. They wrapped themselves in their blankets and huddled together by the campfire Rhys had built. Agneta couldn’t stop trembling, but felt calmer after she’d eaten some of the delicious fried fish Rhodri’s men caught and shared with them.
“You don’t have dry clothing?” Aneurin asked.
Caedmon shook his head. “The others are carrying some of our goods. They should be here soon. None of us are carrying much.”
“A good idea. The less you have, the less can be stolen from you in this land the Normans boast of having made safe,” Andras remarked sarcastically.
“Aye, that’s the sum of it,” Caedmon agreed.
The Prince of Powwydd gave an imperceptible signal to the others, and they all rose as one and started to mount their horses.
Caedmon asked, “Won’t you stay and meet the rest of our group? My mother would surely like to thank you for saving my life.”
“No, my Saxon friends. We thank you, but we never tarry long in England. Too many Normans. We’ll follow this river Afon Dyfrdwy back into Wales this day,” Rhodri replied with a chuckle. “I bid you farewell, and good luck in Ruyton. Your mother, you say? Woolgar? Yes, I recall the name now. Strangely enough, Ruyton is where I first met the good Earl of Ellesmere. You remind me of him somewhat. Give him my regards if you see him.”
Caedmon got to his feet. “I will. Farewell, and our thanks again, Prince of Powwydd. There will be a welcome for you at Shelfhoc Manor.”
Rhodri smiled and the Welshmen disappeared into the forest as quickly as they had emerged.
“That was a strange look he gave you as they rode off,” Agneta remarked.
“Aye. Who knows with the Welsh?”
They clung together in silence by the fire, waiting for the others to arrive.
“I’m sorry, Agneta. You’re right. It was foolhardy.”
They didn’t speak for a while, then he quipped, “And now we have no fishing line.”
He was trying to cheer her, but her heart broke when he murmured, “Thank God I have a courageous wife. You tried to save me despite your fear of the water.”
“You’re all I have. What would become of me if I lost you?” she whimpered. She would be haunted by the fear she’d seen in his eyes. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability in him and he was aware she’d seen it. The depth of her love for him struck full force, confusing her to the point of total exhaustion and she was asleep when the rest of their group arrived to be told the tale.
Caedmon cursed over and over to Leofric as his friend helped him unpack their dry clothing. “I’m a fool. The great warrior, Caedmon Brice Woolgar, almost drowning and having to be rescued by his wife, and a bunch of wandering Welshmen, who were no doubt outlaws.”
On the other hand, he was in awe she’d risked her own life to save his. “How could I have been stupid enough to endanger her safety that way? I must be more cautious. It’s no longer acceptable to behave like a fancy-free youth with only myself to consider. I’m a married man now, with responsibilities. What are you laughing at?”
“I’m not laughing, my friend,” Leofric smirked. “That’s the way my face is now.”
Caedmon would never forget the terror in Agneta’s eyes as she struggled to keep hold of his slippery hand.
But her fear wasn’t of the water. It was for me.
Perhaps she did care for him. He’d all but resigned his fate to a watery grave and had been on the point of avowing his love for her when the Welshmen had ridden to his rescue.
~~~
Their lovemaking after his near drowning took on a new intensity. He was happy that making love to him excited her, and she seemed always to be eager for him. They made love when they had privacy, only falling asleep when their bodies’ cravings were completely satisfied. On the last night of the journey, as she lay in his arms, he whispered, “On the morrow, God willing, I shall bring my bride to my es
tate and she’ll become the lady of Shelfhoc Hall, Lady Agneta Woolgar.”
“I like the sound of that, Sir Caedmon Woolgar,” she replied sleepily. “It’s difficult to grasp that a short time ago, I was completely alone in the world, with no prospect for the future outside the convent. Now I have a magnificent man to share my bed. Who knew such a wanton lay buried deep within? Goodnight, Sir Caedmon.”
“Goodnight, Lady Agneta,” he whispered, feeling smug about his magnificence.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Early in the afternoon, they clattered into the courtyard of Shelfhoc Hall, after apparently satisfying the visual scrutiny of a handful of men-at-arms as they passed through the fortress gate of the rampart.
They were given an indifferent welcome by the Earl’s steward. He was the third steward to be assigned there since Ellesmere took over protection of the lands and had no idea who these unusual travellers could be. The man at their head shared a horse with a woman, whose alarmingly short hair was uncovered. The group looked like they’d travelled for days in the same inferior clothes. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
“I’m Sir Caedmon Woolgar. Who are you?”
It had been so long since any Woolgars had lived at Shelfhoc the name didn’t resonate with the steward at first, but then something reached in and tickled his memory.
“Woolgar?” he queried.
“Aye, Sir Caedmon Woolgar, son of the late thane of this estate,” the knight declared as he dismounted and helped the woman. “And this is my wife, Lady Agneta Woolgar and my mother Lady Ascha Woolgar. We’ve come to take up residence.”
Tybaut’s mind went blank. “But, my lord, if I’d only known you were coming. We could have prepared chambers, food, a hot bath. Forgive me, I’m Tybaut, your steward.”
The knight laughed. “Don’t worry. A bath sounds good if you could organize that. Fresh linens will do for this night, and a light meal, then, on the morrow, you can set about doing the rest.”
“Oui, my lord. We’ve a small staff here, only my wife and I, and the stable boy, but we can meet your needs if you have but a little patience. On the morrow, I can go into the village to procure more servants.”
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