A withered hand touched Beatrice’s head. Aelflaeda began her examination. She peered into Beatrice’s eyes, opened her mouth, felt her throat, under her arms. And all the time the old woman muttered. She placed a pot of water on the fire and flung dried herbs in it, and still she mumbled, like a nun saying her prayers.
‘What does she say?’ Beatrice asked Hilda.
Hilda sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Some healing charms to make the coughing sickness leave you.’
‘I thought it was a prayer.’
Hilda gave a strange smile. ‘Not our Aelflaeda. She’s no Christian. She clings to the old ways.’
Beatrice stared incredulously at Aelflaeda’s back as she hunched over her brew. ‘You mean she’s a pagan? I thought Anglo-Saxons were Christian.’
‘Most are. I am, and so is my brother. But no one is sure about Aelflaeda.’ Hilda shrugged. ‘Her charms cannot do much harm; she’s been healing our people for years. No one would dream of telling her to stop her chanting. She believes it’s a part of the cure. She’s a good woman. She is not baying for your blood like most of our people.’
Beatrice looked sharply at Hilda.
Hilda nodded. ‘Aye. It’s vengeance they’re after. Ingirith is not the only one who objects to your presence here. You must tread carefully.’
Beatrice groaned.
Hilda put her hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. I will stand by you. I am doubly in your debt.’
‘Doubly?’
‘Aye, you helped me escape, and you cared for Edmund,’ Hilda said. ‘When his horse came back without him, I feared the worst. I thought him dead. Without you, he would have been.’
‘That day you escaped, Hilda, I had no idea that Edmund and his friend...’ Beatrice paused ‘...I don’t know his name.’
‘Siward.’
‘I had no idea that Edmund and Siward were planning an attack.’
Hilda grinned. ‘They weren’t. They were assessing de Brionne’s strength. Siward told me they could not believe their luck when they saw us standing by the gate. They took a chance and made a run for us. If it hadn’t been for your help, I wouldn’t have been in the right place at the right time. And one of them might have been killed trying to free me. That is a great debt I owe you, Beatrice. And you gave me the casket. You can definitely count on me as your other supporter.’
‘Other supporter?’ Beatrice queried.
‘Edmund, of course. They want him as their leader. He’s speaking for you now. It’s not easy for him, for he’s not used to being unpopular. But if his ambitions are to be realised, he’ll have to learn he cannot please everyone.’
‘He wants me as a hostage,’ Beatrice confessed miserably.
‘A hostage?’ Hilda looked thoughtful, but did not disagree.
Aelflaeda bustled up with a mug of steaming liquid. She was still muttering. Her bright eyes roved over every inch of her patient. The old woman smiled. Her teeth were black and broken. Delving into the grimy recesses of her gown, Aelflaeda brought out a small glass pot, stoppered with a cork. She thrust it into Beatrice’s hands and gabbled at her.
‘It is a salve,’ Hilda translated. ‘It will aid your breathing. Rub it on your chest, or on a piece of cloth and hold it to your face.’
Beatrice sniffed warily at the contents of the pot. Her expression cleared. ‘I know this! We make it at the infirmary and it works well. Please thank her for me, Hilda.’
Aelflaeda smiled her gappy smile and hobbled from the chamber.
***
Edmund was standing over the bed, watching her. Beatrice yawned, winced, and probed her sore lips. A dark scowl marred Edmund’s features, but when she glanced up, his face lightened. Beatrice felt her stomach flutter.
‘I’m sorry, was I asleep?’
His eyes were warm. ‘I asked Aelflaeda to put a soporific in the tisane,’ he admitted. ‘She always maintains that sleep is the greatest healer, and I’m inclined to agree with her.’
He had changed his clothes. His hair was damp from washing. A handsome stranger with a beautiful smile.
Suddenly unable to meet his eyes, Beatrice fussed with the furs and blankets on the pallet. The leather thongs of the pallet creaked and Edmund was perched in the space lately vacated by Hilda. ‘You look much better,’ he said, eyes wandering slowly over her face. Frowning faintly, he placed a long finger on her cracked lips.
She knew her colour was rising. ‘I feel better,’ she whispered, and began twisting one of her plaits round and round her hand.
Edmund sighed and removed his finger. He stared into the fire, pale and very still.
‘What is it?’ she asked. She wished she dared touch him.
He faced her. ‘What am I to do with you?’
Beatrice took a frost-bitten lip between her teeth, and shook her head.
‘I’ve been elected in my brother’s stead. My men are crying for blood-money–’
‘What’s blood-money?’ Beatrice asked, her heart heavy as lead.
Edmund was shaking his head. ‘According to Saxon law every man has a value. We call it his wergild. A thane’s wergild is higher than a warrior’s. A warrior’s is higher than a peasant’s. And when a man is killed it is the duty of his kindred to extract the man’s wergild from his killer.’
‘And...and if they do not?’
‘Failure to extract wergild means a grievous loss of honour to the kinsmen. It is unthinkable to a Saxon that the wergild should not be paid.’
‘It...it sounds like another name for revenge,’ Beatrice stammered. She felt sick. Aiden had been killed. Aiden was their thane. What wergild would be demanded for his death?
‘Saxons call it compensation. And my men are demanding immediate settlement for Aiden’s death.’
Hilda had warned her. ‘They mean me, in revenge for Aiden!’ She clutched Edmund’s arm.
Edmund got clumsily to his feet.
‘I’ll not let them,’ he muttered, avoiding her eyes. ‘But it will not be easy. It is an old idea that has had its day. The coming of you Normans will change many Saxon traditions.’ He swung back to Beatrice, and his voice hardened. ‘You must help me if you wish to live. You must do exactly as I ask.’
Beatrice nodded.
‘Wear your dagger at all times,’ he said. ‘Trust no one here except Hilda and Aelflaeda. Do not leave the encampment. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly. Am I to be kept prisoner here indefinitely?’
Edmund looked startled. ‘You’re no prisoner. It’s for your own safety that I confine you here.’
‘And then you would ransom me? Sell me back to de Brionne? What’s to become of me later? I am a traitor to my own people because of you. Your people revile me because of my Norman blood. They want me dead. And you, you would sell me back to the baron for a few paltry coins to fill your coffers!’ Her voice rose. ‘Do you know how de Brionne deals with traitors? I do. I know. I’ve seen it and I–’
Edmund towered over her, and grabbed her shoulders. ‘Stop this! You’re hysterical.’
Beatrice laughed shrilly, all reason fled. ‘I have a right to be. Who wouldn’t be hysterical in my position? If I want to be hysterical you’re not going to stop me. The whole–’
Her tirade was smothered by his lips. He kissed her hard and ruthlessly, dropping his tall body on to the bed. He kissed her with a new, fierce passion that she’d not yet seen in him. She could not fight it, and lay limp in his arms until he had done. When he raised his head she could taste blood on her lips.
His eyes were dark, his breathing uneven, as though he’d been running. ‘That stopped you,’ he grinned.
‘I like it better when you’re gentle,’ Beatrice admitted, fingering her bruised mouth. And as soon as she’d uttered those foolish words she regretted it. It sounded like an invitation.
Edmund ran his finger down her cheek and smiled that rare and beautiful smile which melted her insides.
‘I know you do,’ he said softly. ‘Those hazel eyes t
ell me more than you know yourself. Come, I’ll salute you gently now. I was only brutal to stop your hysterics.’
This overt statement of intent unnerved her, and when he bent his head again, his mouth met only the side of her face. Undaunted, he nibbled her earlobe, and a shiver of delight coursed down her body. His lips were warm on her neck, they nuzzled her throat, her cheeks. He must be able to feel her trembling...
She reached for his face, and an arm slid unbidden round his neck. Their lips joined.
It was a long kiss. Beatrice had not known a kiss could rob one of all will. She wanted it to last forever. She was not sure whether she should have responded so freely, but she could no more have checked herself than fly. Her trembling fingers explored his lean cheek, traced the contours of his face. She liked the feel of his hair, his long, raven-black hair. It smelled of rosemary from its washing. She ran her fingers through it, and Edmund’s arms tightened on her.
A guilty voice at the back of her mind kept telling her it was wrong to feel like this. The voice reminded her that Edmund had already likened her to a whore. She was only giving him more fuel for insults. But she did not heed that nagging voice. She slid her hands down Edmund’s broad shoulders and linked them firmly at the base of his spine. She was holding him as tightly as he held her.
Silver armbands jangled and Edmund’s hand slid to cup a rounded breast. Beatrice gasped. She ached with wanting. His other hand kept her tight against him, and she realised with a frisson of fear that she wanted to explore his body too. Suddenly out of her depth, she pushed at his chest.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked huskily.
‘I...I can’t. We...we mustn’t.’
They were lying close on the narrow bed. Edmund smiled and nibbled her ear. ‘Why not? It is good to kiss with you. You like it. Admit it,’ he teased, and watched colour flow into her cheeks.
‘Aye. I do, but it is wrong.’
‘Wrong? What on earth can be wrong about our kissing like this? No one is being forced. We both gain pleasure...ah, I remember. Your mother’s plans for the convent. You must accept that your destiny does not lie in a nunnery, Beatrice.’
He bent his head to her neck, and sent fresh ripples of pleasure shivering through her body. Beatrice had to tense herself to prevent her lips seeking his. She could drown in those deep blue eyes...
‘You make a wanton of me,’ she murmured. ‘Only common women enjoy–’
‘What?’ He drew back, his expression startled.
‘My mother told me. It’s not ladylike to find pleasure in...carnal matters. Only men and harlots...’ She stopped, too embarrassed to continue.
Edmund sighed and leaned up on one elbow. His hand found hers and he wrapped his fingers round it. ‘Explain it to me.’
‘There’s nothing to explain. Common women may marry where they choose. But not women in my class. If marriage is to be our portion we must marry according to the dictates of duty. We have to honour only our husbands. We cannot take lovers. I was destined for the convent. I should not be kissing you. In any case, my mother assured me carnal love was revolting. She said she couldn’t imagine any well-bred lady enjoying...love.’
Edmund stared incredulously at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. ‘And you believed this? Aye, I see from your face you do.’ He pushed himself up to a sitting position and tossed his disordered hair back from his face.
Beatrice never knew what he would have said next, for the door of the chamber crashed open and what looked like the entire Saxon resistance crowded in. Slowly, Edmund climbed to his feet. His back was very straight, his head high.
In a voice Beatrice had never heard, he barked a question at his troop. The exchange that then took place was vehement and, to Beatrice, incomprehensible. Once or twice Edmund spoke her name. Each time a dark and thickly bearded hulk of a man spat on the ground. Ingirith had matched that gesture.
She felt her heart skip a beat. They were baying for her blood. Most were driven by fury, and they had their swords out. A few appeared more temperate – they merely fingered their weapons and eyed their fellows as though waiting for a lead. None would meet her gaze.
Siward, the man who had snatched Hilda from Lindsey and who had greeted Edmund so gladly, pushed past them. Siward too held his sword at the ready, but he met her eyes with open curiosity. She held her breath. It seemed that one of them at least was not measuring her for a winding sheet. Indeed, Siward’s eyes, blue like Edmund’s, softened. He smiled. Perhaps Hilda had been speaking to him on her behalf.
Beatrice swung shaky feet to the floor, and stood up. She would not die without a struggle. Her nose lifted. Her head swam. The bearded hulk was bawling at Edmund, veins standing thick and dark on his neck. Would Edmund fight his own men for her? Surely not. He was their commander. He could not afford division within his ranks. Loyalty was all. The Saxon cause came first.
The apoplectic warrior shoved past Edmund, and seized Beatrice by the arm. The point of his sword pricked her breast.
Edmund did not move. He spoke. Quietly and succinctly, but what he said transfixed the company. Someone gasped.
Beatrice felt her legs go weak at the knees, and had to put all her concentration into staying upright. She must not fall. She must not disgrace her race.
The Saxon’s cavernous mouth gaped open. He had thick lips which hung slack with amazement. Beatrice staggered. Edmund’s arm went round her waist.
Puzzled, she searched his face. What had he said? She could not read him, but whatever he’d said had disarmed his compatriots. They looked stunned, dumbfounded.
Again, Siward was the exception. He inclined his head at Beatrice. Edmund dropped a soft question into the gruesome hush.
Purple in the face, the aggressive Saxon champed slack jaws together, sheathed his weapon and stomped out. The other invaders of the small chamber followed his lead and the room emptied. Siward remained. Only when the last of the troop had gone, did Edmund’s ally put away his sword and breathe a long sigh.
‘My thanks, friend, for your support,’ Edmund smiled, speaking in Latin, so Beatrice understood.
‘I’m glad I was not needed. I confess I would be loath to fight with our own men,’ Siward answered. His Latin was heavily accented, less fluent than Edmund’s.
‘My congratulations, my lady,’ he said and quitted the chamber.
Beatrice caught Edmund’s guilty glance. ‘What was all that about? And what did he mean by congratulating me?’
Edmund led her to the bed. He had lost his deathly pallor and was quite flushed. ‘They came for their revenge,’ he said, evasively. ‘Sit down, Beatrice.’
She remained on her feet. ‘What was it you said that prevented them from carrying out their desires?’ A ghastly suspicion took root at the back of her mind.
Edmund flashed her a grin. ‘I told them there was no point in killing you in revenge for our thane, Aiden, because your value was less than Aiden’s. I told them that if they wanted proper compensation for their murdered lord, a lady with no estate and no real title was a poor substitute.’
‘Thank you very much.’ Beatrice glared at him. ‘A poor substitute indeed! I thank you.’ Edmund’s eyes gleamed. ‘I do no think it amusing, Edmund,’ she finished crossly.
‘Neither did they, my sweet. They still would have had their vengeance. I was forced to...’ His colour deepened.
Beatrice stared. ‘You were forced to...what, Edmund?’
‘I would not have wished it this way,’ Edmund rubbed his hand round the back of his neck.
‘For pity’s sake – tell me.’ Her hand flew part-way towards him, but he made no move to take it. She let it fall.
Edmund muttered inaudibly at his boots.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Hell and damnation!’ A muscle moved in his cheek. ‘I told them I was to marry you.’
Beatrice caught her breath, stunned into silence.
Edmund looked at her uneasily. ‘I’m sorry the idea is so abhor
rent. But it must be better to be alive and married, even to me, than spitted on a Saxon sword.’
He seemed to be appealing to her. But Beatrice did not trust herself to speak. If only she could believe what she saw in his eyes...
Edmund shrugged carelessly. ‘I’m accounted no bad match. I’ve inherited lands of my own from my father. And given Hilda’s youth and inclinations, my claim to be Thane of Lindsey stands a good chance of gaining support. I might even persuade your King to ratify my title in exchange for my warriors’ oath of fealty. That would be one way of ending this pointless bloodshed.’ He paused.
Was he waiting for her agreement? ‘Marriage to me would strengthen your claim, would it not?’ she asked flatly.
‘It might. But believe me, I had not that thought in mind when I decided to wed you.’
‘Decided to wed me?’ Beatrice said bitterly. ‘You’ve just admitted it was forced on you. Am I meant to be pleased with such a graceless proposal? You were forced to it. I thank you for your gracious offer.’ She lifted her skirts and gave him a mocking curtsy. ‘It is all very convenient, is it not?’ she continued, longing for him to contradict her. ‘I agree you’ve just saved my life. But why? I’m merely another weapon in the battle for your father’s lands. And pray, what about your sister Hilda? Surely she has a prior claim? She was born in wedlock. Where does Hilda figure in your plans? In the bottom of the deepest well?’
Edmund clenched his teeth. ‘Always you insult me. You’ll never forget my bastardy, will you? And for you to imply that I would harm my sister–’
Hastily, she backed down, shaking her head. ‘I spoke in anger, but you have to admit your claim–’
‘Christ, woman! This is no time for caveats and complexities.’ His skin was stretched across his cheekbones like bleached parchment. He fumbled in the pouch at his belt. ‘Here, put this on, if it does not offend your flesh to touch it. It will serve to remind those bloodthirsty warriors of mine not to harm you.’
He grasped her hand and thrust a ring clumsily on to her wedding finger. ‘And remember it is wise to pretend you like the idea. My men will tolerate your presence, just, if you do. We’ve had enough of your haughty Norman airs. Remember, Beatrice, your life depends on it.’ Throwing her a murderous glare, he slammed from the room.
Sapphire in the Snow - Award-Winning Medieval Historical Romance Page 18
