They took several hurried steps under the pot’s massive weight as they drew closer to the bailey well. Their slender arms strained more with each step. Mangy dogs came running toward them as they walked, trying to sniff at what they carried. Lizbeth tried to kick several away from her skirts, almost tumbling over in the process. Eden watched in displeasure as a mongrel ran into the kitchen.
As the women steadied the cauldron on the ground with a few grunts of excursion, a brawny knight came forward. He tossed his damp brown hair as it fell just below his eye. His young lips curled with a mischievous grin, though the action seemed completely unintentional.
“Here, let me help you with that,” the knight put forth gallantly. He looked as if he was just back from his morning exercise for his naked tanned back glistened with sweat. Giving a boyish smile at Lizbeth, he turned to bow to Eden. “M’lady, I’m Raulf. If ever you have need of my services—”
“Thank you, Sir Raulf,” Eden broke in pleasantly. She nodded at the handsome man and hid her smile as she watched Lizbeth through the corner of her eye. A light blush stained the servant’s cheeks a comely rose. The woman sighed prettily as Raulf lifted the cauldron from their hands with one swift movement. Raulf held the black pot with little effort and grinned shyly at the serving girl.
Eden saw the look of longing between the couple and tried not to laugh, feeling somewhat relieved. For even if Lizbeth was Vladamir’s mistress, it didn’t seem that the young maid liked the duke very much. Eden gently drew their attention by saying to Raulf, “Your assistance is most welcome, sir.”
“Where would m’lady like this?” he asked with a tilt of his boyish head.
“By the well,” Lizbeth answered for Eden. The serving girl jumped onto her toes to point in the obvious direction of the water. Licking her lips, she looked bashfully away.
Raulf moved in front of them with a nod of his head and then proceeded to carry the heavy pot to the well with little trouble. Eden turned her attention to Lizbeth but found that the girl was lost in her own daydreams of the handsome brown-eyed knight. Turning back to follow slowly behind Raulf, she gave an exasperated sigh as a hen ran by pursued by a hungry dog and made a mental note to have a separate pen built for the fowl at once. She didn’t like the prospect of being accosted by livestock every time she tried to walk across the bailey.
Eden wasn’t too impressed with Lakeshire Castle thus far. Though it appeared to have much potential, it wasn’t taken advantage of. The servants had been lazy in the care, though now she knew it was more likely the master who had been lazy in instructing the servants.
She knew little about the castle and surrounding property. What she did know came from eavesdropping on political conversations at her father’s table, though one could hardly call it eavesdropping when they talked right next to her. It wasn’t her fault they forgot she was there.
Lakeshire was one of the smallest dukedoms in Wessex and had only been made into a duchy the year past. The castle was small, especially for a duke. Her father, who was only an earl, had a larger home with much more property. She remembered her father thinking it quite a scandal to put a foreign monster in a position of such great power, when loyal men like himself didn’t advance in title.
“Tell me, Lizbeth.” Eden stopped walking and motioned to the servant to do the same. She only continued when Raulf was out of earshot. “Why would you say m’lord is a prisoner?”
“Because he is, m’lady.” Lizbeth looked over in surprise, dusting the soot from her hands onto her apron and leaving a black streak across the gray wool. She gave Raulf one last glance of longing before giving her attention to Eden.
“But, how? He holds all of this. How is that a prison?” Eden asked in wonder. “True, ‘tis a dirty keep but still he is titled with land. In my travels I have seen much worse than this. For at least the castle is built of stone and not wood, which can burn. So how can such a privileged duke be a prisoner?”
“He is King Alfred’s prisoner, m’lady. Lakeshire is really King Alfred’s land. At least that is what most of us think. Once the Vikings start another war, the duke will be banished by the king.” Lizbeth’s sprightly green eyes became round with awe. She appeared amazed that Lady Eden hadn’t been told the story. The women slowly walked toward the well. “The King of the Danelaw bestowed him the title of duke only after he came to Wessex to be a hostage. He was sent by his King Guthrum to ensure peace between the Vikings and us. ‘Tis whispered that King Guthrum made a pact with the devil and was given the duke in return. Then the king sent the demon lord here to bide his time until he’s to tear all of Wessex apart.”
“Nonsense.” Eden lifted a skeptical brow but didn’t order the maid to stop her tale. It shamed her to remember she’d also thought that of the duke. She’d heard her father talk of a treaty between Wessex and the Vikings but hadn’t thought much of it at the time, for men were always making and breaking treaties. “A demon?”
“Yea, m’lady,” Lizbeth said softly. The maid put her hand on Eden’s arm to stop her. She glanced about before hurrying in a rushed whisper, “Have you not seen his fiery scars? They are the marks of hell. I have seen them, up close. They are truly frightening.”
“Yea, once,” Eden answered in distraction. She’d only seen him briefly the one time in the darkened hallway and even then most of the seeing hadn’t been done with her eyes but with her hands. Touching her lips, she blushed. Vladamir had been gone the morning following their shared kiss. Haldana wouldn’t tell her where he went and she wondered if the servants even knew where the duke was.
The morning after the kiss, Eden had been promptly moved to the new chamber as was promised. The different accommodations were delightful compared to that of her first prison. The bed was thick, covered with new fur. Even though her first order of business had been to clean the dusty chamber, she was pleased with the change.
“Then you know ‘tis true. He’s marked by hell.” Lizbeth nodded. “I’ve seen him bare, m’lady. ‘Tis an awful sight.”
Eden shivered at the admission and tried not to be disappointed. She was well aware that it was natural for noblemen to sleep with many of the fairer servants. Her father had conquered the questionable virtue of all in his castle. Why wouldn’t the duke do the same?
Eden remembered her own hasty words when she saw the duke’s scarred hand. Hadn’t she said close to the same thing about him? But when she saw the flicker of pain that crossed his enchanting dark eyes, she’d been sorry for it. In that short-lived moment she saw a man who wasn’t at all a monster. That one memory could make her forget all the threats he uttered against her.
“He’s marked by fire, not hell.” Eden corrected, quickening her steps. “There is a difference.”
“Nay, ‘tis the fire of hell,” Lizbeth persisted, moving to keep up.
“Has he harmed any here?” Eden wiped her fingers on her apron, pretending to examine the material. Her hands shook as she awaited the answer.
“Nay, not yet, but he has only been here a year.” Lizbeth smiled at Raulf, who nodded from the distance. He’d dropped the cauldron by the well and was slowly making his way back to the exercise yard. Lizbeth blushed as the man winked at her. “I told you, he bides his time.”
“How did he get those scars? Do any here know the truth?” Eden reminded herself not to be too sensitive where Vladamir’s reputation was concerned. The servants would believe of him what they wished, regardless of her intervention.
And who am I to intervene?
“Nay. None, except mayhap Ulric. He and Haldana came here with his lordship. Some others came too, but Ulric and Haldana are the only ones under his complete spell.” Lizbeth leaned over the well and lifted the bucket. “They scold us if they hear us talking.”
They worked in silence for a moment, dumping the water into the pot. They rinsed it several times, pouring the contents to the ground. Several of the castle’s dogs came to lick up the old food. Eden gently nudged one shaggy animal away as the
mongrel came close to her foot in its frenzy.
“M’lord may not have brought harm upon us, but he is a demon make no doubt—a demon that is biding his time.” Lizbeth nodded her head in confirmation of her decree. Her eyes seemed to shout, heed my words!
“What have you heard? Tell me what you know and I’ll see if ‘tis reasonable.”
“His voice,” Lizbeth began.
“Nay, I have traveled and have heard many different ways of speaking. His accent is not so rare.”
Well, ‘tis not entirely a lie.
“His scars,” Lizbeth continued with a dubious nod. “‘Tis whispered he held his wife down in fire while she burned. He tried to hold down his baby daughter next to her, and he would have killed her too but fer his wife. She wouldn’t have it. She threw the baby from the flames and took them all into herself to save the child. After the wife died, he saw the child and allowed her to live, fer now the child also wore the mark of the devil.”
Eden frowned.
“He hides the child away somewhere. ‘Tis said she is being schooled in the black arts.” Lizbeth shuddered and made the sign of the cross over her breast. “He waits fer her. The day they are rejoined they will tear apart Wessex. The land will be covered in rivers of blood, the—”
“Enough,” Eden broke in as she turned back to her work with a dismal shake of her head. She remembered her dreams. The skies had rained blood. Maybe there was something to the story. She started to lift the rinsed cauldron to take it back to the kitchen.
“But…?” Lizbeth protested. She helped to hoist the pot. It was much lighter now that the food was out of it. “I was about to get to the best part of the tale.”
“What of you and Sir Raulf?” Eden dismissed the serving girl’s persistence. She was desperate to change the subject, not wishing to hear any more of the girl’s alarming story. Surely the man Lizbeth described was not the same man who’d kissed her so intimately.
Lizbeth began to cry, her thin shoulders suddenly trembling with the gut-wrenching sobs. “We wish to be married, but the duke refuses to speak of it with Raulf. We cannot be wed without his consent. Raulf is one of his men and I’m his servant.”
Eden set the cauldron down and tenderly patted the dramatic, emotional girl on the shoulder. She didn’t know what to say to her. In light of her life, Eden couldn’t think favorably of marriage. She didn’t know what the duke’s reasons were for not hearing the knight’s counsel.
“We were hoping you would talk to him fer us. Perchance ask him to say ‘tis all right.” Lizbeth smiled at Eden, her eyes glimmering with girlish hope.
“‘Tis not my place to interfere.” Eden dropped her hand. “I’m as much a prisoner here as his lordship—mayhap more so for I cannot leave Lakeshire.”
“Nay, you are a noble lady. You are of his class. ‘Tis you he would listen to, if he were to listen at all,” Lizbeth persisted. She refused to let her hope die. “If he told you to look after his keep…”
Eden peered into Lizbeth’s hopeful gaze as her words trailed off unspoken. When she saw that the girl was about to cry anew, she said, “If the subject ever comes up I’ll try. But I don’t think my words will have any great effect in influencing his decisions.”
“Oh, m’lady, thank you,” Lizbeth exclaimed in pleasure. She wrapped her arms around the noblewoman’s neck. “I knew you would be the one to convince him.”
Eden ignored the impropriety and let the girl hug her briefly before prying her arms away. She was a little uncomfortable with the closeness. Straightening her shoulders, she turned to pick up the cauldron. “Let us get to the keep, lest the duke won’t be in a mood to hear aught but his own wrath.”
Lizbeth nodded. A soft smile of assurance clouded her pretty face as if she just knew Lady Eden would make her dreams of a life with Raulf come true. Eden wished she could be as sure.
* * * * *
Eden was pleased with how well the manor came along under her care. The servants labored quite hard, once they knew what was expected of them. Lakeshire Castle was in want of minor repairs, and there wasn’t much to be done for the black color that the stone of the walls were built from. She tried to brighten the color with soap and only succeeded in darkening them into an even more dismal black.
She had Ulric direct the men to help with some of the harder chores that she was too weak to do and enlisted Haldana to take charge of the women, at least until Vladamir came home and approved of the arrangements she’d made. Eden doubted that he would mind what she’d done, for he hadn’t taken much care with the organization of the castle himself. It was as if he didn’t care about his home.
She even ordered the servants to freshen the duke’s sleeping chamber, though not much was to be done for it. His coverlet was of an interesting blend of material, like none she’d ever felt. Her hand had glided over the smooth, silky cloth with ease until getting caught in a strand of dark hair. Lifting the abnormally long strand from its silken resting place, she sighed, only to wrap it around her fingers.
When no servants looked, she tentatively put her nose to his pillow. It smelled as he had when he held her. The memory made her tremble anew and she almost didn’t move her face from his linens. Just thinking of his intoxicating smell made her body wet with anticipation. She damned herself for her attraction, even as it baffled her.
The linens were laundered and the stone swept and scrubbed clean. The cobwebs were dusted from the rafters. Eden thought she might learn more of the man by seeing his private chambers, but the large room was sparse. He had an immense bed with a canopy, which had curtains that could be drawn to keep out the draft and a large stone fireplace. There was a stool set before the fire. His personal trunk rested at the end of the bed, but it was locked shut. It was if he had no real personal belongings. She was severely disappointed.
When she was finished with the abovestairs chambers, even the ones not in use gleamed with freshness. Although the beds needed new coverlets and the stone floors needed fur rugs, Eden laundered and left what she found in them. She didn’t dare order things made, not knowing what Vladamir’s resources truly were. By the look of his castle, he wasn’t a rich man and might not take kindly to her wasting his money. His poverty didn’t bother her though. The cleaning took care of the most predominant of the problems.
Eden didn’t go into the section of the castle where she’d been kept prisoner. She merely had the maids scrub the part of the dirty passageways that could be seen from the lower level.
She also held true to her promise and didn’t try to escape. Notwithstanding, it didn’t stop the thought from entering her mind upon occasion. It would’ve been easy. The gate was often left open for the peasants to go through and Ulric had even offered to let her borrow one of the horses in Vladamir’s stables to go for a ride. Although the thought had merit, she didn’t dare venture outside the walls of Lakeshire Castle. The duke might misconstrue such an act as betrayal and she’d given her word.
She prayed nightly that her preparations would please Vladamir. For the more she stayed out of his company, the more she doubted the pain she felt from him that night in the darkened hallway. She didn’t know the man, beyond the impressions she got from the servants. None of the impressions were good, save for Ulric and Haldana. Even their loyalty was somewhat discouraging.
But there was something to the duke—to his voice that haunted her. It was in an accent, so hard and virile. His presence sent a shiver through her body. It wasn’t quite unpleasant but a tremble mixed with both excitement and fear. He’d kissed her mouth until it had been willing for his touch. Men had tried, but none had succeeded in kissing her before now. The kiss had been mostly tender, unlike his harsh reputation. So many things about him were contradictions.
Eden sighed as her lips throbbed anew. She rubbed her shoulder as she spread out the rest of the fresh rushes with her foot and turned to Lizbeth. “Did you hear that?”
“The front gate, m’lady.” The girl looked to her in fright.
Her eyes grew round with her exclamation and her voice squeaked out in an ominous whisper, “The monster returns.”
“Lizbeth, don’t call him such in my presence again.” Eden had begot a strange sort of friendship with the girl and smiled to ease the reprimand. “The duke is not a monster.”
“Yea, m’lady.” Lizbeth nodded, though her eyes still glowed with doubt.
Eden felt as if a dark cloud suddenly dropped over the manor. Lines of stress edged the faces of servants where just a moment before there had been smiles and laughter. They stopped in their duties to look about in anxiety. She saw a few of them kneel to the rushes to straighten them needlessly in hurriedly frantic motions. Still others ran into the kitchen to hide.
She ignored the distraught servants as she went to the bailey. Despite all her fear of him, she couldn’t wait to finally see Vladamir in the daylight. Maybe then he wouldn’t appear to be such a mythical creature.
As she moved, she felt a gentle hand on her elbow. She turned and nodded to Ulric, who escorted her out to the bailey yard.
“Ulric,” she acknowledged as they passed through the door leading outside. The sun shone brightly in the sky making the keep once again unseasonably warm. Nevertheless, she shivered in anticipation. Focusing her eyes on the raised gate she continued, “Do you think he’ll be angered at what I have done?”
“And what is it you have done, m’lady?”
Eden froze as the accented voice came from her side. A cooling breeze washed over her, whipping strands of her hair loose across her face. She hadn’t thought Vladamir would already be well within the bailey walls. She didn’t like the way he addressed her as m’lady. The word sounded contemptuous coming from him.
Ulric gave her a reassuring squeeze before dropping his hand from her arm. He backed away without comment.
Eden hesitated, suddenly afraid to see the man who kept her a prisoner. She waited in turmoil for him to come to her, to command her. The wind grew stronger, pushing her gown tight against her body. The gentle scent of him, of horse and man, softly enfolded her. She didn’t know whether it was truly from him or a figment of her imagination. Nonetheless the smell stirred her body. When he didn’t answer, she cautiously turned.
Maiden and the Monster Page 9
