“Caedmon,” his mother cried as she burst from the house.
He limped to embrace her, his lacerated leg stiff from riding.
“Caedmon, you’re alive. I knew you were. I had faith you would return. I never lost hope, even when we heard the devastating news of King Malcolm’s death. His poor saintly Queen Margaret died of a broken heart, only a sennight later. To lose her son at the same time—”
She laid her head on his chest and sobbed, and he comforted the mother he loved dearly.
“Where did you get those clothes, Caedmon? Are you limping? Where have you been all this time? Oh dear, I’m rambling. It’s such a relief to see you. I thought I’d lost you.”
He put his arm around her shoulder. “It’s a long story. I’m relieved to be home. I’ll tell you about it over dinner. I’m looking forward to a good meal.”
His mother wrinkled her nose and smiled. “Let’s get you into a bath, and you can change into some decent clothing.”
They walked into the house, her arm linked in his. He smoothed his free hand over the sheepskin jacket, suddenly reluctant to remove it.
When he came to his chamber, conflicting emotions assailed him. He was overjoyed to be back in the safety and comfort of the room he’d slept in since he was a child. But without Agneta, it seemed empty.
Enid ordered the other servants about, chivvying them to hurry with Caedmon’s bath water, smiling broadly, obviously delighted to see him home.
After bathing, Caedmon joined his mother for dinner. He told her about the battle at Alnwick and what had happened to him afterwards. He mentioned Agneta, but referred to her as Sister Agneta and said nothing about his feelings for her. Nor did he mention the connection to the raid on Bolton.
She eyed him, as if she perceived there was something he wasn’t telling her. They’d always been open and honest with each other.
She raised her finger to her own temple and traced a line to her chin. “The new scar makes you look like a scoundrel,” she teased. “You’ll have more beautiful Saxon girls lusting after you.”
Caedmon winced at her reference to his reputation with women. Could he help it if they found him attractive? It was ironic that the one woman he ached for—
He stared at his food for a while, then suddenly blurted out, “Mother, did you—did you love my father?”
Ascha was taken aback. Not only had she not been in love with her dead husband, he wasn’t the man who’d fathered Caedmon. But her son didn’t know this, didn’t know he’d been conceived during a brief but treasured encounter she’d experienced with a man she’d fallen in love with at first sight, but could never have. A Norman earl.
Her brute of a husband had died at Hastings. Caedmon Brice Woolgar was the living image of his real father, an everyday reminder of her joy and her shame and she thanked God he’d met neither his supposed sire nor his real one.
Unable to give him a Norman name, she had named him for her dead husband, in order to further the belief among the exiled Saxon community that he was indeed the son of a Saxon hero. But she had given him the second name Brice, which in her language meant son of a nobleman, and she smiled inwardly when she thought of how cleverly she had acknowledged his real lineage, that of the Montbryce family.
She was cautious in her reply. Why had her son asked such a question? She wondered about the nun he’d mentioned with such glowing words, but resolved not to lie to him. “Sir Caedmon fell at Hastings,” she said. “We weren’t together long. Most people of noble birth don’t marry for love. Why do you ask? Are you in love?”
“I don’t know if I’m in love. I only know I’ve met a beautiful woman I can’t imagine living without.”
Ascha dawdled over her food, suddenly finding it unappetizing. “Is she free, Caedmon? Free to spend her life with you?” She was desperately afraid for him, not wanting him to live the aching existence she’d lived, destined never to be with the one he loved.
He took a deep breath. “She’s a nun.”
“Agneta?”
He nodded. “Aye. Typical of me to want something I can’t have. But she’s a novice who hasn’t taken her final vows. She’s becoming a nun because she has no choice.” He gradually told his mother the whole story about Agneta, including that she’d seen him at Bolton.
Ascha blinked back welling tears. “Caedmon, you can’t spend your life pining for something out of reach.”
As I have.
“She may not share your feelings, and your role in her parents’ demise will make her resent you. When you told me about that ill-fated raid I was afraid it would have dire consequences.”
Caedmon too seemed to have lost interest in his food. He pushed his chair away from the table. “There must be a way.”
“There are many beautiful Saxon girls here and, I’m sorry to say, not many young Saxon men after Alnwick.”
That seemed to jolt her son from his thoughts. He leaned forward. “Who survived? Who came back? Leofric?”
Ascha picked at the edges of her bread trencher. “Yes. Leofric returned, but, well, you’ll see him soon at the yuletide celebrations, such as they are this tragic year.”
“You say Queen Margaret died too? Who rules Scotland now?”
Ascha shook her head. “King Malcolm’s brother, Donald, immediately laid siege to Edwinesburh and seized the throne, then exiled Malcolm and Margaret’s sons. He wants to rid Scotland of what he calls the English. It’s enough to keep us Saxons awake at nights.”
Caedmon’s face registered surprise. “Donald? But he must be an old man by now? And unmarried, as I recall?”
“Yes, three score years, and no heirs. More trouble ahead. They call him Domnall Bán, Donald the Fair.”
“Is it absolutely necessary we attend these festivities tonight?” Caedmon asked for the third time.
His mother sighed as Enid helped her don her cloak. “Yes, it’s necessary. Please, Caedmon, for my sake. You were lost and now you’re found. Let your fellow Saxons, including me, rejoice in that small victory. We’ve all lost a great deal. These are uncertain times and a piece of good news gladdens the heart.”
Caedmon shuffled his feet. “I know. It’s that I would rather—”
She put a hand on his arm. “You would rather stay home and pine for your Agneta. There will be many young women happy to see you tonight. They’ll take your mind off your nun. You need to get on with life and start a family.”
He shrugged. “It will be good to see Leofric. He’ll be there, won’t he?”
Ascha hesitated. “Yes, but he’s changed. Be prepared. He didn’t return whole from Alnwick. I don’t want to say too much. He’s your friend. He’ll be glad to see you.”
Caedmon nodded. “It’s a pity the celebrations aren’t being held at court.”
Enid fastened his mother’s cloak around her. “It’s a hostile place for us now, unfortunately. We’ll all feel safer and more welcome at the home of the Beasants. They have plenty of room for the few of us that are left.”
The torchbearers were waiting, sent from the Beasants to accompany them, and they made their way on foot the short distance to their destination.
Caedmon couldn’t conceal his shock when he saw his old friend. The once burly, jovial and handsome Leofric Deacon had become a gaunt shadow of his former self. His right ear was gone, his right eye covered by a patch. The mutilated side of his face bore a thick, heavy scar from his hairline, through his eyebrow to his chin. It had twisted his mouth into a permanent grimace.
“Old friend,” Caedmon rasped, extending his hand.
Leofric’s gloved right hand remained at his side, but he offered his left. “Sorry, Caedmon, my right hand doesn’t work well. Godemite, it’s good to see you, even with my one good eye.”
The two men embraced. Caedmon could barely speak, imagining the horror his friend had suffered. “Leofric,” he managed. “How did you survive these wounds and get back here?”
“I was lucky. Eivind helped me. His injuries wer
en’t as serious. You’ll see him later, I’m sure. He looked for you without success, and, to be frank, I was in no fit state.”
“I was found under another man’s body. Wyvern drew their attention to me. What happened to your hand?”
Leofric shrugged. “Burns. You don’t want to see. It’s not a pretty sight. Ah, here comes your mother, with Kendra Beasant in tow. Lady Ascha is no doubt busy trying to find a wife for you.”
Caedmon turned his mouth down at the corners and shook his head. “I’m not interested in Kendra.”
Leofric slapped Caedmon on the back and chuckled. “Why not? She’s a beauty. Look at those breasts! What I wouldn’t give to be suckling on those, wrapped in her long blonde tresses. She always did prefer you.”
“Leofric, how nice to see you,” his mother said when she and her companion reached them.
Leofric nodded and kissed Lady Ascha’s hand. “Lady Ascha.”
“Caedmon, you remember Lady Kendra?”
He had no trouble recognizing the well-endowed and empty-headed girl. He forced a smile. “Yes, of course. Lady Kendra, I’m glad to see you again.”
Kendra gave him her hand and curtseyed. He bowed and helped her rise. When she didn’t remove her hand from his, he felt obliged to give it a perfunctory kiss. She blushed. “We’re all ecstatic to see you safely returned, Sir Caedmon. When we believed you were dead, it was a great loss for all Saxons. I myself cried every night for sennights.”
She still hadn’t removed her hand and her bountiful breasts were thrust towards him.
Leofric stifled a chuckle.
“I’m flattered, Lady Kendra. I’m sure there was much weeping for all the brave Saxon knights who didn’t return from Northumbria.”
He dropped Kendra’s hand and turned to his friend. “Leofric, who else came back?”
He didn’t want to continue the conversation with Kendra. He was sorry to disappoint his mother, but he would much prefer to talk with Leofric and seek out old comrades.
However, Lady Kendra wasn’t easily put off. “Eivind Brede, of course. He was heroic, dragging poor Leofric back.”
Leofric winced.
His mother reddened.
“Bernhard Blakemore has a nasty scar, though not as bad as Leofric’s, and Dalston Garthside seems to have gone a little bit mad. Thomas Chadwicke’s broken arm wasn’t set right and looks strange, and—”
“Yes, Lady Kendra,” Ascha interrupted. “I’m sure Leofric will make sure Caedmon sees his old comrades again. They too will be anxious to see him. Here comes Eivind now.”
Thank you, mother.
Eivind strode over to Caedmon and embraced him warmly. “Caedmon. Oli Crosse. It’s good to see you.”
Caedmon slapped his old friend on the back. “Eivind. I never thought to see your ugly face again.”
“Aye. Uglier now with this cursed scar. But I was lucky.” He glanced at Leofric. “I’m sorry we left you behind, Caedmon. We truly thought you must be dead. We didn’t have much time to hunt for you. The Normans were making sure no survivors left that bloody field. If it hadn’t been for the heavy mist, none of us would have made it back.”
Caedmon nodded. “I understand. I wouldn’t have expected you to risk your lives looking for me.”
“How did you manage to survive?”
Caedmon told the story of how he’d been found and nursed back to health.
Kendra made her excuses part way through the story, claiming she had to greet guests as her father’s hostess.
Ascha shook her head and followed her.
Caedmon breathed a sigh of relief and winked at Leofric. “Did anyone see Malcolm fall?”
They all looked at their feet.
“No, but I saw his son Edward die at the hands of the earl,” Leofric murmured. “I was distraught and took my attention off protecting myself, and—well—you see the results. Anyway, back to this nun you talked about in such glowing terms.”
Caedmon felt the heat rise in his face. “She was special. If she wasn’t a nun—”
“Ho, ho. Our friend Caedmon has fallen in love at last.”
A Dangerous Place
It seemed to Caedmon his mother would never run out of candidates for him to consider as his wife. For four months she arranged chance meetings. He’d known these women for years, grown up with most of them, and his heart told him he didn’t want to spend his life with any of them.
His mother often voiced her opinions at table while they supped. “But they were girls then, Caedmon. They’re women now. Some of them lovely women. Kendra isn’t suitable, but Aediva Newberry cares for you, and—”
Caedmon bristled. “Mother, please. Aediva is sweet. She will make someone a wonderful wife, but that someone isn’t me. Please stop trying to marry me off.”
Ascha ate some of her pigeon pie.
He expected she would try again.
“I don’t want you to be alone, Caedmon. I won’t be here forever.”
“I would rather be alone than spend my life with a woman I don’t care for.”
“But you care for Aediva.”
The pie had suddenly lost its taste. “Not that way.”
“You mean the way you care for Agneta, your little nun?”
“Aye,” he replied wistfully, excusing himself from the table.
He complained to Leofric one day as they shared a jug of ale.
“Tell someone who cares,” his friend retorted jovially. “You’re surrounded by beautiful women, all lusting for you and you don’t want any of them. None of them take a second look at me. I’m too repulsive. No woman wants to wed a monster.”
Caedmon felt great sorrow for his friend, who’d been a handsome knight, before Alnwick.
Perhaps I’m being too selfish, wanting too much. But—Agneta.
“I know, I’m selfish, but Agneta is special.”
“You spent little time with her, during most of which you didn’t know your own name. From what you’ve told me, she isn’t likely to want to marry you after what we did at Bolton.”
Leofric was the only other person apart from his mother aware Agneta had seen them at Kirkthwaite Hall.
The alehouse was full and noisy, and Caedmon had to shout to be heard. “I helped to destroy her life. I owe her.”
Leofric shook his head, and cupped his hand to his mouth. “But that doesn’t mean you have to marry her,” he bellowed.
Suddenly, there was a lull in the noise. People were staring at them. Caedmon gazed into his tankard, feeling his face redden. “I don’t want anyone else. It’s much more than that. She haunts my dreams. I’m obsessed with her.”
He took a long swig of his ale.
“I dream of a woman too,” Leofric said wistfully, then stopped, and looked warily at Caedmon, whose attention was abruptly on him.
“Who?”
“It’s of no importance. It was before—this.” He indicated his disfigurement with his gloved hand.
“Did she care for you—before?”
“Aye. But that’s the past. This is the reality. I’ve come to accept I’ll be alone. But you don’t have to be. Marry one of these hearty Saxon wenches and live happily ever after. I’ll be Uncle Leofric to your many offspring.” He clinked his tankard against Caedmon’s.
“I suppose—”
Their conversation was interrupted by loud shouts from the street. “Siege! An army at the gates! Normans!”
The two friends jumped to their feet and ran out of the alehouse.
Panicked people scattered hither and thither.
Caedmon grabbed a boy by the arm as he ran by. “What’s the alarm? What’s happening?”
The lad tried to pull away, on the verge of tears. “The city’s under siege. Let me go, I beg you, sir.”
Caedmon clamped his hand tighter. “Be calm. Tell me who is laying siege.” He already had an idea who it might be. Rumors had been rampant for weeks that one of Malcolm Cenn Mór’s sons would try to wrest the throne from Donald Bán.
“Normans?” Leofric exclaimed.
“Northumbrians?” Caedmon said quietly.
He let go of the boy’s arm and the urchin sped away. “We’ll go to my mother’s house, Leofric. Saxons must decide what to do in the face of this new threat. Our decisions now could be crucial to our future here. Edwinesburh has suddenly become a more dangerous place.”
When they arrived home, Enid told them Lady Ascha had already gone to the Beasant home where most Saxons were gathering. They followed her there.
Edgar Beasant addressed a restive crowd. “It appears Duncan is in league with his half-brother, Edmund, son of Malcolm Cenn Mór and Margaret. As you know, Edmund fled to England when Donald Bán seized the throne. Now King William Rufus is aiding him in this bid to wrest the throne from Donald.”
Caedmon wished he could get his mother’s attention across the crowded room. “This is a kettle of stinking fish,” he exclaimed to Leofric. “Malcolm and Rufus were bitter enemies, and now Rufus is helping Malcolm’s two sons.”
“Where does that leave us?” Leofric wondered aloud.
Beasant had continued speaking. “It’s my opinion that for the moment we do nothing. The siege may not be successful. If Duncan and Edmund do succeed in taking the throne from Donald Bán, I suggest we form an emissary committee to convey our assurance of support.”
“Aye,” everyone shouted.
“I will volunteer to head the Emissary Committee, but we need younger men, young knights.”
“Caedmon Woolgar,” someone shouted.
Caedmon’s mother scanned the hall for a glimpse of him.
“Sir Caedmon, are you willing?” Beasant asked.
Ascha’s eyes found his. She hesitated, then nodded slightly.
Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3) Page 5
