Redemption (The Montbryce Legacy Anniversary Edition Book 3)

by Anna Markland

“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 strangers 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 rescuers 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 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 strangers returned, Caedmon proffered 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. “Isn’t Ruyton 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 his 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 bringing 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.

  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 fell asleep before 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 are no doubt outlaws.”

  Inwardly, 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 rushed to his rescue.

  After his near drowning their lovemaking 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 came together 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 estate and she’ll become the lady of Shelfhoc Hall, Lady Agneta Woolgar.”

  “I like the sound of that, Sir Caedmon Woolgar,” she replied sleepi
ly. “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.

  Shelfhoc

  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 travelers 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 me, 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.”

  “We’ve all the patience in the world, Tybaut,” Sir Caedmon smirked as he took his wife and his mother by the hand and led them into the house. “Perhaps you could give us a short tour after you’ve settled our companions in their chambers? Sir Leofric Deacon will require a chamber, and perhaps Lady Coventina Brightmore can share one with her mother and aunt?”

  “Oui, my lord,” Tybaut said, trying without success to solve the enigma of who it was this man reminded him of. Perhaps it was the Scottish burr confusing him?

  Caedmon’s mother wandered off, Enid at her side. He supposed it wasn’t surprising she was emotional about returning after so many years, but he preferred to see Shelfhoc through his own eyes for the first time. He knew nothing of the house, and savored every lime-washed panel, every stair, every chamber. It was a grand house, two stories high, built from stout split and planed timbers, fastened together with iron nails. The interior was elaborately decorated with ornamental wood turnings, the wooden floor softened with wattle mats. The roof was well thatched. The sturdy outbuildings were framed with large timber uprights, filled with wattle and daub and chinked with moss to keep out the winter cold. The stone kitchen was set apart from the wooden house.

  “This used to be the weaving shed,” Tybaut explained, as they entered a long, narrow building. “Perhaps the ladies might start up the use of it again? I’ve kept the old looms well covered.”

  “Perhaps,” Agneta agreed. “I like to weave.”

  “I didn’t know my mother did weaving,” Caedmon said. “How hard it must have been for her to leave all this.”

  Agneta said nothing in reply, probably lost in memories of her home, destroyed with his help. He silently cursed himself for his insensitivity.

  There was a modest Great Hall where Caedmon imagined his father had conducted business, enacted justice and spoken judgments. Had his father sat in the massive thane’s chair on the dais, his wife Ascha by his side, and signed contracts, praised good deeds, eaten with his men? The hall was long and narrow and had two doors, one at each tapered end. The four windows had wooden shutters for defense and to keep out the cold. He felt proud of his sire who’d died at Hastings, proud to be a Saxon. He was relieved he’d not brought Agneta to a ruin.

  “Imagine my parents here, Agneta, in the days before the Conquest, watching the smoke make its lazy way up from the hearth here in the middle, out through the hole in the roof.”

  “We had a hall similar to this in Bolton,” she replied coldly. “It had alcoves on the sides, like this. Of course, you only saw the outside.”

  The steward looked at Agneta curiously and Caedmon was relieved she said no more about Bolton. “You’ve done a fine job of maintaining the manor, Tybaut, and you’ve been meticulous in sending my mother her revenues from the tenant and church income. Why is it the earl never takes a commission or percentage of the revenues?”

  Tybaut scratched his head. “That’s been the way of it since the outset. I wasn’t here then, of course.”

  “The earl’s generosity amazes me, I must confess,” Caedmon said sarcastically. “There has never been any charge levied for the services of the stewards nor for these Ellesmere men-at-arms who guard the manor house. Perhaps Normans aren’t as greedy as I thought, or perhaps there’s something I’m missing. There has to be some reason for the uncommon generosity to a Saxon family.”

  Tybaut shifted his weight from one foot to the other, obviously ill-at-ease. “I’ve found the earl to be a reasonable and honorable man, sir. As I say, I wasn’t here in the beginning.”

  Caedmon and Agneta continued their tour, and came at last to the largest chamber. “This must have been your chamber,” he said to his mother when she appeared. “It’s only fitting you have it now. Agneta and I can—”

  “Absolutely not,” she exclaimed. “This is the chamber for the lord and lady of the manor. That’s you, Caedmon and Agneta Woolgar. There’s another chamber I’ll be perfectly happy with.”

  “Thank you, mother,” Agneta said, clasping Ascha’s hand. Caedmon wondered if his wife was aware she’d used the word mother. He sensed there was something about Agneta’s own mother she’d never told him.

  Tybaut’s wife soon had water on the boil. The stable boy carried up the buckets of hot water and poured them into the ornate wooden bathtub, which had been brought to the lord’s chamber.

  “My parents must have used this chamber, but I’ve no sense of them together. Of course, I never met my father.”

  Agneta sat on the edge of the bed, testing the mattress. “Your mother seems nervous about being back here.”

  He nodded. “Too many memories, I suppose.”

  Caedmon savored making love to his wife for the first time in their own home. They lay together naked, her back snuggled against his chest, his body wrapped around hers, his hands cupping her breasts, his face in her hair. Content, he mused about the future.

  “I’ll become familiar with the tenants, and our steward will help me with that. You’ll need a lady’s maid and we can deal with procuring her and other servants when Tybaut goes to the village. We’ll hire a cook—a good one. And purchase clothes for you.”

  “There’s plenty of time, Caedmon. We don’t have to do everything in the first sennight. We’re both tired from the eventful journey. You could have drowned. And we’ve Yuletide to plan in the next few days. I’m surprised we made it here in time.”

  “You’re right. It will be good to celebrate Yuletide here for the first time. However, I can’t take too long before I must travel to Ellesmere to confirm my allegiance to the earl. Much as it galls me to serve a Norman, after all Montbryce has done for the Woolgar family I’m sure I’ll be expected to provide some kind of service, now I’ve returned to claim my birthright. Perhaps I’ll have to patrol the border against the Welsh. I’ll recruit and train my own men-at-arms—men who are loyal to me. They say the earl is a fair man, hard
but fair.”

  “Speaking of hard men,” she giggled, reaching behind her to touch him.

  The huskiness in her voice inflamed him and his manhood surged. It seemed to have a life of its own when she put her hands on him.

  She draped her long leg over his, opening herself. “You feel warm—and full. I’m tingling.”

  Caedmon stretched beside her and kissed her nape. “Turn to me,” he whispered.

  As she turned her body to his, he kissed her softly. She coaxed his lips with her tongue. He teased her with the tip of his tongue, but wouldn’t open. He licked his way down her neck to her sensitive throat. She giggled and then clasped her hands to her mouth. “We mustn’t make too much noise with all these people in the house.”

  “I don’t care if you scream the house down, and you probably will,” he teased.

  She glared at him.

  Caressing her stomach and thighs, he trailed his fingers to her throbbing bud. She gasped and whimpered, “That feels good.”

  He suckled her nipple and nibbled it. The whimpering sounds told him it aroused her. “You like that. I can tell.” He moved his mouth lower and circled her navel with his tongue. She tossed her head from side to side, her eyes tightly closed, her breathing ragged as his fingers continued to play with her engorged bud. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth.

  “You’re beautiful. You make me want you too much,” he whispered, his voice husky with need.

  She opened her eyes. “My body aches for you. I never yearned like this till I met you. I need you inside me.”

  She cried out when he inserted his long fingers into her. He knew it partly satisfied her but she needed more. Sensing she was ready, he knelt and guided the head of his shaft to her opening. He trembled and gasped when the warm wetness of her sheath enveloped him and he buried himself more deeply as she wrapped her legs around his body.

  Entering her confirmed he’d come home. He found her bud again and moved his manhood back and forth over it. She moaned with delight and lifted her hips higher to him. He withdrew, pushed back in and found his rhythm. As her need intensified he could barely keep up with her. The shuddering spasms of release took him and he heard his own guttural cry as his seed exploded inside her pulsating sheath.