Bound to the Warrior (Love Inspired Historical) Read online

  But there lingered other questions he should have asked the priest. Who had told him that Ediva had visited the midwife? Her visit might have meant nothing but to check on the health of the other women. ’Twas almost as if the gossip was deliberately skewed to put Ediva in a suspicious light. Had it been Geoffrey?

  Why did that irk him so? What was it about Geoffrey that had him so suspicious? Adrien’s thoughts shifted to the record book, the entry reading naught and Geoffrey’s claim that Eudo had taken it and he’d merely recorded the amount.

  Adrien felt his jaw clench. ’Twas more than possible, but he didn’t like being so unsure. Regardless, he’d soon find out. He’d already sent a missive to Colchester asking for clarification. Eudo would not lie to him. With the king’s order to fulfill, he’d have no need.

  “My Lord!”

  Adrien spun back to face the chapel. The chaplain hurried over. He dipped his head in respect when the older man stopped. “If you please, Lord Adrien, forgive me. Your words are obviously something I need to pray about. But she is willful, especially about coming to services.”

  Adrien folded his arms. “And her first husband? What was he like?”

  The old chaplain’s lips pursed and tightened as he swallowed. “Lord Ganute was generous to the church.”

  “’Twas not what I asked.”

  The old man looked distant for a moment. Adrien reached out and placed a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder. “’Tis all right. I have my answer. Though I don’t care for it.” Adrien felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it down. “We both know full well that Ganute abused his power over Lady Ediva and she’s been hurt by it. Would you trust the men around you if you were her?”

  The old priest stiffened. “I haven’t given it such thought. But I have many prayers and I will use them.” He reached up and gripped Adrien’s arm with his hand. “Lady Ediva is bitter against men and will not forgive her husband. ’Tis what binds her to her sins.”

  Adrien nodded. He stared off beyond the chaplain’s shoulder, unsure of how to ease his wife’s burden. He looked back down to the old man. “We’re not here to torment Lady Ediva further and drive her away.”

  He glanced around the bailey, his eyes lighting on the stables. Slowly, an idea formed. Adrien chuckled. “We’ve both learned something here, Padre. Let’s use it wisely.”

  The old chaplain smiled. And for the first time since he’d come, Adrien felt the man showed genuine emotion. A small amount of satisfaction.

  His heart lighter than it had been in ages, Adrien strode to the stables, allowing the idea forming in his head to blossom and grow.

  * * *

  After two days of rain, Ediva found herself sitting outside enjoying her task of brushing a servant’s child’s hair. The lovely little girl had long blond locks like hers. ’Twas a good day, though cooler than the early days of May.

  She spied her husband closing the distance between them. Although they supped together, it had been so long since they had truly talked. Since that day in the meadow when he kissed her.

  Her heart tripped up.

  Adrien bowed when he reached her. “’Tis time you learned how to ride, milady.”

  Did she hear him correctly? “Ride? As in a horse?”

  “Aye. I’m not suggesting oxen.”

  She swallowed as she continued the brushing. “I have done well all these years without learning.”

  “The mare King William gave us as a wedding gift is too fine to be standing about in a stable. I have taken her out for exercise because her muscles will weaken without it, but she needs a mistress.”

  Her eyes widened and she accidentally yanked on the little girl’s locks. The child let out a yelp.

  As she hugged the girl, she turned back to Adrien. “That mare is enormous! And willful. Harry told me that she kicked down several doors in the stables. I can hardly be her mistress.”

  “Harry told you tales. ’Twas only one door, and she’d not been out of her stable for days and was cranky.”

  “You’re a good horseman. You take her. Or assign one of your men. That young sergeant is strong.”

  “She needs one owner with authority. I cannot always be around for it, and nor can my sergeant.”

  She sent away the little girl, her hair now gleaming. Once the child was out of earshot, Ediva stood. “What’s brought this on? I am too busy. I have more important things to do than waste time riding horses.”

  “Such as play with little girls’ hair?” He smiled. “You need to learn more skills than what were taught you as a maid. And you need to trust others. You can start by allowing me to teach you how to ride. ’Tis becoming a fashionable quality for a lady, I’m told by Eudo.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not an addled woman who thinks only of fashion, and besides, how would your brother know of such things?”

  “He has dealt with the queen and her ladies, I’m sure. And nay, you’re sensible, and as a sensible woman, you know ’tis important to learn new skills. ’Twill do you good.”

  “Why do I need this new skill?”

  “So your husband can take you riding, and ’twould please him if you trusted him to teach you.” Adrien lifted his hand to stay any more protests. “Remember the pony Harry used to bring our noon meal to us in the meadow?”

  With narrowed eyes and a suspicious sidelong look, she nodded.

  “She’s a good mount. Her mouth is leathered from too many tugs on her bit, and she’s too old to bother to run. And she likes children.”

  She felt her eyebrows arch. “Oh, so you think I am a child!”

  “Nay. I think, though, that she’ll see you as one.” He took her hand before she could snatch it away. “Time for your first riding lesson.”

  With his hand wrapped firmly around hers—lest she change her mind, she was sure—they walked to the stables. The air was still in this sheltered area and filled with the strong scents of horse and hay. There, Harry, grin firmly in place, held the nag’s reins. A small stepping stool was set beside her. Her lips pursing, Ediva could see Adrien had arranged everything beforehand.

  All only to teach her to trust him? The very fact they were standing here in front of the stable was proof that she did. But ’twas obvious that he didn’t believe it. “And you think I will be able to sit on the saddle without tearing my cyrtel? When the king’s men took me to London, I had to yank it up and expose my legs. Thankfully, those men were in fear of the king, for none gave me a second glance.”

  “Look around you, Ediva. Who do you see?”

  She looked around. Their side of the bailey was completely deserted. “No one except you and Harry.”

  “He’s a boy. He doesn’t count. I have sent the men outside the bailey so you may maintain your dignity. Now, pull up your cyrtel and stand on the stool. I shall teach you how to mount a horse. Or in this case, a pony.”

  Ediva caught the humor and shot him a sharp look. “This nag may be short, but she’s enormous compared to me.”

  “And once you’re atop her, you’ll be taller than her. You must show her that you are in charge. She will smell your fear.”

  “No doubt. I can smell it, too.”

  He held out his hand to help her, barely curtailing his smile. “Enough talk, woman. Get on the stool.”

  Pulling a face, she tried her best to climb up but ended up having the pony shift slightly away, despite Harry’s efforts to keep her still. Finally and rather unceremoniously, Adrien helped her.

  She squeezed her thighs together tightly to ensure she didn’t fall off. And there, sitting rigidly up high, she dug her fingers into the wooden knob of the saddle.

  “Give her the reins, Harry,” Adrien said with a smile in his voice. “I fear she’ll tear the pommel away with her bare hands.”

  She snatched the reins that were handed to her. “You should have been in a minstrel band with your humor, Adrien. I shall walk this mare around the yard here a bit, but ’tis all for today.”

  With Adrie
n’s gentle direction, Ediva managed to walk the mare around. With no one about, she did manage to relax. After a short time, she even managed to return the pony to her start point and dismount without too much loss of dignity.

  Adrien helped her from the stool and stood holding her hand. “A good start, Ediva. We will continue this on the morrow.”

  “In such a case, I expect I will need a special cyrtel for the training. One that splits like your mail armor does.”

  Adrien’s smile widened. “’Tis a fine idea. You and your maid go design it, whilst I take this nag for a good grooming after her strenuous ride.”

  Sniffing at his final joke, Ediva walked around the motte to head into the bailey. Before Adrien’s insistence she learn to ride, she had set aside today to inspect the tenants’ children with the help of the midwife. In the hall, she spied the old woman with them, and one mother also there. ’Twas part of the mistress’s responsibilities to ensure the children were cared for properly, a task she enjoyed very much.

  One little girl, an older sister to the babe in the mother’s arms, ran up to Ediva as she approached. “Milady, I don’t want to be here! I want to be outside! ’Tis a lovely day. I wish summer would never go away! But M’maw says the summer will leave and I don’t want it to. I want it to stay, forever and ever!”

  Ediva laughed. The little girl had Harry’s cheek and with her big brown eyes and sweet smile, she was sure summer would never disappoint her.

  “Milady,” the midwife called out. “Most of the children are in good health. Some have coughs and sores, but I fear that the sores remain because they pick them.”

  Together with the woman, Ediva administered salves for the sores and teas for the coughs. She listened to the midwife order the young mother to continue nursing the babe through his cough. And all the children needed to be bathed and have their hair combed briskly every morning. Ediva encouraged the mother there to do so. Then, succumbing to the urge, she took the babe from the mother’s arms and cuddled him.

  He opened his eyes. Ediva felt her breath draw in quickly. Such big, dark eyes, so dark that surely these wouldn’t become the blue she often saw. With the dark, wavy mop the babe wore, he reminded her of her husband. This babe, born just after she’d married Adrien, babbled and smiled at her. Ediva’s heart squeezed as she held tight to the child.

  Would she ever have a babe like this one? If she didn’t, her lands would fall to King William or some distant in-laws in Normandy.

  “’Tis good to see a babe in your arm, milady,” the midwife whispered in her ear.

  She stroked the babe’s head. “But what kind of life would my child have? The king now owns all. I have nothing to give a babe. Even its father would be off to war at the first opportunity.”

  Her words caught in her throat. Adrien had already asked her to return his body to Normandy. Should she be blessed with a child, she wouldn’t even be able to give the babe its father.

  “Give it love,” the midwife said simply. “’Tis all a babe needs.”

  Love? Of course she’d love her babies. But it seemed wrong to bring a child into the world when she could not even give the child’s father her heart. Nay, what would their child learn? Her tenants married and loved freely, and their children benefited from that love. ’Twould not be so for her child.

  The midwife sighed. “I fear I will never see one with my son.”

  She lifted her gaze up in the old woman’s bleary eyes. “Geoffrey’s still young.” She thought a moment. “Mayhap we could arrange for a maid to come from my sister’s keep?”

  The old woman’s eyes sparkled. “Aye! I would be so grateful. Geoffrey needs a woman who can give him a family. But ’twould also be nice to see a babe from you.”

  Ediva looked away, unexpected tears surging into her eyes and closing her throat. The midwife’s gnarled hand covered hers as she stroked the soft hair of the child Ediva held. “I don’t see any signs of a babe growing within you.”

  Heat flushed her neck and cheeks. “Nay. There will be no babe from me this autumn.” Longing to have her own child did fill Ediva. But she inwardly recoiled. Her husband was a soldier who loved fighting for his king more than anything else.

  At the thought of him, she glanced furtively around, and her breath caught again in her throat. Adrien had entered the keep and now stood in the doorway.

  His muscles showed his training well. They strained against his light tunic enough to have her wonder if she should make him a few more clothes. He’d put so much into his training that he was fairly bursting at the seams.

  She’d studied his form often enough. His body language was masterful, a man who knew his control and was ready to enforce it.

  The midwife followed Ediva’s line of vision. “I know not what goes on in milady’s marriage, but some say that—”

  Blushing furiously, she tossed the old woman a harsh look. “Stop spreading rumors, woman.”

  “I’m just warning you ’bout what’s being said, ’tis all.”

  “Of course,” she answered derisively. Passing the babe to his mother, Ediva stood and called to her maid for some sweet pastries to reward the children for their good behavior. The cheeky little girl who’d spoken of summer laughed and danced in anticipation. Ediva would have smiled, but beyond the girl stood Adrien, still deep in his thoughts as he watched her. She could no longer summon a smile. Her heart pounded so much it nearly hurt her chest.

  What would it be like to have him truly love her, to have a marriage that was as happy as some she’d seen? It didn’t hurt the wives to love their husbands. In fact, they delighted in the love they shared.

  Did love really give such pleasure?

  Only after the maid slipped past him did Adrien move from the door. Blinking rapidly, Ediva returned to her other duties and spent the rest of the day ordering a stream of cleaning and sewing a new cyrtel. That evening, after a quiet meal with Adrien in the hall, she retired early but soon found herself walking the parapet. She then remembered her promise to the midwife to find a wife for Geoffrey. She returned to her solar and set out a parchment. It had been used before, a letter from Olin to Ganute, and she needed to remove the old text before she could begin. But first, Ediva turned it toward the waning sun to read it.

  ’Twas about the new court of King Harold, late last summer. Olin warned that Ganute would be called to fight in York that fall. Ediva frowned. Olin’s missives that she had seen were usually less interesting. This one must have reached Ganute directly rather than being read first by her.

  She read on, straining in the dying light to see the scrawl of Olin’s poor script. He confided that he would not fight, for he believed Harold’s hold on the throne was weak. To that end, Olin wrote, he would hide in the tower.

  Here in the keep? Ediva lifted her head, trying to remember if her cowardly cousin-in-law had visited then. Nay, he had not. He must have found elsewhere to hide, for he certainly had not fought. He was so ill-trained, he would have been quickly killed, and had he tried to desert or avoid fighting, he would have hanged as a traitor.

  Shaking her head, Ediva took her powdered pumice and some milk ordered from the kitchen to scrub away the writing. Once it was dry, she worked quickly before the sun set completely. She offered her sister greetings and asked about her family. Both her sisters had found happiness and already each had children. Ediva said little of her own situation before she began the real reason for the missive. She asked if her sister had a suitable wife, perhaps the daughter of a steward, for Geoffrey. Mayhap the girl could come and they could see what might happen.

  She blotted it and set the letter by the window to dry. Should something not stir between the girl and Geoffrey, Ediva wouldn’t force them into marriage, as she and Adrien had been.

  ’Twas not fair that Adrien suffer for her stubbornness, tied to a wife that was his in name only—one who barely shared his life and did not share his faith. The thought of such soured in her stomach and she rose to pace away the feeling.<
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  When the sun washed her solar with red, she made her decision. Tomorrow was the Sabbath. She’d go to the services. Neither may want this marriage, but she’d at least make it as palatable as possible, and that would start with Sunday services.

  Chapter Twelve

  A smile jumped unbidden to Adrien’s lips when he spied Ediva step onto the main floor that Sabbath morning. He’d just come from his chamber beside the hall and had locked the door firmly. Having secured the record book into the strongbox and taken Geoffrey’s key until the riddle of the missing money was solved, he’d decided to lock up everything, including his chamber.

  Smile widening, he held out his hand to Ediva as she approached.

  “I’m on my way to services. Can I assume you are also headed there?” she asked with remarkable calm.

  He bowed. “Aye, and I’m pleased you have chosen to attend them with me.”

  She nodded, taking his arm to allow him to lead her out to the warm, sunny bailey. There, he glanced down at her hand. Her knuckles were cracked. She worked hard, right along with her servants, to ensure the keep ran smoothly.

  As they strolled toward the chapel, she said, “Very early this morning, I sent one of your soldiers to my sister’s home with a letter.”

  He stopped. “My sergeant? Aye, I haven’t seen him yet today.”

  “Kenneth is his name.”

  “Ediva, he is my responsibility. I should have been told.”

  Her eyes flashed for a minute before she lowered them. “My apologies. ’Twas wrong not to ask you first, but you weren’t available and I wanted him to be on his way immediately.”

  Impressed with the apology, Adrien lifted his eyebrows in surprise. After services, he’d ask her what had been so important that she needed to send a missive immediately, but for now he was grateful for the small mercy that was her contrition.

  Though slipping into the pew beside her, he kept his distance. The memory of their kiss by the river would steal his focus far too easily and he didn’t want his mind to be wandering about in a daze of adoration during the time intended to be worshipping the Lord.