Margo Maguire (10 page)

“Do you think she would have changed once she saw her child?”

Lora found a lamp and lit it, then started up the stairs. Kathryn followed. At the top of the stairs was a large gallery. “The boys often played here—Edric and Bryce, along with Oswin’s sons.”

Kathryn noted that Lora did not answer the question about Cecily, but she respected her silence on the matter. ’Twas not seemly to speak of
the dead, especially when it seemed there was not much good to say.

“What’s in these trunks?” Kathryn asked.

Lora went to the one in the farthest corner and opened it. “Toys.” She smiled. “A leather ball and some glass marbles, dice…chess pieces…” She laughed. “Here’s a slingshot. Edric was a terror with this in his youth.”

He was a terror now, to Kathryn’s peace of mind. She opened another of the trunks and found a stack of woolens. There were blankets and clothes, all small. She did not doubt they were the garments Edric and his brother had worn as children. “Look,” Kathryn said, holding up a small linen sherte. “The ones on top are moth-eaten, but down below…” She pulled out the rest of the items, which seemed to be in good condition. “Aidan should have the use of these. Do you think Lord Edric will mind if we take some of these back to the keep—the clothes and toys?”

“I cannot imagine that he would.”

“What about the steward? If he learns I am responsible for making changes, he will be angry. He despises me.”

“’Tis nothing personal,” Lora remarked. “His sons were killed in battle against your king’s armies and Oswin holds every Norman responsible.”

“And the priest?”

“Has never been fully sane. ’Tis a wonder that Edric has not retired him and sent for a new cleric to replace him.”

Kathryn opened one of the shutters and looked out over the hilly countryside and the mountains in the distance. The forest in this direction was intact, although she had seen large areas that had been burned. The fields she saw through the window were recently harvested, but on the northern side of the estate, they were barren.

“It must have been a beautiful landscape,” Kathryn observed.

“Aye. The richest, most handsome estate in all Northumbria,” Lora remarked. “The fells and valleys were sacred to the ancient people who once inhabited these lands.”

Kathryn could well imagine that was so. There was something ethereal about the mountains in the distance and the closer hills. There’d been a mist hovering about them early this morn, and Kathryn could almost believe ’twas a magical place. “What will happen when winter comes?”

Lora shrugged. “I do not know.”

“Mayhap Lord Edric should take a bride. Another one with a generous dowry.”

The midwife shook her head. “’Tis said he has vowed never to marry again. Especially—”

“Not a Norman,” Kathryn interjected. She was
not witless. “But you, Lora…You have been kind and accepting, in spite of my heritage.”

“We are women,” Lora said. “What have we to do with the death and destruction of war? We make homes, tend the sick, and bear the children.”

Kathryn agreed, but she had no doubt that if Edric ever learned that her father was one of King William’s most powerful barons, a soldier who’d fought against Saxons and been given a dozen Saxon holdings as his reward, he would not think her so harmless.

She made her own vow that he would never find out.

“This is Aidan’s legacy,” she said. “Should we not take some of these furnishings to the new keep?”

Lora smiled. “Of course. But Edric’s servants can do it. Come. Let’s go back down to the hall and choose the things we should take.”

“And rushes for the floor. ’Twill not be good for Aidan to learn to walk upon a cold, bare floor,” she said, though she knew she would not be there to see it.

Edric took his practice sword from the armorer and headed to the field where a large number of swordsmen battled one another to hone their skills. He joined them, hoping that with hard
exercise, mayhap he would be able to sweat the Norman woman out of his system.

Jesu,
no woman had ever responded to him as Kate had done. He had no doubt of her innocence, for her actions had been tentative and shy…and all the more alluring. She had none of the cold rigidity of Cecily’s bed habits, but had reacted to his touch, and even come to completion. He could not help but think of the pleasure she would give when he took her to bed and they had the whole night to explore the limits of her passion.

He muttered a curse, knowing full well ’twould only complicate matters if he bedded her.

“My lord!” called one of his warriors. “I challenge you!”

Edric put thoughts of seduction from his mind and stepped up to the men who were parrying in the field. The sounds of battle drew his attention and he deflected the first blow from Toothless Tostig. Far better to work out his frustrations here, in practice with his men. They all knew they were to stay in condition and battle-ready, for ’twould not be long before Edric led them in a raid against the Ferguson clan.

And with luck, Edric would bring Robert’s head back to Bryce.

Gildas tossed him an ax, and Edric used both
weapons to fight the men, sharpening his proficiency, keeping his arms and shoulders strong, his legs taut and agile. He needed no one to tell him he was the most powerful of all the Braxton Fell warriors, and he wanted never to discover that any of his men could beat him.

He fought fiercely, giving no quarter and expecting none in return. He worked up a sweat, and with barely a ripple in his rhythm, threw down his ax, whipped off his woolen overtunic, and resumed the fight. A crowd gathered ’round to watch, but Edric was nearly oblivious to it. He took little note of Felicia, who gave rapt attention to every move he made as she carried two heavy buckets well out of her path to gawk at him.

Felicia was the one whose bed he should visit. ’Twas muddle-brained to dwell upon the charms of a Norman virgin, especially one who had decided to enter a nunnery. He wanted no part of chaste, inexperienced females. The tavern wench needed no gentle seduction, and though her bed skills were well practiced and premeditated, she would suit him well enough.

Redoubling his efforts against Tostig and Gildas, Edric battled fiercely. They baited him and circled him, each taking a side, neither one gaining the advantage as Edric parried with his sword and swung his ax. He was well into the rhythm of
the fight when Lora and Kate walked past, neither one paying any heed to the men in the practice yard.

Edric lost his footing and went down on one knee. Tostig and Gildas each delivered what would have been killing jabs, had this been a real battle.

The confounded wench had done it again. She’d provided a near-fatal distraction.

“W
e can leave the bairn with Gwen,” said Lora, “and walk through the village.”

Kathryn averted her eyes from the sight of Edric wearing only a thin linen sherte and hose. Every line of his powerful chest was delineated through the damp sherte, and the muscles of his neck and shoulders strained with effort.

She felt a quickening deep inside her belly when she looked at him, and the same liquid warmth that had suffused her earlier, when he touched her.

Quickly averting her eyes, she went along with
Lora to the keep. Standing beside the healer, who was well known and respected by Edric’s household, Kathryn gave instructions to have some of the furniture and the trunks from the old building brought here. She would go through everything later, and see that it was laundered and made ready for Aidan’s use.

“Thank you for coming with me to speak to the servants…They did not seem quite so unfriendly this time.”

“I had little to do with it. ’Tis your affable manner that wins them. They are coming to see that see you are nothing like Cecily.”

They returned to the village streets, stopping along the way, lingering to speak to housewives and shopkeepers. The Saxons gazed at Kathryn with suspicion, but Lora introduced her and included her in conversation as though she would be staying at Braxton Fell.

“They do not care to have me in their midst,” said Kathryn as they walked farther, through a postern gate at the eastern end of the wall.

They went over a small bridge. “’Tis only because you are Norman.” They skirted a flock of geese pecking at the ground. “Look. ’Tis no secret that Lady Cecily was not popular here. We came to know Normans through your king’s vicious conquest and Lord Edric’s spoiled wife. ’Twill take
some time, but our people will come to accept you. They will see that you are nothing like the only other Normans they ever knew.”

They came to a neat cottage where Lora greeted a tall woman with steel-gray hair and a stern expression. “Kate, this is Elga, Braxton’s most gifted weaver, and mother of my late husband. We share lodgings.”

Kathryn exchanged nods with her and Elga invited her into the cottage. The older woman was not hostile toward Kathryn, but reserved in her manner.

Lora took her mother-in-law’s arm and said, “Show us the cloth you’re working on, Elga.”

The woman took them past a heavy curtain that divided her workroom from the rest of the cottage. There was a large window to give adequate light to see, and two looms that held a magical combination of colorful threads forming a handsome cloth in the center. Several baskets contained colorful balls of wool, along with long, wooden sticks for knitting.

“Once the wool is spun into thread, Elga chooses her colors and has them dyed,” said Lora. “Then she weaves them together.”

“’Tis beautiful,” Kathryn remarked, gazing with interest at the looms and the cloth that was emerg
ing from each. “I’ve always taken for granted the cloth of my clothes.”

Elga nodded, but said naught.

“May I see how you do this?” Kathryn hoped she did not offend Elga by asking, but this process was one she’d never seen. The woman obliged her, and Kathryn took a seat where she was able to watch Elga at work.

“So, you are the only wet nurse the lord’s bairn will accept?”

“Aye,” Kathryn replied.

“He will grow to be a stubborn lad if he lives so long,” said Elga.

“Like his sire,” Lora added, and Kathryn felt a pang of worry for the bairn in her care. He
would
survive. She was sure of it. Soon they would find someone who could feed him, and she would leave Braxton Fell, confident that he would grow and thrive. “Do you remember the time when Edric and Sighelm burned down the storage shed and Edric took full blame for it?”

Elga nodded. “He took his whipping and never told of his accomplice.”

“No one would ever have known Sighelm was just as guilty, had he not owned up to it himself.”

“Aye. Stubborn. He will never give in to the Normans again.”

“Elga, what choice has he?” Lora asked. “To keep his fief, he must obey all of the Norman king’s commands, no matter how absurd they might be.”

“What commands?” Kathryn asked. She’d heard that King William was demanding, but fair.

“Tributes,” said Elga. “Grain, wool, warriors.”

Kathryn was surprised. “Does the king know the dire situation here?”

“Of course,” Elga said.

“Oswin has sent a number of letters to Winchester, but the king’s missives are harsh in return,” Lora explained. “The only command that is not resented here at Braxton Fell is the order to keep the Scots at bay. Our people have done so for generations. ’Tis nothing new.”

“But the task sours with a Norman flavor to it,” Elga said.

Kathryn could well imagine the resentment of being ordered to do what they’d done for many years past. Of course Braxton would protect its own lands. But under Norman rule, Edric’s estate was considered to be King William’s own property…
granted
to Edric for certain duties in return.

Their discussion was interrupted by a man’s voice outside, calling to Lora. Kathryn followed her to the door and saw Drogan standing in the yard with a barrow full of cut wood. His hair was combed and his beard neatly trimmed. It looked
as though he’d cleaned himself up and put on a fresh tunic for his visit to Lora’s cottage.

Kathryn’s breath caught as she thought how grand it would feel to be so loved. The man had no pretty words for Lora, but his high regard was obvious for all to see.

“The nights are cool now.” Drogan turned and pointed toward the wood. “You’ll need this.”

“Aye.” Lora’s voice took on a quality Kathryn had not heard before. ’Twas softer somehow, and less certain than usual. “’Tis full autumn already. Thank you, Drogan.”

“I’ll…just…stack the wood for you.”

Lora’s face was flushed when she closed the door and came inside.

“The man more than ‘fancies’ you, Lora,” said Kathryn.

She nodded. “When Hrothgar courted me, I did not know his friend was smitten. Drogan stood aside because he saw how I felt about Hrothgar. I never knew…not until Elga told me a few months after Hrothgar’s death.”

“He is a good man, Lora. You could do worse.” Elga stood at the curtain of her workroom, her arms crossed over her narrow chest. Though her words struck Kathryn as true, ’twas clear the older woman was reluctant to say them.

Lora nodded and sat down. “He is kind, and he
still loves me. But after Hrothgar…I want to be sure before I encourage him.”

“What would make you sure?” Kathryn asked. Her own test had been Geoffroi’s kiss, and he had failed.

Edric had not.

Lora shook her head. “I don’t know…Hrothgar and I…We had something that is not easily replaced.”

“Mayhap not replaced,” Elga said. “But different, and just as good.”

“You were my husband’s mother,” said Lora. “Are you saying I should forget him?”

“Of course not,” said Elga. “But ’tis possible Drogan can give you the children you wanted with Hrothgar. Would you spend the rest of your days pining for my dead son and wishing for something that can never be?”

Sensing the gravity of the discussion, Kathryn stayed out of it. But she knew Elga’s words would stay with her, for they were true of her own situation, too.

When it was time to return to the keep, Lora packed her old canvas satchel with healing herbs and potions for Bryce and they headed back, using a different route. ’Twas one that did not take them past Edric’s practice field, but on toward the mill beyond the main gate and the river that ran
beside it. In the distance, Kathryn saw a man who looked much like Lord Edric dive into the rushing water, and her heart beat a little faster at the sight of his brawny form.

A dunk in the river was just what Edric needed to wash off and cool down. The battle practice had done little to relieve the tension he felt, but surely a vigorous swim would do it.

Taking long strokes, he swam across the river and tried to force away thoughts of Kate from his mind. ’Twas not only lust that plagued him, but his infernal sense of protectiveness. She’d been badly frightened by the Scots, so badly that when he touched her, she relived her ordeal with them.

He cursed himself and decided to seek out a cure for what ailed him at the Silver Dragon. Felicia was a simple woman with no secrets. She was wise to the ways of the world, and a man had no need to be particularly careful with her.

He swam until his shoulders burned, then pulled himself up onto the riverbank. Grabbing his shoes, his tunic and sherte, he was glad the sun was still bright enough to cast some warmth to the air. He squeezed the water from his hose and braies and returned to the keep, slipping his sherte over his head as he walked.

A raucous crowd met him when he entered the
hall. Instead of the usual quiet, two housemaids were sweeping the floor and taking down cobwebs that had formed in all the corners. Oswin had returned from his ride and was scrapping with a family of beggars at the door, attempting to send them away, telling them there was naught to spare from the lord’s kitchens.

“Hold, Oswin,” Edric said. “Surely we have bread. And perhaps a pottage on the fire?”

“My lord, we are short—”

“Aye. We are all short of stores, Oswin. But what we have, we will share.” He headed for the steps, turning back toward the steward as he walked. “I’ll see you in my study after I’ve changed.”

Catching sight of trunks and piles of cloth lying near the dais, Edric changed course to explore them. Four chairs had been set up before the fireplace. They were the chairs from his father’s keep, and beside them lay the old cradle that his mother had used for him and his brother.

“Oswin, explain.”

The beggars quit the doorway and went ’round to the kitchen to ask for their bread, leaving Oswin to approach Edric. Anger darkened his brow. “That Norman wench ordered these to be brought here. And all the rest.” He gave a broad sweep with his arm.

“These were my father’s.”

“Aye.”

Edric had thought ’twould be best to have new furnishings here, but Cecily had refused to have anything to do with making the hall habitable. She spent most of her time in her own chamber, or in the small chapel at the back of the keep, while Edric often stayed in the barracks with his men, coming to the hall only when he had business to attend in his study.

Bemused, he watched three grooms enter the hall carrying baskets. They tossed the contents of these baskets—rushes—on the floor, and the maids spread them out evenly with their brooms.

Standing with his hands upon his hips, his clothes damp from the river, he heard voices at the top of the stairs and wondered what would be next.

’Twas Kate, talking quietly with Lora, who turned and went her own way. When Kate descended the stairs, Edric felt a kick behind his knees. He tried to tamp down his memory of the full breasts he’d nuzzled just hours ago, and the liquid heat of her feminine center. She’d touched him, too…had felt the hard pulse of his arousal.

“My lord, say the word and all this will be removed,” said the steward. “The woman has no right to—”

“No, leave it, Oswin.”

She must have spent some time outside, for her complexion was robust, and her expression easy and relaxed. Her arms were free, but Edric barely considered where his son might be. He was much too enthralled by the foreign maiden and the way her hand lifted her skirts for her descent; by the sway of her plaited hair, come loose now from its bindings; by the heightened color in her cheeks; by the swell of her breasts above the bodice of her gown.

“
She is Norman,
my lord,” said Oswin, clearly aware of the direction of Edric’s thoughts. “No different from your late wife.”

The steward’s words seared through Edric’s erotic thoughts. Oswin was right. The Norman was welcome here only until they found another who was able to feed Aidan. Where she went after they found a replacement nurse was no further concern to him.

Yet when she spoke to the grooms who were spreading the rushes, they listened attentively to her, then bowed slightly before resuming their task. She directed two housemaids to take the neatly folded cloths outside, and surprisingly, they obeyed. Something had changed.

It puzzled Kathryn to see that the steward was ill-tempered with everyone, and not only with her.
She did not understand how the man could turn away the hungry, when she knew there was sufficient food to be had at the keep.

Edric’s reaction had surprised her, too. She’d not thought of him as the kindest of lords, yet without hesitation, he shared his stores of food with those who needed them most.

When he looked up at her, she nearly faltered in her descent. But the hateful steward made some quiet remark to him, and he looked away.

’Twas something like defiance that kept her moving down the stairs, toward Edric who was still wet from his dunking in the river. She wanted to demonstrate that their earlier interlude meant naught to her, that she was not some shameful varlet who would faint away at his touch, who would look at him with calf’s eyes, hoping for a scrap of his attention. She was not so susceptible to the man’s allure.

Averting her eyes from his damp form, she decided not to approach him and the forbidding steward, but went to speak to the grooms she and Lora had engaged earlier. A moment later, she directed the maids to take the old wall hangings outside to beat the dust out of them.

Lora’s patronage had done much to improve the servants’ attitude toward her. Ever since her tour of the village with Lora, they seemed to view her
as more than a simple servant, even though they remained unsure of her rank.

Still avoiding Lord Edric, she knelt next to the larger of the trunks. Inside were blankets and small shertes, hoods, and linen swaddling. She chose the items she thought would be useful and made a neat stack beside the trunk.

Fully attuned to Edric’s every move, she felt him approach her from the other side of the hall.

He picked up a small moth-eaten blanket. “You do not plan to use this with Aidan,” he said.