Margo Maguire (18 page)

“I don’t know, my lord. Grendel and I went into the village for our bread this eve. When we returned, I went up to the millhouse…There was clear evidence that someone had been there in our absence.”

“What evidence?”

“First, my lord, the gate was open, but I was certain we’d closed it. We went inside and found an iron wedge lying on the bed stone.”

“And the hopper smashed,” added Grendel.

Edric stood. He clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace. “Did you see anyone?”

“No, my lord,” said the miller. He scratched his head, then wrung his hands together. “’Tis a disaster.”

“Aye. We must solve it and discover who the vandal is. And why he would wish to harm us this way.” Edric called to Caedmon to seek out Drogan and Oswin and have them meet him at the mill. This was no simple vandalism. It smacked of the same kind of mischief as the damage done to the ale kegs. Only this time, ’twas much worse.

He wore his cloak against the cold night and walked with Anson and Grendel back to the mill. After lighting several lanterns, they went into the chamber that housed the stones and the hopper where the grain was fed inside to be ground between the two millstones.

“What of the water wheel?” Edric asked. ’Twas housed below the millstones, lying horizontally in the river, turning with the current.

“It seems in good condition, my lord. Grendel will go below and examine it when morning comes.”

“How did the vandal move the stone?”

“I know not,” replied the miller. “Mayhap he used one of my shovels. Or an ax pounded onto the wedge that was left here.”

The thick iron wedge lay upon the lower bed stone, just as the miller had described. “Wouldn’t an ax handle break with the weight of the stone?”

“’Twould seem so.” The miller looked over his tools and implements and found none out of place.
But Edric noticed two long splinters of wood, lying near the wedge.

Drogan arrived, and Oswin soon thereafter. The two men looked over the situation, but had no other ideas. “Where is the ax?” asked Drogan. “Depending upon where we find it, mayhap we’ll know our culprit.”

“’Tis too obvious. No doubt the thing was well hidden,” said Oswin.

Edric agreed with Oswin. “What of a Scottish saboteur? Are you sure you wiped out their fyrd, Drogan?”

“I thought so, my lord. But I’ll organize a company of men to search the grounds. Mayhap we missed someone.”

But marauding Scots did not explain the damage done to the kegs in the cellar of the keep. The person responsible was a Saxon, a Braxton Fell inhabitant. Edric was certain of it.

“We’ll look this over in daylight, Anson,” he said. “In the meanwhile, let no one in. Lock the door.”

“We’ll do as you ask, my lord.”

Edric returned to the keep with Oswin and Drogan. Neither man spoke as they walked, but when they entered the hall and went on to Edric’s study, Drogan said he thought it would be best to
wait until daylight to send men to the fields and forest to look for signs of a lurking enemy.

Edric agreed as Oswin sat down, his expression grim. “Oswin, where will we find another stone?”

The steward shook his head. “I’ve heard of a few places…There is an estate to the south—Kettwyck—known for its granite. Mayhap we can trade for one.”

“Trade what? Is there anything of value that we can give Kettwyck for a pair of stones?”

“I’ll have to think on it, my lord.”

They discussed the burgling of the mill, but Edric did not mention the connection he’d made between the damage there and the loss of his ale, waiting to see if either of his advisors thought the same.

It seemed they did not, else they’d have said so.

Oswin drummed his fingers upon the table, clearly disturbed by the vandalism. “All has gone to hell since the Normans came. Soon the whole village will rise up in rebellion.”

“Well, they can hardly blame the damage to the mill on the Normans. We have none.”

Oswin looked up then, and Edric realized he’d misspoken. He had Kate, but she was certainly not capable of ruining the mill. Nor had she been free to damage the kegs of ale.

“My lord, ’tis time to return to Saxon rule.”

“Oswin, we’ve gone over this before. We
have
Saxon rule. Me. I am in charge here.”

Oswin stood and walked to the window. “No you’re not. ’Tis the Norman bastard who commands us.”

Edric rubbed his hand across his face. “Oswin, I am weary of this argument. We are part of a Norman kingdom now, and ’tis best we remember it.”

Oswin grumbled but said no more before quitting the room, leaving Edric with Drogan.

“Well, Drogan. Is there to be a wedding?”

“I did not ask her.”

Edric gave a sardonic laugh. “Drogan, you are hopeless.” He left the huscarl, taking the lamp and heading up the steps. He went past his own chamber, and on to the one place where he wanted to be.

He found Kate sleeping soundly, so he took off his clothes and slid in beside her. Rolling to his side, he pulled her close, savoring the soft feel of her skin against him.

Her hair tickled his nose and he pushed it aside, pressing a soft kiss, one that would not wake her, to her nape. Holding her this way, he could barely remember why he’d left her so abruptly. He should not have reacted so irritably to her gratitude. The
combs meant little—they cost him naught, and gave her some small pleasure. There was no more to it than that.

He slept fitfully, dreaming of thieves who stole the combs and made Kate weep over their loss. He saw the rogues pick up the millstone and toss it into the river, and when they were finished, they took Aidan and carried him into the mountains.

By the time Edric awoke, he was glad the night was over. He felt Kate turn to him, her breast against his back, in her sleep. Her hand dropped across his chest and her fingers slid through the hair there.

He was instantly hard.

Keeping his back to her, he held his breath as her fingers slid down to his belly and lower, until she enclosed his erection in her hand. She pushed down and then pulled back up, making him surge ever larger in her hand.

“Ah, so you’re awake,” she whispered in his ear, and he was immeasurably glad she’d forgiven him for his surly departure the night before.

He made an inarticulate sound when she flicked her finger over the tip of his cock, mimicking the stroke she often made with her tongue, a move that made Edric’s heart nearly stop every time she did it.

“So you like this, my lord?”

He sighed a shaky breath as she continued to fondle him. What an idiot he’d been to leave her last night.

“Shall I use my tongue instead?”

Before he could reply, she straddled him and leaned forward to press kisses to his uppermost nipple, licking and sucking it as she slid over to his other side. She kissed and nipped her way down his body until she reached his cock, finding it straining toward her mouth.

She gave it a feather-light lick, then pulled him fully into her mouth, sucking him deeply. He closed his eyes and imagined the sight of her swirling her tongue ’round him, an image so sensual he nearly came in her mouth.

But he quickly shifted their positions and pressed her into the mattress. Pushing her legs apart, he found her hot and wet with arousal. He drew her legs over his shoulders and kissed her intimately, eliciting her squeal of pleasure. Using his tongue on the apex of her sex, he plied her with his finger to make her arousal all-consuming, bringing her close to her peak before he entered her.

She surprised him by pulling away. Taking hold of his shoulders, she pushed him to his back and straddled him again, sliding down on his cock. She tossed her head back so her hair brushed
the tops of his thighs, and Edric’s heart clenched in his chest at the soft caress.

Faint light streamed into the window, so he was just able to see Kate’s features, her eyes closed, her mouth drawn in passion. He cupped her breasts as she rode him, relishing their soft weight in his hands.

“Oh, Edric!” She kept her voice low, but her quiet tone did not disguise her ardor as she approached her climax.

Edric did the same, surging into her, spilling his seed with a rush of pleasure so intense ’twas belied by the brevity of their encounter.

Kate melted down to him and Edric wrapped his arms ’round her, and they lay joined together while their hearts and lungs slowed.

Edric would be content to stay there forever.

N
o more was learned when Edric visited the mill in the morning. The upper millstone was indeed cracked and useless. A new wooden hopper could be easily made, but to what use when they had no runner stone?

“What’ll we do with all the grain that’s coming from Dunfergus?” asked Drogan.

Edric tapped one finger against his mouth. “Leave it there. We’ll grind it in Ferguson’s mill.”

“And cart all our own grain up there?” the steward scoffed.

“Not necessarily, Oswin,” Edric said. “We’ll
bring the Scots’ grain back here and use it while we wait for new stones from Kettwyck.”

Oswin gave a resigned nod and skulked away. And with good reason. Enough had gone wrong at Braxton Fell in the past few months. They did not need this.

“By the time we need to grind our own grain, we’ll have our new stones,” Edric explained.

“Can we not bring home the millstones from Dunfergus and use them here?” asked Drogan.

They looked to the miller for their answer. “What kind of mill do the Scots have?” the man asked.

Drogan described it to Anson, who told them they would likely not work. The Braxton mill was entirely different, using a horizontal design, rather than the vertical type at Dunfergus.

“Ah, well,” said Drogan. “I’ll send a messenger to Dunfergus, telling them not to cart the grain away.”

Obviously disgusted, Oswin left the mill. A moment later, Grendel, the miller’s son, came into the millhouse to say that riders had been sighted on the western road.

Edric sent youths out to alert Braxton’s warriors to prepare for intruders, then hastened with Drogan to the armorer’s to put on their battle gear and make ready for their visitors. They had no
reason to believe the strangers would be hostile, but with the way things had gone at Braxton these past few weeks, Edric thought ’twas better to be prepared.

They mounted their horses and rode to the head of the fyrd just as the intruders’ herald called out to the guard at the gate. “Friend, we are Saxons. We come in peace under the banner of Wulfgar of Tredburgh.”

Edric gave the signal to open the gate.

“Do you bring your own provisions, Wulfgar?”

A well-armed man of Oswin’s age rode forth, carrying his spear in one hand. His bushy beard was the color of burnished steel and he wore his long hair tied back at the nape of his neck. A thick fur pelt was tossed casually about his burly shoulders. “We come in peace, Edric of Braxton Fell.”

“That does not answer my question,” Edric replied irritably. He did not need this complication. “We are known as a hospitable house, but our own stores are lean these days.”

“Aye. We’ve brought food.”

“Then enter and be welcome.”

At least thirty riders followed him, including a few women and children. They seemed no better than a poor band of wayfarers, yet
this
was the man Oswin hoped would lead them to victory over the Normans?

Edric hoped that seeing the reality of Wulfgar’s ilk would put an end to all of Oswin’s arguments for joining the man’s rebellion.

The steward came alongside him on horseback and greeted the man. “Wulfgar, ’tis an honor to finally meet you. Your exploits are legendary in Northumbria.”

The Saxon grinned. “Aye. We’ve had a few good go-rounds with the Normans.”

“I am anxious to hear of your plans,” Oswin said.

Wulfgar nodded, then turned to Edric. “Your lands, my lord…Such devastation. What aid does the Norman king send?”

“None, Wulfgar. We deal with our own troubles at Braxton Fell.”

“Aye, but—”

“’Twas the Scots who harried our fields and forests. And we’ve put an end to them. We needed no help from King William.”

Wulfgar pursed his lips in thought. He turned and beckoned to a woman riding some distance behind. “Odelia! Come and meet our host.”

A young woman spurred her horse and came abreast of Wulfgar. “My daughter, Odelia.”

She was comely in the Saxon way, with pale blue eyes and yellow hair tied into plaits wound intricately ’round her head. Her clothing was plain…a
dark red kirtle covered by a simple brown woolen cloak. “Greetings, Odelia. And welcome to Braxton Fell.”

She smiled and gave a pretty nod, but Edric felt no swell of interest in her. “My lord Edric,” she said. But he’d gotten so accustomed to the gentle cadence of Kate’s speech that Odelia’s words sounded harsh and brittle to his ear.

He looked over at Wulfgar. “Your men can spread their blankets in the barracks. The women and children…my steward will see what households have room for them tonight.”

“’Tis more than we expected, my lord,” said Wulfgar with a bow, though his obsequious manner irritated Edric unaccountably. He would give them one night at Braxton Fell, and then send them on their way. “A few days’ respite from travel is all we need.”

“A few days, Wulfgar? No. You will be on your way upon the morrow.”

“My lord,” Oswin quickly interjected, “let us not be hasty.”

“Oswin, find shelter for the women and children. Drogan will deal with the barracks.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Rest well today, Wulfgar,” Edric said as he spurred his horse back toward the stable.

The last time Kathryn had seen Edric so angry was right after he’d rescued her from the Fergusons and Bryce had been wounded. There was fire in his eyes now as he paced before the fireplace in the nursery.

She sat quietly, feeding Aidan as he spoke.

“These ragtag Saxons are not what is needed here,” he said. “They will cause naught but trouble.”

“How can they? You will send them away upon the morrow.”

“I have a bad presentiment about them. If King William learns that I’ve given shelter to a Saxon rebel…”

“How would King William ever learn of it?”

Edric raked his fingers through his hair and went back to pacing. He was often distracted by the damage that had been done recently in the keep and at the mill, and Kathryn wished there was something she could say to ease his mind. He was so tall and powerful, she had never seen him worry about a physical challenge—a battle against a known enemy. But the sabotage of the mill, and now the arrival of the Saxons, had him anxious and troubled.

“What is happening here?” he mused irritably. “Once King William accepted my surrender and granted these lands to me, all things should have improved. But the opposite has happened.”

Kathryn touched his arm. “Surely things will start to improve now. You’ve dealt with the Fergusons and you have no other enemies in Northumbria.”

He put his hand over hers and leaned down to kiss her. “Your optimism is good for me. You are right. I will rid myself of these rebels and we will repair the buildings damaged by the fires. The mill can be restored and we’ll use Ferguson’s mill until then.”

Kathryn’s heart swelled at the sight of his smile and the knowledge that he’d sought her out to speak of his worries.

“With careful planning, no one will starve this winter.”

Kathryn thought again of the bounteous harvest at Kettwyck and her father’s boast that the estate had a quarter share above what was needed. If she but swallowed her pride and went to her father for help, he would surely give assistance to the man who’d rescued his daughter.

But that would mean returning to Norman society, not only as a Scot’s captive, but a Saxon’s whore.

“What is it?” Edric asked.

She shook her head. “’Tis naught. I merely…wondered about your brother and how he fares.”

“Come with me. We’ll get Bryce and see if he feels well enough to sup with us in the hall.”

“Edric, I should not—”

“Worry not. I will not embarrass you there. Just…bring my son to me while I dine.”

He lifted Aidan from her arms and helped Kathryn pull her shawl ’round her shoulders. Then they went to Bryce’s chamber, where Drogan was entertaining the young man with his tales of the Fergusons’ defeat.

“Will you come to the hall for supper?” Edric asked.

“Only if Lora is nowhere near.” He was sitting in a soft chair near the fire.

“Why?” asked Kathryn.

“Because she’s become a dragon of late. She says that now that I feel better, I’m more likely to become overactive and do myself some damage.”

“She is right, lad,” Drogan remarked.

“You would say that if she’d told me to drink a potion of henbane.”

Drogan started to bluster, but Bryce stopped him. “’Twas merely a jest, Drogan. I know Lora’s advice is good.”

“Do you not think Lora would allow you down to the hall?”

“’Twill be my first time.”

“Then let’s try it,” said Edric. “Can you manage the stairs?”

“Aye.”

Kathryn went ahead while Edric and Drogan assisted Bryce. She signaled the servants to begin serving, and asked Caedmon to move one of the cushioned chairs near the fireplace to the table for Bryce.

The four of them had no sooner taken their seats than Oswin entered the hall with several men and a beautiful young woman Kathryn had never seen before. The man beside Oswin reminded her of Léod Ferguson, not so much in his features, but his rough demeanor, and she pulled Aidan close as she gathered her wits.

“By damn, I did not give leave—”

Bryce interrupted Edric’s muttered curse. “’Tis Wulfgar?”

Nodding, Edric stood, keeping his eyes trained on the newcomers.

“I will take my leave, my lord,” Kathryn said.

“Stay,” he said angrily. “Eat the meal provided you.”

“Lord Edric,” said Oswin when they reached the dais. “Wulfgar’s company is settled, all but his daughter and his chiefs.”

Edric said naught, but crossed his arms in an obstinate manner.

“Surely you offer the hospitality of your hall to these high-ranking Saxons?”

Much as he did not care to do so, Edric could not deny the generosity of his hall and his table without seeming the churl. He felt Kate drawing into herself even as he beckoned the newcomers to be seated. ’Twas not the small pleasant gathering he’d expected for Bryce’s return to the hall and he was annoyed with Oswin for circumventing his wishes.

He would talk to the steward later.

Kate finished her meal quickly and, just as Aidan started to howl, took him away from the table. She retreated to the stairs, but not before Wulfgar took note of her. “’Tis unusual to serve a slave at your table, is it not?”

“She is no slave, but my son’s nursemaid,” Edric replied, maddened by the question. ’Twas not Wulfgar’s concern what position Kate held or where she supped. Naught at Braxton Fell was the Saxon rebel’s concern and the sooner he was gone, the better.

“Ah…I misunderstood…No offense meant, my lord,” said Wulfgar.

“He is a comely bairn, Lord Edric,” said Odelia. Sitting beside him, she placed her hand upon his forearm as Kate had done only an hour before.
Odelia’s touch did not cause the same sensations on his skin, or make his heart throb with arousal. No one’s touch had the same effect upon him as Kate’s.

“My lord,” said Oswin. “Wulfgar has two hundred thanes under his command. They are well hidden among the northern fells and ready—”

“Two hundred?” Drogan scoffed. “What good is two hundred?”

“I assure you, I can call many thousands to my service, Drogan White. I am not without some repute on the battlefield.”

“Aye, to be sure, Wulfgar,” Drogan said. “But we have no need of change at Braxton Fell. These lands are under Lord Edric’s command. We are content.”

Edric kept his silence, allowing Drogan to do the talking while he took the measure of the Saxons Oswin had gathered here in the hall. There could be no mistaking the might of the men seated at his table. Each one had the look of a powerful warrior about him. But it did not matter how many men Wulfgar commanded. Edric had no intention of going to war again.

“My lord, ’tis said you have a Norman wife.”

“Lord Edric was recently widowed,” Oswin interjected.

Wulfgar nodded briefly, but offered no condolences. “At least the wench bore you a son.”

Edric gritted his teeth, annoyed with the man who knew naught of his relations with Cecily, and should have at least wished him sympathy in his loss. He swallowed his last gulp of ale and turned to his brother. “Bryce, are you ready to return to your bed?”

Bryce gave a quick nod. With bare civility, Edric enjoined the Saxons at his table to stay and finish their meal without him. He helped Bryce to the stairs and supported him as they climbed. “I don’t like it,” said Bryce once they’d reached his bedchamber. “Why is this Saxon here?”

“He hopes to draw support for his rebellion.”

“What is Oswin thinking, allowing him refuge here?”

Edric built up the fire, then stood and turned ’round, with his hands upon his hips, to look at Bryce. “He wants me to throw in with Wulfgar. I’ll speak to him later.”

“Edric, Oswin’s advice has been faulty of late.”

“Not only his advice,” said Edric, “but his opinion of our situation at Braxton. He must step down.”

“Aye, but who has the skills to replace him?”

Edric rubbed the back of his neck. He did not
know the answer to his brother’s question. Even if he had someone in mind, he did not know how to dismiss the man whose family had served Edric’s for a hundred years.

The coming winter worried Kathryn. She thought of the young boys who helped the maids in the keep, of Caedmon and Modig, and all the other young faces in the village, and considered the painful hunger they might face if she did not go to her father and petition him for help.

Yet Edric was not certain their plight was that grave. There might actually be enough, if Oswin made careful distribution of the grain and other crops from the Scots, and if they had no additional mouths to feed.

“The Saxons thought I was your slave.” Kathryn did not doubt it was Oswin who’d told the Saxons she was Edric’s slave. He’d purposely intended to demean her before Wulfgar and his daughter.

She had not mentioned it to Edric until after they’d made love and he held her in his arms in the quiet of their bedchamber. The Saxon’s assumption was not without merit. Though she’d come to Edric’s bed willingly, she was not a free woman.