Margo Maguire (7 page)

“Where is Berta?” Kathryn asked, concerned about the old woman.

“In her chamber. She took to her bed after the burial and will not come out.”

“Where?”

“On the floor above. She seemed to take comfort from you. You might visit later.”

“Does she have a maid or anyone to attend her?”

“Oh, aye,” Lora replied. “But I understand ’tis not a satisfactory arrangement. There is no Saxon who can satisfy the old crone.”

Kathryn was silent for a moment. She felt pity for the poor woman, who must have been taken from all that was familiar to follow Cecily to Braxton Fell. Now that Cecily was gone, there was nothing here for her.

“Will Lord Edric send her back to Cecily’s family at Lichford?”

“Aye. ’Tis likely.”

“Mayhap I’ll take Aidan to her chamber to visit her from time to time,” Kathryn said.

“’Twould be a kindness, I’m sure.”

They walked on, and Kathryn became curious about Lora, who seemed so much at home as they walked up steps and through dark corridors. She liked the young woman, who was so forthright and friendly. “Do you live here in the keep, Lora?”

She shook her head. “No, my cottage is in the village, outside the walls.”

“Your family did not join you in church.”

Lora gave a brief shake of her head. “I have little family. I am a widow.”

“Oh! I am sorry…I should not have—”

“’Tis naught. My husband has been gone more than twelvemonth. ’Tis no longer painful to speak of him. But what of you?” Lora asked. “Who waits for you at Rushton?”

Kathryn did not want to perpetuate the lie about Rushton, but she could think of no alternative.

“No one.” Though Geoffroi might still be at Kettwyck. She wondered again whether he’d survived the attack and knew she could never face her family—and his—if he had not. Outside of what anyone thought of a Scot’s captive, her behavior on the night of the fete had been shameful. She had led Geoffroi to his…

Dear God, she hoped he had not been killed.

“I—I cannot return home.”

“What of your family? Will they not be glad to know—”

“My people would condemn me for what happened,” Kathryn replied. “I cannot go back.”

“Condemn you for
what happened
?” A deep furrow appeared between Lora’s brows. “Do you mean they would hold
you
responsible for being abducted?”

Lora could not possibly understand Kathryn’s culpability. She’d drawn Geoffroi away from the festivities at Kettwyck, which might very well have resulted in his death. She prayed to God that he had survived, but regardless, she had heard every word spoken by the ladies at Kettwyck. She knew exactly how she would be received if she returned. “Aye. I am outcast.”

Lora gave her a sidelong glance. “’Tis just as well, for Aidan needs his nurse.”

“I cannot stay here, either.”

“But here you are, thanks to Edric and Bryce. If the Fergusons had succeeded in taking you to their holding…” Lora shuddered visibly and left the thought unfinished.

Kathryn took a deep breath. Edric had truly been her savior and hero, preventing Léod Ferguson from assaulting and perhaps even killing her. Even so, Kathryn had no future here, nor at Kettwyck, either. Evesham Bridge was her only option.

She bit her lip. “I plan to ask Drogan to escort me to the nunnery at Evesham Bridge.”

Lora looked at her curiously and Kathryn realized she’d misspoken. If she wanted this household to believe she was a simple maiden, she could not ask for such special treatment. No peasant maid would ever ask for a knightly escort.

“Evesham Bridge?” Lora asked. “’Tis a two-day ride from Braxton Fell.”

“’Twas a foolish thought,” said Kathryn, hoping to cover her mistake. She would find some other way to leave Braxton Fell. “I…I saw no other alternative besides the nunnery.”

They passed a narrow, curving staircase that went up to the next floor, but did not stop until they came to an open door. Pausing outside, Lora said, “’Tis sure Lord Edric will order you to stay, at least as long as you’re the only nursemaid his son will accept.”

“Aye,” she said quietly. “I’m sure you’re right.”

Inside the room, a fire burned low in the grate, casting a small amount of heat and light. One long-legged Saxon warrior named Alf sat on a chair within, but he exited the room to stand guard outside when Kathryn and Lora entered.

Bryce lay quiet in the bed, but he was awake. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile when Kathryn and Lora approached him. “Ah, ’tis our
Norman guest. And my nephew.” His voice was low and pitifully weak for a man of his size. Kathryn wondered if he remembered the part she’d played in causing his injury…and the sewing of it. “Come close,” he said.

Aidan was awake now, and content for the moment. Bryce raised his uninjured arm to touch him. “He’s a homely wretch,” he said with a wan smile. “Looks just like his sire.”

Lora placed one hand on the young man’s forehead. “Your eyes must have been affected by your injury, you impudent dotard. For your brother is far from homely.”

Bryce started to laugh, but grimaced with pain instead. “Have mercy, Lora. What think you, Kate? Is my brother not the homeliest lout you’ve ever seen?”

What was she to say? That a glance from Lord Edric seared her blood? That his touch made her breasts tingle and her womb contract with the kind of awareness she’d never hoped to experience. “I…”

A sound at the door made them turn.

“Leave the Norman alone, Bryce.” Edric stepped through the doorway and came into the chamber to stand beside Kathryn. He did not look at her, but she felt the heat of his body and a tightness rising in her throat.

“Lord Bryce is a tease, Kate,” Lora said. “He has not changed since he was a small lad hanging on to my skirts.”

“I beg to differ,” Bryce scoffed. “I never held your skirts.”

Lora turned to Kathryn. “Young Bryce was my charge as a lad, and a wee hellion he was, too.”

“Don’t listen to her, Kate. I was a well-behaved—”

“Lout.”

Kathryn lost track of their banter as Edric turned his attention to the bairn in her arms. He smelled of the incense Father Algar had used in church, and of the cold air at the cemetery. He touched Aidan’s mouth, and the infant started to suckle the end of his finger. Kathryn closed her eyes and swallowed, appalled at the direction of her thoughts.

Edric did not take his eyes from his son, letting his thumb brush over the child’s chin. Aidan soon started making the small sounds that came just before a full-blown screeching, so she shifted the bairn’s position, holding him upright against her shoulder, bouncing him softly, the way Lora had shown her. Oh, so gently, Edric cupped Aidan’s head in the palm of his hand. The infant quieted even as Kathryn’s heart thundered in her chest.

“You have the touch, my lord,” said Lora. She poured water into a mug, then stirred in a fine, white powder from a small vial on a nearby table.

“The touch?” asked Bryce.

“Aye. Same as your father.”

“And how would you know, wench?” Bryce mocked playfully as Lora helped him raise his head to drink her potion. But Edric’s hand was so close to Kathryn’s cheek that she could hardly follow the playful teasing between the other two.

“I was nearly twelve years old when you were born, sapling. And my memory is flawless. There were times when neither your mother nor your nurse could calm you. ’Twas your sire who stepped in a number of those times. He did not care that child-rearing is women’s work.”

Bryce drank, making a sour face as the concoction went down. “What is this rubbish anyway?”

“For your fever. And I’ll have a look at that wound now.”

Bryce pushed the blanket from his chest to give Lora access to the injury. Kathryn did not look away quickly enough, and the sight of that terrible gash with its thick, black stitches made her stomach queasy and her knees weak.

She staggered. Edric reached out and took
Aidan from her as he placed an arm ’round her shoulders.

“Take a deep breath,” he said as he guided her to a nearby chair. “Better yet, put your head between your knees.”

I
mmediately, Edric thought of something he’d rather place between her knees, but quickly closed that line of thought. Felicia would soon quench his lust. Mayhap not this eve, but soon he would seek her out and take her to bed. She was skilled in every possible way to please a man, so there was no good reason to consider the pleasures Kate’s lush mouth could give, or how her nipples would taste upon his tongue.

She raised her head and Edric watched as a bit of color returned to her lips. He’d never seen anyone go so totally pale, so quickly. The Norman
was the most squeamish woman he’d ever seen, and her delicacy reminded him he’d intended to send someone to Rushton on her behalf. She was much too gentle and well spoken to be a peasant maid. Her English was nearly flawless, and he’d noticed that the shreds of her ruined chemise had been of a fine, elegant cloth. ’Twas certain she’d be missed from Rushton, though Edric did not understand why she would not admit to her elevated status there.

Lora brought a glass of water and handed it to Kate to drink. “You’ll be all right. ’Tis not everyone who can stand the sight of such an awful thing.” She flashed a teasing grin at Bryce. “Or a bloody wound like that, either.”

Edric did not share in their lighthearted jesting. He’d seen the wound, and naught but a miracle would see it healed. He would make sure every Mass at Braxton Fell’s church was offered for Bryce’s recovery and for the survival of tiny Aidan.

“You are a saucy wench, Lora,” Bryce said. “Edric, tell me why we tolerate such impudence.”

Drogan came into the room just then. “So this is where you’ve all gone.” His eyes alighted upon Kate. “What ails our Norman nursemaid?”

Kate’s embarrassment was plain on her face, and her discomfiture roused protective instincts
Edric did not know he had. ’Twas no one’s concern if the lass had a weak stomach. “What of the wake?” he asked Drogan. “Is the meal served?”

“Aye, and the company awaits your return,” the huscarl replied. “You have not yet raised your glass to Lady Cecily.”

“Aye. ’Tis past time for me to return.”

Gingerly, Kate came to her feet, and when she spoke, Edric was struck again by the pleasing cadence of her speech. “I am fine now, Lord Edric. I apologize for keeping you from your duties.”

Aye. His duties, the most onerous of which had been marrying Cecily. He reminded himself that he wanted no part of this newest Norman wench, and that he had no business taking note of the intriguing blush that colored her cheeks when she took Aidan from him. He was no raw lad to be paralyzed by his first surge of lust, but a full-grown man, a discerning man of twenty-six years.

“Come, my lord, and we can put Lady Cecily to rest.” Drogan turned to Lora and went pink to the ears when he addressed her. “I’ve saved a place for you at my table, mistress.”

Lora did not notice Drogan’s blush as she concentrated on Bryce’s wound, answering offhandedly. “Aye. I’ll be down soon.”

Drogan and Edric returned to the hall together.
“You’ll need to be more direct with Lora,” Edric said, rather than dwelling upon thoughts of the gentle swell of Kate’s breast or the sweet gaze she cast upon his son.

“Oh. And I suppose you’re the master seducer?” the huscurl retorted, obviously sensitive about his feelings for Braxton’s healer.

“Don’t get into a furor, Drogan. I merely state that Lora hasn’t yet taken notice of your subtle hints.”

Drogan grunted and started down the steps. “What will you do about the Norman woman?”

Edric gave a shrug, not ready to discuss the woman who wreaked such havoc on his own composure.

“’Tis obvious she’s no serving maid. Someone will be missing her. Mayhap searching for her.”

“’Tis not our concern.” Edric was curt. “Whoever she is, Aidan needs her.”

Drogan inclined his head slightly. “Aye. But she could be the daughter of Rushton’s lord or some other high-ranking knight. Will you jeopardize your relationship with the Normans by keeping her here?”

“Only until my son will take his feedings from another.”

“Then we must search for someone to do so.”

“Even if I sent men with a letter to Rushton, it could be weeks before we receive a reply.”

“So why not—”

“Lora will inform me when another wet nurse becomes available. In the meantime, Aidan’s life depends upon Kate. I won’t jeopardize his well-being by getting rid of the wench.”

In all Kathryn’s years at the abbey, she had not learned any of the more feminine skills of needlework, preferring the study of numbers and mathematics, and gaining fluency in the languages their priest could teach her. These would not serve her, or anyone else, now. If she’d wed Geoffroi, she might have used them to help manage his estates.

Mayhap those skills would be useful at Evesham Bridge, but if not, there would be animals to tend in the nunnery’s barns.

Kathryn realized that her chamber was meant to be Braxton’s nursery, but it was surprisingly bare. Cecily must have been quite ill during the last weeks of her pregnancy, else she’d have made the room more pleasant for her child and his nurse.

When evening came, Kathryn was hungry, but she was loath to leave the chamber and join the gathering of Saxons in the hall. Most of them had
given her a cold reception, while the priest and steward were downright hostile. She did not care to encounter any of them again, but she seemed to have been forgotten.

A light tapping at the door interrupted her thoughts. She opened it to two young serving maids.

“I’m Rheda. I’m to show you where to get milk for the bairn,” said the taller of the two girls. “Gwen will stay here and mind him while we’re gone.”

Kathryn had not thought she would be required to fetch and carry for herself and Aidan, but of course she would. Why would anyone serve
her
?

“Lora sent us,” said Gwen, as though that explained everything.

“Do you…Lora said you would understand our words.”

“Aye, I’ll come with you.” Kathryn pulled her shawl ’round her. “Aidan should sleep a while, for I just fed him.”

’Twas clear neither girl knew how to treat Kathryn—as a servant like themselves, or as someone of a higher rank. She could easily understand their dilemma since her position at Braxton Fell was ill-defined. She was Norman, too, as Lord Edric’s lady had been, but neither of them showed any particular respect or friendliness.
On the contrary, she felt some hostility from Rheda.

Saying naught, she went with the tall maid. They went down a back staircase and Kathryn soon found herself in a poorly lit passageway. She knew they were somewhere behind the great hall, for she could still hear the muted tones of the music and voices of those who had gathered for Cecily’s wake.

They walked past a number of smaller rooms, some with closed doors and others open, but too dark to see inside. They reached the kitchen, where there was a lot of activity, with maids scrubbing pots and young boys carrying hot water to pour into the washtubs. The cook directed each task, which slowed somewhat as Kathryn walked past, following the maid to a dark entryway.

They exited the keep and descended a set of steps to the ground, walking through the kitchen garden. Kathryn had no difficulty finding her way, for the night was clear and the waxing moon bright, but there was a wicked wind that whipped at her skirts. They came to a barn where an old man who smelled of sheep awaited them. He held out a large earthen crock.

“Here, Rheda,” he said.

“’Tis sheep’s milk?” Kathryn asked.

“Aye. What else would it be? We’ve got three
ewes that give milk.” His tone was harsh and Kathryn drew back a step. “They’ve more than enough to share with the lord’s son.”

Kathryn felt so much the stranger here…unexpected duties, a strange language that often made her head hurt, and a master who made her ache for all that she could not have. But when she felt the warmth of the animals inside the barn and heard the low baaing of several lambs, she felt a pang of homesickness for the abbey.

Her decision to go to Evesham Bridge was the right one. “Do you keep them penned?” she asked.

“Never did in years past, but after war with the Normans”—he turned and spat upon the ground—” and with our flock nearly ruined by the Fergusons, we must be more careful with the wee ones.”

“There’s a cold edge to the wind tonight, Beorn,” said Rheda.

“Aye. Now you’d best take yourself back to the keep before the storm breaks.” His expression went neutral as he turned and spoke to Kathryn. “One of the lads will have a crock of milk ready for you twice daily—once in the morn and again at dark. If it’s not enough—”

“I’m sure ’twill be sufficient for now.”

Kathryn took the crock from Rheda and started back to the keep. She tried to make allowances for the man’s rude attitude toward her, and wondered
if Cecily had met with such enmity when she’d come here. Even though they were Norman, they were merely women, and had naught to do with the bloody battles fought for England.

While the old man had been impolite, he’d spoken truly—the weather was about to change. Clouds started to move in, obscuring the light of the moon. Kathryn watched her step as she hurried up the stairs, holding the crock securely with both hands. ’Twould not do to trip and drop the milk she’d been given.

But as the sharp wind whipped wildly at her skirts, she stopped short when she saw Lord Edric waiting inside the door at the top of the stairs.

“Where is my son?” Edric asked. He’d caught sight of Kate leaving the keep with the young maid, and wondered where she would go—and who had charge of the bairn.

“He is with Gwen, my lord,” Rheda replied. “Lora sent us to show the Norman where to find the bairn’s milk.”

He leveled his sternest glance at the servant while he took the crock from Kate’s hands and handed it to her. “I assume you have other chores?”

“Aye, my lord,” she said, taking the milk and hurrying away.

Kathryn started to take her leave as well, but Edric took hold of her arm, keeping her with him. Rheda went on without her. “One of the maids will fetch Aidan’s milk. You need not take him out in the cold for his food.”

He did not release her arm, nor did he step back. Thick, dark lashes framed her beautiful dark eyes; their expression was wary, but oh, so alluring.

“I do not m-mind going, my lord. And I can wrap Aidan warmly.”

If he moved one step closer, the tips of her breasts would brush against his chest. He’d seen their pink-tipped peaks as she’d bent over Bryce to sew him. Even then, his hands had fairly itched to touch them, to weigh their fullness in his hands, to draw the nipples into his mouth. Her exposed legs had been sleek and feminine, and Edric could almost feel them wrapped ’round his waist, hear her gentle voice panting with arousal.

She leaned back against the cold stone wall, putting space between them, but Edric could not let her slip away so easily.

He placed one hand upon the wall next to her ear. With the other, he touched her jaw where it met her ear, sliding his finger to her chin and down to her throat. She moistened her lower lip, then bit down on it, nervously letting it slide back.

Edric’s cock rose with arousal but he somehow
managed to speak coherently. “You said there is no one at Rushton who will miss you.”

She hesitated the same way she’d done when first telling Drogan her name. Edric leaned slightly toward her, allowing her skirts to brush against his exquisitely sensitive erection. He could almost taste her.

“No, my lord. No one.” Her accent was as soft as the rest of her, her voice sliding seductively through him, like the honey-sweetened morsels Cook had given him as a lad.

“No husband?” He realized he had whispered the question when she gave a slight shake of her head. And found himself decidedly glad of her answer. “Then I prevented Léod Ferguson from deflowering a…an innocent?”

He heard her swallow. “Aye. I am virginal, my lord.”

Edric’s heart thundered in his chest. He had already decided he would have naught to do with this Norman, yet his body refused to listen to reason. He slipped his hand ’round her waist and pulled her fully against him. He groaned with arousal or frustration—he knew not which—and dipped his head. His lips were a mere breath away when he heard footsteps and voices behind him.

“Lord Edric!” ’Twas Drogan calling, searching for him.

He released Kate and backed away from her, and she raced away from him as if the room were afire.

It was,
he mused as Drogan reached him. He didn’t believe he’d ever burned so hot for any woman.

“My lord, you must come quickly.”

“What’s amiss?” Edric replied as he hastened away with Drogan.

“The ale cellar…the kegs are leaking, spilling ale all over the floor.”

“How can that be?”

“I do not know, my lord, but Oswin sent up a call for assistance only a few minutes ago.”

They hurried to the opposite side of the kitchen. Edric took a torch from one of the wall sconces and led the way through the cellar door. The scent of ale was stronger than usual, and when they reached the bottom, there were half a dozen other men, toiling to collect the spilling ale into buckets.

“Oswin, have we any spare barrels?”

“Aye, my lord. In the storage shed behind the stable.”

“Drogan, get more buckets from the kitchen or
wherever you can find them,” Edric said. “I’ll get the barrels.”

It took another hour, but they salvaged what they could, and when all was done, servants mopped the floor.

Edric summoned his two chief advisors, Oswin and Drogan, to the room where he conducted business. ’Twas his study, a chamber in the back passageway where he went over his accounts with Oswin and discussed matters of the fyrd with Drogan. The estate records were stored there, as well as every one of the letters containing King William’s demands and Lord Gui de Crispin’s refusals of assistance. “This was no accident,” he said.

“It couldn’t have been. Not with every one of those corks pulled and destroyed,” Drogan remarked.

Edric sat down upon the chair behind his desk. “Why would anyone want to waste our ale?”