Naked (10 page)

Leofric’s sword flew as he leapt across the room and plunged it straight into Thurkill’s chest.

“I warned you.” Leofric thrust the blade deeper.
“Don’t speak my brother’s name.”

Thurkill crashed to his knees, his weapons clattering to the ground. Shock rounded his mouth as a death grunt came from it, a squeal like a wild boar killed in the woods.

Cowering with terror I slammed my eyelids shut until the hideous sound stopped.

When I opened them again, Leofric was leaning on his sword, breathing heavily. He’d finished Thurkill off to make that revolting noise end.

The sword clanged as he threw it down and knelt beside me. Pulling his cloak from his shoulders he covered my body, hiding my bared breasts. He tore the rag from my mouth.

“Godiva. Did he—hurt you?”

“No,” My tongue, numb and sore, didn’t seem to work properly in my dry mouth. I could still taste the rag. “You came in time.”

“Here.” Swiftly Leofric knelt to loosen the ropes that bound me. I rubbed the chafing red marks around my wrists and ankles.

Hauling myself upright I pulled the cloak close, the rough wool scratching my bared skin. It smelled of lye, blood, and sweat. I couldn’t stop shaking.

“You’re Dane-axe cut,” I said hoarsely.

Still kneeling, he shrugged my concern away.

Hard-mouthed he leaned over and ran his finger over my bruise. “He did this to you.”

The touch of his fingertips made me quiver. I could only nod. Fury flared in his eyes before he drew away.

“How did you find me?” My voice was still rough.

“I told you. I prefer to sleep in the open air. I suspected there was more to come from Thurkill the Tall. I found your nurse tied up, but she’s come to no harm,” he added rapidly, at my start of panic.

He’d guarded my bower.

“On my horse I followed hard, but I nearly lost you in the darkness. Then I saw Thurkill’s horse.” Firelight glinted on his hair as he leant back on his haunches and surveyed the hut with a frown. The hare was charred to black bones. “This doesn’t make sense. It’s curious that Thurkill was alone.”

“But he wasn’t alone. I heard another man outside the hut just before you got here. They were arguing.”

His shoulders stiffened. “Did you recognize who it was?”

“No.” I winced. My neck was sore. I rubbed it. “The other voice was muffled.”

“Could you hear what they said?”

“Not really. They spoke in Danish. I only recognized a word or two.” I rubbed my muscles. “They kept saying something that sounded like
huscarl
.”

“
Huscarl?
” he demanded. “You heard the word
huscarl
? Are you sure?”

“I think so.” Another nod. Another wince.

“Did they mention Canute?”

“King Canute? No, I don’t think so.”

In a stride he was at the door, threw it open. Stared out, as if daring someone to come. The cold air swirled inside.

“Whoever it was, there’s no one out there now. Come.”

He held out his hand.

And stumbled.

Ignoring his outstretched hand I clambered to my feet. “Your cut. It’s bad.”

Pain etched his mouth. “A scrape.”

“Let me see,” I insisted.

Blood seeped from the leather vest, turned his sleeve scarlet. Thurkill’s axe had gone in at Leofric’s shoulder, deep into the muscle, almost into his chest. I shuddered. How close it had been to his heart.

“Hold still, my lord.” I seized the rag from the floor. Too putrid. It could poison the wound. In haste I ripped off a piece of my torn tunic and wrapped it tightly around his shoulder to staunch the flow of blood. “It’s a deep wound. It may need stitching. My nurse Aine will have some herbal salve that will soon heal it.”

“Thank you.” Some color flooded into his face as he added lightly, “We’re twinned, you and I.”

“Twinned?”

He indicated the bandage on my own arm.

“Oh. I see.”

As he went to pull down his sleeve his fingers brushed against mine. As if I’d touched the flaming torch, I jerked away.

His lids hooded. I was certain he’d noticed my reaction.

“I’ll take you home to Coventry.”

*   *   *

“My lady!”

Aine rushed toward me and pulled me close. “Thank the goddess you’re safe!”

Her arms felt so warm.

Home. Safe.

“I’m all right. Are you?”

“It would take more than a rope to scare me.” She tutted. Her brow creased with concern. “You’re bleeding.”

I glanced down at Leofric’s bloodstained cloak. The fabric had formed a thin barrier between us as we’d ridden back to Coventry on his horse, the dawn streaking the sky, my body fitted into his. His grip still seemed to embrace me. In my shuddering state I hadn’t dared tried to ride Thurkill’s beast by myself.

“It’s the Earl of Mercia who’s been wounded. He’s Dane-axe cut. Can you help him, Aine? You’ll need to…”

I spun around. He’d been behind me.

The bower door swung.

*   *   *

The next day I found Lord Leofric alone in the herb garden. Clear and bright, as if the terrifying night at the hut had never been. But hideous visions of Thurkill’s leer still played in my mind, keeping me shuddering, and Leofric’s sword, flashing silver through the air to find its mark. In spite of the mildness of the day, I shuddered again.

That sword was strapped on his belt now as the sun burnished glints of gold in his hair; turning its color even brighter than my own. His wound had been tended, I was relieved to note. A white linen bandage showed at the collar of his fresh tunic, but he revealed no other battle-scars.

Yet as he swung about I registered that his battle-scars lay beneath the surface of his skin. For a swift moment his river-blue eyes were clouded with sorrow. He’d been remembering his brother Northman. I’d have staked my life on it.

“I wanted to thank you for saving me from Thurkill.”

A bleak smile etched his lips. “I need no thanks for fighting a Dane.”

He pulled a piece of lavender from a nearby bush. Its clean scent rose up as he rolled it between his fingers. The thin stalk seemed incongruously delicate in his fist. “It’s as well Thurkill has gone from these parts without there being too much bloodshed.”

I was sick of spilled blood.

Aine had wanted to keep me in bed all day. A mint poultice for the black-and-blue lump on my brow. Witch-hazel salve rubbed on my body. A bowl of bread softened with milk, spooned into my mouth. An herbal cup with mandrake in it. No visitors. I’d heard Edmund outside the bower, remonstrating with her, but she hadn’t let him in. He’d sounded frantic about me.

But by noon I’d arisen and hurried into town, my basket full of bandages and remedies. Others had suffered more than I. Setting my trauma aside was the only way to cope. Many had been wounded in battle, from the Middle Lands and Mercia, too. The numbers of injured were fewer than I’d dared hope and most would recover. But some would be maimed for life and too many had lost their lives. The grisly work of burying bodies was almost over and there had been little looting. In the main, the Saxons respected the dead.

But my people were war-weary. Losing fight. Reports had come about the extent of the damage Thurkill had wreaked on our border villages. The attacks had been savage. Much would need to be done to repair and rebuild. And at home even Aine had come to harm.

“You have my gratitude for saving me from Thurkill,” I said to Lord Leofric, breathing in the calming aroma of the lavender bushes as I stepped closer. They’d begun to flower earlier than usual. “Not only from me but from all my people.”

He bowed in acknowledgment. “I’d warn you not to celebrate too soon this time.”

An indignant flush rose to my face, a swift retort to my lips. I’d thought my men had needed to celebrate and believe in their strength. My argument seemed weak as I recalled the feasting and merriment that had left me unguarded in my own hall and allowed Thurkill to take me hostage.

“It was a lapse of judgment on my part.” How I hated to admit it. But I was responsible.

“More than a lapse. Coventry isn’t safe. Thurkill the Tall wasn’t the only Dane who wants your lands.”

There was no need for him to tell me I would face many challenges to keep the Middle Lands secure. They’d kept me awake along with Thurkill’s leer. “The Danish peril hasn’t passed. I know I have more battles ahead.”

“They’re battles you can’t win.”

My pulse began to race. “What do you mean?”

Leofric lifted up the lavender as if to smell it, the contemplative gesture belying the calculation in his eyes as they met mine. “I think you know.”

11

Made her cheek flame …

—Tennyson (1842):
Godiva

“We must discuss the Middle Lands,” Leofric said, “now your father is gone.”

Flinging the stalk of lavender to the ground he crushed it under his heel. He made a rapid survey of the garden. In the vegetable beds, green shoots were pushing through. A peaceful place. A sanctuary.

“We can’t talk here. Come. I will speak with you alone.”

*   *   *

“Well?” We were in the hall, a trestle table a barricade between us. A peek at Leofric’s grim face had sent the servants scattering.

For a moment he studied me. I tightened my lips.

“The Middle Lands are Engla-lond’s heartlands,” he said. “They’re the center point for Saxon law, or for the Dane law. The way the Middle Lands go, so all Engla-lond will go. The Danes will not relent. They’ll come after Coventry again and again. They mustn’t take it. Coventry must stay Saxon.”

Once again he was telling me what I already knew. It was a habit with him I’d begun to find maddening; treating me as an ignorant child. “Coventry
is
Saxon.”

“But for how long? All you’ve proven so far is that you need Mercia to hold the Middle Lands.”

“I’ve proven no such thing! Coventry would have won the day, with or without Mercian warriors. Long have we in the Middle Lands held off the Danes from the east.”

A dismissive sweep of his hand. “Under your father’s command.”

“And now under mine.” As usual my fingers sought the familiar comfort of my braid. The wound on my arm twanged. I wondered if Leofric’s wound pained him. If so, he gave no sign.

His short laugh spilled disdain. “You’d be dead if I hadn’t saved you. You’ve just thanked me for it.”

“I’d have fought Thurkill off,” I lied.

He leaned across the table, his voice low. “You were half naked. Do you think me blind?”

Flames from deep inside my body smoldered through my skin.

“It isn’t just Thurkill I speak of. You lack in battle craft. Even more dangerous, you think you know it but you don’t. That Danish warrior you fought in the field—I don’t wish to diminish your courage, but to leave him injured, ready to attack you again … And Thurkill. We both know you don’t have the power, the physical strength, to have defeated him. My strength overcame him.”

“Only because you didn’t give my intelligence a chance,” I shot back fast as a catapult. He’d hit me where it hurt most. I was as good as any man. I had to be. Years. Hidden tears. Both daughter and son. For my parents’ sake, I’d vowed it. “There are many ways to win a fight, my lord, and the best is by using wits. Brawn doesn’t always beat brain.”

A bang of his bare fists on the table sent it juddering. In spite of myself I jumped.

He gave a satisfied smile. “Brawn saved your lands, Lady Godiva.”

I flung my plait over my shoulder. “Next time I’ll use my brains to save my lands.”

His tone stayed low but there was flint-fire in it. “There won’t be a next time.”

*   *   *

My stomach became a milk churn. I stared at him.

“I can’t leave Coventry at risk,” Leofric said. “It would cost every Saxon in Engla-lond if I did.”

“I don’t understand -”

“Yes. You do.”

Panic engulfed me as realization dawned. Heaving a lungful of air, I searched Leofric’s face for a clue, some sign that my suspicions were unfounded. No muscle moved.

“Do you mean to take my lands?” Gripping the edge of the table, I could barely stay upright.

“I don’t need to take them. The Danes have been defeated. I’ve already won them.”

Shock stopped my speech. Then fury overcame me, a bonfire explosion. My own fists slammed down on the wood. “You haven’t won them! These lands are mine!”

He shook his head as though my outburst hadn’t occurred. “Coventry must come under Mercia’s rule. It’s the only way to keep it safe.”

Self-doubt seeped through my veins as if I’d swallowed a hemlock herb draught. Was I equal to the task my parents had left me? “I can keep Coventry safe.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Is this why you came here? What were your true reasons for riding into Coventry as soon as you heard of my father’s death? Did you come to aid me, or defeat me?”

His jaw set. “My men and I came to defeat Thurkill the Tall. To save Saxon lands, and Saxons from the Danes who would crush them and make them slaves. That I have done. Keeping Coventry under my command is the only way forward.”

“Then you’re a thief, Lord Leofric,” I hissed. “And a liar.”

The coldness I knew to be so dangerous came over him, chilling my skin. I’d witnessed it with Thurkill, in the hut, and Thurkill lay dead.

His voice cooled to a perilous temperature. “Have a care, Lady. I told you no lies. Did I not warn you I came here for Mercia’s sake? Did I not warn you the weakness of the Middle Lands threatens what’s mine? I came for Saxon good and I won’t waver. With only you as their leader, Coventry can’t be the Saxon stronghold it must remain.”

Sobs threatened but I blinked them back, hard. No weakness would I show to this man. My father left me these lands, this town, this hall.

Through the mist of supressed tears I beheld the hall that my father had built, that my mother had made so fine. The tapestries and bronzes that hung on the walls, the timber beams, painted red, yellow, green, blue, and gold. The dais, the high table. The trestle tables to be laid out to welcome all.

Hall-joy.