Naked (30 page)

Wyrd.
Fate
. That is what it had been. In my recollection I could picture every movement—the lift of his helmet in a single, easy movement, and that first piercing glance, making me shiver.

Aine had been right, after all. The body doesn’t lie. It sings the heart’s song, even when the mind doesn’t know the gleeman’s verse.

Clouds floated in the blue sky like wisps of spun wool. True love wasn’t what I expected it to be. I knew now true love could withstand anger, disappointment, and misunderstanding. The best sort of love came when forgiveness had already been granted.

“May I ask you just one more question, Aine?”

“Of course, my lady.” Wiping her brow, she laid down her basket.

“Did you suspect that Lord Leofric had feelings for me?”

“Suspect?” Aine gave a kind of guffaw. “I didn’t suspect anything. I knew it. It was only the pair of you who didn’t know how you felt about each other. Obvious to everyone else. There is none so blind as those who are in love but those around them see exactly what is going on.”

I smiled. “I knew how I felt, but I wasn’t sure how he felt.”

“Your love is deep. When love is that deep and that strong, the cost of telling it is greater. The risk of it not being requited can seem too hard to bear.”

“That’s how it seemed to me,” I confessed.

“I knew it. I knew how much you loved him, right from the start, perhaps even before you did. And I could see what his feelings for you were, plain as day. After you’d lost your parents, the risk of loving and not receiving love in return might have seemed too much. But loving the way you and Lord Leofric love each other—it’s what makes life worthwhile, in the end. Your mother would rejoice to see you. Here’s Lord Leofric now, my lady.”

My heart leapt as he strode into the plant yard. Would it always be that way? Would I always know that skip of joy when he came to me?

He placed his hand on my belly. “How is our warrior daughter today?”

“Very active, my lord,” I laughed. “So active I think it’s a son.”

He laughed, too. “If so active, then it’s our daughter for certain.”

Leaning down, he kissed me lightly on the lips, with a passion that had not altered in my pregnancy. “In Coventry, there’ll be great rejoicing, no matter whether a boy or a girl.”

Son or daughter.

“Now come. It’s time.”

“You’ve been so secretive! There is no forcing you to reveal anything once you’ve set your mind to it.”

“Ah, my stubbornness! My famous fault. I hope it will be worthwhile, in this case.”

Headstrong. Willful. Defiant. I had a few faults of my own. “Won’t you tell me where we’re going?”

Leofric chuckled. “It isn’t far. Come.”

*   *   *

In the courtyard, Leofric and one of the serving boys helped me onto Ebur’s broad back. Fur-clad, instead of astride, I sat with my legs on one side.

Side-saddled. But only for a while. Soon I would be back in my leathers. To ride to Arden. With Leofric.

Clucking like a hen with a chick, Aine stood near. “My lady is safe up there?”

“Lady Godiva will come to no harm,” Leofric replied.

Holding Ebur’s reins with one hand, I settled the other protectively on my rounded belly. “All is well, Aine.”

Leofric took the reins. “I’ll lead you.”

We set off at a gentle pace, out of the manor grounds and into the main street of Coventry. I gave a cry of pleasure. The streets were lined with the townsfolk, holding greenery and calling my name.

“God’s greeting, my lady!”

“Blessings to our lord and lady!”

At the end of the main street, outside the church we came to a halt.

Tethering Ebur to the lych-gate, I slid off and into Leofric’s waiting arms.

For a moment he held me.

“Close your eyes.”

“Leofric…” But I obeyed.

His arms a cloak, my lids shut tight, my feet followed the well-trod pilgrimage to the church. They knew the way.

“Open them now.” We were at the end of the church path, in front of the wooden door. On the step was a large stone, pale, square, smooth.

“What is it?”

Leofric’s cheek creased. Deep. “You can’t tell?”

My braid flew as I turned my head from side to side.

“It’s a foundation stone.”

Realization started to dawn.

“Have you guessed? We’re building a new stone church for Coventry, just as your parents always dreamed of.”

Brother Aefic came up, beaming. “The Lord Leofric has been most generous. You know of course, my child, of our custom to bring a holy relic for each church or abbey we build.”

I nodded.

“That’s why we were unable to begin sooner,” Leofric explained. “Brother Aefic sent to Rome for this relic of Mary, the mother of Jesus.”

The monk unwrapped a hammered, silver box from a piece of fine-spun wool. “It is said that this was a lock of her hair.”

Leofric touched my braids. “The same color as yours.”

“This is a fitting relic, my lady, for you have acted as a mother to all your people.” Brother Aefic bowed to me.

Lady. Loaf giver
. My sacred task.

“This church will be known as St. Mary’s,” Leofric said.

Honor to the great mother. And to my mother. She had honored St. Mary, too. “It’s the perfect name.”

“Lord Leofric has also dedicated more lands to us so our monastery at Evesham will grow and one day be a fine abbey.” Brother Aefic rubbed his hands together.

My fingers trembled as I put them to my cheeks. My ruby ring glowed. For a moment I was overcome. “This is what my parents always dreamed for Coventry.”

“I could have built you a hall made of stone, a castle fit for a queen,” Leofric said. “And one day, I will. But first, I knew I had to build this church. Well I know your happiness comes from the happiness of your people.”

“So dreams do come true,” I whispered.

“They do.” Leofric placed his hands on my rounded belly. “You’re my dream, Godiva.”

Coventry, Engla-lond, 1024AD.

Hail Elfreda,

God’s greetings to you, dearest sister, and to our brother Godwin. Writing these words fills my heart with joy for now you are wed we are sisters indeed. How I wish we could have traveled to Mercia to witness your troth, and the occasion of such great happiness and celebration. May you find with Godwin all the happiness Leofric and I share together. Our happiness is doubled now, for at last, after many prayers, I have given birth to a son, whom we have called Elfgar. In thanksgiving, to the new stone church of St. Mary’s we have built in Coventry I have bestowed a silver necklace Leofric gifted me in honor of Our Lady, mother of us all. I was afeared he would not like me doing so, but Leofric has said I can give all my jewels to the church if I have a mind to, so joyous is he at our son’s arrival.

In not too long, when the seasons change, we will travel to see you. When I am able, I have vowed to bring our child north to Mercia, to see the might of its great cities, and to breathe the air of his ancestors in the forests of Sherwood. Yet it seems right that our babe was born in my home, here in the Middle Lands. The land of my people, the land of my cyn. Now, and always, the land of my love.

Godiva of Coventry

Godiva

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1842)

I waited for the train at Coventry;

I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,

To watch the three tall spires; and there I shaped

The city’s ancient legend into this:

Not only we, the latest seed of Time,

New men, that in the flying of a wheel

Cry down the past, not only we, that prate

Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well,

And loathed to see them overtax’d; but she

Did more, and underwent, and overcame,

The woman of a thousand summers back,

Godiva, wife to that grim Earl, who ruled

In Coventry: for when he laid a tax

Upon his town, and all the mothers brought

Their children, clamoring, “If we pay, we starve!”

She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode

About the hall, among his dogs, alone,

His beard a foot before him and his hair

A yard behind. She told him of their tears,

And pray’d him, “If they pay this tax, they starve.”

Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed,

“You would not let your little finger ache

For such as these?”—“But I would die,” said she.

He laugh’d, and swore by Peter and by Paul;

Then fillip’d at the diamond in her ear;

“Oh ay, ay, ay, you talk!”—“Alas!” she said,

“But prove me what I would not do.”

And from a heart as rough as Esau’s hand,

He answer’d, “Ride you naked thro’ the town,

And I repeal it;” and nodding, as in scorn,

He parted, with great strides among his dogs.

So left alone, the passions of her mind,

As winds from all the compass shift and blow,

Made war upon each other for an hour,

Till pity won. She sent a herald forth,

And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all

The hard condition; but that she would loose

The people: therefore, as they loved her well,

From then till noon no foot should pace the street,

No eye look down, she passing; but that all

Should keep within, door shut, and window barr’d.

Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there

Unclasp’d the wedded eagles of her belt,

The grim Earl’s gift; but ever at a breath

She linger’d, looking like a summer moon

Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head,

And shower’d the rippled ringlets to her knee;

Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair

Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid

From pillar unto pillar, until she reach’d

The Gateway, there she found her palfrey trapt

In purple blazon’d with armorial gold.

Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity:

The deep air listen’d round her as she rode,

And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear.

The little wide-mouth’d heads upon the spout

Had cunning eyes to see: the barking cur

Made her cheek flame; her palfrey’s foot-fall shot

Light horrors thro’ her pulses; the blind walls

Were full of chinks and holes; and overhead

Fantastic gables, crowding, stared: but she

Not less thro’ all bore up, till, last, she saw

The white-flower’d elder-thicket from the field,

Gleam thro’ the Gothic archway in the wall.

Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity;

And one low churl, compact of thankless earth,

The fatal byword of all years to come,

Boring a little auger-hole in fear,

Peep’d—but his eyes, before they had their will,

Were shrivel’d into darkness in his head,

And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait

On noble deeds, cancell’d a sense misused;

And she, that knew not, pass’d: and all at once,

With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon

Was clash’d and hammer’d from a hundred towers,

One after one: but even then she gain’d

Her bower; whence reissuing, robed and crown’d,

To meet her lord, she took the tax away

And built herself an everlasting name.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to editor, Brenda Copeland, for giving me a publishing home in the United States; to assistant editor, Laura Chasen, for her calm efficiency; and to everyone at St. Martin’s Press in the Flatiron Building (surely the most magical building in New York). To my wise and wonderful U.S. agent, Joelle Delbourgo, I know just how lucky I am to have you. Jenny Schwartz, my critique partner, a woman of integrity who knows how to spot a villain—this book would never have been finished without you. The Wordwrights group, Janet Woods, Deb Bennetto, Karen Saayman, Anne Summers, and Carol Hoggart, who saw the manuscript in various stages of undress, thank you for your feedback, even when it was tough love. Thanks to historical fiction author, Michelle Diener, who generously shared her publishing knowledge; Romance Writers of Australia and the Hearts’n’Wined gang in Western Australia, who support each other’s work with affection. Pamela Weatherill, dear friend and social media queen bee of the buzz, my love and thanks. Tracey Stephens, for her research assistance and good cheer. Marina Gillam Geldsetzer and Anne Symes in England, Pearl Proud, Josephine Griffiths, Yonna Sunderland, and Lekkie Hopkins in Australia, your friendship got me through the threadbare patches. My gratitude to Vesma, who keeps the home fires burning and makes my writing life possible. Within my large extended family (too numerous to mention!) special appreciation to my sister, Catherine Marinceu, for her Web site help; my niece, Madeleine Lester, for social media advice; and my nephews, Lachlan and Jeremy, who encouraged me through the final draft and advised me to “watch the cricket” and “eat peanut butter sandwiches” when I was done. Finally, my love to those who lived with Godiva and Leofric wandering around the house, my daughter, Jessica, who bears a startling resemblance to the girl on the cover; and my husband, James, my own English hero: I was poor, and had only my dreams … you didn’t just tread softly; you laid down your cloak.