Читать книгу Medieval Brides - Anne Herries - Страница 22

It did not take long to get Evie and her husband settled before the fire. Gudrun brought Leofwine a mug of ale. ‘I’d offer you the same, Evie,’ Cecily said, ‘but by your colour I think you’d best take this.’ Moving to the hearth, she put a spoonful of herbs in a twist of muslin, dropped the muslin into an earthenware mug and poured boiling water over it from the kettle.

‘There you are,’ she said, passing the steaming mug to Evie.

‘What’s in it?’

‘Nettle infusion, a drop of honey—it will do you and the babe good. Lufu will bring you both some chicken broth presently.’

Evie wrapped her hands round the mug, hunched over the fire, and stared into the flames. ‘My thanks.’

Satisfied that Evie’s shivering had stopped, and that her colour was returning, Cecily looked at Leofwine and silently indicated that he should move with her out of earshot. When they reached the other end of the hall, Leofwine rested his foot on a bench. His long hair was straggling out of the tie at the back of his neck; his beard was untrimmed.

‘What happened, Leofwine?’

He scowled into his ale cup. ‘That day you visited my workshop, did you see the builders at the other end of Golde Street?’

‘Yes.’

Leofwine’s face darkened. ‘Normans—the Duke’s men, may they rot in hell. They demolished the workshop.’

‘Your workshop? But why should they do that? It could not be a reprisal—not when Winchester surrendered without a fight. D-do you think they suspect…?’ Cecily caught her breath. What had Edmund said? That the Saxon cause was not lost…that Judhael was continuing to fight. And again—when she was in the loft room with Gudrun—Edmund had hinted that the resistance had plans…

‘Sweet Mother—Judhael and Emma went to your house! The Normans must know. They suspect you…’

Leofwine put a heavy, work-scarred hand on Cecily’s arm. ‘No, my lady, it’s none of that,’ he said, his voice bitter as January frost. ‘It might be easier to bear if it was. A man likes to know he’s deserved it when he has his livelihood wrested from him.’

‘There must be some mistake….’

‘No—no mistake. Those foreign devils have cut the heart out of the city.’ He glanced across at Evie, who was rocking Philip in her arms, and his face softened for a moment. ‘Two whole streets have gone, my lady. Sixty houses in all. We’ll have to start afresh.’

‘To what purpose? It makes no sense.’

‘Our old palace isn’t fine enough for William of Normandy,’ he replied with a short laugh. ‘No—he must have a fully defendable castle. They are building a timber motte and bailey first—later they’re to rebuild in stone. The bastard is afraid of us Saxons, and I expect he’s right. After this he’ll need more than a castle with a moat around it to keep his hide whole.’ He shook his head. ‘Our palace was fine enough for King Harold, but this bastard—My workshop…our house…’ His voice cracked. ‘Gone as though of no account. We merely stood in his way.’

‘Sixty houses?’ Cecily could not imagine it. ‘The entire street?’

‘Aye.’ Leowine’s eyes were bleak. ‘And with Evie so near her time I thought of you. I know you’re to wed one of them, but I thought…I hoped…in honour of the connection between your family and hers…’

‘Of course,’ Cecily said, and it was her turn to reach out to Leofwine. ‘You did the right thing, and I assure you you are both most welcome.’

Leofwine gave a heartfelt sigh and looked about the Hall, seeing it, she suspected for the first time. ‘And Fulford’s new lord? Where is he? Will he bid us welcome?’

Cecily spread her fingers so he could see her ring. ‘My husband,’ she said firmly. ‘Sir Adam will not turn you away.’

Leofwine tugged thoughtfully at his beard. ‘I trust you are right. Evie is taking it hard, but we are lucky to have Fulford as a refuge. There are those in far worse case than us. I tell you, my lady, it’s enough to make me consider taking up arms for the first time in my life.’

‘Well said!’ Edmund cut in. His crutches clunked against the table as he lowered himself onto the bench. ‘Well said, Leo. Spoken like a true Saxon.’

‘Don’t, Edmund,’ Cecily said, but her protest was swept aside while the two men exchanged greetings and Edmund commiserated with Leofwine on his ill-fortune.

‘I have more news, Edmund,’ Leofwine continued, when he had brought Edmund up to date. ‘News that will gladden your heart. Those Frankish swine didn’t have it all their way.’

‘No?’ Edmund leaned his head on his hand and looked up, his face alight with expectation. ‘Pray continue, Leo.’

Glancing at the Hall door, Leofwine leaned forwards confidentially. ‘The mint, Edmund. The mint in Winchester has been robbed.’

A slow smile spread across Edmund’s face. ‘The Winchester mint? You do surprise me.’

Edmund’s tone did not match his words. Her heart sinking, Cecily’s eyes went from one man to the other, observing their reactions, guessing at the level of their knowledge, wondering at the level of their involvement. Had Judhael been responsible for this robbery? She chewed the inside of her mouth, debating with herself whether she judged it a crime to have robbed the mint at this moment. The Winchester mint was a Saxon mint, and yet with Duke’s William’s conquest it suddenly belonged to the Normans? Was that just? Those coffers had been filled by Saxons, with Saxon silver, for a Saxon king—King Harold.

‘Aye.’ Leofwine’s eyes gleamed. ‘Someone ripped the strongboxes clean from the floor. Must have used the same method—rope and oxen—that was used to pull down my workshop.’

‘Really?’

‘Aye, so there’s some justice.’

Edmund shifted closer. ‘Evie’s brother, I’ll be bound.’

Leofwine’s face became blank. ‘Could be. Couldn’t say.’

Cecily bit the inside of her mouth so hard the metallic taste of blood burst onto her tongue. Yes, it had to be Judhael. Pray God he had not dragged Emma into this. If they were caught the Duke of Normandy would be merciless. What was it Edmund had told her? That the whole of southern England had been laid waste…

Sick with dread, she held her peace. But dread was not her only emotion. She was frustrated too—frustrated and angry. Before Edmund’s arrival, Leofwine had deferred to her, had been content to talk to her. But now that Edmund was here—even though she was lady of the Hall and Edmund had been but one of her father’s many housecarls—they were doing what men always did: talking to each other as though she, the woman, was invisible. Her father had treated her mother in like manner. As a child she had resented it every time he had done this, and despite the passing of the years her view of such behaviour had not changed.

‘Judhael.’ Edmund nodded with satisfaction, but his expression was ugly. ‘Good—it’s time we had some substance behind us. The tide will turn in our favour, Leo. This is but the beginning.’

Leofwine’s face remained closed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Cecily shifted, uncomfortable with the way Edmund was leading the conversation, but just then Adam strode into the hall and Edmund clamped his mouth shut. An awkward silence gripped the room.

Adam had been helping Brian Herfu with the slaughtering, and he was numb with cold. He made straight for the warmth of the hearth. Newcomers. A pregnant woman was seated to one side of the fire, cradling the baby Philip, and at the other end of the hall Cecily was standing with Edmund and a bearded Saxon. She did not look happy.

Conscious of the grim aspect he presented, with his tunic and hose begrimed with sheeps’ blood, Adam nodded briefly to the woman at the fireside. ‘The annual winter slaughter,’ he murmured.

The woman swallowed and gave a curt little nod, but her eyes widened and fastened on the bloodstains. Adam knew by the way she lost colour that she had to be thinking of Hastings. Thankful that he had at least had the forethought to wash the worst from his hands in the river, he flexed his fingers before the fire and waited for feeling to return.

‘Adam, we have guests,’ Cecily said, breaking the silence. When she started walking towards him, he left the hearth and met her halfway. He took her hand and she shuddered. ‘You’re frozen!’

‘You can’t wear gloves when killing sheep.’

‘You’ve been helping Brian?’ she asked, surprise in her tone.

‘As you observed yourself yesterday, the practice field needed clearing. Did your father not take part in the cull?’

Slowly she shook her head, quietly observing the blood on his clothes, but she did not withdraw her hand from his. Indeed, she was rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand as though she would impart some warmth to him. ‘Never. But I expect Brian was grateful, since we’re so behindhand.’ She waved at the woman at the fireside. ‘Adam, this is Evie Smith, and this…’ she led him towards the trestle ‘…is her husband, Leofwine. He is a goldsmith. They are come from Winchester and are in need of our help.’

Adam’s insides were in a trice as cold as his fingers. ‘From Winchester?’ Golde Street. Hell, he had almost forgotten about Golde Street. These must be the people she had visited. Cursing himself for letting himself be distracted by a soft body and melting blue eyes, he forced himself to listen.

As she gave him her account of what had happened to Leofwine Smith’s workshop, his mind seemed to split in two. One part of him was attending to the tale his wife was telling while the other was wondering where her loyalties lay. If it came down to a stark choice between the Saxons—‘my people’ as she constantly chose to refer to them—and himself, how would she choose?

Duke William’s plan to throw up a motte and bailey in the south west of the city was not news to him, but he had had no idea that sixty homes would have to be demolished to accomplish it. He noted the stiffness in Leofwine’s posture and found he felt some sympathy for the man. The goldsmith had pride. He resented having to fling himself on Adam’s mercy.

‘My Hall is yours, Leofwine Smith,’ he said, in his stilted English. He wound his arm about Cecily’s waist, to endorse the welcome he knew she had given. Under his arm, Cecily held herself like a block of wood. Upset that her friends had been made refugees? Pray God that is all, Adam thought, giving her a slight squeeze. Her eyes met his, and they were dark with apprehension. Suspicion twisted within him like a cold snake. No, he thought. Don’t, my princess—don’t be thinking of betrayal. But there was more, he’d swear. Something else was eating at her…

‘You did not think I’d refuse them?’ he muttered in French, for her ears alone.

‘No—no,’ she said, but her expression did not lighten.

Edmund was watching them, those thin lips curling in sardonic amusement. It was he, Adam would swear, who was at the root of Cecily’s tension. Damn the man. Left to his own devices, Adam would have had him banished from the village before he could blink. Yet, since Edmund had not actually made a move against him, he could not act—not without being the unjust boor that Cecily’s people no doubt expected him to be.

‘Leofwine has more to tell your husband—doesn’t he, Lady Wymark?’ Edmund said.

She flushed and twisted against his arm, the emphasis placed on her new title apparently discomposing her. Ruthlessly, Adam tightened his grip. ‘Yes?’

‘Tell him, Leo. Tell him about the mint.’

Adam listened as best he might while Leofwine told him—in English—of a rebel raid on the Winchester mint. Though the cold snake in his belly kept shifting—don’t, my princess, don’t betray me—he kept his comments as neutral as he could.

‘I wonder if that happened on Raoul’s watch,’ he said, grimly aware of the disturbing undercurrents flowing between Cecily and Edmund. They had not looked at each other once during Leofwine Smith’s recounting, but Edmund’s gaze was simply too innocent, and as for Cecily—her body was taut as a bowstring. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had woken in his arms that morning, warm and soft, a relaxed and loving bundle.

At that moment Edmund’s gaze met his, and he stretched his lips into that sneering smile that Adam was coming to loathe. Adam did not trust Edmund further than he could throw him. But what concerned him was rather this: would he ever be able to trust his wife?

Supper was over, the boards were cleared, and Adam alone remained in his seat at the head of the table, for the moment replete and disinclined to move. After so many months in Duke William’s train, living like a nomad, hungry more than half the time, it was bliss to contemplate bed with a full stomach. But being gifted Fulford had more than one benefit, and eating well was not, in his view, the most important one. He glanced down the table, towards another of the benefits of Fulford. Cecily, his wife—his loyal wife. Or so he prayed.

As was becoming her habit after each meal, she was sitting on the other side of the fire with Gudrun in the Saxon sleeping area. The newborn was in her lap. It seemed everyone had taken to that side of the Hall. Hoping that was not significant, Adam sipped his wine. The pregnant woman sat near Cecily, talking to her husband. Even Richard had found a stool near the women. Idly strumming his lute, his fellow knight was rolling his eyes at Matty while he sang a Norman love song. Doubtless the girl couldn’t understand a word, but that didn’t stop her blushes.

Adam’s gaze returned to his wife and traced her slight figure as she rocked the baby to sleep. Her features were soft in the fireglow. As ever, that tendril of hair had escaped its braid and gleamed on her breast, a curl of gold. Rock, rock, rock, as she murmured gently to the baby. That baby, he thought. That baby—the way she cossets him. Philip.

He sucked in his breath, gripped by a chilling certainty.

Philip. Philip! Hadn’t her mother had been called Philippa?

And the child on her lap—perhaps Philippa’s babe had survived? This one was the right age. This boy could be Cecily’s brother—and thus, in Saxon eyes, the rightful heir to Fulford!

Eyes sharpening, Adam continued to watch. How she cosseted him. How the entire household cosseted him. Matty’s giggle cut into his thoughts. He tapped a finger on the side of his wine cup. ‘Richard! A word, if you please.’

Richard broke off his song, kissed his fingers at a crimson-cheeked Matty, and sauntered over. ‘Aye?’ The bench creaked as he took his place.

‘That child—my wife’s maid—you swore you’d leave her alone.’

Richard grinned. ‘I like her.’

‘That’s clear. But you’ll remember your promise?’

‘I’ll remember. She’s too young for me. But a man needs some feminine company, and who else is there? Everyone else is married.’ Richard ran his fingers caressingly over the lute strings and tried out a chord. ‘Ease up, man. I’ll be returning to London soon enough. What’s eating you?’

Adam tilted his head in the direction of Cecily and Philip.

Richard lifted a brow and tried out a scale. ‘You mistrust her? What did you expect?’ He paused, and his grin widened. ‘If you dally with Saxons…It’s no good warning me off while you—’

‘Richard, be serious! That baby worries me. The time she spends with it, and his name—had you realised?—a Norman name…’

‘His mother was Norman? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Exactly, and I’d wager her name was Philippa.’

Richard’s fingers stilled mid-scale. ‘Phillipa of Fulford herself?’

Adam raised an eyebrow and kept his voice down. ‘It’s entirely possible, wouldn’t you say? It would explain why my beautiful wife was so swift to suggest marriage. She wanted to protect that child.’

Richard’s eyes rested on Cecily. ‘I rather thought she wanted to escape the besom at the convent.’

‘No doubt. But she didn’t have to marry me to do that. I’d already accepted her as my interpreter.’

‘Hell, Adam, what’s in your mind? I’m sure she has a fondness for you.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t tell me last night was a disappointment? I could have sworn from the way she was looking at you at supper that all was very well between you—in one quarter, at least.’

Adam grunted, refusing to be drawn. Cecily was changing the baby’s napkin, wrapping him tenderly in swaddling bands, ready for the night. ‘That infant has to be her brother. Do you think it normal for a young woman to take such an interest in a housekeeper’s son?’

Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘Could be broody?’

‘It’s possible. But her interest in that boy concerns me. And then there’s Edmund.’

‘The lame one? He seems harmless enough.’

‘A blind, I assure you. He is far from harmless.’

‘Evidence?’ Richard asked, plucking randomly at some strings.

‘Not a scrap, but I don’t trust him. He was Thane Edgar’s housecarl before he was maimed.’

‘You reckon he knows the mob that broke into the mint?’

‘It’s possible.’ Adam watched Cecily tuck the baby in his basket. ‘He’s certainly involved in something, and I’ve a suspicion he’s hoping to drag my wife into it.’

Richard’s expression sobered. ‘You really think she would betray you?’

‘God alone knows where her loyalties lie. Think about it. It can’t be easy for her.’ Adam sighed, and turned his cup in his fingers. ‘If only I could get her to confide in me. I’ve half a mind to clap Edmund in chains, but on what grounds?’

‘Best wait awhile,’ Richard said quietly, bending over his lute. ‘If you’re right—and I agree you have reason for suspicion—he’ll act soon enough. And if he acts rashly he may lead us to the Saxon encampment. According to Tihell, the rebels are rumoured to have gone to earth somewhere between Winchester and the coast. They could be quite close.’

Adam rubbed his chin. ‘You reach the same conclusion as me, my friend. So.’ He looked bleakly across the hall at Cecily, who had kissed the baby and was making her way to the loft ladder. ‘We wait. Lull them into thinking we are complacent, and then…’

With a flourish, Richard struck a chord. ‘We strike.’

‘Aye.’ Adam rose and stretched. ‘And now I go to woo my wife, and pray that before long she will trust me enough to tell me the truth about her relationship with that baby. If she does that…’ Catching a cynical gleam in Richard’s eyes, he gave a rueful grin. ‘I find I want her to trust me.’

Richard shook his head. ‘As I’ve said before, you’re a fool with your women, Adam Wymark,’ he said softly.

‘Not such a fool as you think. By the way, I have arranged to meet Tihell at the Winchester garrison.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s been watching my lady’s sister, and he may have a more precise location for the rebel encampment. I meet him tomorrow. Will you accompany me?’

Richard’s lips curved. ‘Assuredly—I have business of my own to attend to.’

As Adam made for the loft ladder, Richard’s gaze swung back to Matty. Picking up from where he had left off when Adam had called him over, he went back to the next verse of the Norman love song.

The loft ladder creaked, and Adam’s footsteps sounded on the landing outside.

Alert for the sound of her husband lifting the latch, Cecily quickly peeled off her gown and underskirt and dragged a cream linen nightgown over her head. The nightgown had miraculously appeared in her mother’s clothes chest some time during the day. There had been no trace of it immediately after her wedding. Gudrun, she was sure, must have hidden it. Gripped by a shyness that years of convent life had bred into her, Cecily’s fingers became thumbs. She wanted to be safely under the bedclothes when Adam came in. Her heart thudded.

Would he want to do that again? She had no idea how often married people did that, except…A vague memory surfaced—one of the novices giggling as she recited the list of days when married people were permitted to have carnal relations. There were not very many of them. They could not do…that…on Sundays, they could not do it on a Saint’s day, they could not do it on Fridays, nor in Lent…In fact, according to Mother Aethelflaeda’s calendar there were not many days when carnal relations were allowed, so she was probably not going to be called upon to perform her marital duties again tonight. Conscious of a vague sense of disappointment, Cecily frowned.

The latch lifted. She had not finished tying her neck fastenings. With a small squeak she dived into the bed, sat up, and wrestled with the ribbons.

Adam came in with a smile and latched the door. Heeling off his boots, he kicked them into the corner. His hand hovered over the wine jug. ‘Wine, Princess?’

‘N-no, thank you.’

He waved at the poker propped up against one of the braziers. ‘I can mull it, if you’d prefer?’

‘No, thank you. I had enough earlier.’

Adam grunted, and started to strip. Cecily sat, loose plait over one shoulder, and watched him out of the corner of her eye, half-curious, half-embarrassed. He did not have a shy bone in his body. His belt followed his boots into the corner, his tunic was tossed onto a hook and then his shirt. The bed shifted as, naked to the waist, he sat to unwind his leg-bindings.

The sight of so much naked male skin had curls of nervous excitement winding in her belly. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch, to see if he felt as warm and smooth as he had last night when, apart from the dim glow of the braziers, they had both been cloaked with darkness.

Throat dry as dust, she swallowed. Might he want her again? Perhaps a cup of mulled wine had not been such a bad idea? she thought, shooting another covert glance at her husband’s bare back. The muscles there flexed in the most fascinating manner. His shoulders were so wide, and the way his back narrowed down to his waist…Why, even his back pleases my eyes, she realised, startled. His hair was glossy in the candlelight, dark as a raven’s wing. His neck still looked vulnerable to her, used as she was to men who wore their hair long, in the Saxon fashion.

Adam turned, caught her watching him, and a dark eyebrow arched upwards. The scattering of hairs on his chest was dark and ran down—ran down to…What did he look like there?

‘Cecily?’

Cheeks burning, she wrenched her gaze up and caught the tail-end of a grin. ‘Mmm?’

Leaning towards her, he took up her braid and idly began to unplait it. ‘I ride for Winchester with Richard in the morning. I’ll leave young Brian in charge of the men, and I plan to be back well before nightfall. Are you happy to rest here for the day?’

‘Of course.’

He fanned her hair out over her shoulders, warm fingers lingering on her breasts. Her nipples tightened. Oh, no, it looked as though Adam Wymark was going to want to do…that all over again. How shocking. She swallowed. When he repeated the movement, cupping her breasts through the linen nightgown, a pleasant ache started in her belly. Oh, yes! So it had been last night, she thought, holding back a moan. How did he do that? Carnal love. He was very skilled at it. And truly Mother Aethelflaeda would be disgusted with her response. So wanton. She felt hot all over. And she was sure today was not a day that was approved for doing…that…

‘That’s good,’ Adam said, clearing his throat and continuing with his gentle caresses until her nipples felt as though they were going to burst free of the gown. He was touching her, and her body was straining towards him, greedy for more. ‘Very good.’

Fingers under her chin, he brought his head to hers and their lips met in a lingering kiss. The moan escaped her and Adam drew back, his hand going to the tie of his chausses.

‘Wait! Adam, you forgot the candles!’

Eyes immediately guarded, he gave her one of his lop-sided smiles. ‘The candles—of course. How could I forget?’ He pinched out his candle; she pinched out hers. Around the bed the darkness thickened, save for the glowing braziers. ‘Better, Princess?’ She heard a quiet sigh.

‘Y-yes. I’m sorry, Adam.’

His body met hers, warm and welcoming, and Cecily melted. He had the power to turn her bones to water. Carnal love. Why had no one thought to tell her how exquisite it could be? And on a forbidden day too.

‘No matter,’ he said, skimming his hand down her flank as she fell back into the pillows, helpless with sinful longing and guilty delight. Utterly reprehensible. He twitched at her nightgown. ‘But, since you are trying to hide in the dark, this can come off.’

‘Yes, Adam.’ She raised her arms to help him. ‘I did not think you would want me tonight.’

‘Not want you?’ Hand on her gown, he stilled. ‘Why on earth not?’

‘It is not one of the approved days. Mother Aethelflaeda had a calendar—’

‘A calendar? Dear God! Cecily, I will not permit that woman to poison what we have. If we want each other, we will have each other. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Adam.’ If we want each other, he had said. Not If I want you, but we. Her heart swelled.

‘One day, Princess. One day.’

‘Adam?’

The nightgown was being drawn over her head and muffled his answer. ‘One day we will make love naked, in broad day. We will hide nothing.’

‘Adam…’

‘But in the meantime…’ Shifting over her, he gently bit her neck. ‘In the meantime…’