The Conqueror (Hot Knights) (13 page)

Jobert waved the parchment away. “Your word is enough, Father Reibald. ’Tis only that I am surprised to learn the Bishop concerns himself with a small demesne such as Oxbury.”

The priest smiled, although the expression did not warm his wintry gray eyes. “Bishop Walchelin is an amazing man. Like the Lord himself, he takes it upon himself to attend even the smallest sparrow.”

Jobert’s unsettled feeling grew. Could he trust this man to write a message to William? He truly had no choice. It could be weeks before he had another opportunity. He could not spare a man to act as courier, and at any rate, it would not be safe for a lone rider to make such a journey. Two squires entered the hall, rolling the last precious cask between them. They tapped it and cups were filled all around. Jobert toasted the visitors and waited for the servants to bring the food. There was no sign of Edeva. He began to wonder if she would ever return.

“Tell me,” Jobert said, intending to distract the visitors from his poor hospitality, “what brings you to Oxbury? Are you passing through on the way to the coast?”

“Nay, ’tis you I seek, Brevrienne. I have come on behalf of the king. In Gloucestershire some of the rebel Saxons have joined forces with the Welsh and have begun to harry Ralph of Berkeley’s lands. William would have you send forces to aid Berkeley in ridding his property of these noxious vermin.”

“But I have my own troubles here,” Jobert protested. “Last night, the kitchen shed was set afire, and I’m certain it was the doing of the dispossessed Saxons. If I send a force of my men to aid Berkeley, I leave my own holdings at risk.”

Iovin made a harsh sound. “The king counts Gloucestershire as a strategic buffer with the north, while he sees this area as already won. ’Tis not merely you he calls upon for support and men, but all of the Wiltshire lords.”

“But if I send men to serve him, I diminish the security of my own property.”

“If you came yourself, you could get away with bringing fewer knights. More than numbers, the king values experience fighting the Saxons, and you have that, Brevrienne.”

Jobert considered the other soldier’s words. Would a larger force left in charge of Oxbury fare better than he and fewer men? Was it sheer numbers that kept the Saxons from attacking, or fear of him?

And then there was Edeva. His leaving might encourage her to show her true nature. If she took part of a rebellion against his authority, he would know she still intended to drive him from her home, despite her cooperation in other matters. Before he wed her, he should know for certain if she plotted against him or not.

“Berkeley expects a band of Brevrienne knights to meet him in Gloucestershire in three days,” Iovin said. “I suggest you make arrangements.”

At that moment, Edeva entered the hall, followed by servants bearing platters of cold meat and baskets of bread and round white cheeses. It was not the food that drew Jobert’s attention, but Edeva. She had changed from her sensible work kirtle into a gown of soft blue wool. While not as striking as the one she had worn to the feast, the garment brought out the vivid color of her eyes, the milky perfection of her skin and the gilded luster of her golden braids.

Jobert stared at her, thinking he would have the priest pen the message to William that very day. It hardly mattered whether she was a spy or no—he wanted this woman.

* * *

“You keep a well-ordered household, Lady Edeva. The inhabitants of Oxbury must find favor in the eyes of the Lord to have such a competent mistress.”

Edeva murmured her thanks to the priest, wondering if he was sincere. His narrow face and keen gray eyes struck her as crafty and sly, his whole manner slightly condescending. No wonder Brevrienne had asked her to show the priest to the chapel and his quarters. The Norman likely did not feel any more at ease with the cleric than she did.

She glanced over at the priest as they walked across the yard and saw him picking his teeth with one of his grimy fingers. Inwardly, she shuddered. Although she knew some holy men disdained bathing as a worldly affectation, Father Reibald’s slovenly appearance still disgusted her.

“’Twas a fine meal,” the priest said. “You are fortunate that more of your foodstores weren’t lost when the kitchen burned. I suppose kitchen fires are common, although I have heard talk among the men that this one was set deliberately. “

Edeva felt a shiver of warning, but she said calmly, “Who told you that, Father?”

“One of the knights spoke of a plot among the servants. They planned that the fire would distract the Normans while other Saxons attacked from outside the manor.”

Edeva met the priest’s opaque gaze. “Well,” she said, “their plan did not succeed, did it?”

They reached the chapel. The door creaked as Edeva opened it. She set the smoking lamp in a bracket by the entrance and took a rushlight and went to light the candles along the nave.

“’Tis finer than I would have guessed.” Father Reibald walked toward the altar. “It must have cost a small fortune to build this.”

“My father built it for my mother as a gift.”

The priest turned to face her. His long face appeared somehow sinister in the flickering candlelight. “You must despise the Normans for taking all of this from you.”

Edeva froze. Had the Norman asked the priest to spy on her?

The cleric moved nearer. “Has Brevrienne forced you to share his bed?” He tsked sadly when she did not answer. “Men like Brevrienne have no subtlety. A pity King William did not give Oxbury to someone deserving of it, instead of a common knight.”

This remark surprised Edeva so much, she could not help asking, “A common knight? What do you mean?”

The priest tsked again. “Jobert Brevrienne is a nobody, a younger son who cannot claim even an acre of land in Normandy. If not for King William’s absurd generosity toward the knights who fought at Hastings, Brevrienne would be no more than a paid soldier to this day.”

“He seems well educated and honorable,” Edeva said. The priest’s criticisms of Brevrienne set her on edge. “His manners are quite pleasing.”

The priest scowled at her. “Don’t be a fool. I can see you are from a family of wealth and nobility. Don’t waste yourself on a man like Brevrienne.”

The priest’s words startled Edeva. She was on the verge of asking him what he thought she should do about her circumstances when there was a creaking sound.

They both turned and saw Brevrienne standing in the doorway, his tall frame filling the entrance.

Edeva’s cheeks felt hot. Despite the fact that the priest was the one who spoke disloyally, she was unsettled by the Norman’s sudden appearance. Would he think she plotted with the priest?

“Have you shown Father Reibald where he will sleep?” Brevrienne asked.

“Nay, I did not have a chance yet,” Edeva answered.

“I will do it,” Brevrienne said. “Beornflaed is looking for you.”

Edeva hurried to the door. As the entryway was narrow, Brevrienne had to move aside so she could get by. Their arms brushed as Edeva passed him. A familiar aching warmth rose in her loins, and she was halfway to the manor hall before she could gain control over her nerves once again.

* * *

“A beauty, isn’t she?” Father Reibald said as Edeva left. Jobert nodded. His flesh still hummed with the thrill of having been so near to her.

“For a Saxon, that is,” the priest added. “A handsome people, but treacherous and cunning. I vow the king will have his hands full subduing them.”

Jobert regarded the priest warily. Had Edeva said something to the cleric to make him suspect her of deceit?.

Father Reibald cleared his throat. “From what I gather, Brevrienne, you have been a most generous conqueror, yet the Saxons still plot your overthrow. Does that not anger you?”

“In what way do you think they plot against me?”

“All of Oxbury knows the kitchen fire was set deliberately. Most commanders would be determined to wipe out all trace of resistance. They would not let such a thing go unpunished.”

Jobert poked the toe of his boot into the pool of, hot wax collecting beneath one of the candles by the rail. “How am I to know for certes who is to blame? Do you think I should make all the Saxons suffer for the actions of a few?”

“Some would say ’tis your duty to impose your will upon these lands, no matter how distasteful you find the responsibility. King William is not known for his lenience, and he might not understand your squeamishness in carrying out his laws.”

Jobert struggled to keep his temper under control. The priest seemed to be deliberately baiting him, although why, he did not know. He kept his voice smooth as he asked, “And have you seen William recently then, Father? Is that why you imagine yourself so intimately acquainted with his wishes?”

The priest shifted, like a hawk whose feathers have been ruffled. “I have not had the honor of being in King William’s presence since the coronation. I merely repeat what I have heard upon the lips of so many of his trusted commanders. They all speak of the dishonor and perfidy of the English.”

“I have not found the Saxons to be particularly untrustworthy,” Jobert said “There is a group of rebels in the woods who would do anything to rout me from Oxbury. But the rest of the people—I am confident they will eventually come to accept me as their lord.”

The priest shrugged. “You must do as you see fit, Brevrienne. Although I pray your faith in the English is not misplaced. As I understand it, you and a party of your men are being called up to do battle against Saxons in the north. I hope nothing disastrous befalls the manor in your absence.”

Jobert’s jaw clenched. The priest’s warning echoed his own worries. What a wretched time for the king to call him into service. Only a few more weeks, and he would be much more confident of his hold upon Oxbury, as well as where things stood between him and Edeva. Which reminded him.

“I have a task for you already, Father,” he said. “I want you to write out a missive to the king. I am petitioning him for the right to wed Lady Edeva. I would have my hold upon Oxbury strengthened by the holy bonds of matrimony.”

* * *

“Tomorrow I leave Oxbury with a force of soldiers to join another lord in fighting Saxon rebels on his lands.”

Jobert watched Edeva carefully as he made his announcement. They were alone in the bedchamber. He had asked her to meet him there as it afforded the only real privacy in the manor.

Something flickered in her eyes. Surprise? Satisfaction? “How long will you be gone?”

“I owe the king service for a month, longer if the need is dire.”

She nodded. “Who will you leave in charge here?”

“Sir Alan.”

This time there was no mistaking her expression of displeasure. Either she disliked Alan or she guessed he would prove a formidable opponent if the rebels decided to attack.

She raised her eyes to his. “How many men go with you?”

A shaft of disappointment went through Jobert. Her question could only mean she sought to assess how well the manor would be guarded in his absence. “I take only ten men, and leave a garrison here of forty knights.”

She nodded again, her manner stiff and formal. Hard to imagine they had once indulged in passionate, uninhibited lovemaking..

Unthinkingly, he looked toward the bed. When he glanced back at her, he saw her cheeks had flushed. She, too, remembered.

He cleared his throat. “You have done well in overseeing the servants and workmen. I hope you will continue in my absence.”

“Of course, my lord.” Her voice sounded strained, almost melancholy. Was it possible she would miss him? Mayhaps that afternoon meant something to her after all. For certes, he could not forget it. His mouth went dry merely at the memory, and his shaft grew hard.

He looked again at the bed, considering. Four long sennights he would endure a grim soldier’s existence, sleeping on the hard ground with naught but a bedroll for comfort. Why should he not avail himself of this woman’s bounteous pleasures before he left?

His breathing quickened at the thought of her spread out beneath him, all spun-gold hair and skin of rose and cream. And all that glory awaited him a mere arm’s length away.

Edeva repressed a sigh. He was leaving. She’d once longed for this day, but now that it was here, she felt a sense of loss rather than triumph. The thought of being left alone with Fornay’s cold, knowing glances and Father Reibald’s sly innuendos made her feel sick inside.

And then there were her brothers. They would take Brevrienne’s departure as a clear signal to attack the manor. Could he not see that he was throwing her to the mercy of the wolves who circled Oxbury?

She wanted to argue that he should not go, but she knew he would not heed her. Mayhaps this was a test, a trap devised to discover where her loyalties lay. If the Norman returned to find Oxbury lost, she had no doubt he would seek vengeance.

But at this moment, vengeance seemed the last thing on his mind. The green of his eyes had deepened, becoming the shade of foliage in the depths of the forest. His nostrils flared, like a hungry man scenting a banquet.

Waves of longing echoed inside her. If he reached for her, she would not resist.

A knock sounded at the door. “Brevrienne, my lord. Sir Iovin requests your presence below.”

The Norman grimaced in acknowledgment, and Edeva felt the mood shatter.

Brevrienne went to the door. As he opened it, Edeva caught a glimpse of Fornay on the stairs. A slight smile lit his dark, handsome features.

A stool lay in her pathway as Edeva crossed the bedchamber. She gave it a kick. Damn Fornay, if it were not for him, she might have had another chance with Brevrienne.

But the stupid knight had deliberately interrupted them. If ever she had an opportunity to repay him, she would do so.

She jerked off her gunna, took her comb and began to unsnarl her hair.

“M
ilady, I would have a word with you.” Golde spoke softly as she leaned close to fill Edeva’s cup with ale at the evening meal.

Edeva stiffened with irritation. She could not bear the thought that Brevrienne had bedded this smug-faced servant woman. That he had left the day before without even returning to the bedchamber to say goodbye made her mood even fouler. “Speak, then,” she answered harshly.

A slight smile played over Golde’s face. “I don’t think this is the place to give you a message from Beornwold.”

Edeva’s annoyance turned instantly to anxiety. “Where?” she asked the servant.

“Follow me while I get more pottage,” Golde suggested.

Edeva got up slowly and went to the main hearth, which was being used as a cooking fire until the kitchen could be repaired. Golde leaned over and stirred the kettle of beans and peas simmering over the fire. “Beornwold says he must speak with you. Find some excuse to go to the village. He will meet you there.”

“Does Beornwold not know I am watched?” Edeva hissed.

“He knows of your situation. But he believes you are clever enough to dupe the Normans. Are you, Edeva?” Golde’s amber eyes glinted. “Mayhaps you need some advice on dealing with men. I vow I could arrange the matter easily, if I were in your place.”

Edeva’s fingers twitched to slap the woman’s arrogant face, but she restrained herself. This was neither the time nor place to display her jealousy.

“Tell Beornwold that I will try to meet him, but he must give me time to arrange it.”

“Do not delay long. You know how impatient your brother is. He said to tell you that if you ignore this summons, I am to go to Sir Alan and reveal you have been working with the rebels all along.” Golde cocked her head toward Fornay, who sat at the far end of the high table. “I’m certain he would be delighted to believe the worst of you.”

Edeva’s blood was boiling. Bad enough that she must endure Golde’s gloating. She would not tolerate the slut threatening her! She forced a confident smile to her lips. “You overestimate your power, wench. Fornay may command the garrison, but he would not be so stupid as to take action until his leader returns.”

“Think you that he would not have you flogged for fear of Brevrienne’s wrath? Poor Edeva, what a miserable judge of men you are.” Golde spoke in a low, almost purring voice. “That knight hates you. He would love to see you endure some painful, humiliating punishment.”

A shiver passed down Edeva’s spine as she realized the truth in Golde’s words. Unlike Brevrienne, whose actions were tempered by his feelings for her, Fornay would not restrain his fury if she were revealed as a spy. She doubted he would risk having her put to death, but he might do as Golde said and have her whipped. The thought of it horrified Edeva, not so much for dread of the pain, but the disgrace. How would she ever hold up her head among her people if they saw her so brutally humbled?

Golde moved away, her expression smug. Edeva watched her go to Fornay and fill his bowl with soup. Golde leaned close so that one of her honey-colored braids fell against the knight’s shoulder. Fornay looked up and gave Golde a look that was condemning but also lustful.

An idea came to Edeva. Like any man, Fornay was prey to weaknesses of the flesh. If she could find some woman capable of enticing him, she would have a weapon to balance his mistrust of her.

But the dark-visaged Norman seemed immune to the fairer sex. Edeva had never seen him daily with the serving women, nor did he respond to the few, like Golde, who openly tried to seduce him.

A pity. She needed some sort of leverage over Brevrienne’s captain.

Edeva glanced again at Golde, now using her charms on poor, tongue-tied Osbert. Though she dreaded doing so, Edeva realized she had no choice but to obey her brother’s summons. She could not risk Golde carrying tales to Fornay.

In truth, she had a real reason to go to the village. Wulfget had not improved, and it was time to see if the healer had any advice on how to help the injured woman.

She crossed to where Fornay sat. “Sir Alan,” she said, trying to train her voice to submissiveness, “do you recall the young woman who was injured in the fire? Not the one who was burned, but the other, who breathed in the smoke?”

Fornay nodded, his face wary.

“She grows worse, and I know not what to do for her. I would like to take her to the healer in the village.” “Why cannot the healer come here?”

“Old Helwenna suffers from a disease that twists her joints and made them ache. She cannot walk without great pain.”

“So, you contrive that we should take the wounded woman there?”

Edeva nodded. “You may accompany us yourself if you fear trickery.”

Fornay’s dark eyes pierced her. Edeva endured his gaze, confident he could find no deception in her face. Wulfget’s need was real. He would realize that when he saw the young woman.

Wulfget lay on a pallet piled with blankets. She tried to raise her head as Edeva and Fornay approached.

“Nay, do not bestir yourself,” Edeva said. “We’ve come to help you.”

Wulfget’s huge iris-blue eyes rested on Fornay. Then she looked at Edeva, her expression full of fear. “The Norman,” she whispered. “What does he here?”

“He means to help you. He’s going to escort us into the village to see the healer.”

Edeva’s words did not seem to ease Wulfget. Her already milk-white skin grew paler still. Her stunning eyes widened.

Edeva shot a quick glance at Fornay. “She fears you,” she told him. “She sees you as one of the monsters who have hurt so many of her people.”

“I would never hurt such a delicate flower,” he said, his expression troubled. “Tell her that.”

Edeva gave the Norman a sharp look. Delicate flower? Mayhaps Fornay liked his women fragile and needy.

She turned her attention back to the wounded woman. “Wulfget, you know you can trust me. I would not have brought the Norman here if I thought he meant you harm. You must not fear him.”

The young woman gazed at Fornay a moment, then lay back with a sigh.

“I will carry her,” Fornay said. “’Tis clear she cannot walk.”

“Nay, she has not the strength for that. But we could arrange a litter.”

Fornay shook his head. “I will carry her. She will be more comfortable that way.”

He leaned over the bed and prepared to pick up Wulfget. Edeva tensed, wondering if the young woman would anger him by pulling away.

She need not have worried. Wulfget lay passive and still while the knight lifted her. As he straightened, she reached a slender arm around his neck and pressed her face to his chest.

“She scarce weighs anything,” Fornay said. “Her bones are like those of a bird.”

“She has not eaten well since the injury,” Edeva said as they left the hall. “And she was never very robust.”

“Are you certain she is a Saxon? I’ve seen no other women here who look like her.”

“She may have Danish blood,” Edeva allowed. “But she has lived at Oxbury all her life, and her parents look the same as any of the villeins.”

“Is she a virgin?”

Fornay’s question startled Edeva, then she grew angry. “Wulfget was raised as a modest, virtuous girl,” she snapped. “Unless one of your men has raped her, she is a maiden still.”

“One such as her could not endure a crude deflowering and keep her wits intact,” Fornay mused. “I believe she remains untouched.”

At the gate, Edeva said, “Are you not going to take an escort?”

Fornay adjusted his burden. “Do you think it necessary? Are your countrymen going to attack us?”

Edeva gritted her teeth. This man was impossible! “I know naught of their plans, but it seems a reasonable precaution. Brevrienne always took a guard when he left the palisade.”

“And how do I know your plan is not to lure a group of Normans outside where we will make easy targets?”

“Jesu, do you think me so heartless as to involve her in an ambush?” Edeva asked bitterly, gesturing toward Wulfget. “Even the best shot among our archers would be hard put to hit you without risking her life as well.”

“I think the rebels care little for the life of one small Saxon maid,” he retorted. “I believe they might well consider her a worthy sacrifice if they met their goal of killing me. Did they think of her welfare when they set the fire?”

Edeva felt a weight settle on her shoulders at his words. Wulfget had already been injured because of her brothers’ ruthlessness. They might indeed think her life inconsequential in the scheme of their plans. “Take an escort or no,” she told the knight. “I merely give you the benefit of my advice.”

Fornay stared at her, as if trying to read her thoughts. Finally, he said, “Very well, we take an escort. Payne!” he called up to the guardhouse. “Find another man to watch the gate. You and Warmund will come with us to the village.”

Helwenna’s healing skills had made her an object of awe and trepidation to the rest of villagers. For that reason, she lived some distance beyond the main group of dwellings. Edeva watched the Norman knight’s eyes narrow in distaste at the sight of the shabby hut.

“Helwenna has no one to care for her, and her health is too poor for her to do many things,” she said. “Do not judge her harshly. She is Wulfget’s best hope for recovery.”

The knight glanced at the woman in his arms and tenderly shifted her weight.

Edeva bent down and led the way into the hovel. The smell almost made her gag. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the noxious haze and she was able to see the healer, propped up on a pallet in the corner. She was a huge woman, plump as a stoat. Tufts of thinning hair stuck up from her large, round head, and her dark eyes missed nothing.

“Helwenna,” Edeva said. “’Tis Edeva, Leowine’s daughter. I’ve brought someone who needs your aid.”

The woman sat up awkwardly. “My, you’ve grown into a pretty one,” she said. In the murk, Edeva caught the gleam of Helwenna’s crafty gaze. “What will you pay me? Have you any gold? Helwenna likes gold. Lots and lots of gold.” The healer dissolved into cackling laughter.

“She’s mad,” Fornay whispered from behind Edeva.

“Nay, she has her wits as much as you or I. Have you any coin with you?” she added urgently. “I forgot she would insist on payment.”

“She wants money? I carry none. Certainly she must do healing for barter. These villagers could not afford her services otherwise.”

“She accepts food and firewood from them, but she knows I can pay more.” Edeva gave a sigh of aggravation. “I should have thought of this. I have nothing with me... wait... the clasp of my belt.” She undid the woven girdle and removed the silver clasp, then retied the belt. Bending down, she handed the clasp to the healer.

The woman turned it over in her gnarled hand, and then bit it. Giving a satisfied grunt, she said, “Bring the hurt one here.”

“She wishes you to bring Wulfget closer so she may examine her,” Edeva translated. “Lay her down on the pallet next to the healer.”

Reluctantly, Fornay did as she bid him.

“Don’t leave me!” Wulfget gave a piteous cry.

“I don’t like this,” the knight said. “She’s obviously frightened.”

“Then, stay with her.”

He knelt down beside the pallet.

“You,” Helwenna pointed to Edeva. “Leave us now.”

Edeva gave the healer a startled look, and then realized that Helwenna, like the rest of the villagers, must know of the plan for her to meet Beornwold.

She went outside and looked around for the Norman escort. When she did not see them, she grew uneasy.

Moving stealthily behind the healer’s hut, Edeva entered the underbrush, then paused and listened. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. Had their escort already been captured or killed?

“So nice of you to come, little sister.” She whirled to see Beornwold’s grim countenance. “Where are the Normans?” she demanded.

“Foolish bastards, our archers could have easily picked them off ere they even reached the village.”

“What have you done?” Edeva asked in panic.

Beornwold narrowed his eyes, then said, “Nay, we did not kill them. I had some of the village women invite them into their huts. Lustful swine. They value their randy loins more than their lives.”

Edeva breathed a sigh of relief, and Beornwold’s lips curled. “Do you love all Normans so much then? Not merely the one whose bed you share? Or do you service all of them?”

Hot anger surged through Edeva. She reached out to slap his face. He caught her hand before she could land the blow. “Little vixen,” he hissed. “I told Alnoth and Godric that we could no longer trust you.”

Edeva pulled away, shaken. Once again, she had tried to attack her own kin.

“At the very least, you can provide us with some information. We saw ten Normans leave the palisade. How many are left?”

“Forty, not counting squires and servants.”

He nodded. “And how long does the red-haired whoreson and the others stay away?”

“He said they would be gone four sennights.”

“That long?” Beornwold looked thoughtful.

“What are you planning?”

“Would you not like to know?” he jeered. “You’d probably betray us as you did last time.”

“I did not betray you!”

Beornwold grabbed her arm. “Godric told you to bring the Norman commander to us. Instead, you warned him to leave the palisade.”

“But I did not tell him of your plans. I did not!”

“It does not matter.” He gave her a shake. “Clearly you have chosen a Norman over your own kin.”

“Stop, you’re hurting me!” She tried to pull away. Beornwold drew her close and whispered in her ear, “Does he have you dress yourself up in fine gowns and act as mistress of his household? Does he allow you your comforts, even as we freeze and go hungry in the woods?”

Edeva shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I will not betray you,” she whispered, “but I cannot help you, either. Even with the Norman commander gone, there are not enough of you to take Oxbury. Your cause is hopeless.”

“What do you suggest we do? Resign ourselves to being serfs and slaves to the Normans, as you have?”

Edeva longed to answer ‘aye,’ to argue that the rebels must surrender sooner or later. If it were Godric or Alnoth she spoke to, she might have dared it, but she deemed it too risky with Beornwold. If he struck her, she would have to explain the bruise to Fornay.