The Wagered Wench (15 page)

The Norman, on the other hand, was quiet, full of cunning and never let her read his thoughts. Him, she knew somehow, she could never change. Would she want to?

If only she knew which of those men to trust and which of them cared about her the most.

* * * *

The woman Aelin had begun to make a pest of herself. He did not remember her face at first, but she soon made certain to remind him of their few encounters a year ago. She had been a camp follower, a laundrywoman, and he’d made use, back then, of her talents because she was available and willing. Apparently she thought the same rules still applied.

Dominic carried a stone across the dug dirt and she followed. He chose not to answer her question, because he still didn’t know the answer himself. He knew only that Elsinora did please him far more than he’d expected when he married her. He liked looking at her, sitting beside her, laying with her. And he didn’t want her upset, no matter how intriguing it was to see her show a little jealousy.

“We could go down into the bay,” Aelin persisted. “Or anywhere you choose.”

He shook his head, sweat from the blistering sun trickling down his forehead. “I’m busy.”

At that moment there was a shout and Alf the steward came running over the hill toward them. “The Godwin brothers are fighting again over that fence. Come quick and settle it for they pay no mind to me, and Tom Godwin has an axe in hand this time.”

Under the summer heat, tempers had a habit of flaring, and it seemed the Godwin brothers used any excuse to pick a fight with one another. This was simply a less enjoyable part of his new duties—settling disputes between the locals, making judgments he would rather not. Wiping his hands on his breeches, he straightened up. “Where’s Gudderth?”

“Abed again, sire. He was not feeling well.”

Sighing heftily, Dominic made his way down the slope, arms swinging, Alf close on his heels. A thick swathe of clover, trampled under his boots, emitted an angry bee that buzzed around his shoulders until he swatted it away.

“The Lady Elsinora is there, sire,” Alf offered, his tone apologetic. “She tries to help, but the Godwins won’t listen to her either.”

He stopped, thought for a moment, and then walked on with a quicker pace.

* * * *

She was almost hoarse from shouting by the time Dominic appeared with Alf. Tom Godwin was swinging his axe, cursing and spitting, while his brother Eric perched on the disputed fence, his arms folded, his grizzled face moving only to shout insults at anyone who drew near. It was a new fence. Tom claimed it was put up at night, while he slept, and that it encroached several new inches on his side of the property line. Eric insisted he measured the space and it was the same as before. Neither old man would listen to Elsinora, of course, but she felt she had to try in any case.

Then came the Norman, striding into view, bare-chested, hands on his hips, bronzed by the long hours he spent working under the sun.

She stepped back, ready to be ensured again that this was no place for her. But suddenly, even before Tom Godwin had finished retelling his complaint, her husband looked over at her and demanded, “What say you, Lady Elzinora? Which man is in the right here?”

Was it a trick, she wondered? Would he wait for her to speak and then tell her she was wrong? She licked her dry lips and finally said, “This land was left to them both by their father. They should learn to share it. There should be no fence at all if they cannot agree on where to put it.”

They all stared at her, perplexed, annoyed. Tom Godwin opened his wide mouth to argue, but Dominic stepped forward and snatched away his axe. With two stout swings he had shattered the wooden poles holding the fence in place and sent Eric tumbling backward into the dirt.

“There,” he muttered, breathing hard, holding the axe out for his wife. “‘Tis done once and for all. The Lady Elzinora has spoken and her word will be the rule in this matter. No fences.”

Eric scrambled to his feet. “But—”

“No fences. What belongs to one brother, also belongs to the other. Tend this land between you and it will flourish far better than it will while you fight over it, wasting time building fences. Learn to share.” Then he glanced back at his wife just once and his eyes smiled shyly. “We all must learn to share what the gods have given us.”

She felt her heart give one weak pulse and then stop.

He went back to his work, leaving them to pick up the broken planks. No one dared argue with him. Not with the strong, quietly determined man handpicked by their beloved Eaorl to take over the management of Lyndower. Nor would they argue with Elsinora while she had that axe in her hands. For once, Elsinora’s judgment had teeth. Someone had actually backed her up and put power in her hands. She felt ten feet tall.

Now why on earth did he have to go and do a thing like that? Her heart resumed a reckless beat to make up for lost time.

He must have some ulterior motive, she decided. Men weren’t kind unless they wanted something. It was a well known fact. But she smiled as she merrily swung the axe over her shoulder and saw the fearful expression on Tom Godwin’s face.

Chapter Twelve

Just a few days later the messenger came from Count Robert Mortain. To everyone’s extreme surprise, he left the long-awaited decision in Elsinora’s hands. She could barely believe her ears, as the herald read the Count’s words to them at supper. He decreed that Elsinora Gudderthsdottir should choose the man she wanted and whichever man lost would immediately give up his claim.

While everyone silently absorbed this stunning development, Elsinora leapt to her feet and embraced the herald. “I think it is an excellent idea,” she exclaimed. “We are neighbors, adults, and should settle this cordially, without Count Robert’s intervention.”

The people of Lyndower, she knew, would be doubtful of her ability to make a good choice. But she’d show them. Fully expecting complaints from her husband, a refusal to play along, she was astonished when he merely looked at her, his scarred face mutely disapproving, and then quickly took himself back up the hill to work on the stone walls. Stryker was more demonstrative and less productive when he heard the news, stupidly ripping up several wooden fences, so she heard, until all the pigs on his property were running free and had to be caught.

But the men must abide by the Count’s ruling. For once Elsinora’s fate was in her own hands.

With her father, Alf and Bertha’s help she assembled a number of tasks the two men must complete to prove themselves strong, capable, and worthy of being her husband. A day was chosen for the competition, everything readied. Even her father felt well enough to sit out under a hastily erected canopy so he could watch the sport at her side.

“Who is your favorite to win?” he asked Elsinora.

“I have no favorites, papa,” she replied firmly, before biting into a juicy apple.

She’d just seen Dominic glance over at her as he removed his tunic and stood bare-chested, flexing his muscles, ready for the first test. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t trying to sway her decision already. Stryker, seeing the look pass between them, removed his own tunic likewise and sighs of appreciation fluttered upward from the watching crowd.

Elsinora rolled her eyes. “Get on with it,” she called out.

For the first test the men each had to carry a yoke with two buckets of water and walk a narrow wooden beam placed on trestles, from one end to the other. The man who had spilled the least water once he safely reached the other end would win a point.

“Balance,” Bertha had said. “Balance and caution will serve Lyndower well.”

Stryker rushed with his usual bull-headedness, twisted his ankle and spilled almost all his water. Dominic went slower and lost none over the rim, but somehow his buckets sprung a leak, a thin trail of water pouring out onto the ground. He set his buckets down before her with an angry gleam in his eyes, but he did not accuse anyone of sabotage. Elsinora bit into her apple again and chewed calmly.

The next test was to mend the broken strut of a wheel, build a fire, and clean out a stall in the stables with the most speed and efficiency. These were tasks set by Alf, who believed that a readiness and capability to perform humble tasks made a good leader of men.

Sadly for Dominic, his hammer fell apart, his saw was blunted with rust and his wood kindling too damp to spark fire. When he tried mucking out the horse stall, and the head of his shovel fell off with a clang, he looked over at Elsinora again, his face livid. Still he made no cry of foul.

The final test was a race, with each man running across the field to a horse, riding to the bay, swimming out to the rocky fingers to retrieve a flag and then coming back on his horse to present the flag to Elsinora. All along the route men were posted to ensure fair play. Some of the spectators ran along to watch the progress, but Elsinora stayed with her father under the canopy and moved from apples to pears and then plums. She was beginning to feel slightly sick by the time they heard the shouts of people returning and then saw the cloud of dust kicked up by hooves.

“It is Dominic,” said her father, quite certain.

But it was not. Stryker’s grey horse came into view and he waved the flag over his head, laughing.

Plum juice dripped down her chin and she wiped it on her sleeve. What the Devil had happened to Dominic? Like her father, she’d been certain he would win. His dark horse came over the hill behind Stryker’s, but it was too late. Another victory to Bloodaxe. The Norman’s flag, apparently, had been seen floating out to sea, not secured to the rock as it was supposed to be. He’d still swum out to retrieve it, but of course this delayed his return.

“There you are, Elsie,” Stryker bellowed, flinging the wet flag at her feet as Dominic cantered across the yard. “Now you see I am the best man for Lyndower. I win.”

But Elsinora’s stomach was twisting in knots from all the fruit she’d nervously consumed and she could only make a low groan of pain, one hand to her belly.

Dominic swung down from his horse and hurried to her, his breeches soaked, his dark curls wet to his brow. “What is it? You’re ill!”

“Stop making a fuss!” She stood quickly, her only thought being to get to the privy in time. “Go. Enjoy the feast Bertha has prepared. You must be hungry.”

“Aye!” Her father cried. “Let us toast to the fine competitors. Bring out the ale!”

While Dominic looked at her oddly, and Stryker appealed to the crowd for their congratulations, she scurried across the yard, suddenly on a race of her own.

* * * *

Later, feeling some relief, she joined the feast and saw her two suitors sitting together, talking as if there was never any animosity between them.

“Yes,” she muttered peevishly, staring at the two men who did battle for her and now sat down to enjoy their supper. While she was sick, unable to eat or drink, too worried about the fate of Lyndower.

“But all your tests today, my lady, were to see which man might be the best master of the manor,” said the woman at her side. “Where was the test to see who would be a better husband? Should you not have one of those too?”

Elsinora stared at Aelin. “That is what the competition was about,” she snapped curtly.

“Aye. But those were not tests I’d set for a husband. What do I care if he can mend a wheel and build a fire? He’ll have other men to do that.” The other woman chuckled and winked. ‘Tis
my
fire he must tend.”

Elsinora watched her walk away, swaying through the crowd with the wine jug.

As much as she wanted to ignore Aelin, there was truth to the hussy’s words. She wasn’t simply choosing the next master of Lyndower was she?

And she wasn’t ready to give up on Dominic. Someone, evidently, had set out to sabotage his efforts that day. He probably thought it was her, but it wasn’t. She’d meant for the competition to be fair. Elsinora knew she had to give him another chance.

After some thought she sent a messenger to bring the two men outside and she waited for them, pacing, arms folded.

The sun was setting over the distant hill, turning the Norman’s unfinished wall into a dark formless lump. The air was still warm and sticky sweet, heavy scents drifting languidly over from the orchard and stirred into a pottage with fragrance from Bertha’s herb garden. Add a little peck of sea salt from over the cliffs and this was the very unique air of Lyndower. Elsinora took a great greedy breath of it all, filling her lungs with the same air she’d fed upon for nineteen summers like these. Nineteen years of waiting to be noticed, taken seriously, loved for herself.

The two men approached her and the dying sun dripped gold upon their broad shoulders. She was a lucky woman to have two fine men vying for her, she thought, fully appreciating her good fortune for the first time that evening.

“Are you ready to accept me as your husband?” Stryker demanded, hands on his hips.

“Not yet. I have one final test for you both.”

They looked at one another and then at her again, waiting. She felt their impatience across the small distance and it made the tiny hairs on her arms stand to attention.