Margo Maguire (17 page)

’Twas not what he wanted for Kate.

Kathryn could not return to sleep, not when Edric had left her so abruptly, and without the kind of lingering kiss he’d given her with each of his prior departures. He was angry, and rightly so. Who was she to dictate how their affair was to be conducted? Edric was lord of the estate and she should not have protested his presence in her bed or asked that he keep their liaison secret. She’d
given her virtue to him and had no right to care that the world knew she was his lover.

She fed Aidan, then dressed and went in search of Edric. He was not in his own bedchamber or in his brother’s, but Bryce was awake and welcomed her to visit.

“I cannot stay,” she said. “I am looking for your brother.”

“Why? What is amiss?”

She shook her head, barely noticing that his face had also been shaved of its beard. “Naught. I just…I wish to speak with him.”

“Find him later. Come close. Let me see my nephew.” He gave a cursory glance at the bairn, but leveled most of his attention on her, his scrutiny making her feel enormously uncomfortable. “There is a different look about you, Kate of Rushton,” he said. “Braxton Fell agrees with you.”

Even though she was certain that he could not possibly know of her intimate association with his brother, she blushed at his words.

“I must take my leave now, Lord Bryce. Mayhap we will visit later.”

She left Bryce and looked for Edric in the keep, but did not find him. Thinking he might be with his men on the practice field, she went for the door, but was stopped by Oswin, who barred her way.

“Prepare to leave Braxton Fell within the hour,”
he said. “I have a company of men who will escort you to Evesham Bridge.”

His words hit her like a cold fist. “What of Aidan?” she queried. “Who will—”

“There is a woman in the village whose bairn died in the night. She will have the care of him now.”

As she swallowed back her sudden tears, she reflected that Edric was not the kind of man to use an intermediary to terminate their affair. But surely Oswin had not taken it upon himself to send her away. Edric must have ordered the arrangements to be made.

E
dric climbed the steps to the keep and pushed open the door where he saw Kate and Oswin deep in discussion.

“’Tis no longer your concern,” Oswin was saying. “We will make do. Now go. Gather—”

The steward stopped abruptly and drew himself up to his full height when he saw Edric.

“Kate?”

“Good morn, my lord.”

Her voice was different, a bit breathless, Edric thought. He looked at Oswin, who crossed his arms over his chest but said naught.

“All is well?”

“Of course.”

“Then come with me.” Together they walked away from Oswin and climbed the stairs. When they were out of sight, he leaned over and kissed her.

She put her hand upon his forearm, her mind reeling with regret for having sent him from her bed, and confusion over Oswin’s intentions. “Edric, I am sorry. I was wrong to tell you to keep our—”

“Kate. You were not wrong. And I will respect your wishes on the matter.” He’d met a number of villagers on his return to the keep, and they’d spoken so highly of Kate, he could hardly believe they referred to the same young woman they’d scorned on her arrival at Braxton Fell.

“You will?” Her eyes filled with tears.

“Of course.” ’Twas bothersome how much her tears troubled him, but he would make sure that in future, she would have little reason to weep. Their bed play would keep her satisfied and happy.

“You do not wish to send me away?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But Oswin said I must—”

“Ignore him, Kate. ’Twill take some time before he lets go of his hatred for your people.”

She rose to her toes and kissed him. “Oh, Edric,
I…” Whatever she was about to say, she changed her mind and thanked him instead.

They entered the nursery where Kate collected Aidan’s milk and some fresh clothes for him, then wrapped her shawl about her. Edric enjoyed looking at her, observing the gentle care she gave his son and the way she sometimes fumbled self-consciously when she knew he was watching her. “Where are you going?”

“To the village. Elga’s friend Diera promised to show me how to sew.”

“I thought Bryce had taught you.” ’Twas a jest, intended to lighten the moment when he realized how deeply she’d ingrained herself into his community. ’Twas not every maiden who could boast of killing a Ferguson warrior, much less Robert himself.

Aidan grew as the days passed, and Edric spent the greater part of every night in Kate’s bed, always leaving before dawn. To his knowledge, only Bryce knew of their affair, though Lora might have suspected.

He ordered Oswin to stay away from her since there was naught to be gained by the steward’s association with her. Every now and then he wondered what Kate had been about to say the morning she’d thanked him for keeping news of their affair to themselves, but told himself it had been naught.

After more than a fortnight away, Drogan finally returned. Edric and Oswin met him in the courtyard and surveyed the wagons loaded with sacks of Scottish crops. While Oswin took his ledger and wrote his assessment of their plunder, Edric questioned Drogan.

“Ferguson’s women and children fled when they heard of Robert’s death, and we battled the rest of his clan for the territory and the goods.”

“Will they come back?”

Drogan shook his head. “I doubt it. Their lands and crops are ours. Many of our men wanted to return here to their families and their work. With your permission, we’ll take others back to Dunfergus and finish harvesting Ferguson’s crops from the fields.”

“Aye. ’Tis a good plan.”

“In the meantime, I left Cuthbert with fifty men to guard the place. If anyone challenges them, they will have an uphill battle to win.”

’Twas all news Edric had wanted to hear, but when Father Algar arrived and scowled at them, his optimism faded. Oswin’s news was even less welcome. “We need five times this much, my lord,” he said, sweeping one arm in the direction of the wagons. “I had hoped—”

“There will be more coming, I promise you,” said Drogan, but Oswin shook his head. Pressing
his lips together, he walked away, studying his column of numbers as he went. “He becomes more dour with every passing day, doesn’t he, my lord?”

Edric watched the tall, stoop-shouldered figure recede into the crowd of men in the courtyard. “Aye. Mayhap he tires of his occupation.” Oswin’s advice about the Fergusons had been wrong and his attitude toward Kate untenable. He’d known for a while it was time to seek another to serve as steward, but he’d been reluctant because of Oswin’s history with his family.

Drogan shrugged and looked expectantly toward the postern gate. Many of the women had come to welcome the fyrd home, but Lora was conspicuously absent.

“How does Bryce fare, my lord? Is Lora with—”

“He is out of bed these days,” Edric replied. “But Lora forbade him from coming out to greet you.”

“Ah. If you don’t mind, Lord Edric, I will take my leave of you.” He reached up to his saddle and removed a large, delicately tooled leather satchel.

“What have you there, Drogan?”

If Edric’s eyes did not deceive him, a familiar reddish hue rose from the burly huscarl’s neck to his cheeks. “’Tis a gift for Lora. I bartered for it with a tinker we met on the road. Touch this. Is it not the softest leather you’ve ever felt?”

Edric agreed. It was very fine and he hoped Lora
would take Drogan’s suit seriously. She would not find a better provider in all of Northumbria, and Drogan would never know a more good-humored wife. They were well suited to each other.

Kathryn set down her sewing when the men of the fyrd rode through the village. Excitedly, she and Diera went to the door of the cottage. “My husband will be with them!” the woman exclaimed, picking up her skirts to run after the wagons.

Kathryn knew her own excitement would be just as great had it been Edric returning after more than two weeks’ absence. She wondered how Lora would react to Drogan’s arrival. The healer had seemed quiet these past few days and Kathryn thought mayhap she was considering Elga’s advice. She might not care for Drogan the same way she’d loved Hrothgar, but she was clearly fond of the fair-haired huscarl, and mayhap he would give her the children she’d wanted.

Just as Edric would give Kathryn a bairn. ’Twas only a matter of time before she became pregnant, and she wondered what he would do with her when she grew large with his child. They would never be a true family, not without the benefit of marriage. Mayhap he would give her a cottage in the village, or on one of his other estates, to raise their child. Their bastard child.

She quickly turned away from the door and sat down with her sewing once again. It did her no good to try to guess what the future would bring. She had to be content with the present, caring for Aidan and learning the skills the women in the village were willing to teach her. One day she would likely need those skills.

Sometime later, Kathryn returned to the keep, careful to avoid Oswin and the priest. Both men remained hostile toward her, clearly believing she was not to be trusted. She did not know what more she could do to prove her worth than to kill the leader of their enemies. She shuddered at the memory of Robert Ferguson standing so close to Aidan’s cradle. She loved the bairn as if he were her own, just as she loved his sire.

But she would never tell Edric so. He had not spoken of any tender feelings for her, so she would not bare her vulnerable heart to him. Nor would she complain of Oswin’s treatment of her—she was not some whining female who saw naught amiss in criticizing the man who advised both Edric and his father before him.

Fortunately, the steward kept his distance, and Father Algar’s attendance in the keep had been limited to short visits with Bryce.

On her way back to the keep, Kathryn was diverted by the line of wagons in the courtyard. Each
was laden with produce or goods, and men were unloading them. Edric was among them, and when their eyes met, he beckoned her toward him.

He’d been careful with his attitude toward her in public, never touching her, but giving his attention wholly to Aidan. “Drogan has returned?” she asked.

“Aye. He’s gone in search of Lora.”

It must have been the first thing Drogan had done on his arrival home—to look for the woman he cared for—and Kathryn felt immeasurably touched by the deed. She hoped Lora would accept him this time.

After sharing supper with Oswin to discuss their assessment of the goods from Dunfergus, Edric left the hall and walked to the old keep. A lot of his parents’ belongings still remained in storage, and there was something of his mother’s that he wanted to find.

He lit a lamp and carried it to the chamber his parents had shared for all the years of their marriage. The bed hangings were gone, and he realized the curtains now hung ’round Kate’s bed. She’d made the nursery a warm and welcoming place, with colorful cloths and the toys of Edric’s youth.

He opened an old trunk and looked inside, but
did not find what he sought. The next trunk was more of the same, but the third belonged to his mother. In this he discovered what he was looking for, two heavy shell combs she’d worn in her hair.

Wrapping the combs in a cloth, Edric returned to the keep, aware that the gift Drogan had brought for Lora was what had inspired him to collect his mother’s combs for Kate. Women appreciated these tender gestures and he’d been remiss not to have thought of it before.

’Twas dark, and all was quiet in the keep when he returned, so he went up to the nursery. Kate sat beside the fire, looking into the flames. The nights were much cooler now, so she was fully dressed, with her shawl wrapped ’round her shoulders where her hair fell in loose, lush waves. As usual, Edric felt the urge to press his face to it while he listened to her softly accented words.

He took the combs from his pouch and opened the wrapping that enclosed them. “I brought these for you,” he said, taking a seat nearby. But she looked at the combs as if she had never seen such things before.

“Combs. For your hair.”

“You brought me a gift?” She lifted them from his hand and admired them with her gaze.

“They were my mother’s.”

“Oh, Edric, they are very fine.”

She looked up at him with an expression that was somehow beyond gratitude, and he realized she was making more of the gift than he’d intended. “’Tis naught, Kate. You have but a length of twine to hold back your hair. These will work better.”

He got up and added wood to the fire, causing it to flare, thinking mayhap he’d have been wiser to have left the combs in the old trunk.

“Thank you for this practical gift, then,” she said quietly, shuttering her expression. Reaching for her hair, she raised her arms and twisted up the long tresses, then inserted the combs, which held it artfully in place. She looked elegant…mayhap even regal…and every muscle in Edric’s belly clenched tight at the sight of her.

’Twas too much.

He headed for the door, reminding himself that she was little more to him than Felicia ever was—a good bed partner—as well as Aidan’s nursemaid. And it would not do for her to think it was anything more.

Edric’s sudden coldness confounded Kathryn. His gift had been thoughtful and a bit sweet. Yet he’d been put off by her gratitude. If she was not mistaken, that was exactly what had sent him from her chamber.

His attitude was not reasonable. And if he thought she was going to worry about his bad temper, or make herself available to his every whim, he would have to think again. She had no intention of waiting here in the nursery for her nasty-tempered lord to return. She banked the fire, then collected Aidan and left the chamber, going up the steps to seek respite in Berta’s chamber. The old woman enjoyed Kathryn’s visits, and she loved seeing Cecily’s child. Besides, ’twas the one place Edric would not go.

What man in his right mind wanted a mistress who did not know her place? Edric’s lover was a woman who did not want it known that he shared her bed, one who would barely speak to him in public. He muttered a curse and went down to the hall.

Sending one of the servants to fetch him a mug of ale, he took a seat in one of his father’s chairs, refusing to dwell upon Kate’s puzzled expression as he’d left her in the nursery. There were more important things to think of. And, by God, he was going to think of them now while he enjoyed a mug of his precious ale.

Drogan had brought good news about the Fergusons’ defeat. The Scots’ harvest would be a welcome addition to Braxton’s stores, though Oswin’s
assessment was likely correct—’twould not be enough.

Yet with Bryce’s health improving every day, and news of the crops, there should have been celebrations at Braxton. Father Algar should say Masses of thanks and minstrels should be performing in the streets.

In years past, ’twas the lady of Braxton Fell who brought about such festivities. It had been his mother’s way, but Cecily would never have seen to it. Edric knew from the depths of his soul that had she lived another fifty years, Cecily would never have adjusted to Saxon life. ’Twould have been a service to send her to Evesham Bridge.

He’d assumed Kate would be the same, but every day, he found something else different about his Norman mistress. She was no spoiled Norman maiden, not with her willingness to care for Aidan, and to mingle with the people of the village. She’d befriended Lora and Bryce, and he even had to credit her for the time she spent with Cecily’s old nurse. It could not be pleasant sitting with the old woman who could do naught but weep for Cecily.

He was sure Kate would have initiated prayers and celebrations had she been the lady of Braxton Fell.

As he mumbled another low curse over his inability to vanquish that Norman from his mind,
the main door of the hall opened, distracting Edric from his thoughts. He looked up to see Anson Miller and his son, Grendel, coming toward him. “My lord!”

“Aye, Miller.”

The man seemed agitated, and he spoke of his problem without delay. “The millstone is cracked, dislodged from its spindle.”

It took a moment for the miller’s words to penetrate Edric’s brain. “Cracked? How?” He’d never heard of such a thing. The same millstone had been used at Braxton Fell for as long as he could remember.