Margo Maguire (20 page)

“Oh, my lord, ’tis not—”

“Let him perform his fatherly duties, Kate,” said Bryce with a grin. “’Twill do him good.”

Aye, he was an attentive father, and Kathryn
could not help but think he would make a good husband…Yet marriage was something he’d vowed never to consider. Kathryn knew she was not the most comely of women and she often felt awkward and clumsy, especially beside Edric, who was fair and agile, and could have any woman he chose. Even Wulfgar’s Saxon daughter.

She thought he might care for her a little, for he was a gentle, thoughtful lover. Outside of bed, they spent long intervals discussing Edric’s hopes for his son, and his aspirations for his estate. Still, he’d never given her reason to believe he would take a wife again.

The men turned back to their discussion, a serious one, to judge by the expressions on their faces. She watched Edric surreptitiously, her blood heating at the sight of his comely features—the dent in his square chin, the small scar that split his dark brow, the lips that made her squirm with pleasure.

He made her feel beautiful, too, and for the first time in her life, she felt nearly as lovely—and as capable—as her sister.

Thinking of Isabel gave Kathryn a pang of guilt for deceiving her family as she’d done. No doubt they grieved for her…but her mother had been quite clear about the status of a woman who’d
been abducted by Scots. After all that had happened, Kathryn would not be welcome in her parents’ home.

Bryce’s words caught Kathryn’s attention as she walked with Aidan. “You say the Scots have burned their own fields?”

“Aye,” replied one of the men. “But not all. Under Cuthbert’s command, we routed the bastards. But we lost mayhap fifty hides of land to fire before we could vanquish them.”

Kathryn watched Edric rub a hand across the lower part of his face, as he often did when he was troubled. She clenched her teeth, aware that this news could mean only one thing. Unless she went to Kettwyck and asked her father for assistance, there would be starvation this winter at Braxton Fell.

Kate’s pacing distracted Edric. The sling in which Aidan rested was nearly the same blue as her gown, making her look as though she carried the bairn within her body, as if she were pregnant. With his child.

The notion was so distracting, he’d almost missed what Alfred said, and the man’s words, coupled with the disturbing image of Kate, inflamed him.
“Fifty hides of grain?”
he demanded.

The three warriors nodded. “But ’tis good news,
my lord. We were able to stop them before they could do any more damage.”

“Good news!”
he roared. He stood and scraped his fingers through his hair. “This news could not be much worse. Do you know how limited our stores are now? We needed the produce from those fields!”

“Aye, my lord. I only meant that it was fortunate we were able to salvage most of those fields.”

Alfred’s statement might be true, but Edric was angry. Their luck had been absolutely abysmal ever since the Normans had come. Mayhap Oswin was right and they should throw in their lot with Wulfgar and his men.

But what would that solve? With King William’s resources, Wulfgar’s thousands would hardly make a dent in the Normans’ shields.

In a tone rough with irritation, he called out to Caedmon, who stood near the door awaiting orders. “Seek out Oswin and tell him I have need of him in the hall. Make haste.”

Anger and frustration filled him. Their defeat of the Fergusons had brought hope, yet now they were nearly as destitute as before. At every turn, something went wrong. The place was cursed, just as Father Algar had said. Edric could not even take pleasure in looking at Kate, and knowing the intimate delights that awaited him in their bed
when he retired for the night. Was consorting with a Norman likely to cause him some future difficulties?

“Edric, come back to the table,” said Bryce.

He clenched his teeth and did so, aware that there was no purpose to his anger against the three warriors gathered here. They only brought the news, they were not responsible for it.

The men told of the attack they’d repelled, and their frantic struggles to contain the fires that had been set. Edric’s head began to pound and he only half listened, preoccupied with what they would do, how they would manage their shortfall. He wondered, too, if there was further threat to the Fergusons’ fields and to the men who’d been sent to harvest the crops and mill the grain. He should probably send more men to protect them, just as he’d posted guards to watch over their own storehouses.

The door of the keep flew open and Wulfgar entered with his daughter and at least a dozen of his men, each one carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle. A troupe of musicians followed them, and with much merriment, laughter, and song, the Saxons came inside and called greetings to Edric and the others.

Edric found their jovial manner offensive, especially in light of the recent news from Dunfergus.

“My lord, we come to share our bounty. We’ve learned of your shortages and have much to contribute. We bring you a Saxon feast, Lord Edric! Sup with us!”

Edric was incensed. The state of affairs at Braxton Fell was no business of Wulfgar’s, yet the man had the utter gall to turn up here—in Edric’s hall—with his meat and his ale, as if to demonstrate Braxton’s inferior circumstances. “You come uninvited and insult me in my hall? Oswin!” He called to the steward who’d come in with the Saxons. “Did I not tell you to rid us of this rebel?”

“My lord, we need Wulfgar and his—”

“You overstep your bounds, steward. Your orders were to escort these people to the gate. Their largesse is not welcome here.”

Wulfgar approached. “My lord, an alliance between us will be of great value to you. Even now, the Norman bastard-king is planning to go to war with King Malcolm of Scotland. The greatest Norman knights of the realm are traveling now to join William in the conflict. All his armies, all his ships…They will soon meet at the mouth of the river Tees to march to Scotland. ‘Tis our best chance to overthrow the usurper.”

“You talk treason, Wulfgar. I have pledged my sword to King William’s service. Do not presume to enter here and—”

He was interrupted by the sharp words of Father Algar, who’d entered the hall behind the crowd of Saxons, unnoticed with the confusion of Wulfgar’s people and his minstrels crowding about him.

“Where is she!” the priest shouted.
“Where is the Norman whore?”

K
athryn’s throat closed, making it difficult to catch her breath. Father Algar could only be speaking of
her.
Of Kathryn de St. Marie, daughter of Baron Henri Louvet, a Saxon’s whore.

They’d been so careful, yet someone in the keep must have noticed that she and Edric shared a bed.

“By God, clear the hall, Oswin!” Edric said. His voice was harsh and dangerous above the pandemonium in the hall. “Octa and Gildas! Run them out!”

Kathryn held Aidan tightly against her breast.
She made her way toward the stairs, hoping to make her escape before the priest set his eyes upon her and leveled his vitriol in her direction.

“An empty hall will change naught, Lord Edric!” Father Algar pointed a skinny finger at him. “Your sin does untold damage to us all. If you do not wed the wench—”

“God’s balls!” Edric roared. “I will not have some half-cocked cleric telling me—”

“Wed her!”

Edric slammed the palms of his hands on the table.
“I will not!”

Kathryn’s heart fell to her toes and tears filled her eyes. Edric’s vehemence cut her deeply. Hearing him say that he would not even consider taking her to wife was an injury she could not bear, and to do so before the Saxon rebel and his kin was too much.

She handed Aidan to Gwen and ran from the hall, making her way down the back passageway toward the door that would lead to the kitchen garden.

Yet she did not want to encounter anyone outside.

Stopping short, she let herself into the first chamber she came to. She closed the door behind her and backed up against it, fully giving in to her
tears. She wept for all she’d lost, and for the only thing she yearned for—Edric’s love.

’Twas hopeless. His marriage to Cecily had been a disaster, one he’d vowed never to repeat. She’d known it from the start of their affair, yet somewhere in the depths of her soul, she’d hoped he would change his mind.

Despondent, she sat down at the heavy oaken table. Pushing aside a thick, bound ledger and numerous leaves of parchment, Kathryn laid her head upon her arms. Her time with Edric was over, for she could not live openly as his leman. Her shame was greater here than it would ever have been at Kettwyck had she returned to her father’s estate after her abduction.

The Scots had not stolen her virtue…she’d given it to Edric willingly.

But now that she was confronted with her sin, she could not continue. Nor would she let anyone at Braxton Fell starve, not if her father could give some assistance.

She sat up and dried her eyes. ’Twas useless to weep over what was to come, for she’d known from the beginning that she could not stay at Braxton Fell. Once the hall was cleared, she would find Edric and tell him who she was, and how her father might help them.

Rising to her feet, she picked up the parchments she’d knocked to the floor. As she replaced them on the table, the seal at the bottom of the first one caught her eye. ’Twas the signature of King William.

Holding the document carefully, she took it to the wall sconce for better light. Surprised by its friendly tone, she wondered if she’d misconstrued all that had been said about King William’s directives. She looked at the next document in her hand and saw that it was from Baron Gui de Crispin, Cecily’s father. It, too, was overtly friendly, with no mention of his daughter’s death, but generous offers of assistance.

The letters made no sense. Surely she had not completely misunderstood what had been said about Baron Gui and King William. Why would they lie about…

It suddenly struck her. They had not lied.
“Mon Dieu,”
she murmured. Even Edric did not know the contents of these missives. The steward was the only one at Braxton Fell who could read and write. He had misled Edric intentionally.

But what would he gain by doing so? ’Twas his own people who suffered from their lack of provisions, and here was an honest offer from Baron Gui, to supply some of what was lacking. It made no sense at all.

Unless he intended to foment unrest in Edric’s estate. Or make Edric angry and resentful toward the Normans.

The door to the study opened and Kathryn shoved the letters behind her as Oswin entered. He closed the door tightly and approached her.

“So. You can read, Norman. What else did you neglect to tell Lord Edric?”

She held the documents out to him. “What did you hope to gain by your lies, Oswin?”

“My lies? You Normans lie. You do naught but take what is not yours.”

“What of these letters? They show the generosity of King William, and of Cecily’s father. I do not understand why you would want your own people to suffer, just to make Edric think that the king is an uncaring—”

“Because there was no other way to make him understand!”

“Understand what?”

“That Saxons must stand together. That your king and his ilk are naught but villains, come to steal our land and our young men!”

“You are deranged, Oswin,” she said as she tossed the letters to the table. “Are you the one who did damage to the mill?”

The steward’s eyes flickered with guilt.

“Edric must learn of your deceptions. ‘Tis not
fair that he go on worrying so. You must tell him what you’ve done.”

Kathryn started to walk past him, but he grabbed hold of her arm and shoved her back against the table. Before she could scramble away, he came and pinned her down. “You will not tell him!” His voice was but a harsh rasp as he held her against the hard wood, encircling her neck with one hand.

She struggled against him, trying to kick him where Edric had taught her, but he guarded himself well. She attempted to reach for her knife, but he anticipated that, too. He increased the pressure upon her neck, choking her until she could not breathe. She knew she was doomed. Her struggles soon diminished and her panic receded. At first, she saw tiny pinpoints of light behind her eyes. Then all went black.

Edric followed the Saxons out the door and all the way to the barracks. He was not going to be distracted from his purpose this time. Wulfgar and his companions must go, no matter what the weather.

With Octa, Gildas, and Alfred to back him up, he herded the Saxon troupe across the courtyard and into the barracks. Damp with the rain, Edric hardly felt the chill as he crossed his arms over
his chest and watched the interlopers gather their belongings.

“You are making a mistake Edric,” said Wulfgar angrily. “When we take Northumbria from the Norman bastard, you will find yourself without lands. You will be lucky to have a hovel to call your own.”

“I will take my chances, Wulfgar. Now, choose someone to collect the women and children you have scattered through my village and take your leave.”

Caedmon had followed along, so Edric sent him away to the stable to have the grooms saddle the Saxons’ horses and hitch their wagons. He would brook no delays in their departure, for he needed to find Kate. From his position at the opposite side of the hall, Edric had seen the color drain from her face at the priest’s words. She’d been hurt and upset, and rightly so.

Algar, that horse’s arse, had called her a whore and demanded that Edric wed her. Edric was not about to tolerate anyone insulting her in such a manner. As his mistress, she made his cock throb with arousal at the sight of her.

Yet it was more than that…Kate aroused his heart and mind with her gently spoken words and her tender care of Aidan. She spoke his language,
and had made it her business to befriend his people. She had hurt no one, but was kind and caring, yet she’d managed to kill his mortal enemy in spite of her near-paralyzing fear.

He knew of no other woman who stirred him as she did.

“Where is Drogan?” Edric asked Gildas, knowing he could trust his huscarl to oversee the eviction of the rebels while he went in search of Kate.

“I have not seen him, my lord.”

Edric muttered a curse. If ever Kate needed his comfort, ’twas now. He would not have her off somewhere alone, lamenting the insult to her virtue. He cared too much for her.

The realization struck him all at once. He could not fall asleep unless she was in his arms. He listened to the sound of her breathing when he awoke each morn, and looked forward all day to spending the evening hours and most of the night with her. He listened for the sound of her soft voice and the trill of her sweet laughter in the hall, and knew he cared more for her welfare than his own.

He loved her.

Jesu.

He
was the horse’s arse. He might have vowed never to marry again, but that was before Kate. She was his woman, for now and for always.

He looked ‘round for Oswin, but reminded himself the steward was not the man to trust with evicting the Saxons.

“Gildas, go and find Drogan. Octa, Alfred, we’ll stay with Wulfgar’s party and be sure that all of them go their way.”

Once again, Father Algar seemed to appear from nowhere, his white brows furrowed, his expression screwed into a hateful façade. Edric drew his sword, a hair breadth away from killing the man. “Call the banns, priest. And ask me no questions.”

“You must confess your—”

Edric raised his sword. “’Tis likely a sin to threaten a priest, but by God, I will cut you down if you say another word. I have decided to wed Kate of Rushton. The marriage will take place three weeks hence.”

“She is but a—”

Edric’s sword came down with a violent slash, but he stopped short of spearing the priest. The old man was suddenly prudent enough to hold his tongue.

“Never mind,” said Edric, his tone as threatening as his sword, and he knew ’twould be a long time before his temper cooled. “Get you gone from Braxton Fell. Go with Wulfgar and plague
him
while I find a priest who does not offend me so.”

“You will regret—”

“Not half as much as you will wish you had not insulted my betrothed.”

For once, the priest was silent. With his features twisted into an ugly mask of anger and frustration, he turned on his heel and removed himself from Edric’s presence, and Edric returned his attention to the grumbling Saxons. He knew he’d made an enemy of Wulfgar, but he could not afford to make him a friend. The Norman king was more powerful than Oswin or Wulfgar knew. Edric and Bryce had seen him on the battlefield. They had experience of the man’s personal power as well as knowledge of his determination.

Wulfgar and his ragged followers would have no chance against William, and Edric would not bring his people into war again, even if they had the resources for it.

The Saxons climbed onto their horses in the rain and took their wagons to the gate. Edric and his men mounted their own horses and escorted them, watching as their women and children joined their party, climbing into the wagons and covering themselves with tarpaulins to stay dry. “Ride with them until they are deep into the fells,” said Edric to his warriors, just as Gildas and Drogan appeared.

“My lord,” Drogan said, eyeing the scene before
him. It must have seemed odd, but he did not question what he saw. “I am at your service.”

“Gildas, go with them. Be certain no one remains behind, no one circles back. I want these vagrants far from Braxton Fell before they make camp.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Drogan, see that Algar leaves with them and make it known that he will never be welcome here again. Order ten additional men to follow this ragged troupe and assist them in setting up their camp,” Edric said, for ’twould be difficult to get settled in the rain and the dark, and he would not let the women and children suffer any more than was necessary.

Drogan did as he was bid while Edric watched the last of the Saxons leave through the gates. Then he headed back to the stable and left his horse with one of the grooms. ’Twas well past time to go after Kate.

Kathryn awoke slowly. Her sense of smell returned first, and she found herself surrounded by a sickeningly sweet aroma. She felt chilled to the bone, but when she opened her eyes, ’twas too dark even to see her hand in front of her eyes.

Her throat felt raw and bruised, and she remembered Oswin’s assault. Her panic returned
and she thought the steward must have buried her alive. But she could move somewhat freely. She rolled onto her hands and knees, and felt the cold, damp earth beneath her.

Where was she?

’Twas completely silent in her prison, no sounds to give her a clue to her location, but if she was still inside Edric’s keep, then this must be the cellar. Taking care not to collide with the casks that would be stacked nearby upon wooden frames, she crawled forward, meeting naught but an earthen wall.

She pushed herself up to her feet, but could not rise to her full height before hitting the ceiling. It felt the same as the floor and the wall, cold, and damp, the texture of clay.

This was not the same cellar she’d visited.

She returned to her crouch and moved along the perimeter of the chamber, finding its length several feet longer than her body, yet the ceiling was a good bit shorter than her height. She kept moving and discovered a long, wooden bar lying in the center of her dungeon and thought it was a handle of sorts. A moment later, she found the cold, hard steel of an ax blade, broken off its handle.

When she found no door and no window, her breathing became rapid and shallow, and her fear advanced toward panic. She tamped it down, fully
aware that it could make her situation worse. She did not know how Oswin had gotten her into this place, or even where it was…Mayhap she was not inside the keep. If that was so, Edric would never find her. Surely that was what Oswin intended.

Her tears started to fall when she thought of Edric and the last words she’d heard him speak: a curse, and then his vow to remain unwed. He did not feel what she felt for him, and in his anger, he would likely be happily rid of her, at least for tonight. No one would miss her until Aidan needed his milk and they could find no one able to feed him.

At least Aidan needed her.

Thoughts of her child kept the panic at bay and she made another turn ’round the small chamber, with the hope that she’d missed something. ’Twas difficult in the pitch-darkness, but if there was a way to get out, she was going to find it.