Margo Maguire (6 page)

Disgusted by the sight of his ruined lands, Edric turned away, clasping his hands behind him. It seemed a lifetime since life had been good at Braxton Fell.

Mayhap the priest was right, too, and Braxton Fell
was
cursed.

Edric surely felt cursed every time he looked at the Norman wench. Though he knew better, he wanted her.

’Twas no more than his wayward cock demanding female attention. It had naught to do with the way her breath quickened when he touched her, or the enticing beading of her pretty nipples when she fed his son.

She was a delicate beauty, her lips full and enticing, her eyes dark and expressive. Hers was not
the conventional but brittle beauty of Cecily’s face and form, but a gently rounded comeliness that had no sharp edges.

It had been pure torture to watch her nuzzle Aidan’s head, to see his son cradled upon those plush breasts. Her virginal embarrassment at her lack of proper clothes in his presence was beyond appealing. Edric had wanted to unwrap the woolen blanket from Kate’s body and sample the feminine secrets that had been denied him for much too long.

Now that there was no longer any reason for him to abstain, he would take her to bed. Soon.

The sound of footsteps caused Edric to turn. Oswin approached him from the far end of the escarpment, his expression grim, as usual. The man was dressed severely in unrelenting black—robes, tunic, and hose. His beard was only partially white, and his body just as powerful as in the days of his prime when he’d fought at Edric’s father’s side. He was still a vigorous man. “Wulfgar of Tredburgh is coming to Braxton Fell, my lord. I did not mention it yesterday—”

“What reason could Wulfgar possibly have for coming here?” Edric asked the question, but he knew the answer. Wulfgar was an old Saxon thane who had lost his lands to King William. He’d spent the last year trying to garner support for a Saxon
rebellion, and he’d not been entirely unsuccessful. The man had the sympathy and support of several Saxon families, gaining him a growing number of followers. He’d made it known he wanted Braxton Fell behind him.

Wulfgar was trouble that Edric did not need.

“Dissuade him.”

“’Tis too late, my lord. I do not know his location, so there is no way to deliver a message to him.”

Edric cursed under his breath. As soon as Baron Gui received news of his daughter’s death, he would come to Braxton to visit her tomb and see his grandson for himself. ’Twould not do to have a band of rebellious Saxons present when the Norman baron arrived. “I want him gone, Oswin,” said Edric. “Quarreling with King William is pointless now.”

“You cannot know that, my lord. You and Lord Wulfgar could raise a powerful Saxon fyrd.”

“I have naught to gain by doing so.” But much to lose. Braxton Fell needed time to recover from the damage of the Ferguson raid. ’Twould not do to rekindle Norman animosity now.

Oswin made a rude noise. “Normans have made life here a misery.”

“I will not argue that point, but our lands are still under Saxon control—
my
control.”

“When does the price of your enfeoffment become too great, Lord Edric?”

“Enough, Oswin.” Edric would not take offense at the steward’s condescension, for the man had advised the lords of Braxton Fell long and well. However, he was mistaken in this instance. “Send Wulfgar on his way when he arrives here.”

Kathryn awoke early. She dressed, combed her hair, and put it in a neat plait. Taking care not to awaken Edric’s child, she picked him up, cradled him in her arms, then left her chamber to go in search of Drogan. The burly huscarl was the only one she knew who might escort her to Evesham Bridge. ’Twas imperative to leave as soon as possible, before she developed any stronger attachment to the bairn.

She did not go far before she saw Lora and two other women leaving Lady Cecily’s chamber. Several men followed, carrying Lady Cecily’s body on a bier. Edric and Drogan were among them.

Edric wore a clean gray tunic with elaborate stitchery at the neck and wrists. In such finery, and with his hair neatly tied at his nape, he looked impossibly regal. And though his face was still unshaven, Kathryn could see that his expression was understandably grim. His glance brushed over her once quickly, as though he found her
entirely unremarkable, then rested upon the infant in her arms.

Church bells suddenly began to peal and Lora came to Kathryn’s side. “Come, we depart for church.”

Edric did not look again in her direction, but Drogan gave her a polite nod as the men balanced Cecily’s bier upon their shoulders and followed Edric’s dignified lead. Kathryn followed the women down the steps and through the hall. The church bells continued to clang as they went outside where a number of Lord Edric’s retainers joined them.

The steward approached and blocked Kathryn’s path, his expression dark and forbidding. “Lora,” he said, “take the child. There is no need for this one to attend Lady Cecily’s funeral.”

Except for her Scottish captors, no one had ever spoken in such a rude manner to Kathryn before, and she didn’t understand why the steward was so irate with her. Except that he, too, must blame her for Bryce’s injury.

“She comes, Oswin.” Without turning, Edric spoke from his place at the head of Cecily’s bier. “She will bring my son.”

“My lord—”

“Aidan will attend his mother’s funeral with his nurse.”

Edric said no more, but resumed his walk
toward the church. The steward glowered at Kathryn before turning away, and she pressed her lips to the bairn’s head.
“Aidan,”
she whispered. “’Tis a fine name you’ve been given.”

She felt a quickening in her heart as she watched the proprietary manner in which the Saxon lord led the procession to church, and thought of what he must feel as he carried his dead wife to her burial. Cecily had borne Edric’s child, but thinking of the intimacies they must have shared as husband and wife gave Kathryn an odd, unsettling feeling.

Moving closer to Lora as they walked, she let her eyes wander. They passed cottages that were surprisingly quiet. There were no pigs rooting in the dirt, and few chickens pecking at the ground. People were scarce as well, with only a few of the villagers joining the procession to the church.

Much of the village was enclosed by an unfinished wall of timber and stone, though she’d seen a good number of cottages outside. Cecily’s procession passed shops—the chandler’s, a blacksmith’s forge, a glazier’s, the shoemaker, and many more—but all were quiet due to the somber occasion. It occurred to Kathryn that mayhap the inactivity of the village was partly related to the state of Braxton’s lands.

The malevolent little priest met them at the
church door and led them inside. The old Norman woman in black was already there, weeping loudly as she sat upon a bench at the back of the church. Her sorrow touched Kathryn, especially since there seemed to be no one here to comfort her.

“Lora, will you hold Aidan?” Turning the bairn over to Lora, she made her way to the back of the church. She took a seat beside the old woman and spoke to her soothingly, hoping to console her.

Cecily’s nursemaid turned into her arms, and Kathryn patted her back as she wept, calming her and assuring her that Cecily’s soul was surely in heaven now.

The men stayed close to the bier all through the Mass. Edric’s attention stayed fully focused on the ritual, while Kathryn’s gaze was torn between watching Aidan sleep in Lora’s arms, and Edric, kneeling with his head bowed in piety and sorrow.

Kathryn looked away from his powerful physique, and offered prayers for Cecily’s soul, for Lord Bryce’s recovery, and for poor Berta, even as she prayed for her own flight from Braxton. She had to speak to Drogan soon, before she fell completely in love with the lord’s tiny son.

Or worse, with his father.

Edric felt tense and restless when they returned to the hall for Cecily’s wake. He could not mourn the woman who had made his life a misery these past months, but she’d been his wife, had borne his child, and had died in the process.

What he felt was certainly not affection, nor was it grief. ’Twas more like regret for what had never been, what could never be. Cecily had been a beautiful woman, and he’d wanted her fiercely in the first few days of their marriage. He’d quickly learned that in all the ways that mattered, she was as cold and uncaring as a fish swimming in one of Braxton’s many lakes. Still, ’twas not every day a man lost his wife.

Oswin’s voice drew him from his reverie. “Care must be taken with the ale, my lord.” He joined Edric, who stood alone near the fireplace in the great hall. “Our stores are not what they should be.”

“See to it, then,” Edric said, although he did not anticipate much toasting of Cecily’s grand life. She had insulted or alienated everyone she’d touched here at Braxton.

’Twas not to say that the hall was empty, either. The men of his fyrd and many of the villagers had come to pay respects. Though they had little affection for Lady Cecily, they had respect for Edric and for the son who would be eorl after him,
providing Edric managed to continue holding his estate from the Norman king. That could easily change, depending upon William’s whim.

“They come for what food you will provide,” said Oswin. “Not for any fondness for your Norman wife.”

Edric shrugged. That much was obvious, but tradition would be observed. He did not condemn Oswin for his hostility toward the Normans. They had caused untold damage to the man’s family, but Oswin had to understand that no amount of hatred would bring back his sons, and rebellion was useless. The reign of the Saxons in England was done.

Musicians stood near the staircase, tuning their instruments, and the aroma of roasting pig wafted through the hall. Yet Cecily’s wake was conspicuously subdued. ’Twas nothing like the sorrow shown by raucous song and loud weeping that had followed the funerals of Siric and Sighelm. Instead, the servants went quietly about the hall, pouring mugs of ale and placing platters of meat and bread on the tables. When Oswin left, no one approached Edric, all apparently uncertain what to say to him.

He caught sight of Kate, wearing the blue gown she’d tossed across her legs the night before for modesty’s sake. He’d taken note of her at the
funeral, giving care and consolation to the old Norman nurse, a woman she did not even know.

To Edric’s knowledge, Cecily had never shown kindness to a stranger…But mayhap he was giving too much credit to Kate. The old woman was Norman, and the only other one of her kind at Braxton. ’Twas possible they were conspiring together, planning to wreak havoc somehow on the man responsible for Cecily’s pregnancy and death, and for her unhappiness this past year.

Yet as Kate made her way toward the stairs with Lora, he felt a pressing urge to go to her, to take hold of that thick plait of rich, brown hair and bury his face in it. It seemed impossible that she could be just as alluring fully dressed as when he’d burst unannounced into her chamber. She was fresh from her bath, and he’d been struck yet again by her feminine perfection.

He should not have lingered in her room. His brain must have been addled when he touched her, when he slid his fingers across the fullness of her breast while she fed his son.

God’s blood, she was Norman, and he’d vowed to have naught to do with any of them, beyond what was utterly necessary. There was no point in entertaining any thoughts about taking her to bed.

“Many condolences for your loss, my lord.”

Edric turned away from Kate’s retreating figure
to the first person to approach him. ’Twas Felicia, daughter of Wilfred the tavernkeeper. Many a time had Edric sported with this lusty blonde, but those trysts had ended as soon as he’d said his marriage vows and Cecily had made her demands. Even so, Felicia had always made it known she would welcome him back to her bed at any time.

“’Tis said your lady wife bore you a son.”

“Aye.” He wondered where Lora was taking Kate. Mayhap ’twas time to feed Aidan and they were going to a place with fewer distractions. She would loosen her bodice and—

“Things have been quiet at the Silver Dragon, my lord.” She gave him a wicked smile and leaned into him, pressing her body against his. “I won’t be missed if I disappear a while.”

Edric had thought of this so many times during the past year, he could not believe he was hesitating now. But this was not the time. With all that had recently transpired, Edric was in no mood to frolic in Felicia’s bed.

“My lord?”

Edric looked into her eyes. She was as comely as any woman in the town and knew how to satisfy a man’s lusty appetites. Yet she smelled of cabbage and sour hops.

“Once my brother is out of danger and things
are settled here, I’ll send someone for you.” When he finally bedded her, he wanted no worries to detract from the moment.

He disengaged his arm from her grasp. Taking his leave, he headed toward the stairs. ’Twas past time to check on Bryce.

“Come, Bryce wishes to see you,” said Lora.

“He is awake now?” asked Kathryn.

“Aye, and complaining of being confined to his bed.”

Kathryn could scarcely believe it had been only three days since she’d sewn his terrible gash. She’d been at Braxton Keep only one night, yet it seemed as if weeks had passed since she’d first set eyes upon Lord Edric, since she’d first felt the swell of arousal in her breast.

She’d had no chance to speak to Drogan about going to Evesham Bridge. She had to do so soon, before the stirrings of motherly affection for Aidan became any stronger. Even now, ‘twould be difficult to leave the bairn.

No one had ever needed her so desperately before.

Kathryn tucked his head under her chin and followed Lora down the dim corridor of the second floor. Lora walked past Cecily’s bedchamber and down another long passageway.

The healer’s manner reminded Kathryn of her sister, Isabel. Gifted, confident, and striking in her appearance, she had many talents. Kathryn doubted Lora would have allowed herself to be abducted. Surely she—like Isabel—would have found a way to escape the raiders.