Naked (17 page)

“Of a kind. More like
cnihts
, perhaps. They make to Canute their allegiance.”

“Surely these
huscarls
are traitors to the Saxon cause,” I said passionately.

What good Saxon would betray his heritage and make allegiance to the Danish king on our English throne? I couldn’t fathom it.

Leofric shrugged. “Perhaps some would call them traitors. Perhaps they’re simply being expedient in troubled times.”

“But to ally with the Danes.” They’d been our enemies for years. My mother in particular had loathed their very name.

“War makes strange bedfellows,” Leofric said. “So does peace.”

I gulped some ale. “What do you think of Canute?”

“He’s a clever man. He listens well; unusual for a king. There is a story being told of him. Many of the courtiers fawn over him, telling him he is all mighty, all powerful. But Canute told them if that was so, surely he could control the tides. Then he took them to the edge of the water, and showed them that the waves of the sea did not obey him. Those fawning courtiers were made fools.” He smiled briefly. “My brothers like that story.”

“Yes, you have younger brothers too, you told me.”

“Edwin and Godwin. They’re both much younger than I, close to your age.”

Reaching out he cuffed my wrist. With his other hand he put a finger to my lips.

“Do you hear that?”

Silent, I shook my head. I couldn’t hear anything except the rustling of the trees, and in my ears the sound of my quickened heartbeat at his touch.

“Come.” Raising me to my feet, his fingers slid to take me by the hand. With soundless steps on the fallen leaves he led me to the edge of the ley.

Crouching behind a low branch, he pulled me down with him. “Over there.”

My gasp was louder than it ought to have been but it didn’t disturb the deer, a female. With gentle but watchful gaze she surveyed the forest for beside her was a fawn. Still young, the fawn stood on wobbly legs, gazing with its huge brown eyes, seeing the world new.

How long we stayed there, watching the doe with her newborn, I do not know. Beside me, Leofric barely moved. I saw the outlaw in him then, the readiness to spring in the coiled energy of his body, so close to mine. He seemed intent upon the deer, his expression less guarded and his face relaxed. There was softness in him I hadn’t suspected in a man usually so armored.

I reached for him.

I caught him off guard but not for long. Released from his clothing his speed matched mine as he twisted, slid against the silvery base of a poplar tree and pulled me down onto him, finding my center with the speed of a spear. My tunic rucked over my thighs as my legs clasped him. Face-to-face, eye to eye, lips to lips now, our arms around each other. With a gasp I brought myself down harder onto him so his swelling force filled me. There was no pain anymore, that had long passed between us, just a rubbing rhythm as we rocked together. We didn’t speak, there was just the rocking movement we made and then the explosion, deep within me and I cried out, my head thrown back. Again and again, his hardness driving me into frenzy until at last he joined me, in a great last shuddering cry.

We became still. His rough breathing and my own still coming in great, shallow gasps faded into the sacred silence of the trees.

My hair had come loose. Pushing a strand from my forehead I made to roll away.

He caught me by the forearm.

“What are
your
dreams, Godiva?” He sounded hoarse.

“My dreams?” Aftershocks of passion still heaved through me.

“You spoke of your mother’s dreams becoming your own, of building a church for Coventry. Is that all you dream of?”

Was that all I dreamed of? Could he not sense in the yielding of my body the feeling growing within me? Did he not feel, too, what was between us, become as holy as a vow? “The good of my people is my dream.”

Thrusting me aside he was on his feet with a suddenness that startled me. “Your lands are all that matter to you. How well I know.”

His spurt of anger stung like nettles on my bared thighs.

Scrambling to my feet, I covered myself with my tunic. “Isn’t it the same for you? Everything you’ve ever done is for Mercia. Why, you’ve just told me so.”

“Then we’re alike.” His lips set hard. “We both care only for our lands.”

Wheeling around, he stalked away through the woods.

19

“Oh ay, ay, ay, you talk!”

—Tennyson (1842):
Godiva

We rode back to Coventry in silence, my knuckles white against Ebur’s reins. Why hadn’t I taken my opportunity in the wildwoods and told Leofric of my feelings? Pride had stopped me, and pride was a sin, Brother Aefic always said. Now Leofric had become a stranger to me once again.

The gates of the courtyard were wide open. As we rode inside, a young man barely out of his teens came running out of the hall door. “Leo!”

Leofric leapt off Wyrd’s back. “Godwin!”

The two men embraced, tight as bear cubs.

“My brother.” Leofric’s face was alight in a way I hadn’t yet witnessed. “You’re here sooner than I expected.”

He hadn’t told me he expected visitors from the north. He never shared the contents of his letters. I bit my lip.

The younger man laughed. Not as tall as Leofric and slighter in build. His hair was fair and his eyes were the same blue, yet they were friendlier as they lit on me as I slid off Ebur’s saddle. They lacked Leofric’s hot, bold glare. “Did you not think news of your marriage would bring your brothers to your side?”

Some unspoken communication passed between them.

“Not both of you,” Leofric said.

“Edwin didn’t come. We guessed you would want one of us to stay in Chester.”

“You guessed right.”

“It’s been a long journey. Edwin and I squabbled like children over who would make it. But there’s someone else who refused to be left behind.”

As Godwin spoke, a young woman in a tunic as red as the ruby on my finger came out of the hall. I almost gasped as I saw her, so beautiful was she. Pale-skinned, dark-haired, her dark eyes glowed at Leofric.

“Elfreda!” Leofric went straight to her side.

She clung to him. “I had to come.”

I’d been standing aside watching the reunion, clutching Ebur’s comforting mane. She slid me a sidelong glance from those dark eyes.

“This is the Lady Godiva who is now my wife.” Leofric’s tone revealed nothing. “Godiva, this is my brother Godwin, and our neighbor, the Lady Elfreda.”

Elfreda’s smile. Radiant. “More than a neighbor, I hope, Leofric.”

Leofric’s smile. Gentle. “Of course.”

I stepped forward and clasped each of their hands in turn. Godwin’s was warm. Elfreda’s soft as butter. Suddenly my fingertips felt rough and coarse.

Godwin beamed at me. “When the news came that Leofric had married we were overjoyed.”

“And full of curiosity,” Elfreda added.

“We have only brothers in our family,” Godwin explained. “So you’re especially welcome as a new sister-in-law.”

“Thank you. I have no brothers or sisters of my own.” Though Edmund had been fostered with us so young. He’d filled that gap.

“Now you have me and you’ll have Edwin too, who sends God’s greeting.” Godwin roared with laughter again. “I’m much the better brother, I think you will find.”

I laughed too. It was impossible not to like Godwin, though I was not so sure about Elfreda, who continued to gaze at Leofric with unmistakable adoration.

Godwin addressed Leofric. “You’d agree, Leo?”

“All are equal among brothers.”

The same expression of grief passed over their faces.
Northman
. They both still grieved for him. The laughter in the younger man’s eyes vanished. Leofric’s jaw set to granite.

“We must have a feast worthy of brothers to welcome you.” Into my voice I brought a note of jollity I was far from feeling. “But you’ll want to rest first. You must be tired, Godwin. And Elfreda.” I nodded at her politely. She gave a small smile.

Godwin grinned, his humor restored. “Nothing a few hours on the mead-bench won’t fix.”

Leofric clapped the younger man’s shoulder. “Give me the news from Mercia, Godwin my brother. Then you shall have your mead.”

*   *   *

“I’m sorry. We’re leaving you out of the conversation,” Elfreda said to me, as we dined at the high table.

With a start I glanced up from my platter. I’d been crumbling bread on my trencher as Leofric, Godwin, and Elfreda had caught up on old times.

In honor of our guests our evening meal had been a roasted lamb dressed in a minted sauce. Then the gleeman had taken his place in front of the fire and begun to sing. The mead cups had been filled.

As Godwin drank his promised mead a change came over Leofric. In his brother’s presence I saw a new side of him, a younger, happier side.

My heart smote me. I hadn’t thought of Leofric being a stranger here, nor made allowance for it, I realized with remorse. So self-assured, he’d given no indication that he may desire to be in his own lands. Yet as with the beautiful Elfreda, he and Godwin talked of names and places I knew not, I understood he missed his home as much as I would miss the Middle Lands.

“I’m sure you have a lot to discuss,” I said.

“We do. But we’d enjoy hearing about your lands too, Godiva.”

She smiled shyly at me, her eyes soft-glowing as topaz.

A wave of near hostility overcame me. How horrified my mother who raised me to practice good Saxon hospitality would have been. Elfreda was my guest, and there was no reason to dislike her.

Yet Leofric regarded her with such gentleness.

“Perhaps you will show us your town while we are here?” Godwin broke in with a merry smile. “I hear it grows fine.”

“Of course.” I nodded. Forced a smile in reply. Churlish to refuse a guest.

But with the excuse of headache, I soon left the hall for my bower.

*   *   *

Leofric didn’t come to me that night.

For the first time since our wedding he didn’t visit my bower or my bed. The honeymoon is a sweet month, I reasoned with myself, as I tossed and sighed, but it cannot last.

Why had I believed it would?

In the darkness I stared up at the roof of the bower. Herbs hung above my bed, something Aine had put there for fertility I presumed.

It would be of no use if my husband did not come to my bed.

Round and round, I twisted my ruby ring. We hadn’t married to become soul mates, the way my parents had been. Yet the longing in me had put down roots, to truly know the man I had married, the man Godwin and Elfreda knew so well.

But Leofric did not come.

Nor did sleep.

20

And nodding, as in scorn,

He parted …

—Tennyson (1842):
Godiva

Godwin hurried toward me across the courtyard, his face alight. “Where are you going, Godiva?”

“Into Coventry.” My sleepless night had left me craving fresh air and exercise. Every sound, whether footfall or owl call, had sent me sitting bolt upright, hoping for Leofric’s lift of the bower latch.

“May I come with you? You promised to show me your town. I hear Coventry is growing apace.”

Perhaps company would keep me from brooding.

“It would be my pleasure,” I said politely. Churlish to refuse a guest.

Together we left the hall and walked along the main street. He had an easy step and an air of eagerness.

Home pride filled me as I pointed out the sights.

“That’s our water mill.” The huge wheel sloshed. “We’re planning to build another. And that’s—”

I halted. Godwin wasn’t listening to my commentary. His focus was on some of the young girls, soft-skinned as buttermilk, who as they passed were giving him shy and inviting smiles.

“I don’t think you’re listening to me,” I laughed.

“The girls of Coventry are so pretty. But not as pretty as their lady. Now, you were showing me the sights. What’s that over there?”

Again I laughed at the low, thatched round house he indicated. “You know exactly what that is, Godwin. It’s the town tavern.”

“Is it? Now that’s a sight I must see.”

“It’s only midafternoon.”

“Never too early or too late.” He seized my arm. “To the tavern, sister-in-wed.”

Inside the dim room, with a huge hearth fire and leather shields along the wall, the mead-benches were full for the time of day. Some of them, farmers in for the market, gave me furtive glances. No doubt they ought to be in the fields.

The innkeeper hurried over. “Lady Godiva!”

“God’s greeting to you. This is Godwin of Mercia, Lord Leofric’s brother.”

“I hope to sample your wares,” Godwin put in.

The innkeeper bowed and rubbed his hands together. “God’s greeting, my lord. We have some mead made from the finest honey, some ale, and some bog-myrtle
beor
brewed by my wife. The best in the Middle Lands.”

I hid my chuckle. I knew Walburgha didn’t think so. She claimed her
beor
to be the best.

Godwin slipped the innkeeper a silver coin that made him beam. “Two tankards of your finest ale, if you will, with my thanks.”

We sat at a low table beneath a pair of drooping deer antlers.

The innkeeper brought us brimming goblets.

Godwin smacked his lips. “This seems very good.”

“You sound quite expert.” I grinned.

“And hope to become even more so.” Godwin lifted his brimming tankard in a toast. “
Was
Godiva
hail
. Long life and a long and happy marriage to my brother.”

“
Was
Godwin
hail.
” I raised my own.

“You’re close for brothers,” I said, after a sip.

“It’s not always that way, but it is with us. I think it’s because we were forced to flee together. You know of that?”

“Leofric has told me a little.”

“Probably not all.” Wiping the froth from his lip Godwin turned grave. “Leofric took the brunt of the hardship we faced. He cared for us, his younger brothers, often at his own expense. I saw him go without food more than once. It hardened him, our days as outlaws, but there are few men as loyal, brave, and true as my brother. Leo, we call him between ourselves, for his lion heart.”