Naked (24 page)

With a cry, with all the will left in me, I pushed him away.

His breath was as ragged as my own.

“Leofric,” I whispered. “Will you lift this tax?”

He didn’t speak. I held my life-breath.

Slow. So slow.

“No.”

Tears threatened to engulf me. I swallowed them back. “I understand now. I let the enemy inside my gates.”

And my heart
added a broken whisper
.

“I’ve told you before.” Leofric’s hands were clenched at his sides. An emptiness in his expression, a gauntness in his cheeks, as if he were tormented. But I knew now the silent tomb of his heart. So cruel. So cold. “I don’t seek to have us enemies, Godiva.”

With a smash I threw wide the oak door. “Then you’re too late.”

24

He answer’d, “Ride you naked thro’ the town,

And I repeal it;” and nodding, as in scorn,

—Tennyson (1842):
Godiva

I reached my bower before the tears came.

They coursed down my cheeks over my chin, down my neck. A torrent, a river, a stream, so fast I couldn’t halt the flow. I tasted them: tears of rage, tears of lust, and tears of pain that came deep from my heart, as if an arrow had split it in two.

How could it have come to this? Sobs consumed me as I collapsed onto the bed, where we’d shared so much. The secret scent of him, long gone on the linen. Washed away.

I loved him. I loved Leofric of Mercia with every thread of my being. The feelings that had kindled with his touch, igniting my body, had flamed into my soul. They’d flickered into life when he’d ridden into Coventry, even before, when I’d first heard his name. But it was of no consequence when my feelings had begun.

My heart was his.

To think I’d started to dream that perhaps he might love me, too!

I cast a sour laugh to the stars painted on the roof of my bower, the stars I’d stared at on our wedding night when he’d taken my maidenhood. I’d been wrong, so wrong, to think he had any feelings for me.

It wasn’t possible to be so cold, so cruel and have any love in his heart. The passion I’d imagined we’d shared. It had never touched his heart as he’d so powerfully taken mine.

Tears continued to flood down my cheeks. How deeply I’d been mistaken in the man I’d married! The warmth I thought I’d glimpsed in his eyes, the heat from his hands that burnt their trace on my naked skin … they were nothing. I’d been making shapes from shadows. His heart had remained ice cold. The tender man I’d glimpsed if only for a few moments wasn’t the real Leofric of Mercia. The real Leofric was the heartless tyrant who refused to listen to my pleas.

The nights of passion we’d shared had all been part of the bargain.

I’d lost the wedding gamble.

He’d won.

He’d come for my lands. He’d plundered my body and seized my heart.

To accuse me of caring only for Coventry, when all he cared about was Mercia, his own lands, his own wealth in the north. My people, my lands could perish before he would let his people suffer.

If Edmund was right, power was all Leofric wanted. No matter how he got it.

Hands clenched, I staggered to my feet.

In the sewing basket beside me, skeins of thread had become tangled. Surely my snarled emotions weren’t true love’s design. Love, hate, fury, despair. Back and forth like the shuttle of a loom. Was this love’s warp and weave or a tangled web that I would never escape with honor?

A woman must keep her pledge to a man
.

I’d married Leofric; I’d made my vows to him. Solemn Saxon vows in the church of Coventry, before God and all my people.

My people.
They would believe I’d betrayed them.

“My lady…”

Aine had come into the bower, her footsteps soundless on the rushes.

“My lady, you mustn’t weep so. Too many tears. You’ll make yourself ill.”

“Aine! Oh, Aine! Lord Leofric has—”

She gathered me in her arms. “Hush. Calm yourself.”

“I can’t…”

“Come now. Perhaps it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Not as bad as it seems! How could it be worse than this? My people will suffer at my hands!”

“Your people believe in you.” She pushed the damp hair sticking to my cheeks. “They trust you. You’ll find a way.”

“There’s no way out of this! I should never have married Lord Leofric! I—I hate him!”

Aine crooked a half smile. “Do you?”

“Yes! I hate him for what he’s doing! And—and—Oh, Aine!”

As if I were a child again, Aine stroked my hair. “Come now. I know your heart.”

“The way he looked at me … the way he touched me…”

“The body doesn’t lie.”

“The body
does
lie! Leofric lied to me; he hasn’t kept his word! You don’t know what’s being said of him!”

“What’s being said of Lord Leofric?” Aine almost shook me. “Tell me.”

“No, Aine. I mustn’t. I can’t.” Too dreadful to speak of. As Elfreda had said.

Traitor. Assassin. Murderer.
Huscarl
.

“My lady! Trust yourself alone to do what needs to be done. No one else.”

“But what can I do?”

“That’s the question. Think of your people now as you’ve always done and not of yourself.”

“I can’t do anything! I’m trapped!”

“A peace weaver is never trapped.” Seizing my tapestry needle from the basket, she thrust it at me. “Trace the pattern. Follow the thread.”

The needle pierced my palm.

“Don’t give up, my lady,” Aine urged. “Find a way.”

*   *   *

The smoky hall was crowded but there was muted chatter at the trestle tables. The gleeman was silent. All eyes of the household upon me, I sat up on the dais.

My own eyes were sore as I blinked. Aine had bathed them with chamomile water, removing their redness at the rims. I wanted no telltale signs in front of Leofric. In a deep blue tunic, trimmed with gold, I had dressed myself with care, my hair brushed and braided. But no jewels.

Not feast. Famine.

Since the mealtime horn had blown, Leofric spoke not a word to me. I darted a swift sideways glance at him. There were no signs of hurt by my anger, in the devastating way I’d been hurt by his. He drank more ale than usual as he exchanged words with the Mercian warriors. Acwell sat to one side of him, avoiding my vision.

A board of bread lay in front of me. The piece I chewed I could barely swallow. It left the taint of ashes on my tongue. I dropped it onto my plate.

Lady.

Loaf giver.

At last Leofric addressed me. “You do not eat.”

“How can I eat?” Tears threatened again; I forced them back with a tilt of my chin. The Earl of Mercia would never witness me crying. “When soon many will have no food?”

Beneath the beard a muscle worked in his jaw. “The folk of the Middle Lands will get through the hungry month.”

“Many will not. Many will die.”

With both hands I shoved my trencher of food away.

As he followed my movement, his gaze landed on my bare finger.

Tight as a carpenter’s vice, he seized my culprit hand. “Where is your ring?”

“Lost,” I faltered. It still upset me that it had vanished. “It was my own fault. The ring needed to be made smaller by the blacksmith.”

I hadn’t been able to bear to remove it.

“Where did you lose it?” His question as taut as his hold.

“I’m not sure.” In the town, in the fields, in the garden. It could have been anywhere. I’d searched and searched.

He dropped my fingers as if they burnt him. Gripping his silver tankard, he drained it dry.

“Leofric.”

The tankard still in his grasp, he jerked his head toward me. His hearth-empty eyes gutted my soul.

“Will you repeal the law?”

The tankard slammed down onto the table. Froth spilled onto the linen tablecloth. “You try my patience. Have done. Do you dare to challenge my leadership further?”

“A strong leader lets his people starve?”

His teeth clenched. “Give. This. Up.”

His clipped accents reminded me of when I’d found the
huscarl
sword. I had blindly obeyed him then. This time I would not.

“Never. I’ll do anything to protect my people.”

In the curl of his beard he lifted his lip in a sneer. “Just what would you do?”

“What must I do?” My tone pitched high as a gleeman’s song. “Must I lie down my head in your lap, as the peasants do, when they become a slave? I will do it. Must I starve? I will do it. Must I ride through the streets in only my shift like a penitent? I will do it. All these things, I will do, to save one child from starving in Coventry.”

Our glances clanged. Sword. Shield.

“You would do such things?”

Under the table my fists tightened. I nodded.

His scorn knifed through me. “A penitent’s ride? You wouldn’t shame yourself in that way.”

“You don’t believe me? I’d make such a ride, if it means you repeal this law.”

Speculation flared as he stared at me. I knew that look.

Then he clicked his fingers. The serving boy ran to his side. “More ale.”

The serving boy poured, his hand shaking.

In a single gulp, Leofric drained it and slammed the tankard down on the table. “Again.”

Once more the boy poured.

He drained that, too.

All chatter in the hall had turned as quiet as church prayers. From the tables below folk began to listen and watch openly.

Leofric threw down the tankard. It rolled off the table, onto the floor. “You say you would ride, but you would not.”

“Are you saying I don’t keep my word?” Each word I made a dart. “I can assure you, my lord, unlike some, I always keep my word.”

His glare scorched, but mine was equal to it.

“You wouldn’t shame yourself in that way. You would ride through the streets, of Coventry, in only your shift? Like an adulteress? Like a
whore
?”

As if he had struck me, I reeled.

This from the man to whom I had pledged my body.

For the sake of Coventry.

With my breath came courage deep from my lungs. “It would be no shame to me to save my people.”

He leaned so close I could almost lick the ale from his tongue.

“And would you ride—naked?”

The hall hushed.

Naked
.

The word slithered through my brain.

So silent now, my uneven breathing sounded as loud as a gleeman’s song. To have every man and woman in the town stare upon me … instinctively I raised my hand across my breast.

As if a draught of ice air had found me, a shudder ran through.

I bowed. A prayer. “I would.”

My head stayed low as I waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Then his reply came, soft as an assassin’s footfall.

“
Ride, Godiva
.”

Gasps flew to the roof of the hall.

As if on an axe-block I could barely lift my neck.

“You dare me to do this?” My words were broken shards when finally I could speak. “You dare this, of your wife?”

Leofric seized my ringless finger. “I see no wife.”

He flung down my hand.

“You speak cruelly, my lord.” My response a thread. Ragged, ripped, as if with his knife he’d stripped me. “But hunger is crueler than words and that I won’t let my people face.”

In my mind a voice came pure as a needle of light.

Fripwebba.

Peace weaver.

Clutching the edge of the table, I staggered to stand and face the stunned expressions at the trestles below. Their mouths were agape, lids wide.

“Hear me, good people of Coventry and the Middle Lands. This cruel law must be repealed. You have heard Lord Leofric’s vow. Now hear mine.” I choked. Too difficult to go on.

Fripwebba.

Peace weaver.

I raised my head.

“Tomorrow, on the midday bell, I, Godiva, will ride.”

*   *   *

Ride, Godiva.

Never had a night seemed so long.

Had Leofric really spoken those cruel words? His anger still made me quake. I’d witnessed coldness in him before, but this was different. His blue eyes had been frozen lakes as he looked at me, as if he loathed me, as if he hated the sight of me.

He didn’t love me. If I’d been uncertain after our argument about taxes, I was certain now. He wanted to see me humiliated. No, he didn’t love me.

It was worse than that. I bit my lip. He must despise me to make such a dare. My sob groaned into agony.

That it had come to this! Now that I knew I loved him the ride would be harder still. For it was the end—the end of all my cherished dreams and hopes, the end of my secret desires, for the passionate love we might share. My ride would take me away from him, and there would be no turning back.

Ride, Godiva
. I shuddered. Strange gawks upon me. Taking stock as if I were cattle in the market square. How could Leofric have held me in such low esteem as a wife to think that other views upon me didn’t matter?

My youthful body, my smooth white skin, unmarked except for the battle-scar on my arm, he’d caressed. My legs muscular from many hard days’ riding, he’d split apart. My pre-childbirth slender waist, he’d gripped as he thrust. My breasts, full as ripe russets, he’d suckled. Didn’t he care that other men would see my body? What did that make of him as a husband?

I jerked upright. The stamp of heavy boots across the courtyard.

Not Aine. I’d told her I needed to be alone. Though she wanted to argue, she’d respected my wishes.

The footsteps stopped. I sensed rather than heard someone standing by the door.

“Leofric. Leofric.” My soul-call sounded.

No knock at the door, no hand pushing it open.

“Leofric. Leofric.”

Not words.

It seemed hours as I held my body still, like a deer in the sights of a hunter.

Then came the sound of footsteps again as he walked away.

I fell against my rag-filled pillows. My mouth dry, my heart a husk.

No reprieve.

Tomorrow, I would ride.