Snow in July (42 page)

“Lady Kendra, your father’s men shall still be required to swear fealty to the Crown,” he said, not unkindly.

“The oath that binds my father to Your Majesty binds everyone at Edgarburh.” She blinked, not certain where those words had come from; they sounded more like something Del would have said. His memory made her smile, bolstering her resolve. “The fyrd should have no objection to swearing this oath to you in person, my lord.”

“Well spoken, Lady Kendra.” The king offered his hand to help her rise and bade Alain and Regent Odo to escort her among the prisoners.

Reunions were, by necessity, brief but heartfelt as she greeted each fyrd member by name and pulled him from the line. Some kissed her hand. Many saluted her with unabashed tears.

As she had predicted, every surviving member of Edgarburh’s fyrd rushed to swear allegiance to King William.

One man, however, gave her pause.

He was standing next to Dragon—Eosa, she reminded herself, who leered at her until one of the guards cuffed him. Dragon’s accomplice had hidden his face from her, but not before she saw the scar that slithered across his cheek.

She rejoiced to see him alive.

“Is this everyone, then?” asked the regent.

“Yes,” Alain said.

“Nay,” she told Regent Odo and her husband-to-be.

Alain shot her a puzzled glance. She smiled at him, took the last prisoner by the hand, and pulled him away from his condemned companions.

Her betrothed regarded the man for a long, intense moment before giving Kendra a look of pure astonishment. “You wish to pardon one of the brigands?”

She gave Snake’s hand a squeeze and released it. “If he is willing to swear fealty to King William and renounce his former lifestyle, aye.”

“An outlaw?” Regent Odo’s eyes narrowed. “What is this man to you, Lady Kendra?”

She thrust her chin to ward off the insinuations in his tone. “My lord, Snake was one of my captors. But he offered me kindness on several occasions, guarding my dignity, privacy, and comfort when the others refused to do so. I believe he has a decent heart and deserves another chance.”

Snake’s face became a study in remorse, surprise, and hope. “My lady is most merciful, but”—the hope died—“I cannot accept.”

“Why not?” Kendra couldn’t bridle her surprise or dismay.

“I have no place,” he replied. “I know no other life save a lawless one.”

A bruised and bandaged Lofwin, having just sworn his oath to the king, approached them. “The fyrd’s numbers are sorely diminished. He fights well and could make a new life with us, if Thane Waldron and”—he nodded toward his liege—“Your Majesty agree.”

“Sir Robert?” called King William from the viewing platform, over the heads of those still queued to swear allegiance. “For Edgarburh’s future lord, you have remained remarkably silent.”

Alain inclined his head. “Silent, Your Majesty, but pondering.” He faced Snake. “You abducted Lady Kendra?”

Snake’s eyes flinched, making his scar seem alive. “One of them what was sent to fetch her, I was, my lord.” He squared his shoulders. “But I did treat her ladyship with all the respect owed a fine lady, I swear by Saint Dunstan’s bones!”

“Saint Dunstan?” Alain asked the regent.

Amusement creased the craggy face. “A well-connected Saxon who lived in this shire a hundred years ago. By all reports, he was a Godly man who served both as Glastonbury’s abbot and as a close adviser to many Saxon kings.” Regent Odo turned his eyes skyward for a moment. “Would God that I may serve King William even half as well.”

“If I swear by Saint Dunstan, will you let me go free too?” Dragon sneered.

“You shall be swearing to the entire company of saints in person soon,” remarked the regent. “If they’ll deign to have you, which I doubt.” He ordered a guard to escort Eosa up the gallows steps.

Kendra gave the regent a grateful smile; she wasn’t sure how much more of Dragon’s presence she could have tolerated. Regent Odo responded with a polite nod.

“My lady, I am so sorry for taking you captive. I was only following”—Snake jerked his head toward the first man of the lot being fitted for a noose—“Dragon’s orders.” He knotted his hands in an imploring gesture. “I swear to serve you better than ever I served him.”

She glanced at her husband-to-be, who seemed undecided. “Alain?”

At length he asked Snake his name.

Snake hesitated, as if he had trouble recalling it. “Liam Fletcher, my lord.”

“You make arrows?” Alain asked.

Snake—Liam looked chagrined. “’Tis been right many a year, my lord.” He scratched his bewhiskered chin. “I may recollect a mite or two of the craft.”

Alain clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, Liam Fletcher, you have already sworn fealty to my lady. Now you need only swear to the king, and we shall have you back into an honest trade before the next market day. Enlisting you in the fyrd as well as having you supply arrows for it ought to keep you clear of the gallows.”

Liam’s expression exuded gratitude as he bobbed an awkward but respectful bow. “My lord, ’twill be my pleasure.”

Kendra too felt immense pleasure for having helped to deliver a lost soul—this time without benefit of the Glastonbury thorn’s magic.

She commanded Liam to stay with Lofwin, turned her back on the gallows, where the executions were getting underway, and addressed the king once more: “May I search the infirmary too, Your Majesty?”

“You may,” he replied. “The Crown had already decided to leave those men’s fates in the hands of God.”

This, Kendra presumed, meant minimal care, but perhaps she could reach some in time. She curtseyed her thanks. Alain helped her rise, and with the king’s leave they departed for the infirmary.

Chapter 26

A
LAIN HAD SENT a courier to Edgarburh with the news that Kendra, Ruaud, and most of the fyrd were on their way back. But Waldron had regretted not accompanying his men, and he yearned to see them all as fast as his best horse could carry him.

He and his ten-man escort intercepted the much larger party half a day west of Edgarburh. Only because Waldron had been forewarned did he know that Kendra wasn’t the sole beneficiary of the soldiers’ protection; not even so much as a kerchief bearing the royal colors betrayed King William’s presence. The foremost ranks of the king’s bodyguards drew their swords against what must have looked like a dervish churning across the rolling plains.

Somehow, even from her position in the formation’s center, Kendra must have guessed what was happening. Over the din, Waldron heard a high-pitched shout of “Father!” and she and her horse emerged from the pack. A tall, helmed knight carrying a rose-emblazoned shield shadowed her.

As the distance narrowed, it pained Waldron to notice evidence of Kendra’s trials in her disheveled hair and clothing, but her beaming smile eclipsed whatever discomfort she must be feeling.

Relief coursed through him. He couldn’t spur his horse to hers fast enough. She all but launched herself from her mount into his arms, crying and laughing all at once. He hugged her so tightly, he feared she might not be able to breathe, and he loosened his grip. She didn’t complain but nestled against him, sighing contentedly. If she’d wanted to remain thus forever, Waldron wouldn’t have minded in the least.

He did know of someone, however, who would mind. Over her head, he gazed at the man fated to take his place in her heart.

Nay, that wasn’t true. Blood forged a bond that might bend but could never break.

Alain removed his helmet, and Kendra stepped out of Waldron’s embrace to take Alain’s gloved hand. The couple shared a brief but tender glance that told him everything he needed to know about their future. He hoped his bow to the courageous Norman knight conveyed the vast depth of his gratitude that mere words could never express.

King William, flanked by the regent and a handful of their soldiers, swaggered toward them. Waldron dropped to one knee at his sovereign’s feet, prompting his escort to do the same.

“England is once again most well come to humble Edgarburh.” Waldron meant it even more sincerely than ever.

“England appreciates Edgarburh’s gracious hospitality.” The king cracked a grin. “But England wonders when Edgarburh was planning to extend an invitation to the wedding.”

Waldron opened his mouth, shut it, opened it, and shut it again, feeling as foolish as a bloody carp. Astonishment constricted his throat. He needed a drink. Since nothing strong enough was available, he sucked in a breath and forced himself to think straight. “Of course, if it pleases the Crown to attend this event, we would be honored and delighted beyond measure by Your Majesty’s august presence—as well as that of Queen Matilda, Regent Odo, and your retinue.”

“Indeed.” King William nodded, first at Waldron, then at Kendra and Alain, who were standing so close together that Waldron doubted even the sharpest sword could ever part them. “It pleases the Crown very much.”

TO SAY that Edgarburh celebrated Kendra’s return would be like saying folk celebrated the birth of Jesu at Cristes mæsse, though these festivities were tempered by mourning Cæwlin and the other fyrd members who had perished at Thornhill. But whether one grieved or rejoiced, each state provided an excellent excuse to remain in a drunken stupor for days.

The bride, of course, couldn’t afford such a luxury.

If Edgarburh with King William and his troops in residence had been, according to Kendra’s father, busier than a month of market days, adding Queen Matilda and her entourage to the mix created a maelstrom of activity.

Moving trancelike from task to task, Kendra felt as if she were trapped within the storm’s eye. Never mind that she’d accomplished most of her wedding’s details prior to her abduction; the queen would have none of it. Once Her Majesty had learned of the “poor, motherless dear” slated to marry one of the king’s favorite knights, she insisted on rearranging everything to her own exacting standards. Kendra’s gown, the fragrant profusion of lavender garlands festooning the chapel and feast hall provided by the wagonload from the queen’s Norman farms, the guests’ attire, the sumptuous nuptial feast, even the finely woven and embroidered linens swathing the bridal bed didn’t escape the queen’s notice.

Fortunately, Kendra thought with a private smile as Her Majesty’s personal dressmaker tugged the gorgeous silver-brocaded blue damask fabric this way and that, the queen had brought an army of workers.

Feeding them for the fortnight leading up to the ceremony might have posed a problem if the king hadn’t granted Alain a generous portion of the gold recovered from Ulfric’s stolen hoard. Alain, in turn, gifted much of it to Waldron as Kendra’s brydgild, since his status as his late father’s second son had left him with no estates from which to draw funds.

Two details Kendra remained firm on, however.

Although she had intended to wear the veil she’d made for this occasion, at the last moment she decided to honor her parents’ union by wearing her mother’s wedding veil instead. Even if its grayish blue color had not complemented her gown’s darker hue so well, she’d have worn it regardless.

Queen Matilda, a knowing sparkle lighting her eyes, expressed profuse approval.

Kendra also insisted on carrying a bouquet fashioned of roses plucked from the bushes Del had given her following their mother’s death. All the other changes the queen had effected should have taught Kendra a lesson; the royal florist used Del’s roses to create a breathtaking cascade of red and white blooms at least as large—if perhaps not quite as heavy—as Alain’s shield.

Surviving the madness of preparations and bouts of nervousness, thus she came to be seated sideways across the saddle of Alain’s charcoal warhorse, whose ebony mane and tail had been braided and woven with snowy rosebuds. Chou’s bridle and harness featured new silver fittings that shone in the morning sun.

As arranged months ago, four of Kendra’s unmarried cousins—daughters of Waldron’s younger brother and sisters—accompanied her, similarly dressed and mounted, escorted by Ruaud and three of Alain’s other knightly friends. Noir wouldn’t let himself be left out either. The giggling bridal party’s play-acting began at Edgarburh’s main gate, as a modified nod to the ancient custom of the groom sending his best men to steal his chosen bride from her home.