Barbara Phinney - Bound to the Warrior

Adrien leaned forward to pat the stallion’s massive neck. “Aye, ’twould be good to fight again.”

Better than the dance he was doing with Ediva. He’d kept his distance the whole full moon cycle he’d been here, but she still seemed uncertain and skittish in his presence, as if she expected a blow at any moment. Only those few moments in the chapel weeks ago was he given the opportunity to close that yawning gap between them. Reaching her heart seemed almost within his grasp then, but she pulled away. And since that time, there had been nothing but politeness and distance between them.

Of what good would anything he tried be? He’d practically ordered her to the Sabbath services and, even then, he knew her heart was leagues away. So much good would come if she let God into her heart. He wanted that more than earning her trust.

But it would be nice to have both. Very nice.

After he sighed, Adrien urged the stallion forward toward the keep. He’d seen enough this morning, and with nothing in his belly, he was anxious to return for the noon meal.

And to see Ediva. Though the distance she enforced between them was a trial, he could not deny himself the joy he took in spending time with her. Even in the chapel where they kept the politeness to a fault, he valued their time together. The only mark on such time was the tension he’d felt between her and the chaplain. Entering the bailey, he spied Ediva. His wife. And yet, not his wife, save on some record kept by Poitiers.

She turned then, and her cyrtel, a pale pink like the roses that climbed the wall near the door, swirled with the movement. Her hair had been coaxed free of her simple veil by a warm breeze. Her wimple was gone, and he was glad to see her long, flaxen braids dropping down below her veil to rest upon her cyrtel.

She met his gaze, and then turned from it far too quickly. Unexpectedly, his heart sank. She still did not trust him even with her own shy looks.

Adrien walked his horse up to her. Thankful that she had the good manners to wait upon him, he nodded to her. “Good day, milady.”

“Good day, sir. You chose an early ride this morning.”

He dismounted. He towered over her as it was and certainly didn’t need the horse to add to it. When Harry ran up, he handed the boy the reins. With cheek enough to last his lifetime, the young squire threw them both a bold grin before leading the horse away.

“I chose this morning to view the fields. They’re good for livestock.”

“Aye, our beef and mutton are the best in the county.”

He agreed. But such was not on his mind. “Ediva, I want to ask you something.”

A guarded look shot across her features. “I may not know the answer.”

“You do know the answer, for it concerns only you. You don’t talk much to our chaplain. May I ask why?”

Her spine stiffened. “He often told me to obey my husband. When I discovered the nightmare I’d married into, I went to him for help for I had no family save some sisters I do not wish to trouble, as they are married and busy with their own lives. But the chaplain said ’twas my duty to obey Ganute for I was a temptress needing to be leashed.”

The flatness in her voice didn’t match the fire in her eyes. Stunned, Adrien reeled. “Leashed? You are not an animal, Ediva.”

“You called me a guardian in the chapel, as if I were a sheep dog.”

He felt his neck heat. “’Twas just a jest because of your desire to protect your people. I meant nothing that the chaplain might have meant.”

She feigned indifference as she shrugged. “Why should I obey a man who felt I needed to be hurt each night?”

He led her to a narrow bench, chasing away a pair of children playing on it. When they sat down, he could see the sun sparkling in her tear-filled eyes. His story of pruning the vine now sounded cruel. Why had he even mentioned it?

And why would the God who had blessed him so much turn His back on Ediva? His heart denied such an accusation, but the pain she’d suffered was clear, and God certainly had not blessed her with Ganute.

Why would a loving God allow her to suffer so? He shifted away from Ediva, who stared into the distance beyond the open gate, lips parted slightly, her upturned nose something he found himself wanting to kiss.

Mayhap her chaplain was right. Mayhap she was a temptress and needed a short rein. With her watering eyes and soft, pained words, was she coaxing him from his God? Was that even possible? After all, ’twas not her fault she was so beautiful.

He grimaced. He had devoted his life to fighting, not wooing women. He knew nothing of them, and his inexperience mocked him.

She looked down at her hands, then up to him, again with those watery eyes. He felt as though he’d kicked the timid dog that chased the cats for scraps. He should say something, anything.

Her face aflame, she stood. “I see you agree with the good chaplain. Your words may have been in jest, Adrien, but from the heart does the mouth speak. I see I have no one, not even God to help me.” She lifted her cyrtel to step away.

Snapping from his selfishness, Adrien leapt to his feet and caught Ediva’s wrist. “I have sanctioned nothing of the sort. My thoughts were not of that.”

When she yanked her arm back, he let her go. “What were they of, then? You looked at me as if I were something horrible.”

He scrubbed his face, hating that her intuition had led her to such an assumption. He simply didn’t know women well enough, and aye, he was suddenly afraid that she could so easily tempt him from everything he held dear. “You are not horrible, Ediva.”

“Ahh, your honeyed words. They do my heart good.”

He groaned at her sarcasm. He was not made for court, with fancy words and charm enough to choke a person.

A commotion rose by the gate, and both of them turned. Ediva, though, spun in the other direction where high upon the battlement, a man pointed to the south, past the village of Little Dunmow. He shouted something Adrien couldn’t understand.

“Soldiers and a wagon are coming,” Ediva translated. “The guard can see the royal standard.” She hurried toward the wall and its narrow stairs to the vantage point. A few feet into her march, she stopped and spun. “Mayhap the foolish king is looking for one of those babes he demanded. An impatient man, indeed!”

Adrien set his jaw. Her sarcasm scraped on his nerves like a blade on a grindstone. He barked out to Harry to fetch his weapon.

Thankfully, his sword arrived long before the soldiers. ’Twas the royal standard, but not the king who bore it. Adrien soon recognized his brother, Eudo, trotting merrily up on a horse as black as Adrien’s mood.

“Prado! I’m happy to see you!”

Adrien groaned inwardly at the baby name. Eudo, whose name was a derivative of Eudes, had taken a liking to Adrien’s middle name of Prades, giving it a childish spin like his own name. Adrien hated it, but his mother had said it meant rich fields, so he’d tolerated it. Until now.

“’Tis Adrien, brother, not Prado. Not even Prades, in case you prefer that,” Adrien said, sheathing his sword and catching the horse’s foamy bridle as his younger brother pulled to a stop just inside the gate. Eudo had ridden ahead. The cart and soldiers were still lumbering through the village. “Why the king’s standard? Do you have him hidden in the cart?”

Eudo swung off his mount and dusted himself off. “Nay, stealing the king away is yours and our brothers’ work, not mine.” Eudo smiled brightly. “I’m just a steward on his majesty’s orders, having been loaned his standard to ease my travels.”

Remembering the day, years ago, that he and his brothers had saved William’s life, Adrien growled back, “I am proud to have saved the king’s life that day in Falaise. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He patted the horse’s sweaty neck. “What brings you here in such haste? Surely the king’s standard would not ease your passage with rebels hiding in the woods?”