Barbara Phinney - Bound to the Warrior

She bit her lip. “For not giving my all to Him. For not rejoicing in the marriage consecrated in His eyes. For turning my back on Him when I was—” She cleared her throat. “The chaplain would tell me to pray for Ganute’s safety in battle.” She glanced up at him and he saw a fierceness there as her voice dropped. “If I had prayed, ’twould have been for his death, not his life.”

Ahh. ’Twas the reason for the backward fealty to William. She owed the king because one of his soldiers had ended her misery.

His breath drew in sharply. He’d fought at Hastings, following the king who’d led the battle. Adrien had slashed his way through several Saxon knights that day.

Had Ganute been one of them?

Still, her words about God... Was she not a Christian woman? The tutor his family had employed had said once that some hearts were closed to the Lord.

Was she hard of heart?

Ediva blinked rapidly again, offering the real answer. She was as hard-hearted as a kitten. She was simply afraid to trust—in man or in God. Life had scarred her.

He lifted her hand, smooth and cold and shaking. He tightened his grip to warm it and prevent it from slipping free. “Ediva, God doesn’t punish those who are already hurting. He has mercy.”

“Mercy?” Her brows shot up. “There was no mercy for five years. Not even from my own family. I was told to endure my marriage because ’twas my duty to my family.”

Glancing around, his gaze fell on a bare vine clinging to the sunniest wall of the bailey. Buds were swelling on it. He dug through his memories for something to say. As third son, he’d been expected to serve the church and had studied with monks for much of his childhood. Surely there was some Bible story... “Ediva, God prunes the vine so it will produce good fruit. You must have produced good fruit, for God does not prune that which produces no fruit at all.”

She shook her head. “I told you I am barren.”

“Fruit isn’t babes only, Ediva. The respect you have here and the care you show for your staff that leads them to care for you are all good fruit. Even for the short time I have been here, I can see you all care for each other.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a soldier. How do you know these things?”

“I’m not the firstborn son, so I was expected to serve God instead of lead the family.” He pulled her slightly closer but not so close as to scare her. “Enough of me. Ganute was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”

She nodded. Shaking his head, he leaned forward. Immediately, she drew back, too quickly for the cause to be anything but instinct.

His stomach tightened. “Don’t be frightened. Never will I force myself upon you. There is no honor in hurting a woman, Ediva.”

Her short, wobbly laugh brushed his cheeks. “We are married and the king has ordered children.”

“I will handle the king. He won’t expect babes overnight.” He shook his head. “We may be married, but until you find it in your heart to accept me as husband in every sense, I will demand nothing from you. Nor will you be bruised and beaten at my hand or anyone else’s. I promise you that.”

And along with his vow came the urge to press his lips against hers, to warm her very soul. He began to lower his head...

Abruptly, she pulled back her shoulders and steeled her spine. “Adrien, you say that God has been pruning me. But I fear He’s not done yet. Look around. All I own has been given away by a king as brutal as Ganute.”

“William is not brutal!”

“Ha! Did he not herd me to London like a sheep for slaughter, then not feed me so I would be weak and compliant? He has no care for me—no more than Ganute cared for me. No more than God cares for me. Don’t say that God allows me to suffer to make me a better person. I have no desire to hear anymore of how good God is.”

She pulled free her hand and held it up as she flew to her feet. “Nay! Keep your peace and your God because I don’t want either. But remember this. You promised me you’ll not touch me ’til I am ready. I will hold you to that.”

She spun and stomped up the stone steps into the kitchen, leaving him alone among the herbs only just budding from the cold, damp earth.

Chapter Four

Ediva sank into her chair, pretending to prepare for her bath, but she wanted only to ease her temper, lest she bark at her servants.

Her hand rose to her mouth, as if she could draw back in the harsh words she had spoken. Adrien had done nothing to warrant her anger, except injure her pride by calling her old.

Rubbing her pounding forehead with a shaky hand, she stood. She ached all over and needed to bathe away the smell of horseflesh and sweat of travel.

Mayhap you should first apologize to Adrien?

The nagging voice thumped between her temples, but grouchily, she ignored it. Husband or not, he had no right to know the details of her humiliating marriage to Ganute.

Her maid appeared in the doorway, spotted her and turned to depart immediately. “Margaret,” Ediva called. “Where is my bath water?”

“’Tis ready, milady. I will see that it’s brought up immediately.”

The girl hurried off. Discarding any soft thoughts of an apology, Ediva slowly removed her wimple. With the filth of travel on her and very little sleep these past few days, she needed to bathe and rest more than seek out her husband. How many times had she begged Ganute’s forgiveness for some imaginary folly only to keep the brittle peace that was as delicate as an eggshell? No, she would not apologize again.

Shortly, Margaret led in three servants with buckets of steaming water and the wooden tub. The young girl deftly prepared Ediva’s bath, helped her with it and then left her to her nap, with cloth-dried hair spread over the furs.

Sometime later, Ediva awoke. Immediately she turned to the window. Even through the vellum shutters, she saw the sun setting. The shutters were a marvel, for they blocked the wind yet filtered light into her solar. Ganute was proud of them, the vellum being the finest and thinnest, stretched upon dovetailed wood frames. He’d claimed it to be his invention, but Ediva secretly suspected he’d seen them in London.

Movement caught the corner of her eye and she flipped around. Adrien was sitting in her chair by the other window, reading the keep’s ledger whilst her maid was busy folding clothes into the trunk.

He looked up, and in the briefest of heartbeats, their eyes locked.

“Why are you here?”

He closed the book and locked the long hasp wrapped around it. Where had he acquired the key? From Geoffrey or from her belt whilst she slept? She would ask later. “I have spent the afternoon with your steward, inspecting the keep and the coffers. I wanted to check on you.”

She sat up, and then, realizing she wore only her inner tunic, she pulled up the fur bedclothes. The heavy pelts were suddenly a great comfort to her. She glared at Margaret, who didn’t seem concerned that Adrien was patiently waiting.

“You inspected the coffers? And the records, too, I see? Were they satisfactory?” She tugged the pelts closer, even though her maid had piled coals into the brazier and closed the shutters to keep the warmth inside. Still, Ediva felt need to cover herself further. “And you have sat by my brazier since, awaiting me?”

“I have only just sat down, milady. I fear I awoke you when I entered.”

“I must ask you to leave. Margaret will assist me now.”

Adrien lifted a finely curved brow, one as dark as her brows were pale.

“I will see to our supper, then. We shall dine in the hall.”

Ediva’s stomach growled. She’d missed the noon meal and was grateful that Adrien had delayed supper for her. Since Ganute died, she’d moved the castle routine away from two heavy meals. Their breakfasts were small and fresh, enough to keep them going ’til noon. Supper had become a reflection of breakfast, with broth that had simmered all day, something only to warm the belly. It suited her better than Ganute’s heavy meals, and with the change, Ediva had been able to cut spending, thus adding to the coins in her coffers.