Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

‘You are naught but a collaborator!’ Ignoring Cecily’s gasp of horror, Edmund flicked at the fur-lined cloak. ‘He gave you this, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, but—’ Appalled by Edmund’s venom, Cecily shook her head. ‘Edmund, please don’t. This is not the way forward.’

Edmund brought his face close to hers. His pupils, despite the fading light, were small and dark. Angry. ‘You’re wrong. It is the way. Philip should not be living among murdering Franks.’

Maurice Espinay and Geoffrey of Leon stepped into the yard and Edmund fell silent. His chest heaved, but he held his peace until they had vanished into the stables.

‘I’ll get Philip out of here,’ he muttered.

‘No! Edmund, you have not the right.’

‘I am loyal to the house of Wessex,’ Edmund said. ‘As you father was.’

‘Wessex is a spent force.’ Cecily sighed. ‘Edmund, I have seen the Norman garrison at Winchester, and it would be folly to pit yourself against such might—especially now King Harold is dead and his family have been scattered to the four winds. You are not being realistic.’

‘I am glad your father is gone that he cannot hear you speak such treachery.’ Edmund’s eyes filled with scorn. ‘And I am glad that Judhael cannot hear you. He is fighting hard for the Saxon cause, trying to raise money, trying to rally the troops for one final battle.’

‘Edmund, I do not want to argue with you, but you and Judhael are wrong. The cause is already lost. We would do better to become allies with these men. Can you not see? If resistance around London and the south has been dealt with so ruthlessly, fighting here can only bring more pain, more death, more hardship. Is that what you want for the people of Wessex? That their land should be laid waste too?’

Edmund reached for his crutches. ‘Perhaps the cause is not as lost as you imagine.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ll see.’

The hairs rose on the nape of her neck. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? You know something else. Edmund, what—?’

Edmund’s lips formed a smile, but there was little warmth in it. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

‘Tell me!’

‘I have said too much already. You are but a woman, and a blind one at that. You have been out of the world so long you cannot possibly understand.’

Cecily clenched her fists, but Edmund’s face was rigid. For the sake of peace, she held her tongue.

Thus it was that that evening yet another worry was louring like a thundercloud over Cecily’s thoughts. Was Edmund about to attempt something rash? Were others involved? She went to the cookhouse to help Brian Herfu get Harold and Carl in hand and the cloud was large in her mind. It did not shift when she went to the stables to feed her father’s wolfhounds, and even her delight in the fact that Lightning and Greedy knew her and nuzzled her did not dislodge it. It hung over her still just before supper when, back in her father’s mead hall, she had the trestles put up for the evening meal.

But most of all the cloud shadowed her mood when she stood at Adam’s elbow for the saying of Grace. It was awkward, being next to the man who had taken her father’s place, but her fears concerning Edmund pushed the awkwardness aside, as they pushed aside everything else. By now she had quite forgotten that this was the first time that Adam had seen her in secular clothing, and thus missed the swift appraisal he gave her, and the accompanying nod of satisfaction.

Around the board, faces from Cecily’s childhood glowed in the firelight. At the other end Father Aelfric stood next to Sigrida—the boy and girl whose heads barely reached the trestle must be their children. There was the old reeve Godwin and his wife Aella, whose poor hands were gnarled and twisted with arthritis. There was Gudrun and Wilf and Wat; there was the miller and his wife with Matty…even Edmund swayed in on his crutches at the last moment. True, Edmund was wearing an expression belligerent enough to cramp every muscle in her stomach, but he was there. Everyone was present save Lufu and her mother’s maid, Marie. The riddle of Lufu’s whereabouts had yet to be solved, and Marie had been escorted to the convent.

Cecily looked at the familiar faces and blinked away a mist of tears. So it had been on feast days in her father’s time, with all welcome in the Hall. True, there was clear division at the table, with Cecily being the only Saxon at the top. Flanked by Adam and Sir Richard and surrounded by troopers, she was cut off from her fellow countrymen, who sat further down the board, near the door. It would hardly be a relaxing meal, with Adam’s men having their swords to hand, but at least Saxons and Franks were under one roof, breaking bread together. It was a start. The beginning of peace? She hoped so.

‘How did you do it?’ she whispered to Adam, as Father Aelfric coughed and signalled quiet for Grace.

‘Mmm?’

‘Get the villagers in here.’

‘Father Aelfric told them of our betrothal. They have come to see you, my lady.’ Adam’s eyes met hers, a slight frown between his brows. ‘They honour you, and will take their lead from you.’

Cecily bowed her head for Grace. Would that that were so, she thought, bitterly aware that it was likely to be a mixture of fear and curiosity that had brought everyone to the Hall that evening. Earlier, she had asked every Saxon she had seen if they knew where Lufu might be, and she had got nowhere. People knew, but now that Cecily was about to ally herself with Adam they had closed ranks against her. Even Gudrun and Matty had not let her winkle anything out of them. And Edmund had called her a collaborator. Did the entire village share his views?

Grace having been said, Adam took her hand. ‘My lady,’ he said, and with a formal bow saw her seated. As he took his place next to her on the top bench, his thigh brushed hers.

Cecily flicked back her veil. Absurdly conscious of the physical contact with Adam, slight though it was, she made to edge away, but a slight pressure on her wrist brought her eyes up.

He gave his head a slight shake. ‘I need you close.’ His quiet murmur barely reached her above the scraping of benches and the buzz of conversation. ‘They need you close. If we act in harmony it will go better for everyone’s sake.’

Was that a threat? What would Adam do to the villagers if she did not openly support him? If it was in their interests that she smile at him, then smile at him she would, trusting that her father’s tenants would know her for a peacemaker rather than a collaborator. His watchful eyes ran over her face. She had the distinct sense that he was holding himself in check, that he was waiting for her to make some move. Had he overheard her conversation with Edmund? Was he capable of understanding it?

‘That blue becomes you,’ he murmured unexpectedly, ‘and I’m glad you have shed that wimple at last.’

Startled by his compliment, self-conscious all over again, Cecily dipped her head in acknowledgement and extended her hand to him. She was still wearing her convent boots, but he had obviously not noticed. However, she would play the formal part he had allotted her, even if she could not mask that slight trembling of her fingers. Adam raised her hand to his lips. Butterflies. One small kiss and he had butterflies dancing in her stomach. How did he do that?

Breaking eye contact, Cecily realised their interplay had been noted. At the far end of the table Gudrun’s face had relaxed. Matty gave a little giggle and dug her mother in the ribs. Wat grinned. She didn’t look at Edmund.

Something thudded against the door. Heads turned as Brian Herfu booted it open and carried in the chickens on a huge serving dish. The flames in the hearth rocked like marigolds in a breeze. Brian hefted the dish onto the trestle with a thud and went back out into the dark yard.