Chapter Eighteen

E yreka woke to the crash of thunder. She could feel the echoing rumble shaking the foundations of the keep. The summer storm unleashed its fury, sending torrents of rain to accompany the impressive flash of lightening and resounding crash of thunder.

Once her heart settled back down, she sat up, noticing with a sinking feeling that she was alone. It could not be much before dawn, the hall below her was still quiet.

Getting out of bed, she reached high over her head and stretched. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the welcome scent of rain-drenched herbs and grass that drifted in through the arrowslit. She walked over to it and rose up on her toes to look out over the gardens, thinking of her husband and all that they had shared last night. She closed her eyes and savored the memory, not knowing when, or if, she would ever be granted another taste.

She dressed quickly and went downstairs through the hall and out the side door, running to the kitchens. By the time she had covered the short distance, she was soaked to the skin, but the heat from the cooking fires quickly warmed her.

“Are the trenchers ready for tasting?” Eyreka asked, trying to maintain a stern expression on her face.

Gertie gave her a hard look and turned her back on her. Eyreka allowed the insolent behavior, knowing that her cook’s heart was in the right place, though her actions be skewed.

“No need to fill yourself up again, you must still be stuffed from all the food you tasted last evening,” Sara said grumpily, ladling honey over thick slices of bread, not looking up when she spoke.

“I shall take you at your word,” Eyreka said quietly. “See that all of the warriors who guard our holding are well fed.”

Sara nodded her agreement, and followed Eyreka back to the hall to begin serving their meal.

Georges was standing in the doorway with his back to her when she approached. “I have not seen Augustin,” he was saying to the men, “nor did he spend the night below with the men.”

Eyreka strove to hide her smile, slipping past the warrior into the hall; she did not intend to enlighten the men as to where her husband slept.

“Good morning,” she said, nodding to Georges and the handful of men standing beside him.

They paused in their conversation, and the warrior stared at her before nodding. Surprisingly, they waited for her to sit before seating themselves. She tried to hide the small smile that threatened to give away the fact that she was delighted to see such a change in their habit. A few weeks ago, the stubborn Norman guard would have ignored her totally, sitting whenever they chose. One small bit at a time, she reminded herself, she would see that the warriors accept her one small step at a time.

“Where is my husband this morn, Aimory?” she asked the tall blonde knight striding purposefully into the hall.

He stopped and redirected his steps, coming to a halt in front of her. He bowed low.

“He and a small company of men have ridden out on patrol,” he said. The warrior’s eyes turned from cool, clear-blue to slits of cold, hard sapphire before she could draw another breath. Something was wrong. The change in the young warrior unnerved her.

“But he usually leaves that duty for Patrick and Henri,” she said slowly, a feeling of dread filling her.

Aimory’s gaze softened at the obvious worry in her tone. “He shall return shortly; they rode out well before dawn.”

“Then they shall need warm food and a goblet of our special mead,” she said determinedly. Eyreka rose up and headed back out toward the kitchen. Before she could step outside, a large hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“I’ll send word to the kitchens,” Jacques said gruffly. “No need for you to get soaked again.” To her utter shock, he grinned. “You’re already wet enough, Augustin would have my head if you were to fall ill while under our protection.”

The knight’s words felt like a healing balm smoothed over her tensed shoulders; at least two of her husband’s men no longer hated her. She nodded and returned to her seat.

Silent through most of the meal, she heard snippets of conversation from the loud warriors’ voices. In between surprised praise for the food came the references to campfires in the southern meadow. But who would be lighting fires in the southern meadow? None of their people would want to disturb the young plants. Merewood’s crops were vitally important to the survival of all of its people.

The patrol had not returned by the time she rose from the table, so she went in search of Jillian. She found her above stairs trying to soothe her squalling babe. “Is something amiss?” she asked, concerned for her grandson.

“Nay, I fear another tooth is trying to poke through his poor swollen gums,” Jillian said over Alan’s loud cries.

“Here, let me walk him,” she said, taking the infant from Jillian’s arms. “You need to eat.” Eyreka turned her back on the younger woman, knowing that she would understand that Eyreka meant to have her way. After a few moments, she heard Jillian leave.

“You shouldn’t give your mother such a hard time,” Eyreka said, drying the babe’s tears and kissing his chubby cheeks. “She has more than enough to do caring for my son.”

Eyreka walked over to the table and picked up the linen cloth draped over the side of a small wooden bowl and smiled. Her son had obviously not convinced his young wife to try anything stronger than herb-laced water on the babe’s gums. She sighed loudly, grabbed the bit of cloth and started to rub it gently on the tiny red bump next to Alan’s tooth. He continued to cry, and she realized not much had changed since her own sons had cut their teeth.

*

Augustin found her pacing the small chamber trying to soothe the angry infant. Thoughts of his own daughter had him crossing the room, without a word, and taking the child from his startled wife.

“I did not hear you,” she chided him.

“It would not have been possible above Alan’s lusty cries.”

Her eyes softened at his use of the babe’s name. Her obvious love for the child shone from her ice-blue eyes. It was a familiar look.

“’Tis his second tooth,” she said simply, trying to take Alan back from him.

Augustin handed the babe back to her and strode to the table. He poured water from the pitcher into an empty bowl and used the soft bit of mint and lavender soap to wash his hands. He could feel the intensity of her gaze warm his back.

He walked back over to her and took the now screaming child back. For a moment, he stared down, noticing the smallness of the babe. It rocked him clear to his soul; his own arms seemed massive in comparison, as they had the first time he had held Angelique.

He shook his head to clear out the memory that would no doubt lead to thoughts of Monique. “Have Sara or one of the other serving women send up a flagon of mead,” he ordered without looking up.

The small gasp from his wife had him turning his back on her, it would not do to let her see his smile. The woman had difficulty taking direct orders, he thought as she swept from the room.

She returned carrying a pitcher. He nodded toward the table. Once she had placed it down, he shifted Alan to rest up against his shoulder, careful not to let him bump his head, and bent down to dip the remaining linen square into the fragrant brew.

Then he began to rub the babe’s gums with the flavored cloth. When the baby started to quiet, he was relieved. He had thought that mayhap the child would not be as receptive to the strong taste of mead as his daughter had been.

Eyreka’s hand upon his arm startled him. “My sons always preferred my husband’s finger to a bit of linen.”

She dipped his forefinger into the mead and guided it into the babe’s now open mouth. The cries abruptly ceased as Alan chewed contentedly on Augustin’s rough fingertip while watching him through tear-filled eyes.

“His jaws are as strong as his cries.”

“You like children,” she said quietly.

“Aye.”

He gazed down at the solemn woman at his side. How could he possibly explain what he held so deeply buried within him? He could not begin to guess where her thoughts had strayed to, but he wanted to say something to make her look back up at him. Finally, he knew what to say. “I would make room for sons,” he said without wondering where the thought came from.

Her head shot up, and he watched tears fill her expressive eyes. She didn’t speak, but she inclined her head before turning away.

He heard her sniff loudly before she turned back toward him, eyes bright with unshed tears. “And I would gladly welcome your daughter and begin instructing her in the running of our holding.

“Is there aught amiss that you patrol in the middle of a thunderstorm?”

Augustin was taken aback for a moment, wondering if one of his men had spoken out of turn, before he reasoned that his wife knew more about what went on within the walls of their holding than he did. There would be no point in trying to shield her. She’d find out what she wanted to know elsewhere. A tiny voice, from deep inside him, whispered that he wanted to share his worries with her, needed someone to confide in, someone who would understand.

“You know that de Jeaneaux has escaped?” He watched closely for a reaction.

She took the sleeping babe from his arms, wiping the tiny line of drool from Alan’s round cheek with a light, deft touch, and put him to bed.

“I had heard that you were planning to speak with him about…” Her voice trailed off, and he watched every drop of color fade from her face.

He took her small white hands in his and held them. He wanted to reassure her that no man would ever harm her again, but Augustin was not one to make promises that he was powerless to honor. Yet he wanted to do something to ease the look of fear that flashed across her face before she hid it from him.

“Aye. Once Patrick had finished getting his point across—”

His wife smiled at his inference that her son’s vassal had actually been talking, when Augustin knew she had heard Patrick had beat the man senseless. She was a strong woman, he thought, who had raised strong sons, and understood the ways of men.

“Did anyone else speak to de Jeaneaux?” she asked.

The sharp bark of laughter that shot out of him was totally unexpected. She had the wit to match his cousin, Georges. “No one else laid a hand on him,” he said quietly knowing that was what she had meant all along.

She looked up at him then, “I did not encourage de Jeaneaux’s attentions.” Sorrow filled her beautiful eyes.

He squeezed her hands. “I know.” His hands started to tremble, her nearness seemed to be affecting him still. He wanted to ask how she felt this morning, if she had slept well, if she dreamt of him, but he could not utter the words poised upon his tongue. The thought of needing to hear her say that she dreamed of him was a blow to his pride.

He should be able to control his feelings for his wife. He had not let thoughts of Monique disrupt his thoughts, as Eyreka did. Could he open his heart to her? Was it wise?

“Patrick and Jacques were guarding Phillipe.” Anger filled him at the thought of his one-time friend abusing his wife. “Lightning struck a tree across the bailey from where he was being held. Both men left him unguarded to douse the fire, before it had a chance to ignite the back of the stable.”

“You were searching for him this morning?” Eyreka was stunned, considering the implications of de Jeaneaux being free and what fate awaited the two warriors responsible.

“Aye.”

“You’ll not reprimand Patrick or Jacques, will you?” Her eyes gave away the fact that she thought he might.

Augustin almost admitted that he had knocked the both of them to the ground before he had been able to control his temper. He didn’t want to discuss the reasons why he had reacted that way with her, because she was the reason.

“Nay, I’ll not,” he said simply. Let her assume that the men had earned their bruises on the training field.

“Augustin, about last night—” she began, before he cut her off. The tone of her voice and the way she would not look at him told him all that he needed to know.

“Now is not the time to discuss it,” he bit out, angry with himself that he even worried what she was thinking.

He strode from the room without looking back. If he had, he would have seen the yearning that filled her eyes. Instead all he saw was what his mind focused on, the empty hut where her attacker had been held, and the remains of more than one campfire in the heavily wooded forest near the southern border of their land.

Frustration filled him, but he pushed the feeling aside. He would find out who camped on their land, and deal with them. Then he would find de Jeaneaux and make him pay.