Chapter Twenty-One

“M ilady!” Aimory called out as the group rode through Merewood’s massive wood gate.

Eyreka raised her head toward the sound of his voice. The look on Aimory’s face made her sigh with resignation. Worry lined his brow, while tension seemed to stiffen the muscles of his body. It was time to have a private talk with him, but it would bear careful consideration first. Raising sons had made her very aware of just how great the need to hold onto their young pride truly was. She hoped that her husband had not seen the look in the young knight’s gaze, he was bound to misunderstand.

“Angelique!” Augustin called out, striding across the lower bailey, dodging a young lad diligently shoveling horse manure onto a cart already heaped with soiled straw from the stables.

He paused to look over his shoulder, “You’ve a fine rhythm going, Owen,” he encouraged. “Remember to bend your knees when you lift.”

Eyreka had to smile at the look on the young man’s face. She knew from his bemused look that he had not expected their Norman Lord to be aware that he existed, let alone praise him for performing the meanest of jobs. Her first husband had, though. Addison had made a point of knowing everyone’s name and had performed all of the tasks, oft-times while the younger of their household watched. Their sons had grown up knowing their father was not too proud to shovel steaming piles of horse dung.

That the new lord of the keep showed similar tendencies made all of the recent upheaval and difficulties worthwhile.

Angelique scooted down off the back of her horse and threw herself into her father’s waiting arms. Eyreka watched the look of relief soften his features as he drew his precious child to his breast, enfolding her in steely bands of protectiveness. Longing to be held just that way caught her off guard.

She reached for the bit of amber that hung around her neck, blindly feeling for the carved inscriptions. The prophecy of a strong warrior coming to protect the wearer in times of need made her smile. So far her rescuers had come after she had been forced to defend herself. Her thoughts turned toward Garrick’s wife and the odds Jillian had battled against to survive. I must return her necklace today, she thought.

“Ahh, ma petite ,” Augustin said, drawing back from the little girl. “You have had more than your share of adventure this day.”

She nodded and looked over at Eyreka, “Lady Eyreka is a skilled healer.”

Without another word, the young girl walked over to where the injured Armand was still holding her mount. “ Merci, Armand,” she said politely.

The shock on the man’s face told Eyreka that it was not the way her new daughter usually acted. The warrior bent down on one knee, so that he was eye level with his tiny mistress, and solemnly replied, “You are most welcome, ange. ”

Eyreka sincerely doubted that Angelique was an angel at all, but was not about to say so and destroy the moment of revelation for the hardened warrior. Who was she to say that the little girl was not pleasant to everyone else but her? After all, ’twas not as if she herself would be amenable to another woman trying to replace her mother. Eyreka doubted she would have been as calm as Angelique.

She shook her head sadly, knowing she would have tried to slip something cold and slimy between the interloper’s bed linens or mayhap something with many legs into the woman’s evening trencher. She had used both tricks herself to get her father’s attention after her own mother died.

A sense of understanding filled her as she watched the girl side-step the young lad still mucking the bailey, and dance up the steps to the hall, twirling around the two maidservants who waited to be summoned. The young had the startling ability to block out the horrors life threw in their path. Mayhap it was a blessing, she thought. Recovering her poise, she called out to one of the serving maids that hovered at the base of the steps and asked her to fetch Sara.

The one end of the hall looked like it had in the aftermath of the bloody siege more than twenty winters ago. As Eyreka worked to sew and re-bind the warriors’ wounds, Angelique helped.

“Sara!” she called out, grateful when the woman placed yet another bowl of warm, herb-scented water by her elbow. The used bloody bowl was removed, and another stack of linen strips was placed within reach. Eyreka took a moment to step back from the ragged gash she stitched to stretch her aching back. She was not used to working so intently for such a long period of time, thank the gods, not since Merewood Keep had fallen.

Augustin’s touch surprised her. She jumped, dropping a clean strip of linen onto the soiled rushes at her feet. He bent down to retrieve it for her, but she stopped him, “Nay, I cannot use it now, it would cause Henri’s wound to fester.”

“Why?” Augustin asked intrigued.

“I do not know, other than the fact that after years of learning the art of healing at my mother’s elbow, and watching the men who caught wound-fever and died,” she said in a low voice, “there seemed to be a commonality among the ones who died so soon after being cared for.”

Her husband’s interest was definitely centered on what she said. His gaze was narrowed, and he seemed to be concentrating on every word.

“The wounds that were painstakingly cleansed, even those without healing herbs, did not fester as badly as the ones that were simply bound up and left to heal.”

Henri poked her shoulder with his meaty forefinger. “Have you washed it out then?”

His question made her smile. “Aye, though you’ll have to come back and let me change the bandage again in the morning,” she told him, winding the linen securely around the warrior’s arm.

He eyed her with what she guessed was speculation. It was the truth, she knew he did not trust her, but at least he had come to appreciate her skills and had stopped questioning her every move.

The older man nodded and rose to leave. As she wiped her hands dry, he called to her, “ Merci , milady,” he said gruffly.

Augustin mumbled something under his breath and followed his vassal out of the hall. Eyreka knew that the time for questions had begun. Henri was the last of the patrol to be seen to. Though his wound was the most serious, he had insisted that she take care of the others first.

Eyreka gathered the soiled linens and piled them together; they would need to be laundered two times before they were fit to be used again. All of Augustin’s men are honorable and trustworthy, she thought watching the group move off to go about their varied duties. Why then could they not give their loyalty to her as she so willingly gave it to them?

“My husband is an honorable man,” she said aloud.

“’Tis the only reason I have struggled to convince people not to rise against him,” Garrick said quietly.

“I did not know you were there.” Eyreka did not like being caught unaware.

“If you had known, you would not have revealed your true thoughts,” he chided.

Eyreka mulled over her son’s words, relieved that he would readily admit what was in his heart.

“What happened out there?” she asked, changing the subject, hoping for a direct answer.

“Henri headed up the dawn patrol,” her son said, a frown beginning to form a crease between his brows. “They were attacked on their way back from the southern meadow.”

“Did they recognize any of the warriors?”

Garrick’s look made her laugh.

“I suppose all Saxons look the same to our Norman guards, do they not?” she said softly.

“So I have heard,” he answered. “Jean said that they had found evidence of two more encampments, both in the wood that borders the southern meadow.”

“It would bear investigating.” Eyreka lowered her voice. She did not want anyone to hear their hushed conversation.

“So you don’t know?” Garrick looked surprised.

“Know what?” Eyreka demanded, placing her hands on her hips.

“Mayhap you should ask your husband.”

“Mayhap I will add some herbs to your evening meal,” Eyreka said evenly. “Ones that are guaranteed to cramp your belly.”

“For the love of God, Mother,” Garrick said, trying to control his anger.

“Tell me,” she urged, knowing he would not dare refuse her.

“For the past week, each patrol has reported similar findings… abandoned encampments.”

“And?”

“These last two would indicate that someone has camped in a circle around Merewood. As if they were watching our holding from all angles.”

“To best decide our weakest point?”

To her dismay, Garrick nodded. “’Twould be my guess. You’ll have to ask Augustin to be certain.”

She clenched her hands at her sides and started to walk away. Garrick’s hand on her arm stopped her. “There is more,” he admitted.

She could sense whatever it was devastated her son. “Tell me,” she implored.

“Our grain,” he said haltingly, “has been trampled.”

Before anyone could stop her, Eyreka ran out of the hall and was in the stables saddling her own mount. She had to ride out to view the devastation firsthand.

The sight of the nearly grown green plants lying flat on the ground had a lump of anguish forming in her throat. What would her people eat? The sound of hoof beats galloping up behind her broke through her troubled thoughts. She dashed the tears from her cheeks. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the anguish in Garrick’s tortured gaze. Before she could speak, Dunstan arrived with five warriors.

“Who would do such a thing?” She dismounted and knelt down to touch the trampled grain, disbelief warring with the need for answers. “What have you done about this?” she demanded of her sons.

Garrick shifted from one foot to the other and glared at her. “I have reported the damage to the lord of the keep,” he bit out. “Your husband has sent a patrol of men out to track down whoever is behind this atrocity.”

“Do we have enough grain stored to feed our people?” she asked Dunstan, hesitatingly. When he nodded, she continued, “What about for planting?”

“Aye, but we must replant immediately,” Dunstan looked out over the vast field of trampled grain.

“If I had the time or manpower, I would have planted all of the seed,” he said slowly. “If I had—” Dunstan left the thought unfinished, but she knew what he was going to say… they would have lost the entire crop, the king would not have received his share of the revenue, and their people would once again be in danger of starving.

“Who could possibly want to see our people suffer again?” she demanded. Her anger filled her with the need to act.

Garrick’s eyes narrowed as he stared off in the distance. As she watched, her son’s jaw clenched and his mouth formed a thin line of grim determination, “Garrick,” she prompted.

“Dunstan, escort Mother back,” he ordered.

“I do not wish—”

Garrick turned around and ground out, “I do not have time to be concerned with your wishes.”

Eyreka started to reply, but was cut off when Garrick continued, “You did not heed our wishes when you wed de Chauret.” His face flushed with anger. “If you had, we could have told you something like this would happen.”

“I…don’t understand,” she stammered.

“Aye, Mother, you do not,” he bit out. “The Saxon people have been taken over by the Normans, and our attempts to rise up against the Conqueror have failed. Not everyone has learned to accept that the Normans are here to stay, as I have.”

“There are those who would see de Chauret fail,” Dunstan added.

“But our people would starve!” she answered, indignant.

“And their traitorous mistress with them,” Garrick answered.

“Do you think I have betrayed our people?” she rasped, pain slicing through her heart at the coldness behind her son’s words.

Garrick shook his head, “Nay, but I would have rather left Merewood than see you wed to a Norman.”

Dunstan nodded his agreement.

“What is done, cannot be undone,” she said, straightening her spine and gritting her teeth. “I have done what I thought was best for our people.”

Garrick grimaced, “Let us hope the retaliation will end here,” he said in a low voice.

As Eyreka and Dunstan rode away, Patrick leaned toward Garrick, steadying his fractious mount. “Owen?” he asked.

Garrick shook his head, “He is still in London awaiting trial.”

“Who then?” Kelly asked, moving his mount in between the two warriors.

Patrick and Garrick’s gazes met and held. “Aaron?”

“I thought he was dead,” Kelly said in a quiet voice.

“I thought so, too,” Patrick answered.

“Will we have to tell Augustin about him?” Kelly asked.

“Not until we have more proof,” Garrick answered.

His mother and brother were mere specks in the distance when he finally spurred his destrier to follow them. His gut roiled as fear clashed with anger. The women he loved were still in danger.

*

“Is there enough to plant another crop?” Augustin could not believe the worry over the trampled plants. He was on edge, agitated. He disliked having to worry about something he did not understand. You could not hold grain in your hand like a weapon, therefore, he reasoned, he did not need to know how to sow it, tend it, or reap it.

“The king will not receive his full share if we are to feed Merewood’s people,” Dunstan answered.

“Let me worry about William’s share,” Augustin said calmly. “He is not without reason.”

Dunstan snorted, but held back whatever he was about to say at Augustin’s hard look.

“Do you need extra men to plant the crop?” Augustin asked.

“Nay,” Dunstan said, shaking his head, “mayhap to guard it.”

Augustin nodded, relieved that Dunstan would see to the chore. The sudden thought that Eyreka’s sons were capable of running the holding without him bothered him. Garrick had the head for planning the defense of it, while Dunstan had the heart for ensuring their people were fed. In his bid to please his king and accept the offered holding, he hadn’t thought beyond making his mark upon these people, confident that only he and his personal guard could run the holding. He began to wonder how he would integrate these two peoples without compromising the way Merewood Keep had been thriving.

Eyreka served their people well, mayhap too well. Thinking of his wife, he smiled. She was never in one spot long, unless it was time for a meal, he grumbled to himself. A dark thought filled him… he was not needed here. On the heels of that thought came another. Eyreka did not need him either. Shaking his head to rid himself of that thought, he frowned. He was Lord of Merewood, his wife and their people would come to rely on him.

*

Eyreka waited until she and Augustin were alone in their chamber before she confronted him with her fears. Augustin’s eyes had taken on the familiar look she had come to watch for, one filled with hunger. But she refused to let herself be swayed by his nearness. She pushed out of his arms and blurted out, “Are we being attacked?”

While she watched, Augustin’s eyes changed to a lighter shade of gray. The look of hunger was replaced with a look of speculation. “Do you see hails of arrows raining down upon the warriors guarding the curtain wall?”

She shook her head, “Nay, but—”

“Do you see a siege tower butted up against the outside our thick stone walls?” he continued.

“Nay, but—”

“Then why would you ask such a question?” he demanded.

“The campfires,” she said simply, hoping her husband would volunteer information.

“What campfires?” he asked, watching her with cold clear eyes.

Anger filled her. There was nowhere she could go to escape the hurt feelings that wrapped tightly about her breast, squeezing her. “I thought we had come to an understanding,” she whispered.

His look warmed as his gaze raked her from head to toe. “We have.” He reached for her.

Eyreka spun about so that he could not grab her and pull her to him. She would not let him addle her wits with the heat of his touch. “What we have is desire and passion,” she said brokenly, “nothing more.” She inched backward until she could feel the rough wooden planks of the chamber door beneath her hands.

“You agreed.” His voice took on an edge of steel, as he stalked closer.

“And I am ten times a fool,” she said, opening the door and slipping through. Her swift footsteps carried her down to the lower level and through the now empty hall. She did not stop until she had reached the corner of the herb garden.

A whisper of sound told her that she had not succeeded in eluding the man she married. She refused to think of him as her husband. Nay, she thought, a husband would be considerate of her feelings. A husband would expect a helpmate in all things… he would trust her enough to confide important matters, like the random campsites surrounding their holding.

He is not Addison, a voice seemed to echo through her tired brain.

“I am not Addison,” Augustin bit out.

Rough hands upon her shoulders spun her about to face him. Anger seeped through his fingertips until she could feel the imprint she knew would be a telltale purple mark tomorrow.

She wanted to rant and rave. She wanted to push him and shove him on his arrogant backside. But she had not the strength. Caring for his men had drained what little energy remained. She felt her shoulders slump, as if they could no longer support the weight of his hands.

Augustin’s grip immediately loosened. “I do not understand why.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “Mayhap I should not have hoped for what I had in the past.”

“And that would be?” he rasped, dropping his hands to his sides.

“There was naught that my husband kept from me,” she said slowly. “He did not withhold crucial happenings from me, for fear that I would not understand their significance.” She flinched, her voice sounded bitter to her own ears.

“Why would he confide his worries in you?” he asked, the tone of his voice sounding amazed. “’Tis a husband’s place to protect his wife.”

It was then she knew he did not understand that very reason she needed to be a part of his day. She needed to hear that there was trouble surrounding their home, and needed to be asked for her thoughts on handling the situation.

She gathered what little strength was left and tried to make him understand. “I was not much older than your daughter when I accompanied my father on his planned siege of Merewood Keep.”

Augustin’s attention was centered on her, his gaze had sharpened. He took her by the hand and led her over to a wide flat stone and helped her to sit. He then sat beside her, waiting.

Words spilled from her lips as she told of her father’s ill-fated siege. His eyes narrowed as he listened to her explain how her Viking father had laid siege to Merewood, while a force of Danes had managed to block their retreat. Augustin had thought her to be Saxon by blood… not by marriage.

“There was naught else to do but offer to help the Saxons defend Merewood against the larger group of Danish invaders or be slaughtered.”

“Did he die?”

“Not that day,” she said shaking her head. “The Lord of Merewood was young and arrogant…ruthless…but not without brains. He accepted our offer of defense, thus tripling the number of warriors protecting Merewood.”

“And in exchange?” Augustin urged.

“In exchange, my father’s warriors would have the food and water they needed, along with the protection of the walls of Merewood Keep, until the Danes were vanquished.”

She must have hesitated long enough for Augustin to catch on that there was more to the story. Unable to finish the tale, she rose to her feet and brushed out her skirts.

She had not taken two steps when he hauled her around to face him and demanded, “Finish it.”

“While they battled the Danes, Siguird’s daughter had to remain in the hall to ensure his allegiance. Until the battle was over, no Vikings were allowed entrance to the hall or inner bailey, where the food stores and well were located.”

“Did your father have more than one daughter?” Augustin asked, his voice rough with emotion.

Eyreka shook her head.

Augustin enfolded her in his strong embrace. She allowed herself to be soothed. As he fell silent, she guessed that his mind would be trying to piece together the rest of the story. The night air carried a sudden chill as she realized that he would think ill of her first husband if she did not tell him all of it.

“The battle was long and bloody,” she continued, “with many dead on both sides. During that time, I had grown used to Addison’s presence. As I watched how he treated his own people, I realized, not only was he a skilled warrior, but also a fair and honorable man… like my own father.”

Augustin did not speak, but the understanding look in his eyes warmed her.

“When the wounded had been patched up, and I could see the uncertainty that plagued the Saxons of Merewood and my people, I made a bold decision. I offered to remain as wife to Addison of Merewood in exchange for freedom for my father and our people.”

“Your father allowed you to speak?”

“Aye,” she said softly, “he knew there was no use in trying to deny me.”

“And Addison?”

“I was very skilled as a healer even then. I had saved more than one of Addison’s warriors, and he was yet unmarried and very grateful.”

“I see.”

“We grew to love one another. We shared that love with our children. It was a good life… I miss him.” she paused, drew in a deep, fortifying breath and continued. “I would do anything for my family, Augustin.” Her voice was firm, “But I would never act without honor.”

Walking away from the silent man, Eyreka realized that while similar, the circumstances leading to their marriage were not the same. Merewood was not under siege, and the Danes were not bearing down upon them. Random encampments had been discovered, but Augustin’s men would flush out whomever watched Merewood’s walls. There was no danger of her having to put herself in the middle again.