Chapter Twenty-Two

G arrick and Augustin had taken to riding out on patrol together. It pleased Eyreka to see Garrick’s stiff-necked pride give way to grudging admiration for her husband. Her eldest had finally let go of his hatred of Normans long enough to glimpse the man beneath the warrior’s facade.

She noticed Dunstan seeking Augustin out more and more, as the damaged crop had been cleared and a new one planted. Though Augustin did not seem to be able to offer any suggestions as to how to proceed, she noticed he did offer his whole-hearted support of Dunstan’s decisions. Augustin was intelligent enough to realize Dunstan’s value, and did not try to wrest control out of the younger man’s capable hands.

She smiled to herself, knowing for a fact that Augustin would rather be bested by the quintain, and face the jeers of his men, than tally up their spices, or barrels of meat and grain. He was more than happy to leave that to Dunstan.

Though she was loath to do it, she had spoken to Aimory, gently explaining how she felt about her husband. Aimory accepted her words with quiet dignity. She liked him better for it.

A feeling of peace pervaded their lives. Eyreka reveled in it, thinking that at long last she had achieved her goal uniting their two peoples.

“A soak in a hot tub would relieve the ache,” she heard Georges grumble as he and Augustin entered the hall.

She walked over to where they stood arguing. Both men were covered in a layer of sweat and grime. “Planting again, husband?” she teased, pleased by the flash of desire that darkened his gaze.

“Hah!” Georges grunted. “Doesn’t know when to give up,” he said cryptically, walking away.

“Sara, have hot water brought to the bathing chamber,” Eyreka called out. The maidservant nodded and went to do as she was bid.

“I have to speak to Georges,” Augustin rasped while staring pointedly at her lips. She touched her fingertips to them, feeling the caress in his gaze.

“I’ll be waiting,” she promised.

She set out bowls holding lighted tallow-fat candles and smaller ones with fragrant lavender. Nervous, she grabbed a handful of the dried blossoms and crushed them in her fist.

“Going to add that to the water?” Sara asked, tilting her head to one side as if waiting for Eyreka’s response.

“I think the lavender and mint soap will do.” Eyreka ignored Sara’s pointed look.

“Is there anything—” Sara started to say.

“That will be all for now,” Eyreka interrupted, smoothing the stack of drying cloths. “Thank you.”

Sara nodded and opened the door to leave. “Milord.”

“Sara.” Watching her hasty retreat, he asked, “Is there a problem? She seemed to be in a hur—” The words stuck in his throat as his gaze swept the room, centering on the silver maiden wreathed in the soft glow of candle flame.

“Let me help you,” Eyreka offered, dragging the tunic up and over his head.

Augustin felt his control slip a notch and desperately tried to hang on to it.

Eyreka beckoned, and he followed to the side of the tub. She helped him remove his braies. He was not a vain man, he knew his body was a mass of scars, but the way Eyreka stared at him made him feel invincible. Her eyes darkened as her gaze caressed the width of his shoulders and slid across the taut muscles of his abdomen.

“ Mon Dieu ,” he groaned.

She seemed to come back to her senses at his uttered oath. “I’ll get the soap.” Eyreka turned away, and he slipped into the tub, afraid his wife’s hungry gaze would weaken his knees to the point where he would fall on his face.

She poured warm water over his back and shoulders and worked up a lather in her hands, before sliding them across the knotted muscles in his upper back. He relaxed under the continuous hypnotic movement. Her hands slid over his shoulders, down across his back, and then up and around again.

“Mmm,” she breathed.

Caught up in the web of pleasure her hands wove, Augustin leaned back against the tub and closed his eyes. Eyreka slipped her soapy hands across his collarbones, kneading his pectoral muscles.

“Let me wash your hair.” Eyreka thought she heard a catch in his breathing, but was concentrating on the pure pleasure of sinking her hands into his thick chestnut waves. She’d wanted to touch his hair since that first day.

Slowly, she worked up a lather, massaging his scalp down to the nape of his neck and back up to his forehead. He started to sit up, but she pushed him back down. “You’ll get soap in your beautiful eyes.”

“Lady, I have been called many things,” Augustin said huskily, “but never that.”

She rinsed his hair and set the bucket alongside the tub. “Never?”

Despite the fact that his body was crisscrossed with scars, Augustin was a beautiful man. Power and heat radiated from him. His gray-streaked waves were a warm, rich brown, with but a hint of red fire.

She shook her head. “An oversight, milord,” she whispered, “one that I find hard to believe.”

As he drew her into the tub, Eyreka’s eyes locked with his. Something deeper than desire burned there. His loneliness called out to her as his soul-deep pain held her captive.

She was afraid she was living proof that the Viking prophecy was true… she was falling in love with her husband.

He claimed her in a mind-numbing kiss that had her fear melting away. Augustin’s lips slid across her cheek and nibbled a path along the sensitized skin of her jaw.

“Hotter than the fires,” she whimpered, leaning back against the tub, “that forged Thor’s hammer.”

Gathering her close to his heart, he stood on quaking legs, lifting her from the tub. Gently setting her on the bench, he wrapped a drying cloth about his waist and then wrapped another around Eyreka, drawing her to her feet. A familiar feeling of contentment was spreading through him. Mon Dieu , he was falling in love with his wife.

He dressed quickly and bundled her in his arms, carrying her back to their chamber. He smiled, thinking of how he was becoming accustomed to the feel of her womanly curves, her own special scent of lavender and rain, and her smiles. The change had been abrupt, and he was man enough to admit it to himself that he wasn’t falling in love with his wife…he was in love with her.

*

“But I want to ride now!” Angelique said, stamping her foot for emphasis.

Eyreka sighed, it was obviously to be her day for interruptions.

“I am busy.” She had to finish decanting the now cooled liquid she had extracted from the crushed foxglove.

“Mayhap later this afternoon,” she offered, finishing her task and looking up. The girl’s braid was coming apart, and her chainse and bliaut looked as if she had slept in them. Startled by the change in Angelique’s normally neat appearance, Eyreka brushed her hands on the sides of her gown and walked over to the open doorway where the little one stood.

Taking a chance that Angelique would not brush her off, she asked, “Who helped you to dress this morn?”

Angelique’s entire body stiffened, and her little chin came up. “I don’t need help,” she announced haughtily, her ice-blue eyes flashing a warning to those who would suggest she did.

For a brief moment, Eyreka debated whether or not to heed it. She decided she was not quite up to doing battle a second time that day, her sons had drained her fighting spirit. Her relationship with Angelique, if you could call it such, was too new… emotions too tenuous, she decided to go carefully.

“Mayhap you misunderstand me.”

Angelique’s expressive face mirrored the confusion Eyreka was certain lay just beneath the calm facade the girl chose to show the world.

She took pity on the little one and explained, “When one is mistress of an important holding, such as Merewood Keep, there are servants who are ready to assist their mistress in all things.”

Angelique nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“It is up to the lady of the keep to decide when and where she requires that assistance.”

“My father needs no help.” The challenge was blatant.

“I am sure that he does not, but a wise master knows when to seek help out of necessity, and when to seek help to allow those of his people to be an active part in the life of their home.”

Eyreka knew her stepdaughter was considering this bit of insight very carefully. The little one’s brow was deeply furrowed, while she kicked at the newly laid rushes with the toe of her boot.

She took a step closer. Thankfully the little girl did not shy away this time. Encouraged, she spoke in a quiet voice, “My mother used to rinse my hair with chamomile flowers and honeysuckle.”

Angelique looked up at her and countered, “Genvieve says that elder flowers and walnut leaves are what raven-wing tresses need.”

“Raven-wing.” Eyreka smiled. “How lovely.” She could not stop herself, she reached out with her right hand and stroked the top of Angelique’s dark head. “’Tis like my river stones, so very smooth.”

Angelique grumbled under her breath, but she stayed put. Eyreka sensed the girl’s resistance slowly ebbing away.

“Genvieve says, to maintain one’s hair and ensure its beauty, one must wash it often with her special blend of herbs and leaves.”

“Who is Genvieve?” Eyreka asked softly.

“Papa’s cousin.”

Eyreka could almost feel the unhappiness surround the little one, like the heavy gray smoke of cook’s drying fires. As she watched, one crystalline tear slid from the corner of Angelique’s eye and flowed in a stream down over her petal-smooth cheek.

“You must miss her.”

“She is my only friend,” the little girl admitted with a sigh.

“Only?” Eyreka prompted, nearly overcome with emotion that this lonely little girl would show even the tiniest bit of trust by confiding her closely guarded thoughts.

“Aye,” Angelique whispered. “With Papa gone so often, the ladies of the court would forget all about me. Without Papa there to return their smiles and place kisses on the backs of their hands as thanks for teaching me to sew or braiding my hair, I became one with the shadows.”

Eyreka’s heart broke. “But what of Genvieve?”

Angelique brightened. “She never ignored me. She liked me.”

Eyreka longed to pull the girl into her arms and soothe away the pain of those past rejections. How many times had Augustin’s daughter been rebuffed by the ladies of king William’s court? How many battles had he fought? Her mind answered, dozens… to both questions.

It was the smallest of sniffles that decided her. Willing to risk rejection by the little girl she so desperately wanted, Eyreka opened her arms.

Angelique hesitated then flung herself into Eyreka’s arms. When Eyreka tightened her hold, she burrowed in closer and wept her heart out.

Eyreka’s tears mingled with Augustin’s daughter’s as the two lost souls connected. It was not the same as in her dreams… dreams in which her own daughter had lived… but ’twas so very close.

A daughter at last.

Augustin stood rooted to the oaken floor, stricken. His chest ached. He had thought his only daughter safe and well cared for. Instead she had been mistreated and neglected all because of who and what he was.

Bury the past, live the present… Words he now strove to obey. He was wise enough to accept that he could not undo past hurts, but he could change the future. It was in his power to see that his daughter received all of his attention.

He looked at the two women in his life. One, his beloved daughter, the other his wife… not by choice at first, but now…

Aye, now… He let his thoughts drift back to the night before. They had reached a new stage in their relationship, where they were unafraid to admit to the passion between them, and their like need to see the people of Merewood working alongside his warriors…coexisting peacefully. The biggest stumbling block for him had been when she openly admitted her part in the scheme that forced him into marriage. Now, he realized that it no longer mattered. What did matter were her actions since returning to Merewood. She had done all in her power to try to get their two peoples to accept one another. His wife had suffered insults and physical abuse, indirectly because of whom she had married. She was open and honest about her feelings and she truly cared for his men, as if they were her own. Eyreka was honorable, more than deserving of his trust.

The beginnings of that trust would hold their respect for one another in place, while their honor and affection bound them to one another. He was more than pleased with the bargain; Merewood was a wealthy holding, its people respectful. But more than that, he had found something that had been missing from his life for too long. Unable to put the feeling into words, unsure of how to tell her, he merely acknowledged that Eyreka was the force behind the feelings.

Mayhap he should tell her outright what he had come to accept last night, but he was afraid—afraid to give voice to the thought—afraid of her reaction. It was then he felt the power of his wife’s gaze upon him. He looked up and was nearly blinded by the beauty of her watery smile. Aye, she was a beauty. His beauty. His, he liked the thought of it.

“She needs me,” Eyreka silently mouthed the words.

“I do, too,” Augustin mouthed back.

Eyreka watched Augustin silently step back out of the chamber. A heartbeat later, the sound of his footsteps seemed to fill the solar. Angelique pushed away from her, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Someone comes.” Angelique looked toward the door.

“Your father, I believe,” Eyreka replied.

“Milady,” Augustin said in a rich deep baritone. “Daughter.” His smile seemed to soften Angelique’s upset at being caught standing too close to her stepmother.

“Is aught amiss?” he asked gently, his gaze taking in the tears clinging to his daughter’s long eyelashes.

“’Tis Genvieve,” the little one cried. “I have not heard from her in weeks. She was journeying from London with me, when she was called back to tend to her mother.”

“I thought only Nadienne, Bernadette, and Simone came with you,” Augustin said quietly, holding his daughter close.

“Nay. Genvieve, too,” the little one said sadly.

“And you have not heard from her yet?” Eyreka asked, understanding beginning to fill her.

Angelique sighed and shook her head no.

“Mayhap her mother has recovered, but is comforted by Genvieve’s presence.” Eyreka said wisely.

“I am worried,” Angelique confided, looking up at Augustin, and then Eyreka through spiky wet lashes.

“Then I shall send a missive to London asking Genvieve to join us as soon as she is able,” Augustin said, in a calm tone.

Sympathy for the girl’s plight filled her. Eyreka walked back to her table and straightened her work area, setting aside the dried lavender and mint she was intending to boil for soap. “I am finished for now,” she said looking over the top of Angelique’s head at Augustin. At his nod of agreement she continued, “Why don’t we gather herbs?”

His look of gratitude warmed her.

Angelique shook her head. “I want to ride.”

“’Tis too dangerous. Come,” she said holding out her hand. “Walk with me.”

Angelique grumbled, but followed along. Eyreka knew the child wanted to feel the wind in her hair, the freedom of riding atop a powerful horse. She too longed for it, but until those responsible for trampling their crops had been caught, she would not allow Angelique her freedom.

“Here,” she said, kneeling on the cinder path, plucking a sprig of rosemary. “Do you recognize the scent?”

Angelique shrugged, but Eyreka could sense the little one’s attitude softening.

“Close your eyes,” she urged. “Tell me where you’ve noticed this scent.”

Angelique did as she was bid, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Your solar,” she answered.

“And?” Eyreka urged.

“The hall…” Angelique’s eyes shot open wide. “You sprinkle rosemary on the rushes!”

“Very observant of you.”

“Why do you use rosemary?” the child asked.

“I like the way it smells… ’tis clean.”

“My turn,” Angelique proclaimed. “Close your eyes.”

Eyreka did as she was told, and when prompted, she inhaled deeply, but before she could answer ’twas thyme, Angelique’s gasp of shock had her opening her eyes.

She saw two strangers slip through the postern gate. “Who are you?” she demanded.

The men shook their heads at her, motioning for her to be quiet, while the men stealthily crept toward them. Eyreka shot to her feet, pulling Angelique with her. She pushed Angelique behind her and told her to go for help, confident that no one would try to harm either of them within the walls of their home.

She belatedly remembered de Jeaneaux’s attack—and his escape. A lump of fear clogged her throat. “Angelique, now!” she ordered through clenched teeth.

Before either of them could move, two more men slipped through the gate. As she opened her mouth to speak, a meaty hand clamped over it, silencing her. She struggled to free herself, but the man’s other hand swept around her middle and held her fast. She was well and truly caught.

By Odin! Angelique, she thought wildly. She could not turn around, but heard the girl’s whimper of fright.

In a matter of moments, they were outside the safety of the walls…bound and gagged.

Augustin.

Fear’s icy fingers traced up Eyreka’s spine. She was surrounded by a ragged, dirty looking band of cutthroats who were taking them away from their home.

They were well and truly on their own against twelve men who looked as if slitting Eyreka’s throat would give them a great amount of pleasure.

Eyreka reached deep inside for the courage that was flagging faced with the threatening faces that surrounded them. She tried to shift her wrists around and slip one hand free, only to feel the rope tighten and the flesh rub raw.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She stopped struggling and noticed Angelique being roughly flung across a horse. Eyreka tried to scream at the brute who handled her stepdaughter so cruelly but the gag prevented her. White-hot rage swept up through her entire body. She would not let these infidels treat the little girl as if she were no more than a piece of meat brought back from the hunt.

Eyreka tightened every muscle in her body and took off like an arrow loosed from a bow, hitting the unsuspecting brute in the stomach with her head. The man was completely taken by surprise. He doubled over, gasping for breath.

Her head ached, but it was worth the pain, if only to show the men she was no weakling to be handled like a sack of grain. Straightening up, she glared at the man who stalked over toward her. Something in the man’s face looked vaguely familiar, but before she could remember where she had seen him, his meaty fist connected with her jaw.

Bright white light flashed in front of her eyes as her stomach lurched and the world went black.

*

“I cannot believe that you would suggest—”

Whatever Garrick was about to say was interrupted by the warning cry shouted down from the top of the wall.

“’Tis Patrick!” Kelly called down, pointing toward the far side of the lower bailey.

The battered warrior dragged himself toward them, meeting Augustin’s gaze. Augustin’s blood ran cold with dread, knowing that something disastrous had happened.

“Where are they?” he demanded. “Where is Angelique?”

The big Irishman shook his head slowly, his movements sluggish. Augustin grabbed him by the elbows and steadied the warrior. “You’ve come this far,” he demanded, “don’t black out on me now.”

Something flickered in the warrior’s eyes, and he seemed to rouse himself enough to speak. “I was on my way over to the herb garden to fetch Lady Eyreka… Gertie burned her arm…” he slurred his words together like a drunken man. “The women were bound and gagged… being carried through the postern gate.”

Augustin felt bile rise up his throat. “My daughter?”

Patrick looked at him and almost smiled. “Safe with your wife.”

“How could she be safe with only a woman to guard her?” Augustin demanded, before remembering the tale of how Eyreka came to be mistress of Merewood.

“Eyreka is resourceful and strong,” Patrick said slowly. “She’ll watch out for your little—” He never finished what he was going to say, slumping into a bloody heap at Augustin’s feet.

“Georges,” he called out, “find Henri!”

Word spread like wildfire; while half of the warriors reinforced the curtain wall, another group was forming a search party for the women.

“Mayhap we will find them before the trail grows cold,” Garrick said, watching his wife cuddle their son close to her breast. Augustin watched her finger the bit of amber hanging from a cord about her neck, while tears slipped down her cheeks. She bravely listened to what the men planned in silence.

“Garrick,” Augustin said, his voice neutral. “Gather supplies and the second contingent of men.”

Garrick nodded and wiped the tears from Jillian’s face.

“Georges,” Augustin called the silent man to his side. “You will head up our defenses with Kelly and Jacques.”

Georges agreed, waiting for the rest of the plan.

“I do not want anyone to go outside these walls until the women are returned unharmed.” As he spoke a lone rider approached the curtain wall. Grim determination radiated from the rider. He gave the signal and was allowed entrance. Nodding, he rode straight to Augustin’s side. He leaped from his horse and placed a missive in Augustin’s hands.

“I cannot stay.” The man nervously looked over his shoulder.

“Who is it from?” another of the guard asked.

Augustin broke the wax seal. The words he read hit him like a hammer blow to the chest. His breath snagged, disbelief holding him motionless. They had his wife and daughter!

As Augustin struggled to breathe, the man remounted and slipped past the guard and headed out of the gate. Kelly was off like a shot, but the rider had disappeared. By the time he returned alone, Augustin had read the demand to Garrick and his brother. Aaron the Saxon demanded one hundred pieces of gold for the safe return of the women.

Augustin watched and heartily approved as Garrick’s jaw clenched and unclenched while the younger man visibly tried to swallow his anger. “Garrick, you and your men will follow our trail.”

Augustin continued, “When you find it, divide your men into two groups. One half should veer off to the east and circle back around, while the other heads west to do the same.”

A tall lean warrior stepped forward to speak. “I would go with you, milord,” William said quietly.

Augustin looked at the man who a month ago had been ready to accept death as payment for trying to feed his family. The steely determination in the man’s eyes, coupled with the rigid control he obviously strove for, decided him.

“Ride with Garrick,” he ordered. William nodded and moved off to join the other group of warriors.

Looking at Henri and seeing the worry there had Augustin silently vowing to find the bastards behind the abduction and then skin them alive.

It was not easy to find their trail. There were no signs of a scuffle, no broken tree branches or churned up dirt. About three miles from Merewood, three sets of hoof prints, and at least a dozen sets of footprints, headed to the north. A half mile away, the trail was obliterated by a group of horses’ hoof prints. Too many to count.

“They met with reinforcements here.” Augustin pointed to where the road had been ground up beneath the heavy animals. They followed the trail to a point where the prints split.

“Which way?” Henri asked.

“I do not know.” Augustin clenched his teeth. “We cannot split up, our group is too small.”

“Will we wait for Garrick then?” his vassal asked.

Augustin started to shake his head when a bright spot of blue caught his eye. He dismounted, walked over to the hedgerow and pulled off the bit of torn fabric that clung to the short stubby branches. He recognized the color and desperately missed the woman. An image of Eyreka pulling his tunic off sent a shaft of heat through him. Last night in the bathing chamber had been a revelation to him. He held the scrap tightly in his fist for a moment before replacing it on the bush. He would not lose her now that he had realized that he loved her.

“This way,” he said motioning the group of warriors.

“What have you got there?” Jean asked.

“My wife was wearing a blue bliaut this morning,” he said slowly, “the same blue as her eyes.”

Henri snorted and reached past Augustin to grab the fabric. Augustin grabbed his arm saying, “Leave it for Garrick. With luck, he’ll find the trail and follow us.”

Henri and Jean fell in behind Augustin, who stopped now and again beside the trail they followed to finger another small bit of fabric. As before, Augustin left the bit of blue to mark the way. Patrick was right, he thought, his wife was resourceful, leaving a trail for him to follow.

*

Garrick and his men divided at the agreed upon point, circling around and meeting back together after scouting the surrounding area. Though a light rain had started to fall, they were able to follow Augustin’s trail, finding each bit of blue fabric as Augustin had hoped they would. By nightfall, his group of men approached a small campsite, and the smell of roasted rabbit hung in the heavy, wet air.

“I’m hungry,” Aimory whispered.

Garrick cuffed the younger knight on the back of the head to silence him, and motioned for him to follow along behind. As they silently wound their way closer to the campsite, Garrick had the uneasy feeling that he was being stalked.

The blade at his throat was cold and sharp, the edge of it lying against his Adam’s apple.

“Come for dinner?” the familiar voice taunted.

“Augustin!” he rasped.

“Aye,” the man answered, “I heard you coming.”

“What about the rest of your men?” Garrick asked, feeling the heat of humiliation color his face.

Augustin let him go and shoved him toward the small campfire. “They thought I was hearing things.”

“I had the feeling someone was behind me,” Garrick began.

“I saw the way you tensed up,” Augustin said slowly. “Next time, go with your gut instinct and draw your blade.”

The younger warrior nodded, taking a seat by the fire, noticing it was just hot enough to roast the small bits of meat.

Augustin noticed him looking at the fire. “Any larger and we might attract the wrong attention. I want to surprise them… not be surprised by them.” Augustin tossed him a bit of roasted rabbit and sat down beside him.

Henri stood watch and the others slept. Garrick listened as Augustin went over the plan once more. “If we split up again, we can come at their camp from both sides. With the element of surprise on our side,” Augustin said slowly, “they will not know where to defend first. We need a few hours of sleep before we attack.”

“At dawn?”

“Nay,” Augustin said quietly. “Midnight.”

The sounds of Garrick’s rhythmic breathing blended in with the rustle of leaves and the erratic call of a night bird. Sleep eluded Augustin. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a bold Saxon woman, past the first blush of youth, yet all the more beautiful for the wisdom and maturity that added silver to her hair and laugh lines by her eyes.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The moon was full, but kept sliding behind the storm clouds that still dotted the sky. He thought of the woman who had pried open the doors to his heart. Though he tried to hold her at arm’s length, Eyreka had not been satisfied with the small part of himself that he offered to her. He offered her his body, she held out for his heart. He offered his protection, she was holding out for his love.

As sleep beckoned to him, he relaxed. Drifting off, he thought of how, when he next saw her, he would crush her in his arms and tell her all that was in his heart.