Chapter Five

E yreka was exhausted by the time she’d been roused and told to make ready for their journey back to Merewood Keep. Her husband had left their chamber after acquiescing to her request. She hadn’t slept at all, wondering if he’d change his mind and storm back into their chamber.

They’d been riding since sunup and had just stopped to water the horses. A brief respite from their journey home, or so she thought, until one of her husband’s guard spoke.

“To save time,” Georges said, pacing in front of her, “I will tell you the rules.”

“Rules?” Eyreka repeated slowly, focusing on the warrior. He had similar chiseled features and the same massive build as her husband, were they related? She knew so little about the baron.

“Aye,” Henri echoed Georges’s reply.

Her husband’s vassals were glaring at her with nearly identical expressions of disdain.

“The first of which is never to question either Georges or myself,” Henri stated in clipped tones.

“Why?” Eyreka’s curiosity overrode her growing irritation.

Georges’s expression darkened. He stopped pacing and strode over to where she sat on a fallen log. Henri moved to flank him, his expression equally dark.

Eyreka refused to let the men intimidate her. Years ago, as a new bride, she had been afraid to voice her own opinions. But she was no longer that same young girl; she was a woman secure in the knowledge that she had come up with a plan to change her sons’ futures and had carried it through.

“Rule number two,” Georges continued, as if she had not spoken. “All requests or problems should be brought to either Henri or myself. Augustin is far too busy—”

“I assure you,” Eyreka interrupted, “I am very capable of solving problems that arise without any assistance or interference.”

Henri and Georges stood red faced and speechless. Rather than ask what the rest of their rules were, Eyreka turned her back on them, needing to walk off her rising temper.

Halfway back to the stream, she heard the sound of a heavy footfall. Not ready to speak to any of the overbearing, arrogant Norman guard, she pretended not to notice the sound.

“Milady.”

At the sound of her husband’s deep baritone, Eyreka composed herself before turning around.

“Aye?” She stopped and waited for him to catch up.

“Georges said there is a problem.”

Eyreka snorted, “There most definitely is.” She watched his posture stiffen, as if preparing himself to hear something distasteful.

He grasped his hands behind his back and waited for her to speak.

“I have no intention of following anyone’s rules ever again.”

“Rules?” he asked softly, “What rules?”

“Yours,” she spat out. The mere thought of reporting to the two odious vassals, who clearly had no liking for her, added to her worry that mayhap her plans would not work out smoothly.

“I do not have any rules—” he began, and then stopped. “Oh, I see.”

“Do you? That will make our transition much smoother. It is necessary for you to understand at the outset that I am used to running the keep. As mistress, I take orders from no man.”

Augustin’s eyes darkened to the color of summer storm clouds. “’Tis past time for us to reach an understanding, lady.”

Augustin’s tone sounded harsh… controlled. “I intend to run this holding as I see fit. As such, you will do as I say, when I say, without question.”

Eyreka could not say if it was her husband’s attitude, or his ill-mannered vassals’ treatment of her, but it pushed her over the edge. Blinded by the force of her anger, she jerked her knee up and jabbed out with her left fist simultaneously, just as her father had taught her years ago before he went on one of his raids.

Augustin’s grunt of surprise was followed by a moan of anguish. He doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

Eyreka could not hold back her smile. Her arrogant warrior husband may be larger and stronger, but she had the power of knowledge on her side. Cunning and knowledge could best size and strength, if used wisely.

She knew that her aim had been true. Every man had the same weakness; the trick was catching that weakness just so.

“I take orders from no man.” She turned on her heel and walked back over to where she had tethered her horse. Surprised that she could no longer see her shadow, she looked up. Ominous dark clouds blocked out the sun.

The huge black beast still munched contentedly on sweet meadow grass where she had left him. She absently ran her hand along the beast’s velvety-soft muzzle. Her mount blew out a puff of warm, moist air and nudged her until she pet him again. The first drop of rain hit her on the tip of her nose.

“Are all men so thick-headed?”

Her horse whickered, nodding his head up and down.

“Do tell,” she said with a smile.

Two hours later, soaked to the skin, she was no longer smiling. The storm had caught them unawares. The road ahead lay in darkness. Every other heartbeat, bright-white flashes split the angry sky.

*

Augustin cursed his king and the storm; because of the first, he was caught in the second.

He pulled his woolen cloak tighter to his soaked torso, trying to trap some of his body heat, before it too escaped as fine mist in the air.

The day had started where the night had ended; he was at odds with his wife. The woman had gotten past his guard and landed that ego-shattering blow. Why had he let her walk away? They had not spoken since. He already knew she would do anything to help her people. Now he amended that to include getting her own way, using her cunning wit, small fists, and bony knee. Eyes narrowed, he conceded the first battle was hers, but the next one would be his.

The journey to his new home would take them seven days north of London… under normal conditions. Lifting his face to the lashing rain, he was afraid the fierce storm would add two or three more days.

He wiped the rain out of his eyes. A gust of wind lifted the edges of his cloak, leaving his side unprotected. The second gust left him rain-soaked and colder. He glanced back over his shoulder to where his wife rode, surrounded by his guard. The small party fared no better than he.

A flash outlined her slight form for a brief second. She still rode with her face forward and her jaw set, uncomplaining, as she had for the last few hours. She was definitely unlike any other female he had ever encountered. He had ridden with the king’s royal party on more than one occasion and had had to listen to numerous female complaints.

“She looks frail,” he grumbled, to no one in particular.

“But she’s still in the saddle,” Georges replied.

Before he could think of a retort, a brilliant blue-white fork of lightning struck a nearby tree and blew it apart. The explosion shook the very ground on which they rode.

As he heard a horse’s whinny of fright behind him, Augustin’s horse tried to bolt, but he controlled the huge black beast with a few harsh commands and the strength of his muscular thighs. By the time he had his own mount back under control, his wife’s mount was standing on its hind legs, frantically pawing the air in front of it. The storm had spooked her horse. He tugged on the reins of his destrier and rode toward her.

“By the breath of Odin,” he heard her cry out.

“ Mon Dieu !” Augustin made a grab for her horse’s halter, but his grip slid off the rain-drenched leather. In the split-second it took to try again, another crack of thunder sounded nearby.

A flash of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the road ahead. He watched his wife’s hands pull back hard on the reins, and the horse rear up once more. The sudden darkness that followed filled his heart with dread. When the next flash of light framed horse and rider, his gut clenched.

He knew he would be too late.

The echoing thunder boomed loudly, covering the twin shrieks of terror made by woman and horse. The sudden stillness that followed cut through him like a hot knife through butter.

He leaped off his horse and ran, the next flash showing what he had feared. No sign of Eyreka’s horse, and a dark form lying in the road.

“Eyreka,” he rasped, kneeling beside her in the mud. Mixed feelings raged through him. Concern tangled with the need to protect, while a persistent voice urged him to gloat over her misfortune. Although she had bested him earlier, he did not feel an ounce of satisfaction. Concern lanced through him.

When she moaned, he commanded her to lie still. With a deft touch, he checked her limbs for signs of a break. His fingers were far from steady as he pressed on her left ankle. Her sharply in-drawn breath made him pause, then she stiffened beneath his probing.

“Here?” he asked, gentling his touch.

“Aye.”

She bit her bottom lip. He knew she was in pain, but trying to hide it from him.

“Can you walk?” Augustin wanted to see just how far she would go to be accommodating.

Her eyes, dulled with pain, met his, alert and searching. “I think so.”

Augustin placed his hands around her waist, and pulled her to her feet. He was amazed that she even tried to stand. Any one of the score of women he knew would have swooned by now, or at the very least given in to tears.

His lady wife held onto his forearm with a death grip, putting more of her weight on the injured ankle. Another sharp intake of breath told him all that he needed to know. It was either badly sprained or broken. A sudden burst of pride filled him, taking him by surprise at the realization that his wife had the makings of a warrior. Why that should make him feel proud of her, he could not answer. He wanted to feel nothing for her. She was a means to an end, necessary to the new plans he now had for his daughter’s future.

Before he could tell himself he had no time for these feelings, or a wife, Eyreka let go of his arm. She stood with her chin up and eyes blazing with what Augustin could recognize as a combination of fierce pride and grim determination. The unwanted feelings that had surged through him earlier came back. Mon Dieu , she was a woman a man could be proud of.

Eyreka took a halting step before he reached out and grabbed her upper arm. The small, but firm muscle beneath the cloth sleeve surprised him. He had not noticed it the night before. His gaze snapped back to her face.

His thought must have registered on his face, because she spat out, “I am not weak.”

For a moment, rain blurred his vision, and his dead wife’s face was superimposed over Eyreka’s. Who was this woman? He blinked, and once again he saw Eyreka. My wife in name alone. If she were to be believed, in order to maintain a peaceful existence, he would have to make certain that they continued to live separate lives.

Georges spoke from behind him, “She reminds you of someone?”

“Nay,” he answered, but his cousin had already moved forward to help his new mistress around a mud puddle, over to the hastily prepared shelter he and the others were just completing. It was not much, but mayhap the tightly woven lengths of linen stretched between the leafy canopy of two trees would shed enough water so they would be a bit drier than they would have been without it.

Augustin looked at the hastily constructed shelter and thought how easy it would be to tear it apart. It reminded him of the haste with which he married the widowed Saxon woman, and how easily it could all come undone if he did not uncover the truth behind his wife’s actions. He did not trust easily.

In the meantime, it would be best if he strove to seek a peaceful coexistence with his Saxon bride. She could be the making, or the undoing, of his life at Merewood Keep. Though he did not trust her, he would have to try to get along with her. Mayhap in time, he would see beyond the shield of pride she hid behind.

His daughter’s expressive face suddenly filled his thoughts. She was so very unhappy at the prospect of leaving the very active life she led at court to travel to—what she would no doubt deem to be—the very fringes of the civilized world.

While he wanted his daughter to be happy, he could not condone giving in to her latest whim, allowing her to remain in London. If she were to be married in a few years, she would need to learn to obey, or at least learn to be accommodating. Under his new wife’s tutelage, mayhap his daughter could learn much more than how to manage a household and direct the great number of servants necessary to run such a household. Lady Eyreka claimed to be a great healer, mayhap his daughter would learn the many uses of herbs that could be grown in the keep’s garden.

He could no longer put off the inevitable, though his daughter be of an age where it would be expected that he arrange a suitable marriage for her, he did not want to have to find Angelique a suitable husband. The very thought of his daughter betrothed in two years and married by the age of four and ten did not sit well. Merde! She was still a young girl… mayhap he would be better off sending her to a convent, rather than bringing her into the middle of such a volatile situation as the incoming unwanted Norman lord over a holding full of Saxon warriors, ruling over Saxon crofters, who were bound to resent his presence.

He shook his head. It was better to have his new wife train his daughter and see her every day, than to have her locked away in a convent. Augustin could not think of a household he would want to send her to in this country, had they been in Normandy… He truly dreaded the task ahead of him. Angelique was bound to pitch a fit, demanding to choose her own husband.

Thoughts of seeing her wed reminded him of his lovely Monique. Had she truly been of the same age when he had married her? Why did no one warn him that a father would not wish to part with his only daughter when the time came to do so? If only Monique were still alive, she would have prepared him for this day and would have been there to share in their daughter’s marriage. His hands clenched as anger churned through him. They should have had their whole lives to share their love. Raw anguish ate at his gut like a hungry wolf tearing at its latest kill.

“Augustin!”

Georges’s shout from beneath the makeshift cover forced him to return to the present. He strode through the ankle-deep mud puddle that nearly spanned the entire road. Judging from the ominous looks on the faces of his men, it would be a long, wet night.

*

The rain lessened sometime during the night, but continued throughout the next few days. By the time the sun finally made an appearance, midway through their fourth day of travel, there was not an inch of their party, or the road they traveled, that was not wet and muddy.

“I’d rather walk.”

“Milord has decreed that you shall be carried or ride, not walk.” Henri’s voice cracked with anger.

“I do not care what milord has decreed.” Eyreka nearly bit her tongue, holding back a scream of frustration at the gray-haired bull of a man who tried to wrestle her from the saddle.

A dark and dangerous expression settled on Henri’s harsh features. For a brief moment, Eyreka regretted angering the warrior. But it could not be helped; she would simply not accept any assistance while she was looking for a private place to relieve herself.

Lord, but the man was stubborn, insisting on trying to help, while she was just as insistent that she needed none. Finally, she ended the wrestling match with a well-placed boot to the middle of Henri’s broad chest.

To her utter shock, and the warrior’s, he lost his footing. For a moment in time, he was tipped back on his heels, hands waving to steady himself. She found her first smile in days, as the warrior fell backward landing with a splat in the thick black muck that surrounded them.

Eyreka threw her head back and laughed until her sides ached. Henri de Beoudine reminded her of the last time the swinekeep’s very large pig raided her vegetable gardens at Merewood. The warrior was thrashing about wildly and making a horrible racket, very like that same pig.

When she caught her breath, she saw her husband out of the corner of her eye. His countenance was as dark as the ever-present storm clouds following them.

As he strode forward, looking neither to the left nor right, she unconsciously grabbed hold of the amber pendant she wore, ignoring Jillian’s warnings to be careful what she wished for while holding the bit of amber, and wondered what would happen if he…

“Milord!” Jean and Jacques shouted as Augustin slipped and went down into the same puddle of muck as Henri.

Eyreka burst into peals of laughter, she’d gotten what she’d wished for. The two fierce-looking Norman warriors were tangled together in a mass of thick black muck and legs. When she dared a look over to where the rest of the men stood waiting, she instantly sobered.

Every one of her husband’s men were standing with their feet apart, hands clasped behind their backs, glaring daggers at her. Well, she thought, she had certainly done it this time. Not only was Henri mad at her but her husband and every one of his men, as well. But she had faced a similar foreboding group men last year after she and Jillian had been liberated from the hands of their rebel captors. If she could face Garrick’s intimidating vassal, Winslow MacInness, and the O’Malleys—his group of Irish mercenaries, she could handle the angry-looking group standing before her now.

Hoping to break the tension, she called out, “Georges, I believe my husband requires assistance… and a bath,” she added under her breath.

Augustin stared coldly at her, but said nothing as he stalked to the stream that ran alongside the road. Looking up at the midday sun, she knew it would be hot enough to wash away the mud that was caked to their travel-worn clothing and have their things dry by sundown.

The youngest of the guards, Aimory de Noir, stood next to her mount with a smile twitching at his lips.

“You dare to laugh at my husband?”

He immediately sobered and averted his gaze. “Nay, milady.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “I will not tell anyone.” His gaze met hers, gratitude and understanding shining in his warm brown eyes. “Would you help me down?” she asked, “I need to have a moment of privacy.”

Aimory lifted her from the saddle and helped her walk to a thick stand of trees, then turned his back and walked a short distance away. Finally, she would have her privacy. Mayhap she had even found a friend among the austere Norman guard. Eyreka had a feeling it would be a blessing in the next few days ahead.