Chapter Six

A s she had feared, the remainder of the journey homeward was difficult. Her husband’s men were openly hostile toward her whenever she was left alone with them, with one exception, Aimory.

She glanced to her right, where the loyal warrior rode, and had been riding for the last few days. He smiled when their eyes met, and she noticed a deep dimple on one side of his mouth. Eyreka sighed; he was so like her youngest son, Roderick. She missed him terribly and wondered how much longer it would be before word reached them from the Highlands. He had already been gone three months without a word, and she was ready to send Garrick and Dunstan out in search of their brother.

Aimory said something and was obviously waiting for her to reply. She smiled, “I am afraid I was woolgathering.”

“It won’t be long until we reach Merewood, milady.” Aimory hesitantly smiled.

Her husband’s youngest knight was a good man, she thought. He had not joined in when the others each took a turn listing the rules she would have to follow while under their protection.

“Rules,” she muttered.

“Mistress?” Aimory paused, as if waiting for her to continue.

She met his gaze and mumbled a foul word under her breath.

“I trust you do not truly wish it to be so.” The sound of her husband’s gruff voice surprised a gasp from her. He reined in his horse alongside of her. His direct look had her blushing to the roots of her white-blonde hair. He had heard what had not been meant for anyone’s ears.

She rasped out, “My apologies, milord.”

Hoping he would understand her need to regain her composure, she let her gaze sweep the woods that lined the road. The trees were lush with new growth. Supple green leaves seemed to have doubled in size overnight, now that the early summer sun arrived to dry out the rain-drenched countryside.

One of the warriors called out from up ahead, “Merewood Keep looms on the next rise.”

Eyreka gave a swift nudge with her heels, to urge her horse from a canter to a gallop. The rain-washed air rushed past her, filling her with elation as she gained the crest of the rise. She did not stop to take in the beauty of the land; she knew it well. Aye, she’d seen it with her eyes closed, as she lay dreaming of the day she would return triumphant in her quest.

Hooves thundered alongside of her. She did not need to turn her head to see who rode to catch up to her. Her heart knew her husband would be anxious to ride alongside of her through the gates of her home, nay she qualified, their home. A feeling of uneasiness swirled around her, making her question all that she had done. The low-pitched grumbling coming from behind them had her wondering if their two peoples would be able to meld their lives together, or if they would merely tolerate one another’s existence?

She glanced at the man beside her. Would her sons come to respect the man she had wed? A frisson of uneasiness filled her. Would Augustin seek her out, longing to confide in her at the end of their weary days? His now-familiar scent, a combination of body-warmed leather and man, swept past her making her wonder if there would come a time when he would demand his husbandly rights… no matter what they had agreed to.

“Give the sign.” The command in her husband’s voice jarred her out of her reverie. He would not countenance a refusal on her part and was correct in his assumption that she would do as he asked without question.

She inclined her head and raised her right hand in the air, fisted it, then brought it down to her heart, but the host of warriors lining the walkway atop the curtain wall remained standing with arrows notched, battle-ready even after she called out, “Patrick!”

The largest warrior nodded his head, and as one, the guard finally relaxed their stance, but not their arrows.

“Welcome home, Lady Eyreka,” the redheaded giant shouted in reply.

Unnatural quiet descended upon the two groups of warriors. By Odin! Did her son’s thick-headed guard have to show their disapproval of the new lord so blatantly? By all rights, the Saxons guarding the holding should have lowered their weapons. Had they brains the size of a flea with so little regard for their heads? The slight to the new Norman lord was received with stony silence.

But she had envisioned such a greeting upon her return and was prepared to circumvent it. “Patrick, gather your men in the great hall within the hour. I wish to introduce my new husband.”

Whatever the reaction she expected from the Irish mercenary, open-mouthed shock was not one of them. In an attempt to get his attention, she gave him yet another task. One guaranteed to get him moving.

“I want you to personally see to Lord Augustin’s destrier, have Kelly see to mine.” She softened her command with an encouraging smile.

Patrick looked as if he had swallowed a hot coal from the brazier. His entire face flushed red, with what she knew was anger, but the man did not disappoint her. Though the task usually fell to one of the stable lads, to curry and feed the lord’s horses, she knew the warrior would do her bidding. From the look on his face, the young warrior knew he had been in the wrong. She could sense Patrick also realized it would have displeased her son, Patrick’s overlord. Something not one of Garrick’s men would do.

“As you wish, milady,” he answered through tightly clenched teeth. Signaling for the hefty wooden bar securing the gate to be lifted, the gate swung open, and the Norman party entered.

Augustin seemed to watch the by-play with interest, but as yet held his own council. He dismounted and handed the reins to the red-faced warrior with but a glance in the man’s direction, then strode to where Eyreka sat atop her own mount.

“Lady wife,” he said holding out his hands and grasping her about the waist, but instead of setting her on her feet, he swept her into his arms and stalked toward the hall. Her brain ceased to function as his warmth and strength surrounded her.

“Put me down,” she commanded.

“Nay,” he answered, a false look of contentment plastered upon his face.

“I am perfectly able to walk the short distance to the hall,” she insisted.

“Aye, but I do not have all afternoon to wait for you to accomplish such a feat with your injured ankle.”

Eyreka gave up trying to reason with the stubborn man and looked over his shoulder for help. The look on the faces of her son’s guard was murderous, and each and every one had a hand on the hilt of their broadswords.

“Best make it look as if you are enjoying my attentions, wife,” Augustin warned. “The keep’s guard appear eager for spilled blood—mine.”

Eyreka forced herself to smile. Her son’s household guard silently challenged her husband’s, who appeared more than ready to answer in kind. She and Augustin were literally surrounded by two hostile groups of warriors poised for battle. What a foolish, stubborn lot warriors were. It would be up to her to ease the tension. No one appeared ready to back down.

She stroked the back of her hand lightly against her husband’s cheek. He faltered in his step, and pinned her with his stormy-gray gaze. She stroked his face again.

“What are you about, wife?” he rasped in her ear.

“I am merely showing you that I am enjoying your attentions. Otherwise, the guard may get the wrong idea.”

He tightened his grip; his fingers biting into her arm.

“Your grip belies the look of contentment you show our people, husband.”

Augustin relaxed his grip, as he took the steps up into the hall two at a time. Her serving maid was waiting with a tray piled with trenchers made of brown bread. The yeasty scent was a welcome diversion to the tension that clogged the air of the bailey.

She smiled at the maidservant, “Sara, please send for Jillian.”

Her husband moved to set her gently down upon a chair.

“Milord, I would prefer to wash away the dust of our journey before I join you.”

He straightened back up and gathered her close, “As you wish.” They followed Sara out of the hall to the stairs leading to the second level and the privacy of the solar.

“I trust your serving maid is capable of assisting in your bath, wife?”

The deep timbre of his voice did not match the hard look in his eyes. When he set her on a chair, a chill swept over her. He had not willingly touched her since the night they wed. His penetrating gaze made her stomach flip, and the words catch in her throat, finally she managed to nod in agreement.

“I leave you then to make myself presentable to greet our people.” He bowed and followed one of the servants to the bathing chamber.

*

“Does it pain you, milady?” Sara asked, helping Eyreka from the wooden tub.

“Only when I walk.” Eyreka gritted her teeth against the pain, thankful she did not have to hide her feelings from her maid.

“Then you should remain up here in bed,” Sara suggested, wrapping the drying cloth about her.

“Nay, I must introduce Lord Augustin to our people. To wait might give them the idea that he is of no consequence.” Eyreka braced herself to put a bit of her weight on the injured ankle and raised her arms above her head.

“Is he, then?” the young woman asked, helping her mistress put on a clean chainse.

Once the under-tunic was in place, Eyreka answered, “He is my husband. As such, he will rule our home, listen to grievances, and settle disputes.”

“You accept him readily?” Sara asked, smoothing the soft woolen folds of the dark-blue bliaut into place.

Eyreka’s heart beat faster, as her serving maid’s words took hold. “Aye,” she half-lied. No one need ever know theirs was to be a marriage in name only. A frisson of unease swept through her, knowing that living in the close confines of Merewood Keep, very soon one and all would be aware of the lord and lady’s affairs. The servants and their people’s livelihoods depended largely upon the lord’s mood. It would be to her peoples’ benefit to know as much as possible about their new lord’s likes and dislikes, learning his moods and preferences would be expected. She had done the same, learning to get along with her first husband and his people all those years ago. It had served her well. It would serve her people well.

“’Twill be a sound start to your marriage then, Reka,” Jillian said, entering the room, distracting her from thoughts of living in one another’s pockets and the possibility of suffering from the slings and arrows of misplaced gossip.

“Jillian,” Eyreka greeted the daughter of her heart with a warm hug.

“And where is my darling grandson?” she asked, trying to divert the conversation away from her unexpected marriage back to safer ground.

“Asleep, praise the Lord.” Jillian sighed, helping Eyreka to sit with her leg propped up on a wooden stool. “Garrick did not ride with you?” Jillian asked, settling into the opposite chair.

“My son was too overcome with joy now that I have taken a husband.” Eyreka absently rubbed her fingertips along the arm of the chair.

“Mayhap he is still trying to rein in his fierce Viking temper.”

Eyreka could not lie to Jillian. “He and Dunstan were incensed. They did not agree with my decision to marry Augustin.”

“Had you sought their opinion prior to the marriage?”

Eyreka could feel the heat of her anger starting to build, but she suppressed it. She did not want to be angry with Jillian. “My sons have no say as to the course of my life.”

“Mayhap another solution could have been found—” Jillian began.

“There was no other way. The king was going to grant the land to de Chauret, with or without me as his bride. How could I take the chance that de Chauret would marry one of his own people? How could I risk our servants being replaced one by one, while more and more Norman servants were brought in? Would you have me go out on horseback and greet each and every one of our crofters in their fields and homes to tell them they were to be put off land their fathers and their father’s fathers had planted and reaped for the last hundred years?”

Jillian took Eyreka’s hands in her own and squeezed them. “Best not to keep our new lord waiting. He asked that I find out if you were ready.”

“Aye,” she answered, rising awkwardly from the chair.

“Allow me, wife.”

Augustin must have been waiting outside her chamber door. He crossed the room and deftly swept her into his arms. Though she tried hard to ignore the feeling, she tingled from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Her husband’s actions continued to confuse her. He was at once solicitous and arrogant, unfeeling and compassionate. He was a hard man to comprehend and impossible to ignore. She bit back the sigh of pleasure she felt being held in his capable arms.

She stole a look at him through her lowered lashes to try to discern what he was thinking. His jaw was clamped so tightly, that a tiny muscle pulsed in time with his footsteps. His long strides were smooth, never jarring her, as they descended the stairs to the crowd waiting below.

Eyreka sensed the tension vibrating in her husband. Knowing he would be focused on the coming meeting, she silently agreed that he would do well to be wary among her people, nay, she thought, our people. She hoped that they would accept him in time. Mayhap they would, if she were very careful to show him the respect that the lord of the keep was due. Whether or not he was deserving of it, only time would tell.