Bound to the Warrior. Barbara Phinney
time for our meal, Adrien,” she whispered shakily. “’Twill only be hot for a short time, and the day is cool for me.”
“You are quite warm, Ediva. A lie in the house of God isn’t good for one’s soul,” he answered blandly.
“I have no hope for my soul.”
Unexpected tears stung her eyes and she shifted away to blink at the mural. The Biblical offer of rest reached her watery gaze.
Beside her, Adrien sighed. He gathered her hands in his and held them gently. “There is always hope, Ediva.”
A moment later, he drew her hand up to his warm lips. She fought the tears filling her eyes. She didn’t want this foolishness between them. She didn’t want him to be patient and kind and to love God.
Pulling free her hand, she stood. “Our meal awaits us.”
He moved away. Thankfully, the tightness in her chest eased. Oh, ’twould be far easier to deal with Adrien if he was difficult and demanding. She’d learned years ago how to tuck her heart away from all her body could endure.
But right now, it felt as though her heart was out on a battlefield, ready for the final death blow.
She hated it.
* * *
Adrien pulled on the reins, bringing his mount to a stop. He’d risen early this mid-week morning, several weeks since his first chapel service with Ediva. Since then, he’d spent much of his time dealing with minor disputes, overseeing the cataloguing of all Dunmow Keep owned and other items of minutiae. Today, he decided to forgo morning chapel in order to inspect the estate’s potential, especially at the perimeter of the keep’s control. The king expected a full report, not only on the coffers, but also the viability of the land.
Atop the rise west of Dunmow Keep, he could see the River Colne, and to the north, the fens of East Anglia. Adrien’s new home would surely be the point where the upstarts against William and the king’s forces would meet. The land here was rich and fertile, worth fighting for.
He itched to return to battle. To do anything but what he’d come to Dunmow to do. Like an aging mare put to pasture, he found himself staring ahead at endless days dawdling about the keep. Aye, he’d met the villagers, inspected the coffers and viewed the records. His ancient grand-mère could have managed those things.
Under him, his courser stirred, sensing his edginess. Or mayhap the horse was bored of simply loping around a field without the disciplines of battle that, like Adrien, had been bred into him.
Adrien leaned forward to pat the stallion’s massive neck. “Aye, ’twould be good to fight again.”
Better than the dance he was doing with Ediva. He’d kept his distance the whole full moon cycle he’d been here, but she still seemed uncertain and skittish in his presence, as if she expected a blow at any moment. Only those few moments in the chapel weeks ago was he given the opportunity to close that yawning gap between them. Reaching her heart seemed almost within his grasp then, but she pulled away. And since that time, there had been nothing but politeness and distance between them.
Of what good would anything he tried be? He’d practically ordered her to the Sabbath services and, even then, he knew her heart was leagues away. So much good would come if she let God into her heart. He wanted that more than earning her trust.
But it would be nice to have both. Very nice.
After he sighed, Adrien urged the stallion forward toward the keep. He’d seen enough this morning, and with nothing in his belly, he was anxious to return for the noon meal.
And to see Ediva. Though the distance she enforced between them was a trial, he could not deny himself the joy he took in spending time with her. Even in the chapel where they kept the politeness to a fault, he valued their time together. The only mark on such time was the tension he’d felt between her and the chaplain. Entering the bailey, he spied Ediva. His wife. And yet, not his wife, save on some record kept by Poitiers.
She turned then, and her cyrtel, a pale pink like the roses that climbed the wall near the door, swirled with the movement. Her hair had been coaxed free of her simple veil by a warm breeze. Her wimple was gone, and he was glad to see her long, flaxen braids dropping down below her veil to rest upon her cyrtel.
She met his gaze, and then turned from it far too quickly. Unexpectedly, his heart sank. She still did not trust him even with her own shy looks.
Adrien walked his horse up to her. Thankful that she had the good manners to wait upon him, he nodded to her. “Good day, milady.”
“Good day, sir. You chose an early ride this morning.”
He dismounted. He towered over her as it was and certainly didn’t need the horse to add to it. When Harry ran up, he handed the boy the reins. With cheek enough to last his lifetime, the young squire threw them both a bold grin before leading the horse away.
“I chose this morning to view the fields. They’re good for livestock.”
“Aye, our beef and mutton are the best in the county.”
He agreed. But such was not on his mind. “Ediva, I want to ask you something.”
A guarded look shot across her features. “I may not know the answer.”
“You do know the answer, for it concerns only you. You don’t talk much to our chaplain. May I ask why?”
Her spine stiffened. “He often told me to obey my husband. When I discovered the nightmare I’d married into, I went to him for help for I had no family save some sisters I do not wish to trouble, as they are married and busy with their own lives. But the chaplain said ’twas my duty to obey Ganute for I was a temptress needing to be leashed.”
The flatness in her voice didn’t match the fire in her eyes. Stunned, Adrien reeled. “Leashed? You are not an animal, Ediva.”
“You called me a guardian in the chapel, as if I were a sheep dog.”
He felt his neck heat. “’Twas just a jest because of your desire to protect your people. I meant nothing that the chaplain might have meant.”
She feigned indifference as she shrugged. “Why should I obey a man who felt I needed to be hurt each night?”
He led her to a narrow bench, chasing away a pair of children playing on it. When they sat down, he could see the sun sparkling in her tear-filled eyes. His story of pruning the vine now sounded cruel. Why had he even mentioned it?
And why would the God who had blessed him so much turn His back on Ediva? His heart denied such an accusation, but the pain she’d suffered was clear, and God certainly had not blessed her with Ganute.
Why would a loving God allow her to suffer so? He shifted away from Ediva, who stared into the distance beyond the open gate, lips parted slightly, her upturned nose something he found himself wanting to kiss.
Mayhap her chaplain was right. Mayhap she was a temptress and needed a short rein. With her watering eyes and soft, pained words, was she coaxing him from his God? Was that even possible? After all, ’twas not her fault she was so beautiful.
He grimaced. He had devoted his life to fighting, not wooing women. He knew nothing of them, and his inexperience mocked him.
She looked down at her hands, then up to him, again with those watery eyes. He felt as though he’d kicked the timid dog that chased the cats for scraps. He should say something, anything.
Her face aflame, she stood. “I see you agree with the good chaplain. Your words may have been in jest, Adrien, but from the heart does the mouth speak. I see I have no one, not even God to help me.” She lifted her cyrtel to step away.
Snapping from his selfishness, Adrien leapt to his feet and caught Ediva’s wrist. “I have sanctioned nothing of the sort. My thoughts were not of that.”
When she yanked her arm back, he let her go. “What were they