Bound to the Warrior. Barbara Phinney
her. He could—
Finding her in the herb garden that rolled down the short motte, Adrien paused at the open kitchen door. Behind him, water for her bath was being warmed over the hearth. Any words he’d formed in his mind dissolved instantly. She was seated at a wooden bench, staring at a patch of herbs barely out of the ground. The air still bore a crisp feel but promised spring. ’Twas the time of year that pledged new life, new growth—a new beginning. A new master for the keep who would not repeat the cruelties of the previous one.
Ediva needed to know that she was safe in her own home. He’d made a silent promise to God during his nuptials that he would honor his wife as God would want him to. Ediva deserved that much. And she should not have to leave her own solar just to find a moment’s peace.
She looked up at that moment, eyes hurt and hollow. He’d called her old, and he was wrong. She was broken, hurt by Ganute so much that Adrien actually regretted the man’s death. If Ganute was still alive, then Adrien would be able to teach him a lesson he would not soon forget.
With a stilling breath, Adrien forced out the violent thoughts. The Good Lord wanted him to show mercy and love. His new wife needed such. He walked toward her and wasn’t surprised when she turned her attention back to the garden. Sighing, he sat and took her hand.
“Ediva, I meant no insult when I called you old. ’Twas not a slight against your youth or beauty.”
She didn’t move. He pressed on. “I’m a soldier, Ediva, not a fine prince who knows the ways of courtship. And we both know you’re not a maid.”
She looked at him, blinking. “You don’t know that.”
He frowned. “I do. You were married to Ganute for five years.”
“I could still be a maid.”
Adrien shook his head gently. “We both know that’s not so. Were you ever with child?”
“Nay, I gave him no children.” Her gaze darted about. “Some said God made me barren to punish me.”
“For what?”
She bit her lip. “For not giving my all to Him. For not rejoicing in the marriage consecrated in His eyes. For turning my back on Him when I was—” She cleared her throat. “The chaplain would tell me to pray for Ganute’s safety in battle.” She glanced up at him and he saw a fierceness there as her voice dropped. “If I had prayed, ’twould have been for his death, not his life.”
Ahh. ’Twas the reason for the backward fealty to William. She owed the king because one of his soldiers had ended her misery.
His breath drew in sharply. He’d fought at Hastings, following the king who’d led the battle. Adrien had slashed his way through several Saxon knights that day.
Had Ganute been one of them?
Still, her words about God... Was she not a Christian woman? The tutor his family had employed had said once that some hearts were closed to the Lord.
Was she hard of heart?
Ediva blinked rapidly again, offering the real answer. She was as hard-hearted as a kitten. She was simply afraid to trust—in man or in God. Life had scarred her.
He lifted her hand, smooth and cold and shaking. He tightened his grip to warm it and prevent it from slipping free. “Ediva, God doesn’t punish those who are already hurting. He has mercy.”
“Mercy?” Her brows shot up. “There was no mercy for five years. Not even from my own family. I was told to endure my marriage because ’twas my duty to my family.”
Glancing around, his gaze fell on a bare vine clinging to the sunniest wall of the bailey. Buds were swelling on it. He dug through his memories for something to say. As third son, he’d been expected to serve the church and had studied with monks for much of his childhood. Surely there was some Bible story... “Ediva, God prunes the vine so it will produce good fruit. You must have produced good fruit, for God does not prune that which produces no fruit at all.”
She shook her head. “I told you I am barren.”
“Fruit isn’t babes only, Ediva. The respect you have here and the care you show for your staff that leads them to care for you are all good fruit. Even for the short time I have been here, I can see you all care for each other.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a soldier. How do you know these things?”
“I’m not the firstborn son, so I was expected to serve God instead of lead the family.” He pulled her slightly closer but not so close as to scare her. “Enough of me. Ganute was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”
She nodded. Shaking his head, he leaned forward. Immediately, she drew back, too quickly for the cause to be anything but instinct.
His stomach tightened. “Don’t be frightened. Never will I force myself upon you. There is no honor in hurting a woman, Ediva.”
Her short, wobbly laugh brushed his cheeks. “We are married and the king has ordered children.”
“I will handle the king. He won’t expect babes overnight.” He shook his head. “We may be married, but until you find it in your heart to accept me as husband in every sense, I will demand nothing from you. Nor will you be bruised and beaten at my hand or anyone else’s. I promise you that.”
And along with his vow came the urge to press his lips against hers, to warm her very soul. He began to lower his head...
Abruptly, she pulled back her shoulders and steeled her spine. “Adrien, you say that God has been pruning me. But I fear He’s not done yet. Look around. All I own has been given away by a king as brutal as Ganute.”
“William is not brutal!”
“Ha! Did he not herd me to London like a sheep for slaughter, then not feed me so I would be weak and compliant? He has no care for me—no more than Ganute cared for me. No more than God cares for me. Don’t say that God allows me to suffer to make me a better person. I have no desire to hear anymore of how good God is.”
She pulled free her hand and held it up as she flew to her feet. “Nay! Keep your peace and your God because I don’t want either. But remember this. You promised me you’ll not touch me ’til I am ready. I will hold you to that.”
She spun and stomped up the stone steps into the kitchen, leaving him alone among the herbs only just budding from the cold, damp earth.
Chapter Four
Ediva sank into her chair, pretending to prepare for her bath, but she wanted only to ease her temper, lest she bark at her servants.
Her hand rose to her mouth, as if she could draw back in the harsh words she had spoken. Adrien had done nothing to warrant her anger, except injure her pride by calling her old.
Rubbing her pounding forehead with a shaky hand, she stood. She ached all over and needed to bathe away the smell of horseflesh and sweat of travel.
Mayhap you should first apologize to Adrien?
The nagging voice thumped between her temples, but grouchily, she ignored it. Husband or not, he had no right to know the details of her humiliating marriage to Ganute.
Her maid appeared in the doorway, spotted her and turned to depart immediately. “Margaret,” Ediva called. “Where is my bath water?”
“’Tis ready, milady. I will see that it’s brought up immediately.”
The girl hurried off. Discarding any soft thoughts of an apology, Ediva slowly removed her wimple. With the filth of travel on her and very little sleep these past few days, she needed to bathe and rest more than seek out her husband. How many times had she begged Ganute’s forgiveness for some imaginary folly only to keep the brittle peace that was as delicate as an eggshell? No, she would not apologize again.
Shortly, Margaret led in three servants