Lady of the Lake (24 page)

“You sent for me, Lord Edon?” Maynard presented a rigid salute, prepared for any order to come his way.

“I did,” Edon replied in clipped tones. “Where is the atheling?”

“On his knees in the chapel between King Guthrum and King Alfred, lord.”

“Are you absolutely certain of that?” Edon asked harshly.

“I saw all three enter the north barracks myself before I answered your summons. The bishop has turned that building into his residence and chapel since his arrival, Lord Edon.”

Slightly flustered by Maynard’s confident answers, Edon brought other urgent events forward, checking to see if his captain remained on his toes. “And what is being done about the collapsed gates and palisade? Who has taken a count of how many animals escaped their pens or were stolen from the stables?”

“Thorulf is out checking the pens and I have personally been to the menagerie and seen that the beasts are fed and contented in their cages. The wooden wall may be down, but the fortress is secure. No one lays abed, lord. We have been hard at work since the wall fell a good two hours ago.”

Edon simmered, wondering if his captain was chiding him for having slept through disaster. “Well, Maynard, my good man, since you know everyone’s business and appear
to have everything within this keep well in hand, where is my bride this bright and cheerful morning?”

Maynard the Black’s dimple almost flashed in his cheek, but he managed to keep his smile to himself. The jarl was in a testy mood. He withheld the urge to comment on the upcoming nuptials. That would only antagonize Edon more. Instead, Maynard answered simply, “Eli brought heated water upstairs for the princess’s bath. She and Lady Eloya are currently bemoaning some flaw in your bride’s complexion. They have also sent an urgent request to the priests and the kings to command the sun to shine and the mud to dry before noon. Hence the gentlemen in question have repaired to the chapel to pray for a small and very temporary break in the deluge, lord.”

“Humph!” Edon grunted darkly. He jerked his chin up, his blue eyes flashing at the soldier. “Are you telling me that the princess of Leam is in this building?”

“Yes, lord,” Maynard said with certainty. “Where else should she be on her wedding day? And may I be the first to offer you my most sincere congratulations, my lord Wolf? The princess of Leam will be an exquisite bride.”

Edon whipped a tunic over his head. He flashed a dismissive nod at Maynard and advanced from the bedchamber into the hall.

The morning trestle was set against the long east wall. Rain splattered in the huge west window, where a pair of carpenters were applying finishing touches to the frame that would hold the stained-glass window Edon had brought all the way from Constantinople to grace his hall. The jarl snatched a pear from a bowl as he passed the table, striding in a deliberate course to Lady Eloya’s chamber.

A whole gaggle of servants crowded that room. Every trunk and chest that held even so much as a scrap of cloth stood open around the airy chamber. A painted screen in the far corner prevented Edon from seeing who was actually in the bathing tub. The rose scent of oil of attar
conflicted with the tang of lemons in dominating the air of Eloya’s chamber. Edon’s ears were assaulted by oohs and aahs and giggles, the prattle of too many women.

Oblivious to the tittering servants, Edon strode to the painted screen and pulled it aside. Both Tala and Eloya started—Tala looking up at him from a steaming tub of foaming bubbles in which she was delightfully naked, Eloya stiffening as she coated the princess’s shoulders with a thick white cream.

“What the devil are you women doing?”

“My lord!” Eloya said, affronted by his intrusion. She straightened and reached for a length of toweling to cover Tala’s nudity. Edon lifted a peremptory hand, dismissing her.

Tala was much more blasé about his unannounced arrival. In a glance she saw that Edon only had eyes for her, and those eyes were riveted to the wet curves of her breasts, which were just hidden from his sight by the press of her soap-covered arm in the deep bath water.

“We are bleaching away my freckles, my lord,” she told him plainly, motioning to the cream Eloya had applied to her shoulders, arms and throat.

“Freckles?” Edon felt as if he was staggering. A rush of feminine scents assaulted his nose—of perfumes and oils, and all those hidden, secret unguents women used to make themselves alluring. God help him, he couldn’t stand it!

“I forbid it!” he barked, bristling just like his animals did when they were threatened. “Do not remove one single freckle from my lady’s skin, Eloya!”

“But—”

“Not one!” Edon commanded.

His face flushed a dark red, giving testimony to how flustered he was. He had truly woken up believing Tala had run away from him.

Tala was here, in his keep, making herself beautiful just
for him. He wanted to reach down and grab her, take her out of that tub and cart her wet, beautiful body back to his bed on the other side of the keep. But…he couldn’t.

She hadn’t run away to Loytcoyt Abbey.

Theo’s prediction was false. Tala smiled at him and Edon almost shamed himself with the intensity of his desire for her. Mastering control of himself, he bowed to her and her silly tub and preparations. He would wait until she was his wife under Alfred and Guthrum’s law. And he vowed privately that if he ever caught her in such admirable dishabille again, he would dismiss all servants and retainers from the room and have his way with her on the spot.

“Am I to take that to mean that you like freckles, Edon?” Tala asked quietly, thrilled by the admiration she saw in the Viking’s eyes.

“Of course, I like freckles—your freckles. On you, my lady, they are the most splendid ornament of all.”

Tala smiled at him, and the gloomy, dismal day suddenly seemed bright and more beautiful than any day of his life. Nodding curtly, his orders delivered, Edon turned about and marched back into the hall.

If Theo’s sightless eyes could twinkle, they did so as Edon sat down beside him at the trestle. The jarl was clearly famished, starved as a newly risen wintering bear this morning.

“I sense in you a rare mood, my lord,” Theo said good naturedly.

“Don’t start with me, you miserable soothsayer,” Edon said purposefully, reaching for a loaf of crusty bread and breaking it in half. “Horrible dreams jolted me out of a most pleasant sleep this morning…all because of your misguided attempts at prophecy with a mazer cup.”

“My misguided attempts at prophecy!” Theo flattened his broad hand on his chest. “An oracle can only tell what he sees. It’s not my fault that you insist on altering events
to suit yourself. I’ve always said that prophecy is an opportunity to effect a change. Perhaps you’d care for a reading this morning.”

Edon stopped him from reaching for the golden cup that always hung from a chain at his belt. “No,” Edon said firmly. “I’ve got a wall to see repaired and a flooding river to monitor. That’s enough for one day.”

“Oh, I do not think you need trouble yourself with the river today,” Theo assured him. “I saw to it that everyone was well prepared for a possible flood on Lammas. Today we need only worry about getting you married.”

It did Edon no good to wish that were so. He had plenty more things to worry about, namely Embla Silver Throat. He needed to find Rig and see if the Viking woman’s body had been found.

Edon sighed, then cast a quick look at the closed door across the hall. It was going to be the longest day of his life. Of that fact he was absolutely certain.

T
heo proved correct in his assessment at the breakfast table: the shire was prepared for a flood. As Edon and Rig rode about the countryside through the continuing rain, it soon became evident that the farmers had moved their stock away from the pastures nearest the river. Fortunately, lowlands that were underwater were not the most productive and fertile of fields. The bulk of Warwick’s harvest was safe from the Avon’s rising water.

Water flowed in the Leam again. That torrent ran too fast for them to take the shortcut into Arden Wood to assess the damage to the forest. However, the fire damage certainly made it easier to pass through the woods. The hedgerow was gone, as were most of the great trees.

The old temple ruin was not invisible this morning. A heavy layer of black ash coated the spire and the ramp. King Offa’s hunting lodge was gutted by the fire. Several feet of water had collected in the bottom of the pit where Edon had last seen Embla Silver Throat fighting her invisible enemies.

There was no body to be recovered from the pit.

“I don’t like this,” Rig said as they turned their horses toward the grove. “That woman could be anywhere if she’s alive.”

“That’s a big if,” Edon countered. “Assume she found some way to get out of the pit, the odds are she perished in the fire when it swept through the forest.”

Edon’s conclusion was logical. The destruction went on for leagues in all directions. “Thank God for the rain. Otherwise this whole valley would still be burning.”

They continued their search, although the rain hampered their inspection. They could not go into the fens. The bog was underwater and the ground unstable. “Tomorrow is soon enough to send a detail here to bury the dead at the grove.”

“Aye.” Edon nodded, turning his horse and whistling to Sarina to heel. “Let’s return to Warwick. I’ll want to wash the stench of this fire away before I am wed.”

The biggest surprise of the morning came when Edon returned to Warwick. A patrol of King Alfred’s guard had returned, bringing the three little princesses of Leam to attend their sister’s wedding. The girls were solemnly chaperoned by an old nun, Mother Wren. Edon was very surprised to learn that the Leamurian woman was actually the abbess of Loytcoyt Abbey.

As the morning progressed the rain began to let up and people set out from their cottages and longhouses for Warwick. No one wanted to miss attending Lammas Day’s High Mass with two kings. Vikings and Mercians alike brought the best of their young animals and the first fruits of their summer labors to be blessed by the bishop.

Bishop Nels prepared to celebrate the Mass outdoors. Just before noon, the rain let up to a light, misty drizzle.

Edon took his place in the assembly before the altar. Rig and Maynard stood at his sides. Flanking them were Rashid, Eli and Thorulf, all looking extremely handsome in their very best native garments. Sensing something important was happening, Sarina trotted out and began to nose around, sniffing inquiringly at everyone. She also was at her best, newly bathed and brushed till her thick coat
shone. She finally came to stand at Edon’s side and thump her tail approvingly against his legs as the wedding procession emerged from the keep.

Venn ap Griffin had been chosen to lead the procession, bearing the bishop’s tallest crucifix. Behind him walked his little sisters. Each carried a small basket filled with wildflowers that they cast about for their sister to walk upon as she came solemnly to Edon’s side.

The smell of wet earth mingled with the fragrant, mystical scent of burning frankincense as the bishop circled the altar, blessing all the people gathered around it. But to Edon, nothing could diminish the alluring perfumes of the beautiful woman at his side.

Eloya’s skills were evident in Tala’s breathtaking appearance. Her red-gold hair shone in a crown of natural braids carefully wound around her head. A gown of royal blue silk clung to her curves so lovingly that the sight of her had taken Edon’s breath away.

The animals and the fruits of Warwick were blessed before the Mass. Afterward Bishop Nels urged Edon and Tala forward, and the words of the ceremony of marriage were spoken over them. Edon vowed to love, honor and cherish Tala all the days of his life, then he slipped a ring of Welsh gold onto her finger, saying, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Tala hesitated a moment when it was her turn to repeat her vows in the Christian ceremony. In the old ways her and Edon’s hands would have been scored with a knife so that their blood would flow and then they would have been securely bound together. As their blood mingled, it would have made them one. She shook her head, clearing away all thought of the old traditions. For in the old days, she would never have married. She would have spent her life serving the people by making their offerings of gold trinkets to the Lady of the Lake.

She turned and took the ring Eloya held out to her and
repeated after the priest, “I, Tala ap Griffin, take you, Edon, son of Halfdan, as my lawfully wedded husband, from this day forward, until death do us part.” Then she slipped the gold ring on his finger, looked up into the brilliant shine of his beautiful blue eyes and said, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“I pronounce you man and wife. What God has brought together, let no man put asunder.” Bishop Nels raised his hands in a blessing. “You may kiss the bride,” he said to Edon.

Edon took Tala in his arms and kissed her soundly. Neither one of them paid much attention to the shouts and cheers of celebration that surrounded them. All that mattered was this kiss and their union.

Afterward the festivities began in earnest, undaunted by the damp day. It rained hard all afternoon and evening. The bonfire wouldn’t stay lit, but no one seemed to notice the loss of that old custom. It certainly didn’t hamper the dancing or the drinking, especially not by the hearty Viking revelers.

The Danes weren’t the only ones consuming Edon’s sweet wines. Ruddy-faced from the vintage he’d consumed, Venn ap Griffin stumbled up on the raised dais. He paused under the bright awning where Tala and Edon sat high and dry as they presided over the feast. Venn swept a jaunty feathered cap off his brow and bowed low to the newly wedded couple. Then he struck a pose that was anything but gracious, folding his arms across his chest and thrusting out his jaw.

“I’ve come to a decision, sister!” Venn announced. His voice was too loud, his tone belligerent. The gleam in his eyes bespoke a challenge.

“And what decision is that, brother?” Tala asked gently.

Edon, who held the Greek motto Moderation In All Things as his own personal philosophy, set aside the double-handled
cup of wine he shared with Tala. Her fingers came over his arm in a gesture of restraint.

Venn drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his skinny chest. “I won’t take no for an answer, either!”

“And what is it that I won’t be saying no to little brother?” Tala inquired softly, so as not to draw any more attention than necessary to Venn’s peculiar behavior. Not many of the revelers were paying him any mind, thank heaven.

“You just won’t,” he declared imperiously, his voice rising in a squeak.

Edon’s growl startled Venn. The boy wobbled crookedly for a moment before making a serious and very inebriated effort at straightening his shoulders. Then he cast a hasty frown at Edon’s fierce face and focused one eye back on Tala. “Saints preserve you, sister, I don’t know how you will live with that man all the rest of your days. He scares the piss out of me! But listen, sister, I’ve made up my mind and I’m going to do it, even if you forbid it. King Alfred says I may, so that’s that. I’m going.”

That said, Venn tried to spin about and march off. Only he stumbled on the dais, and if it hadn’t been for Rig catching him, Venn would have fallen face first in the dirt.

“Hold on there, boy.” Rig held Venn up and turned him around to face the pair seated at the high board.

“Thank you, Rig.” Tala nodded regally, dismissing the attendant. “Venn, where is it you think you are going?”

“I told you!” he almost shouted. Except Edon had started to stand up, and that made Venn lurch to the side and clap his mouth shut. Then he scrambled back up onto the dais and he bent over Tala’s arm, whispering in her ear, “I’m going to Rome with Bishop Nels.”

“What!” Tala exclaimed.

This time it was Edon’s hand that touched her arm, in a gesture that said eloquently
be still.
“What is it that
Bishop Nels will do with a bothersome little pagan like you at his side in Rome, young man?”

Affronted by Edon’s question, Venn looked right at him and said, “Why, he’s going to introduce me to the pope and the curia, and let me read all the testaments of the saints. Alfred says I may go, so please say yes, Tala. I do so want to go. Bishop Nels knows more than any man alive. I’ll come back, but when I do, maybe I’ll be a priest like him. Say yes, will you?”

Tala, who had spent so much of her life worrying about this brother of hers, didn’t know what to answer. Again she felt that overwhelming need to hold the boy tightly in her arms, to protect him from each and every danger. But she kept her arms at her sides as she watched her anxious brother wobble ever so slightly because he’d had a glass too much of the supper wine. She turned to Edon and looked at him for direction.

Edon’s face was solemn, and his eyes met hers levelly. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

Tala resumed her inspection of her brother. She saw that he was serious—perhaps more serious than he’d ever been in his short life. “Rome is a very long way from Warwick, isn’t it, Venn?”

“Aye, but that’s good. There’s so much to learn and see, Tala. I want to see it all…as your Viking has done. More than that, I want to learn it all. Read every book and study with every teacher. Rome’s the center of the whole world, Tala. I humbly implore you, do say yes.”

“Yes,” she answered.

That stunned the boy. He fell back, shock causing him to blink repeatedly. “Yes? Do you mean it? You’ll let me go? You’ve not let me leave Arden since Papa died.”

Tala suddenly saw where she had made her gravest mistake. By trying so hard to retain possession of Leam against the invaders, she had almost lost sight of what was
most important to her—the person her brother was to become. “Yes, you may go to Rome with Bishop Nels.”

Venn dropped to his knees before her, wobbling a little as he took both her hands in his and kissed them. “Thank you, sister. I’m glad we didn’t have to fight about it. Take care of her, Viking.”

The boy lurched onto his feet, then ran into the dancing crowd of merrymakers.

Tala smiled a little worriedly at her brother’s abrupt departure. “I think he’s consumed too much of your wine, Edon.”

“I don’t think, I know he has.” Edon laughed. “What say you we let these revels continue without us?” The time had come that they could slip away and not be missed. Edon took her hand in his, pulling her onto her feet. “What do you say, wife of the Wolf of Warwick?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Tala leaned into his side and kissed him hungrily.

Edon took her hand and laid it on his arm, proudly walking with her through the wet and very merry crowd toward the keep. Soon they reached the dry and crowded interior of the lower hall. Both kings held reign there, sharing anecdotes of the trials and tribulations of their courts with most of Edon’s close entourage.

A few ribald comments and totally unnecessary pieces of advice were tossed toward the bride and groom as they made sure and steady progress upstairs to the sanctuary of their private room.

The second floor was completely deserted. Not even a servant lingered in the unlit shadows of the upper hall. Everyone was outside or downstairs enjoying the feast and celebration. That was exactly the way Edon had ordered it. He wanted some time alone with Tala, and the only way it seemed he could accomplish that was to ban his entire household from the second floor of the keep. He was very pleased to see his orders fulfilled, right down to
his request for a private meal to be set out on the trestle for the two of them.

Six precious tallow candles in a Roman candelabra graced the end of the linen-covered table. Two chairs were set at the very end. Edon graciously settled Tala in the wolf’s-head seat and took his place beside her.

“What is this?” she asked shyly.

“A private supper,” Edon replied. He lifted a cover from a silver dish, revealing an array of finger foods that they both would enjoy. There were plump purple grapes, a gift from the abbot of Evesham. Delicious slivers of smoked ham were rolled around olives with red pimentos. Crusty rolls had been stuffed with wedges of the most delicious cheeses to be had in the entire isle.

Neither one of them was very hungry for food, but the small meal provided an interlude between the commotion of the crowd and the intimacy of being alone.

Tala peeled a grape, neatly removing the seeds before she popped the plump fruit into Edon’s mouth.

“Are you content, my lady?” he asked.

“Aye, I am content. I am nearly bursting, I’ve eaten and drunk so much.”

“I do not want you to complain later that I have not satisfied your every need.” He placed a small kiss at the corner of her eye and let the heady scent of her perfume tease his nose.

Tala’s fingers drifted to his chest, gently plying the soft embroidered chambray against his skin. Neither of the kings had worn a garment so finely made, nor looked so handsome to her eyes.

Edon let his lips trail across her cheek and softly kiss her pliant mouth. It opened willingly, but he kept his desire under firm control, determined to take his time wooing her. The thrill she stirred within him was nearly magical in the way it made his blood hum in his veins.

But beside the consummation of their marriage there
was one thing more that he needed from her—one thing she withheld that he wanted more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. How or when her love had become so important to him, he couldn’t say. He just knew that without it, their union in the marriage bed would be a hollow victory.

“There is one thing that bothers me, my lady.”