LadyOfConquest:SaxonBride (6 page)

Perhaps she had spoken true. Perhaps she
had
murdered Thomas. He pondered it a long moment before once more determining it was another.

He swept his gaze over those who had returned to training. Their swings strong, aims sure, they promised a well-matched battle when next they set themselves to take back what they claimed was theirs.

It is theirs
, a voice reminded.

Was theirs
, he countered.

Regardless, he must not forget his reason for coming into Harwolfson’s grim world. It had been a restless two weeks since he had allowed Rhiannyn to escape. That day, he had followed her here, thanking God none of the sentries had spotted him. Knowing if he appeared too soon after her arrival it would cast greater suspicion on him, he had returned to Etcheverry. As Rhiannyn had revealed the way to the camp, it would have been expedient to immediately bring his men against it and stamp out Harwolfson’s rebellion, but that would not necessarily deliver Thomas’s murderer to him—not directly.

Though Maxen had listened in on Rhiannyn’s conversation with Christophe and heard her tell it was not Harwolfson who had killed Thomas, he had not believed it until he had himself seen the injury to the man’s sword arm. As she had said, it would have been impossible for him to throw the dagger after receiving such a serious wound. But then, which of these men had bled out Thomas's life?

The fire in him growing, Maxen saw the approach of the one Harwolfson had surely ordered to keep watch over the monk and lowered his gaze so the hulking man would not see what was surely in his eyes.

Soon
, he told himself,
every one of Harwolfson’s rebels will know the yoke of Norman rule, including Rhiannyn.

First, though, he must discover Thomas’s murderer.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“This troubles me.”

Until he spoke, Rhiannyn had not known Edwin was behind her. She had been too engrossed in the gathering before the campfire to heed his approach.

“What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her back to him.

“There is something about Brother Justus. I do not trust him.”

“As you do not trust me?”

He laid a hand on her shoulder and began kneading the strained muscles there. “Perhaps.”

Having expected something different—scornful words, a reprimand, even rough handling—Rhiannyn was surprised by his gentle touch. And unnerved. Did it mean the trials to which he had subjected her were at an end? Was this forgiveness?

“He speaks the word well,” she said, having discovered a liking for Brother Justus’s deep, cultured voice, and especially his message.

“That he does.”

“Still, you are suspicious.”

“Are you not? I saw it in your eyes yesternoon when he arrived.”

“Aye, but he does seem genuine.”

“He has been here not even two days,” Edwin reminded her, “and yet you would toss caution aside and embrace him?”

“Not entirely.” She wished Edwin would take his hand from her. Considering all he demanded of her, this small intimacy made her uncomfortable, and not a little resentful. In the next instant, his breath brushed the side of her neck, next his lips.

“Do not!” She lurched forward.

He caught her about the waist and pulled her back against him. “None can see, Rhiannyn.”

True, for she had chosen to watch Brother Justus’s oration from a distance—in back of the others and from among the bordering trees. But this was not the reason she protested. Simply, it felt wrong, especially since she had accepted Thomas’s curse that she would never know marriage or motherhood.

“’Tis improper,” she hissed.

“We are betrothed.”

“Are we? That is the first I have heard of it since I arrived.”

He chuckled near her ear. “Of course we are. That has not changed.”

It had, but the time was not right to tell him. Latching on to the one thing certain to douse his desire—a question she had put to him several times—she said, “Have you discovered Thomas’s murderer?”

He tensed. “Leave it be, Rhiannyn. Whomever it was, ’tis done.”

She turned and peered into his hard, flushed face. “It is not done. Were it, Maxen Pendery would not be planning our deaths.”

She spoke of the bits she had overheard from those who spied on the Penderys. It was said the castle was being fortified, great blocks of stone arriving to replace the wooden palisades. The training of knights and men-at-arms lasted far into the night, and the steady ring of metal testified to the forging of weapons.

“My goal is no different,” Edwin reminded her, the mouth that had tenderly touched her flesh now a thin line. “The Normans will leave England, and those who do not will possess no more than the soil in which their bodies rot.”

Deciding it best to remove herself from him, she stepped back. He let her go, but as she moved toward her tent, a high-pitched wail sounded. She swung around.

Wan hair flying, old Dora swooped upon those assembled before the fire. “A traitor amongst us!” she screeched. “I have seen it.”

As something crept beneath Rhiannyn’s skin, warning her to make herself scarce, Edwin swept past her.

“A Judas!” Dora cried, searching the faces that turned from the monk to her. “Our downfall.”

Some of the Saxons rose to their feet, while others cowered and looked away as if fearful she might name them the betrayer.

Dora lurched near Brother Justus and demanded, “Where is she, oh man of a god who is not?”

“There is only one God,” he said solemnly. “The God of the Christians. And He
is.
”

“Liar!” She set herself at him, but he stepped aside, and she clawed only air.

“Dora!” Edwin called.

She snapped around. “I have seen it, Edwin.” Moonlight glistened on spittle wending a path from one corner of her mouth to her chin. “So clear!” Her eyes rolled. “The ruin of our people.”

As if to gentle a child, he put a hand on her shoulder. “No more, Dora.”

“But I have seen it!”

He took her arm and urged her away. “Come. You are not feeling well.”

Her shoulders slumped, but when she caught sight of Rhiannyn, she leveled a bony finger at her. “She is the one!”

Rhiannyn longed to flee, but even when Dora broke from Edwin and rushed at her, she could not move. Before she could think to brace herself, the wild-eyed woman toppled her to the ground.

As Rhiannyn threw her arms up to defend herself against the nails raking her neck, Edwin hauled the old woman to her feet.

“She has come to feed us death,” Dora cried. “She is the one who will betray us.”

Pressing a hand to her scored flesh, Rhiannyn sat up. “Never would I betray you!”

Dora strained against Edwin’s hold, bared her teeth. “It is seen. If you do not bleed now, you will end our bid to oust the Normans from our lands.
You
will be our undoing.”

Dear Lord, she means to kill me,
Rhiannyn thought as the voices of those gathered around rose, evidencing their Christian beliefs had yet to unseat superstition, especially in the presence of one believed to have worked miracles.

“By my hand and my words,” Dora continued, “I will make all things right, even if I have to call upon darkness—”

“Dora!” Edwin barked. “I have told you, sorcery has no place here.”

She took hold of his tunic. “I speak true! Rhiannyn will betray us. And not alone.”

He closed the mouth he had opened to further rebuke her, and when he spoke again, there was interest in his voice. “What do you mean not alone?”

“I was given the sight of another who will betray us, a faceless one who will make a child on Rhiannyn and—”

Edwin thrust her from him. “She will be my wife and lie with me. Dare you accuse me of being a traitor?”

Dora raised hands that looked almost prayerful. “Though you wish it, she will never lie with you, Edwin. ’Tis another she will fornicate with. And for that, she must die.”

“Silence!”

Dora stepped toward him. “Did I not breathe life back into you?” At his hesitation, she said, “Deny the power with which I have been gifted, but without it, there would be no Edwin Harwolfson. Without it, there would be no hope for our people.”

Those words proved the undoing of a handful of men. They surged past Dora and Edwin and seized Rhiannyn.

“Traitor,” one spat.

“Harlot!” cried another.

More joined them and began dragging her away.

“Edwin!” Rhiannyn cried.

He took a single step toward her.

Despairing of him, she sought and found the big man who stood back from the others. “Aethel!”

Though his face reflected struggle, neither did he move.

It was Brother Justus who answered her pleas by placing himself before the swell of Saxons intent on carrying out Dora’s sentence. “In the name of our Lord, I order you to release the woman!”

They halted, and the babble of voices lowered to murmurs.

“Are you pagans?” Brother Justus demanded. “Do you believe the ramblings of one who is of the devil, rather than He whom I spoke of this eve? There is no place in Heaven for those who follow the beast. Are you, then, content with Hell?”

Rhiannyn was as awed by his words and austere countenance as the others, for in this moment, there was something terribly holy about him—something that might make one believe had they not before.

The silence grew oppressive, then the hands holding her opened, and she fell to the ground. Pained by the ribs injured when Aethel had knocked her from her horse, she bit back a cry.

“Do not listen to him!” Dora screamed. “He has not seen what I have seen, does not know what I know! Take her now!”

When none moved to do her bidding, she darted to Rhiannyn’s side, grasped her arm, and began dragging her upright. “She must die!”

Brother Justus strode forward and pried her fingers from Rhiannyn’s arm. “Away with you, witch!”

Dora sucked air, but before she could spit in his face, he thrust her back. She stumbled around to face Edwin. “See what the outsider does! I warn you, kill the betrayer and send this man away, else your battle is done!”

Edwin momentarily closed his eyes. “He is right, Dora. We are Christians.”

“Death upon us!” she cried and dropped to her knees. “Death to the proud Saxon race!”

Edwin walked wide around her and halted alongside Brother Justus. “You are without injury, Rhiannyn?”

She touched a dirt-scuffed palm to her clawed neck, held it away, and considered the crimson lines. “I am,” she whispered.

He reached down and cupped her chin. “Betray me, lie with another, and your fate is decided. Understood?”

She nodded.

He released her and strode to where the old woman writhed on the ground. “Come, Dora, you need sleep.”

 
She hissed, rolled up onto her feet, and ran toward the cave where she spent most of her days and few of her nights. Where she went after dark, no one knew.

When Edwin followed her, Rhiannyn dropped her head and squeezed her eyes closed, remaining thus until Brother Justus said, “Give me your hand.”

She looked from his broad palm to an unreadable face that might have shone with condemnation for all the compassion she saw there. The holiness he had exuded a short while ago seemed to have fled, his eyes sparkling with something she could not name, though it disturbed her.

She shifted her gaze to those who had remained following Dora’s fit. Furtive glances revealing their misgivings, they slowly withdrew.

“Your hand,” Brother Justus repeated when they were alone.

She placed it in his, and he raised her without effort. Doubtless, beneath his robes he was as solid as she had supposed from his appearance.

“Know I believe you,” he said, his fingers remaining closed around hers.

Once more, strange sensation coursed through her. Once more, she wondered if they had met before.

She pulled her hand free and rubbed her sore ribs. “Why do you believe me?” she asked.

His blue gaze dark in the night, he said, “As I would not forsake our people, neither do I believe you would.”

“But Dora—”

“Are you not Christian enough to put your faith in God, rather than a crone who speaks heretical madness?”

A crone who knew things others did not, Rhiannyn considered, a crone who had brought Edwin back from the dead.

“I fear her,” she murmured.

“Then mayhap you are not well with God. Would you care to speak of it?” At her hesitation, he added, “’Twill do your soul good.”

Her soul. Memories of Thomas and her role in his death assailing her, she stared into the face upon which firelight danced. “Think you I yet have one, Brother Justus?”

A slight smile moved his lips. “Why would you not?”

Could she speak to him of God? Might it ease her burden?

Taking a chance that surprised her, she said, “There is much that weighs upon my conscience.”

“Let us speak of it.” He motioned her to precede him, and Rhiannyn crossed to the fire and seated herself on a log.

The monk lowered beside her, the folds of his robe all that prevented their legs from touching.

She started to scoot farther down the log, but movement among the trees stilled her.

“Now,” Brother Justus said, “tell me—”

“There.” She lifted her chin toward two figures standing close, partly in shadow, partly in moonlight. “Do you see them?”

“Aye.”

“Know you what they do?”

After some moments, he said in a voice edged with what sounded like disapproval, “They speak vows, this night shall be made one.”

Rhiannyn turned her face to him. “You think it wrong?”

He gave her his gaze, and it was so probing, she wished he had not. “It is the Saxon way of things.”

“You say that as if you are not Saxon yourself.”

“As I am a man of God, I am first of the Church.”

The Church that, though a marriage required only the consent of both parties and consummation to be valid, had begun to press for priests to stand witness to the making of man and wife—even when there were witnesses aplenty. This eve in Andredeswald, beneath the heavens and in sight of God, the only other eyes upon the two who pledged their lives to each other were those of Rhiannyn and Brother Justus. And they were surely unseen.