Naked (13 page)

But in the stables he’d frightened me, too.

Ebur began to tire. Leaning down, I slipped off my glove and patted his rough mane. “Time to go home.”

His ears pricked backward.

We slowed to a trot.

As I approached the outlying houses of the town, in the distance I made out the shape of Lord Leofric on horseback, his broad leather-clad back unmistakable, his tawny hair bare. He, too, had been riding out alone.

Perhaps he was also wondering at what would come from our marriage. For good or ill, our lives would be joined. To start to accept it, we had to build new lives.

His protection. My peace.

Outside the church I looped Ebur’s reins on the lych-gate. Inside, someone, Aine or Walburgha perhaps, had laid fresh flowers on the clay floor at the foot of the cross.

My veil over my hair.

With trembling fingers, I lit two candles.

Fader.

Moder.

Kneeling in front of the painted cross, I missed them so much I could barely breathe.

I had to say good-bye to the old life.

Be brave. Move on. Bring peace.

Wedding vows were holy vows. In a few days’ time, I would make them in this hallowed place, built by my father for my mother. When I made my vows to Leofric, I would have to keep them. They would be for life, never to be broken.
A woman must keep her pledge to a man
. Our Saxon saying.

In this place, before God, my vow would be sacred.

Beneath my veil I bowed.

*   *   *

“Surprise!” Beolinda leapt out from behind the bower door.

“Beolinda!”

From my sweaty palm, I released my knife. Instinctively I’d pulled it from my belt.

I’d been deep in reflection as I came home after my time spent in prayer. Seeking guidance. Comfort. Peace.

Just then I didn’t need to be reminded of how Thurkill had grabbed me, his dagger at my neck.

“Did I give you a fright?” She giggled. “I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her sweet rose scent enveloped me as we embraced each other. She’d grown a little plumper, I thought, as she pulled away. But prettier than ever.

“Aine said you were at church. How can you pray so long? Don’t your knees hurt?”

My hours of prayer had always been private to me. To discuss my faith always seemed to be a form of pious pride. Dodging her question I asked, “Just what are you doing here hiding behind the door?”

Beolinda giggled again. It cheered me just to see her pretty face, her golden hair shining as bright as coins. “When we heard the news I set out straightaway. Did you think I’d let my closest friend get married without me as a witness?”

My closest friend. No matter how much I cared for Beolinda it was Edmund to whom I had always given that accolade.

“Godiva, you’re so sad. Is it your parents? I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“I always imagined my parents would be with me at my wedding.” Only days away. I cleared my throat.

“And I always thought you would marry Edmund!”

“Things don’t always turn out as we expect.” Jagged. Chips of wood.

“And Edmund’s gone away?” Beolinda’s lashes fluttered wide. “Is that right?”

Splinters once more. “Yes. He’s gone.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps to the Angle Lands.”

“Did he leave any word?”

“No.” I changed the subject. “It’s good to see you.”

“I’m amazed to find you marrying Lord Leofric of Mercia. I just met him in the courtyard when I arrived. He isn’t what I expected. He’s so stern.”

Stunned to find I hated Beolinda speaking badly of Leofric, I bit my tongue. I supposed she would find him stern; he’d probably barely spoken two words to her when she arrived at the hall. He’d barely spoken more than a few words to me since I’d agreed to wed him. Retreated again. He always seemed to be in consultation with his warriors. It bothered me more than I cared to admit, but I disdained to begin my married life discussing my future husband behind his back. I’d made my bargain and I would keep it.

“Perhaps you’ll be my wedding attendant in the church.” I had no one else to stand up for me, not anymore.

“I’d love to! Is there a special gown for me to wear?”

“Nothing special,” I laughed. Beolinda hadn’t changed, at least. It came as a relief. “You can carry flowers, perhaps. It’s only going to be a simple ceremony.”

She tucked her arm in mine. “No, Godiva. It’s going to be a special ceremony. Very special, indeed.”

*   *   *

With Beolinda for company I wasn’t so lonely, though Edmund’s absence continued to ache, a wound slow to heal, like the battle cut on my arm.

I missed him more than I could say. And when Beolinda went home I’d be alone. With my new husband.

A man I barely knew.

An idea had come to me.

I would get to know Leofric.

We were going to be wed. Perhaps if we spent some time together, I might be able to break through the barrier between us. We couldn’t spend our years of marriage as strangers.

I’d ask him to ride to the Forest of Arden with me, I decided, as I filled Ebur’s water trough, avoiding the empty stall next door where Edmund’s horse should be. I’d taken yet another long ride across the fields. My restless body craved exercise as my wedding day drew closer. Beolinda hadn’t wanted to ride, even though she used to when we were younger. It had been Edmund’s company, not riding, she’d enjoyed. Edmund who’d spurred me on to more daring feats on Ebur’s back as we raced across field and plain.

Ebur butted me with his nose.

“Ebur.”

He butted again.

“
Ebur
.”

Twisting around, I went to push him away.

In a hay bale in the corner of the stall, silver glistened beneath the straw.

Avoiding Ebur’s back legs, I crouched.

Yanked it out.

The weight of it sent me stumbling back on my haunches as I crouched down to haul it out.

A sword. Massive, two-edged, silver, the hilt inlaid with gold.

Crossing to the stable door, it took both hands to hold it up to a slant of afternoon light. The carved patterns on the blade glimmered in the sun.

It wasn’t a sword that belonged to anyone from the Middle Lands. Perhaps the carvings were of Mercian design. I frowned. I had seen Leofric’s sword, the one he used in battle, and it was plain; plain and strong. Perhaps this was a ceremonial sword, to use on our wedding day. I knew a bridegroom carried one to signify that he would defend his bride. Did he know it was here, hidden behind the hay in Ebur’s stall? Or was it lost?

Testing its weight, I swung it. I’d never held such a balanced blade before. It sang.

Dragging the sword behind me I went to find Leofric.

He was in the hall, deep in conversation with his bodyguard Acwell. As I entered they stopped.

“Leofric.” I called him by his name alone and not his title now. It still tasted strange. But it was a step forward, at least. “I must speak with you.”

Acwell bowed and left the room. The immense bulk of the man always unnerved me, and we had rarely exchanged more than a few words. Still, he was always courteous.

Leofric seemed abstracted. “What is it?”

My arm wound twanged as I lifted the double-edged sword above me. It had almost healed, but not quite. “I found this.”

The effect on him was extraordinary.

“Where did you get it?” Across the room he came and grabbed me by the forearms, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Who gave it to you?”

The metal sword tip clattered against the floor as I pulled away from his painful grip.

“No one gave it to me. I found it in Ebur’s stall. I thought it must be yours, misplaced.”

“In Ebur’s stall? That’s where you found it? In the stables?”

“Yes.”

“In your horse’s stall. Not in anyone else’s.”

“I just told you. It was in Ebur’s stall hidden beneath some hay.”

A blue blaze. Fire danger. “Put it back. Exactly as you found it.”

“But isn’t it your sword? It doesn’t belong to anyone in the Middle Lands, because I’ve never seen one like this before and…”

“Put. It. Back.” Each word a slap against my skin.

“But…”

“You heard what I said.” With a swirl of his cloak he stalked over to the window.

The sword almost slipped from my fingers as I stared at him, open-mouthed. Why was he behaving toward me in such a way?

Unexpected tears pricked as I returned to the stables and hid the sword beneath the hay bale. Even burying my face in Ebur’s soft mane didn’t comfort me.

By dawn the next day, the sword had gone.

15

Robed and crown’d,

To meet her lord …

—Tennyson (1842):
Godiva

I reclined in the wooden tub. In the warm water my hair swirled like riverweed. Tendrils entwined around my hips, my thighs, my wrists, my arms.

Aine poured in another kettle of hot water from the fire, sending steam rising to the starry bower ceiling. “A bath fit for a bride.”

A bride.

Tomorrow I would be a bride.

Now Aine added yet another bunch of spruce leaves to the wooden tub. Deeply I inhaled the pine scent. It was both invigorating and relaxing.

Next she started to scrub at my skin with a cloth that seemed to have some kind of crushed pebbles wrapped in it, fine as sand.

“Ouch!” I protested. “Aine! That hurts!”

She took no notice, just rubbed harder. “Your skin will be lovely and soft.”

“What’s left of it,” I grumbled. But I knew there was no point arguing with her. She’d scrubbed my fingernails and behind my ears as a child in much the same manner.

Finally Aine stopped scrubbing. My whole body tingled. My skin glowed rosy pink in the firelight.

Oil came next from a green glass bottle, added water-shimmer. Glistening rainbow pools on the surface. Into its silky smoothness I lowered my body deeper, immersing my shoulders.

“That’s lovely.”

“You needed the scrubbing first. Now soak. Then we’ll wash your hair.”

Obediently I fluttered my lashes closed. Aine was always extra tart, a sour green apple, when she was worried about me and trying not to show it.

I knew what made her tart-tongued.

We were both nervous.

Tomorrow, I would be a bride.

The Earl of Mercia’s bride.

“Put. It. Back.”

My lids snapped open.

It was as though he was in the bower with me his words rang so loud in my memory. For a moment I wondered if Aine had spoken, but she was sideways to me, folding out linens on the bed. Bright new linens. Fine white linens. For my bride night to come.

My bride night with Lord Leofric of Mercia, whose furious face was imprinted in my brain.

The double-edged sword. Where did it come from? Why had it made Leofric so angry? I’d barely been able to sleep or eat since I’d found it. Beolinda had asked me what was wrong, but I hadn’t been able to tell her. She probably assumed it was pre-wedding nerves, darting about like damselflies in my stomach.

Once again I forced myself to relax and breathe in the soothing pine scent of my bathwater.

Yes, I had pre-wedding nerves. Would not any bride?

But to marry a man so hard, so cold, so angry with me made it so much harder.

“To wed means both to promise and to gamble. The wager is mine, is it not?”

Leofric’s dry tone.

A wager on whether the bride would breed.

I delved for the soap. Spruce and lavender, a concoction of Aine’s own. It smelled delicious.

I’d wished my father with me while I’d negotiated my wedding terms. Now I wished for my mother.

It was the bride bath custom for the secrets of a good marriage to be passed down from mother to daughter while the bride washed away her maiden status in her ritual bath. Purified by the cleansing process, she would be made ready for what was to come. The duties of a wife, rites to be followed when a married woman, advice on how to please a husband … I needed these, but I would have to do without. There was magical knowledge, too, women’s wisdom I’d heard muttered and whispered, though I knew not of its truth. How to guide a man without him knowing he is guided. How to advise him while letting him still be master of the hall. How to live with his moods and pleasures, to alter and shift them. How to keep him in thrall in the bower. Whether my mother practiced such arts, I knew not. My father had loved her for his whole married life, that much I knew. It had been in his surmise, both tender and passionate after years together, in his many caresses, in the throatiness of his speech. But my mother was gone, her marriage secrets with her.

The soap slipped from my grasp.

Sliding down I plunged beneath the water, turning my hair to slippery tendrils.

With one hand Aine wrenched me up out of the water as if she were saving me from drowning in the sea.

“A cold rinse. To stimulate your system. That’s what you need now.”

“Aine! Not a cold rinse! No!” I spluttered, trying to duck.

The jug of chill water splashed, spilled down my neck and onto my breasts, turning their tips to darts. The rosemary sprigs and apple blossom petals mixed into the rinse stuck to my wet skin.

Sending my hair swirling like a dog shaking its fur, I laughed aloud.

Droplets danced into diamonds in the firelight.

It felt good.

*   *   *

Aine lifted up the wedding garland and set it on my hair. Raising my hand I scented my fingertips on the petals.

Day’s eyes. The flower that opened to welcome the morn.

For new beginnings.

Wheat.

For fertility.

Clover.

For wealth.

Aine set great store by such things. The water in my pre-wedding bath had been fragrant with the nine sacred herbs: mugwort, betony, lamb’s cress, chamomile, nettle, crab-apple, chervil, thyme, and fennel, for our pre-wedding baths were traditionally both holy and cleansing.

I didn’t argue.

My marriage would need all the luck and blessing it could get. Since Leofric’s anger at me over the sword, I’d avoided him. I’d not try to make friends. Once, while I was in the courtyard, I thought I saw him observing me from the hall, but there was no one at the window when I examined it more closely.