Naked (16 page)

Aine got to her feet with a grimace. She’d been complaining of bone aches during the winter months. I hurried over to help her with the willow basket. After patting my cheek, she picked up the herb basket and disappeared into the kitchens.

I stared after her. Aine believed some men were able to separate their bodies and their hearts. Would it last—what Leofric and I had begun to create between us? I didn’t mean a child for I sensed I hadn’t conceived. Something else had been conceived in me. In my heart, something had seeded.

Why did I care to know this man’s soul, this man who had caught me in a trap? But a truth was growing in me with the spring.

Just as my body yearned for Leofric each night, my heart was beginning to yearn for his.

*   *   *

After dinner, the gleeman took up his usual place in front of the fire. For the first time since the festival of Easter we had supped on hare stew. Many of my people, Aine included, still celebrated the Christian feast as well as honoring Eostre, our goddess of spring. Since hares were sacred to Eostre they would not eat them until after her feast day.

Moonstones laced my neck. More milky-clasped my sleeves. A gold-trimmed tunic. I dressed for him.

The gleeman bowed. “What will you have tonight, my lord and lady? A song on the harp? A poem or a riddle? The tale of the battle of Maldon?”

On the high bench, Leofric sat beside me, his thigh close to mine. The leather smell of his clothing was familiar now, as was the more intimate scent that was just his. It drew me to him, an invisible potion.

With a clink of metal on wood he placed his goblet on the table. “What would you hear, Lady?”

My mouth had gone dry. I took a sip of the ale that had replaced our nightly mead now our honeymoon was over.

“Please make your choice, my lord.”

“I haven’t heard Beowulf of late. Of the battle against the monster Grendel. Even if it is an old Danish tale, it’s still the finest.”

An unexpected knot of grief choked me.

“What ails you, Godiva?” Sometimes his voice was as gentle as his night touch.

“A recollection of my mother.”

A glimmer of understanding flashed between us. “What is it you recall?”

“Her words of comfort when I cried out in the night.”

The intensity of his surmise held me tight as an embrace. Leaning over to me he spoke soft. “Have no fear. If you cry out in the night I will hear you.”

His breath fanned the sensitive skin below my ear, sending shivers through me. “Then I won’t be afraid, my lord.”

He picked up his goblet again.

“Leofric?” I twisted the ring on my finger. I still had not taken it to the forge to be made my size. “It’s beautiful out of doors, now that spring has arrived. Will you come with me tomorrow, as I ride abroad in the Middle Lands?”

“Where do you think to visit?”

“The Forest of Arden.”

He surveyed me over the rim of the cup. “Arden.”

“It’s my favorite place. We could ride there together. It’s not too far from here.”

At his brief nod of consent I couldn’t hide my smile.

Loudly I clapped. “Let us hear of Beowulf.”

The gleeman began. It didn’t pain me to hear it, as I had feared. Instead, when he came to the lines:

Awesome Earl; since erst a whelp

fund-shorn found, was offered help.

Waxed under welkin, won worth-prestige

until all areas we edged with were beseiged

over the whale-road, wide wealth did they bring:

gave up their gold. That was a good king!

Sideways at Leofric. Awesome earl. I smiled.

18

Cry down the past,

—Tennyson (1842):
Godiva

“Congratulations on your marriage, my lady!” The farmwife bobbed and ushered her children forward. “May the god and goddess bless you!”

From Ebur’s saddle I leant down and took the primroses offered by one of the children. The girl smiled shyly before going back to clutch her mother’s apron, with its pockets full of seeds and tools.

“How beautiful! Thank you. How goes it with you?”

“We’ve planted the spring crops. We hope there’ll be a better harvest than last year. It wasn’t a good year for us, nor was the year before.”

In sympathy I nodded. “Let us pray for a good harvest this year.”

“We will, my lady. And for blessings for you and your husband.” She bobbed at Leofric, but her smile she reserved for me before we rode away to the cries of the children, their shyness gone, shouting good-bye.

Our horses drew parallel. “Your people love you,” he said, over the sound of their hooves as we slowed to a walk.

“Don’t the people of Mercia love their lord?”

“They respect me.” Leofric glanced at the sun-dappled fields, full of green life. Everywhere was brimming with new life now: lambs and calves in the fields, baby birds chirped in their nests, and small animals rustled in the bushes. The Middle Lands were at their best in the spring. Hawks circled above. Under a cloudless sky we’d ridden through the villages, clustered around the common lands and out into the farming lands, where more homes were scattered. All the way folk had waved and called good wishes to us.

“The people of the Middle Lands are loyal. I prize loyalty above all things,” I said, my head held high with pride.

“But what if you are loyal to the wrong things, to the wrong people?”

“Mine are good people.”

“Mine are good, too. But Mercia is a harsher place than this.”

“There’s no land as beautiful to me as the Middle Lands, but we can’t predict what each year will bring. It can be feast or famine.”

“
The ploughman feeds us all
.” He quoted the old Saxon saying; one my father oft repeated, too, I recalled with a pang.

“We’ve had some hard times. Our last few harvests were scarce.” It had worried my father.

“We’ve had many bad harvests in Mercia.” Leofric’s face turned grim. “Famine has been hard on my lands. When I was a young boy there was a time when year after year, the crops failed. Then there was pestilence affecting the cattle. I’m determined, in the future, to have the wealth and stores to ride out difficult times.” He gave his horse a slight kick to urge him on. “But let’s not talk of difficult times this day. How far to your woods of Arden?”

“Not far.”

He gave me an odd glance. “Before the battle for Coventry. You stood on your horse’s back. Can you do that while riding?”

For a moment I hesitated. What I could do with Ebur had a strange, secret power. I didn’t speak of it, nor show it for fun. Edmund had witnessed it, for the gift had come to me as I grew. Whether I would have the same connection with any other horse, or only Ebur, I knew not. All I knew was I guarded it as most precious.

Yet I wanted to tell Leofric.

“Yes. While cantering, but not in a gallop, of course.”

“Will you show me?”

He must have seen my uncertainty.

“It’s of no matter.”

“No! I’d be pleased to show you.” I’d worn a light, short tunic and leggings today. Not my leather. But I could still do it, no matter what I wore.

Into a trot I pulled Ebur ahead. Leaning down I whispered the words to her. Ancient words. Ancient whisper.

Releasing my feet from the stirrups, I clambered up on the flat of the saddle. For a moment I knelt, finding my balance, my head and shoulders poised like an arrow into the breeze. Then I was on my feet.

Knees bent, I locked my pose. Keeping my head high, I allowed my legs to absorb the impact of Ebur’s every step.

Trot hastened to canter.

My arms outstretched, we flew.

Birdsong trilled from me as we soared across the plain. The wind laughed into my hair, chuckled against my cheeks. My lashes fluttered closed as I became the whisper, became the wind.

Too soon it was over. Beneath the saddle Ebur shifted. Sensing my balance about to change, I jumped low, my legs astride, and propelled myself back into the saddle.

Leofric galloped up behind me. With a pat of thanks and praise I reined Ebur in.

Ebur gave Leofric’s horse a nudge as they drew beside us and stopped.

“I’ve never seen such a thing before.” Leofric’s words were understated, but in his visage admiration blended with understanding.

This rider knew the whisper, too.

“It’s Ebur,” I panted, still short of breath. “Not me.”

“Perhaps.”

His huge black horse. Like Ebur, an exceptional animal.

The stallion had an unusual name:
Wyrd
.

“Your horse’s name. Where did it come from?”

“I named him myself. Fate is its meaning, as you well know.” Leofric flashed me one of his rare smiles. “I take fate into my own hands.”

The stallion leapt forward.

*   *   *

Magic sparkled in the sunlight, falling on the leaves as we reached the edge of the Forest of Arden.

Leofric stroked Wyrd’s neck as we tethered our horses. “This is a sacred place.”

“How did you know?” Arden was the home of our ancient spirits but it wasn’t common knowledge beyond our borders. Many still came to worship in Arden on holy days, but only those who lived in the Middle Lands.

A shrug was his only reply as we went deeper into the forest by foot, the oaks, elms, and poplars whispering their mysterious welcome. Yet I swore he bowed as we entered the deep green grove.

“It’s believed these woods are haunted,” I told him.

He lifted a brow. “With whose ghosts?”

“With the ghosts of Saxons past. Once, when I came here with Edmund, we heard terrible squealing sounds and I thought it was a ghost! But it was only a sow from one of the villages. Some of the farmers let their pigs run free, instead of keeping them on the common ground with the sheep and cattle. There are mushrooms in these woods that the sows love to find.”

Still no word from Edmund.

Deeper into the wood we came to a ley, a small clearing dappled with light. By a huge fallen log I laid out the loaf of bread, cheese, and ale Aine had packed. I felt strangely shy as we sat together, our backs resting against the wood. We hadn’t spent many hours alone together by day, or shared a meal alone. There were always others with us at the hall. I offered him the loaf. Its smell told of its freshness; it must have been baked that morning.

With a nod of thanks Leofric tore off a piece, his fingers gliding briefly over mine. I knew those hands now. Gentle yet strong, I knew how they could play upon my skin. Yes, I had come to know those hands each night he spent in my bower, but I knew not enough of his life.

“Have you a forest such as Arden in Mercia?” I asked, with the shyness still upon me.

“We have Sherwood Forest. It’s deep and green, and full of hiding places, to those who know them. It was in Sherwood my brothers and I were outlaws.”

“Outlaws? In your own land.” I’d heard of such things. It angered me.

His face darkened, as if he was no longer sitting in a patch of sunlight, but had moved into the shade. “My brothers and I went there to hide. We were there for many months. We survived on wild nuts, fruits, and berries. Sometimes we found wild mushrooms or ate what we could hunt.”

It suddenly became hard to swallow my bread. He spoke as if it were matter of fact, but fruits of the forest could barely have sustained the young, growing man he must have been. “When Thurkill took Mercia? Is that when you hid in the forest?”

He inclined his head. “When Thurkill took our halls and when he outlawed us in our own lands, we had to flee quickly, and we only had a few horses and arms with us. But we built up our strength to take our lands once more. Thurkill thought he had defeated us, but he was wrong. I will rebuild Mercia, and our great cities.” He gazed beyond me into the woods, but I sensed he didn’t see its deep greenness. It was his cities he saw.

“I will not stop until Mercia is as mighty as it should be.” Spoken in the woods, his vow had a sacredness that made me shiver. “After Northman was killed, I swore to rebuild our homeland.”

My heart contracted. He’d lost his brother, his way of life, and his home. I’d lost my parents to Thurkill but at least I hadn’t seen our hall burn.

Leofric had saved me from that.

“My father dreamed of building in stone,” I said. “He dreamed of a castle. And my mother used to say,
Better to have castles made of wood than made of air, Radulf
.”

Leofric smiled; the unexpected boyish smile that seemed to go straight to my core. “And what did your father say to that?”

“He said dreams must come first.”

“
Dreams must come first
. And what would you build?”

“My mother believed we should build a church before we rebuilt the hall. She always wanted to have a stone church for Coventry. A church should be the first stone building, she said, for a church is for everyone. She and Brother Aefic long planned it. One day I hope to build it in her memory. I would make it so fine that all the townsfolk would want to come. I would build it with glass windows as they do in the great cities.”

“So buildings made of dreams do last,” he murmured. “The dreams of your parents have become yours.”

“Perhaps dreams are passed down along with lands.”

The brooding set of his jaw came as he stared again unseeing into the trees. His recollections had returned to his brother, I guessed. “Was Northman with you in the Forest of Sherwood?”

The darkling shadow passed across his face. “He led us there; my family and those who remained loyal to us. He was, after all, the eldest the future ealdorman. It was why he was called Northman. It’s a Mercian name. We are proud, in my family, to be men of the North.”

“He was not earl, as you are?”

“I am the first earl. King Canute himself granted me the title.”

“That night in the hut. You asked if Thurkill and the other man I heard talking about
huscarls
mentioned Canute. Why?”

“Canute is gathering a force of Saxon nobles around him. He calls them his
huscarls
.”

“A bodyguard?”