THE TARNISHED LADY By Sandra Hill

He nodded as he rubbed the bottom of his bruised foot, then replaced his shoe and stood.

An odd tingling prickled Eadyth’s scalp, then raised the fine hair on the back of her neck. It was Oslac’s height. She had not realized he was so tall, or that—

Before she had a chance to assimilate the warning signals, Oslac threw off his beekeeping veils and grabbed her arm in a pincerlike grip. She started to scream, but he pulled her back against his body, one arm wrapped across her chest like an iron bar, the other clamped over her mouth.

It was Steven of Gravely.

“You bloody bitch! Where have you hidden John? Oslac says he has not seen him in the keep for days.”

Eadyth twisted her head to peer at Steven’s face over her shoulder. He was dragging her toward some bushes where they would be hidden from view.

Her blood ran cold at the tremendous change in his appearance since they had last met. Although still a handsome man, he had lost much weight and his cheeks were sunken. Illness cast a grayish pallor over his once healthy skin. His bloodshot eyes raked her feverishly, darting about the kitchen courtyard searchingly. There was madness, too, in his wild eyes, and Eadyth suspected that the disease of his male parts had moved to his brain.

“I asked you a question, bitch,” he said and tore a length of fabric off her sleeve, using it to tie a gag around her mouth. He did the same with her other sleeve and bound her hands behind her back and her ankles together. Then he shoved her to her knees and slapped her mightily across the face. “I am going to remove your gag for a moment, and if you dare to cry out, I swear I will slit your bloody throat.” He pulled a dagger from his belt and held it to her neck while he untied her gag with the other hand.

“Where is John?” he asked once again.

Apparently he already knew that John was not within the keep, thanks to Oslac’s treachery. Oslac must be the spy in their midst.

“In Jorvik,” she lied.

“You cannot hide my son from me, you know. Already Edred has promised him to me in return for my past loyalties. ‘Tis only a matter of time.”

“Then why are you here?”

She saw her mistake when Steven’s eyes flashed angrily and he backhanded her across the other cheek. She reeled under the impact and almost fell over, but Steven grabbed her painfully by the neck and held her upright.

“My grandsire is dying of the wasting disease in Frankland as we speak, Eadyth. He has an aversion to me, for some unfathomable reason, but has agreed to pass his estates on to my heir. If I do not bring my son to him afore his death, all his lands will go to the church. I cannot allow that.”

“Go to your own wife, Steven. Breed sons on her,” Eadyth said, unsure if Eirik’s tale of Steven’s sterility were true.

At first he appeared about to strike her again, but then lowered his hand. “Did you not know my wife died two sennights ago?” he asked, slitting his red-rimmed eyes slyly. ” ‘Twas a fearsome stomach ailment… came on Eneda of a sudden… the poor soul.” He chortled most unsympathetically and pulled a small vial from his robe, holding it in her face. “She did not suffer much in the end, thanks to this sleeping draught I gave her.”

Eadyth felt a suffocating, squeezing sensation in her chest, and a ripple of fear passed over her body. She knew without being told that the vial held poison which he had administered to his wife. But why?

He soon answered her question.

” ‘Tis the exact same potion you will be giving to your husband.”

Eadyth inhaled sharply. The man had truly lost his senses. “Why would I do that?”

“Now that I am free to marry, you must be the same.”

Stark fear, black and deadly as a tidal wave, washed over her, and Eadyth could barely control her tremors. “But you said the Witan will grant you custody. Why would you need me as wife?”