“Tykir and Sigurd are readying my retainers for departure,” he continued, “but we must talk on my return… of other matters. When I saw Steven holding that knife to your throat today, I… I…” His words trailed off as he clearly fought for composure.
He does care for me, Eadyth thought joyously.
“You are going after Steven then?”
He nodded. “I will give him his promised hour, but not one minute more.”
Eadyth took pride in her husband’s honor and reached up to caress his whisker-stubbled jaw with her knuckles. He had been living in that dismal underground room for three days now and could use a bath and warm food and a soft bed. But there was no time for that now. Not yet.
“The bastard will, no doubt, have escaped by now,” he grumbled, standing abruptly.
“There will be another time.”
“For a certainty.” His pale eyes glittered like shards of blue ice as he gritted out the words.
He lay down next to her on the bed for a time, just holding her as if she were a fragile piece of fine glass, not the hard rock she had been forced to be these past few years. And love swelled her soul with hope for a better life they might have together.
He kissed her softly as he finally arose with reluctance. Pressing his fingertips to her lips, he halted the love words he must know she was about to utter. Warm tears of regret welled in her eyes.
After he left, Eadyth surprised herself by dozing off. She awakened hours later when she heard the tower bell ringing, announcing visitors to the keep.
She quickly whisked the wrinkles from her garment with her hands, and splashed cool water on her face. Ignoring Girta’s pleas that she stay abed and rest, Eadyth drew on a soft, white wimple, then a head-rail, which hid the thin, blood-encrusted line across her throat.
When she emerged from the great hall onto the steep stone steps leading to the bailey, she saw Earl Orm and his retainers entering the gates, with Eirik and his men close behind.
“We met up on the road,” Eirik explained when he dismounted, glancing with distaste at her wimple and head-rail. He had told her on more than one occasion how he hated for her to cover her beautiful hair. “Am I married to a nun now?” he whispered near her ear.
“Did it feel like a nun with her legs wrapped ’round your waist yestereve, husband?” she retorted boldly.
Eirik hooted with laughter and put an arm around her shoulder with an easy familiarity that would have been unthinkable to Eadyth a few short sennights ago. Then he drew her along with their company into the hall.
Suddenly, Eadyth noticed the concern on Eirik’s face and the stiffness with which he held his body. She stopped and put a palm to her chest in dismay. “What? What is it now? Has Steven done something more? Oh, will his evil never end?”
Eirik shook his head. ” ‘Tis not Steven. Earl Orm has just returned from Gloucestershire, and he brings us… news,” he said grimly. “But let us discuss this new matter in private.”
Alarm rippled over Eadyth’s skin like butterfly wings, and her heart began to race wildly. Gloucestershire? Tis where the Witan has been meeting. Has it made a decision regarding John? Oh, Blessed Mother, please… please help us.
Girta followed them into the private chamber off the hall, carrying several trenchers of manchet bread, slices of cold meats and hard cheeses. A servant followed behind her with goblets of mead.
Eadyth sat down with trepidation next to Eirik at the trestle table, wringing her hands nervously in her lap, while Orm, Tykir and Wilfrid sat across the table from them. Even Tykir, who usually had a flippant, teasing word for, her, was ominously silent.
She refused the drink Eirik placed in front of her, and he did not insist. Another ominous sign.
Wasting no time, Eirik soothed her. “Now, do not be frightened, Eadyth. ‘Tis not as bad as it will sound.”
She gazed at him questioningly, unable to speak.
“The Witan demands that John attend Edmund’s funeral at Glastonbury Abbey with me. Then John will travel to Winchester where the king will appoint a temporary guardian for him.”