“It all sounds so… sensible… but you know that Steven does not think as a normal man does. I fear his treachery.”
“We will be careful, Eadyth. I protect what is mine.” He put an arm around her shoulders for emphasis.
Eirik’s gesture warmed Eadyth, even more than his words. He did not love her… yet, Eadyth could see that. But she believed that he did care about her. That was something. A start.
“One last thing, Eadyth. ‘Tis possible we have a spy within the keep. So we must not discuss this plan with any of the servants, and I must not come abovestairs once I leave Ravenshire. We will prepare the rooms underground with bedding and food and drink for me and some of my men. Even the horses will have to be kept with us.”
At her look of distaste, he added, “It should only be for one night or two. I am certain Steven will be lured to the prospect of you and John in a seemingly ill-protected keep.”
* * *
Two days went by, and still there was no contact from Steven. Eadyth paced her bedchamber, and the kitchen, where Bertha complained, “Gawd! Yer wearing a groove in the floor, and yer makin’ the milk curdle in me custard with yer constant complainin’.”
Eirik had warned Eadyth not to step outside the keep under any circumstances, and only Wilfrid and Jeremy, her trusted stoneworker from Hawks’ Lair, were aware of the plan. At the first sign of Steven’s, or any stranger’s, presence inside the keep, Eirik was to be contacted. To outward appearances, the keep must look understaffed and poorly guarded.
“When Steven contacts you, you must be within range of Wilfrid or Jeremy so they may signal me and my men. You must obey my orders totally, do you hear me, Eadyth?” Eirik had told her over and over before he left.
On the third day, Eadyth was so jittery and frustrated she decided she had to do something to keep busy. “We will work on my honey today,” she told Bertha and Girta.
The cook muttered something about the mess she would make of her kitchen, but was silenced by a quick glare from Eadyth. Britta would be unable to help since she was still bedridden, though recovering slowly from her battering. Eadyth instructed Oslac, one of the beekeeping assistants she had brought from Hawks’ Lair, to gather as many honeycombs as were ready from her hives. Eirik had forbidden her to go even to the orchard where her hives were located, lest Steven be lurking about.
When Oslac returned a short time later, pushing his bee-keeping veils back off his face, he brought with him three dozen honeycombs and said there were at least that many more for him to fetch. “It has been way too long, mistress, since we have harvested the honey, though the bees have enjoyed the feast mightily.”
Eadyth nodded, realizing that she had been busy with other things the past few days. She sent Oslac off for more of the honeycombs and made sure the fire was hot enough and all her utensils were set out on the table.
Girta went to get more pottery containers from the scullery. Bertha wiped the sweat from her forehead with a forearm and grumbled, “Well, best we get this over with.”
A short time later, Eadyth already had the three dozen honeycombs decapped, dripping nectar through the straining cloths near the fire, and Oslac had not yet returned. She fidgeted and glanced impatiently about the kitchen, wanting to complete her work.
“Wash all the empty combs for me, Bertha,” she said and stepped to the doorway leading to the kitchen courtyard.
Oslac was approaching, carrying a huge armful of the honeycombs in one of her beecatcher boxes—at least six dozen. There must have been many more than he had originally thought. He stopped near the well and laid his box down. At first, Eadyth was puzzled by his behavior, but then she saw him sit down on a boulder and remove his shoe, then shake out several loose stones.
Smiling, she stepped out into the courtyard, lifting her face to the warmth of the midday sun. She missed being outdoors, working with her bees, being free to ride her horse through the cotters’ fields, or go into the markets of Jorvik. She ambled closer to Oslac and remarked, ” ‘Twould seem our bees have been industrious. We will have a great supply of wax for my candles this year, do you not think?”