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“Adelar’s father is a wealthy thane, with lands and a burh further south,” Bayard explained.
Endredi nearly knocked her goblet from the table. Adelar’s father still possessed land after what he had done? What tales had Ranulf been speaking of, if not that Kendric himself had arranged for a Viking raiding party to attack his village, only too glad to see it destroyed? He had murdered his wife, too. It was not possible that his people could have forgiven such things—but once she would have said it was impossible that Adelar would ignore her, too. She would also have said it was impossible that Adelar could be like his father, but how else to explain his actions since she had arrived?
“If you will excuse me, my lord, I must prepare for evening prayers,” the priest sitting near her said gravely.
“Good even, Father,” Bayard replied, bowing his head.
Endredi watched the priest walk away. Before she had known a Christian, she had been told priests were evil men who would cast spells to send you to eternal torment if you didn’t pay them to say special prayers. She had learned otherwise, but this gloomy man still added to her dread. She did not trust him, either, especially as he had been giving her harsh looks for the better part of the meal.
Bayard, seeing where she looked, patted her hand. “It is not you he disapproves of, Endredi. It is women in general.”
“Women in general?”
“Yes. He suspects you all of being little more than demons sent to tempt honest men. You see the long tunic he wears? He began to dress like that after he went to Rome. He was there several years. Too many, I think. He was a kind enough fellow before he left, but easily swayed. I understand he joined with some rather strict priests. Ever since he has come home, he has spoken as if women were God’s special punishment.” Bayard smiled, his eyes twinkling rather mischievously for a powerful thane. “Fortunately, he leaves tomorrow on a journey to the monastery of his bishop for synod.” He touched her hand. “I hope you will soon come to feel at home here. It will help that you speak our language.”
“My...my family has Saxon blood,” she replied, slipping her hand into her lap. Then, as she smiled with some sincerity, she began to hope that she might not find her marriage just a duty. Bayard seemed genuinely concerned about her.
Her response had caught Ordella’s attention, as well as most of those seated around them. Ranulf said, “Cynath will surely be pleased to hear that you are part Saxon.”
Endredi looked questioningly at Bayard. “Cynath?”
“My overlord, an ealdorman in the Witan.”
“Cynath thinks very highly of your husband, my lady. Justly so, of course,” Ranulf said.
“Of course,” Ordella echoed.
The man who had been singing stopped and put down his harp. “What would be my lady’s pleasure?” he asked, an infectious grin on his round face. “Another song? Another instrument? I can play pipes, horns and fithele. Perhaps you would care to dance?”
“This is my gleeman, Godwin, and a talented fellow,” Bayard said by way of introduction. “He amuses me, for which privilege I pay him an extraordinary amount of silver.”
“I assure you, my lady, I am worth every coin!” Godwin proclaimed, making a very deep bow.
His mien was so sincere and yet so comical, she knew he was trying hard to make her smile. She attempted to oblige him.
“I think we will dance another time,” Bayard said. “Show her how you juggle.”
Godwin responded with a roguish grin, then pulled out three knives, the shortest of which was twelve inches long. The Danes, seated just below Ranulf, half rose from their seats, until he threw the knives up into the air and began to juggle them.
“Look at him,” Dagfinn said scornfully in his own language. “Saxon warriors have many skills, albeit useless ones.”
“What did he say?” Bayard inquired of his bride, shifting closer to Endredi so that his body was against hers. She moved away.
“He says that Saxon warriors are very skilled.”
Godwin picked up three heavy battle axes and juggled them, the blades flashing. This time, the Danes stared openmouthed. “I am not a Saxon,” Godwin said without taking his attention from the whirling axes. “I am a Mercian.”
“If other Danes act like these, we may use our skills to drive them right out of the Danelaw. They seem as attentive as a dog waiting for a bone from his master’s table,” Bayard remarked.
The Saxons around him smothered their laughter. Endredi stared at the fine white tablecloth. She had never liked Fenris’s brother, who often made jests at the expense of those weaker than himself, but she did not enjoy hearing her countrymen insulted. Nor was she pleased to find that her husband so obviously wanted the Danes expelled from their lawful land. He had been attentive and polite to her thus far, but perhaps that would change when they were alone.
Godwin stopped juggling the axes and began to do other tricks with his knives. The Danes went back to drinking.
“Barbarous rabble, are they not?” Ranulf observed loudly. “And most unpleasant—yourself excluded, of course, my lady. No wonder Adelar hates them all.”
Bayard darted an angry glance at his nephew. “Ranulf!” he said, an unmistakable tone of warning in his voice. “You must forgive his hasty words, Endredi,” Bayard went on placatingly, as if she were no more than a child. But she knew only a fool would believe a burh full of Saxons would welcome a marriage between their thane and a Viking, and she was not a fool. “It is true that my cousin dislikes most Danes. He was abducted by Vikings when he was a boy. They killed his sister.”
“What?” Too late Endredi realized that she had shown too much. Everyone stared at her. “How terrible, my lord,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm and not to proclaim to everyone that Adelar had told a base falsehood. “I am most dismayed that my countrymen may have caused a member of your family any anguish,” she said after a moment. Despite the seeming regret in her voice, anger was boiling under Endredi’s placid surface. If anyone had been to blame for Betha’s death, it was Adelar, who had taken her from the Viking village during a snowstorm in an ill-fated attempt to make their way home. Even then, the little girl had died of an illness, an act of the gods, as she had tried to tell him. Then she had given him the silent companionship he seemed to find the greatest comfort. This lie was her reward?
She would make him correct that lie. Such falsehoods only inflamed the hatred between the Danes and Saxons. Many of the women she knew were as tired of the fighting and the bloodshed as she. If making Adelar confess the truth would prevent one skirmish, one more death, she would ensure that it happened.
“You had nothing to do with it,” Bayard said kindly. “Godwin,” he called out, “sing something else. Something pleasant.”
Godwin complied. After his third song, Bayard turned to her and said solicitously, “You are so quiet. Are you weary? Do you wish to retire?”
Endredi glanced at her husband. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Helmi waiting patiently at the end of the hall.
“Yes, my lord,” she said, rising. The time had come. She was this man’s wife.
“I shall join you in a little while.”
“Sleep well, my lady,” Ranulf said, a leer on his impertinent face.
She was going to hate her husband’s nephew. And she would make Adelar reveal the truth, at least to Bayard. As for how she would feel about her husband, she would find out soon enough, no doubt.
* * *
Helmi held open the door of the bower. Inside, someone had kindled a small, coal-fueled fire in one of the braziers, so that the building was warm against the cool night air of spring. The bed curtains of fine damask had been drawn back, as had the fur coverlet.
Endredi turned her back on the bed.
“Please sit, my lady,” Helmi said, “and I will remove the ornaments from your hair.”
“Leave me.”
“But my lady!” the servant protested. “I should help you.”
“I said, leave me.”
Helmi shrugged and went to the far corner of the bower, where she had made a bed from a mattress filled with straw and some blankets.
“I would prefer you to sleep elsewhere tonight,” Endredi said. She had no wish to have a servant’s presence on her wedding night. She was nervous enough without that.
Helmi frowned deeply. “Where else? There are Saxons everywhere, like fleas on a dog!”
“There are other Danes in the hall. Sleep there tonight.”
Helmi looked about to protest, but wisely, she did not. When she had gone out carrying her bed, Endredi sighed softly and sank down onto a stool, putting her hands over her face.
“Adelar, Adelar!” she moaned softly, finally allowing herself to express the hurt that had been fighting with her anger ever since she had seen him. She knew she should distrust him. All through the meal she had sought to convince herself that she could not have faith in him. He was not the boy she had known. He had changed.
Why was he here, and now of all times? Why could she not find strength in the fact that he had had years to come back to her, and had not? Why could she not keep anger in her heart when she thought of his lies? Why did something different, something stronger, intrude until her bitterness and anger were gone like a speck of dust upon a summer’s breeze?
Why did she remember not the moment she knew he had abandoned her to her fate, but instead the one and only kiss they had shared? It had been early night, just like this, in the dimness of her father’s house. They had been alone, two children on the edge of adulthood, sitting beside the fire, silent as usual. He had turned to her and spoken of—what? She had never been able to recall because of what had come after. He had talked and she had listened.
Then, slowly, wondrously, the expression in his dark, intense eyes had changed. Without even being aware of it, their bodies had moved closer. And closer. Until their lips had touched.
Even now, her heart raced at the thought of that gentle, tender kiss. She had changed into a woman then, with a woman’s heart and a woman’s dreams and a woman’s passion.
And to think it had meant nothing at all to him.
She lowered her hands. She must put away these memories, once and for always. She must be strong and remember that her loyalty, and her body, belonged to another man. Adelar had done nothing to stop that, either. Yes, he had changed, and she must guard against her own weakness.
Resolving to be as good a wife to Bayard as she could, Endredi disrobed and climbed into the bed. She drew the curtains around it and waited, not afraid, but not with joyous anticipation.
Finally the door opened and someone entered. Her hands started to shake and her chest seemed tight, which was foolish. She was no tender virgin.
“Bayard?” she called out tentatively.
“Yes,” came a low response.
Endredi closed her eyes. Oh, Freya, goddess of love and beauty, abandoned by Od and always mourning, help me! Even Bayard’s voice is like Adelar’s. Help me to forget! Please, Mary, mother of Jesus, give me strength to do what I must.
Then came the sounds of a man disrobing. Something metallic striking the stool. The dull thud of cloth on a chest.
The curtains parted, and Endredi opened her eyes.
Chapter Three
Bayard stood beside the bed. He was naked, his bearded face in shadow. He looked down at Endredi, and she tried to force a tentative smile to her lips, but oh, how his eyes were like Adelar’s in this dim light!
Bayard got into the bed with her, yet he did not touch her. “You are sure Adelar’s behavior did not offend you?” he asked softly. “Or Ranulf’s? If so, tell me, and I will speak to them.”
“No. I am unknown here, and drink can make men say things they themselves regret later.”
“You are wise, Endredi. I am pleased you forgive him,” he whispered. “Adelar is not only my cousin. He is my most trusted friend.”
Was he deserving of such trust? she wondered. Did Bayard know what kind of man had sired his “trusted friend”? “These tales of Adelar’s family that Ranulf spoke of,” she began. “What did he mean?”
Bayard lay on his side and regarded her thoughtfully. “It was said that his father had somehow arranged the Viking attack on his village. That is what the leader of the Vikings claimed when he came seeking his wife and daughter, whom Kendric had stolen away in revenge when he came to take Adelar home.”
“Perhaps it was true.”
“Kendric claimed otherwise. His own people believed him, and there was no proof of wrongdoing except for the word of a Viking.”
“What do you believe?”
“Adelar is here, is he not? I have no doubt about his loyalty to me. Besides, I judge a man on his own merit, not his father’s.”
Endredi said nothing. She could not argue with Bayard’s wish to judge a man for his own actions. Indeed, she knew how it was to be looked down upon for the unsavory actions of a parent. How many in her village had hinted that Endredi might be like her mother, who had slept with any man who asked her?
Bayard touched her cheek. “Are you afraid of me, Endredi?”
“No.”
“You tremble.” He moved closer to her.
“It is a chill night, my lord.”
She could feel the heat from his body and was acutely aware of their nakedness as his arms encircled her. “I would warm you, then,” he said. “And please, do not call me `my lord’ when we are here.”
His hand touched her amulet. “What is this?” he asked, a hard note creeping into his voice. “Dagfinn assured me you were Christian.”
“Truly I am, Bayard. It is a charm, nothing more.”
“And what does this charm do?” he inquired, letting it fall. His fingers toyed with the chain, cool against her flesh.
“It is a sign of Freya.”
“A goddess?”
“Yes.”
“Goddess of what?”
“She watches over women getting married, or having babies. We used to pray to her to give us healthy children. Are you angry?”
“No.” He chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that made her glad she had not told him more about Freya, who had taken lovers after being deserted by her husband. For her punishment, she had been made a goddess of death, too. “I would wear twenty such charms if I believed in their power. I am pleased, Endredi, that you hope for children.”
“I do, very much.”
“I will do my best,” he whispered with a trace of wistfulness.
Before she had time to wonder at his tone, his body covered hers.
In a few short moments, the marriage was consummated. Without speaking, Bayard rolled away from her. Then she heard his slow, even breathing and realized he had fallen asleep.
Clasping her amulet, Endredi stared at the thatched roof. Not once had Bayard kissed her.
And despite all her prayers and resolutions, she was glad of it.
* * *
Adelar climbed out of the pile of fetid straw in which he had slept. His head throbbed, his mouth was as dry as old leather, and his tongue felt as if it was twice the normal size.
Sluggishly he brushed at the stray wisps that covered his clothes as he went outside, barely aware of the daily activity going on around him. The stable lads traded amused grins as the mighty warrior staggered out of the building, and the older women at the nearby well smiled condescendingly. Some of the younger girls giggled, but those of marriageable age sighed wistfully. They knew that a warrior like Adelar would probably never marry anyone but a thane’s daughter. Still, they could look and admire and dream and sigh again.
Adelar saw none of this. All he knew was that he felt wretched, the air was chill, and there was a slight touch of frost on the ground he was staring at. He made his way to the nearest water trough and sluiced cold water over his head, which brought some relief.
