Bound to the Warrior

“Nay,” she whispered, as she drew her cloak tightly around her and shook her head as if she had trouble believing where they’d ended up.

Adrien turned. His long outer tunic swirled in the breeze from the Thames. “Milady?”

“My lord,” she answered with a horrified shake of her head. “I rode in yesterday from Essex with only one stop for the night. I was up before the sun that morning, back on a horse, and rode all day.”

“You had last night to soothe your muscles.”

She scoffed out a noise. “I spent the night with other women, sharing one inept maid who brought us only one pitcher of water to share. We slept on the floor and were given only cold broth to break our fast. I cannot ride again so soon.” She offered him a pleading look. “For I do not ride.”

“You cannot ride a horse? You just said you rode in here.”

She bit her lower lip. “On the horse’s bare rump behind one of the soldiers, clinging to his mail ’til my hands were too cramped to hang on. Once I slipped off!”

What had Poitiers claimed? That she’d been difficult? The chaplain had reddened at Adrien’s sharp reply. Had the man of God been duped by his own inept men? Ediva was sharp-tongued, but judging from her look, she was also very scared.

Adrien glanced at the horses being led from the stables. He’d ordered his stallion and a small mare. The stable boy had obeyed him with his mount, a courser as fine as a knight was allowed. But the mare the boy also walked out was the same size. A grand dam she was, fit for a queen.

But not for a young bride with no experience.

He looked back at her. “You cannot ride at all? How did you expect to return home?”

“Since coming here was not by my choice, I had no time to consider it.” She looked annoyed. “As for riding, I had no need to learn. I was taught only the duties of running a keep, managing its expenses and staff. I do not prance around the countryside with nary a worry in my head!”

“What do you do whenever you travel?”

“Before coming here, I had only left my home once to attend my nuptials at my husband’s keep. I was taken there in a covered cart.”

How was that so? She was a lady of rank and privilege. Surely she’d have traveled somewhere? Her nobleman husband must have taken her with him on his journeys. How could he not have? Adrien would have been as proud as his faith would allow to take a beautiful wife such as Ediva with him on his travels.

Perhaps there was no love in her first marriage. Nobility often married only to secure fortunes and alliances.

He shook off his thoughts. The past mattered little when there were the trials of here and now to face. Such as getting his new wife out of London. He would not spend his wedding night here where privacy only existed for the king. With her sore and aching body, Ediva deserved more than the crowded, uncomfortable accommodations he would be able to secure. The sooner they arrived at her keep, his keep now, the better.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to endure the saddle one more time, Ediva. We must leave for the keep at once.”

“But the day is almost over, Adrien.” His name on her Saxon lips sounded strong, yet it quivered like a leaf in autumn.

“There are several inns along the north of the river outside of London. I’ve sent a boy up to the first one to prepare a room for us.”

“Us?” she echoed softly.

“We are husband and wife now.”

With eyes widening, she wet her lips and swallowed. He took a step toward her but was rewarded by a fearful step back.

He frowned. “You heard the king’s orders.”

She looked away.

With a sigh, he grimaced. He didn’t have time for this. Daylight was dwindling, and he wanted to reach the inn before dark. If she was some fearful maid, he’d deal with it when they arrived at the keep.

“Don’t fret, Ediva. ’Tis not my intent to incite fear. If you like, I will give you your privacy. You may take the room at the inn for yourself. But we will need to discuss this when we arrive at our home. Now, allow me to help you mount the mare.”

The stable boy led the horse over and stilled the huge dam beside Ediva. She tilted her head up to look from the huge mare’s legs to the saddle. She gathered her cloak tight about her neck and dropped her jaw.

He shook his head. “We don’t have to take this mount if you don’t want to.” He turned to the boy holding the reins. “Get her something smaller.”

“Sir, she’s a gift from the king. This mare was meant for the new queen’s stables.”

And a good gift she was, too, but Adrien shook his head. “If my wife cannot ride her, I must decline.”

A small hand touched his arm and he looked down at Ediva. “Nay, my lord. William may be a brutal king with blood on his hands, but his gift is of good value. Though I fear I cannot ride her home, we should bring her with us all the same.”

Adrien turned to the boy, thankful for Ediva’s logic. “Tie her lead to my mount, then.” He swiftly mounted his own horse and leaned down to the unsure Ediva, extending his arm.

She took it, and after he’d secured a good grip on her, he swung her up onto his lap. When she’d settled as best she could atop him, he spoke to the stable boy, ordering him to tell his squire to deliver his mail to Dunmow Keep immediately.

Then he rode out of the stable. After they traveled along the street that lined the river and invited the cool wind on their faces, he spoke.

“My thanks, Ediva, for accepting the horse. The mare is too fine a gift to be ignored. It is a mark of favor from our king, and ’twould be considered ungracious to refuse.”

Her answer was as cold as the dying day. “I care nothing for that.”

“Then why accept his gift?”

“As you say, she’s a fine horse. And the king does have a claim on my gratitude, though it has nothing to do with the horse.”

Her sideways fealty to William made no sense, but he felt it related back to her other cryptic remark. “How has King William earned your gratitude?”

Ediva didn’t answer, and as Adrien held her tight about her waist and the horses trotted along through the ever-thinning sprawl of huts, he pondered her puzzling words but refused to ask the question again.

They said nothing more until they reached the inn at the edge of London town, barely seen in the dwindling light of day.

Chapter Three

They arrived at Dunmow Keep late in the afternoon. Two quiet days had passed since they’d left London. Although they’d ridden only a few hours each day and stopped for more than adequate rests, Ediva’s body throbbed with pain. She’d barely been able to stand at the last stop they’d made.

But at least Adrien had not forced her to keep the same punishing pace she’d endured to London. Nay, he had not shown himself to be cruel...yet.

She’d never considered the sight of Dunmow to be welcoming. Ganute had been proud of it, for the large, round tower was a rare stone keep. Imposing. A scar on the landscape, really, but today Ediva was glad to see it again after all she’d endured. Too much time on a horse...discovering she’d lost her land...forced into marriage. Aye, seeing Dunmow felt almost comforting.

The bailey below had been enclosed with a thick battlement just after she’d married, and as they rode toward it, she caught sight of the rising motte and its early spring garden.

“Your new property, my lord,” she said close to his face. Gone was all embarrassment. They’d spent too long on one horse.

“This is it?” Adrien asked with awe in his voice.

“Aye. ’Tis Dunmow Keep. The village is Little Dunmow. There used to be a timber wall surrounding the huts, but one winter was deep and many stole the posts for firewood. Ganute refused to rebuild it.”