Medieval Brides

She flushed and twisted against his arm, the emphasis placed on her new title apparently discomposing her. Ruthlessly, Adam tightened his grip. ‘Yes?’

‘Tell him, Leo. Tell him about the mint.’

Adam listened as best he might while Leofwine told him—in English—of a rebel raid on the Winchester mint. Though the cold snake in his belly kept shifting—don’t, my princess, don’t betray me—he kept his comments as neutral as he could.

‘I wonder if that happened on Raoul’s watch,’ he said, grimly aware of the disturbing undercurrents flowing between Cecily and Edmund. They had not looked at each other once during Leofwine Smith’s recounting, but Edmund’s gaze was simply too innocent, and as for Cecily—her body was taut as a bowstring. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had woken in his arms that morning, warm and soft, a relaxed and loving bundle.

At that moment Edmund’s gaze met his, and he stretched his lips into that sneering smile that Adam was coming to loathe. Adam did not trust Edmund further than he could throw him. But what concerned him was rather this: would he ever be able to trust his wife?

Supper was over, the boards were cleared, and Adam alone remained in his seat at the head of the table, for the moment replete and disinclined to move. After so many months in Duke William’s train, living like a nomad, hungry more than half the time, it was bliss to contemplate bed with a full stomach. But being gifted Fulford had more than one benefit, and eating well was not, in his view, the most important one. He glanced down the table, towards another of the benefits of Fulford. Cecily, his wife—his loyal wife. Or so he prayed.

As was becoming her habit after each meal, she was sitting on the other side of the fire with Gudrun in the Saxon sleeping area. The newborn was in her lap. It seemed everyone had taken to that side of the Hall. Hoping that was not significant, Adam sipped his wine. The pregnant woman sat near Cecily, talking to her husband. Even Richard had found a stool near the women. Idly strumming his lute, his fellow knight was rolling his eyes at Matty while he sang a Norman love song. Doubtless the girl couldn’t understand a word, but that didn’t stop her blushes.

Adam’s gaze returned to his wife and traced her slight figure as she rocked the baby to sleep. Her features were soft in the fireglow. As ever, that tendril of hair had escaped its braid and gleamed on her breast, a curl of gold. Rock, rock, rock, as she murmured gently to the baby. That baby, he thought. That baby—the way she cossets him. Philip.

He sucked in his breath, gripped by a chilling certainty.

Philip. Philip! Hadn’t her mother had been called Philippa?

And the child on her lap—perhaps Philippa’s babe had survived? This one was the right age. This boy could be Cecily’s brother—and thus, in Saxon eyes, the rightful heir to Fulford!

Eyes sharpening, Adam continued to watch. How she cosseted him. How the entire household cosseted him. Matty’s giggle cut into his thoughts. He tapped a finger on the side of his wine cup. ‘Richard! A word, if you please.’

Richard broke off his song, kissed his fingers at a crimson-cheeked Matty, and sauntered over. ‘Aye?’ The bench creaked as he took his place.

‘That child—my wife’s maid—you swore you’d leave her alone.’

Richard grinned. ‘I like her.’

‘That’s clear. But you’ll remember your promise?’

‘I’ll remember. She’s too young for me. But a man needs some feminine company, and who else is there? Everyone else is married.’ Richard ran his fingers caressingly over the lute strings and tried out a chord. ‘Ease up, man. I’ll be returning to London soon enough. What’s eating you?’

Adam tilted his head in the direction of Cecily and Philip.

Richard lifted a brow and tried out a scale. ‘You mistrust her? What did you expect?’ He paused, and his grin widened. ‘If you dally with Saxons…It’s no good warning me off while you—’

‘Richard, be serious! That baby worries me. The time she spends with it, and his name—had you realised?—a Norman name…’

‘His mother was Norman? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Exactly, and I’d wager her name was Philippa.’

Richard’s fingers stilled mid-scale. ‘Phillipa of Fulford herself?’

Adam raised an eyebrow and kept his voice down. ‘It’s entirely possible, wouldn’t you say? It would explain why my beautiful wife was so swift to suggest marriage. She wanted to protect that child.’

Richard’s eyes rested on Cecily. ‘I rather thought she wanted to escape the besom at the convent.’

‘No doubt. But she didn’t have to marry me to do that. I’d already accepted her as my interpreter.’

‘Hell, Adam, what’s in your mind? I’m sure she has a fondness for you.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t tell me last night was a disappointment? I could have sworn from the way she was looking at you at supper that all was very well between you—in one quarter, at least.’

Adam grunted, refusing to be drawn. Cecily was changing the baby’s napkin, wrapping him tenderly in swaddling bands, ready for the night. ‘That infant has to be her brother. Do you think it normal for a young woman to take such an interest in a housekeeper’s son?’

Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘Could be broody?’

‘It’s possible. But her interest in that boy concerns me. And then there’s Edmund.’

‘The lame one? He seems harmless enough.’

‘A blind, I assure you. He is far from harmless.’

‘Evidence?’ Richard asked, plucking randomly at some strings.

‘Not a scrap, but I don’t trust him. He was Thane Edgar’s housecarl before he was maimed.’

‘You reckon he knows the mob that broke into the mint?’

‘It’s possible.’ Adam watched Cecily tuck the baby in his basket. ‘He’s certainly involved in something, and I’ve a suspicion he’s hoping to drag my wife into it.’

Richard’s expression sobered. ‘You really think she would betray you?’

‘God alone knows where her loyalties lie. Think about it. It can’t be easy for her.’ Adam sighed, and turned his cup in his fingers. ‘If only I could get her to confide in me. I’ve half a mind to clap Edmund in chains, but on what grounds?’

‘Best wait awhile,’ Richard said quietly, bending over his lute. ‘If you’re right—and I agree you have reason for suspicion—he’ll act soon enough. And if he acts rashly he may lead us to the Saxon encampment. According to Tihell, the rebels are rumoured to have gone to earth somewhere between Winchester and the coast. They could be quite close.’

Adam rubbed his chin. ‘You reach the same conclusion as me, my friend. So.’ He looked bleakly across the hall at Cecily, who had kissed the baby and was making her way to the loft ladder. ‘We wait. Lull them into thinking we are complacent, and then…’

With a flourish, Richard struck a chord. ‘We strike.’

‘Aye.’ Adam rose and stretched. ‘And now I go to woo my wife, and pray that before long she will trust me enough to tell me the truth about her relationship with that baby. If she does that…’ Catching a cynical gleam in Richard’s eyes, he gave a rueful grin. ‘I find I want her to trust me.’

Richard shook his head. ‘As I’ve said before, you’re a fool with your women, Adam Wymark,’ he said softly.

‘Not such a fool as you think. By the way, I have arranged to meet Tihell at the Winchester garrison.’

‘Oh?’

‘He’s been watching my lady’s sister, and he may have a more precise location for the rebel encampment. I meet him tomorrow. Will you accompany me?’

Richard’s lips curved. ‘Assuredly—I have business of my own to attend to.’

As Adam made for the loft ladder, Richard’s gaze swung back to Matty. Picking up from where he had left off when Adam had called him over, he went back to the next verse of the Norman love song.

The loft ladder creaked, and Adam’s footsteps sounded on the landing outside.

Alert for the sound of her husband lifting the latch, Cecily quickly peeled off her gown and underskirt and dragged a cream linen nightgown over her head. The nightgown had miraculously appeared in her mother’s clothes chest some time during the day. There had been no trace of it immediately after her wedding. Gudrun, she was sure, must have hidden it. Gripped by a shyness that years of convent life had bred into her, Cecily’s fingers became thumbs. She wanted to be safely under the bedclothes when Adam came in. Her heart thudded.

Would he want to do that again? She had no idea how often married people did that, except…A vague memory surfaced—one of the novices giggling as she recited the list of days when married people were permitted to have carnal relations. There were not very many of them. They could not do…that…on Sundays, they could not do it on a Saint’s day, they could not do it on Fridays, nor in Lent…In fact, according to Mother Aethelflaeda’s calendar there were not many days when carnal relations were allowed, so she was probably not going to be called upon to perform her marital duties again tonight. Conscious of a vague sense of disappointment, Cecily frowned.

The latch lifted. She had not finished tying her neck fastenings. With a small squeak she dived into the bed, sat up, and wrestled with the ribbons.

Adam came in with a smile and latched the door. Heeling off his boots, he kicked them into the corner. His hand hovered over the wine jug. ‘Wine, Princess?’

‘N-no, thank you.’

He waved at the poker propped up against one of the braziers. ‘I can mull it, if you’d prefer?’

‘No, thank you. I had enough earlier.’

Adam grunted, and started to strip. Cecily sat, loose plait over one shoulder, and watched him out of the corner of her eye, half-curious, half-embarrassed. He did not have a shy bone in his body. His belt followed his boots into the corner, his tunic was tossed onto a hook and then his shirt. The bed shifted as, naked to the waist, he sat to unwind his leg-bindings.

The sight of so much naked male skin had curls of nervous excitement winding in her belly. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch, to see if he felt as warm and smooth as he had last night when, apart from the dim glow of the braziers, they had both been cloaked with darkness.

Throat dry as dust, she swallowed. Might he want her again? Perhaps a cup of mulled wine had not been such a bad idea? she thought, shooting another covert glance at her husband’s bare back. The muscles there flexed in the most fascinating manner. His shoulders were so wide, and the way his back narrowed down to his waist…Why, even his back pleases my eyes, she realised, startled. His hair was glossy in the candlelight, dark as a raven’s wing. His neck still looked vulnerable to her, used as she was to men who wore their hair long, in the Saxon fashion.

Adam turned, caught her watching him, and a dark eyebrow arched upwards. The scattering of hairs on his chest was dark and ran down—ran down to…What did he look like there?

‘Cecily?’

Cheeks burning, she wrenched her gaze up and caught the tail-end of a grin. ‘Mmm?’

Leaning towards her, he took up her braid and idly began to unplait it. ‘I ride for Winchester with Richard in the morning. I’ll leave young Brian in charge of the men, and I plan to be back well before nightfall. Are you happy to rest here for the day?’

‘Of course.’

He fanned her hair out over her shoulders, warm fingers lingering on her breasts. Her nipples tightened. Oh, no, it looked as though Adam Wymark was going to want to do…that all over again. How shocking. She swallowed. When he repeated the movement, cupping her breasts through the linen nightgown, a pleasant ache started in her belly. Oh, yes! So it had been last night, she thought, holding back a moan. How did he do that? Carnal love. He was very skilled at it. And truly Mother Aethelflaeda would be disgusted with her response. So wanton. She felt hot all over. And she was sure today was not a day that was approved for doing…that…

‘That’s good,’ Adam said, clearing his throat and continuing with his gentle caresses until her nipples felt as though they were going to burst free of the gown. He was touching her, and her body was straining towards him, greedy for more. ‘Very good.’

Fingers under her chin, he brought his head to hers and their lips met in a lingering kiss. The moan escaped her and Adam drew back, his hand going to the tie of his chausses.

‘Wait! Adam, you forgot the candles!’

Eyes immediately guarded, he gave her one of his lop-sided smiles. ‘The candles—of course. How could I forget?’ He pinched out his candle; she pinched out hers. Around the bed the darkness thickened, save for the glowing braziers. ‘Better, Princess?’ She heard a quiet sigh.

‘Y-yes. I’m sorry, Adam.’

His body met hers, warm and welcoming, and Cecily melted. He had the power to turn her bones to water. Carnal love. Why had no one thought to tell her how exquisite it could be? And on a forbidden day too.

‘No matter,’ he said, skimming his hand down her flank as she fell back into the pillows, helpless with sinful longing and guilty delight. Utterly reprehensible. He twitched at her nightgown. ‘But, since you are trying to hide in the dark, this can come off.’

‘Yes, Adam.’ She raised her arms to help him. ‘I did not think you would want me tonight.’

‘Not want you?’ Hand on her gown, he stilled. ‘Why on earth not?’

‘It is not one of the approved days. Mother Aethelflaeda had a calendar—’

‘A calendar? Dear God! Cecily, I will not permit that woman to poison what we have. If we want each other, we will have each other. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Adam.’ If we want each other, he had said. Not If I want you, but we. Her heart swelled.

‘One day, Princess. One day.’

‘Adam?’

The nightgown was being drawn over her head and muffled his answer. ‘One day we will make love naked, in broad day. We will hide nothing.’

‘Adam…’

‘But in the meantime…’ Shifting over her, he gently bit her neck. ‘In the meantime…’

Chapter Seventeen

‘Matty? Matty!’

Gudrun, Cecily thought sleepily, has the voice of a trumpet when she chooses. She rolled over, buried her nose in Adam’s pillow, and breathed in his scent. Last night, after they had done that not just once but twice, Adam had muttered something about not wishing her to catch a chill and pulled her nightgown back over her head. She had fallen asleep in his arms, but this morning he was gone—to Winchester, apparently. She inhaled deeply. Adam. She would get up in a moment, truly she would. She only wanted to doze on his pillow for a couple more minutes, recapturing…

‘Not got him!’ Down in the hall, Gudrun’s voice rose to a wail. ‘Saints, where is he? He can’t have walked!’

All thoughts of dozing were put to flight by the urgency of Gudrun’s tone. Lurching out of bed, Cecily grabbed a shawl and rushed out onto the landing. She peered over the guard-rail. ‘Gudrun, whatever’s the matter?’

Gudrun’s face turned up towards her, white as whey. ‘It’s Philip, my lady. He’s not in his basket!’ She turned to Matty, who was calmly eating an apple. ‘Are you sure you didn’t put him down somewhere?’

Matty lifted her chin. Unlike Gudrun, she didn’t look the least bit worried. ‘I’m not about to forget Philip, Gudrun. I’m not daft. Maybe one of Sir Adam’s men has him?’

Gudrun made an impatient gesture. ‘That’s not likely.’

‘Could be wrong there,’ Matty mumbled through a mouthful of apple. ‘One or two of them seem quite taken with him.’

Careless of her state of undress, Cecily scrambled down the stairs. ‘He can’t be far. Matty, are you positive you didn’t take him over to your mother and leave him there?’

Matty swallowed down some apple and shook her head. ‘Last time I saw him was when he woke to feed in the middle of the night. Gudrun put him back in his basket.’

Cecily eyed Matty’s apple. ‘You didn’t see him in the cookhouse when you went to the storeroom?’

‘Didn’t think to look. Thought he was asleep.’

Cecily’s heart began to beat in heavy strokes. Forcing herself to speak calmly, she wound her shawl about her shoulders. ‘Gudrun, I take it Sir Adam and Sir Richard have already left?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘I’m going to dress. Please fetch Brian—try the armoury, the stables and failing that the practice field. Whatever he’s doing, tell him I need him here at once. We must find Philip. He can’t be far away. In any case, it must almost be time for his next feed.’

Gudrun pressed a hand to her breasts. ‘Past time,’ she said, wincing. Her face tight with worry, she hurried out.

Minutes later, wearing Emma’s blue wool gown and cream veil, Cecily stood frowning by the pillory in the village square. Everyone was looking for Philip, but no one had seen hide nor hair of him since his last feed in the small hours. Where could he be? Or—worse—who could have taken him?

She oversaw Brian’s progress round the village. Harold and Carl were hauled from the stables, knuckling sleep from their eyes. ‘No, sir, we’ve not seen him.’ Father Aelfric and Sigrida were prised out of their cottage. From her standpoint Cecily couldn’t make out their reply, but the priest and his wife shook their heads and looked towards her with puzzled eyes. Brian pounded on the door of the mill—no joy there either. A couple of men were despatched down the road towards the other houses, and she watched them trudge back, shaking their heads.

Brian’s expression was not promising as he returned to her side at the pillory. ‘I’m sorry, my lady,’ he said. ‘No one’s seen him.’

The cookhouse door was closed. Some sixth sense prompted Cecily to ask, ‘Brian, did you speak to Lufu?’

‘Aye, my lady. But she can’t help, either.’ Brian spread his hands. ‘It’s a mystery. Maybe little Philip will cry when he’s hungry, and then we will hear him.’

Nodding, Cecily turned away. Her heart was heavy as lead. Philip had to be somewhere. A baby so young—a newborn who could not even crawl—could hardly get lost on his own. If only Adam had not gone to Winchester that morning—but, no, what was she thinking? Adam must never know the full extent of her concern for Philip…and in this crisis she must remember that, friendly though Brian was, he was Adam’s man, not hers. She must conceal her deep concern from Brian. She could allow herself to appear worried, but not frantic…

But someone must have seen something. ‘Has anyone spoken to Edmund?’

‘Not seen him this morning, my lady.’

‘I thought not.’ Her eyes were drawn back to the cookhouse. Grey smoke was puffing out through the vent in the thatch, blending with a line of dark clouds blowing down from the north. How odd. She had not seen Edmund either. Driven by blind instinct, she picked up her skirts and headed for the cookhouse.

Lufu was on her knees, raking out the bread oven. As Cecily entered she kneeled back on her haunches and wiped her brow with the back of her hand, smearing it with streaks of ash. ‘I told that Brian I’ve not seen Philip,’ Lufu said, jaw jutting.

Cecily said nothing, merely held the girl’s gaze. Lufu knew something about this, she’d swear…

Dropping the ash rake, Lufu got to her feet. ‘I didn’t see him, my lady—honest. Not seen him since yesterday evening.’ She wiped her hands on her skirts and crossed her arms under her bosom.

‘Tell me why I don’t believe you.’

Lufu turned to the workbench, muttering.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘How can I say why you won’t believe me?’ Lufu demanded, swinging round. ‘I’m telling the truth. I haven’t seen that baby since last night!’

‘You may not have seen Philip, but you know where he is.’ Silence. ‘Don’t you?’ More silence. Cecily hauled in a breath. ‘Lufu, this is my brother we are talking about. A tiny baby. One who was born early and who needs all the care he can get.’

Silence.

‘Edmund has him, hasn’t he?’

Lufu put her hand to her brow, drawing another streak of ash across it. She picked up a wooden spoon from the bench; she put it down; she recrossed her arms.

‘Lufu, for pity’s sake!’

‘All right! Edmund has him. But he’s safe, my lady. Edmund wouldn’t hurt your brother. He is the rightful Thane of this place, and that’s what they want.’

They? Cecily shut her eyes. Lufu must mean Judhael and the Saxon resistance. ‘The rightful Thane,’ she muttered, and opened her eyes. ‘I am his sister, Lufu. Thane Edgar’s daughter. What did they think I would do to him?’

Lufu shrugged. ‘He’s got another sister—one who’s loyal.’

Stung, Cecily caught her breath. ‘Emma? Emma’s looking after him?’ Lufu mumbled something that sounded like assent. ‘That’s a mercy, but Philip needs a wet nurse too.’

‘They know that. Don’t worry, my lady. Philip of Fulford will come to no harm.’

‘No harm! My brother is stolen, to be used as a pawn in some power game, and you tell me he’ll come to no harm! Would that I had your confidence.’

Lufu hunched a shoulder.

‘Tell me where they’ve taken him.’

A muscle twitching in her jaw, Lufu fiddled with a knife on the workbench. Praying for patience, Cecily waited.

‘He’ll be fine, my lady. Don’t you fret.’

‘Lufu, for the love of God! Where is he?’

Lufu whirled. Tears gleamed on her lashes, witness to the struggle going on inside her. ‘Up on the Downs. Seven Wells Hill. Near the Old Fort.’

Seven Wells Hill. Cecily let her breath out. She had never been there, though Cenwulf had talked about it. Miles from the nearest dwelling, high on the Downs, Seven Wells Hill was the site of an ancient earthworks which had been a ruin even before the time of the Romans. It was a desolate place, apparently—weatherbeaten and abandoned, home to skylarks and buzzards, but not much else.

‘Philip will be safe enough with your sister.’

‘Judhael is behind this, I take it?’

‘Aye.’

‘Who took him? Edmund?’

‘Aye. What will you do, my lady?’

Cecily thought rapidly. She knew exactly what she was going to do. But she was not about to trust Lufu with that knowledge—not when the girl had stood to one side while her brother had been abducted from the place that offered him the most security. And, yes, Philip was far safer in Fulford—even though Fulford had been taken over by Adam’s troops. Better that than be carted off to some Godforsaken encampment in the back of beyond, even if he was with his own countrymen. But this was not the time to dwell on such ironies.

Cecily shrugged lightly, and kept the panic out of her voice. ‘Do? What can I do save wait for my lord to return from Winchester?’ And keep everyone so busy that their heads will spin and they will have no energy left to wonder what I am really about.

The stack of fuel by the fire had already dwindled since yesterday. Luckily. She looked pointedly at it. ‘Lord knows there’s enough to do to keep the Hall running without me interfering in the men’s affairs. To begin with, the log store by the stables is almost empty. Harold and Carl can help me replenish it, else this winter will be miserable indeed. And then…’ Cecily slanted a sidelong glance at Lufu to make sure she was listening ‘The slaughtering is almost done, so you can make a start with the smoking and salting. Matty and Sigrida will lend you a hand. Matty’s mother too, if the miller can spare her. I’ll ask Evie if she’ll help. It might take her mind off her woes. And if that work’s too heavy for her, you can set her to packing the apples in straw. And when Brian has finished in the practice field he can set the men to work digging latrines.’

‘New ones?’

‘Yes. They should have been moved a couple of months since. We must get them dug before the ground gets too hard.’

Waving an airy hand, Cecily picked up her skirts and sailed out of the cookhouse to tell Gudrun—the only person here she could trust—that Philip was with her sister. That done, she would set everyone to work before riding to Seven Wells Hill. She would fetch Philip back herself. She had no choice. Wat would accompany her, as her groom. He might be simple, but he would know the way.