Bound to the Warrior. Barbara Phinney

this place is well-kept. But I want the kitchen and garden to remain clean. ’Twould do us little good if we became sick from all matter of rot scattered about.”

      True enough. Regardless, she frowned. “How do you know of such things?”

      “I have lived in camps with men and seen what makes even a strong man sick. In hot weather, ’tis worse. Do you not check a brook for dead animals before pulling water from it?”

      “Aye. The midwife said a carcass fouls the water and makes one sick.”

      “’Tis the same with all waste.” He paused, then with a frown, he added, “Ediva, I did not come up here to discuss the work I’d ordered. ’Tis the Sabbath, and you will come with me to worship.”

      Ediva wanted to decline, but his tone made it clear ’twas not a question. Her appearance at the chapel on the Sabbath had been erratic, and when she did participate in the services, it was by rote. Why worship a God who had turned against her?

      But her husband thought otherwise and expected her to kneel by his side in the chapel. She looked up into Adrien’s face, with its subtle challenge. And in that moment, she remembered Geoffrey’s report about Adrien and the coffers.

      Oh, aye, she’d be wise to go through the act of worship again. King William would be looking for monies and taxes, and Adrien would make the decision as to what went to him. He would also decide who needed taxing. She needed to have Adrien, who the king seemed to like, on her side.

      So she dipped her head in agreement, albeit reluctantly. “Allow me to change my tunic, my lord.”

      She slipped past him and down to her solar. A few minutes later she found Adrien outside her door. He offered his arm as they climbed down the narrow stairs that led to the main corridor.

      Many of the tenants and villagers had already arrived and stepped back to allow Adrien to lead Ediva into the chapel.

      “G’morning, milord.”

      “Morning, sir.”

      “’Tis a fine day to worship the Lord, sir!”

      The salutations given to Adrien from various tenants filled the quiet morning. Adrien answered each person, a smile here and there, a ruffling of some small child’s hair occasionally.

      “’Twould seem you have impressed the villagers, Adrien,” she murmured with a sniff, feeling piqued that he’d managed to win over so many of her people so quickly. “The king would be proud of you, I’m sure.”

      “’Twas not done for his benefit, Ediva. These people deserved to meet their new lord. There are many changes afoot, and they need to know who I am, first.”

      “Aren’t you the good overlord, then?” she noted, her tone seasoned with sarcasm. “But a fine manner before plunder is still plunder nonetheless and these people can ne’er afford it.”

      “I have seen your coinage. There is no reason to show yourself righteous when you have collected so much.”

      She bristled all the way into the chapel. More than half the benches were filled, though the chaplain was nowhere to be seen. Geoffrey was already seated closer to the front than the maids and cook, along with his mother, the midwife. Everyone rose when she and Adrien entered.

      “I noticed your pews are not sold,” Adrien said quietly.

      “I did away with it. I see no reason to add to the church’s wealth by selling the benches on which people sit,” she hissed back. “Our chaplain speaks of poverty and yet charges for all manner of blessings. The grain in the tithe barn in Cogshale rots because there’s too much of it whilst my people go hungry. I refuse to sell parts of the church, as well.”

      Ediva threw a sharp glance at Geoffrey. He’d been charged with such sales before Ganute had died, and she could tell he was straining to hear her private words.

      “’Tis an acceptable practice,” Adrien answered softly as they walked toward the front. They reached the front pew and Adrien stepped back to allow Ediva to enter first. “Still, I understand. After you, my guardian wife who watches over our people so diligently.”

      She huffed at his humor before sitting down. Behind the pulpit, the mural glowed with rich colors. Men with long beards, gentle eyes and adoring expressions centered Jesus, and ornate calligraphy invited the weary to come for rest. She looked away. She remembered Ganute had seen murals in bigger churches and ordered this painting. It had more to do with his snobbery than any piety.

      Candles flickered. On her wedding day, the chapel had been strewn with scented herbs, saved since the fall, and the finest beeswax candles offered heat and light.

      Ediva shut her eyes to the horrid memory. Ganute’s generosity on that occasion had a high price.

      The service droned on, and the only pleasure Ediva took from it was a chance to watch her new husband. His handsome, dark profile caught the candlelight. The last time she was here, weeks ago, they’d gone through the entire service in nearly complete darkness, no candles at all because she’d refused to donate any.

      But today warmth glowed across her husband’s face, a gentle light, flickering when the chaplain moved.

      Curious, Ediva watched Adrien bow his head. He closed his eyes, and she focused on his mouth during a silent prayer. She felt her own lips part and a quiet voice within her mouthed the words with him.

      His very handsomeness seemed to draw her closer. She found herself wanting to reach up and lay her hand upon his cheek, then drag it down if only to prove such good looks were real.

      When he opened his eyes again, Adrien turned immediately to her.

      Heat flooded into her face and she snapped away her attention. How did he know she’d spent the entire final prayer gawking at him? Aye, he was fair of face, but it meant nothing, she told herself. The moment of quiet solemnity had stirred her female heart, ’twas all. She drew in a restorative breath, hoping it would return her good sense.

      But Adrien’s scent rolled into her. Mint and orris root, heady over the odor of beeswax, an incongruous mix.

      She was too close, she decided, but she would not retreat further along the length of bench. ’Twas her chapel, her keep, her spine that kept her so close to her new husband. The chaplain offered a benediction and filed past to bless the people. But still, neither she nor Adrien moved.

      Indeed, after a few breaths, those still waiting for Adrien to stand and file out simply gave up and left, starting with Geoffrey.

      Adrien did not move until finally Ediva leaned forward. “My lord, ’tis time to leave.”

      He continued to watch her. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave God’s house?”

      She folded her arms. “The service has ended. Our meal awaits.”

      “Jesus said He is the Bread of life.”

      She gaped at him, having not heard such words since her youth. She looked away. “I would prefer my cook’s bread today, Adrien. ’Twill be fresh and will fill my belly.”

      Adrien lifted a hand and slipped his fingers into the loose part of her wimple to touch her jaw. The veil on top, secured with a simple diadem, brushed his arm.

      “Sir, remember where you are!”

      His attention stayed focused on her. “I’m in church with my wife. And from the quiet around us, I’d say we are alone.”

      Blood surged into her neck and she was sure he could feel her skin warm. “Adrien, you promised you would not touch me.”

      “I promised you I would not expect my rights as husband until you accept me.” He leaned closer. “I’m only holding your attention.”

      “For what purpose?”

      He leaned dangerously close. Despite her rigid spine, she could barely keep herself still. She found herself