Bound to the Warrior. Barbara Phinney

then gathered to hear her speak. Anxious for security, they needed to know that Duke William’s army wouldn’t ride into Essex to kill them all, a punishment perhaps for Ediva retrieving Ganute’s body.

      And perhaps they, too, needed to know that Ganute was truly dead and gone. He may have reserved a special brutality for Ediva, but he’d been cruel to all. And his cousin Olin, now standing beside her, showed hints of the same temper.

      Enough was enough.

      Stiff-shouldered, Ediva lifted her hand and the murmurings fell silent. Her veil and long, blond braids billowed in the strong breeze, as did her cloak. But she stood resolute, refusing the wind its due. “I will protect you. I will allow no one—not even Duke William himself—to plunder this land.”

      Cold, chapped faces showed disbelief like the trees showed bare branches.

      “I will!” She pulled in a breath, and then, finding her cloak cumbersome, threw it off. It sailed off like a crispy leaf, and with a cry, Margaret, her maid, rushed to retrieve it.

      “How can you keep us safe?” a male voice from deep in the crowd called out.

      “Have I not survived all these years?” She shot the chaplain a biting glance, but from where he stood within the keep’s shadow this short, raw day, his expression was hidden from view.

      He’d often said ’twas her penance to endure a harsh husband, for she was a sinful woman. Well, that ability would prove to be her strength. She knew how to survive. She’d kept herself alive through all the abuses of her husband and had protected the maids from similar attacks in her stead. And now that Ganute was gone? She’d cower no longer.

      Ediva faced her people. They dared not believe her yet. But that would change. “I promise that I will protect you. You won’t be hurt in any way, even if it costs me my life!”

      Some of the more superstitious gasped, but Ediva ignored them. She may be tempting God, but frankly, what could He do to her that was more horrible than all she’d endured these past five years?

      Nay, she refused to temper her words. She would protect her people. “Think of what I had done when your lord was alive!”

      When several women began to cheer, her decision, like her newborn will, was mortared in place.

      Aye, she would always protect her people.

      Chapter One

      March, 1067 A.D.

      Adrien de Ries paced in front of the closed door that led to his liege’s Great Hall. He did not like waiting, even for the king, but if William was conferring with his advisors on matters of this new kingdom of England, then Adrien must wait. He was a soldier, not a statesman—there was naught he could do to aid the discussion or hurry it along.

      “’Tis too fine a floor to wear a path through, Prado. Sit or you’ll be buying the king a new one.”

      At the sound of his childhood name, Adrien spun to face his younger brother. Eudo, William’s personal steward, usually had the king’s ear, but not today. Yet having more of a talent for diplomacy than Adrien, the younger sibling wisely patted the low bench beside him and ignored his brother’s foul expression.

      Adrien refused the offer of a seat. “Why should the king ask for me? Have I not served him well, here in London as well as in battle?”

      Eudo shrugged. “Mayhap he wishes to reward you, brother. The king wants to secure this land. He has won it with bloodshed, but trust me, William wants peace. He might offer you a share of that peace in the form of lands or titles.”

      “I need only to serve as a soldier. William understands such. He’s a warrior—”

      Beyond the heavy door, they heard a woman’s muted cry, not one of fear, but something akin to mockery. Immediately, the king’s voice boomed, harsh and angry. Adrien glanced at his brother, who shrugged again.

      “Is that a woman in there?” Adrien demanded, pointing to the door.

      “Aye, but have no fear, Prado, she’ll not be harmed.”

      Disgruntled, Adrien turned from his youngest sibling. Eudes, or Eudo as he preferred to be called, was not the guileless simpleton he was pretending to be. He’d deflected the king’s murderous punch once, holding the royal fist at bay and whispering in the royal ear long enough and well enough to save a man’s life and secure the post of steward for himself. And in that post, he was always certain to know everything occurring at court. Aye, Eudo would know who was receiving the king’s fury but obviously cared little for it.

      The doors flew open and Adrien turned. Aubrey de Veres, one of the king’s most trusted advisors, motioned for Adrien to enter.

      With a wary eye, he stepped forward to peer beyond the threshold. Within the richly decorated inner chamber, William sat in a large, comfortable chair, his embroidered surcoat draped over one side. His meaty fists gripped the ends of the chair’s arms. A dark expression burned on his face.

      To Adrien’s right stood a young woman, face flaming, eyes burning a hole in the carpet below the king’s dais. Weak, winter light from the high windows washed her light-colored cyrtel in a pale gold. Her cloak was thrown back and he was surprised to see she had allowed her pale yellow wimple to fall away from her braided hair.

      Thanks to fashion and good Norman propriety, Adrien rarely saw women’s hair and found himself staring hard at her golden locks. All of his family had dark brown hair, the color of walnuts after they’d been hit by frost. This woman’s blond tresses were truly her crowning glory. Several other men in the room stared also, yet she appeared to ignore her hair’s beauty and its effect on those around her.

      “Adrien, my faithful servant,” William barked after allowing him to bow his respect at the open doorway. “Enter. You, too, Eudo. I want you both.”

      Cautiously, Adrien stepped closer. William chuckled. “You have served me well, Adrien.”

      “I’ve tried, my liege.”

      “True. Especially at Hastings.” William waved Eudo closer. “Eudo, my steward, come to my side.”

      Adrien watched his younger brother move to stand at William’s left, as was his place. Adrien noticed that his brother shot the woman in front of the king a curious, furtive look with more than idle interest in his eyes.

      Immediately, Adrien’s suspicion swelled. His younger brother did know the reason for this audience. He was sure of it.

      “England is a good land, Adrien. Don’t you agree?”

      “’Tis pleasant here, sire.” But ’twould be more pleasant to leave the place behind. Since Hastings, Adrien had spent the winter in London, continuing his service in Westminster out of loyalty to the king, but little affection had blossomed in his heart for the conquered land. He had no desire to enjoy the green countryside and certainly not another raw winter like they’d just endured. His life was to protect the king. Rumor had it that William planned to return to Normandy, and Adrien hoped that he’d be chosen to accompany him and leave this land for good.

      “And whilst England is pleasant to look upon, there is little peace,” William continued.

      Adrien straightened. “Nay, sire.” Surely the king did not ask him here for idle talk? As everyone knew, there was little peace indeed, except in London, where the troops forced it upon the locals.

      “The land is rife with those foolish enough to oppose me.”

      Beside him, Adrien watched the young woman stiffen. From the corner of his eye, he saw her shoulders pull back, her chin jut out. The torch above the king glowed upon her flushed cheeks.

      “Peace will be had, Adrien,” William carried on with a fast glance to her. “But I would prefer it not by further bloodshed. I’ve proved my right to the crown and will subdue this lawless land through direct measures with every lord and lady. I will raze the holdings of those