Bound to the Warrior. Barbara Phinney

The king has ears even in the chapel.” His gaze flickered to Poitiers as he brought her hand to his lips.

      The warmth seeped into her cold skin. And his rough fingers brushed her palm, evoking a shiver deep within. She wanted to snatch away her hand, but Adrien kept his grip firm as he led her from the altar. He stalled by the door, turning to speak to the old chaplain. “My thanks to you, Poitiers, and you, dear brother, for being available for such a grand event. You both may report to the king his will has been done. May I depart for this woman’s keep to inspect my new acquisition?”

      Ediva heard the steward—now her brother-in-law—laugh. Peeking over her own shoulder, she watched the chaplain scowl at her new husband’s impudence.

      “Go, but be mindful of the king’s orders.” Poitiers then added, “May God bless your marriage.”

      Ediva glanced at Adrien. His mockery turned to a scowl. Once out of earshot, he turned to her. “Have you a maid to prepare you for the journey home?”

      “A maid! You jest, sir. I have no one with me. I have naught but the clothes I wear. When the guards arrived at the keep, they insisted that I travel immediately. They wanted only fresh horses, so I had just enough time to be given my cloak and throw my steward some duties over my shoulder before being dragged down here.” She glared at Adrien. “I spent this past night with other women who were as bewildered as I was, none of whom were any better supplied.”

      Adrien frowned. “How did the king know of you?”

      She shrugged. “My husband wanted to be well-known in King Edward’s court, and then in King Harold’s short time in court early last year. Mayhap he left a spy who saw fit to inform the new king of my status as widow.”

      Aye, probably so, Ediva thought with disgust. And if that was the case, then she knew who it must have been. Olin, Ganute’s second cousin, had been in the thick of royal intrigue, sending many a missive on the machinations of the court back to the keep. Ediva had intercepted several. ’Twas simple enough to pry off Olin’s hasty seal and reset it again. But after she’d read a few, Ediva saw the messages as foolish gossip. Olin was wasting good parchment to earn a stipend from Ganute—and likely, he’d earned another stipend from the king for reporting back on Ganute’s replies.

      Now there was a new king, but Olin was apt to swear allegiance to the new seat of power as quickly as a hawk turned toward its prey. Mayhap he’d thought that by courting the king’s pleasure with jots of information he would be given her keep and lands. But, she reminded herself, all that she owned now belonged to the tall, silent Norman beside her.

      * * *

      “How is it that you know French and Latin, milady?” Adrien asked, wanting to break the awkward silence. “What other tongues do you speak?”

      “Just those. My mother wanted to secure my sisters and me good marriages, so she brought in a tutor who’d lived in Normandy.” She tossed him a hard look. “But do not believe that because I’ve learned your language, I support this invasion. Especially now that you have stolen what is rightfully mine.”

      As much as he desired to keep their relationship cordial, he could not let her remark go unanswered. “The king decides what belongs to you, woman. He fought for that right.”

      “The only good thing that happened at Hastings was not William’s victory!” she spat out.

      Her words made no sense to him. Adrien looked curiously at her, but when she refused to expand on her cryptic explanation, he continued his walk outside.

      She followed him until they reached the king’s stables. Adrien barked out a stream of orders to several young men. One immediately departed on a small horse, while another disappeared into the stable.

      “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