The Saxon
Margaret Moore

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mom, Deb and Bill. Thanks for listening.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

Wessex—902 A.D.

“Leave me in peace,” Adelar muttered drowsily, one arm draped over the naked woman beside him. The serving wench sighed and burrowed deeper under the warm blankets laid upon the fleeces in the storage hut.

“My lord Bayard summons you,” Godwin repeated, a wry grin on his round, perpetually pleasant face.

“Bayard sends his gleeman to give his orders?” Adelar growled skeptically, barely opening one eye to squint at the minstrel. “I expect you to sing them, then.”

“Alas, oh my bold lover, your game must now be o’er. My lord calls you to the hall and you must away ere break of day,” Godwin warbled, his fine voice filling the hut as he took hold of the Saxon warrior’s exposed bare leg and tugged.

Realizing Godwin had no intention of leaving him alone, Adelar rose from the makeshift bed. “You do not rhyme well and the noon repast finished long ago,” he noted sarcastically while he drew on his breeches.

The wench sat up, displaying a pair of enormous breasts and a pretty, pouting countenance. “You must go, my lord?” She twisted a strand of her tangled dark hair around her finger.

Gleda was her name, Adelar recalled. She was relatively clean, had breasts like small mountains and a most enthusiastic manner, but her high-pitched voice was enough to drive him mad. Not that he had to listen to her much, of course.

“Indeed he must,” Godwin said mischievously. “But not I, my dear, my own!” He threw himself down beside her and wiggled his eyebrows comically.

“You had best be telling me no falsehood, Godwin,” Adelar muttered.

The minstrel clasped his hands over his heart in mock dismay. “I, my lord? I, who am but a humble gleeman in the hall of the burhware of Oakenbrook? Of course I speak the truth, for I am honored to act as messenger to Bayard. Indeed, I am honored to breathe the same air, eat the same food—”

“—Talk too much and rouse men from their well-deserved rest,” Adelar finished.

“Aye, you need the rest, after what you’ve been doin’...and doin’ and doin’,” Gleda said with a giggle and a lustful look in her eye as she gazed at Adelar’s muscular body.

Adelar bent down to pick up his tunic. “What is so important that Bayard summons me?”

“He wants you to help him bargain with the Danes.”

“I have no desire to be among Vikings, or Danes, or whatever you wish to call them,” Adelar replied harshly. He was happy to be of use to Bayard, but the only time he wanted to be close to the Danes was in battle. He reached for his scramasax and tucked the short sword into his belt.

“Then you never should have let anyone know that you speak their language,” Godwin retorted, his hand straying toward Gleda’s naked breasts.

Gleda studied Adelar warily while neatly intercepting Godwin’s caress. “You can talk to those animals?”

“I understand them.”

“A most fascinating tale, my buttercup,” Godwin began. “He was kidnapped by a vicious band of Vikings when he was a child and—” He stopped when he saw the warning look in Adelar’s eyes. “I shall tell you some other time.”

“What kind of bargain does Bayard seek to make with those thieves?” Adelar demanded.

“I am not in Bayard’s council,” Godwin answered lightly. “Nor am I his cousin. I only do what I am told to do and since Bayard was in no mood for my amusements, I think his request must be somewhat urgent.”

“You should have said that before,” Adelar snapped. He slung his sword belt over his right shoulder and across his chest, his broad sword brushing his left thigh.

“Will you be coming back soon?” Gleda asked.

“Perhaps I will,” Adelar said when he saw that she was waiting for an answer. “It will depend upon what my lord decides. Or how long the bargaining takes.” He tugged on his boots. “Dagfinn probably wants to increase the Danegeld. We already pay those dogs enough money to keep them from our land.”

“And Alfred never should have allowed the Vikings to have the Danelaw,” Godwin added somewhat wearily, as if he had heard these words many times before. “It was that, or fight forever.”

“Then we should have fought forever. There is no honor in buying off our enemies.”

“I am no warrior, but it strikes that me that there is no honor being dead, either,” Godwin replied.

Adelar marched from the shed, not bothering to wait for Godwin, who might very well decide to stay with Gleda, which troubled Adelar not at all.

As he hurried to the hall, Adelar surveyed the newly completed walls of the burh, which had been built on a rise at the junction of two rivers. Nearby, a forest of oak, beech and hazel trees was beginning to show the first signs of early spring.

Although it was not the Saxon way to live in villages, the invasions of the Vikings and Danes had forced the Saxons to construct fortresses, an idea the recently deceased king, Alfred, had championed. Cynath, Bayard’s overlord, had been one of the first to see the wisdom and the necessity of such structures, for his lands bordered the Danelaw, a large portion of land Alfred had given the Vikings as a way to ensure peace. Cynath, in turn, had ordered Bayard to oversee the building of this burh and named him the commander, or burhware.

Bayard had more than obeyed his overlord’s orders. The fortress’s walls were of thick timbers, with a gate at the main road. Inside, the other buildings were all nearly finished. The hall, where Bayard’s people ate, slept and spent their time when not working or, in the case of the warriors, practicing for the warfare that would inevitably come, was the finest Adelar had ever seen.

Around the hall the more important and richer thanes had built bowers, smaller buildings that doubled as personal halls and sleeping quarters. Bayard, too, had a bower, the largest, of course, and his was closest to the hall.

Adelar hoped he would never see this burh aflame, destroyed by marauding Vikings. Indeed, he would fight to death to prevent it.

When he had arrived here months ago, he had made no claim of kinship on his cousin, yet Bayard had accepted him into his household at once. Bayard’s nephew Ranulf had protested, citing the tales of Adelar’s father’s traitorous and criminal acts. Bayard had discarded them all, although Adelar had revealed to him privately that everything Ranulf had said was true. His father, Kendric, had led the Viking raiders to their village. He had paid them to kill his wife, and when that plot failed, Adelar had no doubt that his mother’s death had been no accident, as Kendric had claimed. Because of all this, Adelar had disowned his father, and his father had disowned his son.

Bayard had listened to everything, then he rose and said simply, “Welcome to my hall, cousin.” For that, and the trust that Bayard had demonstrated thereafter, Adelar would be forever in Bayard’s debt.

Adelar entered the hall and divested himself of his weapons. Low, guttural voices and an outburst of raucous laughter told him where the Danes stood.

Filled with the anger that always rose in him when he saw Vikings, Adelar strode down the hall beside the long central hearth.

Bayard, high-born, well-respected, handsome and proud, sat in a chair at the far end of the hall. To the right of him, seated on benches and stools, were the Danes, including Dagfinn, the leader of the band that lived closest to Bayard’s land. Ranulf and several of the Saxon warriors sat to Bayard’s left. Father Derrick, Bayard’s priest, stood behind him in the shadows.

The Saxons’ faces were carefully blank and their sword belts obviously empty. Nor were their visitors armed, for no weapons were to be worn in the hall. Nonetheless, several Saxon swords, bows, axes and spears were hung about the hall, a silent reminder that the Danes had best think again before provoking a fight.

Bayard did not immediately acknowledge Adelar’s presence, despite the Danes’ glances in his direction, and Adelar knew his cousin was not pleased with his tardiness.

“Ale, Dagfinn?” Bayard offered.

“Ya.” The huge, fair-haired fellow held out his goblet for a young female slave to fill. He gave her a long, lustful look, making the girl flush deep red as she moved quickly away.

As he watched them, Adelar realized that Bayard could be held somewhat accountable for these maggots waiting to have a part of his flesh. Even now he wore his finest brooch on his shoulder, with the Danes sitting close enough to count the jewels in it. His tunic was of wool dyed with the most costly of blue dyes, his sword’s hilt was of silver, the belt of soft worked leather. If he were the burhware, Adelar thought, he would take care not to be so ostentatious...but that would never happen. The only burh he stood a chance of commanding would be that of his father, and he would take nothing from him.

“Adelar, here at last,” Bayard finally said with a slight smile on his lips and displeasure in his eyes.

“Aye, my lord.” Adelar stepped forward, aware of the Danes’ scrutiny.

“Ah, you bring this fellow to our counsels again,” Dagfinn said, his Saxon words slow and halting. Although his tone was jovial, Adelar knew the Dane was not happy to see him, either.

“Since this meeting must be important to bring you onto my land, I wish to ensure that I understand correctly,” Bayard said smoothly. While Bayard did not like the provision for the Danes that Alfred had made, he thought it was too late to make them leave the country entirely. Bayard favored allowing the Danes to remain in England as long as they agreed to abide by Saxon law and to acknowledge Edward as the rightful king. He wanted peace above all things.

Adelar translated Bayard’s words into the Danes’ tongue. He did not agree that peace was acceptable by any means, but he had no right to interfere if Bayard wished otherwise. He was simply one of Bayard’s warriors, although kin. “I gather you wish to propose some kind of alliance?”

“Ya. A marriage alliance.”

Adelar stared at Dagfinn in stunned silence.

“What did he say?” Bayard asked. When Adelar spoke, Ranulf and some of the others shifted and began to mumble. Even Father Derrick moved a little as Adelar repeated the words. Bayard’s expression betrayed only slight surprise. “Tell him that I have no wish to take a wife again,” he remarked calmly.

“Why not?” Dagfinn demanded rudely. “You do not have a wife, or any sons. I have the perfect woman for you. And—” he paused a moment “—I might be persuaded to lower the Danegeld if our families were united in marriage.”

“I do agree that the Danegeld is much too high and welcome the possibility of altering it,” Bayard replied, “but I am not convinced a marriage alliance would be a wise solution.”

Adelar looked quickly at his cousin. Not only had he not scoffed outright at the Dane’s suggestion, he sounded as if he was actually considering the proposal. Yet such a thing was truly impossible. What would Cynath think of this marriage, let alone the king?

Dagfinn belched and shrugged. “If you do not agree, the Danegeld will remain as it is. Of course, you do not have to pay it. Then my men will attack your village, kill your warriors, burn the buildings to the ground and take your people as slaves.”

“Or perhaps my warriors will kill your warriors and you will get nothing. Then King Edward will make such war on you that your people will be driven back across the seas.”

“Or maybe Aethelwold will be acknowledged king.”

“The Witan has chosen Edward,” Bayard responded. “He is a proven leader in battle and Alfred’s eldest son. Although Aethelwold might believe he has some legal claim to the throne, no member of the Witan wants him for a king. He is a traitor and completely without honor.”

“In his will, Alfred did not say who was to succeed him,” Dagfinn countered.

Adelar masked his surprise as best he could, but how did this foreigner come to have such a clear understanding of the problem of succession?

“The Danes have acknowledged Aethelwold,” Dagfinn insisted stubbornly, as if what they did should influence the Saxons. “He already commands Essex.”

“So why do you wish to make an alliance?” Bayard asked.

Why indeed, Adelar thought, unless Dagfinn had little confidence in Aethelwold’s ability to rule or the Danes to control him. Adelar ran his gaze over Dagfinn’s men. Dagfinn was old and fat, and his men were not in good fighting trim. Only one of them, a red-haired fellow who watched Adelar constantly, looked to be capable of beating any of the Saxon warriors.

Was it battle Dagfinn feared? Did the Danes have as little wish to fight as Bayard? It didn’t seem likely, until one considered how long this band had been settled in the Danelaw. Years, with few true armed conflicts. And perhaps Bayard was not the only leader in the hall who sensed that Edward was going to be a more aggressive commander than his father.

“This squabbling need not touch us,” Dagfinn said in a slightly wheedling voice. “We are neighbors. And no one can profit during such times.”

That made sense, for the Vikings Adelar had known were more concerned with gain than the business of state and the succession of kings.

Unexpectedly, Bayard smiled and said, “Tell me of this woman you wish me to wed.”

Adelar wondered what kind of tactic this was. A marriage alliance with the Danes was completely unacceptable, given the situation between Edward and Aethelwold, and suspicious for the Danes to suggest.

“The woman is young and beautiful,” Dagfinn said with a leer, and not a little relief.

“I want to know if she is healthy,” Bayard asked.

“Very. And she knows much of healing. My people will be sorry to lose her, but the alliance is more important.”

“Is she strong-willed?”

“She is no simpering girl,” Dagfinn replied carefully.

Adelar fought to keep a satisfied expression from his face. Bayard had never liked strong-willed women. He liked his women placid, or at least filled with awe at his looks, his status or his wealth. And most women were. Even if Bayard was considering this marriage alliance, Dagfinn’s answer would put an end to it.

“Nor is Endredi a scold,” Dagfinn continued.

Adelar could not breathe. He couldn’t think. Surely his heart had stopped beating, the sun no longer moved across the sky, the fire had died. He saw nothing except sea green eyes regarding him steadily, containing neither condemnation nor pity, but understanding and complete acceptance, because Adelar had not meant to bring harm to Betha, only to get back home to his village. As they fled, his sister had fallen ill, and when they were taken back to the Viking settlement, she had died. Endredi had said little, but her eyes...her eyes had said everything. How much her silent comfort had meant to his lonely heart!

And then his father had come with his warriors. He had destroyed the Viking village when the men were away trading, taken the women and children captive and slaughtered the rest. His father had even dragged Endredi to his hall, intending to rape the girl barely on the brink of womanhood.

The remembered sights and feelings rose in Adelar’s mind, strong and terrible, for Adelar had followed them there, prepared to do what he must to save Endredi. She had escaped his father on her own, but he had killed a guard who would have sounded the alarm.

His father was worse than a traitor. Vicious, cruel, lustful...and ever since that night, Adelar had been tortured by the notion that he might someday grow to be like his sire. So he had left his home and traveled here to Bayard’s burh.

He pushed away the memory and told himself that this woman could not be the Endredi he had known. It was merely a coincidence. Two women with the same name.

“Ask him if the woman is a virgin,” Bayard said.

Adelar managed to get the words out.

“No. She is my brother’s widow.”

Endredi lived in the northern land of the Vikings across the sea, not in the Danelaw. Adelar took another deep breath as some of the tension fled from his body.

“Does she have children?”

“No.”

Bayard’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is she barren?”

“She was married for less than a month before Fenris died. In bed.”

No wonder Dagfinn wanted to be rid of this widow, Adelar thought. Viking men wanted to die in battle, with a sword in their hands. Otherwise they could not enter Valhalla to spend eternity feasting with Odin. The widow was probably regarded as a woman who would bring misfortune.

Bayard rose and drew Adelar away from the others.

“Tell me honestly,” he said quietly. “Do you trust Dagfinn? Will he abide by this agreement?”

At once an almost overpowering temptation to urge Bayard to refuse filled Adelar. He didn’t trust any Danes. He didn’t want his cousin to have a Viking wife.

But more importantly, he didn’t want to find out that this woman was the Endredi of his youth, the Endredi he had been too ashamed to seek again. The Endredi he was constantly trying to forget.

He regarded Bayard steadily, looking into his cousin’s eyes. He did not doubt that Bayard had already made his decision, for it was not Bayard’s way to rely on any man’s advice. This was likely a delaying tactic, or meant to annoy Ranulf, something Bayard seemed to delight in. Nonetheless, Adelar answered Bayard with his true opinion. “Dagfinn wants this marriage, or he would never agree to reduce the Danegeld.” He hesitated for a brief moment, then went on firmly. “I do not trust any of them, as you know, so of course I would refuse. However, it would be wise to delay your decision. If Dagfinn speaks sincerely, he will wait. And what of Cynath? He has great faith and trust in you. I would not want him to question your loyalty.”

“I know you say what is truly in your heart, Adelar,” his cousin replied. “So I will tell you what is in mine. I think this is a sign from God. I am going to take the woman for my wife.”

Adelar nodded. Bayard was wise and respected. If he saw nothing wrong with this marriage and he honestly believed it was a sign to make peace, then Adelar could not question it. And yet...and yet Adelar had seen that love could change a man or a woman. Had not his nursemaid married the Viking who had taken her captive and remained there when Adelar had gone home? Perhaps this woman would be able to sway Bayard and weaken his resolve to regard the Danes with suspicion.

It was already too late. Bayard had decided. As he returned to his place, Adelar silently vowed that he would watch this woman and protect his cousin to the best of his ability.

Bayard sat in his chair. “Adelar, tell Dagfinn of my decision, provided the woman is truly comely. I will not let him give me an old hag, even if it means peace.”

The Saxons looked at each other with undisguised surprise as Adelar did as he was told. Ranulf tried to appear both distressed and certain that Bayard was acting wisely. That way, Adelar knew, he could later say he agreed with both those who welcomed the alliance and those who were against it. As for Father Derrick, he was like a marble effigy, expressionless except for his disapproving eyes.

“She is as lovely as Freya, as wise as Baldur, and Endredi speaks the Saxon tongue,” Dagfinn said eagerly.

Again Adelar had to struggle to keep his face expressionless. Surely, surely there were other Viking women who had learned the Saxon tongue and who were wise in healing arts.

“What did he say?” Bayard demanded.

“He says the woman is wise, beautiful and speaks our language.”

Suddenly Father Derrick stepped forward. “Is she Christian?” he asked sternly.

“She has had the ceremony of the water,” Dagfinn answered.

His Endredi was not a Christian, and she had never been baptised. But years had passed and everything could have changed.

Father Derrick, apparently satisfied, returned to his place in the shadows.

The men haggled for a short time over the bride price, and again over the gifts to Endredi, but all knew it was only because it was expected. The true goal had already been achieved when Bayard had agreed to the marriage.

“We are finished, then,” Dagfinn said, heaving himself to his feet when they decided on the sums. “We will bring her in a fortnight when the roads are clear.”

Bayard rose, too. “I will have the wedding feast prepared.”

The Dane nodded as Adelar finished speaking. Then he turned and strode to the entrance of the hall, followed by his men. The Saxons watched silently while the Danes collected their weapons and left.

“You are making a mistake, Uncle,” Ranulf declared immediately. “Cynath will not be pleased.”

Not for the first time, Adelar was disgusted by Ranulf’s lack of discernment. He had been one of Bayard’s men for longer than Adelar, yet he could not seem to comprehend that there was no point to question one of Bayard’s decisions after it had already been made.

Bayard faced his nephew. “Unless I have lost my wits,” he said with deceptive calm, “it was you who first suggested making an alliance, Ranulf. There is no cause for second thoughts now. Cynath knows that he has my complete loyalty, and so does the king.”

“By king you mean Edward?”

Bayard’s expression was hard as flint. “He is the Britwalda, King of the Britons, and anyone who says otherwise has no place in my hall.”

“Of course, my lord,” Ranulf replied hastily. “I meant nothing else. But what of the woman’s loyalty?”

Adelar darted a condemning look at Ranulf’s lean, anxious face. “Are you saying you doubt that Bayard can control his own wife? That he will be influenced by a bright eye or soft cheek?” he asked, inwardly hoping it would not be so, and that perhaps Bayard would hear his words as a warning.

“Not at all,” Ranulf answered, reddening under the scrutiny of the two men whose haughty, stern eyes were so alike. “Naturally I wish that this marriage may be a happy one.”

“Women are evil creatures, full of sin and temptation,” Father Derrick said, his stern, deep voice commanding silence. “Men should beware their traps and snares.”

“Yes, Father,” Bayard replied peaceably. “I regret that I cannot be as strong as you in denying the desires of the flesh, but I shall be very careful. And this is merely a marriage of necessity.”

“That is good, my son.”

“Now you must all join me in a pledge of loyalty to any future children this marriage will bring.”

Ranulf struggled to look pleased. “Yes, my lord. To your children.”

Bayard lifted his goblet. “To my heir.” For only a moment, Adelar thought he saw a look of pain in Bayard’s eyes, but it passed before he could be sure it was pain and not mere annoyance with Ranulf. “This alliance should ensure that my land will be safe for someone to inherit when I am dead. The woman’s dowry will also enrich my estate.”

“My lord, surely you know I hope you will live a long and happy life and leave many sons to follow you,” Ranulf said.

“I know precisely what you hope, Ranulf,” Bayard replied.

“Beware the yearning for earthly wealth,” Father Derrick intoned. “A camel can pass through the eye of a needle sooner than a rich man enter the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“Thank you, Father, for your timely reminder,” Bayard responded with his usual good humor. “Someone find Godwin. We need music—oh, there you are, Godwin. No time for hanging about in the shadows, gleeman. Sing something suitable for the occasion. Adelar, where is your ale? Are you not going to drink to my impending marriage and my future bride? What was her name?”

“Endredi,” Adelar replied, looking about for that timid female slave. “Ale!” he shouted impatiently. He wanted to get very drunk very quickly.

But not for celebration. He wanted to forget.

* * *

Ranulf’s wife shoved his wandering hand away. “I’m talking to you about serious matters, dolt!” Ordella said sharply, her pale blue eyes seeming to glow in the dim building.

Ranulf, lying beside her in bed, gave her a peevish look. “And I’m acting like a husband.”

“Speak quietly, you lustful beast. A husband would have his family’s interest in mind, and that is what I am trying to discuss.”

“Oh, very well.” Ranulf shifted to a sitting position in his bed. In the other part of the building, which was only half the size of Bayard’s hall, slaves and servants slumbered. His wife, however, had the amazing ability to sound as if she was almost shouting without waking anyone. “What is it?”

“I want to know what you are going to do about this marriage.”

“Do about it? Nothing. An agreement has been made.”

“Because of your stupidity.”

“Mine? I am not marrying some Viking widow. And you yourself said we should make peace with the Vikings. If the betrothal is broken now, who knows what those savages might do?”

“I didn’t mean a marriage alliance.”

“And I tell you again, I did not suggest it. Dagfinn did, and Bayard agreed.”

“Yes—and for that reason alone you should have stopped it.”

“I should have stepped into the middle of the discussion and ordered Bayard to refuse?” Ranulf asked scornfully. “He would have had me tossed from the hall.”

“If you had been witless about it, of course he would,” she snapped. “You merely needed to find a way to delay the negotiations. Then you could have dissuaded him.”

“I did protest his decision, after the Danes had gone.”

Ordella fought the urge to scream. “After was much too late. You should know that about Bayard by now. The time was already past to influence him! He will never alter his course now—never!”

“How was I to even guess he would consider a marriage?” Ranulf whined. “All I knew was that he was prepared to argue over the amount of the Danegeld. It’s taken me many days to convince him to go that far. Nor has he ever so much as hinted at a marriage.”

“Bertilde has been dead these three years,” Ordella reminded him, all the while wishing she had waited a little longer before agreeing to marry Ranulf. Then she might have had a chance for Bayard, rather than this clod.

“So I thought he had no interest in marriage.”

“That is the stupidest thing you have said yet. He is a wealthy thane with no children. You should never have dismissed a possible marriage.”

“As you have just pointed out, Ordella, it is done. I cannot undo it.”

“But now he might have children, too.”

“He hasn’t yet, and he’s had many women.”

“That is no guarantee. He so rarely stays in one place for long, it could be that he is gone before a woman knows. Or perhaps he has never acknowledged any children, if they were born out of wedlock. If you had the sense of a donkey, you would have considered these possibilities.”

Ordella was almost weeping with frustration. Her only reason for marrying Ranulf had been to become part of Bayard’s wealthy, important family. Unfortunately, she had come to realize she had chosen the least promising member of the clan. “She is young, too. She could give him many children.”

“Or maybe he will hate her and never go near her. This is a political match, Ordella. Don’t forget that.”

“I hope for your sake it is so. Or you can forget any hope of inheriting anything from him.”

“You said the same thing when Adelar arrived.”

“That was before I knew the kind of man Adelar is—and for that you should thank God. If he was more ambitious, he could have you living in some hovel at the edge of the wood. It is clear Bayard favors him, and their mothers were sisters.”

“You are forgetting the stories about his father.”

“That old tale? No one believed that Viking. Imagine trying to imply that a Saxon thane would betray his own people.”

“Yet Kendric has never tried to be in the Witan, and any other man of his stature would have.”

“The main thing to consider now is how to increase your importance to Bayard.”

“I am his nephew. What more reason should Bayard need to listen to me?”

“If that’s the only cause he has to suffer your presence, he can easily discard you, fool!”

Ranulf started to climb out of the bed. Ordella grabbed his arm and held on. “Forgive me,” she said in wheedling voice. “I am upset to think that Bayard did not take you into his confidence. After all, you deserve to be. You are his closest relative. Adelar is but a cousin.”

Ranulf relaxed a little. She crawled closer and encircled him with her thin arms. “I simply fear you may not get what is your due, Ranulf, and then I get angry. Forgive me for taking out my indignation on you.” He sighed softly as she caressed him. “You do forgive my harsh words, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He twisted and his mouth swooped feverishly over hers. His hands groped her breasts.

Ordella made all the appropriate noises. But her mind was not on Ranulf, or his clumsy attempts at lovemaking. She was wondering how to proceed when Bayard’s bride arrived.

* * *

“The hour grows late, and I think I have done enough celebrating,” Bayard proclaimed as he rose clumsily to his feet. Around him, his men raised their drinking horns in yet another salute.

Except for Adelar. He had left the hall some time ago, his arm draped over a serving wench with a high-pitched voice and a constant giggle.

Bayard made his way past his men and past the servants who were already asleep. Once outside, he walked casually around the outer wall of the hall and into the shadows.

Then, with a muffled groan, he suddenly doubled over.

His malady was worsening. There could be no doubt of it. The pains were coming more frequently and growing in intensity.

When the spasm passed, Bayard straightened slowly, certain of two things. His plan had to work, and he had little time left to implement it.

Chapter Two

A fortnight later, a Danish maidservant fussed about Endredi as they stood in Bayard’s bower. They had been told to wait there until the marriage ceremony, while Dagfinn and the others had gone immediately to the hall.

Thick, colorful tapestries hung over the wattle and daub walls. The chest of the bride’s goods stood in a corner. Other, larger wooden boxes were placed throughout the room, a testament to the groom’s wealth. There were also two intricately carved stools beside a delicate round table upon which sat a jug and two silver chalices. Light came from a many-branched iron rod bearing several tallow candles. A large bed, ornately carved and hung with heavy curtains, dominated one end of the building.

The older woman brushed off Endredi’s gown, straightened her belt and tidied a stray wisp of her mistress’s thick, red-gold hair.

“Will you please stop?” Endredi asked, trying to keep annoyance from her voice and reminding herself it was simply Helmi’s way to be always hovering about like an insect.

“Dagfinn said you had to look—”

“Beautiful?” Endredi looked at Helmi skeptically. “I look presentable—beautiful will be for Bayard to decide.”

“Unless the man is stupid and blind, he can’t help but think so. Still, he is a Saxon, so who can say how his mind might work? Everyone knows they are all vicious, horrible barbarians—”

“You have done your best,” Endredi said, interrupting the woman before she began another tirade against the Saxons. Endredi knew that there could be good Saxons as well as bad, just as there were good and bad Danes.

“I don’t know what that oaf Dagfinn is trying to do, marrying off his brother’s widow to some Saxon.”

“Dagfinn seeks peace.”

“Huh! I think I am not the only old woman among the Danes here! When I was young, a man was glad to fight. Wanted to fight. Dagfinn is a coward.”

Endredi put her finger to her lips. “Take care, Helmi, lest he hear your insult.”

Helmi straightened her slim shoulders. “Well, he and his men could not win a battle if Odin himself was on their side.”

Endredi could not argue with her servant’s observation. Indeed, Dagfinn’s thoughts were all too obvious, despite his attempts at subtlety. Nevertheless, she felt duty bound by her respect for her dead husband to say, “Dagfinn may be acting with more wisdom than you think. After all, who among his people would marry a woman of my ill luck? Besides,” she finished, “Dagfinn is the chieftain, so I must obey.”

“I do not believe Dagfinn thinks of anything but his silver and his belly. And where would he be if he didn’t have Bera to oversee everything?”

“I shall miss her.”

“I will not. A harder mistress never breathed, I can tell you.”

“She was always kind to me,” Endredi answered truthfully, although now she knew why Helmi had offered to go with her to the Saxon village. Obviously Helmi considered even the Saxons less threatening than Bera.

As for Endredi, she would miss Bera, but she had always been alone. Even as a child, she had had few friends. The sins of her mother had made her an object of curiosity and scorn, and she had soon learned that sometimes it was better to be alone than to be questioned, or worse, pitied.

“I almost forgot!” Helmi cried, hurrying to Endredi’s small chest. “Dagfinn said to be sure you wore this.” She took out a jeweled crucifix.

Endredi stood motionless while Helmi put it over her head. She had heard that Bayard’s priest had asked if his future wife was a Christian.

She put her hand to the crucifix. Thanks to her stepmother, she understood the Christians’ beliefs and indeed found it no hardship to believe them, too. When a priest had traveled to their village, she had been baptized. Nonetheless, she wore an amulet of Freya beneath her gown. Surely the Christian god would understand that it was hard to ignore the old beliefs.

“I have never seen such an enormous building as that hall,” Helmi said. “I wonder what it is like inside. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the tapestries are full of gold thread.”

When Endredi didn’t respond, Helmi went on. “It is also a good thing you speak that Saxon language, although I must say it has a most horrible sound to it.”

“My mother was a Saxon.”

“Oh, yes, well then, have you heard anything about Bayard? His looks, I mean.”

Helmi’s eyes gleamed eagerly, and Endredi knew she would hear what Helmi had learned whether she wanted to or not; however, Bayard’s appearance mattered less to her than the way he would treat a foreign wife. “Dagfinn said he is not old,” Endredi said slowly.

“A mature man and no foolish youth, thank the gods. Handsome, too, I hear.”

“He is a respected leader.”

“He wears fine clothes and much jewelry, Erik said.”

“If he were not just and good, surely he would not have so many men under his command.”

“He washes regularly and trims his beard.”

“I hope he will be patient.”

“He has no children.”

Helmi’s last announcement caught Endredi’s attention. “No children?”

She shook her head. “And he’s been married at least two times.”

“Oh?”

“Still, I hear he is quite virile. Rumors abound that he has bedded dozens of women.”

“And yet no children?”

“Not one.”

“How could anyone you know come by that knowledge?” Endredi asked, her immediate surprise replaced by suspicion.

“I heard some of the men talking about it.”

“Why would any Danes know about Bayard’s children?”

That seemed to shake Helmi’s confidence in her sources. Which was quite as it should be. Surely Helmi could have no valid information concerning Bayard’s wives or women or children. Nonetheless, Helmi’s gossip had disturbed her. Endredi had agreed to this marriage because she had few alternatives, but also because she dearly wanted children.

It could very well be that Bayard did have illegitimate children. He was a Christian, and if they were born out of holy wedlock, he might seek to keep their parentage secret. Or it might be that Bayard’s other wives had simply been unable to bear children, although that would be a rare misfortune.

“If he doesn’t give you children, you could always divorce him,” Helmi noted optimistically.

“No, I could not. Christians are not allowed to divorce for any reason. Besides, where would I go?”

“You could go home to your father.”

“My father has other children and other responsibilities. When I married Fenris, I became his family’s concern. Because of his death, I must do as Dagfinn wishes, since he is the head of the family as well as the chieftain, and he desires this alliance.”

Endredi sighed as she moved away and sat down on a stool. Her father had married a Saxon woman, and their union was a joy to both. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might find it so with Bayard.

She fingered her crucifix, trying to calm her growing dismay and bury her memories of the boy she had once cared for but who had left her to her fate, never trying to find out what had become of her. Despite what he had done—or not done—she had hoped, dreamed...until years had passed, and she had grown into a woman. Adelar had never returned. So Endredi had put him from her heart and from her hopes, and wed another.

Although Fenris was kind, he had inspired no passion within her, and she feared there was no passion left to inspire. When Dagfinn had told her what he planned for her, she had thought not of her own seemingly impossible happiness. This marriage might bring a measure of peace between Saxon and Dane, so she had agreed.

Helmi paused for a moment in her bustling near the large curtained bed, an object Endredi had been doing her best not to notice. “I think someone’s coming!” she cried. “Stand up, stand up!”

Endredi obeyed and despite her resolve to face this marriage resolutely, she had to clasp her hands together to keep them from trembling.

Dagfinn entered the bower and surveyed her slowly. “Good,” he muttered. He nodded toward the door. “Come to the hall.”

Endredi followed the big man out of the bower. In the yard before the hall several women and children were standing at a respectful distance and staring at her. They looked well-dressed and well-fed, a sign that Bayard took care of his people.

Some were curious, others openly hostile as they stood silently. Endredi raised her chin. She was the daughter of Einar Svendson, and no hint of fear or doubt must show on her face.

She continued to walk proudly as she entered the huge wooden building, which was as richly decorated as Helmi had guessed.

There was another crowd of Danes and Saxon men inside. Here, Endredi lowered her eyes as a woman should in such company, lest she be thought immodest, but she glanced up when they paused before proceeding. Standing at the front of a group of Saxons was a tall, bearded, finely dressed man who moved with the natural arrogance of a nobleman. He had to be Bayard.

There was another, younger man at his elbow, with light brown hair, a cruel mouth and thin lips. He looked at her with an impertinent curiosity that annoyed her, despite her anxiety. A woman stood beside him, thin, too, and motionless, her face placid but her gaze darting everywhere.

On the other side of Bayard was a man who had to be a priest. He wore a huge wooden crucifix and a strange black tunic that reached all the way to the ground.

Dagfinn walked ahead of her. “Bayard, here is your bride,” he proclaimed.

Helmi moved behind her and gave her a gentle shove. “Go forward! Go forward!”

Endredi went toward her betrothed slowly, looking at Bayard steadily. He was handsome, dark and well-built. His tunic was a brilliant red, his belt studded with gold, his boots made of fine soft leather, and he wore a beautiful silver brooch with many jewels.

But there was an expression in his eyes.... Suspicion? Reluctance? Then it was gone, masked by a charming smile.

“You spoke the truth, Dagfinn,” Bayard said when she was close to him. “She is beautiful.”

Another man spoke, this time in the Danes’ tongue, obviously translating Bayard’s words. She recognized the voice instantly and quickly scanned the crowd, her heart beating as rapidly as the wings of a bird trapped in a net.

Adelar! Here! She knew him at once, although it had been years. The color of his hair, the shape of his features—even the way he stood was as familiar as her own body. Her mouth went dry, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint.

She had tried to forget Adelar and had convinced herself that she had, but she knew now it was a lie.

For a moment she saw recognition in Adelar’s eyes and something that thrilled her beyond words, something that made all the long years disappear. She could not marry Bayard now. She would refuse, no matter what Dagfinn said or did.

Then Adelar’s demeanor changed, as if a flame had been blown out, replaced by something hard and cold as iron. He looked away.

Oh, Freya! Was he his father’s son, after all? Kendric had been a base traitor, a man outwardly handsome, but inwardly as corrupt as a man could be. Had Adelar grown that way, too?

What other explanation could there be for his action? He was not going to acknowledge that he knew her, not even when she was about to be married to another. He was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her gaze, willing to abandon her again. Acting like a dishonorable coward.

Endredi tried to collect her scattered thoughts and marshal her confused emotions. She wanted to run. To hide like a wounded animal and let herself moan in agony. Or perhaps worst of all, she wanted to beg him to look at her again.

“I am honored,” Bayard said.

Adelar did not want her. Perhaps he never had. Perhaps she had only been swept away by his looks and his apparent need for her comfort.

Suddenly aware that they were waiting for her to speak, she said stiffly, “No, the honor is mine.”

Bayard held out his hand, and she put hers into it. She was a woman now, and the dreams of her childhood were dead.

* * *

The wedding feast was a long and very rich one. Dagfinn and the other Danes gobbled up the abundant food as if they had not eaten in days—so greedily, in fact, that Endredi was quite ashamed. It was obvious that the Saxons were not impressed by their guests’ lack of manners, either.

“That is my cousin, Adelar,” Bayard said to his bride as the Saxon warrior rose and left the table with only the curtest of nods toward his host when the gleeman began to sing, signaling the end of the feast but not of the celebrations. Others stood and moved about the hall, filling it with hushed voices and muted whispers, giving the lord and his bride the occasional curious glance.

Cousins, Endredi thought, watching Adelar go out the door. That explained the resemblance between them and why Adelar would be in attendance here.

The cousins had the same fearless brown eyes, dark hair and muscular build, Endredi realized. Indeed, even now, Bayard reminded her of Adelar so much that she found it difficult to look at her husband without a pang of bitterness.

But she would have to find a way. The gifts had been exchanged, promises made, the priest had even said a blessing. Only the consummation remained to make them truly husband and wife. One more duty to fulfill.

And to her, it was a duty. She could not understand why men seemed to find such a thing a tremendous pleasure. Nonetheless, she did want to have children. A baby would surely bring her joy and fill the loneliness in her heart.

“Adelar is one of my finest warriors and one of the few men I trust. You must forgive his seeming rudeness. It is just his way,” Bayard said with a look of concern.

“Is it?” she responded politely, but with growing dread. Bayard seemed all too ready to excuse Adelar’s impertinence. What else would he excuse his cousin?

If Adelar was so capable of deceiving her when he was but a lad, was he now deceiving Bayard, who obviously trusted him enough to have him in his counsel? She would find out and warn her husband if she suspected any treachery at all.

With even more dismay she realized that Ranulf, her husband’s nephew, was coming to sit in the space closest to her, away from his thin, sallow wife, who seemed not to notice.

“I trust, my lady, that you will not think we are all so lacking in our attentions to you, as my lord’s wife,” Ranulf said, attempting to sound polite but only succeeding in sounding the worse for too much ale.

She bowed her head toward Ranulf in slight acknowledgment.

Obviously taking Endredi’s response to be encouragement, he said, “Adelar is an uncouth fellow. But of course if one believes those tales about his family—”

Bayard said, “I am pleased he has decided to remain here.”

Ranulf returned to his wife.

Endredi fought to stay silent, although she was filled with curiosity. What did Ranulf know about Adelar’s family? Did others know what Kendric had done? What had happened to Adelar and his father in the years since she had seen them? She dearly wanted to find out, but until she understood the natures of these men, she had best speak cautiously. She had sensed an undercurrent of hostility ever since she had set foot in Bayard’s hall and had assumed it was the natural enmity between Saxon and Dane. Now, however, she realized all was not well within Bayard’s ranks. Bayard did not like Ranulf, Ranulf sought eagerly to please in a way that roused her suspicions, and Ranulf did not approve of Adelar although Bayard did.

She twisted her hands in her lap. She was completely alone here among these men.

“Adelar’s father is a wealthy thane, with lands and a burh further south,” Bayard explained.

Endredi nearly knocked her goblet from the table. Adelar’s father still possessed land after what he had done? What tales had Ranulf been speaking of, if not that Kendric himself had arranged for a Viking raiding party to attack his village, only too glad to see it destroyed? He had murdered his wife, too. It was not possible that his people could have forgiven such things—but once she would have said it was impossible that Adelar would ignore her, too. She would also have said it was impossible that Adelar could be like his father, but how else to explain his actions since she had arrived?

“If you will excuse me, my lord, I must prepare for evening prayers,” the priest sitting near her said gravely.

“Good even, Father,” Bayard replied, bowing his head.

Endredi watched the priest walk away. Before she had known a Christian, she had been told priests were evil men who would cast spells to send you to eternal torment if you didn’t pay them to say special prayers. She had learned otherwise, but this gloomy man still added to her dread. She did not trust him, either, especially as he had been giving her harsh looks for the better part of the meal.

Bayard, seeing where she looked, patted her hand. “It is not you he disapproves of, Endredi. It is women in general.”

“Women in general?”

“Yes. He suspects you all of being little more than demons sent to tempt honest men. You see the long tunic he wears? He began to dress like that after he went to Rome. He was there several years. Too many, I think. He was a kind enough fellow before he left, but easily swayed. I understand he joined with some rather strict priests. Ever since he has come home, he has spoken as if women were God’s special punishment.” Bayard smiled, his eyes twinkling rather mischievously for a powerful thane. “Fortunately, he leaves tomorrow on a journey to the monastery of his bishop for synod.” He touched her hand. “I hope you will soon come to feel at home here. It will help that you speak our language.”

“My...my family has Saxon blood,” she replied, slipping her hand into her lap. Then, as she smiled with some sincerity, she began to hope that she might not find her marriage just a duty. Bayard seemed genuinely concerned about her.

Her response had caught Ordella’s attention, as well as most of those seated around them. Ranulf said, “Cynath will surely be pleased to hear that you are part Saxon.”

Endredi looked questioningly at Bayard. “Cynath?”

“My overlord, an ealdorman in the Witan.”

“Cynath thinks very highly of your husband, my lady. Justly so, of course,” Ranulf said.

“Of course,” Ordella echoed.

The man who had been singing stopped and put down his harp. “What would be my lady’s pleasure?” he asked, an infectious grin on his round face. “Another song? Another instrument? I can play pipes, horns and fithele. Perhaps you would care to dance?”

“This is my gleeman, Godwin, and a talented fellow,” Bayard said by way of introduction. “He amuses me, for which privilege I pay him an extraordinary amount of silver.”

“I assure you, my lady, I am worth every coin!” Godwin proclaimed, making a very deep bow.

His mien was so sincere and yet so comical, she knew he was trying hard to make her smile. She attempted to oblige him.

“I think we will dance another time,” Bayard said. “Show her how you juggle.”

Godwin responded with a roguish grin, then pulled out three knives, the shortest of which was twelve inches long. The Danes, seated just below Ranulf, half rose from their seats, until he threw the knives up into the air and began to juggle them.

“Look at him,” Dagfinn said scornfully in his own language. “Saxon warriors have many skills, albeit useless ones.”

“What did he say?” Bayard inquired of his bride, shifting closer to Endredi so that his body was against hers. She moved away.

“He says that Saxon warriors are very skilled.”

Godwin picked up three heavy battle axes and juggled them, the blades flashing. This time, the Danes stared openmouthed. “I am not a Saxon,” Godwin said without taking his attention from the whirling axes. “I am a Mercian.”

“If other Danes act like these, we may use our skills to drive them right out of the Danelaw. They seem as attentive as a dog waiting for a bone from his master’s table,” Bayard remarked.

The Saxons around him smothered their laughter. Endredi stared at the fine white tablecloth. She had never liked Fenris’s brother, who often made jests at the expense of those weaker than himself, but she did not enjoy hearing her countrymen insulted. Nor was she pleased to find that her husband so obviously wanted the Danes expelled from their lawful land. He had been attentive and polite to her thus far, but perhaps that would change when they were alone.

Godwin stopped juggling the axes and began to do other tricks with his knives. The Danes went back to drinking.

“Barbarous rabble, are they not?” Ranulf observed loudly. “And most unpleasant—yourself excluded, of course, my lady. No wonder Adelar hates them all.”

Bayard darted an angry glance at his nephew. “Ranulf!” he said, an unmistakable tone of warning in his voice. “You must forgive his hasty words, Endredi,” Bayard went on placatingly, as if she were no more than a child. But she knew only a fool would believe a burh full of Saxons would welcome a marriage between their thane and a Viking, and she was not a fool. “It is true that my cousin dislikes most Danes. He was abducted by Vikings when he was a boy. They killed his sister.”

“What?” Too late Endredi realized that she had shown too much. Everyone stared at her. “How terrible, my lord,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm and not to proclaim to everyone that Adelar had told a base falsehood. “I am most dismayed that my countrymen may have caused a member of your family any anguish,” she said after a moment. Despite the seeming regret in her voice, anger was boiling under Endredi’s placid surface. If anyone had been to blame for Betha’s death, it was Adelar, who had taken her from the Viking village during a snowstorm in an ill-fated attempt to make their way home. Even then, the little girl had died of an illness, an act of the gods, as she had tried to tell him. Then she had given him the silent companionship he seemed to find the greatest comfort. This lie was her reward?

She would make him correct that lie. Such falsehoods only inflamed the hatred between the Danes and Saxons. Many of the women she knew were as tired of the fighting and the bloodshed as she. If making Adelar confess the truth would prevent one skirmish, one more death, she would ensure that it happened.

“You had nothing to do with it,” Bayard said kindly. “Godwin,” he called out, “sing something else. Something pleasant.”

Godwin complied. After his third song, Bayard turned to her and said solicitously, “You are so quiet. Are you weary? Do you wish to retire?”

Endredi glanced at her husband. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Helmi waiting patiently at the end of the hall.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, rising. The time had come. She was this man’s wife.

“I shall join you in a little while.”

“Sleep well, my lady,” Ranulf said, a leer on his impertinent face.

She was going to hate her husband’s nephew. And she would make Adelar reveal the truth, at least to Bayard. As for how she would feel about her husband, she would find out soon enough, no doubt.

* * *

Helmi held open the door of the bower. Inside, someone had kindled a small, coal-fueled fire in one of the braziers, so that the building was warm against the cool night air of spring. The bed curtains of fine damask had been drawn back, as had the fur coverlet.

Endredi turned her back on the bed.

“Please sit, my lady,” Helmi said, “and I will remove the ornaments from your hair.”

“Leave me.”

“But my lady!” the servant protested. “I should help you.”

“I said, leave me.”

Helmi shrugged and went to the far corner of the bower, where she had made a bed from a mattress filled with straw and some blankets.

“I would prefer you to sleep elsewhere tonight,” Endredi said. She had no wish to have a servant’s presence on her wedding night. She was nervous enough without that.

Helmi frowned deeply. “Where else? There are Saxons everywhere, like fleas on a dog!”

“There are other Danes in the hall. Sleep there tonight.”

Helmi looked about to protest, but wisely, she did not. When she had gone out carrying her bed, Endredi sighed softly and sank down onto a stool, putting her hands over her face.

“Adelar, Adelar!” she moaned softly, finally allowing herself to express the hurt that had been fighting with her anger ever since she had seen him. She knew she should distrust him. All through the meal she had sought to convince herself that she could not have faith in him. He was not the boy she had known. He had changed.

Why was he here, and now of all times? Why could she not find strength in the fact that he had had years to come back to her, and had not? Why could she not keep anger in her heart when she thought of his lies? Why did something different, something stronger, intrude until her bitterness and anger were gone like a speck of dust upon a summer’s breeze?

Why did she remember not the moment she knew he had abandoned her to her fate, but instead the one and only kiss they had shared? It had been early night, just like this, in the dimness of her father’s house. They had been alone, two children on the edge of adulthood, sitting beside the fire, silent as usual. He had turned to her and spoken of—what? She had never been able to recall because of what had come after. He had talked and she had listened.

Then, slowly, wondrously, the expression in his dark, intense eyes had changed. Without even being aware of it, their bodies had moved closer. And closer. Until their lips had touched.

Even now, her heart raced at the thought of that gentle, tender kiss. She had changed into a woman then, with a woman’s heart and a woman’s dreams and a woman’s passion.

And to think it had meant nothing at all to him.

She lowered her hands. She must put away these memories, once and for always. She must be strong and remember that her loyalty, and her body, belonged to another man. Adelar had done nothing to stop that, either. Yes, he had changed, and she must guard against her own weakness.

Resolving to be as good a wife to Bayard as she could, Endredi disrobed and climbed into the bed. She drew the curtains around it and waited, not afraid, but not with joyous anticipation.

Finally the door opened and someone entered. Her hands started to shake and her chest seemed tight, which was foolish. She was no tender virgin.

“Bayard?” she called out tentatively.

“Yes,” came a low response.

Endredi closed her eyes. Oh, Freya, goddess of love and beauty, abandoned by Od and always mourning, help me! Even Bayard’s voice is like Adelar’s. Help me to forget! Please, Mary, mother of Jesus, give me strength to do what I must.

Then came the sounds of a man disrobing. Something metallic striking the stool. The dull thud of cloth on a chest.

The curtains parted, and Endredi opened her eyes.

Chapter Three

Bayard stood beside the bed. He was naked, his bearded face in shadow. He looked down at Endredi, and she tried to force a tentative smile to her lips, but oh, how his eyes were like Adelar’s in this dim light!

Bayard got into the bed with her, yet he did not touch her. “You are sure Adelar’s behavior did not offend you?” he asked softly. “Or Ranulf’s? If so, tell me, and I will speak to them.”

“No. I am unknown here, and drink can make men say things they themselves regret later.”

“You are wise, Endredi. I am pleased you forgive him,” he whispered. “Adelar is not only my cousin. He is my most trusted friend.”

Was he deserving of such trust? she wondered. Did Bayard know what kind of man had sired his “trusted friend”? “These tales of Adelar’s family that Ranulf spoke of,” she began. “What did he mean?”

Bayard lay on his side and regarded her thoughtfully. “It was said that his father had somehow arranged the Viking attack on his village. That is what the leader of the Vikings claimed when he came seeking his wife and daughter, whom Kendric had stolen away in revenge when he came to take Adelar home.”

“Perhaps it was true.”

“Kendric claimed otherwise. His own people believed him, and there was no proof of wrongdoing except for the word of a Viking.”

“What do you believe?”

“Adelar is here, is he not? I have no doubt about his loyalty to me. Besides, I judge a man on his own merit, not his father’s.”

Endredi said nothing. She could not argue with Bayard’s wish to judge a man for his own actions. Indeed, she knew how it was to be looked down upon for the unsavory actions of a parent. How many in her village had hinted that Endredi might be like her mother, who had slept with any man who asked her?

Bayard touched her cheek. “Are you afraid of me, Endredi?”

“No.”

“You tremble.” He moved closer to her.

“It is a chill night, my lord.”

She could feel the heat from his body and was acutely aware of their nakedness as his arms encircled her. “I would warm you, then,” he said. “And please, do not call me `my lord’ when we are here.”

His hand touched her amulet. “What is this?” he asked, a hard note creeping into his voice. “Dagfinn assured me you were Christian.”

“Truly I am, Bayard. It is a charm, nothing more.”

“And what does this charm do?” he inquired, letting it fall. His fingers toyed with the chain, cool against her flesh.

“It is a sign of Freya.”

“A goddess?”

“Yes.”

“Goddess of what?”

“She watches over women getting married, or having babies. We used to pray to her to give us healthy children. Are you angry?”

“No.” He chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that made her glad she had not told him more about Freya, who had taken lovers after being deserted by her husband. For her punishment, she had been made a goddess of death, too. “I would wear twenty such charms if I believed in their power. I am pleased, Endredi, that you hope for children.”

“I do, very much.”

“I will do my best,” he whispered with a trace of wistfulness.

Before she had time to wonder at his tone, his body covered hers.

In a few short moments, the marriage was consummated. Without speaking, Bayard rolled away from her. Then she heard his slow, even breathing and realized he had fallen asleep.

Clasping her amulet, Endredi stared at the thatched roof. Not once had Bayard kissed her.

And despite all her prayers and resolutions, she was glad of it.

* * *

Adelar climbed out of the pile of fetid straw in which he had slept. His head throbbed, his mouth was as dry as old leather, and his tongue felt as if it was twice the normal size.

Sluggishly he brushed at the stray wisps that covered his clothes as he went outside, barely aware of the daily activity going on around him. The stable lads traded amused grins as the mighty warrior staggered out of the building, and the older women at the nearby well smiled condescendingly. Some of the younger girls giggled, but those of marriageable age sighed wistfully. They knew that a warrior like Adelar would probably never marry anyone but a thane’s daughter. Still, they could look and admire and dream and sigh again.

Adelar saw none of this. All he knew was that he felt wretched, the air was chill, and there was a slight touch of frost on the ground he was staring at. He made his way to the nearest water trough and sluiced cold water over his head, which brought some relief.

He glanced at the hall, then up at the sky. It was a fine cloudless day and the sun was halfway to the zenith. The others had probably already broken the fast. Maybe not Endredi and Bayard...

Adelar threw more cold water on his head, then slowly walked toward the hall.

All through the wedding feast, he struggled not to stare at Endredi as she sat in the wide settle beside Bayard.

Of course he had recognized her at once. Her calm, quiet beauty, her bountiful red-gold hair and her unforgettable green eyes. She had seen him, too, and for a moment he had thought...hoped...been tempted to tell Bayard that the wedding must not be.

But who was he to go against his cousin’s plans, especially when he could not be sure of Endredi’s feelings? Once they had felt something for each other. They both had known it, and he, at least, had cherished it. Yet she had married another man.

It was as if she had confirmed his worst fear—that he was not worthy of her love. He was, after all, his father’s son, and though he struggled constantly to prove that he was not the same as his traitorous sire, perhaps it only mattered that he was of Kendric’s blood after what his father had tried to do to her.

The women at the well began to point, laugh and make jokes of the most bawdy kind. Adelar turned to see what they were talking of and saw Godwin at the door of the weaving shed bestowing a most impressive kiss and bold caress on Gleda. His breeches were half-fastened, and Gleda’s garments could only be described as disheveled. Clearly Godwin had not spent the night in the hall, or the stable, or alone for that matter.

When the passionate couple realized they had an audience, Gleda pulled away, gave the women a saucy smile and sauntered off to the hall. With a dismissive flick of her hair, she passed Adelar. Her presence made absolutely no impression on him whatsoever. There was only one woman who occupied his thoughts today.

Godwin made the women an impressive bow. “Greetings, my dears,” he said with great politeness. “I was not aware my every performance was to be observed. Ah, Adelar! Have we missed the meal?”

The women continued to chuckle among themselves while Godwin joined him.

“Greetings, Godwin. I believe you have already feasted,” Adelar remarked sardonically as he continued toward the hall.

“And well, too,” Godwin replied with a sly grin. “But then, you would know how well Gleda satisfies a man.”

“Apparently any man will do, too.”

“Is the mighty Adelar jealous of a humble gleeman?”

“Not at all. Take her, if she is willing. There are plenty of other women.”

“Speaking of women, Bayard’s new wife is not as lovely as they said, is she?”

“It is not for us to discuss Bayard’s wife,” Adelar replied coldly.

“You’re in a terrible humor today, Adelar. What’s the matter—not enough sleep last night, eh? Who were you with, if not Gleda? Let me think... I know! That little slave Ylla has had her eye on you. Or perhaps that servant of Bayard’s wife. She is old, but you always say older women have a hoard of experience that they are only too willing to share—”

“My only companion last night was a cask of ale, and I am ruing that decision now.”

“What? I don’t believe it! And yet he admits it, too. Well, miracles do happen, after all. Adelar awakens alone for the first time in how many years? I must tell Father Derrick at once.”

“Can you stop that wagging tongue of yours?” Adelar demanded. “You make my head ache.”

“Speaking of tongues, is it not amazing what Gleda can do with hers?”

Adelar did not wish to have a complete recital of Gleda’s abilities, so he began to walk faster. “I’m starving.”

“Me, too. Shall we see what remains haven’t already been thrown to the dogs?”

The door to Bayard’s bower moved and Bayard strode briskly out. “Good day!” he called, his breath like puffs of smoke in the chill air as he approached. “I am going hunting this fine morning.”

Adelar looked away from the bower where Endredi had spent her wedding night. “It is a fine day indeed, Bayard. I will fetch my horse.”

“I had intended to ask you to remain behind. Endredi needs someone to show her about the burh.”

“I am not fit for a lady’s company this morning,” Adelar answered. “What of Dagfinn and his men?”

“They are sleeping like rocks in my hall. I have left some men to guard them. I do not want to spend more time in their presence than I have to.”

“I would be most happy to escort your bride about,” Godwin interjected.

Bayard eyed Godwin. “Perhaps, but I would like you to escort Endredi, Adelar. You can speak to her in her own language, and I want to make her feel that this is her home.”

His gaze was hard and firm, and Adelar knew he was as good as ordered to show Endredi the burh, although he would rather face ten armed Danes. “I will do as you ask, Cousin.”

“Good. Since you seem particularly grim today, I think it would be wise to have Godwin go, too.”

“I am only too happy, my lord,” Godwin replied.

“Rouse the dog keeper. I believe three pair of hounds should be sufficient today. I leave Endredi in your hands, Adelar.”

Adelar nodded as Bayard strode off toward the stable. The women at the well and the stable lads called out their good wishes, which the burhware acknowledged with a jovial response.

Godwin eyed his companion cautiously. “Bayard was not pleased by your reluctance.”

Adelar did not bother to wait for Godwin, who trotted along behind him. “I have no wish to play nursemaid to his bride.”

“Fine—but you should have been more tactful about it. You’ve annoyed him, and he looked happier this morning than he has for many a day.”

“I know,” Adelar replied softly. Indeed, he had thought the same thing. But he did not want to spend time with Endredi. He had no wish to see her look at him as she had yesterday—either the first time, when he had seen the unspoken feelings in her eyes, or later, when she had become as cold and distant as her homeland. Yet he dare not disobey his cousin, and Godwin was right about Bayard’s good humor. It had been all too rare of late.

They paused at the entrance to the hall, and Godwin let out a low whistle. “Bayard spoke the truth. Look at these louts!”

The Danes were sleeping wherever they had fallen into a drunken stupor. Some slumbered with their heads on their arms slung over the table, some lay on the benches and some were even under the tables. More than one snored loudly. One or two of Bayard’s dogs sniffed among the rushes, searching for food.

Adelar and Godwin stepped around them and went to Bayard’s end of the lord’s table.

“Not a morsel worth eating!” Godwin muttered in disgust, looking at the remnants of the feast.

Adelar picked up a crust of flat bread, then let it fall into the straw on the floor. One of the smaller hounds lunged for it and wolfed it down.

A deep voice from the nearest corner mumbled, “Who’s botherin’ the dogs?” Two human feet were barely visible beneath a pile of straw and dogs.

“Is that you, Baldric?” Godwin asked.

An affirmative growl answered them. “Can’t you let a fellow sleep in peace?”

“Bayard wants to go hunting. He says bring three pair of dogs.”

“This is no time for one of your jests, Godwin,” the dog keeper mumbled.

Adelar kicked the fellow’s feet. “Bayard wants to go hunting.”

Baldric sat up when he heard Adelar’s low, stern voice, his blond hair sticking out like so many pieces of straw. He shoved the dogs away from him and stood, scratching his flea bites. In the dim light, the short, burly fellow looked not unlike his charges. “It’s you, eh? Then I believe it.” With his rough voice, he sounded like a dog who had been taught speech, too. “Any food about?”

Godwin shrugged. “Duff’s probably gone back to bed after serving Bayard.”

“What time of day is it?” Baldric demanded. “I would have heard the ruckus if there’d been a proper meal. And so would they.” He nodded at the slumbering Danes.

“They would probably sleep through a thunderstorm—and you, too. We could have cut off your legs and you wouldn’t have noticed,” Godwin said. “The food’s been served and we’ve missed it.”

“I will be happy to find you some,” a young woman’s voice said shyly. Adelar turned around to see the slave Ylla standing inside the door. “There is bread and meat in the salter’s stores. If you like, I will bring it to you.”

“Delightful creature, I am beholden to you,” Godwin said with a courtly bow. “Bring enough for three starving men.”

She gave a slight smile and hurried away. Baldric whistled, making the dogs come instantly alert. “Save some for me,” he muttered as he led the dogs outside.

“She’s not bringing it for us, you know,” Godwin said quietly but pointedly to Adelar. “It’s you she wants to make happy.”

Adelar’s only response was a Baldric-like grunt.

Godwin joined Adelar on a bench. “She’s a pretty little thing, eh? And she’s a virgin, or so the merchant who sold her to Bayard claimed.”

“She is Bayard’s property.” Adelar eyed Godwin with some curiosity. “If you are so smitten with her, why are you pointing out her virtues to me?”

Godwin’s surprise was comical to behold. “St. Swithins in a swamp, why am I? Too much ale has addled my wits. Forget everything I said!”

“Very well, but I would suggest you keep your eye on Ranulf. He is the one not to be trusted around virgins,” Adelar warned.

Godwin’s eyes widened. “It’s true then, about Ranulf and that thane’s daughter at Cynath’s burh? How much did he have to pay?”

“You are much too interested in gossip, Godwin.”

“It was you who first told me the tale,” Godwin noted. “How much?”

“I do not know the exact amount, but let us hope Ordella never finds out. And,” Adelar said sternly, “I believe she would never forgive the messenger, either.”

“I think you are correct about that,” Godwin agreed. “Still, Ranulf had best take better care, eh?”

Ylla returned. She eyed the still-sleeping Danes warily and gave them a wide berth as she quickly cleared a space at the table. When she set the bread and ale down in front of Adelar, she smiled shyly. “Anything else, my lord?”

“No. You may go.”

One of the Danes stirred and snorted noisily, and Ylla scurried out of the hall as if she expected him to rise and give chase.

“You see, I was telling the truth. She likes you.”

“She belongs to Bayard.”

“Who never touches slaves.” Suddenly Godwin smote himself on the forehead. “Ah, I am the biggest dolt in the kingdom! You are not interested in that little slave because you care for another!”

“And who might that be?”

“Gleda—no! You have but to crook your finger and she is in your lap. Someone who lives elsewhere, perhaps. Let me think...you haven’t had her yet, or you would not be pining for her—a minor delay, I am sure.”

“You seem confident of my charms.”

“Are you going to try to deny that women find you irresistible? I tell you, Adelar, between you and Bayard, it is a wonder there is a virgin left in En- gland.”

“Who am I to disillusion you? But do you think I would wish to find myself in Ranulf’s place? I am not as rich as he is, to risk my money seducing noblemen’s daughters.”

“Perfectly right. So, she must be married. And she must be beautiful, because everyone knows you would only want a beauty. That lets out Ordella—” Adelar sniffed derisively “—and I think Bayard’s wife, who although not as ugly as Ordella, is no beauty, either.”

Adelar did not reply. Endredi’s beauty was not the kind that most men would see. It did not flaunt itself with bright eyes, pink cheeks and beguiling, empty smiles. It was far more subtle, in her intelligent eyes, in the slight flush that would steal over her soft cheeks when she was embarrassed, in the fullness of her lips when she smiled her shy, sweet smile.

The same smile she had given Bayard last night. He stabbed at the bread in front of him. “Why don’t you stop talking and eat?”

“Careful! You nearly got my hand. I didn’t realize you were that hungry. You are right. We mustn’t tarry or Bayard will be even more angry. I do not want to be the one to further sour his mood.”

* * *

“Where is the priest?” Endredi asked Helmi, who had been bustling about the bower trying to look busy for some time. She knew the serving woman was probably full of questions about her husband, but she was in no mood to satisfy a servant’s need for gossip.

“That one? He has done their ceremony and gone already, I am happy to say. A more pompous, miserable, misguided man never lived, I believe. Do you know he actually thinks all women evil? Everyone knows the gods and goddesses are both good and bad. I think this Christianity is a Saxon plot to disrupt the natural relations between men and women. I hope your husband does not think you are evil, my lady? I trust he treats you well?”

Endredi did not answer Helmi’s questions. “So I have missed Mass.”

“The noon draws near, my lady,” Helmi said with a knowing grin. “A good sign, being so tired. Your husband must be a virile man, eh?”

Again Endredi did not answer. Her husband had done what was necessary to consummate the relationship, no more, but that was no subject to be spoken of to another.

Helmi finally seemed to understand that she did not wish to discuss her husband or the wedding night. “Do you have any plans for today, my lady? Or would you rather rest?”

“I wish to meet all of the servants,” she said thoughtfully. “Bayard said he would see to it that someone shows me about the burh, too.”

“I should hope he would arrange an escort. We couldn’t go by ourselves. It wouldn’t be safe.”

Endredi kept her smile to herself. Helmi thought all Saxon men were little removed from rutting rams, at least those who weren’t vicious murderers. “Perhaps one of the thanes will escort us,” she said, washing her face and reaching for the comb Helmi held out to her.

Helmi opened a chest of clothing. “This gown is a pretty one. I am sure your husband would like it.”

“What of Dagfinn and the others?”

“Still snoring in the hall, no doubt.”

“I believe you are right. It would be an act of the gods if they move before nightfall after the amount of ale they imbibed at the feast.”

Helmi grinned slyly. “Perhaps you would rather wait here for your husband’s return.”

Endredi picked up her thin wool cloak and an intricately carved wooden box. “I will meet the servants of the hall now, and see to the preparations of the meals. Will you come with me?”

Helmi looked as if Endredi had suggested she run naked through the burh. “There will be Saxons in the hall.”

“I expect so.”

“I...I have too much to do here, my lady. I will eat later, when the men are gone. All of them.”

Endredi suppressed a small smile as she went and crossed the yard, surveying the timber wall surrounding the burh as she did so. It was of stout oak trees, and the ends were sharpened to dangerous points. The gate they had entered yesterday had been thick, too, and the village that surrounded the thane’s enclosure had been a large one, for Saxons. It was not as big as some of the Viking towns, and certainly not to be compared to Hedeby or one of the other Viking ports, but obviously Bayard kept a sizable force near him, and it was the workers who serviced warriors that no doubt made up most of the village trade.

She could hear the rhythmic clangs of more than one smith at work, and judging by the smell, knew the stables were being cleaned out.

A few women lingered by the well and made no secret of their curiosity as they stared at her. She bowed her head very slightly, acknowledging their presence but making it very clear that she was of superior rank to them.

Endredi entered the hall and at once she realized Adelar was there. He was sitting at the farthest end, near Bayard’s seat, and the gleeman was beside him.

He was no more than any other warrior in her husband’s service, she reminded herself. She turned her attention to the hall, which was now her concern. Her nose wrinkled with disgust as she picked her way through the soiled rushes. The fire in the large hearth was out, goblets and drinking horns lay scattered amid puddles of ale and mead, benches were overturned. Several men were still sleeping there, oblivious to the time of day and the activity outside. She spotted Dagfinn immediately, his loud snoring like the growl of a bear. A young female slave she recalled from last night appeared. “Where are the servants?”

“I...I don’t know, my lady.”

Endredi knew the girl was lying, but it was also obvious that she was frightened, so she spoke kindly. “What is your name?”

“Ylla, my lady.”

“Where are the cook and the other servants, Ylla? They need not know how I discovered where they are.”

“He, um, they... Duff is in the potter’s shed.”

“And Duff is...?”

“The cook, my lady.”

“Ah. Can you point out the potter’s shed?”

Ylla went to the door and did so.

Endredi handed her the wooden box. “Please hold this for me,” she said, then she left the hall and marched toward the shed. Once there, she peered inside and saw a man and a woman, their half-clothed bodies intertwined.

Endredi turned away and went back to the hall, where she picked up one of the iron kettles and a spoon. She began to bang on the pot, the loud sound enough to wake all but the dead. Adelar and Godwin stared, and Ylla looked startled until Endredi smiled at her.

“By Odin’s eye!” Dagfinn shouted. “What are you doing?”

“It is nearly noon. I thought you might want to eat.”

He frowned as he adjusted his rumpled tunic. “Come,” he barked at his men. “I have no wish to linger here. I want to be in my own longhouse.”

Dagfinn ignored his curious men while he gathered his scattered belongings. His men staggered after him out the door, several of them barely able to stand.

In the next moment those still in the hall heard angry mumbling, then the cook came inside, pulling on his tunic. “What in the name of—”

Endredi put the kettle down.

Duff saw who was making the noise and smiled weakly. “Ah, my lady! What are you doing here? This is a...a surprise!”

“I would like something to eat,” she said. “Our guests have already departed without eating. I am most displeased.”

Duff blanched.

“Fortunately, I do not believe they were very hungry. However, I am.”

“Of course, of course.” The cook was a big man, but he bustled into the hall with surprising speed. “What would you like? Boiled fish? Fried eels? Some oatmeal?”

“Bread and boiled ham,” Endredi answered.

“The baker—”

“Must also be found and set to work. I suggest you rekindle the hearth. Then I want the servants to help this girl clean the hall. It is a disgrace.”

“Yes, my lady. At once, my lady.”

The woman Endredi recognized from the shed came inside, adjusting her bodice, her eyes wide with surprise and dismay. “Merilda!” Duff barked, making her jump. “Get to work!”

“I have something here to use in the cooking,” Endredi said, taking the wooden box from Ylla and approaching the cook.

“Oh, my lady?” he replied respectfully, if insincerely.

“Yes.” She placed the box on the ground and opened it. Immediately a wonderful spicy aroma filled the air, and despite himself, Duff moved closer to look inside. The box was filled with a variety of small earthenware jars.

“It was a wedding gift from my grandmother’s husband,” Endredi explained. “He was a trader and these spices and herbs come from all over the known world.” She glanced at Adelar. Surely he would remember Thorston, who had treated the boy so kindly and who had been repaid with thievery.

Duff gazed in awe as she lifted out a jar and gently opened the lid. “This comes from far in the East.” She closed it and brought out another. “This is from Rome.”

Duff looked as if he was being offered costly jewels until she closed the lid of the box. The maidservants no longer even pretended to work, but listened unabashedly. “Do you not intend them to be used, my lady?” he asked.

“Of course they will be used,” she said. “By me, when I help you prepare the meals.”

He regarded her with surprise. “But you are my lord’s wife!”

“I like cooking.”

“For having such a beautiful, accomplished lady who does not seek merely to be waited on, Bayard and the rest of us will be forever thankful,” the gleeman said. Endredi turned to the young man with a small smile, which vanished when she caught Adelar’s eye.

“Naturally I would welcome your help, my lady,” Duff said, scowling at the gleeman, then smiling at Endredi.

Just as naturally she doubted his truthfulness, but she guessed, from the greedy expression in his eyes when he looked at the box, that he would have said anything to get his hands on some of those spices.

“Shall we start with some stew? I think a little of this will help,” she said. She pulled out a jar.

Ordella’s voice interrupted them. “Get to work, you lazy creatures!”

Everyone turned as Ordella stepped daintily toward them, her face wreathed in smiles distinctly at odds with the harsh order she had issued. “Servants can be so slothful,” she explained sympathetically. “You shall have to take care that they fear you enough to obey you.”

“It is a well-known fact that terror inspires loyalty,” Adelar said gravely.

“Thank you for the advice,” Endredi said to Ordella, fighting an urge to look at Adelar. “If I find I have any trouble with them, I shall certainly ask your opinion.”

“What are you doing here?” Ordella asked of Adelar. She also gave Godwin a less than pleased look as the servants hurried to their work.

“Bayard has asked me to escort his bride through the burh today, if she is agreeable,” Adelar replied quietly.

“That will not be necessary,” Ordella said sharply. “I shall show Endredi what she needs to be shown.”

“Of course, that is your privilege,” Adelar responded. “But then I would be disobeying Bayard’s order.”

Endredi glanced at the two uneasily. She had no desire to spend time in Adelar’s company. Indeed, it was a strain even now. Although she tried not to, she kept wondering what he was thinking about her and trying to read his inscrutable dark eyes. It was obvious he had no wish to be near her, either, if he was acting as her escort only on Bayard’s orders.

How much better it would be to spend her time cooking, especially since the food Duff prepared was somewhat plain, if good. Then perhaps she could forget Adelar, Bayard and everyone else in this burh. However, she did not think it wise to go against Bayard’s wishes. And although she did not want to be anywhere near Ordella, it was probably best that she come along.

“I see no reason I should not enjoy the company of you both,” Endredi said at last.

“Bayard told Godwin and me to escort her, Ordella. You must have other things to do,” Adelar said coldly.

“I assure you, Adelar,” Ordella said even more coldly, “some of us earn our keep around here. I do have many things to do. I simply wanted to make Bayard’s wife feel welcome.”

“You have,” Endredi said quickly. “I see that Adelar and Godwin have already broken the fast. Please, Ordella, eat with me. You can tell me of the village while we break bread and before you must go. I am most interested to hear what you can tell me.”

Ordella gave Adelar a triumphant look and moved toward the high table.

“I shall leave the spices here for the present,” Endredi said to Duff. “Use them sparingly. They are quite strong. Please bring us some bread and meat as soon as you can.”

“Bring some ale,” Ordella said to Gleda, who had only just arrived. The maidservant hurried off at once.

Endredi was now nearly alone with Adelar and Godwin. “Godwin, would you be so good as to fetch my warmer cloak from the bower? I feel a slight chill.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He paused a moment, then went on seriously. “Perhaps you should give me a word of passage, lest your servant think I come to ravish her?”

Endredi had to smile at the gleeman’s words. It seemed he understood Helmi rather well. “I think Helmi will not fear you, Godwin, if you smile at her as you do at me.”

The gleeman grinned and hurried out the door.

Endredi turned to Adelar, very aware that Ordella was watching them. “That wasn’t very clever, Adelar,” she said quietly but firmly. “There is no need to treat Ordella as an enemy.”

“And you have no need to make jests with Godwin.” He gazed at her with his penetrating brown eyes. “You know nothing of the people here, especially Ordella and Ranulf. Leave me to handle those two in my own way.”

“There can be no harm in a little banter with Bayard’s gleeman. You used to be a clever boy. Have your wits grown dim with age? My husband has plenty of enemies outside the burh. Why make more within?”

“Again, you do not understand.”

Realizing that she should not spend any longer in conversation with him, she said, “We will speak of this later.” Then she hurried toward Ordella, a smile on her face. “I am sorry, but I wanted Adelar to know that I cannot allow such disrespect in my hall.”

Ordella’s eyes widened with genuine pleasure. “I see Bayard has indeed chosen his wife wisely. Adelar has been too free with his ways.”

The two women watched Adelar leave the hall. Gleda made her way past him, and Endredi saw the girl press against his body quite unnecessarily. He seemed to find nothing amiss, although he had chided her for exchanging a jest with Godwin. Still, his brow remained furrowed and he said nothing to the serving wench at all.

Endredi looked away. She should not be pleased that he ignored Gleda. It could be that he was oblivious to many things, for he also seemed not to care that he had angered Ranulf’s wife. Ranulf was not worthy of respect, perhaps, but he was Bayard’s kin.

Gleda poured the women some ale while Ylla brought bread and meat.

“I see you have managed to instill some proper respect in that harlot, too,” Ordella said, her lips pursed as she watched Gleda stroll away.

“Harlot?”

“She goes with any man who looks at her, even that fool Godwin, probably. She will be with child again soon, and then you will have to find another to take her place.”

“Again? She has children?”

“Two. They died during their birth.”

“Oh, how sad for her!”

“It was a punishment from God, which unfortunately has not made her change her ways,” Ordella said peevishly. “I think every man in this burh has been with her, except Bayard, of course. He

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