Bound to the Warrior. Barbara Phinney
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’twas not her fault she was so beautiful.
He grimaced. He had devoted his life to fighting, not wooing women. He knew nothing of them, and his inexperience mocked him.
She looked down at her hands, then up to him, again with those watery eyes. He felt as though he’d kicked the timid dog that chased the cats for scraps. He should say something, anything.
Her face aflame, she stood. “I see you agree with the good chaplain. Your words may have been in jest, Adrien, but from the heart does the mouth speak. I see I have no one, not even God to help me.” She lifted her cyrtel to step away.
Snapping from his selfishness, Adrien leapt to his feet and caught Ediva’s wrist. “I have sanctioned nothing of the sort. My thoughts were not of that.”
When she yanked her arm back, he let her go. “What were they of, then? You looked at me as if I were something horrible.”
He scrubbed his face, hating that her intuition had led her to such an assumption. He simply didn’t know women well enough, and aye, he was suddenly afraid that she could so easily tempt him from everything he held dear. “You are not horrible, Ediva.”
“Ahh, your honeyed words. They do my heart good.”
He groaned at her sarcasm. He was not made for court, with fancy words and charm enough to choke a person.
A commotion rose by the gate, and both of them turned. Ediva, though, spun in the other direction where high upon the battlement, a man pointed to the south, past the village of Little Dunmow. He shouted something Adrien couldn’t understand.
“Soldiers and a wagon are coming,” Ediva translated. “The guard can see the royal standard.” She hurried toward the wall and its narrow stairs to the vantage point. A few feet into her march, she stopped and spun. “Mayhap the foolish king is looking for one of those babes he demanded. An impatient man, indeed!”
Adrien set his jaw. Her sarcasm scraped on his nerves like a blade on a grindstone. He barked out to Harry to fetch his weapon.
Thankfully, his sword arrived long before the soldiers. ’Twas the royal standard, but not the king who bore it. Adrien soon recognized his brother, Eudo, trotting merrily up on a horse as black as Adrien’s mood.
“Prado! I’m happy to see you!”
Adrien groaned inwardly at the baby name. Eudo, whose name was a derivative of Eudes, had taken a liking to Adrien’s middle name of Prades, giving it a childish spin like his own name. Adrien hated it, but his mother had said it meant rich fields, so he’d tolerated it. Until now.
“’Tis Adrien, brother, not Prado. Not even Prades, in case you prefer that,” Adrien said, sheathing his sword and catching the horse’s foamy bridle as his younger brother pulled to a stop just inside the gate. Eudo had ridden ahead. The cart and soldiers were still lumbering through the village. “Why the king’s standard? Do you have him hidden in the cart?”
Eudo swung off his mount and dusted himself off. “Nay, stealing the king away is yours and our brothers’ work, not mine.” Eudo smiled brightly. “I’m just a steward on his majesty’s orders, having been loaned his standard to ease my travels.”
Remembering the day, years ago, that he and his brothers had saved William’s life, Adrien growled back, “I am proud to have saved the king’s life that day in Falaise. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He patted the horse’s sweaty neck. “What brings you here in such haste? Surely the king’s standard would not ease your passage with rebels hiding in the woods?”
“When I learned your wardrobe was being dispatched, I decided your honeymoon was over and I wanted to visit you.” He glanced around. “Where is your lovely bride?”
Coming for just a visit? Adrien didn’t believe that for a moment. This was no social call. Eudo merely enjoyed the element of surprise too much to reveal his true purpose as yet. Adrien pointed to the battlement. “My sweet bride is up there, wondering if she needs to pierce your heart with an arrow to defend her keep. Or is it my heart she wishes to pierce? ’Tis more likely the case, so I suggest you move away from me. I don’t know how well she handles a bow.”
Eudo’s brows shot up. Ediva was leaning hard on the stone wall, which was lower than the parapet she frequented at the top of the keep. Her hands gripped the merlons, and she bore a harsh expression. Beside him, Adrien could hear Eudo’s indrawn breath. Ediva pivoted and hurried down the stairs and across the bailey to them.
“My lady, and now my sister,” Eudo bowed to her. “Forgive the unexpected visit. I’m here on the king’s order.”
Ediva shot Adrien a blackened glare.
Dread washed over him. All he could think of at that moment was his promise to her that he would decide what went to the king and when.
Eudo straightened. “Time to pay the taxes to the king.”
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