Page 10 of Unconquered

"What is to happen now?" Eada asked Drogo as they sat with the others by the fire and enjoyed Ivo's hearty venison stew.

"We wait," Drogo answered as he accepted the wineskin from Tancred, and he took a deep drink before handing it to Eada.

"Wait for what?" Eada took a drink of wine and passed it along to Unwin, who sat on her right.

"For Harold.

William has sent a messenger to Harold in London.

Harold will either send a messenger back or come himself."

"You do not still think he will come to bow before William, do you?"

"No, although it would save his people a lot of grief and destruction."

Eada glanced around at the hundreds of camp fires covering the land and sighed.

"Not too much.

You have brought thousands of men here and they all seek some gain.

And even if Harold hands the crown to William, there will be all the Saxon earls, lordlings, and thanes to deal with.

William will want to give his loyal men land, and he will have to take that land from someone.

Not everyone will give it up easily."

"You sound very accepting."

"I am simply trying to be for there is nothing I can do to change matters." She tore off a chunk of the bread May had baked and passed the rest to Drogo.

"Nothing can stop this.

William will win."

"I wish I could be as sure of that as you are."

She shrugged.

"Your time at the monastery might make it difficult to believe in omens and dreams.

Old Edith said that the fire which moved across the sky at Easter marked Harold's end and that William was riding that tail to the throne."

"So, Old Edith was a witch," exclaimed Unwin.

Eada gave the youth such a cross look that he blushed.

"Just because someone hears or sees what is to come does not make her a witch.

Could it not be God's hand at work? That poor old woman never hurt anyone, man or beast.

I think people drove her away out of envy, because she was chosen to learn such truths and they were not.

Would you have called our King Edward a witch?"

"Of course not."

"He had a dream, too, you know.

He had it on his deathbed." Eada was unsettled by how quickly and intently everyone's interest was fixed upon her.

"It is said that he awoke out of the fever's madness and recounted a dream.

He had met two monks he had known in Normandy, monks who had died a long time ago.

They said that the country was cursed because of the evil done by our earls and our churchmen.

They prophesized that in one year plus a day after Edward died, the land would be scarred with war and fire.

Only when a green tree, felled halfway up its trunk and that piece taken three furlongs away, should put itself back together without any aid from man and grow leaves and fruit again, will God cease to punish us."

"It sounds as if you are to be punished forever," Drogo said after a long moment of heavy silence.

"Once cut, no tree can grow back together, especially not if one part of it is taken so far away."

Eada smiled faintly.

"I did find that difficult to believe myself.

It would require the log to grow feet and walk back."

"And what evil have your earls and churchmen done?"

"Well, I am certain someone must have done something bad or wicked."

"Without a doubt," he drawled and smiled when she laughed softly.

"So, all of this means that the battle is already won," said Unwin.

"If one holds faith with dreams and prophesies, then, yes," responded Serle as he idly poked at the fire with a long stick.

"I would still watch my skinny backside, boy, as we march to London to crown William.

No one has dreamt or seen that the English will lay down their weapons and welcome us with open arms.

And no one has said that young Unwin can walk through the arrows and battle-axs unhurt."

"I intend to fight whenever I must," Unwin declared stoutly, and he grasped the hilt of his sword.

Serle looked at the youth with open amusement and made a gently demeaning remark about little boys and hot blood.

Eada shook her head and laughed softly as Unwin rose to the bait.

She had not known the man long, but it was easy to see that Serle loved to tease the younger knights.

Her attention was drawn away from the ensuing argument when Drogo put his arm around her shoulders, tugged her closer, and touched a kiss to her ear.

"Shall we leave these children to their play?" he whispered.

Eada suddenly found herself fighting the urge to blush so fiercely that she could only nod in reply.

She did not really understand why she felt so shy and slightly embarrassed about what everyone would think as Drogo led her to his tent.

It was no secret that she and Drogo were lovers, and not one of his men had treated her as anything less than a lady because of it.

Once inside the tent, Eada busied herself tidying the already very neat inside.

She heard the rope-strung cot creak as Drogo sat on it, but forced herself not to look his way.

She needed time to calm herself.

Since they were already lovers, had already spent one long heated night in each other's arms, she felt that her sudden shyness was foolish and wanted to hide it from Drogo until she had completely conquered it.

When, a few moments later, she felt Drogo's hand on her arm, she gasped.

She had been concentrating so completely on calming herself that she had not heard him move.

Praying that the shadows cast by the tallow candles would hide the blush she could not subdue, she turned to face him.

"Why so timid, ma petite?" Drogo asked in a soft, gentle voice as he lightly ran his fingertip over the fine line of her cheekbones.

"You blush like the sweetest maid." He smiled faintly when she-scowled at him.

"It is most annoying.

I do not know what troubles me," she grumbled as he took her by the hand and led her to the cot.

"It is not as if I am an innocent."

"One night with a man does not fully steal your innocence." Drogo sat down, tugged her forward to stand between his legs, and began to unlace her gown.

"I have the feeling that you could bed down with the whole of William's army and still hold that sweet hint of innocence.

It is too deep a part of you."

She trembled as her gown slid down her body.

Even in the dim light of the candles she could read the hunger on his face and it roused her own.

Eada knew it was not simply fate forcing her to its will, either.

It was heady, intoxicating, to know that she could stir this man to such passion.

Briefly, as he continued to slowly undress her, she scolded herself for succumbing to the sin of vanity, but that fault was easily shrugged aside.

She was not vain, had never even considered her appearance something to be concerned about.

The proof that Drogo wanted her, badly, was there to see in the way his breathing had increased, the way his features had tightened, and the way his hands shook as he slowly removed her chemise, the last of her covering.

Eada reached out to thread her fingers through his hair.

Her shyness and embarrassment were gone, pushed aside by her own passion and the way Drogo so reverently undressed her.

When he pulled her even closer to touch a kiss to each breast, she sighed with pleasure.

She then grimaced as her fingers reached the abrupt end of his hair and scraped over the stubble of his shaved head.

"Are you going to let your hair grow?" she asked, making no attempt to elude him as he wrapped his arms around her, fell back upon the cot, and pulled her down with him.

"You do not like the way my hair is cut?" he asked.

Since he was covering her throat with lightly feverish kisses Eada knew she had not insulted him.

"No.

I do not like it.

It looks as if you had a shepherd cut it and the poor fool forgot that he tended a man and not a sheep." His warm breath caressed the hollow of her shoulder as he laughed.

"You wish me to have flowing locks like your Saxon men?"

"I think you would look very handsome."

"And now you try to bend me to your way with flattery?"

When he grinned at her, she grinned back.

"Is it working?"

Drogo laughed as he smoothed his hands down her small, sleek back.

"It might if vanity had not already begun its work."

"What do you mean?" She wriggled around until she straddled his body with hers and then gently rubbed herself against his hardness, savoring the gasp of pleasure he could not fully subdue.

"Many of the Normans have eyed those flowing Saxon locks with envy.

This shorn head serves little purpose.

One still sweats in one's armor and, with no hair to protect a man from the roughness of his hood or helmet, the skin ofttimes grows raw.

There are many good reasons for a man to let his hair grow, but most men will make their decision because of simple, sinful vanity."

"I suppose having no hair does lessen the chance of getting vermin."

"No, for half the hair is still there."

Eada gasped with surprise when he swiftly turned and neatly settled her beneath him.

"You will land us upon the ground.

This cot is the largest I have ever seen, but I am not sure it is large enough for such swift, unplanned movement."

"If it can hold me as I thrash about with a fever—"

"When did you have a fever?" she asked and then felt foolish for the alarm she had just experienced.

It was clear that he had survived that illness with no scars or weaknesses.

Drogo smiled against her collarbone when he heard the concern in her voice.

It pleased him to know that she felt more for him than a heedless passion.

He realized that the speed with which they had become lovers had left him uncertain.

Although he did not know what the future held for either of them, he knew he wanted more than desire from Eada.

It was wrong, probably even callous, to want such emotions from her even as he fought his own feelings, but he could not help himself.

There was a greed within him, a gnawing hunger to know that Eada cared for him.

"I but caught one of the many fevers a warrior often finds upon a march or the battlefield.

Ivo never left my side and I believe I owe him my life.

He nursed me well."

"He is very loyal to you.

Has he always been your servant?"

"Since we were small boys together." He framed her breasts with his hands, teasing her nipples into an inviting hardness with his thumbs.

"I do not really wish to talk about Ivo, my past illnesses, or his healing skills." He stroked the tip of her breast with his tongue.

"I do not believe that I wish to do much talking at all."

Eada laughed, her amusement swiftly changing to a soft gasp of pleasure when he began to suckle.

She curled herself around his strong body, arching into him.

Talking about anything swiftly became impossible.

Her mind finally cleared of desire's haze, Eada looked at the man sprawled on top of her, his dark head resting on her breasts.

She felt both stunned and frightened by the revelation that swept over her.

She loved him.

Since she had first looked into his eyes and felt drawn to him, she had thought only on fate, destiny, and passion.

Eada suspected that she had started to love him then.

Although it neatly explained why she had so quickly become his lover, this was far more frightening than being a pawn of fate.

This was also an appalling time to fall in love, even if the man she loved was a Norman, one of the victors.

The fact that Drogo was William's man only made it a lot worse.

Briefly, Eada cursed Old Edith's prediction and doubted her own shattering conclusion.

A moment later she felt guilty and sincerely apologized to her old friend.

Edith had only told the truth as it was sent to her.

It had not been the woman's fault if that truth caused someone trouble.

She also knew that she could not talk herself out of being in love, no matter how much she might want to.

She loved Drogo, and the wise thing to do was to accept it and decide what she would or would not do next.

One thing she would not do, she decided as she idly toyed with his thick hair, was tell Drogo.

She felt sure that the man cared for her, but dared not judge why or how much.

Passion and a deep sense of responsibility could make him act in a way that appeared to be caring.

Until she knew for certain what he did or did not feel for her, she was not going to bare her heart and soul to him.

The man held enough power over her now, through passion and her deep need to be safe.

Eada saw no reason to give him even more.

The man had also made no mention of a future that included her.

Although it hurt to remind herself of that, Eada knew she could not let herself forget it.

When he suddenly lifted his head to look at her, she felt a blush warm her cheeks and inwardly cursed.

The man could not read her thoughts, so she had nothing to feel guilty or embarrassed about.

When his eyes narrowed slightly, she knew he had noticed her discomfort even in the dim light, and she hurried to think of some explanation.

"Is something wrong?" Drogo asked as he propped himself up on one elbow and lightly touched her cheek.

"I just remembered something about my journey into the wood last night, something I forgot to tell you." Although she had not really forgotten, had simply decided he did not need to know about Brun, Eada decided that the tale would now serve a good purpose.

She definitely did not want to tell him what she had really been thinking.

"Something else happened that night?" He frowned at her when she lightly bit her bottom lip, then he tensed.

"There was a man out there."

"How can you guess these things with such accuracy?" she demanded sulkily.

"There was nothing in what I just said that would tell you that, and I know that you did not see a man.

There was only me, the baby, and the dead woman in the clearing when you arrived."

Drogo did not reply to her question, treating it as no more than a muttered complaint.

He did not want to answer her, for his statement that she had met a man had not been a clever guess or knowledge born of skillful deduction.

For one brief moment, he had scorned all her talk of hearing a woman's cries for help and suspected that she had really crept away to meet some Saxon spy or lover.

Drogo was heartily glad that he had not had the time to say any more than he had, for he knew he could have delivered a serious insult to Eada.

"I but guessed," he said finally.

"It had to have been a Saxon man, because a Norman would have killed you or brought you back to camp."

"Yes, it was a Saxon man.

A youth, my age or a year or two older.

He was Aldrith's kinsman.

He had obviously been near the camp for he knew I was from there.

He burns to kill Normans, to avenge the slaughter in Bexhill."

"I am surprised he did not wish to kill you.

Not only does he find you next to his dead kinswoman, but he knows that you abide with his enemy."

Eada could tell by the way Drogo watched her that he was not making an idle statement.

He knew exactly what the youth had done, probably because it was what he would have done under the same circumstances.

Drogo was simply waiting to see if she would tell him the truth or try to push him aside with a lie.

She knew she would have been angry, even insulted, by his suspicious attitude except that she had contemplated telling just such a lie or not telling him anything at all about that part of her meeting with Brun.

“You know that he thought to kill me.

I saw his sword point before I saw him."

"And that should clearly show you the danger of wandering about alone."

"Most clearly, but if you wait for me to vow that I shall never do so again, you will be dust in the earth before it happens." She touched her fingertips to his lips when he started to talk.

"And do not weary your tongue telling me about the dangers awaiting a woman alone.

I am no fool.

I know all about them."

"Yet you will not vow to take care—"

"No, I will not, for it is a vow I know I will break, which will distress me and displease you." She nervously curled a lock of her hair around her finger again and again.

"It is most difficult to explain.

When I heard that woman's cries in my head, I did try to ignore them; but I could not.

I was pulled toward her.

I was afraid to enter the dark forest, knew it was neither safe nor wise, yet I could not stop myself.

Although I pray it will not happen again, if it does, I know I will do the same.

My head was so filled with her voice and the urgency to answer her that there was no room for another thought, for caution or hesitation."

Drogo gently eased the much abused lock of hair from her fingers and pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand before pulling her back into his arms.

He did not fully understand what she meant about hearing the woman's cries in her head, but he could easily sympathize with her uneasiness.

He knew he was praying as hard as she was that her vision about Sir Guy and the incident with the woman in the wood were rare occurrences.

People's superstitions and fears could turn such gifts into curses, bringing danger and even death.

"Perhaps these things are caused by the turmoil around you," he murmured, kissing her ear and smoothing his hands down her back.

"All the body's humors are strengthened when the scent of battle is in the air.

Grief, anger, fear, and all the other emotions roused by war are strong ones.

I think you are also feeling a need to help your people in whatever way you can."

"Yes, I am," she agreed softly as she cuddled nearer to him, pressing her ear to his chest so that she could hear the soothing, steady beat of his heart.

"It would be easier to bear if I knew that this strange skill was a gift from God, one He has granted me only for this time of war to allow me to help my people and then it would go away.”

He smiled faintly as he reached out to snuff the candle on the stool by the bed.

One moment she speaks of her new skill as a gift from God and, in the next, is wishing it gone as if it is some annoying fly.

Drogo also wished her strange skill would fade—for many reasons.

He could not have Eada rushing off to answer voices or trying to save someone from a fate she had been told of.

The chance of others discovering her gift was greater than he liked.

And although he still did not know what the future held for them, he reluctantly admitted to himself that he did not like her gift because it made him feel as if there were a part of her he could never hope to understand.

It separated them in a way he could not explain, and he loathed it.

Eada began to grow heavy against him, and he realized that she was going to sleep.

He briefly considered restirring her passion so that they could make love again, then brutally subdued his own selfish desires.

She had suffered through a great deal of grief and hardship since he had found her and there was undoubtedly a great deal more to come.

She needed the rest to keep her strength.

He grimaced as she murmured in her sleep and curled her lithe body around him.

It might be noble to let her rest, but it was going to be very uncomfortable.

As he idly combed his fingers through her hair and closed his eyes, he thought on what the future might hold for them.

The most satisfying vision was that they would all survive the war, William would be crowned king, and he would gain the land he sought, a rich piece of land that could support them all.

Then he could retire to his demesne with Eada.

She was wellborn and he had made no bonds with another woman, so he could take her as his wife.

His mind refused to linger on that pleasant dream, however.

It quickly showed him the other paths fate could send him down, and none of them led to a future for him and Eada together.

She would not be his leman once the war had ended and he could never ask her to, which meant that they would have to part.

The thought of that left Drogo feeling somewhat frantic, and he tightened his hold on her.

What became clear to him was that his future held only one real certainty.

Sometime soon, he would be faced with a hard choice.

He was not high enough in William's court to gain a rich demesne, so he would need to find some money.

Eada had none.

As far as he knew, she had no dowry at all; and even if she did, one way or another, the war would take it.

It was both irresponsible and blind, but he decided to stop thinking about the future.

He would settle the matter when and if he had to.

Thinking about it only brought turmoil, a hundred possibilities, and no certainties.

Eada also asked for no promises, so it was foolish to worry over what he might and might not be able to give her.

For now, he would simply enjoy Eada, he decided as he brushed a kiss over the top of her head.

He had no doubt that she would keep him completely and, often, delightfully occupied in the days to come.

All she asked of him was that he keep her safe and, as Drogo forced himself to relax, allowing sleep to fold over him, he prayed that he had the wit and skill to fulfill that modest wish.