Page 12 of Unconquered

"King Harold is dead."

Her own voice, deep, solemn, and strange to her ears, and the gasps of May and Godwin brought Eada out of her own thoughts with an abruptness that left her unsteady.

The words that had just forced themselves from her mouth were repeated once more inside her mind and then faded.

She was confused and terrified by what had just happened yet knew in her heart that what she had just said was the absolute truth.

She looked at May and Godwin, saw the fear and shock on their faces, and suspected that she looked much the same as they.

In an attempt to ease the concern Ivo so clearly felt, she repeated her words in French.

He frowned then nodded, accepting her statement as fact with no apparent fear.

They were seated around the fire in the center of Drogo's camp and had been trying to pretend that a massive battle was not being fought within a short walk from them.

She had certainly put a harsh end to their meager efforts, she thought ruefully as she nervously smoothed the skirts of her soft grey gown.

"Are you sure King Harold is dead?" Godwin finally asked, absently rocking a sleeping Welcome in his arms, then he frowned.

"How can you know that? You cannot see the battle from here."

"No, I can see nothing and, at times, I can hear very little." She cursed and frowned at them.

"I heard it in my head and I feel it." She placed her hand over her heart and looked down at it.

"Something told me that King Harold was dead, and the grief and pain of that great loss immediately filled my heart.

No, I did not see our king die, but I know that he has." Eada hastily brushed tears from her eyes and forced herself not to cry.

"I was right.

You are a seer."

Although that was a far kinder word than witch, Eada still winced.

She was not doing well in obeying Drogo's reasonable command that she hide her skill.

"I do not know what I am.

I do not understand what has changed within me, or why, for these things have never afflicted me before.

I begin to think that my old friend Edith gave me more than that mysterious box when she died.

It seems strange that one could pass on such a skill, yet I have no other explanation for what now besets me."

"In such troubled times, such a skill could prove to be most helpful.

I would not trouble myself over the how or the why."

"Easier to say than to do, Godwin, but you are right.

We are now a vanquished people.

Knowing things others do not and getting warnings of dangers before our conquerors do could prove to be a saving grace.

I shall try to think of it as such and cease to curse and fear it."

"There may be an answer within that box," suggested May.

Eada shivered slightly, still unable to even think of the little chest without suffering a touch of fear.

"There may be, but I fear my courage still fails me.

I pick it up; I look at it, and then I falter, unable to look inside.

Do not fear, May.

I will open it.

I know that soon my curiosity will overpower that fear."

May nodded then looked toward the battlefield, her bottom lip trembling as she fought back tears.

"What shall we do now?"

"Survive," said Eada.

"I cannot say it often enough.

Life will certainly be more difficult and very different, but I believe we can all learn how to live and work beneath Norman rule.

Ones like us shall not suffer as much as those who hold lands, wealth, and power."

"Are you very certain that our king is dead?" Godwin asked.

"Very certain," replied Eada.

"Did he die bravely?"

It troubled her that she could be so certain of Harold's fate when she had not seen even one sword-stroke of the battle, but Eada heard herself answer firmly, "Bravely, but not easily.

Our new rulers showed him no mercy and did not act with honor."

It surprised her when both Godwin and May accepted her words without question.

She also felt comforted by their calm belief in her.

At least with them she did not have to hide her skill or fear how they would treat her.

It was good to know that there were others besides Drogo with whom she could be completely honest.

"Are our Normans still alive?" asked May.

Eada had to bite back a smile over the way May referred to Drogo and his men as our Normans.

"Yes, I believe they are.

Everything within me says that they survived the battle, but that could be born of hope and not of my new skill." She shrugged.

"I wish it too much to completely trust what my heart and mind tell me.

I have not had this strange gift long enough to know what is a true sending and what is just my own hopes and fears."

"You want Sir Drogo to survive."

"I do and not simply because we are lovers.

He is a good, honest, and fair man.

If I must be troubled by a Norman, I want it to be by him."

"And not a man like Sir Guy," muttered Godwin as he slowly stood up.

"I do not suppose you have seen him die? Slowly and in great pain?"

"No, I fear not.

Do you return to your own camp now?"

"Yes.

If Harold is dead, then the battle will soon end.

Even if he is not, the night comes and that will end the fighting.

I had best be in Sir Guy's camp and prepared for his return."

Eada watched him leave, gently shepherding Hilde's children in front of him.

Godwin held the promise of being a very good man.

She prayed that Sir Guy would not end that promise with his cruelty.

A moment later she followed Ivo's lead and began to prepare for Drogo's return.

She had known the fate of the Saxons long before the battle, yet she felt weighted down with sorrow.

As she worked, she struggled to banish such feelings.

Although she knew she would not be able to celebrate Drogo's victory with him, she would not condemn him for it either.

The victorious Normans began to return to camp, and Eada went into Drogo's tent.

She built a small fire in the hollowed-out ground that marked the center of the tent and began to prepare Drogo's meal.

It was probably cowardly to hide, but she suspected it was the only way she could hope to keep her composure.

Wrapped in the privacy of Drogo's tent, she could ignore the celebration of the Norman victory.

By the time Drogo joined her, she wanted to be, if not happy, at least resigned and calm.

Eada prayed that he would not want to talk about the battle, for that could easily break her hard-won control.

"Where is Eada?" Drogo asked even as Ivo stripped away the last of his begrimed clothing.

"She waits in your tent." Ivo emptied one last bucket of hot water into the vat as Drogo stepped in.

"She knows you have won.

She told us that King Harold is dead."

Drogo grimaced then nodded as he began to scrub off the dirt, sweat, and blood of battle.

He was both relieved that, somehow, Eada already knew what had happened and annoyed that she had revealed her unsettling gift before others again.

It frightened him to think of what could happen to her if anyone outside their own small group discovered her unusual skills.

He could no longer guarantee her safety if the cry went out that she was a witch.

"William is the king now?" Ivo asked as he scrubbed Drogo's back.

"Yes, although he will not be crowned until we reach London and that could be many months from now.

For now, we will bury our many dead and wait for the English nobles to come and declare fealty to William."

"Do you think they will come?"

"No, but I cannot truly judge what these people will do.

I only pray that there will be no more of the slaughter I saw today.

It would be best if Eada did not venture near the battlefield.

Many of the Saxon dead will probably be left to rot upon the battlefield, and it is not a sight for her pretty eyes."

"No one will bury the Saxons?"

Drogo could see how that distressed Ivo, and as he stepped out of the vat and began to rub himself dry with a blanket, he patted his big servant on the back.

"Their kinsmen will either be too frightened or too far away to tend to the dead.

That is often the way.

And we will spend days burying our own dead before we march on.

Do not let that trouble you, Ivo.

You cannot bury them all either."

Ivo nodded as he helped Drogo put on clean hose and a jupon.

"I buried one Saxon today." He slowly told Drogo about Hilde.

"That was most kind of you, Ivo.

Now, you can return to your woman.

I do not think I will require your aid again this night."

As Drogo walked to his tent, he thought about what Ivo had just told him.

He felt certain that there was far more to the tale of Hilde's untimely death.

He had only seen the woman occasionally in Sir Guy's camp, but although it had been evident that she was not hale in her mind, she had not looked as if she were about to drop dead.

He slipped into his tent, saw Eada kneeling by the central fire, and sighed.

There was no real outward sign of her grief and sadness, yet he knew it was there.

He walked over, sat down beside her on the sheepskin, and wondered what, if anything, he should say as he silently accepted the bowl of lamb stew she served him.

It had pleased him that she had not been there to see him return covered in the dirt and stench of battle, but he realized that had not dispelled what now sat between them like a living thing, only delayed it.

As he ate, he watched her and struggled to find the right words to cross that emotional distance that had suddenly sprung up between them.

Eada ate her food even though she was finding it hard to swallow.

She knew Drogo was staring at her; she could feel it.

Her attempt to appear calm and unconcerned was evidently not working or had completely confused him.

One glance at his thoughtful face told her that he was considering talking about the battle, and she dreaded that.

She was too full of emotion to discuss the Saxon defeat yet.

There was little chance she would be able to control what she said, and she feared she would spit her anger and grief at him or even insult him, neither of which he deserved.

What she had to do, she decided as she set her bowl down, was distract him.

When he also set his bowl down and turned to face her, she suddenly knew exactly how to do that.

She would seduce him, allowing passion to push aside his concerns and questions.

The thought made her tremble faintly with a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation.

Seeing how he had come through the fierce battle hale and unmarked had made her eager to make love to him, but she was not sure she had the skill or the courage to be the seducer.

In their short time together as lovers, it had been Drogo who had begun and led the lovemaking.

"Eada," Drogo began hesitantly.

"Ivo told me that you already know who won the battle and the fate of your king."

"Yes," she whispered, feeling the emotions she only lightly controlled ripple through her.

"But I have known who would be the victor from the beginning." She took a deep, steadying breath, edged closer to him, and slid her arms around his neck.

"I am pleased that you escaped the battle unharmed."

Drogo trembled when she began to tease his lips with hers.

He was desperately hungry for her, had been from the moment he knew he would survive the battle.

It had not been easy to subdue that craving, but he had, for he had been uncertain of her mood and had not wanted her acceptance of his passion to be anything less than wholehearted.

The light touch of her soft, warm mouth snapped his control, his need for her rushing to every part of his body with a speed that left him reeling.

Even though she had reached for him first, her mood was still solemn, still somewhat distant, and he ached to dispel it.

"Eada, we should talk," he said, his voice thick and hoarse as she covered his throat with kisses and moved so that she was sitting on his lap.

"I know, but I do not want to." She unlaced his jupon, smiling faintly when he hurriedly aided her in tugging it off him.

"Is that why you do this?"

"It is one of the reasons." She ran her hand over his broad, smooth chest then pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat.

"You also have a fine strong body and I truly am glad that it remains so."

He ached to ask her why she was so glad but bit back the words.

Now was not the time.

He also fought the urge to wrench control of their lovemaking from her small, soft hands and rush to gain the release his body cried out for.

Whatever her reasons were for doing so, it was intoxicating to be made love to by Eada and he wanted to savor that for as long as he could.

Eada felt her uncertainty and hesitation fade with each kiss she gave Drogo and with each tremor of pleasure that shook his strong body.

He felt good, tasted good, and smelled good.

The feel of his smooth, warm skin beneath her lips and hands made her passion soar.

That that passion overshadowed her grief, anger, and sorrow only enhanced her pleasure in it.

She was not only keeping Drogo from talking but herself from thinking, and she savored the respite.

She left no spot unkissed as she removed the rest of his clothes.

As she tossed aside his braies, leaving him fully naked before her, she touched a kiss to his erect manhood.

The way he shuddered and groaned, his hands clenching in her hair, told her that he found that highly pleasurable.

Caressing his muscular thighs with her hands, she kissed him again and slowly stroked him with her tongue.

The praises he gasped out in a thick, unsteady voice encouraged her to continue her intimate attentions.

Drogo stared down at Eada as she pleasured him with her mouth and felt as if his blood had caught on fire.

When she obeyed his whispered request and took him into her mouth, the feelings that tore through his body were so strong they were almost painful.

He suddenly understood why men would pay large sums for such a pleasure, yet he knew what they paid for could never equal what Eada was giving him, freely and with apparent delight.

When he knew he could no longer control himself, he pushed her away.

He tried to hold onto her, aching to immediately bury himself deep within her, but she stepped out of his reach.

For a brief moment after he so abruptly ended her intimate caresses, Eada feared that she had been too bold.

Then she looked closely at his face and felt all of her desire return in a dizzying rush.

He had not rejected her, simply stopped her before he was so lost to his passions he had no more control.

She stepped away when he reached for her, amused that he seemed blind to the fact that she was still dressed.

Eada also felt sure it would be safer for her clothes if she undressed herself, for Drogo looked ready to tear her gown from her body.

Her desire making her bold, she slowly undressed.

Drogo had already unlaced a lot of her clothes making disrobing easy.

When she finally stood naked before him, she smiled, excited by the way he watched her and by her own daring.

Slowly, she stepped closer to him.

When he reached out to grasp her by the hips and pull her nearer, she laughed softly.

Eada murmured her pleasure as he covered her stomach in fevered kisses, all the while caressing her backside and thighs with his big, callused hands.

Shock intruded on her passion when he took his kisses even lower.

Despite how she had pleasured him with her mouth, she had never thought he would or could do the same to her.

With one slow stroke of his tongue, he took away her shock and her passion returned with such force she had to clutch his broad shoulders to keep standing.

She no longer thought about the deep intimacy she was allowing, only how good it felt.

Her release but a heartbeat away, Eada tried to break free of his hold.

He ceased his intimate kisses but did not release her.

Slowly, kissing his way up her body, he pulled her down until she almost straddled him.

He teased her mouth with soft kisses as he eased their bodies together.

When they were fully joined, he cupped her face in his hands and gave her a deep, tender kiss that left her gasping.

His hands on her hips, he held her still as he turned his attention to her breasts.

Eada threaded her hands in his hair and tried to remain still; but when he drew the hardened, aching tip of her breast deep into his mouth, her body refused to obey her wishes.

Drogo echoed her groan as she moved upon him, and his lovemaking rapidly grew fierce.

Shaking with her need for release, Eada welcomed his sudden roughness.

When the culmination of her desire finally ripped through her body, Drogo followed within a heartbeat.

They clung to each other, rocking back and forth as their bodies ruled the moment.

It was not until they lay curled up in each other's arms on the sheepskin that Eada actually began to think about what she had just done.

She had been too lethargic, too weakened by her own passions, as Drogo had made them a more comfortable bed by the fire and gently cleaned them both off.

Now her mind filled itself with uncomfortably clear memories of all she had done to him and what she had allowed him to do to her.

A flush of embarrassment and shame heated her cheeks, and when Drogo looked at her, she was unable to meet his eyes.

"Do not grow modest and pious now, sweet Eada," he said as he grasped her by the chin and turned her face toward his.

"I am not a demanding man and will not expect such heated play each time we lie together, but do not let shame or embarrassment steal away all promise of such lovemaking." He brushed a kiss over her lips.

"Do you intend to tell me that we did nothing we should be ashamed of?"

"Yes." He grinned when she laughed.

"I know what the priests say, but I cannot believe that God punishes lovers, and we have done nothing thousands of lovers have not done thousands of times.

Do a penance if you must, but do not let fear of sin kill your passion."

"Since you have lived in a monastery, I suppose I should believe you, as who would better know what is sin and what is not.

Of course, there is always the chance that you seek to soothe me to serve your own purposes."

"A very good chance," he drawled and laughed at the way she scowled at him, all the while her eyes sparkled with laughter.

"The monk who taught what little I know did not believe passion was a true sin unless it brought evil or was the cause of adultery."

Her sense of shame banished, Eada relaxed, idly smoothing her hand up and down his side.

Neither of them mentioned that their passion was not sanctified by marriage and that that in itself was a sin.

That would not hurt anyone but her, so Eada decided it had to be a small sin.

All thoughts on how much she may or may not have sinned ended abruptly when she saw how serious Drogo looked.

Eada tensed as she guessed that he wanted to talk about the battle or, at least, how she felt.

Although she had thoroughly enjoyed her attempt to distract him from any such discussion, she was annoyed that it had only worked to delay the matter, not make him forget about it completely.

"I do not wish to talk about the war," she said, briefly wishing that she did not sound so sulky.

She had wanted to sound firm, commanding.

"Are you certain you cannot read or hear what is in my mind?" he asked, only half jesting for, yet again, she had guessed exactly what he wanted to say.

"I swear I cannot see inside your head." She lightly pressed her fingers to his mouth.

"If you fear I will condemn you for the Saxon loss, do not.

Nor will I belabor you with anger or grief.

You did only what honor demanded of you.

Today, with defeat still so fresh in the air, I do not want to talk of it, for my heart is sore and my soul is torn all ways with strong emotion.

I do not wish to spit that out at you, for you have not earned it."

"There is one thing I feel I must beg forgiveness for—Harold's death.

You saw it?"

"No, I just knew he had died and I knew it was not a good death."

Drogo held her close and prayed that some day he would be able to shake from his mind the sight of William and his men butchering Harold.

"I do not understand why William and his men acted so dishonorably, and that is what they did.

Harold was blinded, an arrow in his eye, helpless.

They rode in upon him and cut the man to pieces.

No offer of mercy or call to surrender was made.

I am deeply ashamed by their act of murder and cruelty."

Eada fought back tears over Harold's ignominious end.

"Why? You did not do it.

You would never have acted so shamefully."

"William is my liege lord.

His shame is mine.

Searle says I must forget what I saw, that he will work to convince himself that William was but caught in the wild, unthinking bloodlust of battle.

He told me to do the same."

"Wise words.

Heed them and do as he says as quickly as you can.

William will now be king.

It could cost you dearly if he knew what you thought of his killing of Harold.

If it aids you, then remind yourself that Harold's death was fated.

There could not be two kings upon English soil."

Drogo nodded, kissed the top of her head, and settled himself more comfortably on their sheepskin bed.

"How did Hilde die?"

The question was asked so quietly and so abruptly Eada replied without thought.

"She cut her wrists and bled her life away in Sir Guy's tent."

"Suicide? Ivo said you had a priest tend her."

"I told the priest she died of grief.

It was the truth.

Let God decide if she sinned.

Let Him punish or forgive her.

We have told no one, not even her children."

"There is no need for anyone to know," he agreed, smiling when she hugged him in gratitude for his compliance.

"What happens now, Drogo?"

"We wait for the English nobles to come to William, to accept him as their new king."

"They will not come."

He sighed with resignation, not questioning her certainty.

"Then we will march to London and I will pray every step of the way that I do not see another day like this."