Page 7 of Unconquered

Awareness returned slowly to Eada and she immediately regretted its appearance.

Several conflicting emotions tore at her.

Everything she had felt seemed to confirm Old Edith's prediction.

That, however, could not alter the facts that Drogo was the enemy to all that was Saxon and that she had lost her much-protected maidenhead to a man she had known only a few hours.

She lay numb and silent as Drogo gently cleaned them both, washing away the remnants of the innocence he had stolen from her with such ease.

Drogo slid back into bed a little warily.

Eada looked stunned, and he suspected it was not for the same reasons he felt that way.

He sighed inwardly as one fat tear rolled down her still-flushed cheek.

A moment later, his suspicion that it was the harbinger of a flood was confirmed.

Ignoring her tense resistance to his touch, he tugged her into his arms and held her close as she wept.

He was somewhat disappointed that she would react so after all the pleasure they had shared, but he could understand it.

"Come, little one, this weeping changes and helps nothing." He combed his fingers through her thick, tousled hair.

"I know." Eada desperately tried to stop crying, but it was a few minutes before she began to succeed.

"It is just a bit difficult to discover that one is no better than a whore."

"You are no whore."

"No, perhaps not, for I required no coin to spread for you with such dismaying ease.

A whore would at least have the wit to ask for some boon."

"Eada, I cannot explain why your passion so quickly and fully matched mine, but that does not make you a whore.

That would only be so if you rose from this bed and lay down with any of my men with ease." The mere thought of Eada doing such a thing turned Drogo's stomach, knotting it with anger.

"You would do it but the once."

Yet again there was that hard chill to his voice that made Eada shudder, but she decided not to question him about it.

"No, I could not do that.

If nothing else, I believe I feel traitor enough now."

"Woman, you are no traitor.

A small woman like you can do nothing to stop what is to come.

Harold chose his fate for himself.

I am but sorry that such things always make the innocent pay dearly as well." He began to idly smooth his hands over her slender curves and felt his need for her stir with renewed life.

"Harold had no right to choose or promise anything," Eada said as she relaxed beneath his gentle stroking.

"He was heir to the throne."

"Maybe the old king chose him, maybe not.

It does not matter.

Only the witena gemot can choose the king."

"The wita—what? And what nonsense do you speak of? No one chooses a king,"

Eada looked at him and smiled sadly.

"You know nothing of the land you seek to conquer, do you? I think you will take a lot more from my people than their land.

The witena gemot is a group of wise men who decide who will rule us.

They can also take that throne away.

Harold's brother Tostig was an earl, but he failed in his duty to his people and he was deposed, sent into exile, and another took his place."

"That is madness."

"And so you will end this custom.

And soon, you will end lives.

Your sword will drip with the blood of Saxons, of my people."

"I fear it will, although I intend to spill as little blood as I can.

I take little pleasure in the death a battle brings, Eada, but a man like me has only two choices—the sword or the church.

I abided in a monastery for a while, but that life was not for me.

Since I have three brothers older than I, there is no chance that I will gain the right to rule my father's lands.

And thus, I took up the sword."

Eada knew that everything he said was the truth, that his choices were indeed few, but she still asked, "Must you take up that sword against my people?"

"My sword is pledged to William.

I follow where he leads me and must fight whomever he fights.

It is the path all men must walk.

If William had broken a promise he had made to Harold, then Harold would have sailed for our lands and many a Saxon would have come with him.

They would have been seeking exactly what I do—loot, especially a piece of land.

That is what all men seek.

All I can try to do is to build my future on as little blood and sorrow as possible."

His soft deep voice and the soothing-yet-arousing movement of his big hands on her skin soon had Eada pressing against him, absently snuggling closer to him.

A part of her was appalled at her easy surrender and urged her to pull away, but it was not strong enough.

It could not conquer how good it felt to be held by him, to feel his warm skin close to hers.

She was painfully confused in her mind and her heart, and she was alone.

Despite everything that was wrong about being his lover, it felt right to cling to this big man, to find comfort and strength in his arms.

She needed him, and no matter how much she cursed what she saw as a weakness, it did not change that fact.

"If you begin your future on blood, you must sustain it with blood," she felt compelled to say.

He did not really wish to linger on such weighty matters.

With her slender body pressed close to his, he was finding it difficult to think of anything but making love to her.

The truth of her words also made him feel uncomfortable.

Drogo grimaced at his own vagaries.

He had wanted her to speak French so that they could talk and learn about each other, and now he wanted her to be quiet.

He had wanted to know what she thought, and now he just wanted to hear her cry out his name in the throes of passion.

"I know that, little one," he said.

"I do fear that this land will be well soaked in blood and that there will be much grief to bear, but I cannot stop it."

"You could put your sword down." She tentatively smoothed her hand over his taut stomach and felt him tremble faintly.

"Even if I could sheath my sword, refuse to fight, and still maintain my honor, that sword would only be picked up by another.

At least I shall wield mine with mercy.

Come, sweet child, this is no time to think such dark thoughts."

Since Drogo's body was taut with arousal and he was nibbling at her earlobe in a way that had her blood running hot, Eada could easily guess what time he thought it was.

Even though she did not really wish to be, she was stirred.

Her fears and concerns could not be so easily pushed aside, however.

All too clearly she could see what lay ahead of them and began to fear that she had been bequeathed Old Edith's foresight.

"Mayhap it will not be as bad as you fear," Drogo said as he trailed soft kisses over her throat.

"No? Would you allow all you hold dear to be taken from you and stand by meekly, head bowed, offering no fight? Would you willingly step down from being a leader of men to become a follower? Would you ignore your oath of allegiance to a man simply because another man with an army of landless, hungry knights and mercenaries behind him has said that that man is not your rightful king?"

"No, I would not, but I think you knew my answers before you asked the questions."

"I cannot give you the lies of hope you seem to want.

I pray that, if I ask it of you, you will treat me with the same courtesy."

When he responded by holding her more tightly against him, she returned his hug.

She was a little dismayed by her actions, but the soft kisses he brushed over her face quickly soothed her troubled mind.

He sought to comfort her as well as restir her passion.

Eada realized that part of her inability to resist him was because he was a good man.

"Why did you hide the fact that you could speak French?" he asked in a quiet voice as he stroked her hair, savoring the thick silken feel of it beneath his fingers.

She shrugged.

"I was a captive surrounded by the enemy.

I had just lost my dear friend and did not know where my family had gone.

I had nothing.

Nothing except the fact that I could understand every word you said and you did not know it." She idly trailed her fingers over his ribs and asked, "How did you guess the truth? I thought I had hidden it very well."

“You had.

It was Serle who first suspected it.

And this is your home, is it not?"

"It is.

This is the home of Vedette and Waltheof."

"Vedette? Your mother is French?"

Eada nodded.

"She was the one who taught me to speak your language.

Her family is in Normandy.

My father conducted some trade with them and that is how he met her.

She is not fully French.

She carries some Saxon blood and that is how she came to speak both languages.

It was a skill she felt all of her children should share."

"And your family has fled to safety?"

"My mother, sister, brother, and the servants have fled.

I can but pray that they find a safe place.

My father is with Harold, and Old Edith told me that he is doomed.

You need not fear that he will fall beneath your sword, for Old Edith said he was already doomed and she has never been wrong.

I think my father will fall or has already fallen in the battle with Harald Hardrada and Tostig."

"I am sorry.

You truly believe in the old woman's visions?"

"Yes.

Only once did I completely doubt her, even called her a foolish old woman.

She told me that I would marry my betrothed but that I would never be his wife.

She would not or could not explain that, and so it sounded like empty babble." Eada shook her head and laughed, a touch of sadness weighting her humor.

"She was right.

I did marry, but the fool got into a fight at the wedding feast and died so—"

"You were never a wife.

That is how you could say you were a widow and yet still be a maiden.

I am the only one who has ever tasted your passion." Drogo knew the intense satisfaction he gained from that knowledge was probably a warning that his feelings had already gone a lot deeper than passion, but he shrugged aside all thought of that.

He grasped Eada lightly by the chin and turned her face up to his.

Eada looked into his dark eyes and suddenly felt tense, a growing fear knotting her stomach.

The word that suddenly formed in her mind made her shiver, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin.

A soft curse escaped her as she abruptly pulled away from Drogo, clutching the covers to her in a vain attempt to regain the warmth she had been enjoying.

"What is wrong?" demanded Drogo as he sat up, hesitantly reaching out to touch her arm and frowning at how cold she was.

"Why do you suddenly fear me?" He had found the look of terror that had passed over her face painful to look at.

"I do not fear you," she said, confused by what had just happened to her.

"Eada, I saw the way you looked at me."

"It was not you I saw," she whispered, not resisting when he slowly pulled her back into his arms.

"You make no sense, ma petite.

You were looking at me.

What else could you have seen?"

"I am not certain."

He frowned and felt her forehead and then her cheeks.

"You have no fever."

Eada laughed shakily.

"I almost wish I had just fallen ill.

The frightening dreams of a fever would be an almost welcome explanation."

"I will fetch you some wine.

A drink will soothe you."

She watched him as he climbed from the bed and walked over to a table by the far wall, the candlelight draping his body in unsteady shadows.

Fate had chosen well for her.

Drogo was strong, handsome, kind, and honorable.

If she could convince him to allow his hair to grow, he could be a man who could take a woman's breath away.

Eada just wished that fate had brought him to her during a less-troubled time.

It was shocking to have fallen into his bed so quickly, but she had no time to consider the right or wrong of it.

Until the rule of England was settled, she was alone, and that was dangerous.

Her only chance to survive the turmoil ahead was to find her family, which was not only impossible in a land torn by war but would only be helpful if her family had found a safe haven, or to find a protector.

Fate had made the choice for her by sending her Drogo and she decided it was foolish to keep questioning it.

Soon women all over England would be held in Norman arms, willingly and unwillingly, she thought with a strong touch of anger.

She knew she ought to be grateful that she had been found by the man Old Edith marked as her soulmate and that her bedding brought her pleasure.

Eada was just deciding that it would undoubtedly be a long while before she was grateful for anything when a soft laugh from Drogo pulled her from her thoughts.

"Why do you laugh?" she demanded as he returned to bed and handed her a goblet of wine.

"When I went to pour the wine, you were frightened and chilled.

Now you look flushed with anger," he replied and he shook his head.

"I but turn away for a moment, and your humor changes completely."

"Do not fear.

I am not usually so quick to change tempers," she murmured and took a long, steadying drink of wine.

"It has been a long, upsetting day."

"Did thoughts of your old friend put that look of fear upon your face?"

"No.

I but thought that I saw something."

"That brings me little comfort, for you were looking at me."

"I was; but as I said, it was not you I saw."

"What else could you have seen?"

Eada studied him as he took her empty goblet and set it aside then tugged her into his arms.

She prayed with all her heart that Old Edith had not passed her strange gifts along to her, but there was no denying what had just caused her to be so afraid.

It was suddenly of great interest to her to see how Drogo would respond if she told him the truth about the cause of her fear.

"I saw someone else," she replied, watching him closely as she spoke.

Drogo frowned.

"There is no one else here.

Only you and me, and you were looking right at me."

"I know, but then you disappeared into a thick mist not fully, but you were no longer clear to see.

Behind you lurked a man draped in black—whether in a cloak or a monk's garb, I do not know.

When I saw him, my mind spoke only one word, but it spoke it so loudly that my head throbbed.

It said, Enemy.

You have an enemy."

"I have many enemies for I live by my sword," he replied, but he began to feel uncertain.

"There will soon be many more as I do not believe many of the Saxons I will meet will cry me a friend."

"The enemy I saw stands behind you.

You do not march toward him; he slithers at your back.

He is a shadowed threat at your back."

"Tancred also stands at my back, so you need not fear for me."

"Tancred was not there."

"Come, this is but your fears come to life."

"Is it? How odd that my fears should wear a mark like the half moon upon his right cheek."

Eada was not surprised when Drogo suddenly tensed, pushed her back, and stared at her, his eyes wide and his expression a mixture of disbelief and fear.

She knew in her heart that what she had seen was a warning.

She did not like it, prayed that she would have no more, but knew that it should not be ignored.

"You saw a scarred man at my back?" Drogo demanded, unsettled by what she told him, for he believed her; yet he heartily wished she had kept her vision a secret.

If she had the gift of foreseeing, it could cause them even more trouble than they already faced.

She nodded.

"It was all that was revealed from beneath the black he had shrouded himself in.

Do you know such a man?"

"I do.

Sir Guy DeVeau.

I have done him no wrong, yet he hates me and makes no secret of it."

"Sometimes there is no reason for a man's hatred.

Or a woman's.

No reason the person who suffers from that hate can see, at least.

It is born in the hater's mind and heart, places no one else can look into."

"True," he murmured, astonished by her wisdom.

"Yet there has to be some cause for such a strong, dangerous emotion."

"It could be born of a slight so small, an insult so insignificant, that you do not even know you have committed it.

It could even be born of envy."

"Yes, and it is something I cannot cure or soothe."

"No.

That would require some show of humility," she drawled, feeling as surprised as he looked that she would tease him.

Her surprise increased when she giggled at his expression.

Such levity seemed ill-placed when danger lurked on all sides.

Eada decided that she had simply had enough of anger, worry, and fear for the day.

Danger and tragedy would still be lurking close at hand in the morning.

It could not hurt to just ignore them for a little while.

A soft screech of laughter escaped her when Drogo suddenly, gently wrestled her onto her back, pinned her to the bed, and lightly tickled her.

She slipped her arms around his neck and smiled at him, enjoying the feel of his strong body pressed close to hers.

It was possible that Drogo also wished to ignore the troubles surrounding them.

She grew serious as she wondered if he also intended to ignore her warning about an enemy.

"What will you do about Sir Guy?" she asked even as she tilted her head back to allow him free access to her throat.

"I intend to watch him closely," Drogo replied, and he slowly dragged his tongue along the rapid pulse in her slim throat, enjoying the way she trembled slightly beneath him.

"And will you have your men watch him as well?"

"I am honored that you are so deeply concerned about my safety."

"Do not be," she said, the coolness of her tone belied by the way she stroked his back.

"As was revealed this afternoon, you are all that stands between me and a lustful army of Normans.

I would be a fool if I did not do all I can to insure that you continue to stand there." She caressed his calves with the soles of her feet and smiled crookedly when he looked down at her.

"At least you recognize me as your protector.

Maybe soon you can show me a little deference before the men." He began to follow the delicate lines of her small face with soft, lingering kisses.

"Ah, deference," she murmured, her growing passion making her voice husky and unsteady.

"I have never been very skilled at showing deference.

Would it help if I ceased to bang your head against the floor?"

Drogo chuckled against the curve of her neck.

"It might, and where did you learn such a trick?"

"From a boy, a childhood friend.

I fear my lack of deference caused me some trouble in my youth.

Ere I became a woman, and even a few times after that, I got into battles.

He showed me how to strike first and quickly with a telling blow.

Even when the ones who stood against me knew what I would do, they could never be certain of when I would do it."

Even as Drogo prepared to ask her what had happened to that boy, he bit back the question.

Since William's army had either captured, killed, or chased away everyone in Pevensey, it was a question that could easily restir her anger.

He was enjoying her good humor almost as much as he was her passion, and he did not want to do anything to ruin it.

"He went to London," Eada said in a soft voice then met his startled look with a faint smile.

"Can you read what is in a man's mind as well as what lies in his future?" he asked, only half jesting, for her warning about Guy had been both welcome and unsettling.

"No.

In truth, I pray I cannot see what lies in the future.

I would prefer to think that that vision was simply a sharpening of my senses inspired by a very real danger and one that is very close at hand."

"The old woman could see things."

"Yes, but how could you know that?"

"It was but a guess.

She lived alone, far from the town, and there is usually a good reason for that.

There was also the fact that she had prepared her own grave as if she knew she was going to die."

Eada shivered and held him closer.

"We are speaking of somber things again.

I do not want to speak of them or think of them now."

"You wish to pretend that we are in a sun-drenched meadow, deer grazing quietly at the forest's edge.

The sweet song of birds is the only sound to break the peace of the fields."

As he spoke, his deep, rich voice soothed her worries and nudged aside her fears.

She closed her eyes to allow the tranquil scene he painted to form more clearly in her mind.

Eada could almost smell the sweet grasses he said were enfolding them as they made love.

The touch of his warm lips against her skin and the gentle caresses of his big, callused hands enhanced the magic of his words.

She felt both calmed and inflamed.

Forgetfulness could be a very good thing she decided as she curled her limbs around him and welcomed him into her body.