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The Saxon. Margaret Moore
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“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.