Medieval Brides - Anne Herries Mills & Boon Series Collections

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It was he, Adam would swear, who was at the root of Cecily’s tension. Damn the man. Left to his own devices, Adam would have had him banished from the village before he could blink. Yet, since Edmund had not actually made a move against him, he could not act—not without being the unjust boor that Cecily’s people no doubt expected him to be.

      ‘Leofwine has more to tell your husband—doesn’t he, Lady Wymark?’ Edmund said.

      She flushed and twisted against his arm, the emphasis placed on her new title apparently discomposing her. Ruthlessly, Adam tightened his grip. ‘Yes?’

      ‘Tell him, Leo. Tell him about the mint.’

      Adam listened as best he might while Leofwine told him—in English—of a rebel raid on the Winchester mint. Though the cold snake in his belly kept shifting—don’t, my princess, don’t betray me—he kept his comments as neutral as he could.

      ‘I wonder if that happened on Raoul’s watch,’ he said, grimly aware of the disturbing undercurrents flowing between Cecily and Edmund. They had not looked at each other once during Leofwine Smith’s recounting, but Edmund’s gaze was simply too innocent, and as for Cecily—her body was taut as a bowstring. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had woken in his arms that morning, warm and soft, a relaxed and loving bundle.

      At that moment Edmund’s gaze met his, and he stretched his lips into that sneering smile that Adam was coming to loathe. Adam did not trust Edmund further than he could throw him. But what concerned him was rather this: would he ever be able to trust his wife?

      Supper was over, the boards were cleared, and Adam alone remained in his seat at the head of the table, for the moment replete and disinclined to move. After so many months in Duke William’s train, living like a nomad, hungry more than half the time, it was bliss to contemplate bed with a full stomach. But being gifted Fulford had more than one benefit, and eating well was not, in his view, the most important one. He glanced down the table, towards another of the benefits of Fulford. Cecily, his wife—his loyal wife. Or so he prayed.

      As was becoming her habit after each meal, she was sitting on the other side of the fire with Gudrun in the Saxon sleeping area. The newborn was in her lap. It seemed everyone had taken to that side of the Hall. Hoping that was not significant, Adam sipped his wine. The pregnant woman sat near Cecily, talking to her husband. Even Richard had found a stool near the women. Idly strumming his lute, his fellow knight was rolling his eyes at Matty while he sang a Norman love song. Doubtless the girl couldn’t understand a word, but that didn’t stop her blushes.

      Adam’s gaze returned to his wife and traced her slight figure as she rocked the baby to sleep. Her features were soft in the fireglow. As ever, that tendril of hair had escaped its braid and gleamed on her breast, a curl of gold. Rock, rock, rock, as she murmured gently to the baby. That baby, he thought. That baby—the way she cossets him. Philip.

      He sucked in his breath, gripped by a chilling certainty.

      Philip. Philip! Hadn’t her mother had been called Philippa?

      And the child on her lap—perhaps Philippa’s babe had survived? This one was the right age. This boy could be Cecily’s brother—and thus, in Saxon eyes, the rightful heir to Fulford!

      Eyes sharpening, Adam continued to watch. How she cosseted him. How the entire household cosseted him. Matty’s giggle cut into his thoughts. He tapped a finger on the side of his wine cup. ‘Richard! A word, if you please.’

      Richard broke off his song, kissed his fingers at a crimson-cheeked Matty, and sauntered over. ‘Aye?’ The bench creaked as he took his place.

      ‘That child—my wife’s maid—you swore you’d leave her alone.’

      Richard grinned. ‘I like her.’

      ‘That’s clear. But you’ll remember your promise?’

      ‘I’ll remember. She’s too young for me. But a man needs some feminine company, and who else is there? Everyone else is married.’ Richard ran his fingers caressingly over the lute strings and tried out a chord. ‘Ease up, man. I’ll be returning to London soon enough. What’s eating you?’

      Adam tilted his head in the direction of Cecily and Philip.

      Richard lifted a brow and tried out a scale. ‘You mistrust her? What did you expect?’ He paused, and his grin widened. ‘If you dally with Saxons…It’s no good warning me off while you—’

      ‘Richard, be serious! That baby worries me. The time she spends with it, and his name—had you realised?—a Norman name…’

      ‘His mother was Norman? Is that what you’re saying?’

      ‘Exactly, and I’d wager her name was Philippa.’

      Richard’s fingers stilled mid-scale. ‘Phillipa of Fulford herself?’

      Adam raised an eyebrow and kept his voice down. ‘It’s entirely possible, wouldn’t you say? It would explain why my beautiful wife was so swift to suggest marriage. She wanted to protect that child.’

      Richard’s eyes rested on Cecily. ‘I rather thought she wanted to escape the besom at the convent.’

      ‘No doubt. But she didn’t have to marry me to do that. I’d already accepted her as my interpreter.’

      ‘Hell, Adam, what’s in your mind? I’m sure she has a fondness for you.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t tell me last night was a disappointment? I could have sworn from the way she was looking at you at supper that all was very well between you—in one quarter, at least.’

      Adam grunted, refusing to be drawn. Cecily was changing the baby’s napkin, wrapping him tenderly in swaddling bands, ready for the night. ‘That infant has to be her brother. Do you think it normal for a young woman to take such an interest in a housekeeper’s son?’

      Richard raised an eyebrow. ‘Could be broody?’

      ‘It’s possible. But her interest in that boy concerns me. And then there’s Edmund.’

      ‘The lame one? He seems harmless enough.’

      ‘A blind, I assure you. He is far from harmless.’

      ‘Evidence?’ Richard asked, plucking randomly at some strings.

      ‘Not a scrap, but I don’t trust him. He was Thane Edgar’s housecarl before he was maimed.’

      ‘You reckon he knows the mob that broke into the mint?’

      ‘It’s possible.’ Adam watched Cecily tuck the baby in his basket. ‘He’s certainly involved in something, and I’ve a suspicion he’s hoping to drag my wife into it.’

      Richard’s expression sobered. ‘You really think she would betray you?’

      ‘God alone knows where her loyalties lie. Think about it. It can’t be easy for her.’ Adam sighed, and turned his cup in his fingers. ‘If only I could get her to confide in me. I’ve half a mind to clap Edmund in chains, but on what grounds?’

      ‘Best wait awhile,’ Richard said quietly, bending over his lute. ‘If you’re right—and I agree you have reason for suspicion—he’ll act soon enough. And if he acts rashly he may lead us to the Saxon encampment. According to Tihell, the rebels are rumoured to have gone to earth somewhere between Winchester and the coast. They could be quite close.’

      Adam rubbed his chin. ‘You reach the same conclusion as me, my friend. So.’ He looked bleakly across the hall at Cecily, who had kissed the baby and was making her way to the loft ladder. ‘We wait. Lull them into thinking we are complacent, and then…’

      With a flourish, Richard struck a chord. ‘We strike.’

      ‘Aye.’ Adam rose and stretched. ‘And now I go to woo my wife, and pray that before long she will trust me enough to tell me the truth about her relationship with that baby. If she does that…’ Catching

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