Lady of the Lake (19 page)

“That is one way to look at my castle’s position.” Edon removed his palm from the sore spot on his chest. “One I shall certainly keep in mind as the work continues.”

“Beware the next storm,” Venn ap Griffin muttered from across the table.

Tala started. Edon was very aware of her sharp intake of breath as he turned to the atheling. “What did you say?”

“He meant prepare for the next storm,” Tala interjected deliberately.

The interference kept the jarl from making immediate eye contact with her brother. Edon frowned as he shifted his gaze across the table.

The atheling bent over the food in front of him, revealing no sign of the malice Edon had heard in his voice. Nels of Athelney leaned toward the boy’s ear, giving him private counsel. Edon felt that tingling of flesh behind his ears that had preceded the lightning strike. He had ignored it then, but he did not ignore it now.

“If a boy is old enough to sit at the table with men, he
is old enough to speak for himself, Tala,” Edon responded testily.

“His command of Danish is limited.” Tala offered a lame excuse. Her teeth caught the corner of her lip and her eyes were full of concern as they met Edon’s again. “Sometimes Venn mistakes common words.”

“He spoke in English.” Edon frowned, unable to take his gaze from Tala’s compelling amber eyes. He couldn’t think what she wanted of him, but knew her brother had been out of line. Again his ears pricked. Tiny spots of light danced before his eyes and the small hairs at the nape of his neck began to rise. If he were in a battle, he would know he was about to be attacked from behind. He spun around, looking for Embla Silver Throat, anticipating her behind him with a knife in her hand.

This was preposterous, he thought. He reached for the goblet of wine before him and drained it.

They were witches, both the atheling and the princess. Surely they could not control the elements or his thoughts…and she made excuses for the boy, protected him. There was something else troubling Edon, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Something Tala had said to him a long time ago…something about their gods protecting the atheling—or her. If he could only remember…

To ease his mind, Edon motioned to Rig, calling him to his side. “Where is Embla?” he whispered.

“Getting drunk in her longhouse,” Rig answered.

“You are keeping her under close watch while the king is here?” Edon said.

“Aye, Lord, she does not move from her house without a tail following her every move,” Rig assured him.

“Good,” Edon said. “Keep it that way.” He turned back to Tala.

Edon clenched his right hand, crushing the bandage, feeling the stabbing pull of the buckle-shaped burn embedded in his palm. Had Tala used witchcraft to stop him?
This whole day had been remarkable. How much of it was caused by her spell casting, her witchery?

Tala raised her hand and rubbed her brow. She shook her head once, then looked him straight in the eye and whispered so only Edon could hear her speak at the noisy table, “I didn’t bring the lightning. I couldn’t hurt you.”

Knowing, certain she had read his thoughts, Edon said, “Then who did? What did?”

She dropped her hand to her lap and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m tired and confused. Maybe tomorrow I can provide you the answers you seek.”

“How?” By casting more spells?
How can I control a woman who can prevent my arm from being raised against her?
That question had troubled Edon since he’d returned to consciousness. How could any man hold his own against a woman protected by the gods? It left him reeling in confusion, angry and hurt.

Tala self-consciously touched the heavy cross at her throat, cast a surreptitious look at the king, making certain Alfred was deep in conversation with others at the table. Edon repeated his demand. “How will you find this answer to my questions?”

“Come with me to Black Lake. I will show you all of my powers.”

“Very well,” Edon snapped, feeling vulnerable and testy. Heretofore, he hadn’t believed in dark powers, evil or witchcraft, and he wouldn’t start now. He refused to fear her. Fearing her endangered the love he felt for her. “We will go to the lake on the morrow. Now let me eat in peace.”

Her eyes held his as she solemnly suggested, “Mayhaps my ancestors knew what they were doing when they made it a taboo for a princess of Leam to mate.”

Edon had no patience for that line of ignorant reasoning. He refused to credit taboos and omens and silly superstitions. He picked up a rib from his platter and bit into it.
Midway through chewing the morsel he said, “Logic and reason can explain every event.”

Tala watched him swallow and take a second bite, a bigger one that he would have to chew longer. Watching the way he hunched his shoulders over his food made her remember the way his shoulders curved as he bent to take her breast in his mouth, so greedy and hungry.

She loved him, but it was all wrong. It was totally irrational, defying all explanation. The Wolf was going to marry her in King Alfred’s church. If her pagan gods had a fit over a baptism and a justified near beating, what would they do over a marriage?

It was all Tala could do not to dissolve into a fit of hysterical laughter. She was going to marry him. She would dare her gods to stop her. Remembering how he had looked with his spirit leaving his body brought the terror of losing him back to her. No, she would give Leam away to stay with Edon of Warwick. That was a certainty.

Edon tore off the last bit of meat with his teeth, then cast the bone to the platter. He grabbed a damp linen napkin and wiped his fingers and mouth, then leaned back against his chair, cocked his left arm on the rest and stared at her. His bandaged right hand rested on the trestle. The exposed fingertips tapped impatiently on the wood.

“My household is run by rules and order. Everyone has a purpose, and work to do. Your purpose is to see to my comfort and to provide me sons.”

Tala smiled, envisioning a black-haired, blue-eyed daughter the very image of him. They would have two daughters before she would produce that coveted son. “And daughters?”

“Aye, several of those. But I will raise them not to be little witches who manipulate grown men into becoming mush-brained imbeciles, as you do. Lord, I’m already talking like an idiot. Go to bed, Tala. I want to sit and talk of war and law with my men and the king. You interfere.”

“By your command, my lord.” Tala lowered her eyes in a parody of submission. “I shall leave you to your talk.”

Edon caught her arm as she started to rise and said in her white ear, “Do not bait me, woman.”

“Beast.” Tala replied without heat, and tugged her sleeve from his fingers, then stood. She took her leave of the king and Edon. Lady Eloya and Rebecca withdrew with her.

Venn ap Griffin excused himself to go out to the privy. It was the only way he could think of to escape the hall and try to reach Tala alone. He felt like a dog on a leash, chained to the priest’s side. When the women left the hall, the talk turned to topics that held the men’s interest. Venn finally managed to slip away.

The Vikings’ other women stayed too close to his sister. Venn ran across the ward and hid in the shadow of a long-house. He felt certain Tala would come to him, that she would recognize his signal, the song of a lark.

The women walked to the privy together, then stopped to talk near the sealed well. Rebecca wanted to sit awhile. Eloya joined her. Tala cocked her ear to the sound of a bird call, a lark warbling. She searched for its source. It came again when she faced Embla Silver Throat’s long-house.

“Was it me or did either of you sense something amiss at the table?” Rebecca asked.

“No, it wasn’t just you,” Eloya told her. “No one told the king what really happened to Edon. He thought him only stunned.”

“Then it was a miracle, wasn’t it?” Rebecca concluded.

“The king would say so, if he knew the truth of the affair.” Tala bent to look close at the boards covering the well. “Why do we not use this well?”

“The water went bad the day we arrived,” Rebecca told
her. “It was most inconvenient. Eloya and I were in the bathhouse and the sluices were running quite well. Then it just stopped. Out here the water dropped and then rose again, but it was full of mud and silt. Edon deemed it unfit to drink. Our servants have carted water from the river ever since, but Maynard is working on a new aqueduct.”

“I see,” Tala said. “You have to dig another well.”

“Where?” Eloya asked simply.

Tala looked over the motte. The question was elementary; she walked ten paces and stopped. She heard the whistle again, closer to her, and realized it had to be Venn. She couldn’t see him, but he knew how to use the shadows to remain invisible. So did she.

“Here,” she said to Eloya.

“Stay right there,” Eloya commanded, and hopped to her feet, gathering a handful of small stones. She hurried to Tala and then set the stones in a circle around where she stood. “How deep do you think the water is?”

“Oh, not far. Ten feet, more or less, just under the caprock.”

“You are brilliant.” Eloya hugged her and then reached over and tapped a stone wall that was under construction. “This is the first wall of our bathhouse—our ladies-only bathhouse. I will tell Maynard to reverse the walls, to enclose this spot. That way we will have water first. He is never going to get an aqueduct to bring water to the top of this hill. Men think they know everything, but they don’t.” Eloya tapped her forehead knowingly and grinned.

Embla Silver Throat stepped out her door in time to see the three women stroll back to the jarl’s palace. She crossed her arms, considering the usefulness of the two foreign women. Both were adept with the needle, but made womanly clothes that had no practical use for a warrior. Embla’s one vanity was clothes that flattered her own strong body. All the Vikings of Warwick had lusted after
her until those women came. Now they looked at the foreign women and talked about bedding them.

Embla turned to Eric the Tongueless and said, “Which of the foreign women do you want to bed? The little one or the new mother?”

Eric grinned gruesomely, making a motion of rocking a baby. Embla smiled, wicked with hate. “She has big breasts and so much milk her babe grows fat. Come to me at sunrise and I will let you tote my water to the bathhouse. I will make certain you see her breasts and her brown belly.”

Eric nodded his head energetically as he kicked aside a dog and reached for the pail of table scraps it had been eating. He grunted noisily, smacking his lip in anticipation of what Embla promised him. He followed Embla around the side of the longhouse.

There was a root cellar under her byre. Inside the byre she lit a torch and threw back a tarp, which covered a heavy plank door fitted over the cellar. The crude stairs it hid were wet and slick. Embla went down them surefootedly, unerringly knowing her way into the cave.

Venn held himself perfectly still until the glimmer of Embla’s torch quit bouncing on the cavern’s wet walls. His heart had begun to hammer in his throat as she’d uncovered the hidden door in her cellar. Instinctively, he knew what he was seeing…the entrance to her oubliette. All the thralls knew about it, but no one knew where it was. They said her husband, Harald Jorgensson, was imprisoned there.

Venn saw his chance to gain a major victory. King Alfred would reward him handsomely if he found proof of what had happened to Jarl Harald. If he found the jarl’s bones inside Warwick, Venn could prove once and for all that no one born of Leam had had anything to do with Harald’s death. That way Tala could collect the wergild
due her. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to marry the Viking.

He was momentarily torn between meeting Tala and following Embla. He made up his mind to act now. Tala would wait. He eased down the twisting stairs, one careful step at a time.

At the steps of the keep Tala stopped. Where was Venn hiding? Why didn’t he signal her again? Worried, she cast a concerned glance at Eloya and Rebecca, then caught her hand to her throat, saying, “My necklace! I’ve lost it.”

“No, you haven’t,” Rebecca said.

“No, the cross. It fell off. I have to find it. I must wear it in front of the king. It must have fallen.”

“We’ll come help you look.” Eloya turned from the door.

“No, no, you needn’t do that. I’ll find it right away. I thought I felt something fall when I waited for you at the privy. I won’t be but a moment. Go in. I’ll be right behind you.”

The fortress gates were closed. Twice as many guards stood duty, because a king was in residence. Eloya knew nothing untoward could happen. “Go on then. If anyone asks, I’ll just say you were delayed.”

“I won’t be but a moment,” Tala promised again.

She hurried across the ward, expecting Venn to come out of the shadows immediately, now that she was alone. The guards at the gate saw her. Tala stopped at the well, pretending to look for something lost. She softly whistled the lark’s song. There was no answer. She moved away from the well, into the northern quadrant. Venn did not step out from any building.

She walked closer to the longhouse, whispering, “Venn? Where are you?”

All her senses told her not to go closer to that dwelling.
Evil emanated from it the way spores burst from poisonous mushrooms.

Two of the Vikings at the gate began walking toward her. Tala looked at them to make certain they were men she recognized. One was Edon’s captain, Maynard the Black. He said quite sternly, “What do you out here alone, Princess?”

“I lost the cross my kinsman gave me,” Tala said. Where was Venn? “There were lights in Embla’s house when the ladies and I were walking.”

“You did not walk to this quarter,” Maynard said, proving that he’d kept a careful eye on Tala’s movements. “I will light a torch and help you look.”

Tala tightened her fingers on the cross in her palm. “It must be there by the well.” She retreated. Maynard paced every step with her. His soldier ran to fetch a torch and bring light to aid the search. While Maynard circled opposite her, Tala bent down, running her fingers through the grass that grew thick in the damp earth beside the stones. “Here it is! I have found it!”