Boadicea's Legacy Page 19

  Ela shrieked. With hurt or fury, he wasn’t sure which. It made his teeth ache to be the one to cause that sound from her.

  “Osbert?” The earl quirked a brow. “Man, what is the matter with you? Do you love elsewhere?”

  “Nay.” His heart hurt, it was beating so hard against his chest.

  “Speak freely! This is your life we are planning. I thought you wanted land …”

  “It’s the wife he objects to,” Ela cried. She turned on her heel and ran out of the hall, without thought to the wiseness of her actions. The door slammed closed, and the sound echoed.

  “Why would she say that? ‘Tis as plain as the nose on your face that you love her.” Countess Ida tilted her head in confusion. “And she obviously has feelings for you, as well.”

  “I …” He couldn’t explain, not to them, not to Ela and not to himself. “She deserves better than me.” Shame tasted hot at the back of his throat.

  “Fool. Men are fools.” Lady Steffen threw her hands in the air. “Gifted with a woman such as that and you make her feel unwanted. You’d better hurry before she never forgives you.”

  “I’ll have the priest here tomorrow at noon. If you both are here, then you can have the lady. And the land. But they are a package, Os. And having the spear would be good too. Don’t forget to take care of that business this eve.”

  Os bowed his head, not caring as much about the spear or the land as he did about Ela’s feelings. “Aye.” Feelings. He left and it wasn’t until later that he realized he’d completely neglected his manners. Sir Percy would have flayed him with a wet willow branch if he’d been alive to witness such a lack of courtesy. Emotion led to mistakes, and he couldn’t afford to make any more.

  Ela buried her face in Bartholomew’s mane. She had Henry at her nape and one leg over Bartholomew’s back when Os found her.

  “You can’t escape,” he said with a strangled laugh.

  “Oh? I’m so evil that you won’t marry me even after you’ve been ordered to by your liege. I can’t change your mind, not about witchcraft or women. What else is there to do? You reject me for everything that I am.”

  He stared at her—just that—no words. She shrugged, swallowing back more tears. Who was the imbecile—him, or her—for allowing his cold logic to beat her to the ground? She hefted her chin, ignoring Henry’s squeak as he fell back from his perch.

  “What? Now you can’t speak? Did you create another new vow so that you wouldn’t have to talk to me—or explain your rude behavior?” She sat on Bartholomew’s back—the goddess Epona from Celtic lore. “You’d best get out of the way. I’ll walk right over the top of you with your own horse.”

  Os crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. She found herself ridiculously distracted by the play of muscle along his shoulders. She’d clutched those shoulders tight; she’d held him in her embrace.

  And he rejected her. Again. And again.

  In front of the earl!

  Fresh sobs tore from her throat. If she’d been proud, she was no more.

  He reached out and took Bartholomew’s reins. “We’ve been ordered to meet with someone.”

  “I am not going anywhere with you.”

  “The earl commands it.”

  It was her turn to distrust him—she could show him a thing or two about suspicious minds. “Who?”

  “The earl’s mistress.”

  She shut her mouth with a snap. “Not Lady Steffen?”

  “A different one.”

  “The earl is a pig.”

  Os’s lips twitched before he grappled with any emotional display and wrestled his mouth into a straight, grim line. “He’s my liege, and I promised to help him find the spear. This mistress is an Iceni … witc … seeress.”

  He’d been about to say witch. He’d caught himself. To spare her feelings? What did it matter? It was time to protect her own heart before there was nothing left to it but a flat crepe. There was no coming back from a public rejection such as what had just gone on in the earl’s great hall. “I am not going to help you.”

  “You wouldn’t be helping me. You’d be helping the earl.”

  “And what do I care about that?”

  “He agreed to stop Thomas from bothering you.”

  “By sending him to France for his own mission! And then Thomas threatened my family.”

  “Roger will send men. Trust me. Thomas doesn’t stand a chance.” He stared at her with those slate-blue eyes and dark golden-blond locks, and for a moment, she hated him as strongly as she loved him. Cursed spark.

  He was trustable, and his lies were always for her own good, damn him.

  Henry jumped from her shoulder across the two feet separating her from Os. Os deftly caught him, and the traitorous polecat chittered at her with his paw out—as if beckoning to her to follow.

  She bit the inside of her cheek, determined to stop crying.

  “I’m descended from Boadicea. Is this mistress also a descendent? And why didn’t you know that she was around? Your mission was to find these things out.”

  Os gritted his back teeth so loud she heard his jaw crack. “Nay—just you and your line have the honor of blood descendent. And I believed my liege when he told me that there was nothing to be had here. I wasted a lot of time picking through old stories and secrets.”

  “Humph. Well, that means that there must be much to find here. I wonder what he hoped to prove by giving you the bare facts?”

  Os turned, leading Bartholomew and his passengers from the stables. “Come with me. Let’s find out. And as angry as you are with me, I know you must be curious to meet another member of the Iceni. Think of the stories you’ll be able to tell.”

  “I just want to hear the ones she has to share. We can get that spear, and I can be done with you—and your honor. What does the earl want with it, anyway?”

  Os tightened his lips. Shrugged. Turned his back so that he was leading her and she couldn’t see his face.

  “Coward,” she mumbled toward his back. Since he wouldn’t fight with her, she kept her mouth shut and her other opinions to herself. He took her across the bridge, past the gates to the castle, and into the area of shops that she’d admired just earlier that day.

  No wonder she was so tired—it seemed three lifetimes ago.

  They turned right from the main street and down a cobbled road. The houses showed the affluence of their owners, starting out whitewashed and trimmed, then turning to stone and mortar, until they finally were in a block of simple single-story wood residences.

  “This is where the earl hides his mistress? I’d always thought that a lover’s life would be more glamorous.”

  Os looked down his nose at her. “Ela, please.”

  “If you tell me to behave, I’ll kick you in the shin.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Come,” he held out his arms, and she let him help her down from Bartholomew’s back. She shouldn’t notice how light she felt in his arms. But she did.

  “Under normal circumstances, you understand that visiting a who … mistress … is not acceptable behavior, eh?”

  “Contrary to what you believe of me, I know my manners, thank you.” Would he continue to insult her the entire night? She brushed by him, knocking him from the gravel path with her arm.

  She reached the blue door before he did, and so she knocked. So intent on proving that she could handle herself, Ela was unprepared for the woman who opened the door.

  “Oh.” Ela wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it had involved henna tattoos and lots of veils. Not the pleasantly curved plump-faced woman in a linen gown and braided leather girdle.

  Her eyes were a deep brown, like the mud on the side of the river bank, and her aura combined greens, browns, and blues. Her face was a giant smile as she openly laughed at Ela’s confusion.

  “Oh, do come in,” she said, pulling Ela by the hand. “I knew that I would like you—I’m Kailyn.”

  “You were expecting me?” Ela couldn’t help b
ut smile in return.

  “I’m a seeress. And Roger told me—so of course I was expecting you. Come in, before the neighbors get an earful. They already find me … odd.”

  “I think you look very normal,” Ela said reassuringly.

  “Looks aren’t everything—as you know!”

  She laughed, and Ela laughed, as she was wrapped in a hug with a stranger who felt like a sister.

  “I’ve made tea, and ale, or there’s wine. Whatever you like.” Her smile included Os, but he was holding himself back—reserved, as usual. Ela sniffed, her pride still smarting. Logic wasn’t ever going to warm his bed.

  “Come in, Osbert Edyvean,” Ela said with smirk. “This is a safe place, I would wager my life on it. I’ll even let you sit by me and hold my hand if it makes you feel better.”

  He snorted before making a short bow of greeting toward Kailyn. “Ale. I thank you.”

  “Oh,” Kailyn laughed, holding her hand to her belly. “Is he always so formal?”

  “You have no idea.” Ela shook her head and followed Kailyn into her small sitting room. The sharp fragrance of chamomile and lavender came from a wrapped clay teapot on the low table before the unlit fireplace. The summer evening was pleasant and warm enough.

  “I’ll be right back with your ale,” Kailyn gestured toward a chair and smiled at Os.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice.” Ela raised her brow at him in what she hoped was a reproving manner.

  “I am nice.” Os took the lone wooden seat instead of the long, pillowed chaise. “Her smile is too wide.”

  “Too wide?”

  “She’s too … too …”

  “Open with her emotions?” Ela wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at Os’s stubborn expression. “You could learn to be more open. It wouldn’t hurt.”

  Kailyn returned with a frothing mug, which she handed to Os with a dip of her head. “You two sound like you’re an old married couple.”

  Ela studied the empty fireplace. “Osbert has vowed chastity rather than marry me.”

  Osbert jumped to his feet, almost hitting his head on the low ceiling. “That is not the entire truth. And besides, we are not here to talk about me.” He glared at her, and Ela calmly poured a cup of tea. It would do him good to get a nice dose of the same as he’d been giving her.

  Not a single drop missed the cup.

  He sat back down on the chair with a heavy thump of male muscle to wood. “We are here to find out about Boadicea’s spear. It seems I’ve been on a wild goose chase for the past year, and yea, I’m angry. Frustrated. And ready to run somebody through until blood flies and we have answers.”

  Ela gasped, noting the high color in Os’s angelic cheekbones. Divine.

  “Ah.” Kailyn poured her own cup of fragrant tea. “I asked Roger to send you looking for the spear. I’ve been having dreams.”

  “About Boadicea?” Ela leaned forward. “And the battles she was in?”

  “He sent me on a mad quest because you had a dream? I’ve missed out on a year of my life.” Ela heard the banked anger in Os’s voice and wished he would release it before he died of apoplexy.

  Kailyn explained with a small shrug, “I moved here from Thetford, to get away from the seat of the power. I couldn’t channel anymore without losing myself in the past. I sense that Boadicea wants to be found, but I don’t know why. I was hoping that the search for the spear would turn up a relative—a virgin, preferably—because the magic is stronger.”

  Os dropped his mug to the floor. “Witchcraft?”

  Kailyn reached back over her shoulder and pulled a small towel from a shelf. She tossed the towel to the spill and finished her explanation as Os visibly fought for composure. Ela sympathized but didn’t interfere.

  “Earth magic, praying, whatever you wish to call it. A virgin has more untapped power than a woman who has tasted the gift of love.”

  Ela, cheeks flaming hot, glanced over at Os, who was suddenly studying the ceiling. It was a nice ceiling, crisscrossed with beams and filled with dried herbs. But did it require such intensity?

  She should have warned Kailyn not to talk about witches—or sex.

  “Os has a … an issue … with witchcraft.” Ela wouldn’t reveal Os’s secrets—the ones she knew, and the ones she could only guess at.

  “Oh?” Kailyn tilted her head and waited, silent.

  Ela sighed and picked up her teacup, sipping the hot liquid. If Kailyn waited for Os to explain himself, they would never get to the story about the spear. “So you want the spear? Not the earl?”

  “Oh no—Roger would love the spear. Whoever holds it will have a sure victory in Britain against the enemy.”

  “I see—no, I don’t, actually. What do you want with me, then? I don’t have the spear. Until Osbert arrived demanding it, I’d never heard of it.”

  Kailyn’s brow furrowed. “You must. Every portent I’ve looked at points to you having the key.”

  “The key to what?” This must be my day for feeling inadequate.

  “Unlocking the dreams. I can’t rest, and I need to know what they mean. Time is running out—for something, I don’t know what.”

  “I’ve been having dreams since I was a little girl. Gram was the only one who could soothe me after one—she’d tell me stories. We have a tapestry depicting the last battle, and she would always tell me to look there for comfort if she wasn’t around.”

  “A tapestry?”

  “Aye. ‘Tis old, but I don’t think a thousand years old.” Ela laughed. “It would be a crumbled mass of yarn.” And yet she could imagine the tapestry in detail, down to the dried rust thread on Boadicea’s spear, the red hair, and the chariot with the golden wheels. Her daughters. Two, but one fallen in battle.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Kailyn urged.

  “I’m just remembering the details of the tapestry.” Ela sipped again from her cup. Her skin grew warm, as if there were a fire—but there was none. “I always felt as if the people inside the tapestry could come to life. Have you seen Boadicea’s daughters in your dreams? I have.”

  Kailyn nodded. “Aye. It’s as if I’m a bird, flying above the activities below. I can’t hear, but I can see bits and pieces. ‘Tis confusing, and yet I can’t stop the dreams from coming.”

  Ela’s grip on the cup handle slipped. Her thoughts jumbled together in a fuzzy knot, and she had trouble setting her cup down on the table. She felt … drunk. Confused, she turned to her knight. “Os?”

  His head jerked, as if he were fighting sleep.

  Recognizing the herbal effects of valerian, Ela let out a long breath. Betrayed. Again. She whispered, “This has not been my best day.”

  “Just wait,” Kailyn promised. “‘Tis not over yet. Don’t be afraid, for I would cause you no danger.”

  How naïve did a woman have to be to believe in the good of people even after she’d been tricked, lied to, and now drugged? Still, a part of her knew that Kailyn offered neither her nor Os any harm. “Why did you do this? I would gladly have shared information.” Her voice deepened.

  “Your knight wants to protect you, and he interferes with your fate.”

  Ela shook her head, negating Kailyn’s words. “He doesn’t.”

  “Don’t worry over him, he will be fine. I need you to tell me the details of your dreams, to see if there are further clues to what Boadicea wishes from beyond the veil.”

  Struggling to get to Os did no good; her muscles were slack and her lids heavy.

  “Don’t fight it.” Kailyn said, coming to sit next to her on the chaise. “Just lie back. Let the dream take you where it will.”

  “I only dream when I sleep.” Ela found herself being gently arranged on her back, with her feet stretched out on the chaise. “Fragments. It’s never clear.” For some reason, she felt like she should apologize.

  “No, no need. You’ve probably already reasoned that I’ve added a bit of valerian to your tea, which will put you in a partial trance. I’m traine
d to make sense of what you see. That’s why it’s very important that you talk through the dream and tell me each detail.” Kailyn patted her arm reassuringly. “Trust your instincts, Ela. You are safe in my home. Let’s take a few deep breaths, and then you will begin.”

  Her eyes itched, but she couldn’t relax. She heard Os’s soft, even snores come from a distance, far away yet amplified. So long as he was near, no harm would come to her. Her muscles slackened. Then came the pattering of Henry’s claws as he climbed in through a small open crack in the kitchen window.

  “Oh!” Kailyn squealed.

  “Nay—don’t worry,” Ela ordered from a faraway place. “It is Henry, my pet.” She relaxed even further as Henry’s warm body curled atop her stomach.

  “He’s protecting you too. Like Sir Osbert.”

  “We are misfits together.” Her body was warm and weightless as the drug took effect. She heard the sounds of battle in the distance, familiar after twenty years of life. “I am being pulled by the beat of the battle drum …”

  “Go. I will follow, if you let me. I am a dream seeker. May I take your hands?”

  “Aye.” The time for mistrust was long past. With one more deep, deep breath, Ela let go of the present.

  The smell of horses and wet leather bridles made her nauseated. These days everything but the cold breast of starling on bread caused her belly complaint.

  Two months since the rape, two months since the stirrings of war, two months of misery and sickness and tears. Goddess help her, but the bitter herbs she’d swallowed hadn’t done anything but set her stomach on fire. No bleeding, no welcoming sign of the moon blood.

  Was she to bear the stain of the Roman’s rape forever?

  “Ana? Can I bring you some bread?” Her sister’s voice broke through the protective fog of her own thoughts.

  “No, Diyani. I’m not hungry. How do you feel?” Somehow her older sister bore the scars of rape without shame. The marks from where they’d held her down at knifepoint showed how she fought. I should have fought harder.

  “Furious. Nothing’s changed since this morning. What foolish Roman farmers to think they could stop us from passing through those fields! They were our fields before Claudius took them and gave what wasn’t his to give. It serves them right to die in the grain—a worthy offering to the Horned One.” Her sister’s laugh was cold with a cruel edge it hadn’t had two months before. “I sacrificed two hares last eve to Andraste. I will kill with my bare hands if that is all that’s left to me—since the Romans have confiscated everything else.”