“He and Wat were chasing rabbits in the
waun
two summers ago,” said the smith. “Found it in the dirt at the mouth of one of the holes, he did, like it had once been buried and kicked up by one of the beasties.”
The boy, instead of confirming the tale, merely stared guiltily out the door and scratched some more.
“Hmm. You know, I think my friend might like the piece,” said Ari, trying not to sound too interested. “I’ll give you a penny for it.”
“I don’t want to sell it,” said the boy. “I like it, even if it is only a bull and poor silver.” He reached for it.
Ari closed his fist around the amulet, determined to take it. By force if need be. “Tuppence, then.”
The smith stepped around the bench to stand behind his son. The boy thought a minute. “Four pence and ’tis yours,
monsire
.”
“Good lad,” said Ari as the smith thumped his son on the back. “Four pence it is.” He opened his purse and counted four silver pennies into the boy’s palm.
The lad immediately turned around and handed them over to his father, who bit the coins to check them, then handed one back to the boy. “For all your own. We’ll quarter it later. And the rest, I shall put aside for when you go off to Master Siarl.”
“You have a wise father, Morvran,” said Ari. “And if, in his wisdom, he will let you show me where you found the bull, I will let him have the cup for one and ten.”
“Done,” said the smith quickly. “Though I doubt you’ll find aught of interest. I dug around a bit after, hoping there was more. All I found were coney turds.”
“I only want to be able to tell my friend where the trinket came from.” As the smith counted out coins, Ari broke the knot on the cord and handed the bit of leather back to the boy. He popped the little bull into his purse and stowed the purse inside his shirt, then put the smith’s payment in the scrip to go on the saddle.
With the boy up behind, they headed out of the village. When they were well away from the smith’s house, Ari asked, “So, where did you really find it? Don’t worry. I won’t tell him.”
“Eh?” The boy twisted to look back over his shoulder, as if he expected his father to come running after. “How did you know, sir?”
“It was in your eyes. It wasn’t in the rabbit warren, was it?”
“No, sir. It were by the old fort on the hill. I told Father wrong because he’d told me and Wat not to go so far, and never to go up there at all. He says ’tis an evil place, where witches play at night. But it were near the mouth of a burrow. A badger’s, I think.”
“You’re lucky, then. Badgers have nasty tempers. You might have been bitten and caught the mad fever. Will you show me? It is not night, so witches won’t be about.”
“Well . . . it were part of the bargain, so yes, sir. I’ll show you. But could you ride toward the warren first, so my father doesn’t know?”
Ari rode him ’round the warren and up the backside of the hill until the boy pointed. “There,
m’sir
.”
It was indeed a badger hole, and the fresh tracks at the entrance said it was still occupied. The beast had burrowed deep under the few remaining stones of a fortress so ancient it had probably been a ruin when the amulet was first hidden. It was only chance that the badger had kicked it up where it could be found, and more chance that the boy had stumbled upon it. But then the gods had stepped in to send that vision. For once they’d helped instead of hindered.
Ari had the boy show him just where he’d picked up the bull, then stood for a minute, marking the site well in his memory. There was little chance there would be another amulet in the area, but he’d come back anyway and dig, just to be sure.
But first, he had other, more important business.
He carried the boy back to his father, then rode deep into the woods to a clear pool. There he took his knife and laid his palm open to spill his blood into the water in thanksgiving to Odin and Vör for bringing him to this place, to this boy.
And the next morning, when he was man once more, he set out for the mountain cave where the bear was hiding, so that Brand could be the one to carry the amulet to Gunnar, as was his right as captain.
CHAPTER 9
Raby Castle
ELEANOR DIDN’T COME
down in the night after the dance, nor in the next night, nor for a week after that. Perhaps Lucy didn’t sleep soundly after all. Or perhaps Eleanor herself had taken heed of that momentary bout of good sense she’d expressed during the dancing—much as Gunnar wished for more time alone with her, upon thought, even he had to admit that love play behind the draperies was probably a poor idea.
So he was left sitting alone night after night, surrounded by snoring men and farting dogs as he reminded himself that it was her heart he needed and not her body. Over and over, he reminded himself, but it did little to relieve the ache in his balls.
Because whatever reasons kept Eleanor from presenting herself to him in private, they had no effect on the way she tortured him in public. Each evening when they retired to the solar—thank the gods Westmorland seemed happy to keep including him in that privilege—she found some new way to taunt him while looking utterly innocent to the others. One night, she selected a table for merels that was so small, their legs had to intertwine beneath while they played. On another, she leapt to accept Henry Percy’s offer to escort her and Lucy for a stroll in the courtyard—a stroll that left Gunnar to squire her sister Margaret along behind, where the sight of Eleanor’s hips swaying just out of reach drove him mad.
That very evening, after taunting him with her mere presence across the card table, she’d carelessly let a kerchief slip from her sleeve as she passed on her way out. Gunnar had scooped it up and handed it back to her with nary a word and barely a glance—her father was right there, after all. But the cloth had been so soaked in scent that even now, hours later, his hands reeked of her.
He buried his nose between his palms and inhaled deeply, letting the perfume’s scent conjure visions of her amongstst the tousled furs of a great bed, her legs spread wide, waiting for him to bury his—
He stopped himself short, a wry grin twisting his lips. God’s knees. Now she had him torturing himself.
He could find relief with one of the castle wenches, he supposed—the names of the most available were passed freely amongst Raby’s men-at-arms, and he knew where at least one willing woman could be found even at this hour—but he’d never seen much point in tupping one woman when he wanted another. It just didn’t have the same sweetness.
So he chose a time-honored path and wandered outside to find a dark corner and take care of the worst of the ache on his own, the scent of her perfume on his hands making his release that much more satisfying. As he retied his laces afterward, he reminded himself again of his true purpose. So long as he had one good hand, he could make shift without her body, but there was no substitute for her heart.
Unfortunately, her love was only half of what he needed, and his amulet wasn’t going to turn up in the castle well, the way Ivo’s had at Alnwick. Raby was far too new, and even the manor it had replaced had been built centuries too late.
Nor was it going to be part of some bastard’s quest for land. No king was going to step in and—
He stopped dead.
What a fool he was.
Eleanor had given him the key herself: her veins carried the same Plantagenet blood as the kings of England, the same blood as those who had set things in motion in the past. Her royal lineage was part of the gift, not an encumbrance. Even as he had stumbled along in blindness, the gods had been moving the pieces into place. All he had to do was win the lady’s heart, and they would surely bring the amulet to him.
Full of fresh hope and with considerably less ache in his balls, Gunnar went in, found his cup, and once again spilled a measure of wine into the fire in thanks.
Then he sat down and waited with much more patience than he’d had for at least a week, to see if by chance the lady would come down tonight before he had to leave.
She didn’t.
Summer is a-coming in,
Loudly sing, cuckoo!
Seeds do grow and meadows blow,
And trees do spring anew . . .
Eleanor glanced up from her sewing. “You are in fine voice today, cuz.”
“It is the weather, my lady. The day is glorious.” Lucy stepped back from the open window and started the song over, swaying and spinning gracefully in time to the music. “Summer is a-coming in . . .”
Eleanor laid down the cap she was turning and went to the window to look down into the busy courtyard.
As she suspected.
She caught Henry Percy’s eye and surreptitiously motioned him closer. As she turned back to Lucy, she let her hand rest on the sill and started working one of her rings loose with her thumb. “The lord, my father told me he would like some stitching on the band of his cap. I was thinking a wreath of laurels.”
“That would be too much,” said her mother from across the room. “Just as that spinning is too much. Stop if you will, Lucy. You make me dizzy.”
Lucy settled immediately. “Pardon, my lady.”
“What should I do, then?” asked Eleanor.
“What about a single sprig? Right here.” Lucy touched just over her right temple.
“He would like that,” said Lady Joan.
“Or I could do rosemary for remembrance, so that he would—Oh! My ring.” Eleanor leaned out the window to look down into the courtyard. “Halloo, I have lost my ring out the window. Sir Henry, can you find it?”
“I think so, my lady. I saw something fall.” Percy winked at her before he squatted to pat around in the dirt. A moment later, he held up the ring between thumb and finger. “I have it.”
“Ah, good. I will send Lucy down for it. Would you mind another favor, Harry?”
He pushed to his feet, fighting down a grin. “Of course not, my lady.”
“I want some laurel to copy for my stitching. Will you escort Lucy around to the kitchen garden so she may cut a twig for me? With so many strangers about, I don’t want her going back there alone, where no one can see.”
Henry’s eyes sparkled with the proper degree of mischief. “I am glad to be of service, my lady.”
“My thanks. Lucy, would you also . . .” She meant to ask Lucy to bring a sprig of rosemary, too, but all she saw as she turned was her cousin’s back as she flew out the door.
“I didn’t know your ring was so loose,” said her mother mildly.
“Only of late. I must see to it next time I am near a goldsmith. Pardon, my lady.” Eleanor leaned back out. “Recall that you are a gentleman, Harry.”
“I am wounded you doubt my good intent, my lady,” said Henry, though his smile faded a bit. “Never fear. Fair Lucy will come back to you safe anon.”
Not too safe, nor too soon
, Eleanor hoped, though she refrained from saying that aloud. She waited until she saw Lucy at the door below, then went back to her sewing, confident that, whatever her mother thought of it, her life was likely to become a good deal easier if Lucy understood at least a little of the pleasure to be had with a man. “Does anyone know where my scissors are?”
SOMETHING WAS ASTIR.
At this hour, the hall should be full of men finishing their meals or drinking. Instead, it stood nearly empty, with only a few of the higher-ranked knights and the family and fosterlings bunched together here and there.
Gunnar headed over to the washing station. A boy hurried over to pour for him, and as he scrubbed his hands, he felt someone step in behind him. Scent wrapped itself around him, and it was all he could do not to simply turn around and grab her. “Lady Eleanor.”
“You are late, Sir Gunnar.
Again
.”
“I often am. It is a wretched fault, my lady.” Gunnar tossed the towel over the rack beside the washbowl and turned to discover a twinkle in her eyes that gave mockery to her stern tone. He bowed to her. “Much like rumbling bellies and bobbing. I take it that I have missed supper entirely today.”
“The bishop of Durham came. He sent word ahead, and he likes to sup early, so my lord father accommodates him. I would have sent you word, if I’d known where to send to.”
He ignored her unsubtle prying and looked around to see if one of the serving men was near. “I will need to speak to someone about food.”
“There is no need. The steward recalled you were yet abroad and ordered a portion held for you.” Motioning for him to follow, she led him to a table off to one side, where a wooden trencher holding a half capon and a loaf waited next to a bowl of honey-and-wine-soaked fruits, thick with nuts. “Will this do?”
“Very well and thank you, my lady.” He sat, tore off the capon’s leg, and began eating while she motioned for a boy to bring wine. “I’m glad I arrived before the earl called for you all to retire, lest I missed you entirely.”
“I would not let that happen,” she said firmly. “But the truth is, we have nowhere to retire to. His Grace has taken the solar and the whole of the rear tower for his party, and he and my lord have their heads together. They have left us all below for the evening and sent most of the men to the lesser hall.”