‘Eva! You little wretch!’ His voice hammered down.
The barrel bounced and swung, then slowly started rising again. Her hands clawed the rough, whiskered rope. Bruin had ordered the servants to raise the wooden cask! She glanced down, her eyes watering with the cold, the slip of shingle beach where the river boats moored to unload provisions for the castle shimmering below her. Was she near enough to let go of the rope and jump down? Was she brave enough? Her belly flipped with queasy fear. The drop was only about ten feet, but landing on the hard-packed stones could break her leg or worse. But if she made an effort to push herself back and jump into the river, the deep water would break her fall.
She glanced up, horrified. From the arch of the storeroom, Bruin glared down at her, his jaw set with grim determination, his mouth hard, unrelenting. His hair flowed out like fire, flaming bronze in the raw, unforgiving sunlight: a Norse god of old, a Viking raider. My God, she thought, her heart plummeting, he looks exactly like his brother. It could have been Steffen staring down at her in that very moment. And he was waiting for her, watching as she slowly rose towards him. He looked like he wanted to kill her.
Her whirling mind tipped, fled along irrational paths. The thought of his wrath, of what he might do to her, far outweighed any risk of flinging herself into the churning water. Terror drove her. She had no time to waste. A stiff, truncated cry tore from her lips; pushing her boots sturdily against the wooden cask, she flung herself out and backwards, hands relinquishing the rope. Her cloak spread out like a wing around her as she fell, the hem curling in around her legs, her feet bobbing helplessly in the limpid air.
And then she smacked into the water, skirts catching around her ankles, hampering her attempts to kick her legs out. She knew how to swim; her father had made certain that both her and her brother had the skill after what had happened to their mother all those years ago, but she hadn’t reckoned on the heavy garments pulling her down. She sank, the churning, freezing water enveloping her. Struggling blindly in the sucking flow, she shoved her arms down, fighting to keep her head up. Sunlight danced on the surface, disorientating her. Water filled her nose and mouth, making her splutter and choke; she fought for breath, caught in a powerful vortex of water. She wasn’t going anywhere.
And then a hand seized her hood, hooking into the neckline of her gown, big knuckles grazing the bare skin beneath her sodden hair, hauling her backwards. She howled in outrage, stretching her arms forward, thrashing at the water in a desperate attempt to try to swim away, pumping her legs out and back. But she couldn’t move. The hand gripping at her clothes would not allow it. Bruin’s hand. She wanted to weep. How had he managed to reach her so quickly?
‘Come here!’ Bruin roared at her, his substantial frame dipped low across the bow as he dragged her, kicking and struggling, towards the boat. ‘You foolish woman! What were you trying to do?’
Two men rowed the boat, adjusting the oars constantly to keep the vessel steady in the brown, choppy flow. Lying flat, hooking his toes over the seat in the boat, Bruin stretched his arms out, seizing Eva’s shoulders, then her waist. Feet kicking out wildly, she struggled against his powerful hold, wriggling furiously.
‘God, will you stop fighting me!’ he shouted above the rushing sound of the river. ‘You are not going to escape, do you hear me?’ Exasperated, he managed to hoist her out of the water, dumping her in the bottom of the boat, gasping and sodden. Fuming.
‘You cannot get away with this!’ Eva hissed at him. ‘Treating me like a…’ she paused, struggling to find the words ‘…like a sack of grain!’
The corner of Bruin’s mouth quirked upwards. ‘A sack of grain would be far easier to deal with.’ His tone was dry, mildly scathing. ‘For a start it doesn’t talk back.’ Water droplets spotted his red surcoat, the metallic links of his chainmail sleeves. ‘What on earth possessed you to jump into the water?’
‘To get away from you, of course! From what you’re making me do!’ Eva replied. She thumped her fists down on the planks beneath her, annoyed for not having succeeded. ‘You had guards posted on every door; it was the only way out.’ Her veil and circlet had disappeared; a good portion of her hair had come adrift. The tangled strands rippled down in curling tendrils, glossy seaweed across her green-velvet gown. Touching her hips.
Bruin cleared his throat. In the clear, undiluted sunlight, his hair shone like golden filaments, ruffled by a sharp little breeze. ‘You could have been killed,’ he said slowly. Fear shot through him, a visceral pulse of pure, undiluted terror. Echoes of the past. What if he had been too late, what if he had pulled her, limp and lifeless, from the surging river? He leaned forward, his face looming close to hers. ‘It was stupid and thoughtless. Don’t you ever, ever do that again!’
The boat rocked violently, caught in a vicious eddy; Eva’s hands flew out, clinging to the sides of the boat to keep her balance. ‘It’s not likely now, is it?’ she replied sarcastically. Her teeth started to chatter; her words juddered out through frozen lips. The wet fabric of her hood gathered lumpily around her neck, water trickling over her damp cheek, behind her ear. ‘I’ve ruined my one and only chance of escape. You won’t let me out of your sight now.’
Her voice held a forlorn note. In her lap, her hands trembled, like white, upturned flowers rocked in a fierce breeze. Beneath her bulky cloak, her gown, sopping with water, clung to the luscious curve of her hips and thighs, the sweet indent of her waist. A bluish tinge played across her mouth. Despite her fighting talk, she reminded him of a hunted animal, cornered, broken, with nowhere left to turn.
‘Row us to the shore, now!’ Bruin ordered the men and they nodded, turning the vessel expertly in the current, steering a bouncing path across the river. Eva stared numbly at her knees, beaten, exhausted. Her eyes paled to a shimmering turquoise, the light leaching from her face. Guilt swung over him. He had driven her to this; he had made her so desperate to escape the trip to visit Steffen that she had been prepared to jump into the river. To risk her own life.
A tendril of hair stuck to her cheek; Eva pushed it away with a shaking hand. Snow dusted the opposite bank of the river, the land rolling upwards to a copse of trees. The strength of the current had been too great for her; she never would have managed to reach the other side. Shivering, she wrapped her arms across her belly, her chin jutting out in grim determination. The stark, dancing light bounced up from the waves, lapping the boat, reflecting against the gold-threaded embroidery on Bruin’s tunic. ‘How did you manage to reach me so quickly?’ she asked resentfully.
He had to admire her courage, despite her foolishness. What other woman would have done such a thing to avoid him? Maybe he should let her run and lie to his brother about having found her. But he was in no doubt that while Steffen was alive, his brother would find others to track her down. Steffen was used to his orders being followed; it was not in his nature to back down. The thought of another man searching for Eva made him feel acutely uncomfortable. A surge of protectiveness flooded through him, sudden, surprising. He shifted his hips, adjusting his position on the wooden seat. His reasoning made no sense.
‘I climbed down the rope and into the boat,’ Bruin explained. ‘The men were already there, about to row out to you. They thought you had fallen.’ A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘Little did they know the truth of the matter.’
She flinched beneath his silver-bright perusal. Drew her knees up to hunch herself into a tight bundle, trying to control her erratic shivering. ‘I told you I didn’t want to go with you! I told you I didn’t want to see Lord Steffen—ever again. But did you listen? No, you did not.’ Her voice was shrill, punctuated by short gasps, aquamarine eyes flaring over him with irritated hostility. She caught the musky tang of his breath as his eyes levelled with hers; her chest quivered, flexed in response to his nearness. The memory of his mouth from before.
‘And I told you, you have nothing to fear from Steffen, that I would protect you. Why do you not trust me?’
‘Why would I?’ Eva spat back, staring moodily at the slatted boards beneath her boots. ‘You’re his brother, you are connected by family. I am nothing to you.’
On the contrary, he thought with a jolt. You are most definitely something. Someone. Someone I don’t want to let go of, just yet. The thought thwacked into him with the force of a crossbow bolt, stunning, unexpected, allied with a flicker of hope. Newborn and tentative, but, aye, it was there: hope. He cared about Eva, he realised, cared about what happened to her. The air stuck in his throat and he frowned, glancing away across the river, the wide choppy expanse. A flock of seagulls circled over a flat meadow that ran down to the water’s edge and he watched their wheeling progress for a moment, heard their lonesome, mewling cries. What was it about this woman that captivated him, held him in such thrall?
She sat before him, half-drowned, stockings peeking in sodden folds beneath her hemline, tumbling hair plastered chaotically around her head. Most women would be in tears by now, hysterical, clinging. Not Eva. She refused to give up, or give in to him, battling stubbornly for any ounce of freedom she could find. Her stance was defiant: spine pulled straight, shoulders set in a determined line. Her rare courage drew him, like a beacon in the darkness.
‘I would not leave you at the mercy of any man, let alone my brother, whatever it is you think he might do,’ replied Bruin eventually. Squinting against the brilliant light across the water, he realised the boat had almost reached its destination: a tiny inlet that sat below the gatehouse of the castle. Oak trees clustered along the bank, bare branches dusted with snow sweeping low across the water, frilled ends sketching the shallows. The boat grated against the shingle, a rough, discordant sound, as the men manoeuvred the vessel on to the stones.
Standing up, Bruin placed his foot on the edge of the boat and sprang out, boots crunching on the loose gravelly stones. As the men secured the oars in the rowlocks, he barked a few words at them and they began running through the trees back to the castle, the sunlight streaking down through the dark grid of criss-crossed branches, striking patches of white snow on the brown earth. Bruin watched them go, then turned back to Eva sitting proudly in the boat. ‘Now, my lady, will you come with me to Deorham?’
Eva pursed her lips, feeling her strength drain away. ‘I suppose I have no choice.’
‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘You don’t.’
She stood up slowly, her legs wobbling, almost giving way. Her wet gowns pulled heavily on her shoulders. ‘So be it,’ she stuttered out, reluctantly. He had won. Her brain, scrambled by her dunking in the river, seemed void of solutions to her predicament. She couldn’t think of a single one.
‘And no more attempts to escape?’ A taut muscle flexed in the hollow of his cheek.
‘I promise,’ she replied meekly. Her eyelashes fluttered down, a gesture of compliance.
Bruin wasn’t fooled. Despite Eva’s acquiescent behaviour, the demure flick of her velvet eyelashes, he had no intention of believing her. Ignoring her squeak of protest, he gripped her waist, lifting her shaking body out of the boat. He placed her beside him and she staggered a little. Water streamed from the ends of her hair, the long strands plastered lovingly to her curves like silken skeins. Like a mermaid, he thought, a fairy creature from a story long ago, fey and ethereal.
The material of her gown clagged uncomfortably against her chest and belly, the chill cloth prickling her forearms. ‘I have to change,’ she announced. ‘I can’t travel like this. I need to go back to the castle.’
Bruin’s mouth set into a firm line. ‘No, Eva, I’m sorry. We’ve wasted too much time as it is. The men have gone back for the horses and some clothes for you.’
‘But…’
‘No, Eva.’
At his brusque refusal, her eyes flared with annoyance; she pursed her lips, folding her arms belligerently across her chest. ‘What gives you the right to treat me like this?’ Irritation laced her tone; she plucked viciously at the fabric stuck wetly to her thighs.
‘No right at all,’ he replied amiably. Beneath the trees, his features appeared hewn, as if from wood: craggy and angled. And yet his mouth held a surprisingly generous curve. ‘Other than the fact that I made a promise to my dying brother and I aim to fulfil it. In whatever way possible,’ he finished, ominously.
‘In whatever way possible,’ she repeated slowly, turning away with tears in her eyes. ‘Riding roughshod over people’s rights and opinions, determined to have your own way. How like your brother you are.’ Condemnation dripped from her voice. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t march me to Deorham in the middle of the night, with your knife at my throat!’
Dark streaks clouded his eyes, muting the silver. ‘Is that what Steffen did to you?’ Nausea rose in his gullet.
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘No, he didn’t do that. He threatened all sorts of things, to scare me, but he never carried them out.’
‘I am sorry you had to endure such things.’
‘Are you? Then why are you dragging me back to my persecutor? If you’re sorry?’
A dull flush covered Bruin’s cheeks. He sighed. ‘You know why, Eva. I’ve known my brother all my life; I’ve known you a couple of days. There is such a thing as loyalty, despite what he has done. And, yes…’ he held up his hand as Eva was about to speak ‘…I do believe what you told me about him, but I also believe that he needs to be able to ask your forgiveness before he dies.’
Eva glared down at her boots poking out from her skirts, the leather stained dark from the water. She knew what Bruin said made sense, that she couldn’t deny a man, any man, his last dying wish, but she also knew how clever and manipulative Lord Steffen could be.
Bruin’s eyes slid over her lowered head, the defiant glitter in her eyes. ‘Eva, you have to know when to stop fighting.’
‘Give in, you mean.’ Her voice was bitter.
‘If you want to call it that, then, yes,’ he replied calmly. Through the trees, the filtered light danced on his shoulder, patches of shadow. ‘You’re not going to survive much longer in this world if you keep behaving like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you’re invincible. Speaking your mind when it would be better to remain silent. The physical risks you take…’ he shook his head ‘…why, even a man would baulk at them.’
She jerked her chin up. ‘You don’t understand, do you, Bruin?’ Her voice adopted a dangerous lilt, a shrill note of discord. ‘I’ve had to be like this.’ She kicked petulantly at a small stone, watching it skitter away to the water’s edge. ‘When my father and brother were killed, I was left everything that my family owned. I managed the estates, with the help of good bailiffs. My servants were happy, everyone was happy…’
‘And Steffen took it all away from you.’ Disgust rose in his mouth, a sour taste.
‘Yes.’ She angled her gaze up to him. ‘He took it all away from me, but not without a fight.’
He shoved one hand in his hair. ‘Most ladies in your position would have given it to him without argument. Surely that would have been easier?’ And safer, he thought.
‘Is that what you would have done?’ She glared at him archly. In the limpid light, the skin in the hollow of her neck gleamed with a pearl-like lustre. The pulse in her throat beat rapidly. What would it be like to place his fingertip on that very spot, feel her blood race beneath his touch?
Bruin tilted his head to one side. ‘No. No, I would not have. But then, I am a man. I can fight my own battles.’ He stuck his thumbs into his sword belt.
‘It shouldn’t make a difference.’ Her tone was tight, laced with bitterness. ‘Your brother picks on the wealthy unmarried women, the rich widows. Daughters and wives. In my case, I think the King condoned his behaviour because it’s seen as fit punishment for being related to a rebel. I’m not the only one, Bruin. Lord Steffen has ruined other women’s lives, too, stripping them of their lands and wealth. Their dignity. Did you know that?’
Bruin rolled his shoulders, frowning. ‘I did not.’ What, he wondered, had his brother become? Had Steffen’s childish competitiveness, his petty jealousies, developed into something far uglier? He knew that Steffen had resented his own skill as a knight, particularly when it drew praise from the King, but had this resentment grown into something far crueller and more widespread?
Eva’s mouth twisted, eyes glittering with unshed tears. ‘I’ve fought for what I think is right, Bruin, not just for me, but for all the other women who have suffered at his hands. It was time for someone to stand up to him.’
Her words gouged into him. If he had stood up to his brother as a child, then maybe Steffen wouldn’t have gone on to torture and humiliate such innocent woman as Eva. ‘You were brave to do such a thing, Eva.’ He paused. ‘Steffen—can be unpredictable.’
She threw him a sharp look. It was the first time Bruin had referred directly to his brother’s character. ‘I had to try,’ she whispered. Her shoulders sagged downwards, her small frame wilting beneath the harsh reality of his words.
He watched the fight drain out of her, vulnerability sifting across her face. His hand caught her icy fingers, a gesture of apology, before his fingers dropped away. ‘I’m sorry it has to be like this, for your sake.’ he murmured.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Eva replied. ‘I’m not entirely stupid. I do know how this world works and where women are placed within that world.’ She threw him a wan smile. ‘We are at the bottom of the pile.’
Bruin dipped his head, about to speak, but she placed a hand on his chest, stalling him. ‘The men are back,’ she said, raising her tone with a false jollity. Her pronouncement sounded inane, cutting through the intensity of their previous words. She fixed him with her brilliant blue gaze, opening her eyes wide in innocent question. ‘What do you want me to do?’
He grinned at her unexpected meekness. Taking the pile of clothes from the manservant, he handed them to her. ‘Go and change in the bushes over there.’ Bruin nodded at an area of low vegetation. ‘And make sure you stay where I can see you.’ A ruddy colour dusted the top of his cheekbones as he realised the implication of his words. ‘I mean—well, not all of you, obviously.’ God, her beauty made him stumble over his speech like some callow youth.
‘Obviously.’ Her response was dry as she marched off in the direction of the bushes edging the woodland. Ducking behind a thick scrub of holly, she peeped over towards him. ‘Can you still see me?’
‘Yes,’ Bruin muttered hoarsely. He turned abruptly to check over the bridles and saddles of the new horses from the castle stables, acutely aware that, barely a few feet away, Eva was removing every stitch of clothing.
* * *
Roughly following the line of the river, the route to Deorham led north out of the sweeping valley that had been Eva’s home for the last few months. Her sanctuary. Already she missed Katherine’s calm, easy company; it felt strange, unusual to be away from her friend, away from the simple routines of domestic life, the tolling of the chapel bell that structured the day, the playful shrieks of the children. She hoped and prayed they would be safe and happy, that King Edward had not arranged some ogre of a husband for his only niece, Katherine.
The clear, settled weather held; although the air was chill and snow lay on the ground, the sun shone brightly, hot against her spine. The cold weather had turned the mud on the track into hard, unyielding furrows, easier for the horses. Ice sparkled down from the trees, glittering like tiny crystals. Occasionally, the earthen banks alongside the track rose steep and high, plunging them into shadow, branches bending over the space to create a dank hollow, laced with brown, brittle ferns.
The dry clothes imbued her with a renewed energy; behind the thicket of bushes she had changed every last scrap of clothing, scrubbing her wet skin briskly with the linen towel that someone, supposedly on Katherine’s orders, had placed in the leather satchel that was now strapped to the rump of her horse. Her chemise and undergarments, her stockings, even her leather boots had all been replaced, the wet garments handed back to the servants who were returning to the castle. Her new gowns were of fine wool: a blue dress over an undergown of pale cream. She recognised the hooded cloak as one of Katherine’s, swinging out in voluminous pleats from her shoulders. The warm layers enveloped her, gradually driving out the icy chill of the river from her body.
Her horse was docile, but lively and responsive to the touch of her knee, or twitch on the reins. At Striguil, she had ridden out on a daily basis, inspecting the crops in summer, checking the food and hay stores in winter. Before they had set off, Bruin had asked her if she could ride, and before he could help her, she had stuck her foot into the stirrup of the chestnut mare and swung herself up easily, side saddle, her right knee crooked before her. Bruin had grinned, a quick flash of praise, and she had blushed stupidly in the glow of his approval.
Now, he led the way along the stony track towards the ridge that marked one end of the valley. She had no choice but to follow him; Bruin had attached a leading rein to her horse. He didn’t trust her, understandable after what she had tried to do, but still annoying. Sighing, she studied the broad expanse of his shoulders, his red surcoat straining over bulky muscles. A quiver of delight rippled through her belly, but she quashed it swiftly, pursing her lips together with an acceptance of the inevitable. After his earlier words, a small part of her believed that he was on her side; she must hold on to that thought, for now there was no option left to her but to trust him. Trust that he would protect her against Lord Steffen.