His eyes bored into hers, brilliant chips of mineral light. Seized in a taut, suspended bubble, the silence stretched between them, Bruin’s face twisted in confusion. ‘Are you telling me the truth?’ Thrusting his hand through his hair, he winced as his fingers brushed against the wound. His cloak pulled apart with the movement, revealing his red tunic beneath, the wink of gold embroidery.
‘Why would I lie to you?’
Bruin’s broad shoulders slumped. ‘No.’ His gaze prowled over her, eyes gimlet-sharp. He knew her now. ‘But—I can’t make sense of what you are saying—you think you saw—Sophie? What did she look like, this woman?’
Misery flooded through her, a surge of unspent longing, coupled with regret. ‘She was tall and slim; her hair was blonde.’ Even to her own ears, her description seemed woefully lacking.
‘Which describes about half of the ladies in England,’ he replied drily.
‘Her name is also Sophie and she is married to your brother,’ Eva insisted. ‘It’s more than a coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘Possibly.’ A hint of reluctance stained his tone. ‘But if this is true, why was she not in attendance when he was ill? The child wasn’t there either.’
His reticence was puzzling. A questioning look crossed her face. ‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered.
Bruin wiped his hands on the linen cloth that had held his meat pie. ‘I’m sorry, Eva. You’re sweet and kind and I know you want it to be her, but it just cannot be her. Sophie is dead and that part of my life is over. You must have been mistaken.’ It was strange that he could speak Sophie’s name and not feel the shadow of loss drive into him. The sadness was still there, aye, and grief, too, but it was a blunted sensation, muted. He knew why. The woman standing before him lit up his heart and drove the unsettling memories away, like a bright sun burning away cloud.
‘I wanted you to know what I had seen,’ Eva said quietly. ‘Otherwise it might be a shock for you. When we go back, I mean.’
Her protective tone made him smile. Speaking as if she were his knight in armour, as opposed to the other way around. His saviour. And in a way, she was. His prowess with a sword and fists could only keep her safe physically. She was the one who had made his heart feel whole again, patching up the crude lacerations that had harried him since Sophie’s death, knitting together the torn ragged pieces with her gentle ways, and soft voice. Her beauty.
* * *
With a few gold coins, Bruin procured a palfrey for Eva, a docile grey with white markings, splotches across her rump. He bought saddles and bridles for both of them, tacking up both horses with skilful proficiency, drawing up the girth straps, adjusting the stirrups for Eva.
‘Here,’ he said, pressing some coins into Eva’s palm. ‘Buy some food for our return journey, while I finish this off. I am not sure how welcome we will be when we show our faces at Deorham again. It might be best to eat something beforehand.’
The sun was higher now, flooding the whole market square with brilliant light. Squinting, Eva walked amongst the colourful stalls, eyeing the tempting piles of bread, the great wheels of cheese. At a stall selling all manner of dried herbs, foul-smelling tinctures in glass bottles, she bought an earthenware pot of salve for Bruin’s head. She procured a few bread rolls from a wizened old woman, whose back seemed permanently bent forward, and a square block of cheese.
‘Long journey, my lady?’ the woman at the cheese stall enquired.
‘No, no, just to Deorham,’ she replied, placing the money in the woman’s outstretched palm, gnarled fingers bent in like a claw.
‘That husband of yours is a handsome devil,’ the woman cackled, nodding over to the spot where Bruin tacked up the horses. She must have watched Eva walk over from that direction. ‘Make sure you keep a firm hand on him.’
‘Oh, but he’s—’ Eva spluttered to a stop, a warm sensation stealing across her heart. She savoured the feeling, revelled in it. Was this what it could be like? To be married, bound by the Church to a man she loved, and wander amongst the market stalls, knowing that she was safe, protected; that someone would always look after her? She gritted her teeth. Do not become accustomed to this, she told herself sternly. It is fleeting, ephemeral, and will be blown away when he sets eyes on Sophie again.
* * *
Bruin had finished with the horses by the time she returned, arms laden with provisions. He picked them out of her arms, one by one, packing them into his leather saddlebags strapped to the rump of his horse, until she was left with the pot of salve.
‘What’s that?’ He raised his eyebrows in question.
‘For your wound,’ Eva explained. ‘I know I haven’t had time to clean it, but if you let me put this on, it will help to stave off any infection.’
‘What—you want to put it on now?’ He smoothed his palm down his horse’s nose. His chainmail sleeve pulled back with the movement, exposing his broad wrist, corded veins splaying out across his hand. His animal snorted loudly, scraping one hoof against the cobbles.
‘I do.’ Her reply was emphatic. ‘The wound has been left too long already! I should have looked at it the moment I came into the barn…’ Her voice trailed off, halted by memory.
‘I didn’t give you a chance, did I?’ he murmured below the hubbub of the marketplace. A wave of chagrin catapulted through him.
Eva raised her shoulders listlessly, not wanting to dwell on his obvious regret. ‘You gave me the chance to say “no”, Bruin.’ She tamped down on the hurt, the sadness that wreathed her heart. ‘Please forget about it.’ Wrinkling her nose, she fixed him with what she hoped was a haughty, confident stare. ‘Let me look at your wound.’
Dutifully, he bent his head, allowing her to part the matted hair and inspect his split, bruised skin. How could he forget? Her fragrant body furling around his, the delicious scent rising from her neck, her hair, slippery satin. Why had she not pulled away from him when he had given her the option? Had she been hoping that he might turn out to be a better man than he was? That he would marry her? The thought did not stun him as much as he thought it would.
Eva rubbed a grainy ointment along the puckered lines of his wound, a thick paste that covered the broken flesh. The smell of the salve rose to his nostrils, pungent and acrid. ‘What is that made of?’ he asked, flinching at the overwhelming stink.
Eva stepped back, replacing the cork stopper on the earthenware pot. ‘I’m not entirely certain,’ she admitted, ‘but the woman assured me that it was an excellent treatment for wounds.’ The breeze caught the mud-splattered hem of her gown, blowing the material across his legs.
He smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Eva, for taking care of me.’ He couldn’t remember a time when such a considerate gesture had meant so much to him. Holding out his hand for the pot, he stowed it in his saddlebag. He turned back, mouth quirking in a half-grin. ‘Now, are you ready to claim what is rightfully yours?’
* * *
The grey walls of Deorham rose up forbiddingly, towering blocks of stone. Eva glanced furtively up at the castle, half-expecting a hail of arrows to come arcing down towards them. Intense fear gripped her solar plexus. A blade slicing across her flesh. ‘I can’t believe I’m coming back here,’ she said. ‘I must have been mad to agree to this!’
With the sun sliding down towards evening, she had followed Bruin back through the forest, her gentle-footed mare matching the pace of his stronger horse, and now they rode side by side up the stony track to the castle gates. The low evening light struck the tower windows at an angle, a white-orange flash that forced Eva to screw up her eyes. She saw the spot where she had crouched by the walls, from where she had watched Bruin spring out through the gates. Her teeth bit her bottom lip, worried at the sensitive flesh. ‘What is to stop Steffen and his men locking us back in the stables and keeping us there for ever?’ Her voice trembled and she shivered, the evening chill beginning to take hold of her body.
‘Me,’ Bruin replied. ‘He caught me unawares before, but I’m ready for him now.’ He touched the jewelled hilt of his sword like a talisman.
‘I wish I had your confidence,’ Eva replied, as they steered their horses towards the closed gates. Iron rivets studded the thick wooden planks in a criss-cross pattern. Bruin thumped on the wood with his large fist, the sound reverberating inwards, around the gatehouse.
A voice emanated from the inside. ‘Who goes there?’
‘It is I, Lord Bruin, brother of Lord Steffen. Open up, I must speak with him.’
A narrow door, the outline barely perceptible as it was set within the larger gate, opened. A head poked out: the manservant, Simon, face as pale as eggshell, skin covered with a greasy sheen. ‘Lord Bruin,’ he stuttered out, his hand fluttering across his chin. ‘Oh, God, something awful has happened. Lord Steffen is—he’s dead!’
‘What the—?’ Jumping down from his horse, Bruin grabbed the servant by his collar, dragging him up from the ground, so that the man’s arms dangled uselessly against his sides. ‘What are you saying? How?’ The man trembled in Bruin’s grip, pale eyes rolling wildly, his lips opening and closing, making no sound.
‘Speak!’ Bruin demanded, giving him a little shake.
‘His own man,’ Simon managed to stutter out. ‘They have only this moment returned from Striguil—’ he flicked his gaze over to Eva, apologetic ‘—and one of his knights ran him through, took the ruby. It all happened so fast—there was nothing I could do—’
‘Where is he? Where is Steffen?’
‘In the bailey.’
Bruin helped Eva to dismount and together they led their horses beneath the carved arch and into the dank, shadowed space, the horses’ hooves echoing loudly within the confines of the gatehouse. Green mould streaked the walls. A smell of something rotten permeated the air. Eva’s upper arm nudged against Bruin’s as they walked side by side. Emerging into the light of the inner bailey, her eyes rounded in horror at the scene before her. She gasped, stopping suddenly, fingers clawing at her throat.
Steffen was lying near the middle of the bailey, where the cobbles dipped down to a circular drain. His arms were stretched out either side of him, his legs together and bent over to one side with his knees drawn up. His eyes were open, staring and sightless. Blood seeped across the ground, leaking steadily out from his chest, soaking the pale blue fabric of his surcoat. A red stain. Beside him, another man, a knight, his body sprawled at an unnatural angle, was also dead.
Eva struggled to comprehend the horrific scene before her, to make sense of it. Shock eroded the strength in her knees; legs buckling, she collapsed against her palfrey, gripping the mane. Bruin turned to her, his big shoulders blocking out the sight of Steffen’s body, and caught her by the elbow. ‘Go back,’ he urged, disentangling her numb grip on the reins and pushing her gently into the shadowed confines of the gatehouse. ‘I don’t want you to see this.’
He pressed her against the damp wall, squeezing her fingers: a swift gesture of reassurance. ‘Stay here.’ His silver gaze locked with hers. ‘I will deal with this.’ The cord fastening of her cloak had come undone; the heavy fabric slipped off her shoulder. Bruin hefted the sides together, knuckles skimming her chin, tying the cord with deft efficiency.
Eva placed her hand on his chest. ‘It might be a trap, Bruin,’ she whispered. Densely packed muscle rippled beneath her fingers. ‘Be careful, you know what Steffen is capable of.’
He nodded briefly, then was gone.
Resting her head back against the stone, Eva stayed completely still, fighting the roiling nausea in her belly, forcing herself to quell the reckless pace of her heart. As her blood slowed, her breath quietened and she opened her eyes, curious now as to what was happening. She peeked around the corner of the gatehouse. Bruin crouched over Steffen’s prone figure, Simon hovering beside him. Eva heard Bruin’s low, oddly inflected tone rap out a question and the manservant answered, too muffled for her to hear, jabbing the air with his fingers, making a point.
And then, cutting across this whole, surreal scene, a woman screamed. An animal sound, hoarse and shrill, echoing out from inside the castle. A door slammed back on its hinges and Eva saw her again, the tall blonde-haired woman she had seen yester eve, now running, stumbling across the bailey with her skirts held up, white veil flowing out behind her. Her beautiful face was twisted up, as if in pain, mouth gaping open in horror. ‘What has happened?’ She flung her hands out before her, skidding to a halt, gesturing at Steffen’s fallen body. Her movements were jerky, awkward, as if she had lost partial control of her muscles. ‘Sweet Jesu, what has happened?’ Sliding to her knees, her loose over-gown pillowing about her, the woman laid her head on Steffen’s chest, then grabbed his tunic, patting at his ashen face. An engraved golden circlet secured her veil; beneath the flimsy silk, her blonde hair was coiled into two plaits on either side of her head. ‘Steffen, speak to me! Steffen!’ Her eyes were glazed, unseeing to all around her except for the dead man.
As she dropped beside Steffen, Bruin sprang to his feet, lurching backwards, staring hard at the woman on her knees. ‘Sophie?’ he managed to croak out. He closed his eyes briefly, hand touching his forehead, in disbelief.
The woman’s movements stalled, her hands resting on Steffen’s chest. Blood stained her fingers. Her head bounced back on her shoulders as she peered up at the knight who addressed her. ‘Bruin? Is that you?’ she whispered, hazel eyes wide with shock.
‘How are you alive?’ he blasted out, anger streaking his voice. His jaw was rigid; a muscle jumped high in his cheekbones. ‘My God, how can this be? I saw your wet clothes—all these years I thought you were dead!’
The woman swayed. ‘I don’t understand—’ she whispered faintly. ‘Oh—what is happening?’ Her eyes widened dramatically, hazel-coloured irises rolling back in their sockets as she slipped over into a dead faint, her arms draping slackly across Steffen’s portly chest.
‘Oh, dear, no. Come on, my lady!’ Simon bent down to Sophie, hands fluttering ineffectively around her as if he wanted to help, but didn’t know how.
Bruin’s expression was hard, immutable. Cast in shadow by the low angle of the sun, his cheekbones appeared as if carved, sculptured from a block of stone. He towered over the unconscious woman, his dead brother, brawny legs braced apart. ‘What in hell’s name is she doing here?’
‘Why, she lives here! She’s Steffen’s wife.’
From the gatehouse, Eva had watched the blood drain from Bruin’s face, the shock and fury, the utter incredulity that crossed his features at the sight of Sophie again. She darted forward.
‘Bruin.’ She touched his chainmail sleeve. The metal was cool beneath her fingers.
His head whipped around and down, regarding her fiercely, his raw expression easing fractionally as he acknowledged the woman at his side. Eva. He took a long, shaky breath, drawing comfort from her nearness, the fragrant smell of her hair wafting up to him. The scent of roses, reminding him of summer.
‘You’ve had a shock.’ Her voice was gentle.
‘You could say that,’ he replied through gritted teeth. Nothing could have prepared him for this; it seemed inconceivable, as if he had stepped into a nightmare. This was the woman he had loved. Had loved. He had no wish to hold Sophie, or to comfort her. An unusual hollowness clawed at his innards. His heart was numb. He felt nothing for this woman—absolutely nothing.
‘I should help her,’ Eva said.
‘I’m not sure she deserves your help,’ he said roughly. ‘Or anyone’s help for that matter.’
‘I will tend to her. Can you carry her to a bedchamber?’
Bruin’s jaw set in a grim, fixed line. His dark lashes stuck out from his brilliant eyes, velvet spikes. One hand hovered above his sword hilt, his lean frame held taut, as if he were about to challenge someone to a fight.
‘She is Sophie, isn’t she?’ Eva confirmed tentatively, flinching beneath his scowling gaze. ‘The same woman—?’
‘Yes,’ he growled out. ‘The same woman to whom I was betrothed. The same woman whom I thought was dead. What is she doing with my brother? Married to him?’
‘Now is not the time for questions, Bruin,’ Eva said quietly. ‘This lady has just lost her husband. If we can move her inside, I will tend to her. And then, when she recovers, I’m sure she will be able to explain things.’
Through the rocking sea of confusion in his brain, he cleaved towards Eva’s voice, clinging to it like a lifeline, pulling himself up out of the troubled mire of his emotions, hand over hand, towards her. He relaxed slightly, his hand grazing Eva’s shoulder. ‘You were right,’ he said woodenly, shaking his head. ‘How did you even know it was her?’
‘It was something your brother said, before they locked me up in the barn with you,’ Eva replied. ‘He said that he had “fooled you, good and proper”. They were such perplexing words, Bruin; they made me suspicious.’
‘You were right to be,’ he replied, his voice steadier now. ‘God, he must have planned the whole thing, wanting me to believe that she was dead, when in fact, he wanted her for himself! And then there’s the child—? She must have been pregnant by my brother when I broke off our betrothal!’ He stuck his hand through his hair, sending the bronze-coloured strands awry.
Simon was struggling to lift Sophie into a seated position, but her unconscious body refused to co-operate. Her head lolled against the manservant’s shoulder; her arms flailed uselessly, palms turned up on her lap. With a hiss of exasperation, Bruin stepped over his dead brother’s feet and lifted Sophie’s limp form effortlessly into his arms. ‘Lead the way to her chamber,’ he ordered Simon.
Eva followed the small group, jealousy knifing through her, a dark beat of blood. Sophie’s head rested against Bruin’s muscular arm, a loose strand of blonde hair straggling across his chainmail, snagging against the silver links. She bit her lip, trying to quash the ugly feeling rising within her. She had no claim on Bruin; who did she think she was? She had given him her innocence, but something like that would mean little to him. Of no consequence. And now the woman he had loved all those years ago had reappeared, a widow with a small child. Eva had no chance.
* * *
An oak coffer sat beneath the window in Sophie’s bedchamber. The wooden surface was cracked and damaged, dried over the years by streaming sunlight. Eva sloshed water from a pottery jug into a shallow bowl, dipping a linen cloth into the chilly liquid. She wrung out the cloth and moved over to the woman on the bed.
Sophie was still unconscious, but her eyelids, pale and blue-veined, moved rapidly, as if she were coming out of a deep sleep. She lay where Bruin had placed her, not gently, on the edge of a fur coverlet, head sunk into a feather pillow. Her golden circlet sat slightly askew, her veil rumpled untidily behind her head. Bruin had left the bedchamber as quickly as he had arrived, muttering something about Steffen, insisting that the hapless manservant accompany him.
Hitching on to the bed, Eva lifted the heavy circlet carefully from Sophie’s head, then unpinned the veil, laying both on the stool beside the bed. She dabbed the damp cloth around Sophie’s hairline, across her temples. Wisps of hair, pale gold, curled out across the woman’s white forehead. Her skin held a parchment-thin translucency.
‘Sophie?’ Eva spoke her name gently, and then again, louder this time. ‘You need to wake up now.’
The blonde eyelashes parted, then pulled fully open to reveal shimmering eyes of pale brown, shot through with golden streaks. Oh, Lord, she was truly a beauty, thought Eva, heart plummeting.
‘I—’ Sophie stuttered out. Her hand sketched the air, searching for something: a vague, dislocated gesture. ‘What happened—?’
‘You’ve had a dreadful shock,’ Eva said carefully. She thought of Steffen’s body, the blood. Bruin’s fierce expression.
Groping for Eva’s hand, Sophie held it fast. ‘Is—is my husband, Steffen, is he dead?’ She squeezed Eva’s knuckles, her grip surprisingly strong.
‘I’m so sorry,’ replied Eva, resisting the temptation to pull away from the pincer-like grip. Be kind, she told herself sternly. This woman had done nothing to you.
‘Where is my son?’ whispered Sophie. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘No.’ Eva thought of the chattering red-haired child, his freckled round face laughing as he crossed the bailey in the snow with his mother. Now without a father.
‘His chamber is through there,’ Sophie said limply, indicating a smaller door in the wall opposite the bed. ‘Can you tell his nursemaid to keep him there until I can go to him? I don’t want him to see—’ A strangled whimper choked off the end of her sentence, tears leaking down across her cheeks.
‘Of course.’ Disentangling her hand, Eva slid thankfully from the bed. She rubbed her hand surreptitiously; if she looked down now, she would see bruises across her knuckles. Pushing open the door, she peered into the adjoining chamber. On the floor, the red-haired boy was playing with a wooden cart, trundling it up and down the floorboards. He looked so much like Bruin, the similarity was uncanny. He glanced up when the door opened, then almost immediately dropped his eyes, more interested in his game than the unknown woman at the door. Sitting alongside him was a smiling, red-cheeked nurse, herself a young girl. Her gaze moved swiftly over Eva’s expensive gown and silver circlet; she started to scramble to her feet, her manner deferential.
‘Nay, please don’t get up.’ Eva made a frantic pressing motion with her hand, indicating that the nursemaid should stay where she was. ‘Lady Sophie wanted me to check on the boy. She asks that you keep him here for the nonce.’
The girl nodded. ‘Has something happened, my lady? I thought I heard—’
Eva frowned hard at her, jerking her head abruptly towards the child. ‘Just keep him here, will you, please?’ she replied curtly. ‘The mistress is unwell and I will stay with her.’
‘As you wish, my lady,’ the nursemaid said. Worry lurked in her eyes.
Closing the door, Eva moved back to the bed. ‘Is there anything I can get for you?’ she asked Sophie. ‘A hot drink, maybe? Or some food?’
Sophie’s head rustled against the pillow as she turned towards Eva. The golden embroidery on her green-velvet over-grown twinkled in the fading light from the window. Beneath the loose tunic-style gown, she wore a more fitted dress of light blue wool, the sleeves buttoned from wrist to elbow. ‘No, no, nothing, thank you,’ she said, reaching again for Eva’s hand, forcing her to sit on the bed once more. ‘You are so kind and yet I don’t even know your name,’ she whispered.
‘My name is Lady Eva of Striguil,’ Eva replied.
‘Striguil,’ Sophie echoed faintly. ‘That’s over to the west, is it not? I’m sure my husband…’ She trailed off, her head twisting weakly on the linen pillow.
‘Please don’t distress yourself,’ Eva said. ‘You need to rest.’
‘I am sorry not to have met you before,’ Sophie continued. She screwed her features up, as if trying to make sense of something. ‘Am I right in thinking that you came with—with Lord Bruin?’ Her voice was so faint that Eva had to tilt her upper body closer, in order to hear her words.
‘Aye, that’s right.’
‘You are married to him?’ Sophie asked.
‘No, no, I’m not,’ Eva said hurriedly. Now that Lord Steffen was dead, there was no need to pretend she was Bruin’s wife. She had no need of his protection any more. The thought made her oddly bereft.
‘Then why are you here with him?’
‘We came because…’ Her voice ebbed away, reluctant to say anything that would cause further hurt or distress to Sophie in her present state. ‘Bruin was helping me to track down something that I had lost.’
Sophie closed her eyes; tears crept out from beneath her lashes, streaking down her pale cheeks. ‘I knew him once,’ she whispered, the air hitching in her throat. ‘Some years ago now, in Flanders.’ Her tapered fingers lifted to her brow; she kneaded the spot between her eyes. ‘I am so ashamed. I treated him very badly. But Steffen—’ Her voice limped to a stop, halted by uncontrollable weeping. ‘Oh, Steffen,’ she cried out, half-rising from the pillow, clutching at the dusty curtain hanging against the bedpost, ‘why have you left me in this mess? What have you done to me?’
What have you done to Bruin? Eva thought as she helped Sophie settle back on the mattress. You have cruelly tricked the man who loved you, ruining his life, and almost destroyed him. Turning away from the bed, she headed for the door. ‘I will fetch something to light the brazier,’ she said, briskly. ‘The air grows chill in here.’
Sophie was staring up at the canopy above her, her eyes wide, wretched. The huge four-poster bed swamped her willowy frame. ‘Fetch Bruin to me now, please. I must speak with him.’