Black Pearls - Louise Hawes [69]
Which is how it came to pass that when I set forth a few minutes later, I left behind every stitch of clothing, every bauble and cloak my husband had ever given me. And true to my word, I took with me nothing that he owned, only what was due his child. The gems, after all, were not Leofric's. His troops had plundered them at the siege of Worcester, and he planned to make a gift of them to the church in Evesham. They were intended for God's sweet children, and, I reasoned, his new babe could surely be counted among those.
As I saddled Felicity, then, I wore only what I had been born with. And just as I knew he would, my husband chased after me, swearing oaths. "By Christ's nails!" I heard his boots against the stable door, saw the dust whirl up, tiny armies scrambling in the beam of light he had let in. "Go, then!" he said, loud enough to startle the other horses in their stalls. "Give alms where none are sought." He stepped out of Felicity's path as I backed her from her pen. "None is sought and none, I tell you, is deserved."
But if he had been full of oaths and temper when he stormed into the stable, he fell utterly silent when he saw me now. His face wore the look of someone who has walked into the path of a coiled snake, a danger with which he has not reckoned. Yet this was a danger with milk-white shoulders and breasts only half hidden by the hair that fell around me. The countenance he raised to mine reflected alarm and lust in equal measure.
I rode past him to the stable door, but still he would not, or could not, speak. I reined the horse just outside and waited there. But my lord was paralyzed as well as dumb. He did not move, only stared and stared.
Because my mouth was stopped with jewels, I, too, must needs say nothing. A rare pair we were, then, a husband and wife with no words for each other. Just before I turned my horse, it seemed to me Leofric thought to speak. He raised one hand, and in his eyes was something like regret. But, the moment passed, he lowered his hand and I pulled Felicity's head around and rode off.
Now, as I left the village behind and the road gave way to a dusty trail, I, too, felt regret. Not for my rash rebellion that morning, or for the gift I had given old Ædre. What weighed on me like a stone, though, was the chance I had just renounced. What harm, I asked myself as I rode away from that poor hut, could it have done to hold the babe, to search for a trace of her father in her tiny face?
But I did not turn around. Hadn't I just told the old woman I would not visit again? On what pretext could I go back now? Yet as we neared the river, my arms ached for what they had not held and my eyes wept for what they had not seen. Two names chimed together in my heart: Nayla, with each beat of the horse's hooves. Ebba, with each step away from Coventry.
Felicity's nicker of surprise put an end to my pitiable musings. When she pulled short and refused to move further, I looked up to find that the bridge by which we'd come was washed away. The river, chuckling and babbling like a child under the fallen timbers, hardly seemed strong enough to have done such damage. Perhaps thieves or villains had contrived to knock down the bridge and foil those pursuing them. Had not Leofric himself used that very trick outside of Worcester?
My horse, after her initial startle, did not seem much perturbed. She ambled to the shore and, as if she knew no harm could come from the sun-dappled stream, put down her head to drink.
There was no other way across, and I decided, too, to trust the river. "What say you, madam?" I asked her. "Do you fancy a swim in the Cune?"
Apparently she did, for when she'd finished her drink and I had got down from her back, Felicity pulled ahead impatiently. I hiked up my cloak, held her bridle fast, and the two of us started across. The water