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‘You are impossible. Go. Get out of my sight. I don’t care where you go. Just go!’
Chapter Ten
Edith stood silently in Brand’s chamber, listening to the sound of heavy drinking filter in from the hall. Tonight, she’d pleaded a headache and had retired to bed. The message was curt and she thought designed to provoke a reaction, particularly as one of the serving women breathlessly confided that the king’s messenger had arrived.
Brand had not bothered to check on her, but instead sent word through one of the serving women that this was acceptable. He understood that she was not feeling her best.
Acceptable? Understood? Who was he to dictate if what she did was acceptable or not? Even now, her blood fizzed at the thought. She wanted to storm down and shout at him. She refused to be dictated to. She might have agreed to stay as his concubine because she’d no choice, but that did not mean she was his slave!
When she’d returned earlier that evening, Hilda had reported in a hurried whisper that Athelstan had refused to see her, but declared his intention through Mary of staying. This was his home, where his forefathers were buried. He would remain as long as he had breath in his body.
He had also heard of her liaison with Brand and did not approve. Hilda reported in breathless tones that everyone was speaking of how she’d become the Norseman’s whore. The entire village.
Edith stared over at the bed. One of the reasons she had stayed, rather than protecting her modesty through retirement to a convent, was to ensure the safety of her people. She’d known some would point their fingers and judge, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.
She had to do something to help Athelstan and his family, something solid, rather than paying lip service to the ideal.
‘A man is judged by the quality of his actions, rather than the words he mutters,’ Edith whispered. ‘I’ve always proclaimed it and now it is time to prove it.’
She made her way onto the stone wall at the back of the room and counted in the darkness seven stones along. Her fingers curled about the edges of the stones and she pulled. The stone refused to yield. She redoubled her efforts and there was a great scraping noise.
Instantly Edith froze. Listened. The noise from the hall grew louder. The strains of the saga of Ivar the Scarred echoed in the room. She had first heard the saga two nights ago and thought it fantastical then. It seemed even more so now. Sweat poured down her back.
She spat on her hands and tried again. The stone suddenly gave way and she fell back onto her bottom with a deafening thump.
She sat on the ground, listening. The hall had gone deadly silent. Her heartbeat resounded in her ears. When she thought all was lost she heard a great roar of laughter and the music of the harp started again. Safe.
Placing the stone to one side, she reached back into the cavity. Rather than the quantity of silver and jewels she’d expected, a single silver cup remained. One solitary cup, pushed to the back and lying on its side. She thrust her hand in the space again and felt around more, desperately searching.
Her mother’s jewels, including the brooch of the hare with sapphire eyes that she’d loved seeing her mother wear, had to be there. She’d put everything there the afternoon after Egbert departed. Nothing remained except the cup.
Edith tapped her finger against her mouth and tried to keep the great hollow from opening inside her. That hoard was supposed to see her through if anything dire happened.
Egbert would have taken the entire lot if he had discovered the hiding place. Edith made a face. He couldn’t be the one. She’d waited until he was gone before she retrieved everything and placed it here.
There was only one conclusion—Brand had discovered it, but had left her a message so she’d know. Asking him about it would be impossible as then she’d have to explain why she had been in the hiding place. She had to assume that he’d left the cup, in case she wanted to flee.
She gave a small laugh as she weighed the cup in her hand. ‘I don’t quit, Brand. I never have and I don’t intend to now. This cup will have another use.’
* * *
‘Why did you return, Athelstan?’ Edith asked the man who lay on the rough bed the next morning.
When first light came she had slipped out of her lonely bed, dressed and made her way to Athelstan’s cottage. Mary had let her in and shown her to the back room where the injured man hid, more of a cow byre than the resting place for a warrior of his repute.
