Page 10 of Saxon Lady

A elia could not have been more surprised when Sir Auvrai took her to see Osric later that evening. Her brother was being held in a large building that served as servants’ quarters, with members of her father’s fyrd—men who refused to swear fealty to their Norman conqueror.

“You look well for a prisoner, ” the boy said derisively.

Aelia recoiled as if she’d been slapped.

“Osric…I know it has been difficult for you.”

“What does the Norman plan to do with us? Will we hang?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We will leave for London soon.”

Osric turned away and folded his arms across his small chest. His red hair was filthy with the grime of the storehouse fire and his hours of confinement here. Aelia’s heart splintered with the pain of seeing him brought so low. “Why? Why does he take us there?” he asked.

Aelia walked ’round to face him. “Fitz Autier will not say.”

“Then it does not bode well for us, does it?”

Aelia feared he was right. But what could she do? Run away? She did not think the mighty Sir Auvrai would just turn his back and allow her to take Osric and leave Ingelwald. If they happened to get away, Fitz Autier would hunt them down.

“I don’t know what it means for us,” she said. “But there does not seem to be any choice in the matter. Fitz Autier has ordered it, and so we go.”

“I refuse.”

“Then he’ll tie you to a horse and take you anyway.”

“Father would disown you, Aelia.”

“You are a child, Osric. Someday you will understand our situation. But for now, you should be glad to be alive, and do what is necessary to remain so.”

She addressed the men who sat on the floor, listening to their conversation. “We are defeated. Fitz Autier has said he will be lenient with any Saxon who swears fealty to him. Wallis is gone. The day of Saxon mastery is past. Do what you must,” she said, “but think of your families…of your women and children who do not want to lose you.”

“You speak like a coward,” Osric cried.

“I speak as one who has seen too much death.”

She had resolved naught. Turning to leave, she tapped upon the door, but before Auvrai opened it, two of the prisoners called out to her.

“My lady…I will swear to Fitz Autier.”

“You are right. ’Tis no use to resist any longer, my lady. We are defeated.”

“We’ve got wives and children to see to.”

“Crops to harvest.”

A few others added their voices, and soon only Osric and four or five others remained silent.

Aelia’s emotions were on edge as a group of Norman knights walked with her and the surrendering Saxons to the hall. Osric remained with the other prisoners who refused to accept Fitz Autier. She left them and walked across the courtyard to the wall, where she climbed the steps, reaching the palisade just as the sun made its final descent to the distant horizon.

Aelia could feel autumn in the cool evening air, and it chilled her. ’Twas likely they would depart for London on the morrow, and so this would be her last day here. She knew very well she would never see Ingelwald again.

Only one Norman guard paced the length of the high parapet, and he paid little attention to Aelia. Fitz Autier must consider her no threat at all if he’d given her leave to visit Osric and the other Saxon prisoners. And now she was allowed to walk freely within the walls.

Mayhap Osric was right. Mayhap she was a coward, going meekly to London where she had no notion of what would happen to her.

Aelia turned and looked out at the village and the land beyond the walls, at the rich, rolling fields of gold and green. ’Twas her father’s domain, and Aelia was relinquishing it to their enemy. She had fought sedulously against the Normans these past months, holding out against the previous Norman leader who had pitted his skill against her. But when Fitz Autier arrived, all her defenses had come to naught.

Grief, raw and devastating, pierced her heart. Her father’s death had been sudden and violent. Aelia would never forget the moment she’d seen him fall—his armor no protection against the brutal slash of a Norman broadsword. None of her arrows had pierced his killer’s armor, nor had any of the men nearby been able to avenge Wallis.

Aelia had not even been able to reach her father until hours later…when his body had long been cold.

She needed him very badly now, as her world fell apart. Naught was as it should be. Her people had surrendered. They worked stolidly to rebuild that which had been damaged. Osric was irascible. And Aelia…too much was amiss within her own heart.

Fitz Autier was Ingelwald’s conqueror. She had no business thinking of him as Rowena’s valiant champion. Holding her after the nerve-shattering confrontation with Durand was naught but what any Christian knight would have done when met with a maiden in distress.

Except that his embrace, his caress, had caused a burning fullness in her chest and a quickening in her loins, much like what she’d felt the night she’d slept in his tent.

And to Aelia’s dismay, she’d wanted more.

Her father would be disgusted if he knew what she felt.

Rowena stepped away from the well far below, and Aelia watched her carry a bucket of water toward the hall. The girl’s life was irrevocably changed, as were all their lives, but Rowena had always been such a merry child, full of the potential of her womanhood. Aelia doubted the girl would ever again look at a young man with the same blush of innocence, without fear of being hurt and defiled.

A young Norman groom interrupted his own labors and approached the maid. From such a distance, Aelia could not hear what he said, and ’twas unlikely Rowena would be able to understand him. Yet she smiled and handed him the heavy water bucket, then walked beside him as he carried it to her destination.

Aelia’s sigh was a painful one, constricting her chest and choking her throat. It seemed that life would go on at Ingelwald without her, Saxons and Normans together.

“Much of what is here will remain the same, demoiselle. ”

Aelia whirled to face Fitz Autier, who had approached so quietly she’d not heard him. Or mayhap he’d stomped noisily across the palisade but she’d been so immersed in her doleful thoughts she had not noticed.

His words did not reassure her.

“Why must I go to London?”

Fitz Autier did not answer right away. He went to the parapet and looked down, resting his forearms on the wall, as though relaxed. But Aelia saw a muscle in his jaw tighten, and realized that her question had not been a simple one.

“Why not execute me here?”

Fitz Autier shoved away from the parapet and grabbed Aelia’s arms. His sudden move surprised her and knocked her off balance, but he held her steady. “By God’s holy cross, woman! What purpose would your death serve?”

She raised her chin and looked into his eyes. “I did not know a Saxon’s death needed to serve some purpose.”

He pulled her ’round to face the grounds below, where torches had been lit and people worked quickly to finish their tasks before retiring for the night. “This is what matters. Ingelwald.”

“With you as its master. A bastard Frenchman.”

He released her. “Aye.”

Aelia felt cold. She hugged herself, rubbing her arms while Fitz Autier watched her with a closed expression. “The old woman who was killed—Erlina—she had a cottage outside the walls some distance from here. Osric and I could…we could stay there, and William would never know—”

The Norman turned and started to walk away, but Aelia followed, circling ’round to impede his path. “Please, seignior,” she entreated. “Do not let your king enslave us. I promise—”

“And I gave my oath, demoiselle. I am bound by it to take you to King William.”

She looked for some measure of kindness in the man, some hint of the benevolence he’d shown earlier. But there was naught. He was a hardened warrior, a man who would follow his orders no matter what the cost.

Mathieu walked toward the gate where the men were putting away their tools. The work would be finished upon the morrow, and the gate would be intact again. He could feel secure about leaving the holding well protected.

“Where is Durand?” he asked the men.

Most of them shrugged or replied that they did not know. One of the knights did not respond.

“Sir Hugh. Where is your cohort?”

“I have not seen him lately, baron.”

His answer did not ring true. The two were usually together, and ever since Mathieu’s arrival at Ingelwald, he’d noticed Durand’s habit of using Hugh Picot whenever he needed a fool to cover for him. Mathieu did not know why Hugh permitted himself to be used in such a way, nor did he care. He just wanted to find Durand.

“I assigned him to work here. When did he leave?”

Even in the flickering light of a torch, Mathieu saw Hugh’s eyes shift away. Something was amiss.

“An answer, Hugh. Now.”

The man cleared his throat. “He was angry all day and spoke of leaving Ingelwald, baron. I did not see him go.”

Mathieu would have taken a contingent of men and ridden after Durand, but the hour was late and there was much to do to prepare for his departure. “What was his destination?”

“I do not know. Likely to the west, where there is some chance that he…er…”

“Baron Richard Louvet’s lands are west of Ingelwald,” Mathieu said. “Will Durand go there?”

Hugh nodded. “Mayhap. Durand wants land, baron. Or a post. After he killed Ingelwald’s lord, he thought Gui de Reviers would reward him generously. When you arrived to take Lord Gui’s place…”

“He knew that I did not favor him, so he decided to seek opportunity elsewhere?”

“Aye. Especially after the incident today with the Saxon wench,” Hugh replied.

Mathieu concluded his discussion with Hugh and went to the knights’ quarters, where he found Auvrai, along with the men who would accompany him to London. He told Auvrai of Durand’s desertion. “Hugh thinks he has gone west to Richard Louvet’s holding, but he might lurk nearby.”

“We’ll keep watch,” Auvrai said. “He will not disrupt Ingelwald.”

But Mathieu did not like the possibility of Durand remaining in the vicinity, waiting for him to leave. “No, he will not. I’ll go after him at first light.”

“You will change your plans for this?”

Mathieu nodded. “I prefer to deal with the blackguard myself.”

Mathieu did not like what he’d seen of Durand so far. He did not feel comfortable leaving Ingelwald, suspecting the unscrupulous knight skulked nearby. Auvrai was more than capable, but Mathieu would not have it known that he’d left his estate when there was trouble afoot. He would deal with it himself.

He left Auvrai to his task, glancing up at the parapet where he’d left Aelia. If she was still there, he could not see her, which was for the best. It seemed that all he had to do was look at her and his nerves hummed. He’d managed to avoid her most of the day, and their confrontation on the parapet had not been pleasant.

But the tenor of their meeting had changed naught. He still wanted her in his bed.

Mathieu jabbed his fingers through his hair. He had no choice but to take her to William. He would never lie to the king about what had transpired here, and his orders had been quite certain. He was to bring Wallis and his family to London if they survived the battle for Ingelwald.

Had Wallis still lived, King William would have put him on display with the other Saxon prisoners, to humiliate them before the masses. And then he would likely execute them, unless he needed Wallis as a hostage against further rebellion.

Mathieu did not believe William would put Aelia and her young brother to death. He could not believe it, or he would be compelled to violate the king’s orders. He would not take Aelia to London to be killed. Since Ingelwald seemed resigned to its Norman sovereignty, she would not be needed as a hostage. ’Twas more likely that William would marry her to a Norman soldier as a reward for service.

Mathieu clenched his jaws tightly. Mayhap the old woman’s cottage was a viable alternative. King William had been primarily interested in Wallis, but the Saxon lord was dead. No purpose would be served by taking Aelia and the boy south, and their presence would only complicate the journey. Mathieu would not be able to travel as fast as he would like. And someone would have to guard them at all times.

The way Mathieu and Auvrai had figured it, Mathieu could take but a small escort with him to London. Merely eight men could be spared, in order to leave enough warriors here to secure and protect the holding. Mathieu and his party would have to travel swiftly and quietly, and try to avoid attracting the unwanted attention of marauders who roamed the countryside—like those who’d attacked them yesterday.

Mathieu walked outside Ingelwald’s gate and into the village lane. He passed the church and inn, the tanner’s and several other tradesmen’s shops. There were numerous cottages with well-tended yards, and a mill at the opposite end of the village, near the river. No one was about at this hour, the villagers either finding their rest within the safety of Ingelwald’s walls, or busy with their evening meals.

He reached the edge of the village, but continued on a narrow track, following it through a patch of tall grass until he came to an isolated cottage. It had to be the house where the old woman had lived, the place where Aelia had asked to stay.

The door was ajar and Mathieu walked inside. In the last light of dusk, he found a candle. Lighting it, he took a look around.

The room appeared not to have been inhabited for some days, and Mathieu grimaced at the stench of sour milk and spoiled food. Dust was thick on every surface, and he could hear the scampering of rodents that had taken up residence in the walls. A pallet of straw lay on the dirt floor at the end of the room near the hearth, and there was one broken stool lying beside a small table crusted with refuse.

’Twas not a fit home for anyone, much less his Saxon lady.

Frustration ate at him. Aelia could not remain at Ingelwald. A bride had been chosen for him and he would begin his marriage here with no distracting thoughts of Aelia living in this pitiful cottage. He wanted her as far away as possible.

Though Clarise might be the most desirable wife in the kingdom, Mathieu did not know how long he could resist his attraction to Aelia. Yet it made no sense. Unlike the beauties at Court, Aelia took no pains to make herself presentable. She wore no finery, nor was her hair arranged in any intricate fashion. She spoke her mind and showed her temper.

But it was all Mathieu could do to keep from pulling her close and fusing his lips to hers. He wanted to taste her, to feel her fiery spirit as he possessed her. His hands itched to feel the fullness of her breasts as he looked into her eyes, and his body ached to pierce through the barrier of her innocence, taking her for his own.

With a shaky breath, Mathieu extinguished the candle. He was trapped. He’d never experienced such unrelenting lust for a woman, not even Clarise. If only he could send Auvrai to London with Aelia and the boy…. But Mathieu was compelled to present himself in person for his formal betrothal to Clarise. And if he left Aelia here at Ingelwald, he had no assurance that this intense craving for her would abate by the time he returned.

His only option was to take her to London and leave her there. And he would do everything in his power to avoid her as they traveled together.

A soft rain had begun to fall by the time Mathieu left the old woman’s cottage and entered the gates to the hall. The grounds were deserted due to the rain, except for two people—women—walking together ahead of him. One of them was Aelia. Curious about her purpose, Mathieu followed the pair to one of the workshops.

The shop belonged to the master carpenter. Mathieu had visited every building earlier in the day, and talked to all the craftsmen, with Sir Gilbert as interpreter. But the carpenter had been ill and unable to speak with Mathieu. The man’s wife and daughters seemed to believe he would not last out the day.

Mathieu wondered why Aelia had been summoned here. He stepped inside.

The workshop contained all manner of items crafted from wood—chairs and tables, stools and cupboards, as well as several beautifully carved musical instruments. But what interested Mathieu most were the pieces displayed on the shelves in the workroom.

The carpenter was a master carver. Mathieu picked up a crucifix the man had crafted with intricate detail. He ran his fingers over the smoothly planed and polished wood and took note of the careful strokes and cuts that made the piece remarkable. The next statue was the face of a young girl. ’Twas carved in such a way that it seemed to be emerging from a gnarled and weathered piece of wood unlike anything Mathieu had ever seen. He wanted to spend more time studying each piece, but the voices in the private quarters drew him.

Firelight cast a flickering glow on the room, but Mathieu could see that it was comfortably furnished. The priest was in attendance, and stood at the carpenter’s bedside, anointing him and uttering the Latin prayers for the dying. The man’s wife knelt in tearful prayer, as did two adolescent girls, presumably the man’s daughters, while Aelia sat on a low stool, holding the craftsman’s hand.

When the formal prayers ended, the carpenter spoke to Aelia. His speech was labored, and interrupted often by his efforts to catch his breath. Aelia listened patiently, then spoke to him. Mathieu could not understand her words, but her tone was gentle and kind, while her face bore the stricken expression she wore all too often.

When Aelia got up, she urged the carpenter’s wife to take the seat beside her dying husband. Then she knelt on the floor with the daughters and bowed her head in a posture of prayer until the room became silent. The carpenter had taken his last breath.

Quiet weeping ensued, and the priest raised his hand in blessing as he murmured prayers for the dead. The daughters’ shoulders slumped, and Aelia put one arm ’round each of them, then stood and embraced the weeping wife, until she caught sight of Mathieu, standing near the door of the shop.

Using the back of her hand, she wiped tears from her cheeks. “Have you come for your first heriot, Norman?”

“You always manage to think the worst of me, demoiselle. Please give the women my condolences and ask the priest to offer Mass for the carpenter every week for a year.”

“I will do so, seignior,” replied the priest. His perfect French surprised Mathieu.

“Father Ambrosius was my teacher,” explained Aelia.

“And Beorn the Carpenter gave you your music,” the priest interjected.

“Aye,” Aelia whispered, then returned to the grieving women. She kept her eyes on Mathieu while she spoke to them, then pulled her shawl ’round her shoulders and head, and came to the door.

“I need no guard to take me to my room,” she said, pushing past him. She strode ahead, moving quickly through the workshop and exiting the building.

He should have let her go. He had just decided ’twas necessary to keep a safe distance between them, but Mathieu could do naught but follow her in the rain, across the muddy ground. With ease, he caught up to her brisk pace.

“I told you, I am all right on my own,” Aelia said.

Belying her words, she tripped and would have fallen had Mathieu not caught her arm and steadied her. Rain soaked the shawl that covered her head, and mingled with the tears on her face.

“Allow me to escort you, my lady.”

“Are you afraid I might run off in the night, Fitz Autier? Somehow escape your Norman yoke?”

The most prudent thing would be to let her go. On a night like this, only a fool would try to run from warmth and shelter, and Aelia was no fool.

“What did you say to the carpenter’s family?” he asked, suspicious of her interchange in the shop. ’Twould behoove her to foment ill feelings and distrust between him and the Saxons. “Did you tell them I demanded payment before the man’s body was even cold?”

“No,” she whispered.

“What then? That they would have to vacate the premises immediately?”

She shook her head. “I merely gave words of sympathy and told them I was leaving Ingelwald in the morn.”

“And that was all?”

Her chin trembled. “I said ’twas unlikely that I will return here…but that they would do well to—to trust you. I told them that you are an honorable man.”