Page 14 of Saxon Lady

M athieu had no intention of relenting. The boy would rub down all the horses and feed them before he was allowed to eat and sleep. And he would do this every night until they reached London.

It came as no surprise when Aelia left her own meal to help him.

“Aelia.” He caught her arm and stopped her before she could move away from the small fire at the center of their camp.

“He’s too small to do such work,” she protested as he directed her back to her place.

It would have surprised Mathieu if Osric tried to run off again. The boy was foolish, but not stupid. He knew how close he’d come to death, and was unlikely to try such a stunt again.

Besides, the men had removed all the saddles before turning their horses over to his dubious care, and they were too heavy for him to lift.

“He’s going to fall.”

“Why? Has he never climbed onto a boulder be fore?” Mathieu knew his casual tone infuriated Aelia more than she already was.

“You are treating him cruelly.”

Mathieu looked ’round at his men. “What do you think? Am I a cruel master?”

“No, my lord.”

“’Tis no more than the boy deserves.”

“What do you think, Halig?” Mathieu asked.

The Saxon lad gave a furtive look toward Aelia, then replied quietly. “My father would whip me for what Osric did.”

Mathieu felt Aelia stiffen beside him, but he continued eating.

“Shall we set up tents tonight?” Gerrard asked Mathieu.

He intended to keep Aelia and Osric separated, but he would not allow Aelia to sleep in a tent alone. ’Twould be too easy for her to slip out under one of the canvas sides and cause some kind of mischief.

“No. We’ll sleep in the open.”

He dreaded the night when he would be compelled to set up tents. As long as they slept outside among the men, Mathieu would not be so tempted to touch Aelia, to kiss her mouth, to make love to her as his body had been demanding for days. But he could not leave her unattended in a tent. Someone would have to sleep with her.

He stood abruptly and left the circle.

Picking up his pack, he took out the wood-carving tools and the thick block of wood that he’d taken from Beorn’s widow. He kicked a heavy log close to the fire and sat down with his back against it, then lay the wood across his lap and started to carve. ’Twas the best distraction to keep from thinking of the nights he would likely have to spend with Aelia.

As the first Norman lord of Ingelwald, he had de cided upon a mighty stag for the symbol of his house. He would carve a crest using this image of strength, speed and endurance, and present it to Lady Clarise when they wed, as a symbol of all that he was, of all that he possessed.

In the flickering firelight, he gave his full attention to his work, carving the shallow lines that would guide his hand when he made the deeper gouges in the wood. He would not give a moment’s thought to the tears Aelia had tried to hide from him, or the way her body had fit so snugly against his as they’d ridden to this place.

She had been near exhaustion when they’d arrived at the sheltered spot, but still, she’d begged him to allow her to help Osric with the tasks he’d been assigned.

“I’ve finished.”

Mathieu looked up at Osric, small and filthy, his shoulders sagging with such weariness he was barely able to stand. Yet his tone remained belligerent. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Mathieu to respond.

“There’s food….” Mathieu nodded toward the opposite side of the fire, where Raoul and the others sat. They’d finished eating, and Aelia was leaning against the trunk of a tree, trying to fight sleep, but nodding just the same.

The boy said nothing more, but turned and joined the men, taking what food they offered. Mathieu finished his own work for the night, wrapped the wood in a piece of leather and put away his tools. Then he laid a fur pelt near the fire and dropped a woolen blanket upon it.

Aelia had slid down and was sleeping soundly on the ground when he went to get her. He crouched beside her and turned away to speak quietly to his men. “Gerrard, see that the horses are secured. Raoul, when the boy has eaten, bind him to you for the night. I’ll take the first watch. Gerrard, you’re next.”

“No! I won’t try to run away.”

Mathieu ignored the boy.

He touched Aelia’s shoulder, but she did not awaken. He lifted her and carried her to the far side of the fire, where he laid her upon the pelt, then covered her with the blanket. His hands lingered longer than they should have, securing the cover over her shoulders, sliding down her arms.

When she turned her head, Mathieu caught a glimpse of the wound in her neck, the cut that had so very nearly taken her life. He’d brought some of Auvrai’s salve, and reached for it now, rubbing a small amount onto the reddened gash in Aelia’s flesh.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, though her gaze was clouded with sleep. She raised one arm and reached for him, sliding her fingers through the hair behind his ear. Her lips parted slightly and she peered intently into his eyes.

Mathieu couldn’t breathe. Though he knew Aelia was not fully awake, the slight touch of her hand aroused him to a point of pain. He closed his eyes and turned his head enough to feel her fingers caress his ear, before regaining some semblance of control. He took hold of her hand and lowered it to the ground, then covered her again.

She turned to her side and drifted off once more, and Mathieu took a deep breath. He went back to the log where he’d sat before, while his men made beds for themselves and settled in for the night. Even Osric remained quiet, too tired to protest being tied to Raoul.

Then Mathieu stretched out his legs and prepared to keep watch over her—and everyone else—well into the night.

Each day passed much like the one before it, until the fourth day, when Fitz Autier seemed more alert than usual. More wary.

“What is it?” Aelia asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Gerrard!” he called.

The knight came abreast of them as they approached a rocky decline in the trail. ’Twas so steep they would have to dismount in order to climb down. “Stay here with Roger and Guilliaume.”

“Aye, baron.”

Aelia leaned to one side to look behind them, past Fitz Autier. There was naught but trees and the craggy terrain they’d navigated all day. “Is someone there?”

“Keep watch until dusk, then follow us,” Fitz Autier said to Gerrard.

“Is someone out there?”

“Just being cautious,” he replied, although Aelia did not quite believe him. He helped her dismount, and when he unsheathed his sword, the other men did the same.

Even Osric remained quiet as the men led the horses down the escarpment, and Aelia realized their path was a vulnerable one, out in the open, where an attack would be difficult to repel. Though they had had no trouble on the road so far, Aelia knew the men in her escort were always alert and ready for a hostile encounter.

Yet this was different.

She asked no more questions, but walked on beside Fitz Autier until they reached the bottom of the path and made their way into dense woods.

At nightfall, when Gerrard and the others reached camp, they reported having seen nothing untoward. “But we brought these.” They held up several rabbits they’d killed, and the men soon dressed them and started roasting them on spits over the fire.

But Aelia noticed that Fitz Autier did not relax, even though he must have been weary, since it had been his turn to keep watch for part of the previous night. He paced the perimeter of the camp, and when it began to rain, ordered tents to be set up. By that time, Osric had already completed his duties with the horses and fallen asleep under a tree.

The Norman baron went down on one knee beside the boy and spoke quietly to him. Osric awoke and sat up, his calm, acquiescent attitude surprising Aelia. Clearly, Fitz Autier intended to keep the boy too tired to perpetrate any mischief.

Usually, he kept her apart from her brother, too. But tonight he guided Osric to Aelia’s side.

“Stay beside your sister and eat,” he said. “There will be no moving about tonight.”

“Why? What is it?” she asked.

Fitz Autier shook his head. “’Tis naught but normal caution,” he said, then strode away in the rain.

He’d been quiet all day, riding so close behind her upon her mare. She’d felt his breath in her hair and upon her ear, but even that slight contact had made her own breath catch and her loins ache.

For days she’d sat close to him, colliding with his body with every move—with his hard thighs, or the warm metal of the hauberk against his chest—and she thought of his kiss, and remembered how he’d managed to make her melt even when he was asleep.

Aelia did not know how much longer she would be able to travel like this—at such close quarters all day, then watching his skilled hands carve a shape into the block of wood he unwrapped from a soft piece of leather each evening.

He had a wife awaiting him somewhere, in London, perhaps, and ’twas possible Aelia would meet her there.

The thought of such an encounter gave her pause. Aelia found herself troubled by thoughts of Fitz Autier and the unknown woman who was his wife, the woman who had the right to touch him whenever and however she liked, the woman who slept beside him.

When Osric finished eating, he crawled into the tent where he would spend the night, although Aelia was certain Fitz Autier did not trust him enough to allow him to sleep unattended. One of the Norman soldiers would certainly be assigned to guard him.

Aelia finally retreated into her own tent in order to escape Fitz Autier and all the confusing emotions he made her feel. She knew he had no more regard for her than he did for Nelda, the Ingelwald woman who shared her favors with any man who pleased her, else he would not have made such improper advances toward her.

But she could not forget his kiss…or his touch.

The night was cool with the rain, and Aelia wrapped herself in a blanket and tried to sleep. But Fitz Autier’s restlessness had affected her, too, and she lay awake listening to the patter of rain upon the canvas shelter, letting her thoughts drift until Fitz Autier opened the flap of the tent and crawled inside.

She sat up abruptly. “You cannot come in here!”

Ignoring her, he rolled up his blanket and lay his head upon it. “I have only a few hours, demoiselle, ” he said as he settled in.

She could feel the heat of his body through her blan ket and her clothes, and ’twas all she could do to refrain from sliding close to him to share his warmth.

“Lie down and take your rest. Tomorrow will be a long day indeed, if this rain keeps up.”

Aelia knew ’twas pointless to argue. “I thought you took your turn on guard duty last night.”

“We’re doubling up tonight.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing. I just…follow my instincts, and they’re warning me to be particularly cautious.”

They lay still for a long interval, but Aelia knew he was not asleep. She wondered if his heart pounded as hard as hers in the darkness. “Have you any children?”

The question was but a whisper, but it sounded loud and strident in Aelia’s ears.

He did not reply at first, and Aelia wondered if she’d been mistaken about his being asleep. She nearly hoped she was.

“’Twould be best if we did not discuss this.”

The questions had been burning in her heart for days.

“You would have made me your mistress,” she whispered. “You kissed me. Touched me. Treated me the way a wedded man would treat a…a harlot.”

He lay perfectly still, not even breathing. A long moment passed without his answer, and when Aelia would have spoken again, he suddenly shifted and pressed his hand against her mouth to quiet her.

He moved in complete silence, and pressed his lips to her ear, whispering almost inaudibly, “Stay still.”

He knelt and reached the tent flap, silently pushing it open just a sliver. Then Aelia heard it: a stealthy footstep upon the wet ground. She would not have noticed it had Fitz Autier not alerted her to listen. He pressed something hard and cold into her hand, and Aelia real ized ’twas his knife. As he looked outside, he reached behind him and picked up his sword, then eased his way out.

Aelia followed him, watching in the firelight as he moved quietly around the campsite. No one else was about.

Not even the men who were assigned the first watch.

Fitz Autier headed east, into the trees, and was quickly out of sight. Aelia heard a noise behind her and turned abruptly, but she could see no one. Naught lurked in the darkness in any direction.

She heard a rustling in the trees north of her, but when she whirled to look, the disturbance stopped.

Her dagger did not reassure her. Keeping her eyes on the surrounding darkness, she stepped quietly to the closest tent and pulled up the flap, just as she heard the clash of swords ring out in the distance. “Help! Come quickly!”

Aelia did not wait for the men to scramble from their tents, but followed the sounds of battle alone. Soon, though, all the Normans were armed and surging into the woods, where Fitz Autier fought an armored assailant in the flickering light of their fire. The men spread out, and Aelia believed they would go to their leader’s assistance. Instead, they slipped into the darkness of the trees, while he fought alone. Only Halig and Sir Gerrard stayed with her.

Fitz Autier’s attacker wore hauberk and helm, and wielded a broadsword like a seasoned soldier—like the man who had cut down her father in battle. Aelia narrowed her eyes and watched the man as he fought Fitz Autier. She could not be mistaken. The helm was that of her father’s killer, and he wielded his sword in the same manner.

Fitz Autier had no such protection for his head, and his opponent swung his sword in a deadly motion that would have cleaved his skull from his shoulders had he not dodged in time. ’Twas the exact maneuver that had taken her father’s life.

All at once, Aelia felt sick and faint. She leaned against a stout oak and pressed one hand to her abdomen as she watched Fitz Autier fight for his life.

“There are eight of us, Durand,” he shouted. “Do you hope to defeat us all?”

“Your count is off, bastard! ”

’Twas Durand? The man who had violated Rowena?

“Do something!” Aelia cried.

“He can deal with this rogue, Lady Aelia,” said Gerrard.

“But—”

Osric insinuated himself between Aelia and Halig, just as Fitz Autier took the offensive, holding his broadsword with both hands and hacking at the other man. The assailant backed up several paces, but managed to get in a blow with the broad side of his blade, catching Fitz Autier on his shoulder, knocking his sword from his hands.

Even then, Fitz Autier did not yield, nor did any of his men move in to assist him. Aelia cried out, but could do naught but stand by, watching silently while he dodged the warrior’s thrusts, moving quickly and agilely.

“I’ll beat you without a weapon, Durand!” he taunted, pulling away from another thrust of the sword. “You’re no man, but a coward, a molester of young girls. Come on.”

“Why does he mock him?” Aelia cried in a harsh whisper, twisting the wool of her skirt in her hands. “’Twill only anger him and make him the more vicious.”

“Worry not, my lady,” said Gerrard.

“Don’t be an ass, Aelia,” said Osric. “Fitz Autier is the superior warrior.”

Aelia hardly heard her brother’s insult. Her mouth was as dry as sand and her heart pounded as she watched the battle continue. Fitz Autier moved well, his powerful body dodging every thrust of the blade, but he could not retreat indefinitely. Durand, if that’s who it was, would soon make a killing stab.

“What if there are others out there? What if—”

“Raoul and the rest of our men are making sure there are no others. All will be well, Lady Aelia.” Gerrard took Osric by the chin and turned the boy to face him. “As for you, boy, you will speak with respect to your elders, particularly your lady sister.”

Ignoring the rain and the rough terrain, Aelia lifted her skirts and ran to a place where she was better able to watch. It seemed an interminable length of time that Fitz Autier parried the warrior’s thrusts, dodging blow after blow. Breathing heavily, the two men grunted with exertion, but neither yielded, and Aelia thought of all Fitz Autier’s injuries—the gash in his side, the cut on his face, the countless other wounds she’d seen when he’d climbed out of the pool behind the waterfall. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pressing one hand against her breast and praying silently that he would somehow prevail.

Fitz Autier made a sudden move that knocked his opponent to the ground. He lunged and picked up his sword as Durand managed to push himself to his knees and jab once again.

“On your feet, Durand!” Fitz Autier shouted. “I will kill you fairly!”

“Not likely, bastard! ”

He started slashing, but Fitz Autier parried skillfully, then turned to the offensive. ’Twas his own thrusts and jabs that caused Durand to move backward, awkwardly avoiding the obstacles that would trip him. The knight gave one mighty swing of his sword meant to spike Fitz Autier, but ’twas the baron who dealt the fatal blow, finding Durand’s vulnerable spot and spearing him through.

All was silent in the woods for a moment as Fitz Autier stood over Durand’s body, holding his sword at his side. His men came to him from their positions in the woods. “He did some damage to Osbern and Hugh,” said Raoul, though it sounded to Aelia as though he were speaking through a long, deep tunnel. “But they’ll live.”

“There were no others,” said Sir Guatier, his voice also strangely distant. “Durand came alone.”

“Catch her!” she heard Raoul say, just as everything went black.

Mathieu moved quickly, taking Aelia from Halig, who had managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Mathieu did not think about why ’twas so important that he be the one to carry her out of the woods, but took her to the campsite and lowered her into the tent, out of the rain.

“I’ll need a water skin,” he said. “And a clean cloth.”

“She’ll be all right,” said Osric.

“Which will not be the same for you unless you get to your tent with Raoul,” Mathieu said. “Now.”

“You bested him, even without your sword!”

“No…he disarmed me, but I managed to hold out until I could retrieve my sword.”

“But—”

“Go.”

The boy grumbled, but left promptly, as did the rest of the men, all but Halig.

“I would learn, seignior…. I wish to train and become a knight…like you.”

Mathieu took no pride in the way he’d fought. He’d nearly allowed his fatigue to get the better of him. Durand should never have gotten so close. “Aye,” he said wearily. “When we return to Ingelwald, I’ll see that you are given the chance.”

He checked on Hugh and Osbern, both of whom had sustained injuries to their heads. It seemed that Durand had sneaked up and attacked each of them from behind, delivering a blow to the skull that could have killed them. Fortunately, both men survived, but ’twas possible they would be unable to ride upon the morrow.

Disgusted with the night’s turn of events, Mathieu pulled off his hauberk, then crawled into the tent and closed the flap. All day, he’d been plagued with a feeling of being watched. He should have thought of Durand, and because he had not anticipated an attack from the disgruntled knight, Hugh and Osbern had paid dearly for his oversight.

He poured water on a clean cloth and wiped Aelia’s face with it. She made a quiet sound and turned her head away.

“Aelia.” He washed her face again to rouse her. Her clothes were soaked through. ’Twas certain she could not spend the night this way.

“Uh…cold.”

“Aye, it is. Wake up.”

She opened her eyes. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

She sat up abruptly and would have fallen to the ground again had Mathieu not caught her shoulders and lowered her gently. “I did not faint.”

“All right, you didn’t faint.” He tossed the rag into a corner and lay upon his own pelt, as far from her as possible. ’Twas absurd to think she’d been concerned for his well-being, anyway. She could barely tolerate him.

They had hardly spoken to each other in the four days since they’d left Ingelwald—not at all since he’d pulled her brother from the runaway gelding’s back.

“Was it Durand?”

“Aye. I sensed him following us all day.”

“You knew it was Durand?”

He shook his head. “Someone. One man, not a group.”

She lay quietly for a while, but he soon felt her shivering, and heard her teeth begin to chatter. “Durand killed my father.”

“Aye.” He turned and looked at her in the faint light of the fire. Though he could not see her well, he knew every one of her features, from her gently arched brows, to the hint of a cleft in her chin. He knew that her mouth tasted of sweet berries and her skin was taut and sleek.

Arousal, hard and unmerciful, hit him.

“You knew?”

“I’d heard talk. Was that why you fainted? Because you realized ’twas Durand who killed Wallis?”

“I’ve never fainted.”

“Then mayhap you were worried about me.”

“Certainly not. I do not care what happens to a Frenchwoman’s husband.”