Page 7 of Saxon Lady

I t stank in Aelia’s little prison room, of disuse and of her sooty clothes and body. The candle she’d been given had burned down to its last hour. Though there were no windows in the little pantry, Aelia was certain ’twas past dawn from the distant sound of chirping birds.

They had to let her out.

The only furnishings in the pantry were the four empty burlap sacks Aelia had used as a bed once exhaustion had prevailed over her sorrow and worry. Now that she was awake again, she could not help but fret over Osric’s situation. She went to the door and pounded, ignoring the heavy ache in her shoulder. “Open the door!”

There was no answer, so Aelia began to pace as she’d done the night before, after she’d been locked in this tiny, dark room.

She had not been able to read the expression in Fitz Autier’s eyes as he’d sent her away with his men. But she worried that he had already decided to condemn her brother to death.

What else could the Norman do? Osric had done the unthinkable. In his desire to release the Saxon prisoners and gain his own freedom, he’d endangered everyone in Ingelwald, not just the Norman soldiers.

He was a foolish child, and she had to convince Fitz Autier to take that into consideration…if he had not already had the boy executed.

She blinked away the tears that welled in her eyes, and pounded on the door again. “Take me to Fitz Autier! I must see him!”

If there was any Norman who would kill a child, ’twould be Fitz Autier. The man’s reputation for ruthlessness had preceded him. For months they had heard rumors of his exploits, of the terrible toll exacted upon the Saxon lords at his hands. Aelia wondered if there was anything that could sway him from putting Osric to death.

She had naught to offer but the riches of Ingelwald, and he’d already claimed them, from the lowliest cottage outside the walls to her father’s own hall. What more could she give him?

The candle sputtered and died just as the heavy wooden bar rasped against the door. Aelia took two steps toward it and pulled the door’s handle, anxious to get out, whether or not that was what her guards intended. The door suddenly gave way and she staggered back into the pantry.

Durand grabbed her arm and pulled her from the room. In the moment it took for her eyes to adjust to the light in the anteroom, he shoved her forward.

The man was as dark as Fitz Autier, and there was a scar upon his cheek that mirrored the one Aelia had given his master, along with a cruel glint in his steely gray eyes that was unlike any expression she’d ever seen in Fitz Autier’s. The man was as brawny as the Norman who’d killed her father in battle against Gui de Reviers, but that knight had worn an armor helm, so Aelia would never know who had struck the fatal blow.

She recoiled at Durand’s touch and pulled her arm away as the other guard spoke. “Fitz Autier wants to see you.”

“Where’s my brother? What has he done with him?”

Durand struck her, knocking her to the floor. Aelia was stunned by the man’s brutality, though she should not have expected anything less. These men were her enemies and she would do well to remember it.

“On your feet, wench!”

In silence, Aelia did as she was ordered, and the men flanked her as they made their way to the great hall, where Gilbert the Herald still tended the wounded. Aelia bit her lip to keep her chin from trembling as they walked outside.

’Twas a dank and rainy morn, but Aelia was glad to be free of her confinement, no matter what the weather. Fitz Autier stood in front of the village bake house, looking freshly washed, wearing a black mantle over his hauberk, and clean, dark chausses on his legs. He seemed impervious to the rain as he spoke to the one-eyed knight who’d carried Osric away from her the night before. Fitz Autier turned slightly and caught Aelia’s gaze, and his conversation seemed to stop.

A moment later, Aelia realized she must have been mistaken, for he resumed his discussion with Sir Auvrai as if he had not noted her presence. She stumbled and nearly fell, but her escorts were relentless, pushing her in the direction of the stable, where a saddled mare stood.

“Mount up.”

Aelia took a shuddering breath. She could not leave Ingelwald without asking after Osric again, nor could she ride away without knowing her destination. But she was afraid.

She damned her weakness and tried to form the words to question her guards, but her throat would not work. There was no doubt that any questions would raise the brutal guard’s ire, and Aelia was not inclined to suffer another blow.

“Damn useless Saxon. Don’t suppose you can ride.”

She bit back a retort that would only cause her more pain. Of course she could ride. And if mounting this horse would get her away from these two oafs, Aelia was all for it. She would go to Fitz Autier and ask him her questions directly.

She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted as Sir Hugh took hold of the bridle; it seemed she would not be allowed to escape her guards, after all. When the men led her to the bake house where Fitz Autier stood, Aelia allowed herself to hope she could get some answers from him, though she now knew ’twas too much to hope she could convince him to release Osric.

The Norman baron did not spare her a glance, but mounted his own saddled gelding. A contingent of Norman warriors rode toward the gate and stood waiting for him—and her. Aelia fought back tears and tried to compose herself enough to ask about Osric…and her destination.

“Durand! Hugh!”

Mathieu beckoned the two guards toward him.

“Did my orders include abuse of my prisoner?” His voice sounded low and menacing to his own ears, but that could not be helped. He maintained strict discipline among his ranks, and though these two had been bound to Gui de Reviers, who had fallen before Mathieu’s arrival at Ingelwald, they had clearly overstepped their orders.

At Mathieu’s question, Hugh looked abashed, but Durand’s expression darkened. Mathieu had not taken particular note of the man before, but he had an attitude of defiance and superiority that would not be tolerated.

“No, seignior,” Hugh replied, but Durand remained silent.

“Turn yourselves over to Sir Auvrai. ’Twill be your task to deal with the stables. From the manure on the ground to the thatched roof.”

Mathieu felt Lady Aelia’s eyes on him as he gave his order, then turned and rode through Ingelwald’s gate to the land beyond.

“S-seignior…” she stammered.

The welt upon her cheek did not concern him. She was no longer a noblewoman, but merely his prisoner in this battle for her homeland. She was his slave, and if King William did not execute her in London, Mathieu had no doubt he would ship her to Normandy, where she would be compelled to serve on one of his many estates.

She caught up to him. “My brother…?”

“Will remain in custody at my pleasure, demoiselle. ” He looked away from the worry in her eyes. Her troubles could be of no consequence to him. “And your cooperation buys the boy’s continued good health.”

Once Mathieu turned her over to the king’s men in London, ’twould be an end to whatever connection was between them. He intended to be well occupied celebrating his betrothal and his victory at Ingelwald, and there would be little time to think of Lady Aelia. Or her fate.

“’Tis time for you to show me Ingelwald.”

“But I—”

“ Demoiselle, you are most qualified to do so, and with you, language does not pose a problem. I wish to assess the holding before I leave for London.”

She hesitated. “Ingelwald is too vast,” she finally said, no doubt keeping in mind Osric’s tenuous position. “Its southern border is two days’ ride from my father’s hall.”

“Fine. We’ll ride north.”

“As you wish, seignior.” Her words were clipped, her posture stiff as she rode beside him. The morning’s rain had turned into an annoying drizzle, and Aelia’s torn and ragged clothes were soon soaked through. Though the weather was mild, Mathieu knew she would become chilled.

“Take this,” he said, pulling his mantle from his shoulders. “Put it on.”

She took it and draped it ’round her like a shawl, covering her head. “Thank you,” she muttered. “The path joins the river beyond those trees.”

“It flows south?”

“In parts. It has a circuitous route, but mostly flows east.”

“By way of the mill—and Ingelwald’s northern wall.”

“Aye.”

“And away west? What lies past those fields?”

“The hills in the distance are Ingelwald’s. We graze our sheep up there. Beyond that is Grantham, held by Fugol the Bold.”

Not any longer. Fugol had been taken to London when Baron Richard Louvet had conquered the Saxon lord’s holding. Mathieu had seen the man hanged in London a year ago. He cleared his throat. “How many sheep?”

“Hundreds.”

’Twas no wonder Wallis had fought so hard for this land. There was wealth here beyond anything Mathieu had expected. ’Twas likely a richer holding than his father’s estate in Normandy. Autier de Burbage would not be pleased when he learned that one of his many bastards fared better than he. “What of raiding Scots?” Mathieu asked, unwilling to expend any energy thinking of his father. “Do they harry your borders?”

Aelia shook her head. “No. My father maintains— maintained patrols that deterred them.”

“And without these patrols?”

“While you Normans besieged us, ’tis likely the Scots came down from the hills and helped themselves to whatever livestock were out grazing. ’Tis likely you are now lord of ten sheep and five cattle.”

Mathieu ignored her gloating tone and looked out toward the hills. The clouds had cleared and ’twas turning into a fine, warm day, but he could barely see the dots of white there, the Ingelwald sheep. They would need to be guarded, beginning today.

’Twas problematic. He’d planned to return to London with a large contingent of men. Now those men would be required to stay at Ingelwald and guard the holding from Scottish raids.

If only he did not have to return to London.

Mayhap ’twould be better to travel with a smaller contingent, anyway. They would be able to move faster and attract less unwanted attention that way, but he would have to be very cautious. Saxon outlaws hid in the forests, poised to attack careless travelers, and there were displaced Danes who had no love for the Normans.

Mathieu’s party traveled north beside the river until it widened and became a rapidly flowing torrent, crashing and foaming over large boulders in its bed.

“Where is the waterfall?”

Aelia turned to look at him with a crease in her brow and astonishment in her eyes.

“’Tis never good to underestimate your enemy, demoiselle. Of course there must be a waterfall nearby—with the broadened river and these rapids. And the terrain rises sharply ahead. How far is it?”

Aelia kicked her heels into her mare’s sides and galloped on. Her move was unexpected and rash, and Mathieu was unsure whether ’twas an attempt to escape him or perhaps lead him into some sort of trap.

Did she know if there were Scots waiting ’round the next bend? Or mayhap Saxon outlaws camped nearby?

Neither was likely. ’Twould not have been possible to organize an attack here, when his own plans had not been settled until a few moments before they’d ridden from Ingelwald.

“Raoul, stay on the path,” he ordered. “I will rejoin you shortly.”

He raced after Aelia, following the trail she’d left in the muddy earth, until the sounds of a waterfall roared loud in his ears. The trail climbed and swerved away from the river for a time, but Mathieu never lost sight of her tracks. The fool woman wasn’t very far ahead.

Craggy cliffs became visible beyond the tops of the trees and he could see the crest of the waterfall, a wide cascade crashing down to the riverbed below. Aelia’s tracks veered east, in the direction of the waterfall, but she no longer climbed. She’d left the path and ridden directly toward the water.

Mathieu dismounted and led his horse through the underbrush. The waterfall and rushing river blocked out all other sounds, including any that Aelia might make in her flight from him. However, there were signs of recent passage. He was certain he hadn’t lost her.

Aelia knew it had been foolish to ride off the way she’d done. But these few moments of freedom—out of that cursed pantry, and away from Ingelwald—had gone to her head.

So had the desire to keep Fitz Autier off balance.

He hadn’t expected her to bolt, and she had taken full advantage. She just hoped he didn’t find her too quickly. There was no clear path to the cavern where she and Godwin had come as children with their mother, to the deep, placid pool behind the waterfall, to swim. ’Twould be at least an hour before he found his way here.

Sitting on a rock behind the waterfall, she dropped the Norman’s dark wool mantle and untied the laces of her shoes. She needed to clear her head and heart of the terrible events of the last few weeks, of her fear for Osric…and for herself. The cool water might not save her, but it would certainly refresh her. Besides, she could not stand her filthy, fetid skin any longer. She jumped into the water fully clothed.

It felt wonderful. Somehow, she managed to rub away the grime of two days—had it only been two days? It seemed like weeks since Fitz Autier’s men had overrun Ingelwald. Months since Selwyn had died.

Years since she’d lost her father.

Aelia could not imagine what would happen next. Fitz Autier had threatened to execute her and Osric if Selwyn would not negotiate for them. The battle had come and gone, yet she and Osric were still alive.

The Norman planned to take her and Osric to Lon don. Was Fitz Autier coldhearted enough to turn them over to the king for execution there?

Aelia swam to the bottom of the pool and put such thoughts out of her mind. They served no purpose, nor did they change the course of action she had chosen.

Since ’twas proving impossible to kill Fitz Autier, Aelia was going to find Osric and free him, then the two of them would flee Ingelwald. Many of the neighboring estates had been overrun by Normans, but C?lin of Thrydburgh still held his hall and his land. ’Twas a three-day journey to his holding on horseback, but Aelia had no qualms about making the trip on foot. Wallis had had his differences with C?lin, but whatever their disagreements may have been, ’twas Saxon against Norman now. Surely the man would give them shelter.

The cool water soothed the ache in Aelia’s bruised shoulder and washed away the blood and despair of the last few days. She felt refreshed and renewed as she pushed off the pool’s rocky floor. She was a strong swimmer, but she took her time rising to the surface of the pool, enjoying the peaceful solitude of the water surrounding her.

When Aelia broke the surface, she took a quick glance all around. Fortunately, there was no movement anywhere about the waterfall, which meant Fitz Autier had not yet caught up to her. Aelia lay back and floated, letting her mind drift as she gazed absently up at the water as it cascaded down the rocky hillside. ’Twould be so easy to believe that all was well, that she and—

A creeping tentacle slid ’round her ankle and pulled her down. ’Twas strong and unrelenting, and Aelia was certain her last moment had come. She could stay submerged another minute, but would surely drown if she could not get free of this…

What had hold of her? There was no muck at the bottom of the pool to support vines or any other plant that could possibly ensnare her. She fought the current to bend down and try to free herself from whatever was pulling her.

And suddenly, she was loose.

She shot upward like an arrow, and filled her lungs with air while she paddled frantically to the edge of the pool. Until she knew what had pulled her down, she could not remain in the water. With tremendous effort, Aelia climbed out of the pool and dropped to the rocks beside it—onto a pile of woolen clothes and a cold, metal hauberk that lay beside her shoes.

Indignation, annoyance, embarrassment—all these emotions vied for dominion in Aelia’s heart.

Fitz Autier! The blackguard had nearly drowned her! He had sneaked up and pulled her down, keeping her under just long enough to make her panic.

Aelia grabbed her shoes and started to stalk away, but when she heard the damnable Norman’s laughter, she became infuriated. There had to be something she could throw at him—a rock large enough to do damage to his thick skull and end all her problems. She dropped her shoes and picked up a small boulder. She would show him that she was not one to be toyed with.

But when she turned, he was climbing out of the pool, his body naked.

Aelia gaped at him as he walked toward her with water sluicing off his brawny frame. Muscles flexed and bulged as he moved with the sure ease of a powerful animal certain of his strength. Aelia swallowed and took a step back, but could not take her eyes off him. He was beautiful. ’Twas not an apt description for a man, but she could think of no better word.

She should have felt chilled after leaving the pool, but a vaguely familiar heat kindled deep within her, and she had to remind herself to breathe. Hot color bloomed in her face, but she could not look away. This man had kissed her. He’d taken her into his arms and made her forget her own name.

And by all the saints, she wanted him to do the same now.

Horrified by her thoughts and worried that he’d seen some foolhardy longing in her eyes, she dropped the rock from her hand. Aelia whirled away from him. “You have no shame, seignior!”

“And you are wearing too many clothes, demoiselle, ” he said, closing in on her. “They’re wet. You’ll catch a chill.”

Aelia felt his breath on her neck as water dripped and puddled at her feet. She did not know what she would do if he touched her. In his sleep two nights before, he had pulled her close, unconsciously caressed her, and produced in her an amazing experience unlike anything she’d ever known.

Aelia’s knees went weak and her heart pounded at the thought of what might have happened that night. Had he been awake, and aware of what he was doing to her, would her pleasure have been enhanced? Here he stood in all his naked glory—big and threatening, yet so inviting.

She stepped closer to the cavern wall, crossing her arms over her breasts to keep from turning to him. She was not really tempted by him. ’Twas only the novelty of the intimacy between them that confused her.

Perhaps now would be a good time to put some distance between them, while she learned of his plans for her and Osric. “What are you going to do?”

“Do?” He had followed her and stood much too close.

Aelia started when he touched her shoulder. Gently, he turned her to face him, but she pressed herself back against the cool cavern wall as he lowered his head.

“What would you have me do, demoiselle? ”

Their mouths were inches apart, and the space between them was quickly diminishing. She could feel his breath upon her lips and the heat of his naked body against her. Panic seized her. If he kissed her again, she would be lost.

She pushed away from him and jumped back into the pool, letting its waters cool her heated blood.