Margo Maguire (13 page)

The people had brought their livestock inside during the Norman attacks, all but Erlina, who had run out in the midst of the battle, wielding a small knife.

Aelia had wanted to hate the Normans for Erlina’s death, but even her own Saxon warriors had said the old woman’s fate could not have been prevented. Someone should have seen to her safety within the walls, but they had all failed her. Even Aelia.

Deeply, she breathed in the smells of autumn, the thick, rich earth that would soon give up its bounty.

The church was directly ahead of Aelia and she raised her shawl to cover her head before going inside. Very little light filtered in through the tall, narrow windows, and Father Ambrosius had lit only the candles on the altar. But Aelia could see the bowed heads of many worshippers who knelt before the altar as the priest said Mass.

Aelia approached the altar and knelt, praying silently for the strength to survive the journey ahead. She did not like to admit to fear, but there were many dangerous miles between Ingelwald and London, and she did not know what lay ahead for her and Osric.

Fitz Autier would only say they were prisoners of the crown, at the mercy of his king. At best, it meant
that she and Osric would soon become slaves of the Normans.

At worst, it meant she and Osric would be killed.

She closed her eyes tightly and prayed that the Norman king would see fit to spare their lives. When her prayer was done and she looked up, she met the deep blue eyes of Fitz Autier.

He was a fair distance away, kneeling opposite her among several of his soldiers and various Saxons, but there was no mistaking the cool intensity of his stare.

Aelia knew it must be fatigue that made her susceptible to that hard scowl, and she looked away to concentrate fully upon the Mass. But every muscle, every bone of her body was aware of him, and her skin seemed to burn wherever his eyes touched her.

When she approached the altar to receive communion, Aelia felt Fitz Autier behind her. Before God and all the people gathered here for worship, he touched the small of her back as if he had every right to do so.

He stepped up beside her and stood before Father Ambrosius, who paused in the Communion ritual to invoke a special blessing. Then he spoke to Fitz Autier. “My son, is it truly necessary for you to take Lady Aelia to London?”

The question seemed to startle Fitz Autier, who cleared his throat before responding. “Aye, Father. ’Tis the king’s order.”

“Then I admonish you to keep her safe, for her life is precious to us at Ingelwald.”

“Y
ou will ride with me,” Mathieu said to Osric, whose behavior was just as deplorable as when they’d started out the day before. Aelia spoke to the boy and he quieted, although his squirming in the saddle continued.

Mathieu rode to the head of the procession, leaving orders that Aelia and her guard, Halig, were to remain halfway back. He had extracted Halig’s vow of fealty, and had no reason to doubt the young man’s integrity. But Aelia had made him no promises. If she chose to ride off, Halig would follow.

And who knew what would happen then?

“Have a safe journey, baron,” said Auvrai. “All will be ready for your wife when you return.”

Before he could answer, Aelia kicked her heels into her horse’s flanks and rode toward the gate. ’Twas closed, and Mathieu knew his men would not open it until he arrived and gave the order. “Two months, Auvrai. I intend to be back before winter.”

“Aye.”

Mathieu’s men followed him to the gate, where he
joined Aelia and Halig. They rode out amid the good wishes of the Norman soldiers posted there and on the walls, but Mathieu felt the icy wall of silence that emanated from the lady as she left her home.

The day was fine and they covered the miles rapidly. Mathieu ignored Aelia’s pique, aware that it was due to Auvrai’s words. She believed he had a wife.

“Are you going to starve us, Norman?” asked Osric at midmorning.

“Are you hungry, little Saxon?”

They halted beside a low rock wall bordering a ripe field of barley. Mathieu watched Aelia unhook her pack from her saddle and walk away from their group. She did not look in his direction, but followed the rock wall until she reached a small stand of trees and stepped out of sight. He would give her all the privacy she required—unless she took longer than he thought was strictly necessary.

“Shall I…is it your wish that I go with her?” Halig asked.

Mathieu shook his head. “Leave her alone for now.” He handed Osric a water skin and the boy drank while Mathieu took food from the pack and set it on the rock ledge. Then he moved away, keeping one eye in the direction Aelia had gone.

“I want to practice with Sir Raoul’s sword again,” Osric said. “Will you show me how to spear my opponent?”

“On one condition,” Mathieu replied, glad to have a reason to stop pacing the ground while he waited for Aelia to return. “You must promise never to use your technique on me or any of my men.”

The boy crossed his arms over his puny chest. “How can you make me promise this? You are my enemy! I will do all—”

“Then there’s no need to continue this discussion.”

Mathieu resumed his pacing, glancing toward the trees again, but he saw no sign of Aelia.

Osric scrambled ’round in front of Mathieu, obstructing his path. “I will promise! Norman, I said I promise not to hurt your men with my skill.”

“Your word, little Saxon. You stand by it as a man of honor?”

“Of course. Now show me.”

Mathieu borrowed Raoul’s seax again and handed it to Osric. “’Twould suit you better to keep your distance from any battle.”

“I am no coward, Fitz Autier!”

“While you are small, ’twould be a better strategy to stay clear of a hand-to-hand contest. Learn to use a bow.”

“I can already shoot,” Osric said as he lunged with his weapon.

Mathieu stepped away. “Do you see? ’Tis unlikely you would ever overcome a full-grown man at close quarters.”

“What if I come upon him in sleep?”

Mathieu laughed. “Then you would not need this instruction. You would only have to strike between the ribs.”

“Or across the throat…”

Mathieu thought of the thin slice across Aelia’s pretty neck that had come so close to taking her life. He shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had he not been there to protect her. “Aye.”

“I want to be ready in case we are attacked.”

“We travel with eight seasoned warriors and a Saxon cavalier, boy,” Mathieu said, looking to the trees again. “You’ll have no need to fight.”

“But I—”

“Stay here.”

Aelia sat on the ground with her back against the wall. She tipped her head up, letting the sun shine upon her face, drying her tears.

Leaving Ingelwald was the most difficult thing she’d ever done. As the Normans had packed up the horses and made ready for travel, Aelia had walked across the grounds, stopping at every shop and every cottage, burning the sights of home into her memory, for that was all she would ever have of it.

Learning of Fitz Autier’s wife had been the final insult. He had demeaned Aelia by treating her as a cheap giglet, making advances and stirring her blood as if he were free to do so. As if he did not have a Norman wife waiting for him in…

Was she in London? Aelia’s blood rushed from her head when she understood Fitz Autier’s urgency to return there. He had a woman waiting for him.

“What’s the delay?”

Fitz Autier’s voice startled Aelia and she pushed away from the wall, gathering her saddle pack in her arms. “Time to go, I suppose.”

“Have you broken your fast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You will be by the time we stop again. You should eat now.”

“I have no stomach for food, Fitz Autier.”

She kept her face averted and pushed past him, heading away from the trees and into the clearing where Osric and the knights awaited her.

Fitz Autier grabbed her arm and stopped her. “I won’t have you making yourself ill.”

“’Tis no concern of yours.” She tried unsuccessfully to shrug his hand off.

“Aye, it is. We have a long way to go and I’ll brook no delays.”

Aelia glared at him, unwilling to admit that whatever drew her to him had not abated just because she knew he was wed. “Let me take my brother and go.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and Aelia despised the pleading tone of it.

“You know I cannot.”

“Give us two horses and we will ride to Thrydburgh. Lord Cælin will give us—”

Fitz Autier grabbed her upper arms. “Aelia. Thrydburgh is no more. ’Tis a Norman holding.”

“I suppose you were part of that conquest.”

“No. But I would have been if the king had ordered me there.”

He held her tight, but Aelia could not tell if ’twas his firm grasp that hurt, or the pain in her soul. Everything was wrong about this journey, but she could do naught to stop it.

“What will happen to us in London? To Osric and me?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed once and he squeezed her arms before suddenly releasing her. “’Tis up to King William.”

“What is he likely to do? What has been done with other Saxon prisoners?”

“It’s time to leave.” He started walking away, but Aelia followed.

“He will put us to death, won’t he?”

He turned and faced her, his expression fierce, the gash across his cheek taut with fury. “God’s blood, woman, do you think I would take you all the way to London to be killed?”

“What then? Will we be sent to Normandy as slaves?”

Aelia watched as he shoved the fingers of one hand through his hair, a gesture she’d seen before when he was annoyed. “No. ’Tis likely he will give you to one of his knights in marriage.”

Aelia took a deep shuddering breath and strode away from him. “I will
never
wed a Norman.”

She walked through the trees to the clearing and stumbled when she saw Osric mounting Fitz Autier’s horse from the wall. He grabbed hold of the reins as the horse burst into a gallop while Aelia stood stunned, watching. He headed north, back toward Ingelwald, and the horse was moving too fast for Osric to control it. It would not be possible for him to keep his seat. He was going to fall!

Fitz Autier pushed past her and dashed toward his men, who had been taken by surprise and were clambering to their feet to get to their horses. Fitz Autier shouted some orders as he quickly mounted Aelia’s mare and went after Osric.

Aelia could not move. She stood with her hand pressed to her mouth, watching as Osric rode out of sight with the Norman baron behind him.

“Lady Aelia…” Sir Raoul took her arm and led her back to the group. “I have orders to hold you here.”

“My brother,” she whispered.

“Is a terror, but the baron will catch him and bring him back.”

Aelia could not be so sure. If Osric was thrown from the wildly galloping horse before Fitz Autier could get to him, the fall could easily kill him.

“Can we not follow them? I promise to—”

“No, my lady. The baron’s orders were clear.”

The boy would be lucky to survive this latest escapade. Mathieu did not know why he didn’t just let
Osric’s recklessness take its natural course and kill him. But he recalled a few embarrassing incidents in his own youth and was grateful now for the guidance of the older, patient knight who had seen potential in him and helped to mold him into an honest, chivalrous warrior.

Beyond that, Mathieu would spare Aelia the anguish of losing her brother now. She’d lost her father and her home, and when they reached London, there could be no doubt Osric would be taken from her. ’Twould be soon enough for that final blow.

The boy was dead ahead, but he had no control of the horse. The reins had slipped out of his hands, and his feet dangled high above the stirrups. He was desperately holding on to the pommel with both hands, but Mathieu could see that he was having difficulty at that. A hedgerow lay directly across their path, and Osric would never be able to hold on when the horse jumped over it.

Mathieu leaned forward and urged his own mount to an even greater speed, and when he was nearly abreast of Osric, he dug his heels into the mare’s sides for the final burst he needed to reach him. He lunged for the reins, which hung loose, but the movement of both horses made it impossible to grab them.

“Osric!”

The boy did not look to the side, but Mathieu could see that he’d heard him.

“Quickly, boy! I’m going to grab hold of you ’round your waist! When I do, throw your weight toward me!”

They were moving fast, rapidly approaching the hedgerow. Mathieu veered east, forcing the gelding to do the same, but he had to be careful not to cause the horse to lose its footing.

He leaned over, reaching out to take hold of Osric’s tunic. “Lean toward me!”

When the boy did so, Mathieu got a firm grip around his middle and eased him to the side of the saddle. Osric slipped and would have fallen if Mathieu’s grasp had not been so sure. “Take hold of my arm!”

As soon as Osric grabbed him, Mathieu pulled him off the gelding. He slowed Aelia’s mare, but the other animal galloped on, leaving the boy dangling at Mathieu’s side. He lifted him into the saddle as the rider-less gelding reached the hedgerow and leaped over it. But there was a terrible crash and a sickening screech as the steed lost its footing and fell.

Osric pressed his trembling body against Mathieu. The boy’s breathing was quick and shaky, but it stopped suddenly. “Where is he?”

Mathieu sat still and let his own breathing slow to normal and his anger simmer to a low burn. He would like to throttle the child, but decided upon a far greater punishment. He rode to the hedgerow, where the whimpers of the injured horse were audible. Then he rode on, looking for a break in the hedge. When he found it, he dismounted and pulled Osric down with him. Holding the boy by the scruff of his tunic, Mathieu walked to the place where the animal lay writhing in pain, its front legs broken.

“What are you going to do?”

“Not me. You,” Mathieu said. “You are going to deal with the havoc you wrought.”

“Me? It’s…it’s just a horse. It’s—”

“Take responsibility for what you’ve done, boy!” Mathieu’s anger seethed. He drew his sword and handed it to Osric. “Place the tip here.”

“No. I…I—”

“You can run a fine steed to its death—the least you can do is see that its death is quick and painless.”

Osric paled, but Mathieu did not relent. Only the rough breathing of the horse and its occasional whimpers broke the silence.

“Here.”

Trembling, the boy did as he was ordered, but Mathieu also placed his hands upon the hilt to add his strength to the stroke that would be needed to kill the horse.

“Now.”

Osric shuddered but did what was required, dealing a quick death blow to the suffering animal. When ’twas done, he dropped the sword and whirled to face Mathieu. His cheeks were covered with tears, but he shouted as if
he
had every right to be angry. “What was that for? You made me kill a perfectly good horse!”

Mathieu took Osric by the shoulders and turned him to face the gelding, hoping the boy felt as sick as he did. “Look at those legs. Broken right through the skin! Do you think that horse would be lying here now if you had not tried to make a bloody run for it? Do you think
you
would still be alive if you’d made the jump?”

He could not imagine having to return to Aelia with the news that her brother was dead. Even now, ’twas likely Raoul had had to physically restrain her to keep her from following her brother’s path.

“There will be harsh consequences for your actions.”

“You are not my father, Norman, to mete out punishment!” the boy cried, but there was less bluster in his tone, and he seemed almost contrite.

“I’m the only authority you know, boy,” Mathieu said, his voice low and dangerous. “Until we reach London, you are under my jurisdiction and you will not make a single move without my approval.”

“You can’t—”

“Aye, I can. And I do.” He gave the boy a shove toward the break in the hedge. “Move.”

Mathieu tossed Osric onto the back of Aelia’s mare and mounted behind him. Then he turned toward to the road and retraced the path they’d followed so frantically only a short while before.

“You would have left your sister to face King William alone?” he asked.

His anger had not abated, and he hadn’t yet decided upon an apt punishment, but he intended to start by shaming the boy for deserting his sister.

“I left Halig to see to her.”

“You are the son of Wallis, but you left your sister in the care of a man who is not even a thane?”

“He—”