Margo Maguire (14 page)

“The son of a lord does not shirk his duty.”

“But I—”

“Ran away like a coward.”

“I am no coward!”

“Your family has indulged you long enough. In my company, you will learn discipline.”

“I’m not—”

“Enough.”

Mathieu was surprised but grateful when Osric held his tongue. ’Twas not like him to give up the last word, but he rode back to the others in silence while Mathieu controlled his fury.

He saw Aelia first. Her apprehension was demonstrated by her tense posture, and when she caught sight of them, she broke into a run.

But Mathieu was unmoved by the worry she obviously felt.

“Osric!” she cried. Her face was flushed with exertion by the time she reached them. “Where is the gelding?”

“Dead.” When Osric continued to hold his tongue, Mathieu said the word. He slowed their pace to allow Aelia to walk beside them.

“What happened?”

Osric crossed his arms over his chest.

“Tell her,” Mathieu said.

“Osric?” Aelia reached up and placed her hand upon her brother’s knee.

“It fell,” he finally stated.

“Fell? How?”

“Jumping a hedgerow.”

Aelia put a hand to her breast and stood still. She looked so dismayed that Mathieu would have dismounted and taken her in his arms if he had not been so angry.

And promised to Lady Clarise. Both conditions made any connection with Lady Aelia impossible.

“How…somehow you escaped unscathed.” Her voice was strained and flat.

“The Norman pulled me off just before the jump.”

“The fall killed it?”

“No. Fitz Autier made me cut its throat.”

Aelia’s knees went weak and she fell behind as the mare carrying Osric and the Norman baron continued toward the group of knights waiting at the wall.

She had never seen Fitz Autier so angry, and he had every right to be. Yet it did not appear that he had taken out his ire upon Osric. Surely some punishment was in order, but Aelia would not stand idly by if he chose to whip her brother. Osric was surprisingly quiet as Fitz Autier bound his hands with a length of rope and handed him up to Sir Raoul’s horse.

There was little doubt that Fitz Autier had saved her
brother’s life. He had put his own life in danger by riding at breakneck speed to catch Osric before the fatal jump, then pulling him off the runaway horse. It had been a dangerous task, one that few horsemen could have accomplished. She owed him a debt of gratitude, but words of thanks caught in her throat when she thought of his disrespect for her.

Fitz Autier handed Aelia’s pack to Sir Gerrard, then tied his own to the mare’s saddle. “Mount up,” he said to Aelia.

“I will ride with Halig.”

“Leaving me to deal with more Saxon antics? I think not,
demoiselle.
”

She had no choice but to put her foot in the stirrup. He placed his hands upon her waist and lifted her up, then climbed into the saddle behind her. She was flanked by his legs and his arms as he gathered the reins and rode to the southern path.

“I…I apologize for Osric’s behavior. He—”

“I do not accept,” Fitz Autier said. “You have made excuses for him for too long.
He
will be the one to take responsibility for his actions, as well as the punishment. Likely ’twill be the first time for him.”

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.