Margo Maguire (7 page)

He should have carried out his threat to execute both the boy and his sister. None of this would ever have happened—from Halig’s ill-advised attack on the stairs, resulting in the troublesome wound in his side, to Mathieu’s intractable urge to drag Aelia up to his chamber and bury himself inside her until he did not know where she ended and he began.

“He is still very young,” Aelia said. “He did not understand the—”

“The boy lacks discipline, not to mention good sense.” Mathieu could see no evidence of training or restraint in him. “He is reckless.”

“What will you do to him?”

“He is no longer your concern,
demoiselle.
” Mathieu nudged Aelia forward, toward the hall. Auvrai would find a suitable place to confine the boy, and see that he was well guarded through the night. ’Twas up to Mathieu to do the same with Aelia.

“He
is
my concern.” Aelia stopped in front of him, turning to place her hands upon his forearms. Given her torn and soiled clothes, her voice heavy with fierce loyalty to her brother, he should have felt no surge of lust at her touch.

But he’d tasted her once already, and his body hungered for more.

“Hugh! Durand!” He called to two of the knights
who’d come to Ingelwald earlier with Gui de Reviers, and ignored the proud but pleading look in Aelia’s eyes as he turned her over to them. “Find a secure chamber in the hall and lock her in. Do not leave her unguarded.”

Each man grasped one of her arms, and they led her away from him, taking no particular care of her injured shoulder. These two would not let her escape as Gilbert had done.

Mathieu strode away and returned to the stable. He climbed to the roof and went about helping to quell the smoldering embers before he could change his mind about what was to be done with Aelia.

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 Cælin 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 Cælin, but whatever their disagreements may have been, ’twas Saxon against Norman now. Surely the man would give them shelter.