Authors: Georgia Fox
The maid giggled.
"There's a lot of men here and very few women. I felt safer in here with
you, my lady."
"Hmm."
She was skeptical about that. Villette, she already knew, was something of a
flirt. The girl's morality was something else for which Ami was now responsible
and it looked to be a full-time job. "Stay away from those men. Do not
speak to any. Give a man an inch and he'll take a yard."
"Yes, my
lady." There was a pause, followed by more giggles. "That Ifyr is a
right one."
"I'm sure he
is."
"I shall stay
away from him, like you say, mistress."
"Make sure
you do."
After a moment, as
they listened to the guard stamping his feet and cursing about the cold, the
little maid said, "At least you will have a husband now, my lady, a man
with all his parts in working order."
"How much ale
have you drunk, Villette?"
"But did you
think you might never have one—a husband, so fine and strong?"
Ami pulled her
hood over her hair and folded her arms. "I did not care. It was not my
idea to be married." Nothing was ever final until her uncle said so. He might
yet change his mind about this arrangement.
"What else is
there for a lady to do? Of course you must marry and it could have been far
worse. He could have been an old man with warts and a limp wick. He could have
no teeth, like the last man to whom you were sent, my lady."
She did not want
to agree with any part of the maid's soused ramblings, but unfortunately she
could not close her ears to the cold, hard truth of her situation. It could,
indeed, have been worse.
"Now you need
not go back to your uncle and face the shame of being unwanted again. You will
not be a spinster burden any longer. Your younger, prettier cousins will not
wed before you. This man is willing to take you, temper and all." The maid
shrugged happily. "I suppose your dowry makes up for everything else and
he is desperate for coin."
"Yes, thank
you, Villette," she replied crossly, "for pointing that out."
"I thought
you would—"
"Clearly,
Villette, you don't think."
Footsteps
approached and they both fell silent. Male voices murmured low. Once again
torchlight returned to the small barred window and those blue eyes looked in.
Amias sat up straighter, retaining her dignity even till the end. Let them take
her out and string her up on a gibbet. Let them punish her with twenty lashes.
"It's time we
discussed a truce, woman," he announced. "This impasse will get us
nowhere."
Villette must be
right, she thought; Stryker Bloodaxe was indeed desperate for her bridal purse.
But, as it
happened, she was frozen to the bone, longing for a fire. She was also bitterly
cognizant of the many truths in her maid's speech. Irritating as it might be,
this man was probably her last chance for a husband. As she'd said, many times,
she didn't really want a husband, but without one she was superfluous to life.
Marriage was escape from the crushing misery of her uncle's stern, miserly
guardianship, even if it was simply an exchange for another kind of prison.
And there was
something else to consider.
The barbarian was
handsome, built like a warrior god. Distressed to find herself so shallow, Ami
must admit that she would rather have a husband with good looks than an old one
with no teeth. If she must look at a man every day for the rest of her life—or
his—he had better be pleasant to look at.
She cleared her throat.
"I suppose we might discuss the matter, reasonably. As two adults."
He frowned
fiercely. Obviously he did not consider them equals. "I am glad you came
to your senses, wench."
"Me? You are
the one who comes to me for a truce." It didn't take much to re-ignite her
temper. "I could stay here all night, or for a month."
At the last word
his eyes flamed and then narrowed, but just as he opened his mouth to speak Ami
sneezed.
"I hope
you're not sickly," he exclaimed, scratching his unshaven chin with grimy
fingernails. "I can't have you spreading disease among my people."
She scowled up at
him. "And there—I thought for the splinter of a second that your concern
was for the state of
my
health."
The torchlight
flickered wildly in a strong gust of wind. Again she caught a sharp jab from
those deeply searching eyes. His hard gaze hit her somewhere under the ribs,
then wandered up over her breasts, before dropping hastily to her knees.
"Sickness can travel quickly and there are few comforts here for women of
a fragile disposition."
Ami barely managed
to stop herself from laughing out loud at the idea of anyone thinking her
fragile.
Suddenly there was
a heavy clanking rattle and then the door creaked open. She was released. Her
heart skipped with unusual gladness at this victory, but she could not afford
to relax yet, for who knew what he had in store—what he meant by this
"truce". Doubtless his truce would not be the same as hers.
He was lucky she
had Villette to worry about for she could have withstood the bitter cold much
longer.
At her nod, the
little maid scrambled to her feet in the straw and ducked out first. Amias
walked out slowly, regally, pretending she could not feel the bite of frost in
the air. No one could shrivel a man where he stood quite so well as Amias of
York, with one unflinching stare. So she'd been told.
Stryker Bloodaxe
let the door swing shut and, with the extravagant wave of one arm, signaled
that she should walk ahead into the great hall of his manor. If Amias was not
mistaken there was more than a glimmer of sarcasm in the over-wrought grandeur
of that gesture.
He was up to
something.
But weren't they
all?
Chapter Three
She was tall for a
woman, elegant in the way she moved. Even after the difficulties of a long
journey in bad weather and half a day in the drunk shed she was remarkably
composed. At least, it was so on the outside. One look into her honey gold eyes
warned him that the temper he'd experienced already was not far from boiling
over again.
Amias of York
looked around his great hall and could have burned down the timbers with her
disdain. Evidently these accommodations were far beneath the sort to which she
was accustomed.
"We have a
good apothecary here," he told her, anxious to find something at which she
might not turn up her dainty nose. "I shall send for him and he will make
a potion for your cold."
"I do not
have a cold," she stated flatly. "I am never sick."
Apparently she
never missed the chance to argue either. No matter how obvious the point
against her.
Stryker struggled
to keep his own temper.
Think of the
dowry. Think of the bride purse
. He'd better keep her content at least for
a month, until her uncle's visit had come and gone. Trust his damn neighbor,
Coeur-du-Loup, to hold a feast and invite every notable member of the
an ambitious upstart for all his pretense at being a humble soldier. Look how
he wormed his way in and stole away Elsinora's affections! Now Stryker must be
on his best behavior with this surly, prideful wench, or risk losing another
dowry.
"Will you
sit, my lady Amias." He waved at the chair beside his own, only to find a
piglet sitting in it. He calmly picked it up and set it down among the floor
rushes. It ran off squealing merrily, snouting for scraps. "A small
oversight," he exclaimed, laughing. "An empty seat does not remain so
around here for long."
She turned her
head and seized him in a hard glare. "I see all animals are given free
rein about the place."
"Except
women," he muttered under his breath. Couldn't resist. He quickly reached
for the wine and poured some for her while she was still dusting off the seat
of her chair. Finally she sat and Stryker passed her a wooden cup of wine.
"Let us break bread together and make amends."
Again she glowered
at him, wary and doubting. "Amends? After the way you treated me? I
confess myself puzzled as to what these amends might be."
But in his mind
his actions were completely justified after she bit him.
She
bit
him. He still couldn't get over
that.
If he hadn't dealt
with her at once, Ifyr would probably have teased him about it. The two men
were like brothers, for Stryker had taken the orphaned Ifyr under his wing and
practically raised him from boy to man. He would never let the lad see him lose
out to a woman. Besides, on a manor of that size, inhabited mostly by men, the
leader could not afford to show weakness at any time. His wife should know
that. If she did not, she soon would.
"I speak of
the amends
you
can make to me,"
he replied smoothly.
Her brows rose in
two fine arches. Those large, doe-like brown eyes reflected little darts of
candlelight as she swept him from head to toe with one disdaining glance.
"But some of
that," he added, "can wait until our wedding night."
"Something to
look forward to," she snapped.
"Most
definitely." He grinned at her and she sipped her wine hurriedly. Yes, she
was a fine looking woman, he thought. Strange that other men had rejected her,
but then rumor told that the wench had bats in the belfry. She did have an odd
way of looking askance at him. Also she was stubborn—would fight to the point
of injuring herself perhaps.
Time to discuss
business and lay down the rules.
Supper was almost
over by then and he had given the signal for clearing the hall so that they
might have some privacy. Or as much as might be afforded on his manor. Stryker
and his men were accustomed to living in close quarters and he'd only recently
commissioned the making of a separate chamber with a large bed, preparing for
his bride's arrival. If he took her there now, they would probably find two
carpenters working by candlelight. It was also a distinct possibility that
there would be dogs, hens and a goat or two.
Another excuse for her to look disgusted.
Stryker set his
cup down. "Lady Amias, let me speak plain. I suspect the idea of this
marriage brings you no pleasure and, in truth, I would have preferred a woman
from among my own kind—someone accustomed to my ways and the life we lead here.
We work hard on this manor." He glanced at her clean fingernails and shook
his head. "But this marriage can be one of mutual convenience. We both
stand to gain something out of it. Do we not?"
She looked at him
above the rim of her cup. "I know my uncle is paying you well to take me
off his hands. You will also benefit greatly with the king's favor."
"And you have
been saved from spinsterhood," he replied. "No other man is willing
to deal with your wicked temper, so I am told."
Her lashes
flickered and fanned downward as she took another sip of wine. "How much,
exactly, is my uncle offering you? It must be a vast fortune to make you so
willing, despite all that you have no doubt been told about me."
"That is a
matter between men, wench."
"I am not to
know the price he paid? I am not to know my own worth?"
"The business
of money and negotiation should be left to men."
"Why?"
"Because we
are in charge."
"Oh, there's
a comfort." She rolled her eyes. "Leaving the men in charge has
always done wonders for the world."
"Saints
preserve me," he muttered. "Not another one."
"Another
what?"
Stryker shook his
head wearily. He thought of Elsinora, flapping her bossy tongue at him, trying
to tell him she knew better. Now here was another. It seemed to be his fate
that the two most attractive women he ever met should also be two of the most
irritating scolds. "I should not bother asking you to explain. But I
shall, as I have been accused of never listening to the squawkings of pitiful
womanhood. I will hear your opinion. Just this once and once only."
****
He folded his
arms, smug, self-righteous. "Speak your case," he urged again.
"What have men ever done that is so wrong in your eyes?"
Ami had no problem
telling him that. "Look around us, you great oaf. Here we live in a world
always torn asunder by war, rebellion and greed. War is begun by men who are
never satisfied, never content with what they have, but always want more."
"And what
would wenches do, if they had charge?"
"We would
discuss matters, remain civil and level-headed. Find compromise. Be fair and
just. All things men cannot be for it is not in their nature."
"While you
are busy making friends, comparing stitches in your embroidery and
discussing
what is to be done, your
enemy will sneak up behind you and take all that you possess. Put a woman in
charge and we may as well let cats guard the dairy."