“
Magda
, listen to him. Get
in. Felix, you get in with her.”
“No! I am the master of the keep. I should fight
them.”
“You are a child still. Get in the larder.”
Hands wrapped around her throat and brought her up
against the largest chest she’d ever felt. “What do we have here? Boys and a
kitchen wench?”
Sybille screamed, trying to wrench herself from the
man’s grasp. “Don’t worry, sissy boy, this will all be over soon.”
She hoped the assumption she heard in his statement
wasn’t true. Would they kill everyone in the house? She hoped they wouldn’t
find the two upstairs. She closed her eyes in prayer, asking for some small
pittance. When she reopened them, two other men had captured Felix and
Magda
, and they were being brought outside. Her gut
clenched as they stepped out into the open air, the sunlight pouring over them
as they stopped before the large man who had led the bandits inside.
“No girl?”
“No, just two boys and an old
woman.”
“They don’t interest me. I came here for the girl. We
must find her.”
Sybille was confused. Were they talking of her? She
was the only girl in the keep, but why would they be looking for her? Her mind
reeled as she considered what they were about, but her thoughts refocused on
the two small boys being drug from the house. Men deposited
Gui
and Nicolas on the ground within the lower
bailey. Red-rimmed eyes looked to her in need. She had no idea what to do.
“So these are the last of de Campion’s whelps?”
“He claimed to have seven sons and had four with him
in
we find four sons here,” came from the young man who had held Nicolas. He
looked to be close to Sybille’s eight and ten, but there was something about
him that made her consider him younger.
“What of the daughter?” asked the big
man.
“I do not know. We did not see any other souls here.” The
younger boy pointed toward Sybille and the others. “Perhaps we ask them. These
little ones will not help much.”
The bandit strolled over to Sybille, drawing her free
from the man who held her and lifting her into the air to face him, her feet
dangling in the air. “Where is the little wench?”
She knew in that moment she needed to sacrifice
herself for the boys. They had to survive, somehow. The truth was the only way.
“I am a lady, not a wench.”
The big man chuckled before ripping her helm off,
allowing her golden locks to fall about her face and shoulders. “The lady
thinks herself a boy?” He looked closely at her as he dropped her to her feet
and caught her face in his grasp. “You are as fine as your mother. You will
warm my bed well.”
“I will do no such thing!”
“Did your parents not send word? I have won your hand
as well as these lands. All here is now
mine
,
including you and your brothers. Be good to me, and perhaps I’ll spare their
lives.”
“My parents sent no such word.” Sybille gazed at
Nicolas, her eyes widening before looking back at the bandit. “And may I ask
whose hand I have supposedly been given to?”
“The name is Sir Eustache of
her and then rose to his full height, head and shoulders above her own. “Your
parents were so relieved with the bag of gold I thrust into their hands, I
doubt they stopped counting the pieces long enough to send you word.” He thrust
the same vellum at her that he’d shown to Guillaume and
Petior
before they’d killed them. She was hesitant to take the sheet as she’d seen the
outcome of the last reading.
“Take it, here’s your proof.”
She grasped the edges in her shaking hands and read
over the surface three times, as she couldn’t believe it was true. Right there,
in her father’s own hand, was an agreement such as Sir Eustache had just
outlined. The keep and lands were now his, including everything within it.
Including her and the children.
How could her father have
just sold them off as chattel?
She handed the document back over to Sir Eustache, her
body and mind numb. She could be sold as chattel because she was a woman.
Sybille had been expecting something of this sort for years, as many young
women were already married, with three or four wee ones, by the time they’d
turned ten and eight. She’d always assumed it was her parents’ lack of gold
that had kept suitors at bay. Being sold to a blackheart shouldn’t be so
surprising.
At least she kept her home and her little brothers,
who weren’t as affected as the older boys. After the first few, her parents had
lost interest. They had enough boys to inherit and pass along the family name,
which was now laughable. There was nothing to inherit and who would want their
lineage to continue, the name sullied by greed and poverty.
“I suppose you expect me to bow to you now?” she
whispered low enough that hopefully Eustache was the only one to hear.
“If you get on your knees, I have something for you to
do, wench.”
She gasped, blood heating her face. As a lady, she
shouldn’t know what he was speaking of, but unfortunately, her mother hadn’t
raised her to be a lady.
The man walked away with a smirk and turned his back
on Sybille, looking at Nicolas and
Gui
.
“How old are the brats?”
“The—brats—have names.”
Sir Eustache grasped her face once more, pulling her
close. “I have no time for this. I asked a question, wench.”
“Felix here beside me is eight.” Sybille wrinkled her
nose, the foul smell of unwashed bodies making her ill. “
Gui
is seven. Nicolas is six.”
“
Ahh
,
perfect.
I will put them to work with my men
instead of fostering. I’ve already paid a too much for you and this land, as
is.
Time for little boys to become men.”
“Can I have the youngest?” asked the boy behind
Nicolas.
“You are still but a squire yourself. What do you know
of fostering?”
“He’s too young to do much yet, and he’ll be
underfoot, a bother to you. Let him help me with my work to give him strength
and understand what is expected of him. I’ll be responsible for him until he
grows a bit older.” The squire glanced at Nicolas, and there was something in
his gaze that told Sybille he would be kind to Nicolas.
Sir Eustache stared at the squire long and hard before
speaking. “You are wise beyond your years, Matthias. Fine, take the runt under
your care for now and keep him out of my way.
Jerar
,
figure out who will take the other two.” Sir Eustache dragged Sybille to him.
“As for me, I think I shall acquaint myself with my bride to be.”
Eustache drew her inside the keep. He seemed to ignore
the surroundings as he moved directly to the stairs, dragging her behind him.
She struggled to move
so
quickly as she was weighed
down by her chainmail. Eustache snorted, stopped midway up the stairs, and
turned, throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. She squealed
as he tossed her onto her parents’ bed a few moments later and scrambled to the
headboard, as far away from him as she could get.
“The keep is quite bare. Have you no luxuries here?”
He’d apparently noticed more than it had seemed.
“My parents have sold off most of the valuables over
the years to stay afloat. They took the last of our goods with them to
candles to see at night.”
“Then I suppose I will have you undress now while
there’s still light enough for me to see you.”
Heat flooded her face yet again. “I might have been
sold as chattel, but the least you can do is treat me like the lady I am.”
“Lady?”
He laughed loudly, tiny lines forming around his mouth and eyes as
he did so. In mirth, his expression softened. He didn’t seem so formidable now.
She loathed
to admit
that once he dropped the
seriousness, he wasn’t a dreadful looking man. He was actually somewhat
attractive, in a big brute kind of way.
Clear gray eyes peeked out from a sun-kissed face. His
nose was arrow straight, albeit for the slight bump that hinted it was once
broken. His lips were dry from riding, but they appeared curved and bowed,
almost a hint feminine in their fullness. Nothing about the towering giant
could be considered feminine, though. He was huge, and she was sure battle–hardened
muscles lined the mail and
surcoat
he wore, if the
hints of curves didn’t lie.
Sybille realized her perusal hadn’t gone unnoticed. A
hint of a smirk played with his lips as he watched her intently. “Like what you
see, wench?”
The bastard! “I have a name, and it is not wench!”
“Ah, a touch exasperated, are we? You can cool your
heels for a moment as I tour the keep. While I’m gone, change into a proper
gown and ready me a bath. I assume you have a tub still?”
She hid a smile, unwilling to tell him of the
underground hot spring they had under the keep. “We only have the cook’s stew
pot, but it’ll work to get you cleaned up.”
“Stew pot? Ugh, I knew I was buying a poor keep, but I
assumed you’d have the basics.”
“We have a couple of poor beds, chamber pots, and wood
for the fire.”
“That’s all?”
“Just about.”
Eustache shook his head and speared a hand through his
unruly mass of dark hair. “I spent most of my gold to buy,” his eyes lifted to
her, “the keep. I didn’t know we’d have to spend another small fortune to
outfit the place as well. We have no blacksmith here, no one to work the land.
It had better be worth it.”
Anger rushed through her. “
Petior
could do a little
smithing
, but you killed him.”
“The old chap should have told me before he
asked
me to end him.”
“I am quite sure you do not infer that Guillaume and
Petior
asked to be slain.”
“That they did. Unless you missed it in the contract I
showed you, your two elderly knights had been released from their duties. They
knew they could not make it on the outside, not at their age. I suggested they
become servants in the keep, and they were shamed by it. They said they wanted
to go out like men, not women in the kitchens. They asked for a glorious
death.”
Sybille felt a sob run through her. Those words sounded
like the stupid babble the two old men would spout, but she didn’t want to
believe the words, no matter how much truth seemed to be behind them. Eustache
didn’t appear to lie, but she didn’t know him, either, and therefore, she
couldn’t trust him. “Will you give that glorious death to me and my brothers as
well, if we do not abide by your rule?”
Eustache came close, grasping her head as he drew her
to the edge of the bed. “Is that what you want? Is this why you play in men’s
clothing? Do you want to die in battle?”
“No, no. I was trying to teach Nicolas to swordfight.”
“A girl, teaching a little boy to
wave a wooden sword around?
That’s laughable.”
The nearness of the man was getting to her. Yes, he
was ill–smelling from
days
ahorse
,
but there was a magnetism he claimed, which overrode her instincts. His gaze
captured hers, and she felt her body melt into his. She fought the sensation,
tried to pull away, but his grip was stronger than iron. “Better to teach him
something to protect himself. I am better than nothing.”
Eustache looked at her for a long moment as he
considered her words. The fierce look in his face suddenly softened, and he
brought a gloved hand to her face. The scent of leather and horse hit her as he
stroked one finger down her cheek. “My
lady, you are much,
much better than nothing, believe
me.”
He drew her close, his lips hovering just over hers,
the heat of his breath running over her mouth and fanning along her face. She
suddenly wanted his kiss, wanted his lips on hers, but she was robbed as he
stepped back, releasing his grip on her. “Ready whatever pot you have for my
bath as I tour your fortress. I’ll be back within an hour.”
****
Thirty minutes
later, after trying to yank the large cast iron pot up the
stairs,
Sybille determined he would just have to take his bath in the kitchen. She’d
stripped off the mail with
Magda’s
help and was
making her third trip down the winding stairs under the kitchen to the spring
to get more buckets of warm water for him to bathe in.
The water looked too damned inviting with each trip
down. She’d sweated under the heavy weight of the mail and felt offensive. She
knew she had time, so she stripped off her tunic and hose, another theft, this
one from one of her brothers. Diving into the warm pools had never felt better,
the heat easing the pain she’d gotten in trying to move the pot.