The Conqueror's Lady Read online

  The clamouring at her side caught her attention and Fayth looked on in horror as her people, the servants and villeins of the keep, were herded into the yard that usually held their horses. Men, women, children. Sir Giles’s men were systematically going building by building and forcing all of her people out to the yard where they were thrown with the others.

  Did he mean to kill them all? They called out to her, fear in their voices and terror in their gazes. What could she do now for she was a prisoner herself?

  When one of the Norman soldiers tossed the cook’s young daughter to the ground, she could no longer stand by silently. With a strength that surprised her, she pushed off the grasp of her guard and ran to young Ardith, knocking the warrior away from her. Helping the girl to her feet and urging her to run, Fayth turned back just as her guard caught up with her and as Ardith’s attacker regained his feet.

  Cursing in Norman French, words too gruff and too fast for her to comprehend, the man grabbed her by the cloak she wore and pulled her to face him. The anger flared in his eyes at being interrupted in what he must have thought was his due as the conqueror. He raised his fisted hand and swung it at her. She tried to lean away to avoid the blow, but his hold was too strong.

  Pain exploded in her head and then there was nothing but darkness.

  He watched the chaos of the yard from the open window in the chamber he claimed as his own. The large room boasted a hearth built into the wall, a privy closet and this window that overlooked the yard and gate. Below him, most of the people of Taerford Keep were collected in an enclosure with a few stragglers being taken there now. His men controlled the gate and the roads leading to it.

  They’d fought their way from Hastings, along the roads past London and out to the west, into Harold’s country. William urged his haste in following a few who escaped the battlefield and ran to organise resistance to the duke’s lawful control of England. Days became almost a week as they faced battle after battle and finally made their way to his promised fief.

  In spite of sending word ahead of his claim and his approach, the lady and those who conspired with her had nearly completed their hasty marriage when Giles managed to take control of the keep. He smiled grimly.

  Now, it was his.

  The building was not very large, but would suit him. It contained three floors with several private chambers and a separate kitchen building. The keep, kitchen, chapel and several other shops were enclosed by the wall. It was not large, but it pleased him and would offer protection until he could replace the wood with stone as William had ordered.

  Pushing the mail coif off his head, Giles looked for something to staunch the bleeding from his wound and found a small linen kerchief on the bed. Pressing it against the deep gash, he walked back to the window to watch his orders being carried out. Unfortunately, things were not going as he had instructed.

  The newest soldier in his company had some young girl in his grasp, his intent obvious even from this distance. Damn him! Giles had made it clear that such attacks were unacceptable, but Stephen had thrown control away during the battle and now the girl was his next target. Running from the chamber and down the stairs, Giles reached the yard in time to see the lady Fayth intervene.

  Before Giles could shout an order, Stephen reached out and grabbed Fayth, lifting her from her feet. Giles called for him to stop, but the noise in the yard prevented anyone from hearing it. As he took off running towards them Stephen hit Fayth with enough force that the lady fell to the ground unconscious. Without stopping, Giles ploughed into the soldier and took him to the ground. Heedless of those watching, he pummelled him until he himself was pulled away.

  ‘Andre!’ he called to a guard. ‘Carry the lady to my chambers. Henri, find her servant or a healer and see to her care. And,’ he added, wiping his mouth of the blood that flowed freely once more, ‘do not leave her side.’ He turned to face Stephen, who still lay on the ground at his feet. ‘Your disobedience and lack of control have ever been your weakness,’ he accused. ‘You have been warned about this and you have not heeded my words.’

  Giles ordered him lifted, stripped to the waist and tied to the fence. The yard was eerily silent now as all watched their new lord discipline one of his own. He would rather not have carried this out now, but a prompt response to disobedience by any of his men was necessary, especially in a time of war. He tugged off the gauntlets and accepted the whip from his second-in-command. Giles did not do this lightly, for he’d felt the lash bite his skin, but he’d learned the hard lesson it taught quickly and had rarely faced discipline again.

  Walking to the fence, he looked at those now held in the enclosure and at his men. ‘For disobedience of my standing orders, the punishment is ten lashes. Call them, Thierry.’

  Giles unwrapped the length of leather and flicked it into the air. The tip cracked loudly and many of those around him flinched, though no target was touched. He took several paces back and then applied the punishment he had decreed. Thierry counted out the number so that all could hear. Although Stephen hissed with each lash, he kept himself from crying out or bucking. At ten, Giles took a deep breath and paused.

  ‘And for laying hands on the lady Fayth, ten more.’

  His words surprised all who watched for he heard the gasps at his declaration. Giles lifted his arm again and again until the strokes numbered ten. Stephen’s control had waned and he moaned at each bite of the whip. No one moved until Giles nodded his consent.

  ‘Remove him and leave him there. When we finish the work we have ahead of us, then someone can see to his wounds.’

  He met his men’s gazes then before turning around and walking away. Two of his men removed Stephen and went back to the tasks he had assigned before the incident had stopped them, now a man short due to the stupidity and lust of one of their own.

  Giles looked around and noticed the sun was not even at its highest point in the sky yet. Sweat and blood now poured down from his head, under his mail and tunic. He had been fighting since just after dawn and he was tired. Once he was certain that his men had control over the yard and the inhabitants, he motioned to Thierry to follow him into the keep.

  The days of fighting his way across England were catching up with him and he wanted nothing so much as a secure home, a hot bath and a meal to fill his belly. From the looks of the keep and the turmoil still moving through it, Giles knew that he would not be getting his wishes fulfilled this day.

  And he still had to deal with his new wife-to-be.

  Her first attempt to open her eyes met with a head-shattering pain, so Fayth lay very still and waited until the urge to vomit quieted. She listened without moving as someone, or some ones, shuffled about the chamber. She was tempted to try again, but the waves of pain pulsing through her skull warned her not to.

  ‘My lady?’ The whispered words came from a familiar voice, but she could not recognise it so at the moment. ‘My lady?’

  Fayth swallowed and then again, but she could not speak. Her head felt as though it would shatter if she tried to answer, but the blasted woman, whoever she was, was relentless.

  ‘You must wake up, my lady. He is coming.’

  Lifting her hands, Fayth slid her fingers over her forehead and scalp until she found the lump. Gliding softly over it, she knew the source of the pain. With her arm shielding her eyes from the light pouring into the chamber, she forced them open.

  It was Ardith. The young girl’s tear-streaked face filled with terror as she turned to the door and then back to her. When the door opened, Ardith jumped to her feet and backed away, stopping only when her body hit the wall of the chamber. Fayth watched her as long as she could, but the waves of dizziness made it impossible after a few moments.

  ‘You were told to care for her wound. Why is she still covered in blood?’

  The words, in halting English, echoed in the room, making Fayth’s stomach clench. Ardith was terrified into silence and could only offer a soft sobbing sound at the question. If Fayth
could, she would intervene. But the pain and dizziness made it a thing she could not accomplish. She finally found her tongue.

  ‘She is not used to such duties,’ she whispered, hoping that the effort was enough. It made the terrible pain increase and made her stomach begin to heave.

  Luckily the girl could recognise what was about to happen. Ardith grabbed a pail from the corner and held it out just as Fayth began to retch. By the end of it, she had not the strength to lift her head from the bucket and would have stayed in that humiliating position had not a strong pair of hands lifted her up and guided her back to the pillow.

  ‘Get rid of that now!’ he commanded.

  It did not have the effect he wanted, for Ardith simply cowered farther into the corner, shaking so badly that she nearly dropped the offensive bucket to the floor. Fayth could only watch as the warrior approached and cursed in Norman French at the girl. Then the commotion outside the door stopped him and Emma entered, carrying a pail and some linens.

  ‘My lord,’ she said, curtsying before him. ‘You are terrifying her—’ Emma stepped around him and held out her hand to Ardith ‘—as are your men.’

  Watching was all Fayth could do as her old serving maid placed the things she had brought in on the table, took the bucket from Ardith’s shaking grasp, and walked with it, past the astonished lord, to the door. Pulling it open, she pushed it into the hands of one of the soldiers there and ordered him away with it. Only the lord’s loud laughter allowed the man to move.

  ‘You do not seem terrified, old woman. What is your name?’

  ‘Emma is old, my lord. Please…’ Fayth whispered, trying to lean her head up to stop the wrath she knew would follow.

  ‘Old enough to have wiped your arse when you were but a babe-in-arms, my lord,’ Emma retorted without a speck of hesitation or the proper respect needed in this situation.

  Worse, she put her hands on her hips, almost daring him to take some action against her. Dear God! He would kill her for such impertinence. It was the humour that shocked her again.

  ‘’Twould appear so, from your age and mine.’ He laughed for a moment as he glanced back at the man closest to him. He made a comment in Norman that was too mumbled and too fast for her to understand and then sobered. ‘Do not mistake amusement as permission for your boldness to continue, woman.’

  This time, Emma did back down and lower her gaze. Although she was used to her maid’s ways, everything now was different and Fayth had no way of knowing where offence would be taken, even from innocent words or gestures. Not that Emma was innocent…

  ‘Lady Fayth, join me in the hall as soon as you are able,’ he ordered in English now as he glared at her. ‘There are matters to be handled and they must be handled as quickly as possible.’

  ‘But, my lord—’ Emma began.

  With a wave of his hand and a dark look at each of them, he stopped any arguments. ‘In the hall. Get her ready.’

  Wisely, Emma only nodded and moved to the table to begin her duties. The new lord of Taerford walked out of the room, giving orders as he went until only silence remained in the chamber. When the door closed and they were alone, Emma leaned towards her and motioned for Ardith to move closer.

  ‘I thought he would strike you down, Emma. You must not anger him,’ Fayth urged. But the words were barely out before the servant shook her head in disagreement.

  ‘My lady, this new lord respects only strength.’ Emma reached over and slid her arm behind Fayth’s shoulders, readying her for what Fayth knew would be a horrible experience. ‘You must prepare yourself now and meet his strength with your own. Be the daughter your father knew you would be.’

  Fayth wished that Emma’s confidence were enough to convince her of the truth of her words, but the shocking events of this day were too fresh to allow her to hide in ignorance. And his words warned of more dire changes to her life and her people. Did Edmund yet survive? Could he rally his supporters, as he’d claimed, to take England back?

  She was so caught up in her thoughts that Emma’s sudden movement bringing her up to sit surprised her. The pain from such a grievous head injury should not have. It was several hours later that she was ready to go to the hall. Her legs trembled until Emma was forced to call two guards to her side. Better to be assisted down the steep stairway than to end up at the bottom of it in a heap, she advised.

  Fayth concentrated only on putting one foot in front of the other and did not see the new lord until she stood before him. At his frown, his men let go of their hold and stepped back. Just when she thought she would fall over from the throbbing in her head, Fayth caught sight of something new on the Norman knight. Her father’s signet ring, a thing he would never remove in life, hung on a chain around the new lord’s neck.

  Her father’s ring.

  Fayth looked up and met his gaze. A satisfied look rested on his face, confirming without words his position and his rights here.

  Her father was truly dead and this man owned everything that was once his.

  The truth sank into her, but she could not accept it. Fayth reached out to take the ring from him. He grabbed her hand just as she grasped it in hers and squeezed it hard.

  ‘It is mine now. As are this keep, and you. King William has named me Baron of Taerford to rule over all the lands that Bertram ruled and more.’

  In spite of her agreement with Emma about presenting her strength to him, Fayth lost control in that moment. The hall and the keep began to spin and she gave herself up to the pain in her head and now in her heart.

  Her father was dead.

  Chapter Two

  T hree days passed by before she regained her wits and Fayth did not see her captor during that time. At the least, she did not think so, but a few confused memories of a deep voice rousing her from sleep several times that first night told her to suspect otherwise. Emma spoke of a leech’s directions not to let her sleep too long a time or her mind would be for ever muddled. The clarity gained from the still-throbbing pain in her head assured her she was not so.

  Fearing that any moment could see her dragged to the hall and married to the Norman knight kept her from ever truly letting her guard down. Nay, not Norman, though he fought for the Bastard. She rubbed at the growing ache in her forehead. He hailed from Brittany, Emma had informed her, along with the men who fought at his side. His place of origin gave her no relief from worry, for William the Bastard had gathered men from all parts of the continent to fight for him and his illegal campaign to gain control over her country.

  As he had gained control over her keep.

  His first orders found her moved into her father’s chambers while the usurper took hers. And though the door remained impassable for her, for she was stopped by the guards each time she tried to leave, Emma moved freely through the keep and grounds. Ardith stayed mostly at Fayth’s side, fearing further attention from the soldier who’d attacked her three days before. From what Emma had learned, this Giles le Breton had an iron grip over her home now. He’d replaced the soldiers her father had left behind with his own, he’d placed his men to oversee every aspect of the workings of her keep and people and had done it without any regard for her.

  Fayth squinted then, as the soreness in her head made it impossible to concentrate on her stitches. Tossing the gown she was repairing into the basket at her feet, she tilted her head one way and then another, trying to ease the ache there.

  ‘Ardith,’ she said, beckoning the girl to her side. ‘Can you loosen these braids? The weight of them is pulling too much.’

  Fayth turned herself in her chair, allowing Ardith to get closer. Once the girl let down the twist of braids some of the pain eased. Fayth closed her eyes, relaxing her head and letting her chin fall to her chest. Her hair hung loosely now around her shoulders and she waited to see if the pain would pass.

  The silence surrounded her for a few minutes until Ardith’s nervous breathing drew her attention. As she raised her head her gaze met that of her captor as he stare
d at her from his place inside the door. She hadn’t heard the door open, but it was apparent he’d been there for several minutes.

  ‘Sir Giles,’ she said, rising to stand yet refusing to call him by another title he now claimed. ‘I did not hear you enter.’

  Fayth motioned to Ardith to arrange her hair once more. It might be her chambers, but it was not proper, with a man present, to be so undone. Ardith hurried in her attentions and Fayth winced against the pulling as the girl gathered her hair into one long braid and replaced the veil on top of it. Once her hair was covered, she faced him and nodded.

  ‘Are you well, lady?’ he asked, his deep voice accented by the language of his own country.

  ‘Other than…’ she began, and then realised that any complaints would sound trite when compared with those her people could offer.

  ‘Your head?’ he asked, nodding in her direction. ‘Does it still pain you?’ He stepped closer, handing the helm tucked under his arm to one of his men.

  ‘It is improving,’ was all she would offer. Emma’s words about appearing strong before him echoed in her thoughts and, though he frightened her to her core, she was now the only one left who could protect her people. They must be uppermost in her priorities now.

  Now that her father was gone.

  Fayth glanced down and saw the ring he still wore, dangling there as a sign to everyone of her father’s death and this man’s new rule.

  He frowned as she looked up at his face. Then his gaze and his mouth hardened. The tension in the chamber grew until one of his men whispered something under his breath to him and Giles nodded as though reminded of some task.

  ‘Now that it is safe to move about the keep and village, I thought you might like a respite from your stay here,’ he said, his voice neither welcoming nor comforting. Another whisper from his man and he said, ‘I know you worry about your people, our people, and I would have you be at ease over their condition now that I have—’ he paused, searching for a word ‘—arrived.’