The Conqueror's Lady Page 7

His shoulders were broad and his arms and legs well muscled. Not as bulky as her father was, he stood taller than most of his men, save one. The one he called Brice. Both men were stripped to their braies and matched each other, stroke for stroke, in some unnamed competition that had the men beginning to cheer for one or the other.

  When he turned to answer someone’s call, she was gifted with the sight of his equally muscular chest, liberally sprinkled with hair that tapered under the edge of his loosely tied breeches. What would that feel like to touch? His chest and stomach rippled as he lifted and swung the axe, over and over, and in time with his friend. Suddenly, Fayth found it difficult to breathe and a wave of heat passed through her. Peeling off the cloak, she loosened the veil around her neck and tried to take a breath.

  ‘Here now, my lady,’ Emma said, taking the cloak from her and draping it over her own arm. ‘You look a bit flushed.’ Her maid reached out and touched Fayth’s face and cheek. ‘Praise God, no fever, you are just overheated…’

  She didn’t finish her words, and Fayth realised that the three women were following the direction of her gaze and seeing what, or rather whom, she watched. With a shared glance of their own from one to the other that bespoke of some common knowledge, they smiled at her and nodded.

  ‘Worry not, my lady. It will wear off,’ Alfrida, the smith’s wife, said with a knowing smile.

  ‘And mayhap not,’ Riletta, the tanner’s wife, said with her own enigmatic smile.

  The three looked at her and then burst out laughing. So loud were they that the very man she had been watching stopped and turned towards her. Her face burned now and she could only hope he could not see it from across the distance. Fayth wanted to pull her veil farther forward to cover as much as possible, but stopped herself.

  It was not as though she’d never heard the bantering amongst the women before, about their husbands and their bedplay. In the past, she’d disregarded it for her own marriage had been far off and a young maiden had no reason to listen to such gossip. Then, when her father had announced her possible betrothal to a distant cousin from Scotland, such talk had become interesting and she had listened more than a girl in her virginal state should have.

  Now, faced with a husband whose physical needs were sometimes clear and sometimes a mystery to her, the intimations were daunting yet enticing. Her mouth went dry when she thought of him holding her against his chest, the one so clearly displayed to her now. But before she could embarrass herself with a misspoke word or gesture, a shrill whistle pierced the air. Turning to find its source, instead she saw the Breton warriors scrambling along the wall.

  All of the knights and men-at-arms in the yard began arming themselves and Fayth froze, not knowing what to do or where to go. A few moments later, one of the men, Roger she thought his name was, stepped to her side and took her by the arm.

  ‘Come, my lady. My lord would have me see you and the women to safety inside the keep.’

  The man did not pause as he spoke, only held on to her and guided the others quickly inside. Her last glance back at her husband found him tugging his shirt back into place as his squire held his gambeson, mail shirt and weapons at the ready.

  ‘What is happening?’ she asked as she walked briskly into the main hall. Looking around, she found all of the women and children gathered there.

  ‘Riders approach and Lord Giles is not certain of their identities. You will be safe here,’ he said as he nodded at several other warriors there.

  With some signal she did not see, the soldiers placed the women and children in a group near the stone wall and positioned themselves between them and the rest of the hall. Tables were turned on their edges and pulled together into a barrier wall. A defensive placement so that they stood between any intruders and the weakest ones in the keep. The windows, high up on the walls, were shuttered, keeping both the sun’s light and any arrows aimed there out.

  So much for a lovely autumn day.

  Chapter Six

  F ayth lifted one of the small children into her arms, trying to calm her while the girl’s mother did the same with her other children. Even if they could not understand what transpired, the wee ones felt the danger and began to whimper or cry as the room grew dark. Everything that happened brought back memories of the attack on the keep by Giles’s men just weeks before. Her heart pounded in her chest and she began to pace a few steps back and forth, trying to ease the little girl’s distress as much as her own.

  Could it be Edmund coming to rescue her? Coming to oust the Breton devils from her lands and keep? Had other loyal Saxons banded together to push Duke William from England? Would there be more bloodshed? And how many would die this time? Questions raced through her thoughts and she could only pray that, whatever happened, no one else would die.

  At the sound of loud yelling outside, between the keep and the wall, Roger ordered them all to the floor behind the tables and Fayth sat there, whispering soothing words that she did not feel or believe to the girl in her arms. Readying his men, Roger gave them some signal and some hurried orders that she could not understand. The seconds turned into minutes and still there was no word or movement inside or out.

  Realising that there were no sounds of battle or attack, Fayth permitted herself to hope this would end with no lives lost. The tension grew inside the keep until the sounds of approaching soldiers increased. Everyone peeked over the barricade and watched the doors that led to the yard, waiting and watching for the attack to come.

  Then, a shrill whistle could be heard outside and Roger and his men relaxed their stance. Staying in position, they watched until the doors opened and Giles entered, leading a small group of his men. With a nod, Roger helped Fayth to her feet but bade her to wait at his side for Giles’s arrival.

  It took a few more minutes, for Giles stopped to speak to some of the soldiers and give additional orders or instructions and to ask questions, but all was accomplished in a voice and tone too low for her to hear. His last stop before reaching the enclosure behind which she stood was Roger.

  Their exchange continued for several more minutes, sparing her several glances which she could not interpret. Tempted to push the table aside and leave on her own, she understood that she could gain information if she listened to them speak. Information about Edmund perhaps or about other Normans in the area. Instead, their words were low and hushed and she gained no insight into the riders’ identities or Edmund’s whereabouts.

  Finally, as those guarding her and the others began moving the tables aside, the warrior reached the front of the room. Nodding to Roger and holding out a hand to her, he led her away from the rest.

  ‘You follow orders well, my lady,’ he said as they stopped near the door to the yard. His nod in some way acknowledged or saluted her actions.

  ‘I did not think I had a choice but to do so,’ she answered. ‘Who were they?’ She lifted her hand from his armoured one. The feel of the metal reminded her once more of their first meeting in the chapel and she shivered at the memory of it.

  ‘The unfortunate results of war,’ he said. He turned and issued more orders before giving her his attention once again. She noticed that all of his men obeyed without question or pause, as though they’d fought and worked together for a long time. ‘Not all of the Duke’s men are willing to wait for their just rewards and ride out from London seeking easy targets to claim as their own.’

  ‘Does it surprise you that there is no honour amongst thieves?’

  The words slipped out before she thought on them and his reaction was swift. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the stairs and nodded at them.

  ‘Seek your chambers and remain there until I call for you,’ he said loudly. He gestured up the steps and called out to Roger. ‘See the lady to her chambers and report back to me.’

  ‘My lord,’ she began.

  Fayth should know better than to provoke him, especially following so close to this dangerous situation, but sitting in the darkened hall, waiting for anot
her attack on her keep and her people, had worn on her temperament. Now words failed her and, even more, the urge to apologise soured her mouth before she could speak such words. Still, he controlled everything and everyone here, so an attempt at humility was needed or she would find herself a prisoner in her chambers.

  He shook his head at her and turned away, but she reached out and touched his arm. ‘I fear this terrifying situation has overwhelmed me, my lord. Forgive my rash words spoken without thought.’

  She looked neither terrified nor overwhelmed, but Giles hesitated to call her a liar even though she’d called him a thief. Instead he saw a glimmer of pride and something else, too, something less definite and more unidentifiable. Almost a challenge to call her bluff in this.

  But there was much to do before dark and he could waste time standing here trying to discern her thoughts and her motives. If nothing else, this unexpected approach by strangers made clear the holes in his defensive plans for the keep, exposing gaps in both numbers and placement of men, weapons and strategies. There was much work to do to secure this place and in this situation the only thing that had saved them was that the riders were allies and not enemies.

  ‘Very well, lady. See to the righting of the hall and see that the women go back to their assigned chores.’

  She nodded, nearly bowing her head to him, and turned to the task he’d given her. He did not miss the smile that threatened there on her lovely mouth. It was as he suspected—there was no humility in her words or her actions. The lady was simply protecting her own intentions.

  Part of him wished to strike out at her for her boldness, but he understood how much he needed the lady and her support. Being open enemies would turn the keep and the people into a personal battleground, one that would not stand against attacks from the outside. Oh, he could punish her, but after the small incident of giving assistance to the water boy and having every person in the yard stand witness Giles knew any goodwill gained would be lost if he took action against their lady for what seemed a trifling matter.

  Instead, he left her to her task and made his way out into the yard. His commanders—Roger, Lucien and Matthieu, all Bretons he’d fought with for years—knew what he expected and so he found his horse saddled and six men, armed, at the ready. Giles mounted, accepted his shield from Martin and led the men out of the gates, which were closed behind them.

  It would take him hours to ride the lands, checking for signs of either the gangs of rebels that had been formed amongst those opposed to or displaced by the arrival of Normans or, now, the gathering outlaw companies of Duke William’s men who were taking what they wanted in ever-widening circles extending out from London.

  Giles and his men arrived back at Taerford Keep just as the darkness of night lay completely across the lands. Luckily, a nearly full moon’s light gave them some aid in making their way across the unknown hills and valleys of the lands he now controlled. At his signal, a whistled one practised many times, Roger ordered the gates open for them from his place in the guard tower. The small troop rode through and the gates were secured behind him.

  Some men who were assigned to the stables met them and took the horses and Martin followed at his heels, knowing his duty to the knight he served. Giles sent the other men off to take their ease and have a good meal to replace the one they’d missed during their search. His own stomach growled loudly for, as they passed by the corridor that led to the kitchen, he could smell the aromas of something roasted and something baked.

  When he was seated at table, weapons handed off to Martin for cleaning and mail removed, a large, steaming bowl of stew with a small round of cheese and some bread was placed before them, and he reported their discoveries to Brice, Roger and the rest.

  A small band was taking refuge in the woods to the west of the keep. Giles had found the remnants of a camp along with fires and refuse, though they could not tell how many stayed there or who they were. He did not wish it disturbed until they could discover who was using it and for what purposes.

  The meal finished and they still talked and planned, huddling around the table, even as the peasants from the village and the serfs began to settle into the hall for the night. With dangers encroaching from many directions, Giles knew he needed to be prepared and knew it meant the difference between survival and destruction. Roger’s report that Lady Fayth had been helpful in organising those now living within the walls gave him hope that she would agree to continue to help him.

  When one of the servants came over with news that a bath was prepared for him, he stood and excused the men to their rest for the night. After checking about the guards on duty, he washed quickly and climbed the steps to his, their, chambers. Smiling as he noticed that the door had been repaired and placed back on its hinges, he lifted the latch and pushed quietly against it.

  Giles had seen many sides to the woman who was now his wife, but the sight that greeted him was a new one. He half expected to find her fully clothed in bed, with her back pressed against the wall. Instead, she sat in the one tall-backed chair in the room, wrapped in a blanket and sound asleep. Unlike earlier today in the yard, her hair lay loose around her shoulders, giving her face a much younger appearance.

  Lady Fayth sighed then and shifted in the chair and one corner of the blanket fell loose. She mumbled then, some words that slurred together into an unintelligible sentence or phrase in her language. She settled again, once more into sleep’s embrace, and he continued to observe her for a few more minutes before preparing for sleep himself.

  Giles moved about the chamber, tugging the layers of furs and blankets down on the bed, tossing his garments on a trunk, and then decided it would be best to have the necessary conversation here, in private, than in view of her people or his. If she agreed to his request, fine, but if not, it did not bode well for their future. Crouching down in front of her, he touched her cheek and spoke her name softly. When he repeated it for the third time, her eyes began to flutter open.

  He knew the moment she recognised him and the place where they were, for a look of fear entered her gaze. He realised that fear always entered her eyes at each of their encounters, something he was growing to dislike. She tried to back away. Considering that she sat in such a chair as she did, it was not possible, and it took a few moments for her to wake up fully.

  ‘Lady,’ he said softly. ‘I did not think you meant to sleep the night in that chair.’ He tapped on the arm of it and nodded to it. ‘It does not offer much comfort.’ He stood up then and took a step back and away. ‘Surely, the bed is a better place? No?’

  Fayth lifted her hand and rubbed her eyes to clear the sleepiness from them. She’d waited for hours here, first pacing to stay awake and then sitting here, praying for the souls of those killed on her behalf and for the innocents caught in the attacks. When she could no longer focus on the words, she’d closed her eyes for but a moment. From the way the candles burned low, she’d slept much longer than a moment. She noticed then his gaze fell to the prayer beads that helped her keep track of her prayers.

  ‘Has good Father Henry watched over your souls for a long time?’ he asked.

  ‘Many years,’ she said, gathering the beads and placing them on the table.

  ‘Did he clerk for your father as well or did another see to those duties?’

  Fayth thought that might be the first time he’d asked about her father directly and wondered at it. She tried to keep the pain in her heart under control as she answered him, but it hurt badly to think of her father as gone from her.

  ‘Father Henry has served God here by taking care of our souls and served my father as clerk, my lord. I have been told that they grew up together and both were happy when Father Henry was sent by the bishop.’

  Tears burned her eyes as she thought on the two of them over the many years. Swallowing against the tightness in her throat, Fayth cleared it and asked, ‘Why do you ask, my lord? Have you need of a new priest or clerk?’

  He did not answer her imme
diately; instead he looked away and began to pace, much as she did when troubled or deep in thought. Then he stopped a few paces from her and nodded. ‘A clerk, I think, to take up those duties as well as a miller, a chandler, a reeve, a woodward, a brewer and a harpist, as near as I can tell. And, a few more villeins to take on some other of the duties in my Taerford demesne.’

  ‘A harpist? We did not have a harpist here…before your arrival.’

  He smiled then, one that curved his mouth most attractively and caused her blood to rush. ‘Ah. But I have always found the music of the harp to be soothing and pleasant. We Bretons are amongst the best at playing it.’

  He was delaying his true purpose, she could feel it, so she decided to ask him directly. ‘What is your purpose here, my lord? What is it you wish to know?’

  Giles stood straighter now and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I wish to know,’ he began and then shook his head. ‘I need to know how many and which of your people fled with Edmund.’

  ‘I will not endanger those who made good their escape, my lord,’ she said, pushing off the blankets she’d wrapped around herself and standing. ‘You cannot expect me to be a traitor to them?’

  He shook his head and waved her off. ‘Non. No. I expect no such thing from you, lady. But, if we are to protect those still here and survive further attacks and the coming winter, I need your help to take an accounting of whom and what remains now.’

  Although she’d been thinking on the very same subject all day, his bringing it up to her shocked her. ‘My help?’

  ‘Aye. First I need to know which man I can trust as steward.’

  Startled, she turned to face him. ‘You would trust one of my people to serve as your steward?’

  ‘Within reason.’ He tilted his head and watched her closely as he answered. ‘He will work closely with one of my men until I know if he is trustworthy or not. There is much work to do to prepare for winter and I need an able-bodied, intelligent man to carry out those measures.’