Knight's Caress (11 page)

She had to stop herself from thinking wanton thoughts about him, from dreaming about his kisses. She’d made a mistake by making him her slave, but if she ordered him to other work, Guy and Julianne would want to know the reason why, and Julianne had sharp eyes and ears. Amberlie couldn’t bear for the woman to know that she harbored a secret lust for her son’s murderer. It seemed she had no other alternative but to keep to the punishment she’d decreed or look the fool. But at what cost to her self-respect?

As she drifted into sleep, she considered pressing King William about marrying her off to one of his noblemen soon. A husband was what she needed. Surely if she were wed to a Norman nobleman, one of her own kind, she’d no longer be tortured by images of Tedric the Saxon. And perhaps, in time, she’d come to love her husband. As long as she would be treated with respect and not abused, she felt certain she would be happy with whomever William decided upon. Guy might believe he could convince William to make her his bride, but Amberlie doubted the king would marry her off to her late husband’s step-uncle. The bonds of kinship were too close for the Church to approve such a match, and William was ever loyal to the Church.

Having decided on the course of her life, she fell asleep, but still she dreamed of a brawny yellow-haired barbarian.

~
~
~

With a bucket in hand, Glenna made her way to the pond. She followed behind some serving women, measuring her steps because she hated to return to the keep. For over a week now, she’d performed an endless round of chores. By nightfall, she fell exhausted onto her pallet in the weaving room, hoping and praying that Lady Julianne, the old crone, didn’t waken during the night and summon her. It seemed the woman constantly required something—a cup of water, a footstool, kindling for the fire—and not once had she expressed the simplest gratitude. For the last few days, the woman had been ill with a stomach grippe, and this was the first time all day that Glenna had been able to take some time for herself.

Of all the positions in the castle, Glenna’s was the least strenuous. She thanked God each day that she hadn’t been placed with the lowborn creatures in the washroom. The knights were a lecherous lot who availed themselves of any washwoman they pleased. And Glenna realized she had Amberlie to thank for ordering her to care for Julianne. But she’d sooner die than thank that haughty bitch for anything.

It was obvious that Tedric found his position as slave to Lady Amberlie de Fontaine to be less than horrible. When Glenna saw him these days, he no longer had that warm look in his eyes for her; his attention was always riveted on the dark-haired witch who treated him little better than a mongrel cur. Glenna was much peeved that he didn’t have the inclination to speak at length with her, even on the few times when he’d visited his mother and sister in the weaving room and Glenna had been there. Lady Mabel was always so pleased to see him, and poor Edytha would clasp him around the legs like a small child, crying that he not leave her. He barely spoke to Glenna other than to inquire how she fared. She knew the reason why he no longer seemed to care about her. Tedric was besotted with the Norman witch.

“I hate her!” she muttered under her breath, fearing she was losing Tedric’s adoration to the very woman who’d placed him in bondage.

“Ye said something, Glenna?” a serving woman named Runa asked, turning around to stare at her.

“Nay, I was mumbling to myself.”

The women stopped by the pond and dipped their buckets into the water, chattering among themselves. For the most part the serving women ignored Glenna. Autumn’s chill was in the air, but after rushing around more than half the day, exerting herself for the dour Lady Julianne, Glenna was glad of a cool breeze.

Runa set her full bucket on the grass and smiled at Glenna, apparently not the least daunted by Glenna’s haughty demeanor. Three of the woman’s bottom front teeth were missing, and two were blackened on the top. Glenna thought that Runa would be quite pretty if she kept her mouth closed. “I know someone who’s taken with ye,” she told Glenna.

Glenna smiled wryly. “One of the castle serfs, no doubt.” She’d had some unseemly offers from a few of the serfs, and one or two of the men had been quite handsome and well built. But they were serfs and she was a lady who was far above them, no matter how far she’d fallen.

“Nay, not one o’ them, but a knight. Sir Christophe, to be sure. He’s quite in love with ye.”

Sir Christophe. Glenna hid a secret smile. She’d been aware of Christophe from the moment she’d laid eyes upon him. A tall man with raven black hair, he’d helped her carry a heavy bucket up the narrow, stone stairs to Lady Julianne’s room only the other day. She’d thanked him coolly, giving him the impression that she didn’t care for his Norman good looks and polite manners, though inside, she quivered with a strange excitement. More than once she’d had to remind herself that Tedric was her betrothed and she loved him. But there was something about Christophe…

“Don’t ye care that one o’ the finest knights in Christendom is in love with ye?” Runa inquired curiously when Glenna failed to respond instantly.

Glenna shrugged. “Not particularly.” She was more than interested in Christophe, but it would never do to let a common serving wench know the thoughts of a lady.

“Aye, but ye’re a cold one. If ‘twas me I’d be beside meself with gladness. I’d be on me back in a moment if Sir Christophe wanted me for a bit o’ dalliance.”

Glenna’s face hardened. “I’m not you. I’m Lady Glenna, betrothed of Tedric of Woodrose. I don’t dally with Normans.”

“Tsk, my fine lady, ye’re the same as me now.” Runa dismissed her with a snort, and stood up to follow behind the other women, who’d finished filling their buckets and were headed back to the keep.

Glenna started down the path, the last in line. No sooner had she walked six feet than a hand was clasped over her mouth. She struggled and tried to scream, but a voice whispered harshly in her ear, “‘Tis me, Wulfgar.”

She ceased struggling and the hand was removed. She faced Wulfgar. “Where have you been?” she asked, and peered down the path to make certain that no one watched them. Quickly, she followed Wulfgar when he motioned for her to join him behind a thicket.

“I’ve been hiding in the woods since Lord Tedric was taken,” he explained. “Old Wick and I have been trying to organize our men again.”

“And have you?”

“Nay, my lady. Sad to say that most of the men are scared of being captured by de Bayonne and made into slaves like Lord Tedric. ‘Tis better to run wild than be chained.”

“Aye, ‘tis better.”

“Why haven’t you run away?” Wulfgar asked her. “‘Twould be easy since no knights guard the women when they come to the pond. I’ve been watching ye for the last few days.”

“I can’t run away, Wulfgar. Where would I go? With you? Nay, I must stay and look after Lady Mabel and Edytha for Tedric—now that he’s too busy with Lady Amberlie to do so himself.” She could barely say Amberlie’s name. It tasted vile in her mouth.

“You’re jealous of her,” Wulfgar said with a gleam in his eyes.

“I hate her! And now that William the Bastard is due for a visit, Tedric is constantly near her, helping her oversee the cleaning since Lady Julianne has been indisposed the last two days. ‘Tis a humiliation for him, but still he plays the slave without complaint.”

“William the Bastard is coming to Woodrose?” Wulfgar grabbed at her arm and knocked over the bucket, splashing water on the hem of her skirt.

“Now look what you’ve done, you clumsy knave!”

“Forget your kirtle, Glenna. Stop and think what this visit means to us.” Wulfgar’s gaze was intense, more bright and fevered than Glenna ever remembered seeing. “The Norman king is coming here, here to Woodrose. God in heaven, Glenna, the vicious cur has fallen into our laps.”

“So?”

“God, but you’re dense, my lady, pardon me for saying so. But we can help Lord Tedric, we can help all loyal Saxons, by murdering the butcher ourselves.”

Glenna’s hand flew to her throat. Murder? Was Wulfgar insane to contemplate killing William the Bastard? Surely such a plan wouldn’t succeed. But if it did, then Tedric might retrieve Woodrose. Without the Norman king, England would once again belong to the Saxons, and not these accursed foreigners. Lady Amberlie de Fontaine would be an unpleasant memory after she returned to her native Normandy. Tedric would forget her and marry Glenna, the woman who truly loved him. Glenna’s mind spun pretty pictures of herself and Tedric, and the beautiful fair- haired children they would have one day—as soon as William the Bastard was dead.

“Do you think we could do it?” she asked in a low, excited voice.

“Aye, we will do it, my lady. I’ll be waiting for you here the next time you draw water. Tarry behind the other women and give news to me of what is happening in preparation for the Bastard’s arrival. I’ll think of a plan.”

Glenna had a moment’s doubt. Wulfgar wasn’t the brightest man. “But … but … we must think about this…”

“I’ll do the thinking, my lady. Now you must hurry back or you’ll be missed.” Wulfgar left her, the forest swallowing him up.

Glenna turned onto the path and started for the keep. Up ahead she saw the daunting dark figure of Sir Christophe coming toward her on a white charger. He stopped before her and smiled a rich smile which set her silly heart to beating. “I noticed you didn’t return with the others,” he said in his heavily laced accent as he spoke to her in her own language. Despite her hatred of Normans, she found this one to be unaccountably charming.

“I spilled the water. How clumsy I am,” she coyly explained, her dimples deepening.

“Oh, no, you’re far from that.” He got off the horse and gallantly lifted her onto the animal’s broad back. His hands lingered at her small waist for a few moments longer than was necessary. But Glenna didn’t mind. “I shall ride you home. Night is falling, and a pretty woman shouldn’t be abroad in the dark.”

Climbing behind her, he urged the horse toward the keep. Without warning, he began to sing softly in French, a song she’d never heard before and didn’t understand. The clear tones of his voice echoed seductively in her ear and sounded wonderful. For the first time in a long while, Glenna felt truly beautiful and desired. It had been so long since Tedric wanted her. For just a few moments as she rode along with the cool wind blowing through her hair and the feel of Christophe’s broad chest pressed intimately against her back, Glenna forgot all the horrors she’d endured the last year.

For a few minutes, she even forgot Tedric.

The trestle tables in the great hall shone with an uncommon brightness. Tapestries, woven with threads of gold, had been taken down and beaten of dust, and now hung upon the walls again to block out the damp chill of autumn. The floor had been swept clean and new rushes put down. The rest of the keep had undergone similar cleanings. Each chamber had been straightened, the bedclothes washed, and the windows thrown open to air out the moldy smells of moss and leaves in the mattresses. King William was coming and Amberlie wanted all to be in readiness.

Amberlie glanced out of an upstairs window and noticed the diligent actions of the workmen on the east side of the keep. They hurried to complete the walls made of a stone called ashlar that would enlarge the keep by three stories on that side. Since Guy had taken charge after Henri’s death, the keep, which had been wood and stone in Tedric’s time, had been progressively changed to a motte and bailey castle. Guy was anxious to complete the eastern portion of the castle for William’s inspection.

Amberlie saw Guy gesturing frantically to Flaubert, the knight who’d been placed in charge of the construction. His swarthy face even at this distance looked to be a bright shade of red. Flaubert kept shaking his head in disagreement. Apparently, something wasn’t going the way Guy wished.

“My Mercy is gone. Where is my Mercy?”

Amberlie swung around, startled to see Edytha standing a few feet away from her. The girl clutched frantically at the material of her bliaut, fear glittering in her blue eyes. “Mercy?” Amberlie answered blankly, wondering how the girl had escaped Magda’s vigilance again. Just the day before Julianne had bitterly complained that Edytha was prowling the upstairs rooms and had to be contained.

“My Mercy is gone,” she repeated again as if Amberlie were deaf and hadn’t heard her the first time.

Suddenly Amberlie remembered Edytha’s doll. “I haven’t seen Mercy. Let me help you search for her.” Amberlie decided the doll must be in the weaving room, and led a distraught Edytha in that direction. Just as they walked into the room, an apologetic Magda rushed toward them.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but Edytha sneaked away from me again. She was sleeping when I went to the kitchen to get broth for her mother.” Magda took Edytha’s hand and led her toward the pallet where Lady Mabel sat, drinking her broth.

Edytha burst out in tears and placed her hands over her face. “My Mercy is gone!”

“Edytha has misplaced her doll,” Amberlie informed Magda, but her gaze was on the less than friendly visage of Lady Mabel. “I thought Mercy might be in here.”

“Nay, we’ve not seen it.” Magda seemed extremely flustered and nervous. “Please do not tell Lady Julianne that Edytha sneaked away again. The child doesn’t understand she is to stay in this room—”

“I won’t tell Julianne anything,” Amberlie assured her with a smile.

“‘Twould have been better had you said nothing to Guy de Bayonne. We’d be safe at Weymouth if not for your bitter tongue!” Lady Mabel spat out the words contemptuously, her anger hardening her usually gentle features.

So there it was. Lady Mabel knew she’d been the one to tell Guy where Tedric and his family had been hiding. Amberlie knew it wouldn’t do any good to offer an apology. True, she was sorry about Edytha and Lady Mabel, even Glenna. But she didn’t regret Tedric’s capture. He was an outlaw, and only because he’d saved her life had she saved his. Yet it hurt to be the recipient of Lady Mabel’s contempt. “Then your tongue should not have let slip such information to me,” Amberlie said softly.

Lady Mabel’s eyes gleamed with tears, but she comforted Edytha by stroking her daughter’s hair, dismissing Amberlie with that tender gesture. Amberlie left the weaving room and headed toward Julianne’s chamber, much shaken by the confrontation with Tedric’s mother but determined to hide this emotion from Julianne’s sharp eyes.

Julianne sat against a mound of pillows, her gray hair hanging in braids past her shoulders. The white of her gown heightened her paleness. Glenna instantly stopped tending to Julianne’s bedcovers when Amberlie entered the room, her expression clouded in intense dislike. “Leave us,” Julianne ordered without a glance at Glenna, who obediently left them alone.

Amberlie dutifully bent to kiss Julianne’s cheek. “How do you fare today?”

Julianne snorted. “Hah! I should be dead. Never have I been so ill with the grippe, but I have beaten it.”

Amberlie couldn’t help but smile. As much as she disliked Julianne, she was tougher than old leather. Amberlie believed that having survived Henri’s death, the woman could survive anything. “How goes the cleaning?” Julianne asked worriedly. “Everything must be perfect for the king’s visit.”

“It goes well.” Amberlie patted Julianne’s hand in reassurance. “The king and his court will be much impressed by Woodrose.”

“I should be overseeing things. I am mistress here.”

Amberlie drew back her hand, stung that Julianne would say such a thing to her, even in private. But for all intents and purposes, Julianne was the mistress, not she. Tedric’s life had been saved not because Amberlie had asserted her authority as mistress of the keep, but only because Julianne had seen fit not to interfere. It wouldn’t do any good to debate the point either, Amberlie knew, for Julianne saw her only as someone to marry off to a wealthy nobleman.

“Keep me informed of the progress with the household duties. I must know all that is happening below stairs.”

Amberlie bit down upon her lower lip and nodded.
“Oui,
I shall tell you all.” She realized that Julianne was finished speaking with her when she closed her eyes. Amberlie started to leave the room, but remembered Edytha’s doll and began quietly searching for it.

“What are you looking for?” Julianne was staring suspiciously at her.

“Pardon, but I wondered if Edytha mayhap left her doll in here.”

“Edytha? You mean that simpleminded creature whom Magda cannot watch for more than a few minutes without losing?”

“Yes. The girl is very upset.”

“Hmph! That child hasn’t the sense the Lord gave to her at birth. I told Magda I do not want her roaming the halls and rooms. A knight nearly attacked her once. And if I remember correctly, you came to her rescue, as you’re doing now.” Julianne settled a penetrating gaze upon her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you care more about these Saxons than your own family. Because of you, Tedric the Saxon freely roams the bailey and keep as your slave. I cannot help but wonder what happened between you both when he held you captive.”

Julianne’s insinuations weren’t lost upon Amberlie. She controlled her facial features, and somehow managed to curtail her blush as she remembered the way she’d responded to Tedric’s kisses. “Nothing happened, I assure you.”

“Have you forgotten my son?”

Even if Amberlie had wished to forget Henri, Julianne wouldn’t let her. Not one day went by without Amberlie’s attending Mass for Henri’s soul in the small chapel. At first, she’d gone for solace; now she went primarily out of duty. Amberlie wondered how Julianne would react when she married someone else. Would she insist she go to her grave as another man’s wife but with Henri’s name on her lips? Julianne was obsessed with Henri more in death than she’d been in life. “I can never forget Henri,” Amberlie softly proclaimed.

“I hope you speak the truth. My son mustn’t be forgotten.”

“Have you seen Edytha’s doll?” Amberlie was growing exasperated.

“Nay, now leave me to my rest,” Julianne intoned disagreeably. Amberlie quietly left Julianne’s chambers.

Julianne waited until Amberlie had closed the large oak door before she reached beneath her pillow and pulled out the ragged figure of Edytha’s doll. Her grip tightened around the scrawny thing, and she scowled at it as if it were a living creature which had done her great harm. Yesterday she’d awakened to see the Saxon girl standing beside her bed. With vicious curses, Julianne had run off the frightened girl, who had dropped the doll in her haste to escape. Julianne had seized it and hidden the pitiful thing. Evidently the girl didn’t recall where she’d dropped it, and Julianne took delight in keeping it from her. Anything which caused a member of Tedric’s family dismay brightened Julianne’s own dreary existence.

And now the little Saxon girl cried for her cloth doll.

Well, let her cry! Julianne thought viciously. Such trivial tears were nothing in comparison to the ones she’d cried since Henri’s death.

On unsteady feet, Julianne rose from her bed and made her way to the hearth. Orange flames danced in abandon like whirling demons, and Julianne felt absolute power as she tossed the cloth creature into the fire to be instantly devoured by the hungry red flames.

The little Saxon girl would never see her cloth baby again. For the first time since Tedric’s capture, Julianne smiled. Going back to her bed, Julianne rested peacefully.

~
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~

The bailey was alive with activity. The knights practiced their skills with sword and ax while workmen carried stone and mortar to the construction site. Amberlie hurried from the kitchen, where she’d overseen the preparing of salted meats for the king’s visit. Flaubert halted her, breaking away from his work.

“My lady, I must speak to you about Sir Guy. He has overstepped the bounds of his authority.” From the frown lines on Flaubert’s forehead it was evident that Guy had annoyed the man. Evidently, what she’d seen from the window earlier had indeed been an exchange of words.

“I don’t understand. Whose authority has he overstepped?”

“Yours, my lady.” Flaubert licked his lips in indecision, as if at war with himself, but finally he pressed on in a forceful voice. “Did you not order Tedric to be your slave, to answer only to you? As mistress of the keep, you had the right.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“Sir Guy has decreed that Tedric belongs to him. With King William’s approaching visit we need all the hands available to finish the keep. Tedric is now a workman, and Sir Guy has ordered that no one shall decree otherwise—
no one,
my lady.”

Amberlie knew that meant Guy didn’t want her to interfere. Usually, she wouldn’t have cared if a slave had been given heavy tasks, but Tedric was her slave, and she realized that Tedric must have been put to work earlier in the day. She’d been so busy that she hadn’t missed him. Anger suffused her face to a bright peach at Guy usurping her authority. “I shall take care of this,” she told Flaubert, and hurried across the bailey to where the work was progressing.

Just as Flaubert had told her, Tedric was working alongside the masons. He lifted what looked to be a heavy stone, and the muscles in his upper back and arms bulged with the effort. In the clear daylight without his tunic on, the stripes of his earlier whipping were now evident, criss-crossing each other, though they had faded somewhat with time. Sweat covered his skin and plastered his hair to his head to hang wetly to his broad shoulders. She’d thought the workmen were all able-bodied men, but in comparison, Tedric was far brawnier and stronger than any man she’d ever seen. Amberlie swallowed hard as an odd sensation that was pleasantly painful knifed through her from watching the interplay of muscle against muscle on his torso.

“Be easy with that stone, you sorry Saxon!” Guy’s shouts at Tedric as he laid the stone in place drew her attention. “I’ll beat your hide if it cracks.”

“I trust you will not touch one hair upon my slave’s head, Uncle,” Amberlie ground out after she’d made her way to Guy’s side. Her eyes flashed with a warning anger. “Tedric is my slave, not yours. You’ve no right to order him to perform the work of a mason. As lady of the keep, I instructed what was to be done with him, and I do not take lightly to having my authority usurped, by you or anyone else.”

Guy threw back his head and laughed. He chucked her under the chin.
“Cherie,
you have no authority here.”

“I’m mistress of Woodrose.”

“Who has told you such a lie? Not Julianne. Now be of good cheer and go about your chores. I want the king to be impressed by my changes here.”

“I order Tedric to be turned over to me!” Her voice rose much higher than she’d intended, stunning the workmen and Tedric into inactivity. A Norman woman didn’t take issue with a man, especially not a kinsman.