Margo Maguire (16 page)

The newcomers were quiet in camp, wary of the Norman warriors, seemingly uncertain of Aelia’s and Osric’s positions here, and unnerved by Halig’s warlike devotion to Aelia. Without a doubt they made an odd party of travelers.

Aelia opened the satchel Raoul had given her earlier, and found clothes for the two women, to replace the rags they wore. There was naught for Cuthbert, but Odelia and Aelia managed to fit the children with cloth from a tunic that Guilliaume gave her, saying it no longer suited him.

Aelia discovered her recorder hidden deep within the satchel, and wondered at Fitz Autier’s reason for bringing it. Had he done it out of kindness?

She pulled the instrument out, caressed it, and remembered the hours she’d spent watching Beorn carve it just for her, then learning from his wife how to make music with it. She felt a sharp stab of homesickness, and put the recorder, as well as her sad memories, away.

Fitz Autier remained absent all afternoon, but Osbern’s head seemed to improve with every hour. Aelia
did not doubt that they would return to the road upon the morrow.

“Will you continue north?” Aelia asked Odelia. She took the woman’s bairn and held it on her lap, while the other three children stayed close to their mother. They did not smile, or try to run off and play. ’Twas a sign of the war-torn times.

Odelia shook her head. “’Tis dangerous to travel, and winter will soon be upon us. I…I do not know what will happen to us.”

“No doubt we will camp here at least another night,” Aelia said. “I am certain Fitz Autier will allow you to remain with us until we leave.”

The Saxon woman paled. “Fitz Autier? That is the demon Fitz Autier?”

“He’s—”

“We heard of his atrocities, Aelia. We cannot stay here among—”

“No, Odelia, you don’t understand.”

“He burned Ingelwald to the ground and killed all the men.”

“That is untrue. Ingelwald was never—”

“Aye, it is. Riders came into Bruenwald,” Odelia said as she started to gather her few belongings together. She took the infant from Aelia’s arms. Her husband, noting Odelia’s agitation, joined them. “The riders told us Fitz Autier butchered Ingelwald’s lord and lady, and hung their bodies—”

“Odelia, stop.
I
am the lady of Ingelwald.”

“Come with us!” Odelia said. “We can go away now, while the demon is away hunting. We’ll find a place to hide.”

“Please. ’Tis true Fitz Autier conquered Ingelwald, but there were no atrocities. He butchered no one.”

“The baron is Fitz Autier?” asked Cuthbert. He kept his voice low, taking care not to frighten the children. ’Twas clear to Aelia that Fitz Autier’s ruthless reputation was known to all—not just in the lands he conquered. Yet she knew ’twas inaccurate. He’d tried to deal peacefully with Selwyn, trading her and Osric for a truce. He had only gone to battle when her Saxon betrothed had refused to submit to him.

“But it is said, all over the countryside, that he is a ruthless mercenary, a killer of women and children.”

“He killed no women or children at Ingelwald,” Aelia said. “He dealt fairly and honestly with my people. I assure you, Fitz Autier will not harm you. He will see that you and your children are well fed, and then allow you to go on your way.”

Aelia knew this was true. Mathieu Fitz Autier might be a ferocious warrior, but he was no killer of the innocent. He was undeserving of his ruthless reputation, although it seemed that tales of his barbaric victories were being spread intentionally. Likely it worked to intimidate Saxon leaders into surrendering their lands with less trouble.

In frustration, she turned away from Odelia and walked through the woods toward the field where they’d first laid eyes upon the Saxon travelers. Aelia did not know why she cared what these people thought of Fitz Autier. He had been less than fair with her, taking her from her home and everything that was familiar, and making her feel things no honorable woman should feel for another woman’s husband.

M
athieu was greeted with wary looks from the Saxons when he returned. The two women were not wearing the same rags as when he’d last seen them, and Mathieu had no doubt that what they now wore were the clothes he’d brought for Aelia. And she was likely wearing the same green kirtle that was worn and tattered from their days upon the road…and his rough handling of it the previous night.

Mathieu blew out a deep breath. At least Osbern looked better. ’Twas likely they would be able to continue on their way in the morning.

“Henri and Guilliaume, go and help Guatier with the meat,” he said.

“You killed a deer?” asked Osric.

“No, a boar. A small one, but there will be plenty of food.”

“I want to go, too, baron,” the boy said.

Osric had not posed it as a respectful request, but at least he’d called him “baron” instead of spitting out his name disdainfully, as was his habit. ’Twas progress.

Mathieu nodded, glancing ’round the camp for Aelia.
“Aye,” he said to Osric. “But you are under Guatier’s command. If you cause any trouble, I give him leave to bind your hands and feet and drag you back here behind his horse.”

“I will not trouble anyone,” Osric said. “When was the last time I—”

“Enough. You have permission. Now tell me, where is your sister?”

The boy shrugged. “She was here a moment ago.”

Mathieu had not seen her on the way back to camp, so he went searching in the direction of the field where they had met the Saxon family earlier in the day.

’Twas not safe for her to wander alone. She had to realize that there were others displaced by war, and not all would be as benign as Cuthbert’s family. Men like Durand, for example.

“Are you looking for me, seignior?”

He looked ’round, but did not see her until he glanced up into the trees. There she sat, perched in an ancient oak, sitting upon a high limb. She was barely visible in her dark green clothes.

“Do you need help to come down?”

“I’m safer up here.”

“Do you doubt I can protect you?”

She shook her head. “From an outside intruder, aye…”

He threw one leg over the pommel of his horse and slid to the ground. “But not from myself?”

“You are the one who said it, seignior.”

’Twas best to let Aelia continue to believe he was already wed, since he seemed to lose all discipline when he was close to her. Even now, he had a nearly irresistible urge to climb up after her.

“You gave your clothing away,” he said.

She nodded and started to climb down. “They had greater need than I.”

“Until now,” he muttered when he heard something tear. “Are you certain you don’t need help?”

The view was enticing as Aelia pushed her skirts aside to descend. Mathieu could not turn away. Unbidden, a picture of her without those skirts came to his mind, and he realized he must look away if he was to avoid repeating his mistake of the night before.

He had only come to assure her safety, not to seduce her.

She swung down to the lowest branch and sat upon it, her hips about level with his shoulders. He reined in the urge to slide his hands ’round her waist to help her descend, and turned away as she dropped down.

“Was your hunt successful?” she asked.

He nodded. “We’ll have food enough to feed the Saxons—and send them on their way with meat.”

“That is generous of you.”

He watched her brush the dirt from the back of her gown. “I’m thinking of sending them to Ingelwald. Is there another carpenter there, now that Beorn is dead?”

Aelia stopped abruptly and frowned up at him. “You would send strangers to my home?” Her voice was ominously unsteady. “You take Osric and me away from Ingelwald, yet these Saxons—unknown to you until today—will have your consent to go there?”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she said no more. She backed away from him, then started to run through the trees.

Mathieu caught up to her quickly, grabbed her arm and spun her ’round to face him. A crystal tear slid down her cheek, but he refused to be swayed by it. His
heart had been hardened by years of warfare. He cared for naught but the spoils of war.

“Do not run from me,
demoiselle!
None of us knows what danger lurks within these woods.”

“What do you care what happens to me?”

She slapped his hand away from her arm and turned from him. He could not help but note the shaky movement of her shoulders as she took a deep breath.

“I have yet to fail in my duty to the king. I will not do so today.” He took hold of her once again and led her back to the place where he’d left his horse.

She did not speak, but maintained a tenuous silence until they reached the camp. Mathieu told himself ’twas better this way. If she stayed angry and distant, he would not be so tempted to take her back into the woods and lay her upon the soft moss, where he would kiss her tears away and make her forget her name and the reason for going to London.

Aelia would never be able to get Osric to leave with her, not with his belly full of boar meat and beans. While he sat with Fitz Autier, imitating the baron by carving some nonsense into a piece of wood, Aelia paced the edges of camp, trying to decide what to do.

She did not begrudge Cuthbert and his family a place at Ingelwald. On the contrary, they were more than welcome to make a home for themselves there. But Aelia wanted to return there, too. She missed her home and everyone familiar to her. Even Nelda.

And Aelia could not bear to spend another day with Fitz Autier, the bastard knight who thought of her as nothing more than a task to perform for the Norman king.

Would she be able to steal a horse during the night?
Osbern was sure to sleep soundly, as would Sir Hugh. That left only six knights and Fitz Autier to impede her. Surely Halig was still loyal and would help her.

“Aelia, look what I made!” Osric held up the block of wood he’d been carving. He’d sat next to the Norman baron, working alongside him as if they were brothers. Or father and son.

When had their animosity for each other cooled?

In the past few days, Osric had lost his belligerence for the Normans. Had Aelia not seen it with her own eyes, she would never have believed Fitz Autier was teaching her brother how to handle a sword, or giving him patient instructions on carving a figure from a block of wood.

She did not understand why Osric’s attitude had softened. Fitz Autier had not let up on the boy—the discipline and punishments continued. Osric was still required to take care of the horses each night before seeing to his own needs, and perform many other tasks as they traveled. This afternoon, he’d even helped the men carve the pig and hang the sacks of meat from a tree in the distance in order to avoid attracting predators.

He was one of them now.

Fitz Autier’s long legs were stretched out before him as he carved, the muscles relaxed, his feet crossed at the ankles. But Aelia knew he was not at ease. His body and mind were alert as always, watching and listening for anything that threatened their small group.

“’Tis a fine carving, Osric,” Aelia said absently.

“No, you haven’t really looked,” Osric said, rising to his knees. “Come closer. It’s a horse. See?”

Reluctantly, Aelia approached her brother and reached for the block of wood that he’d carved into the vague shape of a horse. She could not help but notice
the work Fitz Autier had done on his own piece. She did not want to look at it or even acknowledge it, but could not deny that it was beautiful. The Norman had an artist’s eye and a master’s skill.

He’d carved the head and antlers of a powerful deer, making it appear as if the animal was emerging from the wood. ’Twas an accurate likeness of a virile beast, almost a symbol of Fitz Autier’s own potency.

She slid her fingers over the wooden horse in her hand and swallowed. “I like it very much, Osric.”

“Look at what the baron has made!”

“Aye. I see.”

“’Tis to be the crest of his house. A mighty stag.”

“
His
house, Osric?” Her voice was taut. “’Tis
our
land!” She turned to Fitz Autier. “Where will you hang it, baron? In my father’s hall? Upon the gate? Mayhap ’twill grace the wall above your bed!”

She whirled and stormed away as tears of anger threatened to blind her.

Mathieu did not believe Aelia had gotten much sleep. She’d given up her tent to the children, and laid her blanket out to take her rest underneath the spreading boughs of a pine near the edge of camp. He watched her awaken, her body stretching, her eyes opening, awareness dawning.

Her posture stiffened as soon as she remembered her situation, and she glanced ’round, finally catching sight of him. Their eyes met, but she soon turned away, as if burned by his glance.

He could easily imagine slipping his legs between hers and pulling her close. He would warm her chilled body with his kisses, and heat her blood with his caress.

Looking for a diversion, he pushed himself to his feet
and walked away from camp. First he checked the horses, as was his habit, then walked to the tree where the meat had been stored for future use. ’Twas the same tree Aelia had climbed the day before, the place where he’d watched her descend from one limb to the next.

He shook his head to get her out of it, then walked much farther afield, until he came to the small stream near the place where they’d shot yesterday’s boar. He ripped off his tunic, knelt beside the water, scooping some to wash his face and head, sluicing it over his chest.

He had never spent so much thought on one woman. Could he toss her down, spread her legs, use her and be done with her once and for all?

Whipping his head back to shake off the water, he started toward camp again with purpose in his stride. He would not be the first conqueror to take his pleasure with a captive. He had no use for her objections—or even his own. He was fooling himself to think he was a better man than his half brothers or his father, who took whatever wenches they desired and damned the consequences.

Mathieu’s anticipation grew as he crossed the field and entered the trees at the perimeter of the camp. He could take her away from the group, carry her back to the water’s edge, where there was a mossy bank. There, they would lie together in privacy until he had appeased the fierce need that burned within him.

Saxon voices met his ears, and when he entered camp, he saw that Osric and the English travelers were deep in discussion. Aelia stood well beyond the fire, gathering her belongings with Sir Guatier’s assistance, while Henri shook the leaves from her blanket and folded it for her. The other men saddled and packed the
horses, ignoring the argument between Cuthbert and Osric. Their attention was on Aelia.

Mathieu turned away from the woman, placed his hands upon his hips and spoke to Osric. “What is it?” he growled.

The boy looked up at him. “They want Aelia and me to leave here and go with them.”

“No.”

Aelia called over to him in a dismissive tone. “I already told them you would not let us go.”

Mathieu speared her with a glance. She did not stop what she was doing, or look up from the blanket she was folding. She’d braided her hair into a long, thick plait that brushed her hips, and had put on a new kirtle and bliaut. ’Twas the color of some flower Mathieu had noticed growing wild in the fields, and it brought out the blush in her cheeks, the only outward sign of her anger.

His muscles clenched at the sight of her, at the sound of her voice. He looked away, gritting his teeth. “You are my prisoners, by God.”

A crash sounded in Aelia’s vicinity, but Mathieu did not glance her way to see what caused it. She was not the only angry one here.

His men hurried to help her, and Mathieu knew there would be no bedding the woman. Every one of his warriors—and Halig—had become her champion. None would stand idly by if he dragged her off to the river.

As if he would. He
was
a better man than his father.

“Tell these Saxons,” he said to Osric, as Raoul brought his horse ’round, “that they are welcome to go to Ingelwald.”

“To Ingelwald? But that’s—”

“
My
holding. I have need of a carpenter there.”

He mounted up and spoke to Raoul. “Break camp.
Bring the prisoners and follow me on the southern road.”

“Baron?”

“I will see you at noon.”

“But Lady Aelia—”

“Don’t leave her alone with the boy.”

He kicked his heels into the mare’s sides and rode out toward the road that led south. To London.