Margo Maguire (8 page)

The cool water soothed the ache in Aelia’s bruised shoulder and washed away the blood and despair of the last few days. She felt refreshed and renewed as she pushed off the pool’s rocky floor. She was a strong swimmer, but she took her time rising to the surface of the pool, enjoying the peaceful solitude of the water surrounding her.

When Aelia broke the surface, she took a quick glance all around. Fortunately, there was no movement anywhere about the waterfall, which meant Fitz Autier had not yet caught up to her. Aelia lay back and floated, letting her mind drift as she gazed absently up at the water as it cascaded down the rocky hillside. ’Twould be so easy to believe that all was well, that she and—

A creeping tentacle slid ’round her ankle and pulled her down. ’Twas strong and unrelenting, and Aelia was certain her last moment had come. She could stay submerged another minute, but would surely drown if she could not get free of this…

What had hold of her? There was no muck at the bottom of the pool to support vines or any other plant that could possibly ensnare her. She fought the current to bend down and try to free herself from whatever was pulling her.

And suddenly, she was loose.

She shot upward like an arrow, and filled her lungs with air while she paddled frantically to the edge of the pool. Until she knew what had pulled her down, she could not remain in the water. With tremendous effort, Aelia climbed out of the pool and dropped to the rocks beside it—onto a pile of woolen clothes and a cold, metal hauberk that lay beside her shoes.

Indignation, annoyance, embarrassment—all these emotions vied for dominion in Aelia’s heart.

Fitz Autier! The blackguard had nearly drowned her! He had sneaked up and pulled her down, keeping her under just long enough to make her panic.

Aelia grabbed her shoes and started to stalk away, but when she heard the damnable Norman’s laughter, she became infuriated. There had to be something she could throw at him—a rock large enough to do damage to his thick skull and end all her problems. She dropped her shoes and picked up a small boulder. She would show him that she was not one to be toyed with.

But when she turned, he was climbing out of the pool, his body naked.

Aelia gaped at him as he walked toward her with water sluicing off his brawny frame. Muscles flexed and bulged as he moved with the sure ease of a powerful animal certain of his strength. Aelia swallowed and took a step back, but could not take her eyes off him. He was beautiful. ’Twas not an apt description for a man, but she could think of no better word.

She should have felt chilled after leaving the pool, but a vaguely familiar heat kindled deep within her, and she had to remind herself to breathe. Hot color bloomed in her face, but she could not look away. This man had kissed her. He’d taken her into his arms and made her forget her own name.

And by all the saints, she wanted him to do the same now.

Horrified by her thoughts and worried that he’d seen some foolhardy longing in her eyes, she dropped the rock from her hand. Aelia whirled away from him. “You have no shame, seignior!”

“And you are wearing too many clothes,
demoiselle,
” he said, closing in on her. “They’re wet. You’ll catch a chill.”

Aelia felt his breath on her neck as water dripped and puddled at her feet. She did not know what she would do if he touched her. In his sleep two nights before, he had pulled her close, unconsciously caressed her, and produced in her an amazing experience unlike anything she’d ever known.

Aelia’s knees went weak and her heart pounded at the thought of what might have happened that night. Had he been awake, and aware of what he was doing to her, would her pleasure have been enhanced? Here he stood in all his naked glory—big and threatening, yet so inviting.

She stepped closer to the cavern wall, crossing her arms over her breasts to keep from turning to him. She was not really tempted by him. ’Twas only the novelty of the intimacy between them that confused her.

Perhaps now would be a good time to put some distance between them, while she learned of his plans for her and Osric. “What are you going to do?”

“Do?” He had followed her and stood much too close.

Aelia started when he touched her shoulder. Gently, he turned her to face him, but she pressed herself back against the cool cavern wall as he lowered his head.

“What would you have me do,
demoiselle?
”

Their mouths were inches apart, and the space between them was quickly diminishing. She could feel his breath upon her lips and the heat of his naked body against her. Panic seized her. If he kissed her again, she would be lost.

She pushed away from him and jumped back into the pool, letting its waters cool her heated blood.

M
athieu could not explain what happened to his rational mind when Aelia was near. He responded to her with his body—a hard, feral reaction that coursed through his blood and demanded satisfaction. And she was not indifferent to him.

’Twas an incendiary combination.

He jumped into the pool to extinguish the fire.

Aelia had already mounted her horse and started to ride off, but she encountered Raoul and the rest of their escort before she could get away from the waterfall. Signaling to Raoul de Moreton to ride on without him, Mathieu let her go.

He needed to put some space between himself and Aelia.

Even bedraggled as she was, she could make him lose all sense of purpose. He’d had one idea when they’d ridden out from Ingelwald: to assess his new holding. Aelia was the most knowledgeable person to show him the land, having lived here all her life. But she had managed to distract him once again.

Mathieu took a breath of air and dunked his head,
diving deep into the cooling water. Would he ever be able to visit this place without seeing Aelia’s face, without recalling that he had been merely seconds from laying her upon the damp stone and satisfying his lust?

’Twas only a matter of time before he purged her from his mind. There were much more weighty matters vying for his attention, not the least of which were the questions of how to secure Ingelwald before leaving for London, and how many knights would need to stay and defend the holding as well as the livestock.

He’d planned on returning with at least half the men who’d come to Ingelwald with him. Now it seemed his traveling party would have to be reduced to a mere escort. Could he go with so few men?

Mayhap a smaller company would be safer. A smaller group would be much more suited to maneuvering off the beaten trail, and they would be able to carry fewer supplies, attracting less attention, though remaining more vulnerable.

His plan had been to leave Auvrai d’Evreux in charge of Ingelwald. Auvrai was an old friend, and as competent a knight as any Mathieu had ever known. However, it might be better to have another strong warrior in their party, rather than leaving Auvrai at Ingelwald.

Taking leisurely strokes that propelled him across the pool, Mathieu considered all the possibilities. By nightfall, he would have to make a decision as to who would go and who would stay, for he planned to leave early in the morn. There was no time for this imprudent pastime, and ’twas even possible his swim had done some damage to the wound in his side.

He swam to the edge and climbed out. Quickly appraising the damage to the gash, he decided no serious
harm had been done. If anything, the wound looked better now than when he’d started out this morn.

Pulling on his clothes, Mathieu looked ’round the cavern. He would never have noticed this niche behind the waterfall had he not caught sight of Aelia in the pool. ’Twas a perfect location for a tryst, and when he returned from London with Clarise, he would bring her here for just that purpose.

There would be no better way to expel Lady Aelia from his mind.

Her shoes lay at the edge of the pool, and Mathieu pictured her bare feet, so small and delicate for such a fierce warrior. She had bared no other part of her body, yet his imagination wandered over the soft curves that lay hidden beneath her tattered clothes.

He shook his head to rid it of such provocative images; they served no purpose beyond raising his frustration to a maddening level. Mayhap ’twas time to find a willing maid in the village and slake his lust before he was blinded by it. Naught was special about Lady Aelia; any woman would do.

His men were far ahead of him when Mathieu finally took to the trail. He followed it as it wound around the hillside, and had an excellent vantage point from the high ground at the brink of the waterfall. He took a moment to survey all the land before him.

His land.

’Twas no mean conquest for the bastard son of a scullery maid. The king had been confident of Mathieu’s victory here, where others before him had failed. The winning of Ingelwald would not only please William and gain more honors for Mathieu, it would secure his betrothal to Simon de Vilot’s daughter. Now there was no question that Lady Clarise would be his wife.

The betrothal would take place as soon as Mathieu arrived in London, and the marriage would soon follow. When he returned to Ingelwald, his bride would travel with him.

Mathieu had yet to meet Lady Clarise. He’d seen her once in Rouen, and only from a distance. At the time, he’d been merely a bastard warrior in William’s army, certainly no likely suitor for the well-born daughter of Simon de Vilot. But now that Mathieu had been promised this rich holding, the dark-eyed, raven-haired Lady Clarise would be his wife. He was honored to have been chosen by her father and the king to be her husband, when any number of Norman noblemen might have made a more prestigious match. This marriage was a great deal more than a bastard son could ever have expected. The king had raised Mathieu’s stature even higher than that of his half brothers, who each had nobly born wives and fair estates in Normandy.

Mathieu had a clear view of his men riding in double file with Aelia in their midst, her blond head uncovered in contrast to the soldiers’ helm-covered pates glinting brightly in the sunshine. She rode well, with a regal posture that belied her status as his prisoner.

He was anxious to be rid of her. Once they reached London, he would turn her over to the king’s guards, and have no more to do with her. ’Twould be a relief.

Wooded hills surrounded his men as they traversed a deep, barren vale. Mathieu caught sight of movement in the trees east of his troops, and narrowed his eyes to see if he could discern whether it was anything more than the sunlight reflecting off the river.

Mathieu could not tell from such a distance what caused it, but when the light flashed again, far from the riverbed, he knew it was trouble.

Someone, mayhap Scots marauders, lay hidden among the trees. If they attacked by surprise, his men would be at a distinct disadvantage.

Mathieu had to take action. But shouting to them, even if his voice could be heard at this distance, would alert the warriors in hiding. Riding after them would do the same. ’Twould precipitate a battle, and Aelia would be in the midst of it.

Mathieu could not think of her now. He took another moment to observe the area in question and became even more certain that outlaws of one kind or another lurked there. Whether ’twas Scots, displaced Saxons or marauding Danes made no difference. He had to act.

He dug in his heels and spurred the gelding down the hill, leaning forward and keeping his body low. Stealth and diversion were his best strategy.

Veering east into the wooded area where the rogue warriors were hidden, Mathieu was distracted by thoughts of what would happen to Aelia if he did not warn his men of the danger beside them. He’d never before given much thought to the bystanders of war, and how their lives were changed by it. He’d always known there were victims all ’round.

But Aelia was different. Mathieu had never known or even heard of such valor in a woman. Yet she rode without armor or weapon now. If they were attacked, she could do naught to protect herself.

Mathieu continued riding northeast, deep into the cool, damp woods. His pace was slower, for there was no established track, and the underbrush was thick in places. He rode carefully, listening for sounds that would orient him to the location of the hidden army, certain they’d seen his men’s approach and were preparing to attack.

When Mathieu heard the jangle of metal hitting metal, he knew he was closing in on them. He dismounted and tied his horse, then continued on foot, following the sounds of stealthy preparation. He stayed out of sight, crouching low and keeping to the trees, but managed to advance far enough to see who was cloaked within the forest, and how serious a threat they posed.

They were Saxons. Dressed in skins and ragged wool, some wore
cuir-bouilli,
some had helmets. They strapped on their daggers and tested the edges of their axes in preparation for battle.

There were many of them, at least two to every one of his men. If these Saxons planned an ambush, they would be able to encircle the Normans and crush them.

Mathieu slipped back to the place where he’d left his horse, and mounted again. He climbed a small hillock that bordered the Saxons’ east side. There were fewer trees, which meant less cover, but he did not doubt that the Saxons were entirely focused upon the Norman soldiers who rode in the vale, not on the hilly terrain behind them.

When he was well hidden and a good distance away, Mathieu rolled several small boulders down the hill, then put his horn to his lips and blew. The reaction was exactly what he had hoped for. There was immediate confusion in the Saxon ranks. ’Twould take some time before they understood they were not under attack from behind, and in those few moments, Raoul de Moreton would be well warned and prepared for battle.

Aelia sat stiffly in the saddle. She did not know where Fitz Autier was, nor would she turn to see whether he’d joined them.

She hoped he had put his clothes back on. The man
was unnerving enough while fully dressed, but when she saw the physical power that lay beneath his warrior’s garb, she nearly lost her sense of proper restraint. Why had her father not wed her to a warrior of such prowess as Fitz Autier? Mayhap if Aelia had such a husband, she would not be quite so susceptible to the physical power the Norman displayed with such arrogance. He seemed to think naught of flaunting his naked body before her repeatedly—as if she were some simpleton slave, and anxious for his favors.

The Normans rode silently north, through a deep valley surrounded by thick woods and tall cliffs. Aelia had never been permitted to venture so far beyond the waterfall. According to her father and Godwin, the path through the vale was too vulnerable, with Scottish lands a mere day’s ride from here. Wallis had always been loath to invite trouble.

The hair on the back of Aelia’s neck prickled and she knew something was amiss. “Sir Raoul…”

She did not wish to appear the frightened maiden among these Normans, yet something was not right. Whether ’twas her father’s misgivings about this place or the possibility that there was truly danger here, Aelia did not know. She looked to the east, then west, trying to see into the dense woods. Naught was visible, but the undeniable sense of peril raised gooseflesh upon her arms.

“I think we should turn back.”

To his credit, Raoul did not ignore her. “What is it,
demoiselle?
” He cast his eyes about him, as if evaluating the risk of continuing on. “My orders are to—”

The full, resonant cry of a battle horn sounded in the distance. All the horses reacted, and Aelia’s mare reared, throwing her and galloping up the path. The
Normans paid no attention to her plight as they drew their swords. Battle cries burst from the trees east of them. Bruised and barefoot, Aelia ran behind the line of warriors as they arranged themselves to face the attack.

She reached for her knife and remembered that Fitz Autier had it. She had no bow, no weapon to use when they were attacked by whatever enemy dwelled within the woods.

But something strange happened. The voices in the forest scattered, some moving north and others to the south, accompanied by the unmistakable sounds of horses, swords and clanging armor. The horn sounded again, but it seemed even farther away.

“’Tis the baron!” Raoul called to the men. “He’s leading them away!”

The Normans left Aelia behind as they charged into the woods. She tensed, but her only fear was for Fitz Autier. What kind of fool would attempt to draw off an army alone?

And why did she care?

In truth, she did not care. Her concern was for her own safety, how she would escape from whatever danger lurked in the woods and get herself back to Ingelwald—to Osric. Fitz Autier’s fate did not concern her beyond his ability to escort her home.

Yet she found herself searching for some sign of him.

The clash of swords rang in Aelia’s ears. She wondered if she should turn and flee, retrace her path through the vale and beyond the waterfall. She knew the eastern road well, and could get herself back to Ingelwald without her Norman escort. But if she turned west, she could go to Thrydburgh…to safety. Surely Cælin would allow her to stay.

Her horse had run off and Aelia could see no sign of it. She could not walk the distance to Thrydburgh without shoes, and if she left the Normans here, ’twas doubtful she would ever see Osric again. Fitz Autier held him hostage against her cooperation.

Would he kill her brother if she disappeared? Fitz Autier was a ruthless warrior, but Aelia had never seen him hurt any women or children. After last night, however, Aelia doubted anyone would consider Osric an innocent child.

She had no choice but to stay and wait out the battle.

Her position was much too exposed, so she walked cautiously forward, using the trees and low shrub as cover. She felt naked without her dagger, and knew her best protection was to get into a position where she could watch the skirmish. She advanced, staying under cover and keeping some distance from the battle. The fighting was disorganized, but the Normans were clearly outnumbered by a ragged band of Saxon warriors.

An unbearable sadness filled Aelia’s heart. As numerous as they were, the Saxons stood no chance against these Normans. Her vision blurred with tears when Fitz Autier suddenly came into sight, riding into the thick of battle, wielding his sword like a coldhearted executioner.

She could not tear her eyes from his powerful form. He moved like a proud stag of the forest, swift and dangerous, yet light and agile. Aelia experienced the same wrenching heat she felt whenever she watched him from afar. ’Twas difficult to catch her breath when she saw him like this, in full mastery over his enemy—her own people.

Fitz Autier shouted orders to his men, and they started to hem the Saxons in a wide circle, with no room to maneuver. Aelia could not bear to watch.