The Maiden And The Warrior
“Nay! It is thievery to take those things,” Eurice wailed. “They belong to the new lord now. He can have you swing from the gibbet for stealing.”
Alayna smiled wickedly, savoring de Montregnier’s anger should he ever learn of her scheme. “He will not kill me, though it would vex him sorely if he knew of my ambitions.”
“Please have sense,” Eurice continued, shaking her head in disapproval. “You were always headstrong, but now you must learn patience, discernment…”
“He is not going to release me, Eurice, he has made that quite clear. He thinks me a possession of Edgar’s and therefore forfeit to him. He said he will not let me go until he is sure I can no longer be of use to him. Who knows how long that will be? I will not let him get away with it, not without making him regret it.”
Eurice looked at Alayna aghast. Understanding dawned on her face. “You plot to steal Edgar’s trunks to thwart this de Montregnier! ‘Give some meaning to all that has befallen me.’ Listen to you! You think to take revenge against him with this childishness.”
“I am going to do it,” Alayna said, her voice steady with determination.
A low groan diverted the women’s attention. Seeing it was one of the wounded men, Alayna quickly abandoned their quarrel and rushed to his bedside.
She remembered him from yesterday when he was brought in. An older man, perhaps too old to fight, who had been conscripted by an unmerciful master. There had been some hope he would survive if his blood loss was not too great, but his health waned and now he was close to death. Pale and faltering, he was making a great effort to speak. “A priest,” the man begged in a thin voice.
Alayna realized that he was requesting last rites to ease his passage into heaven. “My God, Eurice, he seeks absolution!” she gasped. “He wants a priest. Fetch one, quickly!”
“There is no one here,” Eurice whispered. Alayna stared at her disbelievingly.
“What do you mean we have no priests? We have men dying here, honorable men who deserve extreme unction to be absolved of their sins.”
“The bishop commanded his priests to the abbey and Lord Lucien had no choice but to let them go. There are no longer any priests here.”
“A friar, then.”
“Alayna, there is no one!”
“He is dying,” Alayna fretted. “He should be comforted.” She looked down at the man. The poor soldier was in and out of awareness, barely coherent, muttering for forgiveness. She could not stand to see his agony. With a quick prayer for her soul for the blasphemy she was about to commit, she lowered her voice and murmured some Latin blessings she had memorized from daily mass.
Eurice stood in mute horror of the sacrilege she was witnessing but made no protest.
The mumbled words apparently convinced the man his request had been fulfilled. He reached out for Alayna’s hand, crushing her fingers in his gnarled grasp. She did not let go even when the pain stabbed up her arm. His grip weakened and his face relaxed until he was at peace.
She sat in silent tableau with the man she had not known in life yet companioned in death, when a shadow fell across the bed. She looked up to see de Montregnier standing over her, flanked by two of his knights, Will and a youth whose name, she had learned, was Pelly.
Lucien stood with his feet braced apart and arms folded over his chest, wearing the same smug look he had favored earlier. That, and her own unexplainable visceral response to his presence, made her suddenly angry.
“Come to view your handiwork, have you, good knights?” she snapped.
“Alayna!” Eurice gasped in reproach. Lucien did not seem to take offense.
“Was this one known to you?” he asked quietly.
“‘This one’ has a name, though it is not known to me. My introduction to him was made after he had been mortally wounded by one of your men. Perhaps it was even yourself that felled him, my lord, for you surely did your share of the killing. In your enthusiasm for revenge against Edgar, you neglected to consider the faithful villeins who were bound to serve their lord and defend the castle. Good people, whose fault lay only in that they were required to serve your enemy.”
Lucien gave her a hard stare. “I sought to minimize such tragedy. It is why I offered the challenge to Edgar to meet me face-to-face.” His men gaped at him, apparently astounded that he had offered this. He usually explained himself to no one.
“Aye, after you slaughtered his fighting men!” Alayna accused.
“You have a quick tongue and a shrewish way,” Lucien snarled.
Alayna narrowed her eyes. “Did you come here to gloat over your victory or disparage me? It poorly speaks of your character either way.”
“I need make no explanation to you for being here. This is my castle, and this is my chapel. And these are my villeins.”
“Chapel?” Alayna mocked. “I think not, for chapels are made of prayers and alters, are they not? This place has none of that, for it is full of broken men and thin pallets made quickly with the haste of need. The stench of death fairly chokes you when you enter, instead of the sweet smell of incense and candles. A chapel, you say? Nay, ’tis a place of despair.”
“Well, it makes no difference either way, does it?” Lucien’s eyes glared. “’Tis mine! Need I remind you at every turn that I am now the lord and master here?”
“’Tis a grand testament to your prowess as a warrior that you see spread before you, but it does you little credit as our new lord and protector. ‘Twas a deplorable performance in lordly protection you showed us yestermorn.”
Lifting a dark brow, Lucien eyed her sardonically. “This day has seen many noteworthy events, not the least of which seems to be this—a woman is making complaint about my ‘performance.’”
Alayna colored at his innuendo and Will snorted momentarily before bringing himself under control. He was sobered by Alayna’s indignant look. He smiled apologetically, but she only notched her chin higher.
She was angry enough to be reckless, yet she realized the hopelessness of arguing. She could never outmatch de Montregnier, for he would say the most out-rageous things to shock and offend. With a sigh, she said, “Your rude comments are not necessary, my lord. I did not wish to antagonize you, though I find that, indeed, I seem to do so without much effort.” She looked at the men lying in their humble beds, shaking her head distractedly. “Perhaps I have been a bit too vehement, but tending the fallen is not an easy duty. It grates on one as much as the loss of precious freedom.”
Lucien eyed her carefully, clearly suspicious this sudden penitence might not be entirely sincere. When nothing else followed that last comment, he turned away, dismissing her apology without comment.
He spoke loudly in the vaulted chamber. “Those of you who were not in the bailey this morning, hear me.” He repeated his offer of pardon in exchange for their pledge to honor him as their new lord. The terms were the same as before.
No one said a word. Alayna was silently glad, thinking that these men, embittered by their injuries and the death of their comrades, would refuse. At last, to see de Montregnier thwarted!
Then, unexpectedly, a murmur rose up as Hubert, a castellan of Gastonbury who was a good and noble man, rose slowly from his pallet. His wife, the Lady Mellyssand, caught Alayna’s eye. Mellyssand had been the only person at Gastonbury who had befriended her, offering Alayna comfort when she was forced to marry Edgar. In the absence of Alayna’s mother, Mellyssand had counseled her on what to expect in the marriage bed. Further, Alayna suspected Hubert had been largely to blame for Edgar’s inability to consummate their marriage, for it had been the kind man’s voice she had heard raising toast after toast to his newly wedded overlord.
Hubert limped to stand before de Montregnier. The room hushed. Hubert spoke. “Aye, I will accept you as my liege lord. And if the king’s justice finds your claim false, I will commit my armies to serve any challenge you wish to make to that decision.”
De Montregnier remained outwardly impassive, but after a moment’s hesitation, or what could have been shock, he reached out a hand to firmly grasp Hubert’s forearm in the gesture that men-at-arms shared as a sign of truce.
“I knew your father, Raoul,” Hubert said. “He was friend to my own sire. He was a man of honor, a man who was admired. I had recognized your name, but I have been racking my poor brain these last hours to place your face, for you appeared familiar to me. At last I seem to have come up with some recollection. You were a lad, I remember, who was already showing remarkable skill with the sword. I recall your father’s pride in you, and a bit of jealousy myself, for though I was older, I was not sure I was your better.”
Lucien accepted this stoically, nodding. Hubert moved aside, calling the others to come forward.
When he had finished his business, Lucien came again to stand before Alayna. He raised his brows at her expectantly, as if to say what do you think of that?
“I see it pleases you to have your plan working so well,” Alayna said.
“I am pleased. I have everything that I want.”
“My mother taught me a bit of ancient wisdom,” Alayna said lightly, “It teaches us the lesson that we must be careful what we wish for. We might just get it.”
He nodded to her as if he understood, but Alayna did not know if he truly fathomed her meaning.
Chapter Five
Alayna would have never suspected that the new Lord of Gastonbury was feeling less than triumphant on this, the eve of his great victory.
As he made his way to the master’s chamber, Lucien wondered at his strange mood. He was tired, which was understandable. He had barely slept in the two weeks previous to the siege—the anticipation had been too intense. Yesterday and today he had fought hard, fought with everything in him. Fatigue was natural, of course. But this day had brought him the realization of his great dream. After all was said and done, there should be something more than weariness for him tonight.
He raked his hand through his hair with a vengeance and exhaled. He should feel exhilarated! Sweet revenge was his at last. Yet the darkness inside him still burned as strongly as it ever had.
Certainly there was all that nonsense with the young widow. She was a minx, that one. She put him to mind of his mother. Well, actually she was not very much like his dame except for her sharp tongue, though it was not cruel and used to wound as his mother’s had been, but rather self-righteous and angry. He did not really blame her, he could even empathize to a degree. He understood bitterness and the instinctive need for freedom; he had lived eleven years as a slave. But he was not about to let the soft lull of sympathy jeopardize his victory. The lovely Alayna was a powerful pawn in this gambit he played and, her feelings not withstanding, she was his.
He was suddenly struck with a clear image, one of eyes narrowed in contempt and a full, a pouty mouth set in a stern line, chestnut-colored hair swirling wildly around a sculpted face. He might as well admit, Edgar’s virgin bride was much on his mind. She was a spitfire, defiant and irreverent, and he had an aversion to women of a headstrong nature. She did, however, have a vitality he found stirring. That was it! That was what troubled him so deeply tonight. It was that unanticipated response that disturbed him. It was so unfamiliar that it eclipsed his mood and dominated his thoughts.
Annoyed with himself, Lucien scowled. As he passed a timorous servant, she bobbed a quick curtsy and smiled, but the dark expression he shot her caused the poor woman to shrink away.
He was not a man who played the fool for women. He had never needed to. His status as Norse slave had done nothing to discourage female interest during the cold Viking winters. Summers, too, for that matter.
While he had lived under the savage rule of one of the Northland’s most prodigious warmongers, his strength and skill in battle had distinguished him quickly as one of his master’s fiercest warriors. First pressed into service as a foot soldier, he had eventually become so valued that old Hendron would not dare slither from his lair without his English slave, who soon became his finest warrior.
Whether due to this status or his withdrawn, aloof manner, he had been much sought after by the women of the lodge. This never fazed him, nor did he think much about the beauties who had graced his bed. They were only important for the short time they had amused him, and then they were gone.
Nothing and no one had mattered except the secret dream of revenge. Agravar, of course, had been his one friend, but no one else had penetrated his brittle constraint, least of all a woman.
He had moved amongst his comrades in arms, much envied for his skill both in battle and in attracting the amorous interests of women, yet set apart, encased in the isolated chrysalis of carefully nurtured hate. But it was not only that which had kept him apart. He was never their equal. Old Hendron had made sure that though his warriorslave enjoyed sufficient freedoms to keep him content to fight for him, Lucien had never known a moment’s peace from the brutal and humiliating treatment his master doled out to remind him of his lowly position.
That was the past, only the past. He knew it, but somehow it seemed impossible those years were behind him. He would feel differently inside if it were truly over, wouldn’t he? Some spark of life, something to replace the vivid pain that had driven him thus far.
Maybe he would feel it in the morning, when he was rested and had a chance to put the rebellious Alayna out of his mind.
Lucien entered Edgar’s chamber, closing the door quietly behind him as if afraid to disturb the reverent silence of the place. No ghosts now, he was relieved to note, none of the disturbing press of memories that had earlier afflicted him when he was here before with Alayna. He saw the bloodied linens in a heap on the floor and smiled at the mental image of her tearing them off the bed. The evidence of her temper amused him.
There was another feeling there, as well. He was surprised to find himself a tiny bit ashamed of his deception.
The entrance of a young servant girl interrupted his thoughts. She carried a tray heaped with meats and bread, which she placed on the table by the towering hearth. He had ordered the food sent up to his chamber, wanting to escape the hall. Having forbidden his band of mercenaries the typical amusements of the victorious—none of his new villeins were to be harassed or assaulted—he was content to have set Agravar and Will to watch over the proceedings. He himself needed no such diversions. Tonight, he sought solitude.
Lucien realized he was ravenous. “Girl,” he called, making her jump. “Fetch some water and see it is well heated for me to wash.”
Lucien ate quickly while she was gone. When the servant returned with the water, he stripped to his chausses in preparation for a quick bath.
Indicating the heap of garments he had worn in battle, he said, “Beat the dust from my clothes, and hang them on pegs to air. There is no time to wash them, but I’ll not bear the stink of battle another day.”
She gave him a quick look, taking in his state of undress. Lucien was not too fatigued to notice the womanly curve of her hips under the crude garments. He had thought her young at first, for her face was round and flushed. But at closer glance, she was indeed a woman full grown.
Finishing his bath, he toweled himself off. She was not as graceful as he was used to, but pretty enough. Perhaps the company of a woman would ease the unrest that plagued him, and banish the haunting thoughts of flashing green eyes and an arrogant chin tilted at him in defiance. Lord, just the thought of Alayna made his jaw work in irritation.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Glenna,” she answered in a small voice. There was something about her, something that made him a bit suspicious of her play of innocence.
“How is it you were chosen to see to me tonight?” he inquired. “Were you not afraid like the others?”
“How did you know the others were afraid?” she blurted.
He smiled tightly. Women were so transparent. The girl had probably volunteered, moving quickly to put her pretty little self before him in hopes of winning his favor. The status of the lord’s leman was not a bad lot. The chosen woman shared her master’s bed, and in return won prestige and privilege. This one was crafty, pretending shyness as a ploy to catch his eye.
As if sensing the end to her ruse, she met his gaze a little too boldly, allowing herself a better look at him. Lucien watched her eyes slide over him, gradually darkening with desire. Her face and form were lush, and by rights should have been inviting, but he could barely seem to summon any interest. He mentally compared her to a slimmer form more to his liking. Stubbornly he pushed the intruding vision of Alayna aside. “Did you serve the old lord?”
She understood well enough what he was asking. “Aye,” she answered.
“You know what I seek?”
Glenna nodded, her eyes alight with anticipation. She stepped forward to close the gap between them and placed her arms about his neck.
“I know, my lord. I will not disappoint.”
Lucien felt his back stiffen in response. Even as she touched her lips to his, he knew he had made a mistake. He did not want her. He felt not the slightest stirring of desire at the voluptuous form pressed against him. He had wanted to quell the distressing preoccupation with another, but he was immediately aware that he would find no solace with this one.
He quickly reached his hands up to peel the fleshy arms from him.
Thinking he was breaking away to move to the bed, Glenna started for it, her hands already working to remove her woolen shift.
“Nay,” Lucien barked, “I am far too tired to dally tonight. Leave me.”
She looked startled, then smiled slowly as if in understanding. “If you are worried that your fatigue will afflict you, I will help you. Let me take—”
Lucien caught her outstretched arms by the wrists. “That is not my concern. I simply wish to be left alone.”
“But you—”
“A passing thought, one I acted upon too quickly.”
A flash of anger in her dark eyes surprised him. “Perhaps some other night, when you are better rested, you can call upon me. You will find me most willing…and accomplished.”
“No doubt,” Lucien murmured, presenting his back to her in dismissal.
“If there is anything else you require, at any time, call upon me.”
She was annoying him now. “Go,” he said curtly, not bothering to turn around.
He heard her leave and breathed a sigh of relief. He chided himself for his impulsiveness. Something about the girl disturbed him, something wrong about her. Or perhaps it was just his imagination. He was not normally given to flights of fancy, but then it was a strange mood he was in tonight. He grunted self-deprecatingly, wondering if perhaps he had gotten a knocked head in the fighting, scrambling his brains a bit.
But it was no injury that had driven him to consider the inadequate arms of the servant. As he flung himself atop the furs and let sleep descend, he knew that damnable witch Alayna had cast some sort of spell upon him. Never mind, he decided, no woman would divert him for long. He was much too disciplined for that.
He came awake with a start, instantly alert, knowing himself to be in a strange place. As memory washed over him, he relaxed back down amidst the furs.
His sleep had been dreamless. It had not improved his mood.
He rose from the bed, grimacing as his feet hit the cold stone floor. The chill of the lingering winter was bracing and he could see his breath like a puff of smoke in the air. He crossed to the hearth to stoke the fire, getting the blaze going before pulling on the thick woolen tunic he had worn yesterday. Abstractly he fingered the holes in the well-worn material. He could afford much better now. He should see to it when he found the time.
A sound at the door made him swing around, his hand darting to take hold of his sword lying across the table. He had it unsheathed and at the ready before the intruder crossed the threshold.
It was Glenna. “I thought you might need some assistance this morn,” she purred, not at all daunted by the gleaming steel he held. “Would you like some food sent up? Or perhaps some help in dressing?”
Lucien put down his blade. “Whatever I want, I will see that it is done myself. Go to the kitchens and ask if they can make use of you there.”
Glenna smiled, ignoring his order. “Do you not have use for me here?” Her hand came up to lightly touch his chest.
He grabbed her hand and pushed it away. “Do not let me see you in my chamber again.”
She paused, as if considering whether to obey. His anger rose, blinding him for a moment. Alayna had challenged him, but with her he had understood it. She had fought him as one who is backed into a corner. This servant’s defiance caused his temper to flare almost out of control.
If she had not had the presence of mind to leave him, he might have done something rash. He had never lifted a hand to a woman, no matter what his opinion of that sex, and it would do his purposes no good if he began his reign here by beating one of the servants.
Lucien laid his weapons out neatly on the table, ready to be cleaned, and finished dressing. A footfall behind him alerted him to a new presence. He lifted his head to see Agravar standing just inside the doorway.
“So you decided to quit your lazing about and rise at long last,” Agravar said with a smirk. “Your late morning has nothing to do with that pretty piece I just saw leaving here, I trust.”
“’Tis just sunrise now,” Lucien grumbled, “and nay, that inane servant did not stay with me last night. You know me better.”
“I thought I did,” the Viking answered mysteriously. He looked about the room, appreciatively eyeing the ornate furnishings and elegant appointments. “I see you have wasted no time in doffing the crude ways of the soldier in favor of this lordly elegance.”
Lucien followed his gaze. The furnishings were numerous, large and thickly carved, hardly suited to his Spartan tastes. A thought crossed his mind as he considered the room. Something was different. Now that he saw it again in the light, as he had the first time yestermorn, it seemed somehow changed. As if something were missing. With a shrug, he abandoned the thought. He turned to Agravar, giving him a grim look.
“It will need to be stripped of these odious reminders,” he stated, indicating the incompatible finery.
Agravar grew serious. “I hope it did not disturb your sleep to be in this place. I know well how those memories torment you. I thought perhaps you would wait before taking on this particular one.”
Lucien shrugged. “It was not difficult, actually.”
Agravar chuckled. “There is nothing like the diversion of a woman to ease a troubled night. A willing maid can make all the difference when a man has a restlessness in him.”
Lucien shook his head at his friend. “I did not have the damnable girl!”
Agravar laughed. “I believe you. I know your habits. I would think that another would be more to your taste.” He crossed to the window, easing open the shutter to peer into the courtyard below. The castle was already bustling with activity as the serfs hurried to complete their morning chores. “One cannot help but wonder how the widow has fared this night.”
“More likely she laments the loss of the riches Edgar brought her.” Lucien shot him a scowl. “Do you bring news?”
“Aye. I have dispatched the scouts to the areas you assigned. The landholders return to their fiefs soon.”
“Did you instruct the seneschal to prepare the written accounts of the household?”
Agravar nodded.
“Good. I want the entire contents of the castle inventoried, and the village, as well. Also, set up a forum where disputes can be brought before me. I want to establish justice quickly so that none can take advantage of the confusion to better his own lot.”