by Sarah Hegger
A man could imagine witches, fey folk, and demons peering down at him. If he was the sort of man who believed in such nonsense—which he wasn’t. In the distance, a lone wolf sent its spine-chilling howl at the moon across the moors.
Beside Gresby on the cart, Alice looked like a child, and William drew his destrier as close as the narrow path would allow. “How do you fare?”
She turned her head toward him and grinned. “Is it not a fine night for travel?”
William chuckled, the sound pushing back the dark and the cold for a moment. He looked forward to solving the mystery of Alice.
Chapter 7
Weak morning sun lit the rooftop of The Crags. William shifted in his saddle, his ass frozen solid to the leather. Despite his constant suggestions to call a halt, Alice had insisted they not stop on her account all through the interminable, bitter night. Right now, William felt every inch the soft southerner.
He wanted out of the nagging wind, off this bloody horse, a warm fire, and a full belly. Aonghas the Red had best not provide the sort of hospitality Sister Sunshine favored, or William might cry like a little girl. The bedamned northerners, none of them swathed in fur like him, looked as spry as if they had stepped out of the keep. Please God, let them hurt as well, or he would toss away his spurs and sword.
The lands around The Crags lay fallow. Rich, dark earth turned for the winter. Small thatched crofts nestled between stone walls that separated rolling grassy hills. Aonghas kept his demesne well. Tarnwych lands shared the same soil, and yet they suffered like a beggar beside a lord’s table in comparison. A large herd of brown cattle cropped the grass beside the road. Travel improved across its well-maintained surface, for which his bruised ass throbbed in gratitude.
They passed through a tiny village and the road climbed toward a large, sprawling manor house. They stayed in the open, easy for watching sentries to spot. He creaked about in his saddle and faced Dunstan riding on his heels. “Do they mount no guards?”
“They have guards,” Dunstan said on a grunt. “Only they know us well.”
Or rather, they feared nothing from Tarnwych. A small party, alone on a broad expanse of land. Aye, Aonghas had no need for trepidation. The land about them offered no concealment for a force sneaking up on the manor, and as Englishmen he doubted they would find any help here.
As they approached, the manor’s studded wooden door opened and a man stepped out. Dressed only in a chemise and chausses, he faced the cart with arms outspread. “It is a fine day when a pretty wee bird flies into Aonghas’s hall.”
Braced for a burly, ginger Scot, Aonghas the Red was a bitter disappointment. Thin and wiry, he would not even reach William’s shoulder. Beneath dull brown hair, his winter pale complexion gave him a fragile air.
“I see our pretty bird has brought a visitor.” Aonghas turned and greeted him. Keen intelligence gleamed in the light blue eyes of his adversary. William’s nape tingled with anticipation.
William dismounted, gritting his teeth and forcing his numb legs to keep his ass out the mud. “Sir Aonghas.”
Aonghas threw back his head and let out a boom of laughter completely at odds with his frame. “We have no place for sir this and sir that up here, lad. Just Aonghas.”
Alice hopped from the cart. “Aonghas, allow me to present Sir William of Ang…Tarnwych.”
“Sir William.” Aonghas rubbed his hands together. “You have found yourself a pretty English lord here, Alice, my flower.”
An invisible gauntlet whistled past William’s ear. “When I am up north, it is merely William,” he said. “I cannot have it said the new lord of Tarnwych puts his lady to the blush with his manners.”
Aonghas narrowed his eyes. “You must be chilled,” he said. “Not being accustomed to our cold. This is a hard land. It breeds hard men.”
“With frozen asses.” William threw Aonghas his most disarming smile. If the man chose to dismiss him as a soft southerner, he did so at his peril, and Aonghas would learn. Just as soon as William could feel his extremities again. William took Alice’s hand and pulled it through his arm.
“Aye, well.” Aonghas chuckled, his gaze lingering a moment on their twined arms. “I have fire enough to warm that for you.”
William kept Alice tucked against his side as they followed Aonghas into the manor.
For a hard northerner, Aonghas enjoyed surrounding himself with the trappings of luxury. Large, sumptuous tapestries adorned the walls.
Aonghas motioned them to a set of fine, carved wooden chairs resting on furs before a roaring hearth.
Seating Alice closest to the fire, William perched on the arm of her chair. Beneath his fingers the intricately carved wood felt fine enough for a king.
Clapping his hands, Aonghas shouted orders to the large number of serving folk clustered about.
“My men?” Poor bastards had nothing near as fine as the raiment of Aonghas’s people, but he would see them warm and fed.
“They are being well cared for.” Sir Aonghas lounged on the seat across from Alice, one leg flung over the chair arm. “I will wager they already have a wench in one hand and a mug of something warm in the other.”
William accepted a gleaming pewter goblet from a pretty serving wench.
The serving wench gave him a saucy grin, invitation glinting in her fine eyes.
Alice tensed.
William dropped his hand onto her shoulder. Whatever the future brought for them, his wife should know he would not accept every invitation cast his way. William sensed it would matter more to Alice than most. Even though her words on their wedding night would lead a man to believe she understood the way of things, even accepted them. Such a fool would grow frigid in his wedding bed. Behind her grass-green eyes lurked a fragility that tugged at William.
Rich notes of nutmeg and orange rose from the warmed wine in his goblet and almost brought him to tears of gratitude. Aonghas probably used Tarnwych’s meager bounty to support his lifestyle, and William planned to enjoy it to the fullest.
“It was good of you to visit, with your wedding so recent.” The old fox gathered details with each sweep of his gaze.
William’s blood rose to the challenge. He’d spent years slithering his way around the venomous halls of King John’s court. First rule of engagement: never underestimate your opponent. Men could appear weak and then develop a spine of hardened steal. Strong men could crumple at the first sign of opposition. Some might look at Aonghas and see a border Scot with no manners and refinements, but William knew better. He saw a man as canny as a ferret.
“Verily.” William toyed with the edges of Alice’s wimple. He’d like to damn the thing to hell for covering her glorious hair. “As nearest neighbors, I thought it wise for us to meet. Get the measure of each other.”
“Ah, indeed.” Aonghas sipped his spiced wine.
He took a small sip, enough for politeness but not enough to risk muddling his senses. “It is so easy in these troubled times for small annoyances to blossom into larger disagreements. Sir Arthur of Anglesea, my father, has earned a reputation as a man of war, but he has always taught his sons that war only happens when diplomacy and reason fail.”
Aonghas’s swinging leg paused, and then resumed. Aye, he got the message. William had powerful allies and a wealthy family.
“A wise man, indeed.” Aonghas rested his chin on his palm. “Anglesea lies to the south, does it not? A goodly ways south.”
“It does.” William silently applauded Aonghas’s parry. It’s what he would have done. “We are a close family, and they write often.”
A different serving maid refilled his goblet. This one even prettier than the last, with her generous bosom overflowing her bodice. So, Aonghas had made it his business to know all about William.
Aonghas sipped his wine, watching all the time over the goblet rim if William would take the delicious bait. “Tarnwych and The Crags have long been the most harmonious of neighbo
rs.”
“So Gord, my bailiff, informs me,” William said.
“How is Gord?” Aonghas accepted a refill from the same girl. His gaze didn’t stray near her bosom either.
“Gord is well.” William grimaced. “Actually, Gord is not so well. He finds himself at a bit of a loss.”
“Indeed.” Aonghas cocked his head.
William slipped his hand beneath Alice’s wimple and caressed her nape. “He finds himself unable to account for some missing beasts: cattle, goats, most of the deer. Enough for a man who keeps such excellent records as Gord to bring it to my notice.”
Aonghas’s shocked expression was wondrous, a thing of skilled dissembling. “I would like to tell you, Sir William, that such things do not happen in the north, but alas, I am unable to.”
“Please call me William.” William smoothed a charming grin over his features. He tightened his grip on Alice’s nape. Please God, let the girl be sharp enough not to leap into this battle of wits. “Are you telling me theft is common in these lands?”
She sipped her wine. Twining the fingers of her free hand with his hand against her shoulder, she gave him a subtle squeeze.
Aonghas swung his leg faster. “I would not say common, so much as not unexpected.” He leant forward. “Some of my countrymen are not always as honest as one would like.”
“How disturbing for you,” William said. “And you are sure it is Scotsmen responsible for these disappearances?”
“Aye.” Aonghas cast his eyes down. “As much as it pains me to admit it. They come from the higher lands, where things are not as rich as they are here. It has become a sort of symbol of honor to steal from the English, and thereby the English king.”
“Verily.” William rubbed his chin as if giving the matter grave consideration. Aonghas lied, but with the sort of skill William admired. Not a man to ever play dice with. “I am guessing that you do not suffer such inconveniences as a fellow Scot?”
“Not that I have noticed.” Aonghas looked genuinely regretful. William almost laughed out loud. This man would have wreaked havoc like a weasel in the dovecotes at court.
“Then, my path is clear.” William heaved a sigh. “I must strengthen the men-at-arms at Tarnwych, run tighter patrols on my land, and treat with unfortunate brutality any transgressors. One can only hope that if one punishes swiftly and ruthlessly enough, the message will become clear to those who would view Tarnwych as a fat partridge.” He too leant forward. “Sir Arthur also taught me that it is often easier to make a preemptive strike than to engage in a long, drawn-out battle.”
“That we should all have had such a wise and loving father.” Aonghas’s hard stare met his. Message conveyed and received. Aonghas would test his resolve, William would wager his life on it, but he had issued the warning.
Aonghas sat back in his seat. “But let us not disturb dear Lady Alice with this talk of fighting. Let us share a meal, and celebrate your good fortune.”
“Was there ever a man so fortunate as I?” William said.
“I wish you long life and happiness.” Aonghas raised his goblet. “Let us drink to your new land and your new marriage.”
* * * *
A masterful, thrilling battle of wits arced above Alice’s head. Fascinating, and so much more satisfying than seeing two men hack away at each other with weapons. Here the weapons remained hidden. Thrusts made and parried with such speed a girl needed to pay attention to catch them.
She wasn’t sure who had emerged the victor and had the sense these were merely opening feints, but William had matched Aonghas strike for strike, going into battle for Tarnwych. Alice shifted in her seat. Tarnwych’s shame sat atop her shoulders. She had not understood much of William’s discussion with Gord, but she had grasped the woeful state of the keep’s stores. She had made this journey to make herself useful. Yet, William had not needed her at all, and still he let her come. If she knew him better, she might have asked why. Warmth spread from his hand on her nape, even through the linen. It was a gesture of claiming, possession. The sort of gesture a man made toward his bride. His wife. A delicious shiver danced down her spine.
Talk drifted to the weather, the history of The Crags. Light chatter of two men passing a pleasant time. Serving drudges carried in a meal bringing with them tummy-growling aromas of fresh bread, roasting meats, and pies. Platter after platter they laid on the trestle tables. Surely such excess constituted a sin, but it smelled and looked much closer to heaven.
At Aonghas’s invitation, William rose and assisted her to table. He seated her on his right, according her the honor of his wife.
“Will you take meat?” His solicitude humbled her. Selecting for her the very finest cuts of meat, a loaf of nut bread still warm from the ovens. Using his napkin, he wiped the moisture from the fruit he placed beside her.
“My thanks.” Alice wished for the poise to take his treatment as her due, but it touched a cold, lonely place within her, and rendered her near mute. He accorded her the respect of a new bride, and a treasured one. Without words, he shouted to the hall his pleasure in his marriage. He did it for Aonghas’s benefit, whispered her practical nature. But how lovely it felt, simpered the girl buried deep within her. That girl’s whimsical musings had stayed hidden deep within her for years.
William waited for her to begin her meal before he ate. He motioned a man over, eyes twinkling at her. “Wine?”
The rogue returned and brought her smile with him. “Aye, please.”
Taking the jug from the serving man, William poured her wine for her and handed her the goblet. He watched her take a sip. “Any blackberries?”
Alice giggled. Verily she had giggled more since his arrival than in her entire lifetime. “Nary a berry to be found.”
“For shame.” He shook his head. “My Alice should always be showered in blackberries.”
* * * *
William’s head hammered away like the devil used it for an anvil the next morning. Blasted Scot had a head for drink that had almost seen William sliding beneath the table. Had they drunk wine, William would have had the wily sod, but that bedamned special mead had nigh killed him off.
It still might as he blinked in the clear, bright morning light. Today, of all days, the north tossed out her loveliest mantle of blue sky. Clustered about on their nags, his men looked even more pitiful in the unforgiving light. He could bluster all he liked about taking a hard line with the thieving Scots, but not even he believed it when staring at his dismal force. Dear God, had the north no finer fighting men to offer? He may as well drive his herds into Aonghas’s courtyard and spare himself the humiliation.
Aonghas, ruddy cheeked and bright eyed, beamed as if suffering none of the aftereffects of the night and offered him his hand. “Safe travels, Sir William.”
“Call me William.”
“Oh, aye.” Aonghas batted the side of his head. “I keep forgetting.”
Like bloody hell.
“Good morrow.” Alice’s sweet voice provided blessed relief. She entered the courtyard dressed little better than their men, but her shy smile dimmed the ache behind his eyes. He had sent her to find her rest hours before Aonghas and he had begun their rod-jousting over a jug.
Her cart stood ready with Gresby perched behind the horses. They wouldn’t reach Tarnwych before the following day. Not if he had aught to say about it.
William hauled his bones onto Paladin, glad he managed a semblance of elegance, and nudged the horse to Alice.
She took a wary step back.
“Come, my lady.” He leant down and held out his hand. “Today you ride with me.”
“What?” She eyed his destrier and pressed her hand to her throat. “I do not ride.”
“But I do.” He managed a reassuring smile. “I will not let you fall.” If she demurred, he might toss her onto the horse anyway. He could not stomach a day of dragging his ass behind her ridiculous cart.
Alice shook her
head. “I—”
William scooped her beneath her armpits. Light as a feather, he lifted her onto the mount before him. “There.” He forced some good humor into his voice. “Now stop wriggling, or the horse might take fright.”
She perched frozen before him, her nails digging into his wrists. “I would prefer the cart.”
“That is because you have not yet tried the horse,” he said. Motioning his men, he spurred Paladin out of the courtyard.
* * * *
Alice clamped her lips together, swallowing the scream welling up in her throat. The ground flew past beneath them as the horse clattered over the cobbled yard and through the manor gates. A long, long way down, the blurring ground made her stomach lurch.
Father laughed at her fear of horses, but even he had not plonked her down on one. Only the fear of falling kept her still. They cleared the village and thundered out into the countryside. The motion of the horse would bruise her nethers black and blue. Behind William’s shoulder, Gresby and her reliable cart grew smaller and smaller.
When they stopped she would set Sir William right about his actions. Her cheeks still burned from the embarrassment of him grabbing her up like a sack of grain.
“Breathe.” William’s voice rumbled through her back, his breath touched her ear. “It will go easier for you and the horse if you hold yourself less rigid.”
Was he mad? “I will fall.”
His arm tightened about her middle, pressing her closer to his hard strength. “I will not let you fall.” He chuckled. “Although you might remove your nails from my arm before you draw blood.”
He deserved having his blood drawn, but Alice eased her death grip on his arm.
“Feel the motion of the horse beneath you,” William said.
How did a girl feel anything but all that man pressed against her side?
“Do as I do,” he said. “Rock with the motion, do not fight it.” William’s thighs bunched and the horse lengthened his stride. They went even faster but jounced less than before. “My brother by marriage, Gregory, trained Paladin. He is the very best of his breed.”