Rosard closed his eyes and forced his body to relax. He longed for a drink of water, but hadn’t the energy to call out for it. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and let sleep claim him.
When next he opened his eyes, a shaft of bright sunlight spilled across the dirt floor of the cottage and the place in front of the fire was empty.
He spotted a mug upon a three-legged stool opposite the bed on which he lay. He tried to push the blankets off, but his arms were slow to answer his command and too weak to do the task. He groaned against the pain blooming in his chest and the frustration his weakness brought on.
“Here now, yer not ready to leave yer bed yet.”
The old woman bustled in through the opened door, a load of wood in her arms.
Dropping her burden beside the fire pit, she brought him the mug from the table. She helped him sit up and held the drink to his lips. The tepid water soothed his dry mouth as it slid down his throat.
“Easy now. Ye gulp too much now, ’twill only come back up.” She pulled the mug away and settled him back against the straw mattress.
Placing her hand against his forehead, she gave a brief nod and moved to the pile of wood. “Yer fever broke. ’Tis a good sign.”
“How long have I been here?” His raspy voice cracked on the last word and brought the old woman spinning around to glare at him.
“Ye’re a Norman.” Hatred spit from her watery blue gaze. “I saved the life of the enemy?”
He barely caught her mumbled words. “And for that I’m thankful. But how long have I been here?”
She began stacking the wood, and he wondered if she would answer. “A week now.” She straightened from her task, her head bowed.
“How did I get here?” He glanced around the sparse interior of her home.
“I brought ye here. More’s the pity.”
Rosard smiled at her comment, but then frowned as his gaze wandered over her small bent form.
“And how did you manage that?”
She glanced up quickly and then turned, selecting several pieces of kindling; she poked them into the embers in the fire pit. She knelt down and blew on the gleaming coals. Sparks flew into the air and a moment later, tiny flames licked at the wood.
She placed a pot on the stones ringing the fire.
Just when he was about to ask his question again, she moved to the open doorway and turned to face him. He squinted against the light, her bent outline the only detail he could see.
“I strapped ye to two fallen saplings and dragged you a distance. Then yer monster of a nag appeared, and I tied the poles to him. I went to a great deal of trouble hiding our tracks, afeared the Normans would follow us and finish their work. And now I learn ’twas never an issue. Had I known ye were one of them, I would have left ye for food for the animals.”
“My thanks.” As she turned to leave, Rosard asked, “Am I on Fairhurst land?”
“Aye.” And with that single-word reply, she left the cottage.
He closed his eyes, too exhausted from the short conversation. At least he was home, he thought and surrendered to sleep.
* * * * *
“Here now.” The dry, rusty voice pulled him from sleep. “Ye must eat.”
Rosard opened his eyes to the dim interior as the aroma of cooked vegetables wafted beneath his nose.
With the old woman’s aid, Rosard sat up, bracing his back against the wall.
“Eat this.” She plunked a crude tray on his lap, a bit of the broth sloshing over the edge of the wooden bowl, and then she abandoned him to feed himself.
He picked up the wooden spoon, shocked at how his arm trembled as he dipped it into the broth and raised it to his lips.
His stomach rumbled as he swallowed the first spoonful. The warmth of the liquid spread down from his throat, pooling in his belly.
But after only a few tastes of the broth, Rosard’s arm shook such that the spoon was nearly empty ’ere he got it to his mouth. Ducking his head down to make the distance between his mouth and the spoon less, he used both hands to feed himself.
With only half of the broth eaten, Rosard leaned back against the wall, exhausted.
The old woman entered, took the tray from his lap, and helped him lie back down.
“What is your name?” he asked as she started for the door again.
“Isabelle,” the crone croaked as she disappeared outside the cottage.
Rosard’s eyes slid shut.
And each day ’twas the same. Rosard ate a bit more at each meal and his strength gradually returned. His wound healed well and a week later he was restless.
* * * * *
“’Tis the last of them.” Anora emptied the jar of herbs over the newly cleaned floor of the great hall.
“Who shall I send to gather more, my lady?” Joseph stood beside her staring at the floor, a frown wrinkling his brow.
She gave a tired sigh. “Ah, Joseph, if he would end my confinement, I could do the work myself. Mayhap one of the women in the village?”
“Aye, my lady, I’ll see to it now.”
As she watched Joseph shuffle off, the last of her patience frayed. She lifted the empty jar above her head and sent it crashing to the floor. Her face heated with rage, and she screamed out her frustration.
Those in the hall stopped their work and turned to stare at her, but she didn’t care. How much could a person take?
Spinning around, she fled through the doors of the hall and ran out into the early afternoon sun. ’Twas the first she’d felt its warmth in over two weeks.
With long, determined strides, Anora retrieved a gathering basket and marched through the gate of the inner bailey. A few of the Norman soldiers stepped toward her, but she glared them off, continuing through the outer bailey and onto the road leading to the village.
She would gather her herbs and damn the consequences.
When the haze of anger cleared, Anora found herself taking the western track, and she stopped abruptly. Too many memories and too many regrets would haunt her there.
So she turned east and with determined steps she began to gather herbs and flowers, all the while fighting back the memories of when she had last performed the chore.
She followed the path leading through a copse of trees and to a small clearing. Sunlight sparkled on the surface of the pond there, and she set her basket down and perched on a fallen tree near the water’s edge. ’Twas her favorite spot, and mayhap ’twould be the last time she could enjoy it. Royce had sent a messenger to the Conqueror. It would take weeks for the missive to be delivered and a response brought back. She could not abide being confined to the keep. There were too many emotions roiling around in her to sit quietly and await her fate.
Royce would not be pleased that she had left the castle. And the very thing she could no longer tolerate would be her lot when he discovered her absence.
Anora shifted on the log. Assuming a most unladylike position, she straddled the tree and lay back along its length.
She stared at the leafy green canopy above her head.
What would become of her? And the people of Fairhurst? Though Royce was not as patient with them as his father, he had still been fair. While not warm, he was civil.
She closed her eyes and Rosard’s face bloomed behind her eyelids.“Would that I could undo all that happened. Just when I realize my heart is engaged, I am widowed again.” She sighed. “’Tis too late now to tell him of my feelings.”
“’Tis not too late.”
With a gasp, she shot up from the log. She turned around and found Rosard leaning against the rough bark of a tree watching her. The soft earth moved beneath her feet and he lunged forward and, grasping her wrist, he pulled her against his chest.
“You live!” She flung her arms around his neck, tears burning her eyes.
“Aye, my lady wife, that I do.”
Chapter Fourteen
“But…” Her face tipped up to his, tears sparkling in her eyes as her hands cupp
ed his chin. He brought his lips to hers and gently kissed her.
Reluctantly, Rosard ended the kiss. His breath came in short bursts as he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Anora’s. “You undo me, wife.”
“Nay, sir, ’tis me whose knees are weak.” Anora’s breathless chuckle made him smile.
“Would that it were just my knees that were weak.” Though his wound had healed, his strength had not returned completely. “Come.” He tugged on her hand. “Sit with me and tell me what happened in the woods. I found signs of a struggle.” He helped her over the log and led the way to a nearby tree.
Once they were settled, he turned to her. “Well?”
“I was abducted.”
“Who did this?” Rage fired his words. “Who dared such?”
“’Twas your brother, Gaspar.”
Rosard gazed at the top of Anora’s bent head. “Gaspar? But how did you know of my brother? Never have I mentioned him to you.”
“Aye, ’twas he. His men called him Lord FitzGillen.”
He frowned. “Nay, it cannot be. He is far to the south.”
Her head came up. Anger sparked in her eyes. “Of a certainty ’twas he. I stumbled across their camp in the woods. I tried to flee, but he caught me and took me back to where he and his men were camped.”
“But why? Why abduct you?”
She shrugged. “I was just another Saxon to him. ’Tis a wonder he did not kill me as his man tried to kill you.”
“Nay, Anora, you must be mistaken. ’Twas not Gaspar or his man who attempted to kill me.”
“Nay?” Frustration edged her words. “Do you still have the arrow?”
He shook his head.
“’Tis a shame, for the warrior’s quiver held very distinctive bolts with red feathers.” She turned her head away.
His blood froze in his veins and he closed his eyes, seeing again the arrow protruding from his chest.
“Your brother’s man arrived at Gaspar’s camp brandishing your sword and leading your horse, bragging of killing another Saxon.”
He opened his eyes and gazed up at the canopy of leaves above them. “Nay, it cannot be.”
“Gaspar is near your height, but not as muscular. His hair is a light shade of brown, his eyes a cold blue. His features are narrow, much like his build. And his mouth is thin and cruel.”
’Twas his brother she described. Rosard shook his head, trying to dispel the confusion clouding his mind. “But Gaspar should be far to the south. King William awarded Whitshire, a large village with a keep and rich commerce, to him. What would bring him to Fairhurst?”
“’Tis a wonderful castle. Did you not fight for it?”
“Aye, my lady, Fairhurst is a fine keep and I did fight for it, as I always will. But Gaspar holds our father’s title, lands and wealth in Normandy.” He looked at his wife, reading the truth in her eyes. Always wanting what others had, his brother was never satisfied. “He should be content with that.”
“Aye. Greed is an ugly thing.” Anora’s words raked over Rosard, leaving behind a stinging wound.
“’Twas not greed that brought me to Fairhurst, Anora. ‘Twas orders from my liege. I was honor-bound to take the castle.”
She bit her lip, her shoulders slumped and she sighed. “I am sorry, my lord.”
“Rosard,” he prompted and took her hand in his.
She nodded. “’Tis not right to take my anger out on you, when ’tis your brother who deserves it.” She looked at him, concern filled her gaze. “You are tired. We must get you to the castle to rest.”
She started to rise, but Rosard tightened his grip on her hand. “How did you get away?”
“They left camp in such a hurry, I was forgotten.”
He frowned. “Mayhap, ’twould be best were you to tell me the story from the beginning.”
“Ah, my lord.”
“Rosard,” he reminded her absently.
“Aye.” She tugged on her hand and he released it, sensing her need to move as she told him her story. “I was that upset with you. I thought to outdistance my guilt, for the things you said were true. ’Tis time to end the fight with you.”
He met her glance and read the apology in her gaze. Words he knew she found impossible to say. And in truth, she owed him none for she’d done what any seasoned warrior would do—protect her people.
She started pacing. “Before I realized it, I was near the river of the southern boundary. ’Twas then I heard voices, Norman voices. When I heard their plans to take Fairhurst, I ran to warn you, but I was captured ’ere I cleared the forest.”
He shook his head. The tracks in the forest sprang into Rosard’s mind and he looked her over carefully. “You were not harmed?”
“Nay.”
“But did you not tell him who you were?”
She halted before him. “I am a Saxon,” she scoffed. “Not all Normans think of us as humans. ’Twas best to let him think me a villein and of no import.”
She resumed her pacing as she continued. Anger heated his blood when she told him of being tied to a tree.
“One of his men returned to camp brandishing your sword and leading your horse. Gaspar recognized your belongings and rejoiced upon learning of your death.”
A chill stole over Rosard and he leaned back, shock numbing his mind.
Gaspar plotting against him? Theirs was not a close relationship, but never had he thought his brother coveted anything of Rosard’s.
“He planned on opening the east portal late at night, allowing entrance to his men, secretly camped nearby. Then your sons were to be murdered and the castle taken.”
Rosard frowned. “But how did Gaspar know of the portal?”
“Arlis.” Anora turned to him, wrapping her arms about her waist. “Somehow, he found his way to your brother. But when Arlis’ usefulness was at end, so was his life.”
There was no reproach in her voice. Rosard cursed his leniency; had he taken care of the man permanently, none of this would have happened.
Rosard shook his head. “’Tis much to take in, my lady.”
Anora dropped her arms to her sides, and stalked closer to him. She propped her hands on her hips and pinned him with a glare. “Tell me, my lord, have Normans never plotted against one another?” She canted her head. “Did not the Conqueror’s own relatives try to kill him in his youth?”
“Aye, wife, they did.” Rosard combed his fingers through his hair, both his mind and body fatigued from grappling with her story. “But how could you learn all of this?”
“I was in their camp.” Anora cut off each word. “They spoke freely, thinking I would not understand them.”
“You did?” Rosard brought his hand down as realization dawned on him. “All this time you’ve understood…” He let his sentence trail off as he stared at her.
God’s toes.
Anora laughed. “Do not worry, neither you nor your men said anything I have not heard from Saxon lips.”
Rosard chuckled and held out his hand to her. “Ah, my lady wife, you are ever the surprise.”
Taking his hand, she sat down beside him, and he marveled at the fragile bones within his grasp. How could something so delicate be so capable? He looked into her eyes. And a woman so beautiful be so intelligent?
“Praise God, Gaspar’s man did not kill you,” she whispered, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She looked away. “When I escaped my bindings, I went in search of you, but found nothing more than a pool of your blood.” Turning back to him, a single tear rolled down her cheek and Rosard caught it with his finger. “Whence had you gone?”
“You searched for me?” Rosard’s heart gladdened.
“Aye, Rosard, of course. Though I see I should have given more time to the search. I was worried that Gaspar would recall he’d left me behind and return for me. And I needed to warn your sons of his plans.” She lowered her gaze to her lap. “Though your sons are hale, I fear I failed you.”
“Nay, wife.” Rosard
lifted her chin with his finger and turned her face to his. “I had crawled beneath the bushes and next I knew I was in Isabelle’s cottage.”
“Isabelle?” Anora frowned.
“Aye. She has the cottage to the east.” He smiled. “Isabelle the Old, I came to think of her. A crusty, bent old woman who hates Normans and was quite appalled that she’d saved one.” He squeezed Anora’s fingers. “But she is knowledgeable of herbs.”
“Isabelle? I do not recall anyone by that name.”
“I do not think she cares much for visiting or visitors. She rejected my offer of a room at Fairhurst, preferring her solitude, she said.”
Anora shrugged. “Many have been displaced during this war. ’Tis not unusual for abandoned cottages to become homes to those without.”
Rosard stood up. “We should return to the castle.” He helped Anora to her feet.
Whistling low, he waited a moment until his horse trotted from a copse of trees nearby.
Anora gasped. “I had wondered what had happened to your mount.” She turned to him, happiness sparkling in her eyes.
Before he could stop her, she reached out and rubbed the beast’s nose. He gaped first at her and then his horse.
“What’s this?”
She turned and smiled. “Your pardon?”
“Tartarus will let no other near him but me.”
“So your brother said. I admit his size at first was daunting, but I believe he understood that my need to find you was great and carried me to the edge of the forest nearest the castle.”
He helped her mount up and then took his position up behind her. As they made their way home, Anora finished telling him of his brother’s visit to Fairhurst.
“Did Gaspar recognize you when you returned to the castle?”
“Nay, he did not see me. I used the west entrance and stayed hidden in the cellar until he left.”
“What entrance?”
“The west. ’Tis the other secret way into the castle.”
“I thought the east entrance the only concealed one.”
“Nay. The west entrance is only known to myself and your sons. And now you.”
Siege Page 14