Windsong

by Allison Knight

  Nay, Gilbert prayed that was not the case. De Bain knew of Gilbert’s sin. And he was already holding the deed against him. Although de Bain promised to hold his tongue, his condition was that Milisent agree to a union.

  She had to see sense. Wedding de Bain was the answer, his only answer. She had to agree.

  Damn their father to eternal damnation. Because of his words, only the king could order her to wed, so she had to say aye to the man herself. She had been given leave from their father to choose her own husband—and now she was gone from his estate.

  “Eternal hellfire to anyone involved,” he shouted. “How could her father have made such a declaration? No woman has the right to say aye or nay to the choice of a husband.” Milisent’s dowry could only be distributed to her husband if she agreed to the union.

  The written word of their sire rested with the local cleric, and no amount of coin could pry the document from the man’s hand. Gilbert thought to secure and destroy that missive, only to learn there was another, one he could never obtain. He remembered his feeling of desperation when the priest informed him another document lay with the abbey in the next shire. If the will were taken from his priest, the abbey would make the will known to all. His father had laid out the orders.

  It was unheard of.

  He learned the terms of that will ten years ago, a short time after his father died. As soon as he read the terms of the will, he insisted Millisent return to Fenton from the castle where she had been fostered. Since that time he had kept all men away from her and told no one about the sister who once again resided with him.

  He was doomed. No one could know of his sister’s existence, for if she chose anyone other than de Bain, he would pay dearly for his sin all those years ago.

  He paced again. There was more. If Edward ever discovered the wealth was hers, he would demand to choose her husband. She would not say no to the king. That almost made him smile. Almost. Then he remembered that who so ever the king degree she would wed would gain her dowry.

  Gilbert paused and groaned, physically ill. If de Bain did not take Milisent to wife, all would know of his crime. de Bain had declared it would be so. He really did not want Milisent to wed de Bain. What man would will his own kin to marry a man who had abused his first wife so, mayhap been responsible for her death? There was nothing he could do, for de Bain knew too much and de Bain had promised to share the profits he would gain from the property. But Milisent must accept de Bain. She had to declare he was her chosen husband. If she did not, she could not be forced to wed.

  De Bain must have grown tired of waiting and sought to take her from Fenton castle. Aye, this kind of deed was something de Bain might do. However Milisent was stubborn enough to deny the man to her death. Then where would he be, for a certain de Bain would tell all and Gilbert would lose everything, and her dowry would be given over to Edward. Somehow he had to find a way to bring her back to Fenton. Then he would somehow convince her de Bain would make her a fine husband. Unless de Bain had taken her and ruined any attempt Gilbert may have had.

  He lifted his hands. They were shaking, just as his innards were quivering.

  Fenton! He had to return to his castle.

  The thought of asking Edward if he could leave was paramount, but he must secure the king’s permission to return to his own property but Edward had already left for France. Mayhap there was someone still at court who would be able to give him permission. Aye, his first task was to find Milisent. Each minute that passed put his life as he knew it in grave danger.

  Several days would transpire before he could reach the castle, even if he could leave this day. Nay, not today, for those who could dismiss him had already taken leave to hunt.

  If de Bain was not responsible, then who did the deed? He strode back and forth mentally considering each of his enemies. He dismissed each man, for they were either in debt to him or had no knowledge of Milisent. Oh, they might have caught a glimpse of his sister occasionally, but none knew her to be the rich young heiress of Fenton Castle.

  And what of her? Did she still live, or had de Bain thought to force her to his will with other means and brought about her death?

  Gilbert struggled to contain his terror. She was such a tiny, fragile thing. Aye, but she was stubborn. Would she not defy the man, for hadn’t she refused him already?

  He had to find her.

  ~ * ~

  “I don’t want to be found by him,” Milisent muttered, from the depths of Throsle’s brew house. “I don’t care if he asks after my health. I have no wish to leave my duties.”

  She ignored Ella’s glare.

  “This is not your duty. He has asked after you for a week now. You eat alone in your room, you refuse to come to table. Why? He has done nothing to you.” Ella shook her head.

  Milisent was not about to mention the kiss they shared, nor the effect his touch had on her bruised face. She decided she must avoid him at all cost. She was not about to tell Ella why.

  “He wishes to apologize for the treatment you received at Sybil’s hand, yet you run whenever he approaches. I do not understand.”

  Milisent went on with her skimming, pausing to wipe the dampness

  from her forehead, her lips sealed. Today the warmth of the brew house had her garments sticking to her body.

  “At least dine with me this day,” Ella pleaded. “Let him have his say. Rhys says he is not pleasant to be around for his guilt weighs heavy upon him.” Ella grabbed at the wooden paddle in Milisent’s hand. “Talk to me. Why do you fear him? It is fear, it is not?”

  “Nay—Aye. Oh, I do not know.” Milisent took a step back and released the board. “I do not want his apology. ‘Twas not his doing. ‘Twas Sybil who offered the punishments.”

  “But she was here by his command. Milisent, this is unlike you. You must relent. You draw more attention to yourself than is wise.”

  Those words registered and Milisent lifted her head and stared at Ella. She must relent, for she did not want to be the object of gossip. Her voice carrying her reluctance, she answered. “I will sup with you this day. And if he says the words, I will listen. Now, I must get back to my duty.”

  Ella shrugged and Milisent took the paddle back from her. She continued with her task ignoring Ella’s departure, missing the man who stepped around her companion.

  “‘Tis good you will listen to my words.”

  Milisent gasped and dropped the wood into the kettle. “You!”

  “Aye, me. Who assigned you this task? I gave no directive. I said only you and Ella could help with a few of the household chores. You were not to undertake activity unsuited to one so small of stature.”

  She bristled. “I offered to help. No one has told me what I must do since Sybil left.”

  “Aye, ‘tis glad I am that you mentioned the woman. She wronged you. For that I am truly sorry. I gave her no permission to direct my servants or you and your companion.”

  With a glance in his direction, a tingling she could not explain stirred through her and she took a step away from him. What was it about this man that affected her so?

  “Milisent...”

  Her name on his lips produced a fire in her blood and her heart began a pounding she could not explain. As he took a step closer, a strange desire settled over her. Another kiss. She wanted him to kiss her again, as he had a week ago. Shame had her lowering her head.

  She missed his movements. His hand cupped her chin and he raised her face to his. She opened her mouth to say nay but before she could catch her breath to deny his touch, his head was coming toward her own. The thought he had read her mind slipped away from her as morning mists drift away in a warming sun.

  To refuse what she wanted so desperately was not possible.

  The touch of his mouth on hers produced a warmth not unlike the effect of a good wine. The heat drenched her as his tongue played with her lower lip and she reeled with temptation. A gasp passed her own lips and provided the excuse she needed to allow him e
ntrance. Oh, what glorious sensations. Time had to halt. Nay, another moment could not pass with this pleasure bathing her.

  But there was more. His hand touched her face, no longer seeking the bruise that was now only a twinge. Nay, long fingers, fingers with strength, stroked her cheek, creating more heat. A new pulsing began low in her belly and she wanted, nay, needed to get closer to him. To be a part of him.

  Those same long fingers traveled from her face, down her throat, over her gown, coming to rest against the mound of her breast. She sighed with a sudden pleasure that she could not restrain. Nor did the pleasure end with his resting his hand against her breast. Nay, he kneaded, lifted, cupped, then explored the object covered by the rough fabric of her gray servant’s gown. Of a sudden, she wanted that garment gone from her so she could feel his touch on her skin.

  He whispered something foreign in her ear and she gasped. ‘Twas his whisper or her noise that dragged her back to sanity, back to the present and to what she had just allowed. This had to stop; she had to stop. As she thought to step away, she realized her hands had found their way to his silken curls again and she was leaning into him, her body pressed against his. She jerked her hands to her sides in an attempt to move away. But her legs felt like the wood of a soft willow tree, without strength, a branch easily bent, unable to bear her weight.

  He must have sensed her problem for he continued to hold her in his arms. She glanced up to thank him but the expression on his face halted her words. A look of horror graced his countenance.

  In an instant, guilt, then embarrassment reddened her cheeks. Anger followed and grew and grew, until it gave her a strength unknown to her. She shoved herself away from him and allowed the wrath full rein.

  “You had no right.” Her words were slurred, so great was her fury. How dare he take from her and after his actions, wear such a look of revulsion, for surely that was what caused his expression.

  “Aye, forgive me. I should not have touched you in such a fashion.” He turned to the copper kettle, retrieved her paddle and handed it to her then started for the doorway. “But you are such a temptation.” The last was mumbled and she had to strain to catch his words.

  Temptation? She played with the word, wondering at his meaning. But that look. She could not be mistaken about that. He had been horrified. At what he had done? Or because she was so unworthy? She chose to think it was the latter.

  SIX

  Alwyn stumbled from the brew house. Guilt and shame fought for a place in his soul. Her slender hands had born recent blisters that could only have resulted from the tasks Sybil ordered her to perform. At the thought of those hands he remembered how they tentatively found his neck and wound through his hair, arousing his very soul. But this was his enemy’s bedmate.

  What had he done and why had he done it? She was a temptation, but one he must resist. He had refused more beautiful women in his day, for now he was landed, a knight in service to the king and women sought his company, even his bed. He had to remind himself, she was not for him, could never be. He had to remember what she was, who had claimed her first. Best to avoid her at all cost. There was much to do in his forest so he should be able to manage to stay away from her.

  It was also past time to send his man to see if Chelse received the demands for ransom, and the information his castle had been sacked. He would see to it immediately.

  How wise he had been to secure a position in Chelse’s castle for one of his most trusted men three years before. The man was still there, and no one knew of his connection to Alwyn. That man would know if such a missive had been sent to Chelse.

  The man was intelligent. He would realize immediately whoever made the demand also had Milisent. His mouth curved into a smile as he imagined the man’s anguish. Aye, Chelse would suffer; he had to be suffering. It was the whole of the reason for this scheme.

  It would be several days before an answer was returned and longer yet before the ransom could be paid. The amount named would strain the coffers at Fenton and Alwyn doubted Chelse could raise the gold demanded for several weeks, aye, maphap several months. He grinned his satisfaction. The baron would not be happy about the loss of his gold but Alwyn only hoped he would be more upset about Milisent’s absence from his bed.

  He reminded himself she had been at the Fenton Castle for nearly ten years. But, how long had she slept with the man? For some time, Alwyn was certain. He spent an hour pacing the hall, trying to remember all the details given to him by his castle spy. His man had not liked his task for according to him, Chelse was a hard taskmaster.

  Strange as it seemed, his man insisted that Milisent occupied the position of chatelaine while occupying Chelse’s bed. It was she who saw to the management of castle. Her chores had been many and he told of her many skills. Still, a whore did not serve as mistress. He knew of no one else who allowed such a thing.

  The information was intriguing. Gossips told how, years before, Chelse spent little time at his castle. He came for a day, mayhap three, then left and joined Edward in a number of battles with Wales. He brought trophies to king, including the head of one of the Welsh princes. On one of those raids Chelse destroyed his life. But after his father died he had returned to Fenton and stayed for several weeks.

  Then, of a sudden, Chelse began regular monthly visits to Fenton Castle. Often, his man said, Chelse stayed at the castle for weeks before returning to court. His man could not tell him how long ago Milisent arrived at that castle or how old had she been at the time, but she was there now and Chelse came often.

  He could quiz Milisent herself, or see if Ella would tell him what he wanted to know. Nay, he had a feeling neither woman would disclose such information.

  Later that eve, when he joined the men for the evening meal, Milisent and Ella were present at table, but one glance at Milisent said she had yet to forgive him for his latest transgression.

  He turned what he knew was a grim expression toward Rhys. “How soon will we know what Chelse is about?” he asked in a voice intended for Rhys’ ears alone.

  Rhys shrugged and glanced from him to Milisent. “It will be days. Even then, we may not know his response. Is she pestering you to let her go?” He pointed to the table where the women ate.

  “Nay, ‘tis not that. This is not to my liking. The woman has been abused in my care. That bothers me greatly.”

  Rhys reached over and punched his shoulder. “I do not think she carries any blame for you.”

  “You are wrong. She blames me for much.” Alwyn snapped his mouth closed for he said more than he intended. He pushed himself away from the table and stomped from the room.

  Rhys watched him go, following his movements with a grin. For nigh onto a week, Alwyn had been unhappy. Nay, more than unhappy. Bothered and frustrated. Not for the lack of Sybil in his bed as some of his soldiers speculated. Nay, this was not wholly about the trouble Sybil had caused, or Alwyn’s lack of a bedmate.

  He glanced at the table where the two women sat, their heads together, Milisent’s distressed expression obvious. ‘Twas more than Sybil

  she blamed him for. Ella had witnessed the kiss and told him so.

  When she explained what she saw, Rhys had sought to reassure her. Alwyn was a good man, and would not take what was not freely given from any woman. Ella had shaken her head, opened her mouth to disagree, then clamped her tongue behind her teeth.

  Rhys frowned.

  What had she been about to say? Was there more to this kidnapping than Alwyn knew?

  He would seek counsel from Owain who was with Alwyn the day he found his house sacked and his wife killed. Aye, he believed Owain and Alwyn shared a history in Wales. Owain knew him longer and much better than Rhys. He might give much needed advice.

  In the meantime, he would press Ella for additional information. He would tell Owain what he knew, what Ella said and together, mayhap they could decide on a course of action and develop a solution to what appeared to be a growing problem with Alwyn’s glum mood. He was a
ffecting the welfare of his men. With more to the story, it might not be in Alwyn’s interest to hold the women.

  The last thing he wanted was a reason for the king to punish Alwyn for his actions. Then, they all would suffer.

  Aye, he had to talk to Owain; after he sought his advice, the easier he would feel.

  It was nearly time for the nooning the next day when a shout came from the path to the house.

  “Ho, the house. Alwyn ap Brynn Frydd, are you at home?”

  Alwyn muttered a vile word. This was not the time to entertain his brother. He hurried toward the courtyard anxious to see if Arvel traveled alone or with other members of the family. All he needed now was his sister asking questions.

  He sighed with relief when he recognized the two men with Arvel.

  “What say you, brother?” Arvel quipped as he dismounted.

  “And you? What do you do here?” Alwyn walked forward, intent on a quick embrace. Mayhap he could send Arvel on his way before he too asked questions Alwyn did not want to answer.

  “I thought to spend a week or two, now that your tasks in the forest have lightened.”

  Alwyn groaned. The questions would come, once Arvel saw Milisent and Ella. His brother was intelligent and would sense Milisent’s hostility in a thrice. There was also the absence of Sybil. Arvel was bound to ask after her for he had met her on several of his visits.

  “Ho, you do not look pleased I am come. Do I detect a conflict with that woman?”

  “Woman?” Alwyn gritted his teeth. Already, he asked questions. “Sybil is gone from here. She wed one of my men several weeks past and she

  now lives in the village.”

  Arvel laughed. “Aye, now I understand. You have no one in your bed. Poor Brother. Mayhap I can talk one of your servants into sharing some time with you.”

  Alwyn glared at him. “You know I will not take a servant, willing or nay, to my bed. Some do, I do not, nor will you.”

  “You know that is not my way.” Arvel looked a little put out, so Alwyn tried to soften his words.