by Lynn Wood
As soon as the duchess drew her final breath, Rhiann was taken sobbing from the dim room and literally thrown on a horse to carry her to London. She was not even allowed to see to the details of her mother’s burial. Her old nurse, Addy, promised to see to the task. It was a futile promise and they both knew it but Rhiann was able to pause in her grief long enough to nod her grateful appreciation for the old woman’s fervent vow. In her mind she consoled herself with the thought of her mother being peacefully laid to rest beside her father in the family burial plot. She doubted the Norman invaders would extend her that courtesy, but if she didn’t know the truth with certainty, Rhiann saw no harm in clinging to the one fantasy left to her in her current bleak reality.
Rhiann wished her mother had confided her intent to her, even as she acknowledged that though her mother might choose the escape death offered for herself, she would not force the same choice upon her daughter. Maybe it was because her mother foolishly clung to the hope the Normans would honor Rhiann’s youth and her former status as a lady. Rhiann could no longer delude herself with such foolish fantasies. She was a prisoner of war and guessed her former high status only guaranteed her a more public execution in the sight of the new king. For what other reason would they have dragged her to London in such haste and under such heavy guard?
Rhiann was sunk too deep in her melancholy musings to pay attention to her surroundings. At the moment it was requiring every ounce of the will power she still possessed to simply remain upright. She therefore missed the imperious summons from the huge man seated at the head of the large table enjoying his mid-day meal. As a reward for her inattention she received a nudge in her back from one of the Norman knights who acted as her escort on the long trek to London. At the unexpected contact, she tripped and would have fallen but for the quick reflexes of her captor who caught her before she keeled over and ended up humiliatingly sprawled at his feet on the cold, stone floor. The bitter hate in her eyes as she raised them to his scarred face had him dropping his hand from where it gripped her arm to steady her. At the same time he nodded towards the center of the room where the new king was awaiting her attention.
Rhiann turned her focus to the Norman duke who would be a king. She battled the nausea welling up inside her as she faced the man who stole her life and the lives of those she most loved. At the same time she became reluctantly aware the large open hall where she still hovered at the entrance was crowded with knights, and not a few ladies, all of them watching her. The smell of food permeated the room. In her current state she couldn’t decide if the smell was making her more acutely aware of her hunger after her long fast, or if it was simply making her more nauseous.
Finally she raised her glance and dared meet the arrogant gaze of the man who sat impatiently waiting for her attention. She didn’t immediately drop her own as their glances met and their two wills clashed silently across the distance separating them. She remained unbowed before him, meeting the Norman duke’s intent regard with proud defiance. The new king raised his brows at her unspoken challenge then motioned her forward with an abrupt sweep of his arm. When she hesitated, the guard at her side raised his arm to give her another push in the king’s direction but the scathing look she sent him prevented him from seeing his intent through. With a silent inward sigh Rhiann accepted her escort would drag her across the scarred floor on her knees if necessary if she failed to quickly comply with the king’s unspoken demand.
Reluctantly she took a few halting steps in the new monarch’s direction, not wishing to approach any closer than was absolutely necessary. His glance darkened at her continued show of defiance and he gestured to her again, indicating she was not to stop until she stood directly before him. A hushed silence followed her halting progress across the crowded room as every conversation in the hall fell quiet and all eyes turned to watch her stilted approach towards the king. Her feet stopped only a few small steps from where he sat at the head of a large wooden table, heavily laden with full trenchers of food and pitchers of freshly brewed ale. Her stomach roiled again as the rich smell assaulted her overtaxed senses.
The silence holding sway over the room was now heavy with expectation. Rhiann wondered at the change in the mood of the room even as she struggled to calm her stomach and keep her feet. She risked a glance at the face of the man who summoned her, took immediate note of his fierce scowl and belatedly understood the new sense of anticipation from the silent observers. The witnesses to her humiliation seemed to close around them savoring apparently the prospect of the king’s punishment of her defiance, even though no one dared approach closer. Rhiann recognized she could put an end to her own dark forebodings by simply continuing to stand there. She could ensure her death or imprisonment at the very least by refusing to give the man seated before her the show of respect he could demand as his right as the new king of England.
Her pride waged a final battle with her wavering will as memories of holding her dying mother in her arms passed through her thoughts. Two of her brothers’ bodies were returned home for burial in the initial months of the war. Her father’s was returned to them towards the end of the invasion when a Norman victory was all but assured. It was that day her mother truly died… on the chilly autumn morning when she could no longer deny the truth of the rumors of her husband’s loss. The last assault on Heaven’s Crest merely added the final indignation to the insult of a war that had already stolen everyone and everything she most cared for. Her body lingered long enough to be felled in the final offensive, but long before the last bitter autumn morning, her mother’s heart was buried on the hill next to the chapel along with the bodies of her husband and sons.
Even the Normans kept silent as Rhiann flew down the stairs at the sight of her mother’s limp body being carried into the hall, discovered only after the formalities of surrender and disarmament were attended to. Her mother was barely conscious when she bid Rhiann a brief and bittersweet farewell before pressing the stone Rhiann now wore around her neck into hands trembling too violently to receive it. The stone clattered to the hard floor and landed in the pool of her mother’s blood spreading around her from the carelessly bound stump that was once her arm. Rhiann knelt dry eyed on the floor, her eyes fixed on the stone, already dark without the warmth of her mother’s skin to light the fire within. There was little to distinguish it from its bloody surroundings as the fresh blood took on the darker, almost black color of the stone.
Their enemies all but carried them both to her parents’ chambers. Her mother’s breath was shallow as Rhiann knelt beside the bed. Her eyes opened as Rhiann gripped her hand and gently pushed the matted hair back from her beautiful face. There was no desperate attempt to stop the flow of blood, to disturb their final moments together with useless, intrusive activity. Green eyes held their mirror image and what passed between mother and daughter could not be carried by an exchange of inadequate words. Her mother’s hand reached for the stone Rhiann clutched in her hand. “You are its keeper now, daughter. Before I leave this world I would know I have not failed completely in the trust my own mother placed in me.” Rhiann understood what was being asked of her. Still it was with great reluctance she slipped the thin chain over her head and tearfully watched the smile softening her mother’s pain-filled glance as the stone settled between her breasts.
Rhiann wasn’t aware she was swaying unsteadily on her feet, her eyes blind as her thoughts drifted back over those final moments with her mother. She was so tired of the constant battle to keep despair at bay. She was tired of this war and all it wrought – the deaths of her family, the loss of her home, the loss of everything she once called her own. There was no her own any longer. She supposed she didn’t even own the clothes on her back. She fought the tears springing to her eyes at the thought and fell into a respectful curtsey before the new king. Perhaps she no longer feared death, and in fact believed she might even welcome the escape its cold fingers held tantalizingly out to her, but she had no desire for her death to be preceded b
y the sting of the lash on her back for insolence. She therefore rose when the new king bid her but kept her eyes lowered.
“What is your name?” He demanded in his deep, autocratic voice.
“Lady Rhiann.” She replied quietly though she was unsure whether or not it was proper for her to still use the title of lady.
She missed his narrowed glance. “Whose daughter are you?”
He didn’t even know who she was, whose life he stole. Why the knowledge surprised her, she wasn’t sure. Why it angered her, she guessed she knew. Everything angered her these days. “The Duke of Weston’s.” Rhiann wondered if perhaps she offended the Norman duke by not placing the word former in front of her father’s title. Thank God he was not alive to witness this final humiliation at his enemy’s hands.
“Where is your mother? I instructed the duke’s entire family be brought to London.”
“My mother is dead.” Rhiann was surprised by the lack of emotion in her voice.
“Dead? How?”
Rhiann was unable to keep the disbelief from her expression or the bitterness from her reply. “By a Norman sword. Would you like me to detail her injuries for you?”
Shocked gasps at her audacity filled the hall. The king’s eyes flashed angrily but he swallowed his instinctive reaction and warned instead. “I will forgive your insolence because of your youth and the great trials you have obviously suffered. However, I would advise you, Lady Rhiann to keep a closer watch over your tongue.”
Rhiann released the smoldering breath she was holding and nodded bitterly. Seeing her surrender he asked, “How old are you?”
Rhiann thought the inquiry bizarre under the circumstances but she answered honestly, “Six and ten.”
The king considered this information for a moment, “I was under the impression the duke’s daughter was older.”
Rhiann wasn’t certain if the king was accusing her of lying or if he was unaware her father sired two daughters. “I imagine you are referring to my older sister.”
“Where is your older sister?” Rhiann dropped her glance beneath his. In truth, she could not know for certain but she felt in her heart her sister was dead. “She is dead.”
The king sat back in his chair, absorbing her news. “Your father, your brothers?”
“Dead.” Rhiann barely recognized the hollow voice responding to the king’s questions as her own. She was forced to swallow the lump in her throat and bite down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Could he not just pronounce her sentence and be done with it? Why these endless questions?
She swayed unsteadily on her feet and would have fallen but for the quick action of the knight who followed her across the hall and now stood close behind her. Forgetting for a moment he was her enemy she smiled gratefully at him then pulled away when she regained her balance. She did not wish to embarrass herself by fainting at her enemy’s feet but if she was not allowed to sit down soon she was going to do exactly that.
“We will discuss the matter of your future after you have rested.” The king announced, not unkindly.
Rhiann quickly lifted her head to regard him with a quizzical glance. The matter of her future? Was her execution something needing discussion? Her thoughts were so thick and fuzzy in her head she was having difficulty thinking straight. She was barely conscious of the king summoning a servant to take her to her room. Room? Should she not be assigned a cell?
“You will rest from your ordeal, Lady Rhiann and change your gown and join us for the evening meal.” Rhiann made no effort to stifle the bitter laugh at the king’s pronouncement. At his sharp glance she explained.
“If you would like me to change, sire, you will have to provide me with suitable attire.”
“Why is that? Where is your travel bag? Was there some mishap on the road?”
This time Rhiann swallowed her sarcasm in time. “No, sire, we met with no mishap to my knowledge. However, my escort informed me if I were to attempt to remove any personal items from my father’s estate I would be labeled a thief, a crime apparently punishable by death under Norman law.”
She was aware of his quick glance to the skies as if begging God for some much-needed patience, an action that brought her father to mind, but he merely replied in a mild tone. “I will see to it you are suitably clothed this evening.”
She nodded and then at a curt nod from the king, the housekeeper approached and led her out of the hall and up a wide staircase to the second floor. The room she was led to was spacious and well furnished. She was surprised to be given chambers which she guessed were normally reserved for important guests, but she was too tired to question the housekeeper. The room was cold after the relative warmth of the crowded hall and when an involuntarily shiver passed through her the older Saxon woman quickly lit a fire in the large stone hearth.
“I imagine you would like a nice hot bath.” The housekeeper suggested as she bustled about, pulling drapes and turning down the bed. She went to the door to order a servant to see to Rhiann’s bath, all the while keeping up a steady stream of conversation. “You must be starved as well, traveling on your own with a bunch of men. You would have thought one of them would have the sense to see to it your maid accompanied you, but if they could not be bothered to display the courtesy of bringing a traveling bag for you, I suppose it is too much to expect they would realize a lady would have need of her maid.”
The older woman gently pushed Rhiann down on the thick bedding and helped her with the ties of her cloak. She helped her stand once more to assist in its removal then pushed her back down on the bed. When the bath arrived moments later, the housekeeper disappeared for a few moments and returned carrying soaps and oils for her bath. She helped Rhiann undress and watched as she carefully stepped into the large tub, then assisted her as her fingers struggled to loosen her thick braid and wash her long hair.
Rhiann was so tired after her bath and being wrapped in a large soft cloth warming by the fire she barely managed to swallow any of the food on the tray sent up for her. The older woman led her to the bed and gently lifted her legs and tucked her warmly beneath the thick quilt. Rhiann whispered a thick thank you, her words as muddled as her thoughts. Her last conscious thought was filled with confusion. Why are they being so nice to me?
CHAPTER FOUR
Nathan was in the great hall when Lady Rhiann was brought in. His friend, Baron Bruce, was given the task of assuring the lady arrived safely. Bruce was called away from his escort by a more urgent mission and sent a young contingent of knights to see to the safety of the duke’s family on their way to London. Bruce gasped audibly when the lady revealed her mother was killed by a Norman sword, and then turned a shocked glance in Nathan’s direction when the lady informed the king his men had not allowed her to pack a traveling bag.
“Was it necessary for me to instruct them to see to it the lady traveled with sufficient gowns for the road and for her stay here?” His urgent whisper was filled with disbelief at his men’s stupidity.
Nathan grinned sympathetically in response. He experienced his own trials with his youngest knights during the course of the invasion. Like most young men on their first foray into war, they were an unpredictable mix of too much brash ego accompanied by too little common sense. Despite his shared empathy he still could not resist teasing Bruce about his own difficulties.
“Do you think one of your men was responsible for the death of the duchess?”
Bruce raised a horrified glance to Nathan’s smiling face, the thought apparently just occurring to him. “If they were, I will refrain from offering even a mild protest when the king decrees the idiot responsible meet a similar fate. I might even volunteer to carry out the execution myself.”
Nathan’s eyes lit with amusement, but he swallowed his laughter, not wanting to interrupt the king’s questioning. “I doubt that will be necessary. I am quite certain the lady herself would be only too happy to carry out the king’s judgment.”
Nathan didn’t blame her.
Young Lady Rhiann was obviously sorely treated by her escort. She almost fainted during the king’s questioning about her family – whether from hunger or exhaustion he could not be certain. Her face remained hidden beneath the dark cloak she wore.
“Baron Bruce.” William’s voice interrupted their speculations. Nathan raised his hand to smother the discreet cough he used to disguise the amused bark of laughter that escaped him at the king’s summons.
“Yes, my lord.” Bruce threw a sharp, annoyed glance in Nathan’s direction before hurriedly approaching the king.
“I believe your men were responsible for escorting Lady Rhiann to London?” Paradoxically, the monarch’s mild tone only served to emphasize his extreme displeasure.
“Yes, my lord.”
“It would appear the lady is without suitable attire for the evening meal.”
“Yes, my lord, forgive me. I will see to it Lady Rhiann has a gown to wear this evening.”
“And since it was your men responsible for the lady finding herself in such reduced circumstances, please see to it she has everything she needs for her comfort as befits her status as a guest in my home. Apparently your men did not see fit to allow the lady’s maid to accompany her, so I suggest you see to that as well. I imagine one of the local women would be willing to serve in such capacity for the generous wage you will no doubt be offering.” After voicing his displeasure, the king waited for his vassal to bow his assent and then dismissed him.
At the conclusion of the meal Nathan was summoned to the king’s private drawing room. “You summoned me, my lord?”
Though the two men’s long acquaintance matured into a solid friendship as the years passed Nathan never forgot he was merely the younger son of a lesser Norman noble while William was his liege lord to whom he owed not only his allegiance but his very life. Nathan was placed in William’s household as a young man. As his father’s second son he would inherit neither his father’s title nor his lands and he would therefore be forced to make his own way in the world. All he had to rely on was his physical strength, his intelligence and a fierce determination to succeed.