by Maria Ling
"I'll settle that today. Aren't there men to do the work?"
"Mother hires in as she needs them, but mostly it's just us."
Guy nodded slowly, plaiting his fingers in hers. "If she can manage without you, how long do you wish to stay?"
Forever. Aelfid knew that, with a sudden rush of certainty. She wanted to remain with him until the end of time, here or elsewhere, anywhere he chose to go. But she couldn't tell him that. It would be presumptuous. He might laugh at her - or worse, get angry and send her away.
"As long as it pleases you," she said instead, and watched the gloom of resignation settle over his face.
"I'll keep you for now," he said in a cool tone. "On the understanding that you are not my prisoner. If you wish to leave, say so and it will be done. But I would like you to remain for a while. A week or two, perhaps."
She could abide by that. If Mother got the farm back, and the family's future was assured. If Osulf's rule was broken once and for all. "That would suit me well, my lord."
"Good. It's settled, then." Guy adjusted his belt, stood there still looking down at her, frowned a little. "Send for your best dress. I'd like to see you looking more like a lord's mistress."
Aelfid flushed with embarrassment and shame - and a trace of anger, too. "This is the best I have, my lord." She didn't mean to put any snap on those last two words, but it flicked out by itself. Guy's face darkened, and his mouth hardened. He appeared almost frightening, a man who killed if he chose to. Aelfid cringed back, chilled by the sensation that she had drawn greater danger to herself than she had bargained for, and more than Osulf ever offered.
Then Guy's features relaxed, and she breathed again. "That can be remedied. I will see what can be done at short notice." He flicked the edge of her skirt. "You sewed this yourself?"
"I did."
"Then I'll find some better material for you to work with. You may keep it when you leave."
There was a brief, tense silence.
"Thank you," Aelfid said, because he didn't have to give her anything and they both knew it.
Guy made some final adjustments to his belt, none that made any difference as far as she could see. "I'll see you in a few hours. Food will be sent up to you." He swung away and stalked out of the room, to leave her fretting.
She ought not to have spoken as she did. He was a great lord, and she a mere peasant girl, and she'd be a fool to forget it. For a while there, she had done so. When they were together only as man and woman, she hadn't been conscious of the difference between them at all. But it yawned open before her now, a chasm that divided them utterly from each other, one that neither of them could ever bridge.
If he treated her with consideration and respect, that was to his credit and spoke well of him as a lord and a man. It did not entitle her to issue demands or indulge in petulance. She must gain a better hold over herself. From her, he had the right to demand submission and obedience, without having to suffer impertinent remarks.
Aelfid vowed to behave with deference in future. Yet some part of her, deep within, screamed out frustration and defiance even as she willed herself to become demure.
***
Not his best effort, Guy reflected once he was out on the stairs. Bullying a poor girl merely because she was poor. Of course that must be the best dress she had, she'd worn it to welcome him home, one among the many villagers who turned out to celebrate their lord's arrival. None would appear in dirty rags if they could possibly help it. He cursed himself for a fool.
Well, he must have a stash of decent cloth somewhere about the place. Nothing too fine, of course, he didn't take much trouble over his own appearance and frowned on it in others. But fresh clean linen, soft bright wool, and a decorated belt or two, should not prove beyond his capacity. Fair payment, too, for the services she'd already rendered him.
He grinned at that thought, and his ill mood dissipated. There would be false steps at times, from both of them, he'd never taken a mistress before and she showed no sign of having had much practice at flirtation. They'd find a way to meet on neutral terms, in bed or out of it, he felt certain. Together they could face a future with room for both of them.
Guy paused. He'd seriously thought about a future with her. But that was impossible, of course it was. She was nothing. And he'd never kept women at the castle, not since his sisters married. His nurses had gone to live with them, and his mother also - she'd never been the same since his father died. To judge by her letters, she had found new joy as a grandmother.
For his own part, there had been no cause to keep women. But now he thought it might be pleasant to have them about the place, somewhere to discuss matters beyond the management of men and war. Rooms like the ones he had known as a child, perfumed with pretty scents and filled with tapestries in progress, scenes from legend brought to life on woven cloth. Light voices discussing the affairs of the day, politics and religion, hunting and poetry.
He would like that, he thought suddenly. It had been too long gone from his life. Perhaps he'd ask one of his sisters to join his household. Or he could marry.
That thought stopped him cold, right there on the step. He could take a wife. A fine woman of Norman birth, with a suitable dowry of land and jewels. To bring with her a small group of sensible women he might talk with and listen to, and bear him children who might one day inherit this place.
He could. It would be eminently suitable. And pleasurable, too: no more sleeping cold and alone. To have a wife beside him, warm and soft and yielding, fierce with desire, like Aelfid -
Guy broke that thought. Not like Aelfid, no. Like a good Norman woman, God damn it.
He'd look around. Write to his sisters and ask for their views. Consider his friends, companions from the war, men he'd grown up with since the days of boyhood. Some of them had daughters or sisters to wed.
Not Aelfid. A cheap and dirty peasant girl, he could buy a dozen like her any time he wished, he knew that well enough. But the thought of her haunted him all the way down the rest of the stairs. He saw her not as she was now, but as she might become: dressed in fine clothes, conversing with him on matters of interest, granting him the ultimate pleasure in his own bed.
A tempting vision. Tantalising. But all in vain.
She was a peasant girl. She knew nothing, understood nothing. Provided him with a fine body to use, granted. But nothing beyond what any other woman of similar age could offer.
Guy strode out into the courtyard, furious without knowing why.
"Is she well?" The steward, a solid man of middle age, asked in an indifferent tone that made it clear he cared little about the health of peasant girls. But the young man beside him, a vivid-eyed creature Guy vaguely remembered from one of the lower table at breakfast in the great hall, hovered in a visible state of anxiety.
"She's well," Guy said. "Took a tumble, but none the worse for it. A few bruises maybe. Is this her brother?"
"It is, my lord."
Guy scrutinised the youth. Lanky but well built, with the promise of filling out later. Hard work and good food would turn him into a useful man. And the eyes were so like Aelfid's it was uncanny. "Do you have words for me, boy?"
The youth started. "Me? No, my lord."
"Then go about your tasks."
"Yes, my lord." The youth withdrew, comically caught between obedience and reluctance. Guy smothered a smile.
"He's a good lad," the steward said, a touch apologetically. "And he's asked me to speak on a matter of abuse of power by one of our bailiffs."
"I heard." Guy glanced around the courtyard. It was a picture of organised bustle, as men moved confidently about in pursuit of their own tasks. He could be spared for a while longer. "Tell me your views," he said, and led the steward aside. "Should this bailiff be replaced, and if so by whom?"
"From what I've heard, very likely. There's few men who wouldn't do a better job, and several who'd do a good one."
Guy checked that no one else could hear, then said
in a quiet but intense tone: "How did matters come to such a pass? It is your responsibility to ensure that my estate is managed well and fairly. Where have you been while these abuses took place?"
The steward nodded, grim-faced but able to recognise the justice of the criticism. "Occupied elsewhere, and that's to my shame. Best I can say is this matter has only arisen in the past year or so. Since the nephew took a liking to this girl. Before that, I can't find any claim that things have been worse than usual."
"One whole year?" Guy demanded, his voice carrying an edge of danger.
"No, my lord. Six or seven months, as far as I can gather. Much worse these past two months. The girl tried to reach us with a complaint, but was captured and flogged. I'm looking into that now."
Guy felt rage soar through him. He drew in a long deep breath, and fought to regain control. "Who captured and flogged her?"
"The nephew, my lord."
"He will receive what he dealt out, nine times over."
"Yes, my lord."
"And the bailiff, three times, because he failed to prevent it."
The steward nodded, warily. "Yes, my lord. And for myself?"
Guy glared at him. "Think yourself fortunate. For now. If there have been any other occurrences of like sort, bring them to my notice immediately. If I find you involved in any attempt to conceal such matters - "
The steward's neck muscles tightened. "I acknowledge that I've been at fault, my lord. But you do me great wrong to make that accusation."
"I said if." Guy wasn't in the mood to salve the wounded feelings of men whose complacency had caused such harm. "And you'd do well to remember that I keep you here to perform certain specific tasks: to stand as lord in my stead while I am absent, manage all the affairs of the estate as I would myself, and ensure that peace and justice reign throughout my land. In this you have failed. Do not fail me again."
The steward bowed very slightly, stiff-backed.
"Are there any other such abuses occurring right now?" Guy continued in a dangerous tone.
"None that I know of, my lord."
"Have any occurred in my absence?"
"Not to the best of my belief."
Guy let the silence stretch out between them. Then said: "Do I need to make my own enquiries?"
"No, my lord. Everything is in good order throughout your estate."
"Are you sure of that?"
A slight pause. Then: "Yes, my lord. But I will arrange a series of visits nevertheless, if you would be gracious enough to consent. It is right that your tenants should have the opportunity to speak to you in person, and raise any concerns they have."
"Do that." Guy resolved to watch very carefully for any sign of tenants being silenced or held back - or removed from sight for the duration of his visit. A few sudden changes of plan should unearth any attempts to conceal mismanagement from him.
He'd send out some men of his own, too: men who'd served him well on the Continent, whose character he knew, and who would be as incensed as he was to discover any trace of bullying or harassment, especially towards the women they loved.
Guy caught himself, shocked to have entertained such a notion. Of course he did not love Aelfid. An absurd term for him to use, even in thought. But he reassured himself that he had not meant it, not in relation to her. He'd envisaged wives and sisters and mothers and daughters to the men who served him.
Of course he did not love her. It was impossible. He could never love a woman so far beneath him.
Just let him rip the skin off the back of whichever bastard had dared to touch her. Then he'd be content.
***
Aelfid stretched luxuriantly. She'd fallen asleep after Guy left, and to judge by the golden tinge to the light that fell through the window she'd remained in slumber for several hours.
She was hungry. He'd mentioned food, hadn't he? And said she could instruct the men at the door as she wished. Aelfid blushed at that, she could not see herself issuing commands. What would they think of her, giving herself airs like a lord's wife?
That was a dangerous notion. She must not imagine such a thing. Because her mind would run away with her, picture her married to Guy, living happily with him here at the castle as if she belonged. Arranging matters as she chose, sending for anything she required, issuing orders to men in service as comfortably as she would to the children at home.
No, she could not indulge in such a fantasy. It was all too bewitching, she'd fall under its spell and not know how to escape.
She sat up, determined to ask politely for a cup of water. But there was bread and cheese already set out on the table, and a cup and pitcher too. Well water, she found as she poured and tasted it, cool and fresh. Good bread, baked that morning by the smell. Cheese mellow with cream and light ageing. She could eat like this every day, and consider herself a lady indeed.
Though she missed the leaves and berries she'd have picked fresh off the bushes at home. Lords might keep a good table, but they did not seem to know about plants.
When she'd eaten and drunk her fill, she took off her clothes and washed in the herb-scented water set out nearby. The sweet perfume surrounded her, and she marvelled at how it refreshed her spirit. Then she went to pull on her clothes again - and stopped, entirely naked, staring at them with a sense of utter dejection. They were dismal, compared to what she'd seen around her these past couple of days. Dingy and much mended, stained with use, little better than rags next to what Guy wore. She must look a sight to him, she thought with dreary foreboding, some draggled creature he'd pulled from the dusty road verge and would drop back there again when he tired of her company.
What was she to him, really? A few moments' pleasure, when he had nothing of significance to attend to. She would never be more, could never be more, and there was no point in hoping. Nor in indulging the fantasy that rose before her mind now, of dressing in clothes made from the stuff he wore, fine-threaded linen and soft bright-coloured wool. She could never wear such things, they weren't right for the likes of her, she was doomed to be drab to the end of her days.
Though Osulf and his uncle dressed well also, it could be done. But she shivered at that recollection. Better live in rags and free of their rule, than to buy good clothing at such a cost.
But she need not make that calculation, not any more. Guy would deal with those men, he'd promised her as much, and she had complete faith in him.
Lord Guy. She really must remember to think and speak of him with appropriate deference and respect. But it was difficult, when her heart danced at every thought or mention of him, at the memory of his face and voice and touch. At how they'd been together, every sensation that quivered through her nerves and singed her body with the strength of her desire.
She could not think of him as a lord. Not any more. He was a man, her man, and she would fight to keep him. Fight against whatever or whoever stood in her way, be it wealth or standing or rivals in love. Because he was hers, they belonged with each other, she knew that with absolute unreasoning certainty. No matter what stood between them, the only way things could be right was for her and Guy to be together. Truly one, as man and woman, equal in all other respects.
Except it couldn't happen. She realised that. It was impossible.
If she could only meet him once on level terms, as a woman of his own kind, she would be content.
Then she saw the bundles of cloth stacked in one corner of the room, with a box of needles and rolls of thread neatly placed on the top. Fine white linen, vivid wool cloth. She lifted each bundle reverently, shook them out to see the quality of the weave. Far beyond anything she'd ever made or worked with.
All for her.
Aelfid stood overwhelmed, awed by the magnitude of such a gift. Then fell to thinking how best to make the clothes that would make Guy see her as a woman akin to one he might marry.
***
CHAPTER 4
"You understand what to do?" Guy eyed his subordinate intently. Luke had showed great courag
e and composure throughout the campaign in Normandy. Ruthless in stamping out abuses within his own ranks. And with a measure of local knowledge, he'd been a son of the next village to Aelfid's once, still had an ageing mother there.
A suitable choice of interim bailiff, until more permanent arrangements could be made.
"You may rely on me, my lord."
"I don't want scapegoats, but I do want order and justice. The uncle and nephew will pay with their skins and their livelihoods. Bring them to me in chains. Beyond that, manage all things as seems best to you."
Luke bowed. Guy felt a twinge of misgiving. He didn't want to lose his one of his finest men to petty village squabbles. But the matter must be settled, and decisively.
If for no other reason than that it would be a demonstration of the cost of mismanagement. Everyone must see and understand that justice would reign under Guy's rule, and that his absence provided neither impunity nor excuse for wrongdoing.
Besides, Luke had served him well for years. A few weeks' leave was not unreasonable by way of reward. Along with a small gesture of appreciation, perhaps.
"Give my regards to your mother," Guy added. "If she requires any form of assistance, or if you learn that anyone else in need, you have my full authority to provide aid as required."
"Thank you, my lord."
"That is all."
Luke strode away, and Guy heaved a sigh of relief at having yet another niggling task settled. Only a few hundred to go, and he'd be at leisure to enjoy a peaceful life at home.
With Aelfid. He'd like that. So far their acquaintance had been limited to the pleasures of bed, and while that suited him well, there were other areas to pursue. Quiet conversations, lazy trips into the countryside, hunting on fine afternoons. He wondered if she could ride.
And if she could talk about anything that might interest him. Beyond reciting the wrongs of her village, she'd not spoken much. Not that there had been great need for words. Guy smiled at that thought, and his body warmed to the recollection.
He could go and see her now. Wanted to, craved her presence near him. It had been hours since he left her, she might be lonely. Or bored and frustrated, he thought with sudden contrition, he could imagine all too well what his own reaction to such relentless confinement would be. Or perhaps the fall had been worse than appeared, she might have been taken ill during his absence and not have strength to call for help. The idea made cold claws grip his heart. If she were harmed in any way...