‘My thanks, Lord Soren,’ she said.
‘Soren is my name, Sybilla. I would have you use it between us.’
So said the serpent to Eve in the Garden of Eden.
She changed the topic. ‘I do not know where Aldys went off to,’ she said, taking a few steps forwards, hopefully not into a wall.
‘I sent her off on an errand for me,’ he informed her. ‘She should return shortly to you.’
They would be alone, then, until her maid returned. Sybilla turned around trying to judge from his position where she might be standing, but had lost her bearings when he touched her. He grasped her hand then and tugged.
‘Here, here is your chair,’ he said, pulling her a few paces and then placing her hand on the wooden arm. She sat down and tugged the blanket, still in her hands, over her.
‘I would ask a boon of you, if you do not mind, Sybilla.’
He stood across the chamber now and she relaxed a bit. ‘A boon, Lord…Soren?’ It would take her some time to address him in such a familiar way.
‘Your cold rains here wreak their havoc on my—injuries. May I use your chambers again for a bath?’ he asked.
‘Is your home warmer than England?’ she asked, trying not to think of him in her chambers, naked. Instead, she realised that he’d never spoken of anything about his home to her, leaving her with only Gytha’s gossip gleaned from Stephen.
‘Oui,’ he said. ‘Aye. The sea breezes and the sun warm the lands there. Bretagne is a beautiful place,’ he explained.
‘Alston and England are beautiful,’ she added, feeling as though she needed to defend the honour of her land. ‘But it does rain frequently.’ It was true, but she had no knowledge or experience of places other than this one. She’d travelled only as far as Hexham once with her father, so she had little to compare to it.
‘So, may I call for a bath?’ he asked again.
‘Aye, Lord…Soren. When do you wish it?’
The servants would need time to heat the water and set it up here. And she would need time to be elsewhere, she thought, developing a sudden urge to visit the kitchens and thank the cook for his efforts with last evening’s meal.
‘I had hoped your answer would be oui, for I sent Aldys with my request before coming here.’
She stood up, clutching the blanket to her, and nodded. She’d been counting her paces these last few days, much as Guermont did when he escorted her, and she knew that the door was six paces from the chair. Counting them, she reached it when she felt him approach behind her.
‘You do not need to leave, Sybilla.’
‘I will give you privacy, my lord,’ she said, reaching out for the latch.
‘I frightened you last evening and I apologise for that boldness,’ he offered softly.
He did not scare her as much as her body’s reaction to him did. That a complete stranger could touch her so intimately and her body would urge her on for more was beyond belief to her. Sybilla lifted the latch.
‘Where will you go?’ he asked, not moving from behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her face.
‘I have not been to the hall in many days. I think I will visit with those there,’ she said, trying to sound confident in her choice.
‘Here, then, take my arm and let me escort you there,’ he offered.
With the way she trembled, it was a good suggestion, for she suspected that she would tumble down the steps instead of walking down them. He lifted her hand onto his arm and pulled the door open. As they walked to the stairs, she noticed he was wet. And cold. They reached the steps and he waited as she found the rope there. He surprised her more by following Guermont’s practice of taking each step by itself and counting off as they moved down them.
From the sounds as they approached, many had sought refuge from the storms in the hall. Because of the flurry of attacks in the area, Guermont had informed her Lord Soren had ordered those in the village to move into the manor. So, it was a busy place now, but it quieted as they walked in.
Other than his soldiers, she’d known everyone in Alston since her birth or theirs, but she felt as though among strangers. Not being able to see them made it all uncomfortable for her. Lord Soren guided her, whispering directions as they walked to the front of the hall and the main table that remained in place at all times.
‘Bring the lady a chair,’ he called out as they made their way forwards. She heard the scrambling of people and then Lord Soren brought them to a stop. He lifted her hand from his arm and positioned her so she could sit. Leaning over to adjust the blanket, he spoke softly to her.
‘It is a score of paces forwards, then another to the right to reach the stairs,’ he said. ‘But I will send Guermont to you if you need to return to your chambers before I am finished.’
The heat struck at his words, and the flush of it filled her cheeks. He’d done it a-purpose, she knew he had. She waited for him to leave before allowing herself to be at ease there. Sybilla knew when he’d gone, for the people had been silent while he escorted her and now the usual noise of so many in one place began anew. It took but a few minutes before someone approached her. Sybilla spoke to every one of them, asking them about their family and their well-being. It seemed to go on for a long time before she realised where she was sitting.
Sliding her hands along the ornately carved wooden arms, she recognised it for what it was—the lord’s chair. Then, as she sat in what used to be her father’s chair, the weight of it all crashed down on her.
He was gone. Her father. Her brother. All whom she had loved and who had loved her were gone.
Now, when her people needed her most, she could do nothing for them. She could not even see them, she could not tell their condition. She would never again see their faces or watch the sun rise or set over Alston Keep.
They had tried to tell her and make her accept the inevitable, but she’d refused. Now, the reality of it settled in—there had been no change in her vision since the day it happened. No improvement. No sign of light. Nothing but darkness before and around her. It smothered her now and she felt her very breath being sucked from her.
Gasping for air, she stood abruptly, wanting to get away—from the truth, from the lies, from anyone and everyone, but she had nowhere to go. They called her name, trying to help her, but it changed into cries and sneers and insults, blaring at her from all sides. She stumbled forwards, counting her paces, catching herself, feeling them surrounding her.
She could not see!
Sybilla turned around and around and then again, searching for some light in her darkness, for a path to follow, but it was utter black everywhere she turned. She rubbed her eyes, trying to remove the layer that blocked her vision. Then even the blackness began to swirl around her.
She would never see again.
‘Here, my lady,’ someone said. ‘Your chambers are this way.’
Sybilla tried to see who it was that offered aid, but she could not. His voice sounded familiar to her; however, she could not put a name to that voice no matter how much she searched her memory. Soon, he said the steps were before them. She dropped his arm and ran, tripping up the first two or three steps, before she grabbed hold of the guiding rope and dragged herself forwards. Her arms scraped along the stone wall, catching every jagged piece of surface and tearing her sleeves.
Her veil caught and was pulled off. Her hands slipped along the rope several times, burning her palms. But she ran. They called behind her and in front of her, but she could not see them. She could not see.
Out of breath, she stumbled across the landing at the top and fell hard into the wall. Scrambling to her feet, she ran once more, this time, now, seeking the one who’d caused this. He had blinded her and she would make him pay for it. Sybilla felt along the wall until she reached her door and flung it open, ignoring those who called her name from behind. They would stop her.
‘Sybilla!’ he called out as she ran in. Water splashed and sloshed. She heard it pouring on to the flo
or, but it did not matter. ‘Stop!’ he commanded, but she did not. The door slammed closed behind her.
She would never see again.
It pounded in her thoughts and even in her heart and she gasped for a breath. She sought the one responsible for this. He’d done it and even boasted of it. He had stolen her lands. He had stolen her sight. He had stolen her life.
‘Sybilla,’ he said, quietly now. ‘Sybilla.’
The pain inside was so great that all she could do was react, launching herself towards his voice, hoping to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her.
Chapter Sixteen
He caught her just as she jumped at him, one foot out of the tub and the other still inside it. Somehow he managed to keep his balance and not let them both crash into the water. She was like a wild animal, fighting for its life, as she threw her body and her fists at him. Soren grabbed her hands and then she used her feet to kick at him.
‘Sybilla,’ he whispered, ‘you must calm yourself.’ Soren knew she did not hear him. In the middle of this panic and rage, she could not hear anything but what was screaming through her own thoughts. He knew. He’d lived through this.
He moved slowly, partly because she continued to fight and hit him, and partly to try to let her burn out this rage. Soren stepped out of the tub and walked them back away from it. She slowed with each step, her unintelligible screaming lessened and the fight began to drain from her. She gasped, as though not able to breathe. He made it to the bed and dragged her onto his lap. Ignoring her struggles, he placed a hand on her chest and one on her back and spoke quietly.
‘Push out, Sybilla. Push against my hands with your breathing,’ he urged. It took another minute or so before she did it, but he felt her lungs expanding. ‘Good girl,’ he said. He lessened the pressure, but did not remove his hands yet.
The door opened, but he waved them back with a nod of his head. He wanted no one in these chambers, for he was naked and he did not want Sybilla to be shamed by what she’d done once she came back to her senses. For though the blindness would remain, her dignity would suffer once she remembered, if she did, her behaviour. It could all be sorted out later.
He wanted to laugh at the irony of that moment, for only days or a sennight ago, he’d yet intended to make her suffer. Now, his heart, the one he thought cold and empty, even dead within him, ached as he watched this proud young woman go through this agony of soul and spirit.
‘You did this to me,’ she cried now. He noticed the blood dripping from her clenched fists as she raised them to pummel his chest. ‘You…did…this…to…me.’ He gathered both her hands into one of his and held her tightly against his body.
Words, his or hers, would not matter now. She needed time to let the anger and terror of facing a life of blindness seep away. It would take more than just this one episode, if she was anything like him, but this was the beginning. Like bursting a boil with a needle, this would relieve the worst of it, allowing the rest to ease its way out.
It ebbed and flowed over the next several hours—each episode lasting less than the one before until she collapsed against him like a child’s doll that had lost all its stuffing. Her breathing was shallow, her skin sweaty and pale, but her heart beat strong in her chest. Easing her from his lap, he laid her on the bed, pulled on his clothes and went seeking a bowl and some linen cloths to clean the scrapes and bruises he noticed on her hands, her face and other places.
When he lifted the latch and eased the door open, a veritable army jumped outside the door, with the old dragon being first in line to attempt to enter. Soren shook his head at them and then told them what he needed. Aldys did not move from her place, but instead sent Gytha off to gather the supplies and medicaments.
‘My lord,’ she began to argue when handing over the bandages and unguent from Teyen’s supply.
‘Do not even think to naysay me in this, Aldys,’ he said quietly. ‘I will see to your lady’s injuries and will call on you when she is able to have visitors.’
He watched her spine straighten with insubordination, but she kept her tongue behind her teeth. Wise. He noticed and nodded at her before closing the door.
Carrying everything over to the bed, he pulled a small table closer and arranged everything before touching her. He poured some of the now-cooled water for his bath into a bowl, mixed in the steaming water just brought and then dipped a cloth into it. Easing open one fist then the other, he cleaned away the blood and dirt from her torn palms. She moaned and cried out in her sleep or faint, but did not wake.
Soren moved around her, removing her garments so he could clean her, first her hands, then he rolled her to one side and unlaced the gown and tugged it over her head. The syrce, or what was called a chemise by the women of Normandy and Brittany, was looser and easy enough to manoeuvre, so he let it remain. He cleaned the scrapes on her arms and he applied some of Teyen’s ointments to the bruises. He winced when he lifted the chemise and saw her knees. They would be sore for a long time and she would be unable to kneel in prayer for a good while.
It took nearly an hour or more to see to all her injuries and then settle her in the bed. Peering around the chamber, he thought to sit by the bed in the chair, but decided to lie at her side instead. Taller than most here and taller than her by almost a foot, his height and weight would not make it through the night in the chair anyway. Easing the bedcovers over her, Soren moved next to her—close enough to reach her if she needed, but far enough away so that his body did not touch hers.
He had not slept well in weeks, nor in a bed for at least a month, so the comfort and warmth of this one lulled him to sleep within moments, or so it seemed to him. The candles had burned down, leaving him in total darkness and he realised how she must feel as he stumbled around the chamber, before opening the door and using the light of the torches burning in the corridor to guide his way around. He lit an oil lamp and placed it on the table at the bed’s side, so he could see her and the chamber once more.
Settled next to her again, he watched her sleep. She moved not at all, but her breaths were the slow and deep and even ones of complete exhaustion. Soren joined her in slumber.
Soren woke only when the sounds of his men training in the yard echoed through the window in the chamber. He climbed from the bed and opened the shutter of the window to see that the sun was well up in the sky already.
He stretched his body this way and that, working out the tightness as he did each morning. The bath last evening had begun to ease it, but he’d not soaked long enough to make a difference. The worst of it was in his shoulder and neck. The blade of the axe had sunk deep into his flesh there, glancing off the bone and tracing a path of destruction down the back of his ribcage and on to his back and hip. Truly, he should be dead from it and he wondered once more why and how he had survived at all.
His stomach growled then, reminding him of his missed supper. He found his clean garments and dressed so that he could allow her servants into the room. First he put on his shirt, breeches and tunic and then he pulled the fabric cowl over his head. He would wear the leather hood under his armour and hauberk, but the cloth one was more comfortable if he was inside. He glanced at Sybilla again and decided he would remain close at hand.
Soren opened the door to find an entire entourage waiting there—house servants ready to tend to her room and remove the tub, his men to receive their orders for the day and hers to see to her needs. Aldys glared, Gytha trembled and Guermont and Stephen stared openly at the fact that he’d spent the night with Sybilla. Pulling the door open wider, he motioned to the servants to enter.
‘Quietly,’ he said to them as they moved past him and worked efficiently to empty the tub and take it from the chamber. Another laid a fire in the hearth and lit it. Yet another brought in an iron kettle and hung it from the hook in the hearth.
‘Teyen said ’tis a tisane for the lady to drink when she wakes,’ the man whispered as he left.
He expected a battle from the she-dragon, but
none came. Instead Aldys carried in a tray and placed it on the table that had been moved aside for the tub. Uncovering the plate and bowl, she revealed a steaming porridge and a small loaf of cheese and one of bread. A cup and jug sat next to the food. When she’d revealed its contents, she nodded to him.
‘To break your fast, Lord Soren,’ she said quietly as she, too, left.
Within just minutes, the chamber had been cleaned, the fire tended and food brought in for him. Stunned by the quiet efficiency of her servants, Soren had a new appreciation for the lady’s work. He knew she’d been in sole control of the manor since her…since Durward fell on Senlac field, but had never realised the extent of that responsibility until now. Although her battle tactics and strategies were sorely lacking, she’d managed the household extremely well, keeping all of her people clothed and fed during a terrible winter when many starved or worse. Then, she’d overseen the planting of new crops in the spring and had started a new, defensive wall built around the keep.
If he’d arrived a few weeks later than he had, he questioned whether his conquest would have been as easy as it had been.
Soren ate the food, downing every morsel and drinking every drop of ale. A fighting man learned early in his training to never let a meal go by wasted. On a march, it could be days before the next one, so you ate what you could when you could and prayed for another one soon. William’s army had been held in Caen for months because of bad winds on the Channel and the hardest task was feeding all those men. Thousands needed to eat and many times not all did. The lesson was well learned, he thought as he placed the empty dish and bowl, cup and jug back on the tray. As he turned to take it to the door, he noticed her lips moving, though not making a sound.
Every part of her body hurt. Her skin ached. She dared not move to test out the extent of the pain, for even breathing sent waves of pain coursing through her. The only thing she could move were her lips and eyes. So she began offering up a prayer that the blindness had been a terrible nightmare and that when she opened her eyes, the day would greet her.
His Enemy's Daughter Page 14