by Regan Walker
They should have left days earlier.
Serena had watched the two Normans approach from where she stood behind the other women. Leppe had placed her there in an attempt to protect her from the probing eyes of the new Norman lord. The moment she had set eyes on the knights, she knew which of the two was the Red Wolf. He came through the door wearing a fierce scowl as his eyes roved over the women like a beast seeking one to devour. She had known he was looking for her and had dropped her gaze to her stare at her feet.
But when he began to speak, she could not resist raising her head to look at him. He was different from Sir Maurin, the knight with the weathered face who had carried her back to the manor and spoke to her in stilted English. This one, who claimed to be the Earl of Talisand, was used to giving orders, his air of command proclaiming it so in English any would understand.
He had glowered at them, his piercing gray eyes like a threatening storm. Power like soundless thunder emanated from his lean muscular body as he stared at the small group huddled in front of the brazier.
Unlike Englishmen, his face was devoid of any beard and his dark reddish brown hair fell in waves only to his nape. He stood erect as if surveying a battlefield but he wore no knight’s mail, only a dark green tunic and a leather belt studded with silver. His legs spread apart and his hands fisted on his hips, he stood like a Viking on the deck of his ship. She supposed that he was. The Norsemen who invaded Normandy had left their mark well enough. And now one of their descendants had invaded Talisand.
She was glad she had not willingly accepted her fate of belonging to him for he had the undeniable look of one who tolerated no weakness and no dissent. A warrior who demanded his due. It gave her a secret joy to know she defied him and the Bastard King. Yet despite that, she was intrigued. He was undeniably handsome in a raw sort of way, and now he was the master of all that was hers. She was more determined than ever to despise him.
The knight who had stood next to the Red Wolf was unlike his lord, so fair as to appear nearly Saxon, save for the shorter hair and the lack of a beard. He was not so tall, either, and carried more weight. The lines around his mouth and eyes suggested he laughed often.
She remembered well the Red Wolf’s words. They had been few, as if he carefully doled them out, telling the women they need not fear ravishment, that he protected what was his. She wondered if his words were truth. If the messengers had been correct, the Normans had raped, burned and pillaged half of England. It vexed her that this Norman knight considered the men and women of Talisand his, no matter it was now true. Once free, now they were reduced to mere possessions. She hoped it would not always be so.
She turned from the entry and, with the other women, headed to the kitchen. Worry dogged her as she thought about the fate of her people. She decided to stay, at least for a while, to see how the Norman lord would treat them. But how long could she maintain her disguise as a servant when all those at Talisand knew her to be their lady? They would risk all to conceal her, but could she ask such a thing of them?
* * *
“Faith!” Serena shouted as the heavy kettle slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor with a loud clang, splashing hot liquid onto her tunic. Exasperated, she wiped her hands on her apron, and bent to clean up the remains of the broth. “Oh, Maggie, it seems I have little talent for kitchen duties.”
Serena’s insides churned in frustration. She had been working in the kitchen and serving at the tables in the guise of Sarah for a week, diligently trying to blend in as one of the servants. But untrained for the work, she had little patience for mixing, lifting and serving. Her talents lay in the managing of the household and in other pursuits not so typical of a thegn’s daughter.
“Ye’re trying, m’lady,” said Maggie. “’Tis all that matters, truly. Most of the lasses assigned to the kitchen have been raised to the work like me own daughter. Mayhap yer father shouldna have indulged ye by allowing ye to hunt. Yet ye do sing like an angel and that always pleases a man.”
Serena looked up at Maggie from where she had stooped to clean up the mess. She would have rolled her eyes had she not seen the smile on the older woman’s face. But she must correct the manner in which the cook had addressed her. “Just call me Sarah, Maggie.”
The housekeeper reached down and helped her to rise. “Dinna worry about the broth, Sarah. Leave it be. I can make more.”
Cassie left the bread she had been preparing for the noon meal and came to kneel beside the spilled broth. “I will do this.”
“Cassie, you are ever kind, but you know as a servant, I must do my share of the work.”
The sound of skipping feet drew Serena’s attention to the small boy with blond hair who had entered the back door left open on warm days for access to the herb garden.
“’Tis young Jamie!” exclaimed Cassie.
“Ser...Sarah!” The boy ran to Serena and wrapped his arms around her tunic, joy lighting up his young face. “Sarah, see what I have brought ye?” He pulled a bow from his shoulder where it rested with a quiver of arrows and proudly thrust it upon her. “Yer bow.”
“Jamie, you prince!” she said, taking it. “Where did you find it?”
“When the knights brought ye back, they put it in the armory. I recognized it from the Welsh symbols Rhodri carved in it when he made it for ye. I knew ye’d want it.”
Serena smiled and kissed the top of his curly, sun bleached head. “Now I have only to recover my seax.”
“I will look for that, too,” said the boy eagerly.
Maggie gazed in Serena’s direction, her eyes fixing on the bow. “Now there is something ye’re good at. And since the knights have been concerned with their swordplay and building onto the stable, they have yet to hunt to add to our stores of meat. Can ye do that for me on the morrow? I need rabbits for stew.”
“I would be happy to hunt, Maggie. I am better at that than making broth.”
“Yea, ’tis true, ye are.” Looking down at Jamie and then at Serena, she said, “Go on then, take the lad for a walk to the stable. He loves to see the knights’ horses and some air will do ye both good. I’ll make the broth. If ye want, ye can return in a wee bit to serve the midday meal.”
“You are a generous woman, Maggie, to be so kind to one of the servants.” She gave the housekeeper a wink. “I welcome some time with Jamie.”
“Give me the bow,” Maggie said, reaching for it. “I will see yer weapon well hidden here in the kitchen.” She took the bow and quiver of arrows, covered them with a drying cloth and set them behind the wooden cabinet in the far corner of the room.
Serena took off her apron and wrapped her arm around Jamie’s shoulders. “So, Jamie, shall we take a walk to see the horses?”
“Yea. I would like that! The knights’ warhorses are fierce, Sarah. Even the squires can hardly control them, but there are others they ride that are not so wild. I’ve made friends with some of those.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the door. A smile broke out on his face, which added to the ruddy glow on his cheeks, making him look like a cherub who had spent the morn in a field of wheat. Serena did not like to think about Jamie near the Normans’ fearsome destriers, warhorses trained to kick and bite, as much weapons as the knights’ lances and swords.
Passing through the herb garden, Serena noticed Aethel digging among the new plants. “Good morning Aethel. You seem to be working hard.”
The woman sat back on her heels and brushed a lock of dark hair from her eyes as she gave Serena’s clothing a long perusal. “The new herbs will be needed for healing as well as for savory dishes. It is just my usual work…Sarah.”
Ignoring the look Aethel gave her, Serena said, “I admire your knowledge, Aethel.” The compliment was sincere. Though Serena had often acted the healer, she had counted upon Aethel’s knowledge to tell her which herbs to use.
Aethel smiled briefly and bent her head to her task.
“How are you getting along since the Normans have come?” Serena as
ked her.
“Well enough,” Aethel said without looking up.
“It is not easy for any of us,” Sarah remarked absently. Jamie impatiently tugged on her hand. Giving into his urging, she wished Aethel a good morn and continued on the path leading to the yard and to the stable set just inside the palisade.
New grass grew at the edge of the palisade and wild flowers had sprung up in clusters around the manor, causing Serena to marvel at the beauty of the place she called home. Despite the Normans’ coming, there was a sameness to Talisand she found comforting. Workers mended the palisade, carts creaked as they rolled by and brown chickens pecked at the dirt. The only differences were the sounds of clanking metal as the knights engaged in swordplay outside the palisade, and the dull thud of hammers pounding in the work they’d begun on a new stable.
“I have missed you, lad,” she said to Jamie as they walked along side by side. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“I have been watching the knights! Each morning, they practice with their swords and talk of the Red Wolf’s plans for Talisand. They say we will have a grand castle set upon a great mound of dirt.” Jamie babbled on excitedly as they covered the ground to the stable, the sun warming Serena as they walked. “The men have even let me hold their swords!” A look of guilt suddenly came over his face and he dropped his gaze. “I know they are Normans, Sarah, and I should not like them.”
“’Tis all right, Jamie. I can see they have bewitched you. Besides, ’tis best you do not anger them by telling them what we think of Normans.” She feared for the boy if he did.
They walked to the stable’s entrance, his small hand in hers. His face glowed as he told her of the knights. She could see the boy considered the presence of the warriors an adventure. She hoped they presented no threat to the child. His life had certainly become more exciting with their arrival. While she hated the invaders of her country who had taken her beloved family and her lands, Jamie, orphaned as a small boy, had no mother or father to see to his training. Now that he was growing into manhood, the Norman knights with their swords and horses would be tempting. While she acted the part of his older sister, assuring his needs were met, she knew he longed to be a part of the world of men.
* * *
Standing on the roof walk of the manor house, Geoff at his side, Renaud raised his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding sun as he gazed into the distance, surveying the land around the manor. He had yet to select the site for the castle though he had identified a location that would serve.
“That reminds me, Ren,” Geoff said, the knight’s gaze fixed on the yard below.
Roused from his thoughts, Renaud faced his friend. “Yea?”
“See the girl walking with the lad, just there?”
Renaud’s gaze followed Geoff’s finger pointing to a girl with a long brown plait walking toward the stable with a boy of about ten or eleven years. “I see.”
“She was one of the servant girls brought back that first eve. I think she may become a problem with the men.”
Renaud frowned. He did not need another problem just now, particularly not with his men who were just settling in. “Why would she be a problem?”
“Watch her at the midday meal instead of eating in your chamber as you have been doing these last few days and see for yourself. The men are taken with the wench. They compete to try and win her affection while she serves. I am worried it will lead to fights among them.”
“Does she tease them?” The face of the dark-haired temptress who served in the evening flashed in his mind.
“Nay. She does not even look at them. But she is very comely and Sir Maurin, who carried her back when they retrieved the servant girls, seems to have a fondness for the wench. The younger men have no intention of deferring to the knight where she is concerned. Instead, they compete to win the girl’s favors. She encourages none. Mayhap she is even hostile to their smiles. From the looks she gives us, I think she has no kind feelings for Normans.”
Renaud was not about to let his men fight over a wench. There was much for them to do to remain ready to serve William should they be called to battle. And they must soon hunt to provide meat. “See that she is taken off serving duty. Send her above stairs to work as a maid. I would see her there this afternoon so I may judge for myself.”
“That I will gladly do,” said Geoff giving Renaud a look that said he was pleased his lord had relieved him of an unwanted problem.
Chapter 4
Renaud lingered at the high table in the hall until he glimpsed the servant girl with the brown plait carry a pile of linen through the entry heading toward the stairs to the bedchambers. Slowly rising, he nodded to Geoff and followed after her.
Quietly, he stepped through the open door of his chamber. The girl had her back to him as she freshened the bed, the stack of clean linen resting on a nearby chest. He did not acknowledge her but went directly to the trestle table, poured a goblet of wine and sat, pretending to examine a drawing of the lands surrounding the manor.
She turned. “I can come back later, my lord.” She spoke meekly, barely looking at him as she hurriedly finished with the bed and began a hasty retreat to the door.
He replied in the English tongue, as he did to all save his men. “Nay, you may stay. Your work will not disturb me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her back stiffen. Slowly, she retraced her steps and resumed her work. Her movements were rushed as if she were trying to complete her assigned tasks in haste. Was she nervous at being alone with him? Even with that, Renaud thought her movements graceful as she walked to the shelves near where he sat. She held her head high, unusual for a servant in the presence of her lord. Though her long plait was the dull color of country earth, her profile was refined and her features delicate. He rose and silently moved to stand behind her where she dusted a carved box.
She must have sensed his approach.
“My lord?” she said, turning to face him.
Blue-violet eyes held his gaze only a moment before looking down at the floor. Set in her ivory face they reminded him of violets in the snow. So mesmerized was he that, for a moment, he forgot his question.
“Your name is Sarah?”
Keeping her eyes focused on the floor, she said, “Yea, my lord.”
“How long have you been at Talisand?”
“All my life, my lord.” Her voice was soft, a low purr, and with her words a flowery scent drifted to his nose. He was captivated and wanted to touch her. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? And this one was causing his manhood to stir.
Turning back to the shelf, she resumed dusting the carved box, as if to put an end to the conversation. His gaze shifted to her hand as she set down the box. Delicate fingers and ivory skin. It was not the hand of a kitchen wench.
“Let me see your hand.” She started at his request, and though he could see she wanted to resist, she did not fight him when he reached for her hand and brought it close to his body turning her palm upward.
It told him much.
“These blisters are new. You have not always worked in the kitchens nor done the wet work of the laundry, have you?”
She shook her head in silent agreement.
“What were your tasks before I came to Talisand?”
Looking down at her feet, she said, “I was with the Lady Serena, my lord.”
“Ah, a lady’s handmaiden then.” So that is where the girl learned to speak so well, for her speech was not that of an ordinary servant nor her manner that of a scullery maid.
He waited for her to say more but when she did not, he said, “Tell me about her.”
She looked up. “What would you know, my lord?” Blue violet eyes held his. He could get lost in those eyes.
“How does she look?”
“She is tall and her hair is the color of summer wheat, my lord.”
“And her character?”
Turning her gaze again to the floor, she hesitated before speakin
g. “She loves her people and her family, my lord. She is very loyal. Had she been a man, she would have fought with her father at Hastings. Most of all, she loves Talisand and would die for its people.”
Her voice, nearly breaking at the end, told him her words were spoken with deep emotion. She was close to the Lady of Talisand and to the old thegn.
“I’m told her brother took the lord’s place for a time,” he said, hoping she would continue to talk.
She raised her eyes to his. “Yea, Steinar did lead Talisand for a time, but then he was drawn away by other battles.” When she spoke the young man’s name, a tender look came into her eyes. Did she love the old lord’s son? Mayhap she was his leman. The possibility was not to his liking.
Still holding her hand, he looked down at her palm seeing other signs. “These are the calluses of an archer. How is it a lady’s handmaiden comes to use a bow?”
The girl’s eyes shifted to her hand where Renaud had begun moving his thumb across her palm in slow sensual circles. He was not unaffected and, he suspected, neither was she.
“Rhodri taught me, my…my lord.” She spoke in a halting whisper, confirming his touch was disrupting her thoughts. Then she added hastily, “I was not the only one. It was the old lord’s desire that Rhodri should teach all at Talisand who cared to learn.”
Renaud remembered that when the young servant women had been returned to the demesne, Sir Niel had taken several bows from them.
He stopped stroking her palm. She tried to pull back her hand but he had no intention of releasing her. “Who is this Rhodri?”
“He is a Welsh bard, my lord, who is also skilled with a bow. The thegn met him on his travels and invited him here. He lived among us for several years.”