by Regan Walker
Serena’s eyes filled with tears and her arms dropped to her side. “Aye, Rhodri, the old thegn you loved was slain at Senlac Hill with King Harold. Steinar has fled from yet another encounter with the Normans to find refuge with some of his men in Scotland. I intended to join him but I left too late. Alas, the Normans found us as we traveled north and brought us back. That is why I am here now.”
“They do not know who you are?”
“Nay.”
“Steinar will be worried you are not safely in Scotland.”
“I had planned to follow after him,” she added hopefully.
“Then why do you remain?”
“I have stayed to be certain the people of Talisand are being treated well.” Even as she said it, Serena wondered if there was not another reason. She was curious about the Red Wolf.
“Have any of the Normans touched you?” he asked with a look of concern.
“Nay, thank God. They leave the women alone by the command of their lord, the one they call the Red Wolf.”
“Ah, I have heard of the knight who wears the wolf’s pelt. He is a favorite of their king. So…the Red Wolf is here? That I must see.”
“He has been given Talisand, Rhodri.”
The bard frowned. “Steinar will not be pleased to hear of it.”
He spoke the truth but Serena could not linger on the loss of their lands when what she wanted was to gain them back. Taking his arm, she said, “Come, I will see your horse is tended and then I will see you fed.” A sudden happiness rose within her at having Rhodri back at Talisand. For the first time in a long while there was a smile on her face. “It is so good to have you with us again!”
* * *
Renaud looked up as Sarah entered his room, a stack of fresh linens in her arms and a smile on her face. He had not seen her smile before and wondered at the source of her mirth. He had been going over the final changes to the plans for the new stable and, though he would have denied it had Geoff asked, he was waiting for her.
“Good day to you, Sarah.”
She started, clearly surprised to see him. Mayhap she had thought to sneak into his chamber while he was gone. He often sparred with his knights at this hour. “My lord, shall I return at a later time?” She turned toward the door.
“No!” Then in a softer voice lest he betray his interest, he added, “I would have you stay. Will you join me in some wine?” He poured the red liquid into a goblet and extended it toward her.
The girl’s eyes immediately focused on the floor. “Nay, my lord, but thank you. It would nay be proper.”
He considered making it an order but relented. She was always polite, this one. Too polite for one who clearly disliked Normans. He had allowed her to be distant for the last few days. Now it was time to court the kitten, to see if she would keep her claws sheathed as the warrior advanced.
She carried the linens to the bed and began to take off the old bedding. Her movements were innocently seductive, her shape barely hidden in the loose tunic that did not even cover her ankles. He rose and walked to stand behind her, trailing a finger down the soft skin of her nape under her plait. She quavered. His groin swelled in anticipation.
“Did you enjoy the archery contest, Sarah?”
Slowly she turned to face him. He stepped closer. He knew she would back away if she could, but the bed was behind her leaving her nowhere to go, which had been his intention.
She looked up at him. “I did, my lord.”
He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and brought her closer still. Her full lips opened as if in protest, and he saw alarm in her eyes. “Sarah, why did I have the feeling it was not your best performance?”
She tried to wriggle out of his grip. “My lord, I ask you to unhand me.”
“Not just yet. Answer me.” His grip was firm but he was careful not to hurt her. He began to run his hands up and down her arms from shoulder to elbow in a slow sensuous movement. He could feel her body relax despite what he assumed was her intention to remain rigid as he gazed into her eyes. They had changed to the purple of the night sky.
“I do not always hit the target, my lord. But I do enjoy the sport,” she replied breathlessly.
“And you shall have your reward.” He pulled her into his chest and his lips quickly descended to hers. Her mouth was soft and as sweet as he’d expected. He was careful to make the kiss tender so as not to frighten her. He could afford time for a slow seduction. But he had not considered that her lips would be so inviting or so warm. It nearly undid him. “Ah…Sarah,” he breathed into her luscious mouth and then let his tongue slide over her full bottom lip. “Your taste is sweet nectar to this starving man.”
When she opened her mouth to speak, he slid his tongue inside, using all his self-control not to plunder but to slowly kiss her into mindless submission. He was pleased when she softened beneath his touch, responding despite what he surmised had been her determination to resist. He wanted to take her then, to lay her back on the bed and find their pleasure, but he was certain that would draw from her a vehement objection. He could be patient. At least for a while.
When he ended the kiss, Sarah blinked twice and then pushed at his chest with her hand. “My lord! I am not a wench to be trifled with. Is not Aethel enough for you?”
He had expected her comment about the dark-haired serving woman. He delighted in what appeared to be her woman’s jealousy. “I am not trifling, woman. I told you from the first that I want you in my bed. Your body tells me you want me as well. Do you not feel it?”
“I feel nothing!” she protested, though from her passion glazed eyes and kiss-swollen lips he knew she lied.
“I think you do. I like the feel of you in my arms, Sarah. Why do you resist so?”
“I am an English maiden, my lord. There can be nothing between me and a Norman, unless you would take me by force, which you have vowed not to do.”
Growing irritated with her continued refusal and her reminder of his promise to the women, he stepped back. Never before had his resolve to protect the virtue of women been so sorely tested. Studying her angry violet eyes, he controlled his voice. “We shall see.”
Tamping down his desire and forcing his body to calm, he returned to the trestle table. When he did not hear her footsteps, he looked up to see her still standing by the bed, staring at nothing as if she did not know what to do. He flicked his fingers in dismissal.
“You may go about your work, Sarah. I shall not pursue you again this day.”
* * *
Several days later, Renaud sat in the hall, his eyes fixed on Geoff’s mouth as the knight engulfed a thick slice of bread dripping with butter and honey. “You keep eating like that, Geoff, and you will be as round as our cook.”
“I need my strength for the ride to the west manor.”
Renaud rolled his eyes. “So soon you would return?”
“With your permission, I intend to call upon the widow Eawyn this day to see how she fares.”
Renaud chuckled. “She is a lovely woman. You could do worse than that one. And fortunate it is for you she comes with a manor house.”
A surprised expression crossed Geoff’s face. “You would give me the lady and the manor?”
“I might.” Renaud could feel the corners of his mouth turn up. He slapped his fellow knight on the back. “You seem bewitched by the woman’s beauty—and her cooking. I am of a mind to reward you for all those years you have ridden at my side.”
Geoff paused, holding the bread in front of his open mouth. A drop of honey fell to his trencher. “I hardly know what to say, Ren. ’Tis a great boon.”
“It carries a condition, of course. I would expect you to come at my call if ever I have need of your sword. Mayhap when the castle is completed, you might finish your courtship and we could celebrate both the castle and a wedding. Does the timing appeal?”
“Yea, Ren, it does.” Geoff fairly glowed with his fervent ardor for the young widow. “If the lady could be made willing,
I would make her mine. Her husband was nay killed by Normans, so it is possible I do not offend with my interest.”
“In time I’m certain you can charm her from her widow’s state, but before you leave to see Eawyn, I have a few tasks for you, my well-fed friend. And, mind your sudden taste for bread spread with honey. Maggie tells me someone has been sneaking into the kitchen at night depleting her supply.”
Geoff looked down at the bread, thick with honey, still in his hand. Renaud detected a look of guilt. Neither said a word, for no words were necessary.
Renaud finished his meal and with Geoff trailing behind, stepped into the yard. The day promised to be fair after the night’s rain. Renaud spotted the boy with the pale blond hair and ruddy cheeks he had spoken with at the archery contest. The lad was sitting on a cask next to the manor poking a stick into the soft dirt.
“Jamie.”
The boy looked up at the sound of his name then leapt to his feet, dropping his stick.
“Is not that your name, lad?” Renaud asked, stopping in front of him.
“Aye, m’lord. May I be of service to ye?”
Renaud smiled at the boy’s eager desire to please and reached down to muss his curly blond hair. “Jamie, I might be in need of a page. Would you like the position?”
“Yea, m’lord! I would!” The boy was nearly dancing he was so excited. The look on his face told Renaud he had offered the lad a much-desired prize.
“Can you point out your parents so I may speak to them?”
“I have no parents, m’lord,” the boy said with downcast eyes. “Sarah watches out for me and sees I am fed and have clothes.”
It was as he’d suspected. He had seen the boy with the servant girl but no mother or father. So, Sarah had a young charge whose needs she met. She might hate Normans but she could be kind to young English lads.
“Well then, I will speak to Sarah, but I am certain she will approve. Being a page is the first step to becoming a knight. Go see Mathieu, my squire, and tell him of your new position. He will assign you tasks and see you have proper clothing. Unless you are in work clothes, you will wear the wolf on your tunic.”
“Thank ye, sir!” The boy’s eyes shone as he turned and ran toward the armory.
“Do you know where you are going lad?” Renaud called after him.
The boy stopped and turned. “Aye, sir. I watch yer squire clean yer armor each day.”
“Well, then, be off with you.” Renaud’s eyes followed the boy as he hurried off.
“That was kind of you, Ren,” said Geoff. “You bestow an honor on the lad far above his station. Better take care or the people will think the Red Wolf has a soft heart.”
“I have watched him each day with nothing to do but a few chores, and no one to care for him except Sarah, who walks with him to the stables. If he can be groomed to become a squire, one day he might be a loyal knight. I like the lad. And he seems intelligent enough.”
* * *
Serena looked into the yard from the roof walk where she observed the knights talking to Jamie. She could not hear their words but she noted the Red Wolf run his hands through the boy’s sun bleached locks as if teasing him. The Norman was proving to be different than the cold, cruel knight she had envisioned. Often arrogant, and at times short with his words, he held to a code of honor she grudgingly admired. Though his coming had stripped her people of their freedom and their rights under Anglo-Saxon laws, he had not taxed them overmuch. At least not yet. She knew when the work on the castle began he would compel Talisand’s men to build it. Such a task would not go down well with her people.
She grew angry at the reminder he had all of Talisand under his thumb. Yet she remembered his gentleness when he’d kissed her, a kiss she was trying hard to forget. She remembered the heat of his powerful body when he held her close. She had wanted him to touch her. Yet she hated her attraction to the powerful Norman knight for he was her enemy.
And now he was being kind to the boy she loved.
* * *
“Would it be so bad to be the Norman’s wife, to again be the Lady of Talisand?” Cassie asked softly, looking at Serena with hopeful eyes. Serena had gone to help her friend in the folding of linens in the back room of the washing area where they were alone for the moment. “He seems an honorable knight, even if he is a Norman, and a bit…fearsome. He’s so tall. Even Sir Maurin is nay so tall.”
Serena stared at her friend, disbelieving. “Cassie! That ‘honorable knight’ you find frightening is among the men who killed my father and our King Harold and ravaged half of England. I cannot believe you would have me wed one of them. Have you forgotten they have taken our land by force? Slain thousands of Saxon men and women? And now he claims the people of Talisand as his serfs!”
“Nay, I havna forgotten, but ye canna change the past, m’lady. Ye must look to the future. I say this as yer friend. The Red Wolf is the new lord and there be a new king in England who, though he is a Norman, seems to be staying whether we like it or no. Ye’ll want bairns one day, no?” Not waiting for Serena’s answer, the handmaiden continued. “Talisand will need an heir, and it willna come from Steinar as we had thought.”
“I’d not have a Norman heir for Talisand, Cassie.”
“Would a bairn of yers born in England be a Norman?”
Serena pondered her handmaiden’s words. “He’d be at least half Norman.”
“If the tales we heard be true, there will be many bairns born in England this year who are only half English. At least ye would have the status of wife—and a countess. Many of those mothers have no husbands at all and will bear only Norman bastards.”
“Oh, Cassie. I am still hoping to escape to Scotland and join Steinar. Rhodri tells me many English have fled across the border, waiting to fight the Normans. Good and true men who have not surrendered all. He says it was fear of an uprising that brought the Norman king back from Normandy late last year. Why should I give in if there is still hope? The Red Wolf’s knights do not even speak our language!”
“They are making an effort,” insisted Cassie. “Sir Maurin’s understanding of English has improved much.” Setting down the cloth she was folding, the handmaiden said wistfully, “He has been verra kind to me.”
Though the Norman knights and men-at-arms were making an effort to learn the English tongue, mostly to speak to the young women and give orders to the old thegn’s men, Serena recalled they spent evenings in the hall drinking Talisand’s ale and telling jokes in their own language. Her knowledge of the Norman tongue had given her the ability to understand much of what they said. Many times she had grimaced at their ribald jokes and their slurs against the Saxons they had defeated in the south. Each night she tried to convince herself it was England, not Normandy, she was living in.
“I have seen Sir Maurin smile at you, Cassie…would you marry one of them?”
Cassie looked off into the distance. “I might. I, too, want bairns, m’lady. Sir Maurin is older than the others, ’tis true, and his face shows signs of a hard life, but he is a man with a good heart. And though he is a knight, he does nay seem to mind I am not high born. Besides, there are nay any others at Talisand left that I would wed.”
“But there are many who would have you as wife, Cassie.”
With the death of many of Talisand’s young men at Hastings, her lovely handmaiden had fewer choices, though many who remained lusted after the redhead. That her father was the beefy blacksmith kept them at bay. Serena wanted to see her friend wed and happy. Raised together, they were more like sisters than lady and servant. She enjoyed Cassie’s honest bantering. Very much her mother’s daughter, Cassie freely spoke her mind.
Serena stared at the dust motes in the sunlight pouring in through the open door while her hands worked independently to fold the drying cloths. Her mind drifted to the past and to a time when a tall English guard who worked for her father had captured her interest. For a while, they had walked the river bank together in the afternoons. He’d
even stolen a kiss once. Oswine was killed at Hastings defending his thegn. Though it had been the love of a young girl, it might have grown into more in time. Alas, she would never know.
She thought it was probably inevitable that some of Talisand’s women would marry Normans. God knew there were widows enough. But if she were to accept the fate the Norman king had willed for her, it would be a sign to all she had given up the fight for England and for Talisand. She shook her head and set her lips in a thin line. No, I will not do it.
“If ye willna have a Norman, m’lady, even the new lord, what about young Morcar? When he was still Earl of Northumbria, wasna he one of the men yer father was considering for yer hand? A most handsome and charming man to me memory.”
“Aye, Morcar is fair of face and charming, but he has only a few years more than me.” She was thinking of the Red Wolf who was older and more virile than the younger Mercian, who she remembered with fondness. The Mercian had paid several visits to her father before he had gone to fight against the King of Norway but her father had not promised her hand to him. Morcar laughed easily and his people loved him, but she did not. Even if she had wanted to wed him, could she do so when she had been given to the Norman lord? “And he lost his lands with the coming of the Normans.”
“I often wonder what might have happened,” said Cassie thoughtfully, “if he and his brother had not been so eager to rid themselves of King Harold. They held back their men, hoping, I believe, the Normans would defeat Harold at Hastings. With the men Morcar and his brother could have called to fight, we might have driven the Normans back into the sea.”
“More important, Cassie, would they fight now?”