by Regan Walker
“What is the Welshman to you, Sarah?”
The question surprised her. Why would he care? Reaching for the pail of rinse water, she considered how to answer. She did not look at his naked form but her fingertips touched his warm flesh as she poured the water over his hair and his back. The heat of his body made her keenly aware they were alone in his chamber and he was unclothed. She had never touched a man like this, never felt her heart race at the nearness of so powerful a warrior.
She managed to say, “He is a friend and my teacher of the bow as he is to many at Talisand.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nay, my lord.” Her voice was calm but his words caused her anger to rise. What business of his was her relationship to the Welsh bard? But a servant would not ask so she said naught.
“That is good.”
Still behind him, Serena reached for the drying cloth, bringing her head near to his. He turned to look at her. His eyes, only a hand’s width away, flashed liquid silver, and in them she glimpsed raw desire. Like a mouse caught in the fixed glare of a snake, she was unable to move. The drying cloth slipped from her hand.
His gaze fell to her lips. “Sarah…”
He reached out his hand and pulled her towards him as his mouth closed the short distance to hers. His lips touched her own ever so lightly. His tongue followed the curve of her bottom lip, causing her skin to tingle. Had he tried to force her she might have fought, she might have fled, but his slow seduction lulled her into remaining still. His hand moved to her nape where his fingers curved around the tingling skin and held her tenderly. She responded, willingly offering her mouth to him and closed her eyes.
A feeling of pleasure she had never experienced swept over her as his lips softly teased and his tongue slipped between her parted lips to freely explore her mouth. His slow deliberate movements tantalized as they promised pleasure, a pleasure for the first time she very much wanted. She entwined her tongue with his and moaned.
When he pulled her tightly against his chest, the touch of his wet skin and the edge of the tub pressed against her breasts awakened her to what was happening. She wrenched back, frightened at how close she had come to giving him what he sought and angry with herself for allowing such intimacy.
“My lord!” Still on her knees, she scurried backward and hastily rose.
“Sarah…” His voice was deep and coaxing. “Come back.”
“Nay!”
She raced to the door, flung it open and fled, letting it slam behind her. He called her name but she did not respond. Flattening herself against the wall next to the door to what had once been her chamber, her heart pounded in her chest. Pressing her palms against the wall, she willed her heart to slow.
Her mind reeled, alarmed at what had transpired. No man had ever kissed her like the Norman had—no man had ever made her want him.
How could the Norman knight affect her so?
She reached one hand to her lips; the soft flesh still throbbed from his kiss. Hearing voices below, she stepped away from the wall to peer into the entry where a few men lingered. One of them looked up at her. Maugris. The old man’s gaze held hers and a slow smile spread across his face. She fell back against the wall, her heart still racing as she sought to hide in the shadows. Did the old man know what had transpired?
Chapter 8
The sun was nearly at its zenith when Renaud set aside his sword and wiped his face with the back of his hand. After the night before when Sarah had fled his bedchamber, leaving him hard and wanting, he relished the physical activity of sword practice with his men. Besides, he would need to keep up his skills for battle.
“Good work, Alain. You have wearied me,” said Renaud.
His banner carrier, the knight who always reminded him of a large bear, smiled. “And you have me sweating like a pig in a slaughterhouse, my lord,” said Alain, sheathing his sword.
Renaud looked around at his other knights. All were sweating in the heat of the midday sun from hours of heaving their swords in mock battle.
“Take a break and get some food,” Renaud urged his men. “This afternoon, some of you will hunt while others have duties supervising the motte construction.” Then to Geoff, who had just sheathed his sword, “The men appear ready, even eager for an engagement.”
“Aye, they do. They enjoy the peace they have found here, but they are trained for war, so a short excursion to join in one of William’s campaigns would appeal. Do you think it will be long ere the king calls us to attend him in some skirmish?”
“There are rumors of rebellions in the south, so it might not be long.” William had not conquered all of England and, knowing his sire, Renaud thought it was only a matter of time before they were summoned to put down some rebellion. In the meantime, he had duties here.
“Geoff, this afternoon I would see the village. I intend to take Maugris with me, but I need someone who can accompany me who knows the villeins well. Can you identify such a one?”
“Maggie knows everyone. She will have a name.”
“I will bathe first, then join you in the hall. And, yea, ask Maggie.” Renaud liked the cook and her easy acceptance of him and his knights. She could have poisoned them all, but instead, she fed them well.
On his way back to the manor, Renaud passed the Welsh bard as he was going through the gate. “I would have a word, Welshman.”
The bard stopped. “Yea, my lord?”
“I am a bit confused as to who you are. Be you bard, Welsh warrior or something else?”
For a moment, Renaud thought he saw a flicker of concern in the bard’s dark eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had come.
“Merely a bard, my lord, who entertains along the road. When I first visited Talisand, the old thegn saw me practicing the bow and asked me to train any who would learn.”
Renaud suspected there was more to the story. “And why do you return now?”
“I am merely passing through. I did not know the thegn was dead and thought to visit him.”
An unlikely story. “Know you aught of Lady Serena, where she might be, for instance?”
“I have not seen her on my travels, my lord. The people say she has followed her brother to Scotland.”
“Yea, that is what they say.” Renaud considered the Welshman, the bard who could fashion a bow that competed well with those of his archers, and his suspicions were raised. “Do you train with my archers this afternoon?”
“If you would desire it, my lord, I would be willing.”
“It may be you can teach them something.”
“Or, I might learn from them,” the Welshman said with a grin.
As the bard, who Renaud suspected was more than a bard, started to walk away, Renaud called him back. “Rhodri, there is another matter I would address.”
“Yea, my lord?”
“What is your relationship with the servant girl Sarah?”
The Welshman paused before answering. “Why, I am but her instructor of the bow and her friend. And sometimes her partner in song.”
Renaud rubbed his fingers over his chin as the bard bowed and sauntered through the palisade gate. There was more to the man than music and arrows, he was certain of it.
* * *
Geoffroi strolled into the kitchen to find Maggie and her daughter Cassandra hard at work putting the finishing touches on the midday meal, while one of the lads stirred the contents of a large kettle suspended over the central hearth. Smells of a rich stew rose in the air making his stomach growl.
“Good day, Sir Geoffroi. Can I help ye?” Maggie paused in her work setting fresh loaves of bread on platters.
“Good day to you, Maggie, Cassandra,” he said with a nod toward each of the women. “I need your recommendation for someone to accompany the lord on his walk through the village this afternoon. It would be best if it were a person who is familiar with the people and their needs…someone who can assist with introductions.”
Maggie wiped her hands on her apron and e
xchanged a glance with her daughter. Drawing her brows together, she appeared to ponder his request while her daughter continued in her work, and the lad stirred the kettle that was the source of the spicy aroma. Geoff’s mouth watered.
Cassandra’s eyes never left her mother. Suddenly a smile spread across Maggie’s face.
“Well, now, the best be steward Hunstan, but he is nay here today. The lord sent him to the far manors to see what workers could be had for the building of his castle.”
She must have seen the disappointment on his face, because she quickly added, “But there be another who is perfect for the task.”
Geoffroi raised his brows expectantly.
“’Tis the maid, Sarah. She knows the people well and often carried Lady Serena’s wishes to the village.”
He thought for a moment. It did seem that the girl Sarah spoke well and she had the friendship of Eawyn. And Ren had a personal interest in the servant girl, of that he had no doubt. Yea, she might be just the one to introduce the Red Wolf to the people. “’Tis a grand idea, Maggie. See that she is available this afternoon. I will tell the lord.”
* * *
Serena stepped into the dirt path leading to the village, the Red Wolf on her right and Maugris on her other side. The village was close to the manor so they had no need of horses, which was good, as she did not want the Normans to know she could ride well. She missed her daily rides on Elfleda, the white mare her father had given her in her fourteenth year, but it could not be helped.
A boy chasing a squawking copper feathered chicken ran in front of them and missed when he reached down to grab the panicked fowl. The Red Wolf laughed, his deep voice bringing back the memory of their encounter in his chamber the night before. Serena shivered though the sun on her head was warm. The memory of his lips on hers brought back exciting sensations. Her fingers twitched as she recalled the feel of him and the smell of his wet skin.
How foolish she was to think of such things when this man, she reminded herself, was one of the Bastard’s knights.
She had argued with Maggie saying that going to the village with the Red Wolf was not a wise thing. But her words had only drawn a smile from the older woman, who insisted the new lord had need of the servant girl Sarah. Thankfully she had dyed her new hair growth that morning.
The thought of being so close to him after what happened the night before left her anxious and unsettled, her stomach churning as if two cats fought within it. After successfully avoiding the man all morning, she was to be with him all afternoon. It was not just his nearness that plagued her, though that was surely enough cause for concern. Nay, visiting the men and women of the village was something she had often done with her father and Steinar. Seeing her with the new lord would surely remind the villeins that she was their lady. She prayed none revealed her identity.
Other lads joined the boy who had chased the chicken, the group of them pausing at the side of the path to gape at the tall knight, who bore the name of the wolf he had killed with his bare hands, and the old man the whole village thought of as a wizard.
The boys’ openmouthed gazes lingered on the Red Wolf’s dark blue tunic circled with a silver-studded belt at his waist from which hung a deadly short sword that glistened in the afternoon sun. His hosen were brown as were the leather straps that crossed them. Even without a hauberk or the wolf’s pelt, he appeared dangerous. The children’s wide-eyed stares followed him as though they were watching a mythical god. He was so different from the English thegn they had known with his long fair hair and graying beard.
The Red Wolf cast a glance at the young ones, then paused, his gaze lingering on the cottages with their neat thatched roofs extending nearly to the ground. “The cottages seem well kept. Though some of the thatch needs to be repaired. Maugris, see that Sir Geoffroi knows of this task.”
Before Maugris could answer, Serena said, “Those are repairs we make before winter, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow but Maugris only looked amused. Instantly, she realized she had stepped outside a servant’s demeanor.
“You are an impudent one for a servant, Sarah. Do you think I would not know that?”
“Nay, but ’tis not time for the repairs while spring is still upon us. New thatch will be laid after harvest. And some repairs have been delayed for lack of men to complete them.” Men the Normans have taken from us.
As if to make peace between her and his lord, Maugris inquired, “Are all these cottages homes?”
“Nay,” replied Serena politely, “some are the workshops of the men and women who provide what Talisand needs. The tools, wooden implements, cloth and cooking kettles. And the smith, of course. The mill lies on the river just north of the village.” She pointed into the distance to a larger thatched structure rising amidst the trees.
“Is it the same in Normandy?” she asked, curious.
“Aye,” said the old man, “’tis similar, but there are some differences.”
Serena hoped the Norman knight appreciated what a well-tended village Talisand had. Did the knight fail to notice how the people were well clothed and the children well fed notwithstanding all the fathers they were missing?
“How many slaves are in the village?” asked the Red Wolf. “I have seen few in the manor.”
“There are no slaves in the village, nor in the manor,” she answered with pride. “All those the old lord brought here he freed.” That was one of the reasons her father was so loved. He brought those to Talisand who had skills to share, and the people produced much from the pure joy of building lives they were proud of, of working their own land.
The Red Wolf seemed to consider her words. “It seems a waste to me, but then he was an unusual thegn.”
Serena could feel her anger rise but she quickly damped it down. As if explaining to a child, she said, “It is because they are free, my lord, that the people work so hard. They work for the future of their sons and daughters. They were happy to give back to the thegn who gave them so much. To now become serfs does not sit well.” Inwardly she cringed, knowing she had again stepped over the bounds of a servant, but it was important to convince this Norman her father’s ways were best. Obviously he knew little of caring for villeins.
His gray eyes seemed to study her for a moment. She felt uncomfortable beneath his intense gaze. Then, in a deep voice he said, “Lead the way to the blacksmith, Sarah. It is time that I meet him.”
Serena dropped her head as Cassie had instructed, though the gesture ran against her nature. “Yea, my lord. His name is Angus. His cottage is a short way ahead.”
Maugris smiled.
She pointed toward the cottage set off from the others. The small building they entered was open on one end where the breeze from the large door fanned the fire in the forge. A wave of heat billowed out to meet them as she spotted the stocky man with bright red hair sitting on a stool, sweat rolling off his soot-smudged face. In one hand he held tongs that gripped a bar of iron he forced into the fire. In his other hand was a large hammer, which he used to pound the red hot metal, the clanking sound resonating as sparks flew upward.
Angus paused in his work to thrust the glowing bar into a vat of water sending steam shooting into the air as the tortured metal screamed. As Serena approached, he set aside the cooling bar and rose, wiping his powerful hands on his leather apron.
The Red Wolf followed her through the door, bending his head to avoid hitting the lintel. Maugris was close on his heels.
“Greetings, Angus. ‘Tis Sarah,” she said, careful to remind him of the name she had taken, hoping the Normans did not think it odd. “The new lord and his wise man have come to meet you.”
“Aye,” said Angus, looking at the tall knight and Maugris behind him. “Maggie told me ye would be coming. Yer men are keeping my forge busy, m’lord.”
“My men have much need for a smith’s services,” remarked the Red Wolf. “I trust you can keep up. We’ll need the horses shod and some armor repaired. Then there will be fi
ttings for the castle.”
“The forge and workers I have willna be enough.”
“Then you must build another and hire more men,” said the Red Wolf shortly, “or I’ll send for a smith who can.”
“My lord,” Serena interrupted, “Angus can do it but he will need coin to pay for materials and for the workers required for a second forge. Talisand does not have such resources.”
The Red Wolf’s eyes flashed in anger.
“Aye, I will need more iron and more workers,” echoed the smith, running his hands through his tousled red hair. “There be some lads in the next village who can be put to the task.”
The Red Wolf’s brow furrowed as his gaze came to rest on the forge. “I will see you have coin for the workers and the iron you need. Let Sir Geoffroi know your requirements, and you will have them.”
Angus dipped his head. “Aye, I shall do as ye say.” He winked at Serena and she breathed a sigh of relief. Though she had incurred the Red Wolf’s anger to do it, she had helped the Norman understand what Angus needed and for that she was glad.
“Would you want to see the chapel?” Serena asked as they left the smith’s workshop.
Renaud looked at her disbelieving. “Talisand has a chapel?”
“Yea, a proper stone chapel. The old lord observed many on his travels and wanted his people to have a place both to worship and to keep the holy days.”
“Where is it?” Maugris inquired.
“Just a short walk from the end of the village. We can return to see the other workshops, but as long as we are here, the chapel is best seen now.”
“Lead on.” The Red Wolf gestured them forward.
The chapel was nestled in a copse of oak trees. A mood of calm spread over Serena as it always did when she came to the beautiful structure built by her father’s men. They entered through two heavy oaken doors, each with an iron ring handle. Inside, small arched windows on the side of the structure in the shape of a cross allowed narrow shafts of light to fall on the stone floor.