by Regan Walker
“I thought you might,” he said, mirth reflected in his sparkling gray eyes.
Now that he’d found her and she had agreed to become his wife, he seemed to have softened toward her, evidenced by the new light in his eyes. “You did it for me?” She had never considered the possibility he took her desires into account, particularly when at the time he made those plans he thought the Lady Serena was in Scotland.
“I had to consider a place that could be defended, of course, but your father had obviously chosen well, locating the manor in the bend of the river as he did. It made sense to follow his lead. I also believed Lady Serena would want her home to be part of the castle grounds.”
“I thank you,” she said, taking a drink of ale from the cup he passed her. “It will please the people as it pleases me.”
* * *
Aethel brushed her long dark plait over her shoulder and picked up the pitcher. Slowly she walked toward the kitchen. The knight’s eyes followed her from the corner of the hall where he stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Sir Alain de Roux, the largest of the Norman knights, the one who carried the Red Wolf’s banner, was staring at her as he often did. There were other men who looked at her, but his intense perusal was different. More possessive somehow.
She had been with no man since the old thegn died, having been rejected by the new lord. And she wanted none. So, she ignored them all. Still, the big knight intrigued her, his penetrating gaze following her about the hall as she served the evening meal. Was it lust she saw in his eyes or something else? Something more?
He walked slowly toward her and her pulse sped. The man rarely said much, even to the other knights, so she was surprised when he came to stand before her and leaned in to whisper in English, “You are better than what you think of yourself, Aethel.”
His hazel eyes had sparks of green and his dark brown hair was wavy to his nape, a sensual man with a face that said he’d experienced much of life. “What know ye of what I think, sir knight?”
“I know you were jealous of Lady Serena even when we all thought her to be a servant. It need not be so. You are a beautiful woman and should have a man of your own.”
Aethel hardly knew what to say. She had played second choice for so long she had become used to the role though, in truth, she had always wanted more. “A man like ye, sir knight?” she teased, assuming he was not serious. With his large muscled chest and arms, he was a giant of a man. And not unattractive. “Would ye be wanting me for a night?” She had no intention of giving herself to this man, if that is what he sought, but she would know.
“Nay, Aethel. I would have you for more.”
Aethel shivered at the heat she observed in his eyes, a fierce look that seemed to peel away all her layers of defense.
“I would have you for my wife.”
“Wife?” Was the Red Wolf’s banner man sincere? Though men had desired her, even some of the Red Wolf’s men, Aethel had never been offered marriage. And since Theodric had rejected her love, and she’d gone to the old thegn’s bed, she thought she would never have a husband or children of her own. She knew enough of herbs to assure she would not birth a bastard. But as a child, she’d had dreams. Always they were of the fair-haired Theodric, captain of the thegn’s guard, who she’d watched at swordplay from the time they were both children. But those dreams died years ago.
“Aye, wife.” His gaze did not falter and in his eyes she saw a challenge. He meant what he said!
“Ye seem very certain of me when ye know me not at all, Sir Alain.”
“I know this, Aethel: you would make me a fine wife. Though I have seen you make eyes at the Red Wolf, you have been with no man, be he knight or villein, since I came to Talisand. I want a family and I want a woman I desire above others to birth my sons. You will be that woman.”
A shyness suddenly came over Aethel, as if he had stripped away the crust she had formed to protect her broken heart. Glancing down at her feet, she whispered, “I am not worthy. Ye should have a fine lady, one who has known no other man.”
“I shall have the woman I want, Aethel.” Taking her hand, he lifted her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “And I want you.”
* * *
Standing in the yard, Serena’s gaze followed the Red Wolf as he departed Talisand, sitting tall on his gray stallion at the head of the column of knights and retainers. A sudden jolt of pride made her chest swell knowing he was hers, yet that pride warred with the knowledge he rode to battle against yet another English city.
Brown hosen covered his long muscled legs, crisscrossed by leather straps from his ankles to just below the knee where they were met by tunic and mail. Over his mail, beneath his cloak, he had donned the pelt of the beast, announcing to all he rode as William’s knight.
Though the knights rode palfreys and other horses, their powerful destriers traveled with them, ready for battle. The Red Wolf’s banner, held high by the burly knight, Sir Alain, waved in the breeze, a snarling red wolf on a dark blue field.
Jamie now rode in the Red Wolf’s personal attachment. When she’d bid the boy safe travels, his smile beamed from where he’d sat atop the small horse, delighted to be accompanying his master to battle. A foreboding swept over Serena as she thought of the terrible scenes the boy might witness, battles where a small boy might be caught in the fray. Jamie had never seen war, though he knew well men could be slain and never return. The Red Wolf had assured her he would keep the boy safe, but she had witnessed the knights in their mail securing their shields and lances to their saddles and experienced the unease of one who has bidden warriors farewell never to see them again.
As she had said she would, she had wished the Red Wolf “Godspeed” from where she stood next to his stallion in the yard. In response, with his chestnut hair blowing across his forehead, he reached down, wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her to him, soundly kissing her for all to see. The kiss was possessive and nearly punishing, but it roused within her a longing she could not deny as she brought her arms around his neck to hold him close and return his kiss. When he had set her feet on the ground, she had flushed with embarrassment seeing the smiles on the faces of his knights.
Aethel and Cassie had been in the yard as well, but they had been looking at other knights. Cassie had eyes only for Sir Maurin, and to Serena’s surprise, Aethel was waving to a smiling Sir Alain who rode behind the Red Wolf.
The column of knights grew smaller and began to disappear over the hill in the distance when Serena climbed to the roof walk. Raising her hand to shelter her eyes against the midday sun, she gazed at the men and their horses fading from sight. She felt a deep sadness at the Red Wolf’s going, and that surprised her. Embarrassed by her feelings for the Norman knight, she dropped her hand, intent on returning to her duties as the Lady of Talisand. She would stay busy and soon he would return.
The sound of a hammer striking wood drew her attention to the yard below where a man mended a wooden sheep’s pen. A boy walked toward the kitchen, carrying a catch of fish. And a few chickens squawked as they found themselves in the path of a tinker and his cart pulled by a donkey slowly plodding through the gate.
The traveling merchant was clearly English, his beard showing below the wide brimmed straw hat he wore upon his head. From beneath the cart’s cover, she observed a flash of bright sapphire blue, and next to it, a deep shade of crimson, bolts of cloth he had come to sell. ’Twas most unusual to see such cloth in a tinker’s cart, but now that she was once again wearing the clothes of the Lady of Talisand, she needed a new cloak and a few gowns for she’d had no new ones since before her father left for Hastings.
Descending to her chamber, she found Cassie attending the room. “Cassie, a tinker has come and his wares look more like those of a mercer. Perchance he will have some velvet for us to see.”
Her handmaiden set aside the linens she was folding. “He might have silks as well. Ye should have a fine silk g
own for yer wedding and also one for court. Sir Maurin told me the Norman king favors the Red Wolf. Ye may be asked to go with him now that ye’ll be his countess.”
“Oh, Cassie,” she sighed, sinking onto the chest at the foot of her bed. “I have no desire to dance attendance on the Norman king I despise, but I will go with you to see the tinker’s cloth. Mayhap he will have a riband or two for us.”
Cassie’s eyes lit up. “I would love a new one!”
When Serena and her handmaiden reached the yard, they found it filling with women who had left off their chores to peruse the wares of the traveling merchant. The weavers, Ingrith and Annis, appeared especially curious to compare the woolens he had with their fine cloth. Aethel, who had been distant since Serena had returned to Talisand with the Red Wolf, seemed remarkably cheerful as she examined some ribands in colors of scarlet and emerald green.
Hulda, the potter’s wife, and her young assistant, Edith, who had been injured in the kiln accident, were peering eagerly into the merchant’s cart.
“Are you well, Edith?” asked Serena. She had not seen the girl since being told she would recover.
“Aye, m’lady. I am. A few scars that will nay go away, but ’twas to be expected. I thank ye for what ye and the Norman lord did fer me. Hulda told me of yer kindness. I’m making a special bowl fer yer wedding feast. This time,” she said with a blush, “I’ll be asking fer Godfrith’s help.”
Serena’s cheeks warmed at the reminder that the day was not far off that would bind her to the Norman for the rest of her life. That is, if he returned from Exeter. But she refused to consider he might not. Instead, she thought of her people who seemed to be looking toward the future. A wedding blessing and a feast would be expected for the lord and his bride.
“’Tis most kind of you to think of me, Edith.”
Cassie fingered the blue silk the man had spread out on top of the other bolts.
“My lady,” she directed her comment to Serena, “this would make a fine wedding gown.”
“Aye, it would.” Serena stroked the shimmering cloth and looked at the merchant. “You have brought us rich wares, good sir.”
He glanced at the silver and gold circlet that still graced the crown of her head. “Me name’s Fugol, m’lady. Be ye the Lady of Talisand?”
“Aye, I am Lady Serena. Do you travel far?”
“From Mercia, m’lady.”
Serena knew Mercia to be the lands of Earl Edwin, but she would not speak his name to this man. “’Tis a far distance you’ve come.”
“Not so far, m’lady. No more than few days’ ride. Though my cart travels more slowly, ’o course. I had heard the old lord of Talisand clothed his people well and loved his daughter much. ’Twas why I came. I thought mayhap ye’d want some of me fine velvets and silks.”
She smiled at the merchant. “You are correct, good sir.” Running her hands over the shimmering cloth, Serena glanced at the women of Talisand standing around the cart, captivated by the rich fabrics the likes of which were rarely seen in the village. “Though my father is no longer with us. We lost him at Hastings.”
“You have me sympathy, m’lady. England lost many good men that awful day.”
She nodded sadly and let out a sigh. But it was no use dwelling on the past or the father she would not see again in this life.
She perused the silks among the mercer’s wares. They were too fine for daily wear, but Cassie was right, she would need a wedding gown. Such a gown would be needful when she entertained the Red Wolf’s guests. “Some ribands and some silk for a gown would serve well, good sir.”
Serena made a selection and gave Fugol the coins to buy the blue silk that Cassie had found for her, some emerald silk for another gown and some ribands for her handmaiden. While Cassie was engaged in a conversation with one of the village women, Serena also bought some green velvet and a fabric of the same color green to go with it that was imprinted with a gold pattern. They would make a lovely wedding dress for Cassie with her red hair. Perfect for a harvest wedding, though she did not tell her friend of her thinking.
Sir Maurin was spending the time that was his own with Cassie, and though the handmaiden had said nothing, Serena believed the two were falling in love. She had never considered the possibility either she or Cassie would wed Normans, but it seemed her thoughts mattered little. For Cassie to marry a knight was a good match, more than she might have expected. Sir Maurin was no fool. Anyone could see Cassie was a woman to treasure.
Two weeks passed with no word from the knights who had ridden south. Serena anxiously awaited a messenger while working hard at her duties, and sewing with Cassie the gowns they were making together. The stands of wheat grew high and turned golden in the long days of summer. The orchards were showing the new apples they would harvest in the fall. And rising above the manor to the south was the wooden castle set on the large motte of earth.
Rhodri lingered at Talisand and he and Serena sang for the people in the evenings. It was almost like the days of her youth except that Norman French could be heard in the hall and Normans sat at the high table.
As summer lingered, Serena struggled with her emotions. Most of her people appeared resigned to their new lord now that she was to be his bride. But a niggling question persisted in her mind. Was she?
Chapter 13
Morcar was eager for news. “What did you learn?” he anxiously asked Fugol while his brother looked on. “Does she remain unwed?”
“My lord,” said the brown-haired Saxon, his beard now trimmed and his attire resembling that of a freeman in the employ of a wealthy earl, “I met Lady Serena when she came to see the wares ye gave me to sell. She wore no ring and her hair was uncovered, but the people spoke of a coming wedding to the Norman who has been given Talisand.”
“I knew it!” shouted Morcar, slamming his fist on the table, the sound reverberating off the walls of Edwin’s solar in Mercia. “Damn William for promising one of the fairest English maidens to one of his knights when her father would have given her to me.”
“Not just any knight, my lord,” added Fugol. “’Tis Sir Renaud, the one they call the Red Wolf.”
“I know of him,” said Edwin from where he sat at the end of the table stroking his beard. “He has long fought at William’s side. When we were dragged off to Normandy as William’s guests, the Red Wolf was one of the senior knights the king left in London, one he trusted with his affairs.”
“Yea, and I seem to recall him when we were still at William’s court,” said Morcar. His eyes narrowed on the spy. “He wore that pelt that has branded him as vicious as the animal he killed. Was he at Talisand?”
“Nay,” said Fugol. “He and most of his knights and men-at-arms were gone ere I came, summoned by William to Exeter to join him in a siege of that city where some Saxons are holding out against him.”
“I pity the good citizens of Exeter,” said Edwin.
“The only Normans left at Talisand,” said Fugol, “are guards or those supervising the work on the castle they are building.”
Directing his words to his brother, Morcar said, “It seems William is intent on leaving his mark all over England with those infernal castles. Our hopes to be left alone to rule the north are crumbling to nothing.”
“I still hold Mercia,” said Edwin, “though for how long I cannot say.”
Morcar shifted his gaze to Fugol. “What about her brother Steinar?”
“He’s no longer at Talisand, my lord. According to the woman Aethel, he is in Scotland.”
Morcar traded looks with his brother. They had been in contact with Edgar who was safely ensconced across the border, waiting for an opportunity to return to reclaim the English throne. And they knew Steinar must be with him.
Returning his attention to the spy, Morcar asked, “Can the lady be taken?”
“Aye.” The spy smiled. “As I told ye, there be few guards, though one of the Norman knights follows her about and sits near when she dines at the high tab
le with Sir Maurin, the knight left in charge. The wench ye sent me to, Aethel, may know how best to get in and out of the manor unseen. She seemed willing enough to help. She told me Lady Serena had twice tried to escape, but was brought back each time.”
“She sought to escape?” asked Edwin.
“Aye, she did,” said Fugol. “Brave lady that she is. But when I was there, she bought silk for a wedding gown from my cart.”
“Mayhap she feels she has no other choice,” said Morcar. He would give her another choice and soon. “Ye said naught to Lady Serena?” He wanted to limit those who were aware of his plans. Though he knew Serena must be unhappy at the prospect of being forced to wed a Norman, he did not want his spy’s presence to become known.
“To Lady Serena, I spoke only about the cloth I sold. About my mission I spoke only to Aethel.”
Rising, Morcar faced his brother. “Then we go forward as planned. As it happens, there is a Norman mercenary knight who only a few days ago approached me offering his sword. Though I trust not a turncoat, this one by fortune’s chance has been at Talisand and may be of use. It seems he rode with the Red Wolf only a short while ago. They disagreed over some matter leaving the mercenary bitter.”
“Oh?” Edwin raised a brow. “And who might he be?”
“He gave the name Sir Hugue.”
* * *
Renaud and his men neared Exeter and still his thoughts lingered on Lady Serena as they had on the long journey south. He had not wanted to leave her; their relationship was too new, too tenuous. But William’s summons could not be refused.
The sounds of the siege filled the air, interrupting his thoughts, even before he and his knights were close enough to see the old Roman walls. The projectiles shooting from the Norman catapult made a loud whooshing sound renting the stillness of the countryside. Close up, he knew the noise would be deafening.
As he and his men drew nearer, he heard the clash of steel upon shields a short distance away. The Norman knights were practicing the skills they would need when the siege broke through the ancient walls. Even now, William’s men assaulted those walls, and Renaud paused to study the effects of their efforts.