The Conqueror's Lady

by TERRI BRISBIN

  ‘I know he covets what I bring to him, Emma. I am no fool in that regard. But I want him no more than he wants me.’ Tears threatened then and her throat tightened as she thought on her reaction to his touch and to his kiss. ‘I cannot want him,’ she whispered.

  Emma did not press her for more and Fayth was glad of it. The fact that her body came to life under his touch shamed her and she did not wish to repeat such a weakness again. They accomplished the rest of her bath in silence and Fayth stood so that Emma could rinse her of the soap. Allowing the water to pour down over her, Fayth closed her eyes.

  The sound of his loud, angry voice preceded that of the door crashing against the wall by only moments.

  ‘I told you not to bar this door,’ he yelled, but then his voice dropped lower, much lower when he looked at her, ‘to me.’

  Chapter Five

  T he sight of Lord Giles standing there, filled with anger, fist still raised and glaring at her gave Fayth pause. She did not dare move, for it was only his tall body that blocked those behind him. Fayth heard Emma’s indrawn breath behind her and, as she watched, the warrior’s gaze moved over her nakedness.

  Her skin tingled wherever his eyes looked—first her face and neck and then her breasts as she saw the glimmer of recognition as he noticed the mark there. Then his gaze slid down until he stared at her legs and the area between them. The tips of her breasts tightened under his bold, sexual stare and shock finally gave way to action. She covered herself as she could with her arms and hand while reaching for a drying cloth, one which Emma could not seem to find.

  Fayth turned her back to him, chancing even more of his anger, to grab the large cloth from Emma’s hand and to wrap it around herself. For some reason, her maid did not move to aid her and it took some moments for Fayth to accomplish. It was then that she heard Emma’s whispered words.

  ‘I do not think you need to worry about him wanting you, lady.’

  Fayth turned and faced her husband, whose expression had changed from anger to lust in those few moments. Now, his eyes burned hers with a heated stare. His hands fisted and released several times before he let them hang at his sides. Lord Giles wore his mail hauberk once more with his sword at his side, apparently ready for battle.

  Realising she still stood in the tub, Fayth leaned down to hold the edge while stepping out. Before she could manage, he warned off his men and strode across the chamber in a few steps. Lifting her from the water and holding her high against his chest, he carried her over to the side of the bed and placed her on her feet. As she thought to thank him, Fayth was horrified to realise that she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and was still holding him so.

  Once she released her grasp, he stepped back but his eyes stared lower and she noticed that the drying cloth had parted over her chest, revealing her breasts to anyone standing close or who stood as tall as he. Fayth tucked the edges tighter and thanked him.

  ‘I did not bar the door, my lord.’

  He was bold, she would admit to that, for he smiled wickedly in that moment, glancing at her now-covered breasts and then at her mouth.

  ‘I see that, my lady.’ He nodded to her then and threw a glance at Emma. ‘I did not mean to invade your privacy either. Would you join me for the noon meal in the hall?’

  He’d been speaking in her tongue and his deep voice made it sound so enticing, even when he stumbled over some of the words. Though most nobles in the land spoke varying forms of French, few nobles from the continent, let alone those of lesser standing, knew the English of her country. Yet, he tried to use it.

  ‘Yes, I will join you.’

  He offered a quick bow and nearly ran from the chamber, calling out something to his men in his dialect. Fayth listened as his steps faded in distance and sound and then, when the door was jammed once more into place, she sat down on the bed in a heap.

  What had she been thinking to stand so before him and not cover herself immediately? The terrible lapse could only have lasted a few seconds, but why had Emma allowed it at all?

  The deeper, more telling question she asked herself in those few moments was why did he affect her so? Oh, she knew that just by his position as new lord and husband he affected her, but somehow it was more than that. His voice and his touch wrought such confusion and excitement within her when fear and loathing should be her reaction. It seemed that her wits and judgement were crumbling around her much as her world and life had.

  In only two short months, her life had been twisted and turned until she no longer recognised it or herself. From beloved daughter to orphaned war-prize. From betrothed maiden to rejected wife. From loyal Englishwoman to the wife of a foreign enemy. It was no surprise then that she knew not how to act or what to think or feel!

  Now she was all that stood between the conquerors and her family and people and it was time to remember that she was Fayth, daughter of Bertram, thane and earl of Taerford, and carried a proud legacy in her blood from her Saxon and Dane ancestors. Dressing quickly with Emma’s help, she decided it was time to take the first steps at reclaiming herself and her people.

  In spite of his hard labour, chopping the felled trees into smaller chunks and hauling them to the storage area near the stables, the desire for Fayth that raged through Giles’s veins had not lessened. And presently, even after three hours had passed and he stood naked to the waist so that the cool air could ease the heat within him, it still sent a pulse through his body and kept his cock hard and ready.

  He’d worked for the whole first hour or so in full chainmail before he allowed himself to slow down and remove it. Luckily, the bulk and weight of the hauberk covered most of the evidence of his reaction to seeing his wife in such a state. Then working himself to exhaustion was the only way he could keep himself from running back inside the keep, peeling off whatever the lady was wearing at the moment, and claiming every inch of the body he’d seen.

  The sight of the creamy skin, pert, rose-tipped breasts and the shapely curves of her body had nearly undone him and the memories of her haunted him even now. The fading bruises on her neck had given him pause, but then he noticed the newer mark he’d left on the top of her breast last night. His mouth watered at the memory of her skin under it and once more his body readied itself to take her.

  Damn! He’d gone to ask for her help and when faced with her stunning beauty and nakedness he’d stood, awestruck and unable to say a word. Then with a hurried request, he’d run and tried to work off his arousal so he could deal with her in a more controlled manner.

  With a lifted arm, he wiped the sweat from his brow and surveyed the yard to see how work progressed. The wall and main outlying buildings were now in good stead and could withstand an attack. The keep was designed strangely, unlike any keep or castle he’d yet seen, for its innermost wall was of stone with the rest being wooden. So some rooms, like the kitchen and his chamber and the smaller one as well, could have stone hearths, while braziers were used for heat in the chambers farther away from the central wall.

  He still had no idea of how many villagers had stayed behind or had followed Edmund and his men into the forests and he must find that out. They needed an accounting of all of that and their other supplies as well and it need be done quickly so that they could gather everything together and guard it from attack or pilfering, for November was full upon them and the winter winds and cold would howl soon. Stay alive, strengthen the walls, fight off attacks and hold these lands until spring—those were his only goals and every action he planned and carried out were aimed at those.

  Yet, here he stood with lust rushing through his veins, thinking about inconsequential things like passion when critical things remained undone. He wanted the fair Fayth of Taerford and he would have her, but it would not be until he knew the truth and standing here yearning for her would do no good in the face of his every other needed task.

  There was a moment last night when he’d questioned his chosen path in dealing with her, a moment when he’d recognised
the deep hurt in her eyes when he’d doubted her word and wanted to believe her. Too much depended on him dealing with this whole situation well to simply cave in to the desire and the lust that coursed through his blood even now.

  Too much.

  Just then, a gap-toothed boy of about eight years ran up with a bucket of water and held out the dipper to him. After drinking the first two then pouring the rest over his head and his chest, Giles realised that his wasteful action would make the boy need to refill the bucket again for those waiting for a drink. He laughed then, more at himself than the boy, for no lords either Breton or English would have given a moment’s consideration of it.

  The look on the boy’s face reminded him of himself at that age, for the job of water boy had been his at that time. He had run through his father’s yards and brought water to all the men training there. And it was exhausting work, hauling the bucket to and fro the well, and refilling it from the depths and carrying it again. No one but he would understand the difficulty of the task, certainly not most lords who never faced that kind of labour.

  Giles understood.

  Giles took the bucket back from him and motioned for the boy to follow. He knew he’d said the right word in their English tongue, come, yet the boy remained rooted in place. He repeated it and waved the boy towards the well and finally the boy followed, though he did not keep up with Giles’s longer strides.

  By the time he’d reached the well near the smithy’s hut, a man stood by the boy, head and eyes lowered but still watching him. Then he noticed that many watched from their places in the bailey. All in silence, yet nothing moved that they did not see. Turning back to the well, he spoke to the man.

  ‘Your name?’ he asked as he checked the knot on the rope holding the dipping bucket. He tossed the pail over the edge of the well.

  ‘I am Hallam, my lord,’ the man said, bobbing his head even lower. Glancing between the two as the bucket splashed below into the water, he thought that they might be father and son.

  ‘Is this one your son, then?’ Giles nodded at the boy as he walked to the other side of the well.

  ‘Aye, my lord. His name is Durwyn.’ Hallam stepped closer to his son and then asked, ‘Has he done something to displease you?’

  Giles saw the nervousness now in both their behaviour and in those watching the scene from where they stood. ‘Durwyn did nothing wrong, Hallam. I am but filling the bucket from the well.’

  Leaning over, he checked to see that the bucket sank deep enough to fill and then grabbed hold of the handle of the windlass and cranked until the bucket appeared over the stone edges. Giles lifted the overflowing pail, turned to fill Durwyn’s bucket and met their gaping expressions. Finishing the task before stopping, he held the bucket out to the boy.

  ‘For all that I used, Durwyn,’ he said, smiling.

  Hallam pushed the boy forward and Durwyn took the bucket and ran off, trying not to spill more of it than he kept.

  ‘My thanks to you, my lord, for helping the boy,’ Hallam said, bowing again and backing away. It was not until Hallam returned to his own task that Giles realised the misstep he’d taken.

  Giles was lord here. Not water boy or servant living on the pleasure of their lord any longer. He was lord now…here. It was difficult to shake off memories of his past though.

  Too many years working in menial, back-breaking tasks. Too many reminders that he was not worthy of more. Too much time spent watching those designated worthy, simply for being given a name, gain much for naught else but that name.

  Only Simon’s father, who’d gathered three bastard boys from their noble fathers, had seen that ability and skill could mean something and had saved him and Brice and Soren from the life that befitted bastard sons. Training them even as he trained his noble-born son, Simon’s father had branded them with his own ideals of fairness, hard work and confidence in their abilities.

  Now, though, keeping those ideals in mind while taking on this new position was a testing of his abilities and his own honour. To know where the line was that separated the classes and when to approach it, when to ignore it and when to respect it were his daily challenges. Watching the father and son walk away, Giles knew it would be a constant battle for him.

  Working with the axe and rebuilding required skill and strength, something expected of a warrior, so that would not diminish his standing. But helping a boy fetch water was not—it was servants’ work. Looking around at the still-present signs of battle and knowing that hardship faced them even now, Giles realised it was a ridiculous distinction and shook off any regrets at working alongside his men to ready the keep for the coming winter.

  Pomp and ceremony, aspects of being a nobleman, would have to wait until their survival was assured. Turning around, he strode off toward the yard, examining his next plan in his mind. This one involved Fayth and he wondered how it would play out once she heard it.

  Fayth made her way throughout the keep, checking each of her people, enquiring of their conditions and seeking news of others, others who’d been killed or left with Edmund. Grief filled her as she learned the names of her father’s soldiers killed during the attack and those who’d died of their wounds. Worse, many villagers innocent of anything but trying to survive had been injured or watched their cottages and fields burned by the attacking forces.

  And her heart hurt to learn of the many men who’d followed Edmund into exile. She’d known all of them almost from birth and their experience and skills would be sorely missed in a time of peace and prosperity, even more so during these troubled times.

  The only thing that gave her some hope was that the new lord seemed to be treating her people fairly. He’d spoken directly to the cook about the man who’d attacked his daughter and given his word that Ardith would be safe from further harassment. He’d ordered villagers to the keep for their protection and made certain that they had food and shelter. He’d not imprisoned any free man who pledged fealty to him.

  None of it matched the fearsome rumours about the invading forces that were pillaging and raping their way across England, spreading from the main battle in the south and moving north to control all of it. The fighting and killing was not complete and many more would die before the struggle for control of the throne was won.

  Fayth sighed. So many dead and so much lost to the hunger of men for power and lands. And those not dead already faced the dangers of starvation and sickness and more during the approaching winter. Somehow she must find a way to work with the new lord in order to help her people survive. She turned and took the cloak from Emma’s hands and tossed it around her shoulders as they left the kitchens and entered the yards.

  The winds buffeted her, but Fayth stood for a moment outside the door and let them. She’d been within the keep for days and days and it weighed on her more than she’d realised until now. Emma reached out to tuck the edges of her linen veil, a sign of her new position as a married woman, under the cloak to keep the winds from tearing it free.

  The last time she’d walked in the yard, she’d followed the Breton to the chapel and her marriage vows. This time she turned her face up to the sun’s lights and enjoyed the smell of the autumn changes. Fayth knew that the number of sunny days would decrease now, until winter’s cold and darker days crept over and controlled the lands and sky, so she used this fair-weather day to continue to seek out her people and determine their needs.

  An hour passed and then another and Fayth lost herself in feeling needed once more. Though she’d not asked her husband’s permission to do so, she took note of the needs amongst the people and what supplies they’d used and what were still available to them. Serving these last two years as her father’s chatelaine had forced her to look objectively at the situation around her and to consider the coming winter’s demands. As she approached the smith’s newly rebuilt work cottage she caught sight of the Breton knight leading Durwyn towards the well. Uncertain of his purpose, she shushed Emma and waved her away while she kept to the shadows
thrown by the wall and keep while following them.

  Fayth stood too far away to hear his words, but Durwyn’s father spoke to the lord and from the glances they threw towards the boy she knew he was the centre of their discussion. The knight did not seem to threaten the boy, but she noticed that everyone carrying out their duties in the yard now watched the exchange. Soon, the boy went off carrying a freshly drawn bucket of water and the lord went back to his tasks.

  Wearing next to nothing.

  As he passed close by she leaned against the wall so she could not be easily seen by him. He’d been working at some labour that had left him sweating and he’d stripped off his tunic and shirt and worked only in his braies, which lay dampened against his skin. The cool air did not seem to chill him. His muscles moved as he did and she watched his powerful legs stride across the yard to where his men worked cutting up trees they’d felled around the outer edges of the wall.

  This was the first time she’d seen him in daylight without clothing covering his form and she discovered an unseemly curiosity about the man who’d shared her bed. He called out something in his native tongue to one of his men, something about his days at his father’s estate, and they laughed before he picked up the large axe and began to swing it around and down, chopping large pieces of trees into smaller logs that would be burned or chopped into planks for other needs.

  Giles Fitzhenry, now Baron of Taerford, was as much a mystery now as when she’d received the missive informing her that he was on his way to take her lands…and her. Fayth stepped from the shadows and walked back to where Emma stood speaking with a few of the older women from the village. She listened as they spoke and shared confidences, but she could not take her gaze off the man who was now her husband.