The Conqueror's Lady

by TERRI BRISBIN

  ‘It would,’ he agreed and he pulled Fayth to him and kissed her while Brice and Lucien freed the other two.

  ‘Do you never obey me, wife? You were supposed to remain in your chambers,’ he teased. When her eyes filled with tears, he held her in his embrace for a moment. ‘We will settle this when we return to Taerford. I brought something to you.’

  He reached inside the gambeson and took out the rings. ‘I found these on the floor and knew you would never have left them behind.’ She took them and pulled the ribbon loose.

  ‘I have much to answer for, Giles. Much. But know that I did not leave willingly with Edmund.’

  Brice came over then, gave them a disgruntled order to move along and handed a mail shirt and sword to Giles. Fayth stood back and watched as he pulled the hauberk over his head and belted it around his waist. ‘Not yours, but we came across this on our travels.’

  When he looked at Fayth to order her away to safety, she held out her hand to him. The two rings were in her palm.

  ‘Take this ring as a sign of my fealty to you, Lord Giles,’ she whispered. She offered him her father’s ring.

  At first, he was stunned by her gesture, but then he realised what she was doing and what that ring meant to her. He nodded and held out his hand for her to place the ring on his finger. Knowing what he must do, he took the smaller ring from her and held it before her.

  ‘Take this ring as a sign of my fealty and love, lady,’ he said, sliding the ring on her hand as she offered it to him.

  He took her by the shoulders and kissed her fiercely. The rest would have to wait. ‘Now seek cover near the cottage and do not follow me,’ he ordered.

  He watched with Brice in stunned silence as she actually made her way to the cottage as he’d ordered her to do, without question or hesitation.

  ‘Mayhap she is learning, my lord?’ Brice asked, handing him another dagger.

  ‘Mayhap.’ Giles watched as more men poured from the woods behind them. ‘How many did you bring?’

  ‘These are not my men, Giles. These are your lady’s men.’

  Overwhelmed by the sight of the Saxon knights lined up to fight for their lady, he could only nod. Finally, after acknowledging them, he said, ‘Let us go and find Edmund and end this now.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  F ayth offered up an oath to the Almighty that if He allowed Giles to live, she would spend her life trying to be the wife he’d dreamed of having. She begged for His protection. And in the end, she just prayed. But from the place where Giles had ordered her, for she would obey him in this.

  Fayth watched as her father’s men came out of the woods and lined up behind Giles and his men. Together they strode towards the encampment, not bothering to hide their approach. To her surprise, even more followed out of the woods, some nodding to her as they passed. She thought it not possible, but there were some of the peasants that had escaped Lord Huard and others she did not recognise, all following her Norman, Breton, husband into this battle.

  Giles did not pause, sighting Edmund and charging forward at him, sword raised, battle cry on his lips.

  ‘Taerford!’ he yelled, engaging Edmund alone. To her amazement, the others stood back and waited—for orders or for the outcome, she knew not, but this became a private combat between the two lords.

  She cringed at the sound of it, swords clashing, metal screaming as it slid against metal. Memories of their last fight struck her and she could not watch. Turning away, she closed her eyes against the reality that would find her oldest friend or dear husband dead.

  The fighting went on and on until suddenly, there was silence. Afraid to discover the results, she waited to hear the screams of the victorious side. Instead she was forced to turn and look across to the camp.

  Giles stood over Edmund with his sword pointed at his neck. One movement, one small, easy push, and it was over. Edmund’s life. England’s last hope. Her friend. Her father’s liege lord.

  She waited, unable to take a breath or utter a word, for Giles to lean on his sword and bring all this to an end.

  All he had to do was push. He panted now, exhausted by two days with little sleep, little food and only the terror that he had lost Fayth to fill his thoughts. A small thrust and Edmund’s threat would be over. Fayth and their lands would be safe from further machinations. William would be rid of another of Harold’s kin with a claim to England’s throne.

  With only one small thrust, it was over.

  He looked over at Fayth and at first she did not even look in his direction. Eyes closed, he knew she prayed, but for which one? Then she opened her eyes and he stared at her, knowing now that she would not beg for Edmund’s life this time. Having thought of all the possibilities, Giles would rather have been forced to kill him without thinking, for it would leave less guilt in his heart.

  He smiled grimly, realising that he’d given Fayth the same choice and asked her to make it. Aye, being forced to something was much easier than choosing on your own. And though now she would not beg for Edmund’s life, he would spare it for her and for their future together.

  ‘Take your men and go, Edmund.’

  Lifting his sword, he allowed Edmund to climb to his feet. Brice protested loudly, as did his men, but the Saxons who stood at his back were silent.

  ‘Giles, the duke wants him dead,’ Brice argued.

  ‘I want him dead, but there are many reasons to let him live,’ Giles replied.

  ‘Your grant of lands and title will be in danger if you do this, Giles. Are you certain this is the course you wish to take?’ Brice placed his hand on Giles’s shoulder and shook him, staring at him as though to make sure he was listening.

  Giles paused then, accepting the inherent risks in his plan—the one to aid the runaway serfs and the one to allow Edmund to live yet again.

  Turning to Edmund’s men, he called out, ‘Those who wish to fight with Edmund, take your weapons and go with him. Those who wish peace are welcomed onto my lands.’ He spoke to Edmund then, even as Brice grumbled at his side.

  ‘You cannot win this war, Edmund. Even now your boy king seeks terms from William. Morcar and Edwin have deserted his cause, your cause, to protect their own lands in Northumbria. By Christmas, William will be king of England.’

  He’d learned much from Bishop Obert before leaving Taerford. The Saxon lords would either submit or die.

  ‘Did you spare my life for her?’ Edmund asked, nodding in the direction where Fayth yet stood.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Did she ask you to do so?’

  ‘Not this time. But I know that killing someone she considered her friend and someone so important to her father would destroy her. I love her and would see her at peace with our life now.’

  ‘This is not the end of it, Norman,’ Edmund threatened. ‘There are many Saxons who will rally once they know that I lead them.’

  Brice growled out a warning, but Giles waved him off.

  ‘Continue this and you will fail, Edmund. And you will take more of your men to their deaths. Accept William and you can all live as free men here,’ Giles advised, though he knew the man’s answer before any words were spoken.

  Edmund shook his head and then looked over to where Fayth yet remained, smiling at her before ordering those following him to pack up the camp. Giles waited until they’d moved off before facing his wife.

  Who still stood where he’d ordered her to!

  ‘Do you think she will be more obedient now?’ Brice asked, as though reading his thoughts.

  ‘One can only hope, my friend,’ he said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘One can only hope.’

  And as he signalled her to come to him and they raced to each other, he did have hope. For the first time in his life, he dared to wish for so many things. As he captured her and claimed her before their people, hope and love filled his heart and his arms.

  Epilogue

  Taerford Manor Keep

  Wessex, England

  Janu
ary, 1067

  I t had taken weeks more to sort out the aftermath of that day, but Bishop Obert proved to be a thoughtful and fair judge of her husband’s actions. Of course, Giles’s pledge of the current keep and the lands immediately surrounding it for a monastery once they moved further upriver might have smoothed the way. He also had to pledge to help both Brice and Soren when they called upon him to rid the lands of any remaining rebels.

  As her husband suspected, the bishop, though serving William, was a pious man of God and welcomed the opportunity that Giles offered. With his grant expanding the Taerford holdings far past what her father had held, it made sense to locate their new manor house, whatever her Breton husband called it, closer to the new lands and the old.

  They spent these short days of winter preparing for the spring when they would finally be able to begin building the keep. He’d even promised her a chamber of her own, for the ladies he said she must have at her side. His friend’s wife had written to her, welcoming her as friend and offering the names of two young women who she thought would be amiable companions.

  Though accepting the runaways and outlaws onto their land during the winter would be a burden, Giles told the bishop he thought it suitable punishment for failing in his attempt to capture Edmund. If Obert of Caen thought differently, he said not and happily ended his investigation, despite much objection from and stern warnings to Sir Eudes.

  Before the bishop left, he’d presented Brice with his grant for lands in Thaxted. There had been trouble there as well, with the old lord’s son leading the rebels against King William. Brice would gain the hand of Gillian of Thaxted in marriage, if he could find her and if he could wrestle the keep from her brother. Brice yet remained with them until the winter’s snows passed and the roads north opened.

  The best news arrived after the bishop returned to London, for it was news that their friend did indeed still live. Giles and Brice often spoke of Soren to Fayth, sharing stories of their misspent youth and bawdy tales she did not need to hear. They believed he might die from his wounds on the battlefield, yet word came of his recovery and his plan to move northward in the spring to claim his lands.

  Although they spent the longer nights of winter in pleasurable pursuits, Fayth took time to teach Giles to read and write. His request surprised her, but his determination did not and in only weeks he had progressed beyond both of their expectations.

  Now, with the snow covering the lands and much work ahead in the spring, she decided it was time to share her news with her husband.

  The stomach ailment she’d suffered the day of her kidnapping returned again and again and, though not experienced in such matters, it did not take long for her to realise her condition. Emma, who mentioned her courses were late yet again, brought it to her attention. With the number of times her husband had bedded her, it should be no surprise to anyone, but she waited to be certain before revealing it to Giles.

  One cold January day, when the winds howled and everyone stayed inside waiting for the storm to pass, Giles ordered her to bed because she looked so pale. It was not such a punishment since he joined her there and when he began exploring her body, touching her and wooing her with his mouth and hands, she discovered she did not feel as poorly as she’d thought. His hands and mouth on her breasts caused a sensitivity she’d not felt before and she wondered if it was due to the babe she carried inside.

  When Giles rolled to his side and pulled her into his arms and when they could both breathe again, she took the hand he used to tease her breast and placed it on her belly. There was no sign there yet of her condition, but by winter’s end it would show, Emma had told her.

  ‘The spring will be a busy time for us,’ she said, watching his face to savour the moment he understood.

  ‘Aye, the new keep should be finished by planting time,’ he said. ‘Hallam has many plans for the new fields.’

  ‘I think that summer and autumn will prove just as busy, husband,’ she began. ‘Crops in the field to bring to harvest, preparations for the winter, a babe to care for, men to train…’

  She was prepared to continue listing all the tasks ahead, but the expression on his face and the way his hand now touched her belly told her that he understood.

  ‘Truly?’ he whispered, spreading his hand wide across her belly. ‘Truly?’

  ‘Aye, husband. Emma thinks late August.’

  ‘At harvest time? That is a busy time,’ he teased. ‘We will keep you working in the fields until the pains are upon you.’

  ‘If you show your lands the same care that you show your wife, I suspect fertility will abound here in Taerford.’

  ‘I like the sound of that, lady wife. I must be diligent in my care.’ He leaned over and kissed her then, a tender kiss that spoke of his happiness over the news. ‘Have you considered what to name the new lord or lady of Taerford?’

  ‘’ Tis too early for that, Giles. The birth is months and months away.’

  ‘We will discuss our choice for a boy’s name, if we are blessed with a son, but I already know what we will call a daughter if so blessed.’

  ‘You do?’ she asked, though she suspected what it might be.

  He’d told her over and over how he’d never allowed himself to think that he would ever be more than a bastard knight, riding in service for one lord or another. But something in the words of his friend Simon had spurred him on in his dreams and given him…

  ‘Hope,’ they both said at the same time.

  He kissed her then, one that spoke of hope and the future and love. And if they stayed abed a few more hours, who would notice such a thing on the dark day of winter?

  And so, on the morning of the sixth day of August in the Year of Our Lord 1067, Lady Hope was born in Taerford Keep. But if you asked anyone who lived there, they could tell you that hope came to Taerford the year before, in the guise of a Norman, nay Breton, conqueror.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-3586-5

  THE CONQUEROR’S LADY

  Copyright © 2009 by Theresa S. Brisbin

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  *The Knights of Brittany

  Look for Brice and Soren’s stories coming soon

  *The Knights of Brittany

  Look for Brice and Soren’s stories coming soon