Saxon Lady. Margo Maguire
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Название: Saxon Lady
Автор: Margo Maguire
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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“You lie, Norman. My brother would never—”
Osric jumped to his feet and dashed away from Sir Auvrai’s reach. “I knew they would have to set us free if the building was on fire!” His tone was defiant.
The blood suddenly drained from Aelia’s head. “Osric, no! You could have killed so many…” She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. There had to be some additional explanation for Osric’s actions. Surely he had understood the danger of a fire in the center of the village. And now he risked immediate retaliation by their Norman conquerors. “Leof almost died in there.”
“As did your sister, boy,” said Fitz Autier. He kept one hand at her waist as he confronted Osric. “Lock him in again with the other prisoners, Auvrai. The boy’s a menace. He needs to be watched all night.”
“Please let me stay with him!” Aelia cried, relieved once more that Fitz Autier had not seen fit to kill them both.
“And wreak more havoc on this holding? No. He will remain under guard until I order otherwise.”
With little effort Auvrai lifted Osric and tossed him over his shoulder. The knight was impervious to the boy’s kicks and blows as he carried him away from Aelia, who felt suddenly weightless. She would have fallen to the ground had Fitz Autier not held her up.
“But I can see to it that he does no more damage.”
“No, demoiselle. He is no longer your responsibility.”
“He is my brother. I—”
“Enough! Look around you!”
Her people were quiet now, all watching scornfully as Sir Auvrai carried Osric away. They’d heard Osric admit that he’d set fire to the storehouse, putting so many Saxons in danger. He may have intended to get them all free, but had endangered all the buildings in the village. As it was, the storehouse was gone, and the stable had nearly been destroyed.
The Saxons must view Osric as the enemy now—not Fitz Autier, who had risked all to stand on the stable roof, toiling at his own personal risk to douse the flames.
’Twas a horrible end to a dreadful day.
Mathieu was furious. He did not know what made him angrier—knowing that the little Saxon brat had set the fire intentionally, or seeing Aelia run into the burning building.
She might have been killed.
He forced himself to release her. Whatever he’d felt when he’d seen her dash into the storehouse was just a momentary distraction from his purpose here. He needed his prisoners alive and well enough to travel to London. King William expected it.
“Where will your knight take Osric?”
Her face and clothes were filthy. One sleeve of her tunic hung by threads from her shoulder, where a large abrasion glowed red in the light of the fires that smoldered nearby. Several of Mathieu’s own stitches had torn free, but he seemed to have more than enough to hold the edges of the wound together. He would suffer no more sewing, at her hand or anyone else’s. “I hope Auvrai finds a cage to put him in.”
Aelia’s eyes darted around her. “Our people…they’re looking at Osric as if he were a fiend.”
“What would you call someone who tried to burn fifty men alive?”
“He did not intend to hurt anyone,” she countered.
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