Saxon Lady. Margo Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ their leader outside, only to be stopped by a wall of chain mail. She lost her balance, but the burly knight on guard outside Fitz Autier’s tent grabbed her arm and kept her from falling. His face was hard and unmoving, his action not one of kindness, but of expedience.

      He was taller than Fitz Autier, and broader, too, though his hair was so blond it was nearly white. His was a craggy face, one that might have been frightening with its scars and one empty eye socket, but Aelia refused to be intimidated by him.

      He released her and stepped aside, allowing a smaller warrior to push past her, balancing several items in his arms. He set everything down in Fitz Autier’s tent, then gathered up his leader’s armor and started to leave.

      “Food and drink,” he said.

      “I am neither hungry nor thirsty,” she replied defiantly, wishing she could cross her arms over her chest to punctuate her words. But alas, her wrists were still tied. “I have need of…” She glanced toward the perimeter of the camp and the woods beyond it. “…of a moment’s privacy.”

      The big, blond knight pushed her back into the tent as the young man left. “You’re not leaving. Baron Fitz Autier sent all you will need.”

      The man lowered the tent flap behind her, and Aelia saw that a large metal pot had been left for her, along with a bowl of water, a thick slice of bread and a cup of ale. Awkwardly, she picked up the pot in her bound hands, and with a cry of frustration, heaved it against the wall of the tent, resulting in a loud clang and a burst of male laughter outside.

      The heat of humiliation burned her cheeks, along with the awareness that her situation would likely become worse as the morning progressed.

      Her hands were still tied and Aelia would damn her own soul before asking any of these Normans to cut her loose. She pulled against the ropes, twisting her hands every possible way to free them. Then she tried her teeth.

      “You scorn our meager rations, demoiselle?”

      Aelia’s head jerked up at Fitz Autier’s voice and she met his eyes, the same cool blue of the cloudless sky.

      He’d looked formidable without clothes. Just the thought of his densely muscled body, and the impressive manhood he’d so flagrantly displayed, made her mouth go dry. But in his armor, he was an overwhelming adversary.

      Aelia decided she could be just as daunting. She was an earl’s daughter, after all. In her father’s house, she had entertained all manner of royalty, including kings and queens. One Norman knight was barely worth her notice.

      She lifted her tied hands, holding them out in front of her. “’Tis full light. Surely you do not fear my escape now, not with all your men on guard ’round this tent.”

      He pulled her own knife from his belt and slid the blade between her hands.

      Aelia felt his gaze upon her face, but she did not look up. She kept her eyes trained on the ropes that bound her. In one quick slice she was free, but guarded as she was, she could do naught with her freedom.

      Fitz Autier stepped away from her and toyed with her knife before putting it back through his belt. He was taunting her, demonstrating which of them had the power here.

      “Will I see my brother this morning?”

      He pushed the flap open behind him, and Osric fell into the tent. Her brother lay gagged, with his hands bound behind him. A length of rope was looped around his neck like the lead on a goat.

      Aelia ran to the boy, dropping to her knees beside him. She started to slip the rope from his neck, but Fitz Autier’s boot came down upon the loose end before she could free Osric.

      “You are a barbarian!” she cried, looking up at him. “He is just a child!”

      Fitz Autier’s face hardened. “This child nearly severed one of my men’s fingers with his teeth! He kicked Raoul de Moreton in the ballocks so hard the man will be worthless if we battle today! Furthermore—”

      “He merely defended himself!” she protested. When she pulled off his gag, Osric let loose a stream of Saxon curses. “Let me untie him!”

      Fitz Autier drew his sword. “Do so at your own peril, demoiselle.”

      The Norman was deadly serious. Aelia smoothed Osric’s bright, coppery hair away from his dirty face and shushed him. ’Twas important to remain calm, never allowing the Norman to see how he’d rattled them.

      “Aelia,” Osric said in their own tongue. “When I say the word, you feint to the side and I’ll grab—”

      “Do not be an idiot,” she replied. “First of all, he could very well understand our language. Secondly, you are tied! We have no chance against them. They are armed, we are not. There are so many of them, and we are only two. We’ll have to let them trade us for peace at Ingelwald.”

      Osric rolled to his side and pushed himself up. “Never! Ingelwald belongs to us! We—”

      “Hush before you get us killed,” she said, blocking her little brother from any action the Norman might take.

      She had known Osric would never yield to his captors. He was not an easy child, even in the best of circumstances. Their father and older brother had indulged him unrelentingly, spoiling him, making him feel as privileged as a king. He was a bright lad, but young. And headstrong. She could just imagine the havoc he’d wreaked upon the Norman camp during the night.

      “Make ready to ride, wench,” Fitz Autier said. “The boy will wait outside.”

      Mathieu took the Saxon boy by the scruff of his neck and hauled him away from his sister. “You will ride with Sir Auvrai d’Evreux,” he said, aware that the boy spoke French.

      The little fiend turned suddenly and kicked Mathieu’s shin, then fled. Since Mathieu’s leg was shielded, no damage was done, but he did not follow. He allowed Osric to run all the way to the bordering woods, where two sentries caught him and carried him back into camp. They dropped him unceremoniously at Mathieu’s feet, where the child spat out the only Saxon words Mathieu had learned, and they were not fit for a child’s tongue.

      “Are all Saxons as badly behaved as you, boy?” he asked, without expecting an answer.

      He just wanted to get this business over—bargaining for the woman’s and her brother’s lives for the peaceful surrender of Ingelwald. He turned to Auvrai, the tall, blond warrior who was his second-in-command. “I’ll carry Lady Aelia. You take the boy. I want ten men on each of our flanks and the rest of…”

      All activity and every conversation going on around Mathieu and Auvrai suddenly ceased. Mathieu looked in the direction of his men’s gazes and saw that Aelia had moved outside.

      She might have been wearing a gown of the finest silk, with a circlet of gold upon her brow, yet her garments were merely a common tunic and breeches. She’d straightened those poor clothes and done something to her hair. ’Twas now a glorious mass of golden curls, cascading across her shoulders and down her back. She’d washed her face, and Mathieu could appreciate every feminine feature, from her delicately arched brows to the hint of a cleft in her chin.

      Yet he refused to be moved by her beauty. She was his hostage, and her life would be forfeit if Selwyn refused to negotiate. СКАЧАТЬ