Saxon Lady. Margo Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ masked whatever sounds an intruder might make as she slipped unseen into their midst? There was clutter here, too, making it easy for her to hide as she watched the men bed down for the night.

      Silently, Aelia slipped under a discarded tarpaulin, keeping one corner lifted in order to see out from beneath it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. With deliberate effort, she slowed her breathing and calmed her nerves as she settled in to wait. She had not seen Osric in the flickering torchlight, but all was quiet in the camp. If her brother had killed Fitz Autier, ’twould not be so, unless the Norman’s dead carcass remained undiscovered.

      Where would he be?

      A moment later, Fitz Autier walked into sight and that odd, shivery feeling came over Aelia once again. This time she was sure it must be fear for Osric that caused the strange sensations. The bastard strode through his camp, passing right in front of her. This Norman whose reputation had preceded him to Ingelwald was just a man, not some warrior god with powers beyond those of any mortal.

      Yet his physical stature was greater than any Saxon she’d ever known. Without his armor, his chest was a wall of granite and his arms thick with muscle. His hands worked at the buckles and laces of his tunic and chausses as he walked, and Aelia wished he would desist. Surely he would not disrobe before reaching his shelter, not when the night was so chilly. She had no interest in seeing his flesh bared.

      He finally ducked into his tent, and Aelia would have made a run toward it, but two sentries came close, taking away her moment of opportunity. Was Osric waiting for Fitz Autier inside that tent? Would he be able to kill the Norman without help?

      Osric thought much of himself, and though he knew how to handle a knife, he was no match for a full-grown man—especially not one like Fitz Autier, who was as likely to spit a young Saxon lad on his sword as he was to take him hostage.

      Aelia had to move. She had to get Osric out of there before he found himself on the wrong side of the blade.

      Though anxious to leave her hiding place, she had no choice but to wait for the sentries to pass out of sight. She forced herself to remain still and watch for activity within the camp, half expecting Osric to emerge stealthily from the Norman’s tent with his bloodied knife in his hand.

      Waiting for the best possible moment to move, worrying all the while, she observed the guards on the perimeter of the camp, wondering whether or not Osric was inside Fitz Autier’s tent.

      If he was not, then Aelia herself would accomplish what her brother had set out to do. Osric’s idea had been a good one, though ’twas not suitable for a young boy to carry out.

      When the guards and their torches were out of sight, Aelia slid quietly from the tarp and crawled to the Norman’s tent. She lay perfectly still, listening intently for sounds within. But all was silent. She heard naught.

      Was Osric inside, awaiting the perfect moment?

      The flap was loose and Aelia slipped under it, disturbing the canvas as little as possible.

      Once inside, she held still for another moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Campfires burned outside, casting a small amount of light through the fabric walls. Aelia’s eyes were drawn to the figure who lay upon a fur pelt.

      He was unmoving, but not dead. And Osric was not here. Aelia heard the Norman’s breathing, deep and even in sleep. She drew her knife from its sheath at her waist and crept toward him, past the center pole, past the suit of armor that lay in an orderly arrangement near the far wall.

      When she was close enough to see the stubble of dark whiskers that grew upon his jaw, she raised her arm and struck.

       Chapter Two

       M athieu moved with a speed that belied his size, grabbed the woman’s wrist and pinned her beneath him. ’Twas ironic that the very wound she’d inflicted upon him earlier in the day had throbbed sufficiently to keep him from sleep, making him aware of her the moment she crawled into his tent.

      “Lady Aelia, I presume.”

      “Get off me, you…you Norman swine!”

      “I see your aim is better than your manners. Fortunately, your skill is unmatched by your size, or I might have had something to worry about.”

      She pushed and squirmed under him, but Mathieu did not yield. “Do you Saxons plan to assault me one by one until I’ve beaten every last one of you?”

      “One by one?” she gasped. “My brother…he is here?”

      ’Twas some time since he’d had a woman under him, but though he was aroused by her soft feminine flesh, Mathieu was no rapist. He was disgusted by his own father’s preferred technique. Instead, he favored an enthusiastic partner rather than a combative or submissive one. “Do you mean the red-haired maggot who tried to stick me with his puny sword?” Mathieu quipped. “If Wallis is reduced to sending children to vanquish his enemy, then I’ve lost all respect for the man.”

      “My f-father is dead.”

      Her words surprised him. Who, then, had led Ingelwald’s defense? Wallis’s elder son? “Then ’tis Godwin who rules Ingelwald?”

      Lady Aelia did not answer, but renewed her efforts to free herself. She jabbed her knee forward, hitting Mathieu ruthlessly between the legs. He groaned and rolled to the side, still holding her wrists in his fists.

      “You have already done sufficient damage to me, demoiselle,” he said through gritted teeth as she continued to kick and flail against him. “Cease. You are going nowhere.” He lay across her, pinning her legs as well as her hands, and wondered how she’d managed to slip past the sentries who patrolled the boundaries of the camp. He had to concede that her small size had served her well in this instance.

      “Where is my brother?”

      “Stowed safely away,” he said roughly. His face was so close to hers that he could see a few light freckles dancing over her smooth, flawless skin. Her bared teeth were white and evenly spaced, her lips full and pink and slightly parted. He could almost taste them.

      As appealing as that would be, he resisted the urge. “Should my men be watching for Godwin, too?”

      “Release me!”

      That was something Mathieu had no intention of doing. At least, not until she was properly restrained. He made another quick move and turned the wench facedown on the pelt that made up his bed. Placing his knee in the center of her back, he shoved her long blond plait aside and held her hands tightly behind her with one fist. With his free hand, he reached for a length of rope to bind her, then turned her again, to tie her hands in front.

      He was not a cruel man. His ruthless reputation had been exaggerated, but it had served his purpose as he battled for the king. If only Wallis had heeded what he’d heard of Fitz Autier, the Saxon lord would still be in possession of his holding. Instead, he had rebelled against William’s authority, refusing to accept him as king. William had had no choice but to send an army to quell the rebellion.

      When the woman was securely tied, Mathieu allowed her to sit up and face him. “Will Godwin negotiate for your release?”

      She pressed her lips tightly together and looked away, refusing to answer. But Mathieu saw her throat move convulsively, and noted a slight СКАЧАТЬ