Читать книгу The Conqueror's Lady - Terri Brisbin - Страница 10

Three days passed by before she regained her wits and Fayth did not see her captor during that time. At the least, she did not think so, but a few confused memories of a deep voice rousing her from sleep several times that first night told her to suspect otherwise. Emma spoke of a leech’s directions not to let her sleep too long a time or her mind would be for ever muddled. The clarity gained from the still-throbbing pain in her head assured her she was not so.

Fearing that any moment could see her dragged to the hall and married to the Norman knight kept her from ever truly letting her guard down. Nay, not Norman, though he fought for the Bastard. She rubbed at the growing ache in her forehead. He hailed from Brittany, Emma had informed her, along with the men who fought at his side. His place of origin gave her no relief from worry, for William the Bastard had gathered men from all parts of the continent to fight for him and his illegal campaign to gain control over her country.

As he had gained control over her keep.

His first orders found her moved into her father’s chambers while the usurper took hers. And though the door remained impassable for her, for she was stopped by the guards each time she tried to leave, Emma moved freely through the keep and grounds. Ardith stayed mostly at Fayth’s side, fearing further attention from the soldier who’d attacked her three days before. From what Emma had learned, this Giles le Breton had an iron grip over her home now. He’d replaced the soldiers her father had left behind with his own, he’d placed his men to oversee every aspect of the workings of her keep and people and had done it without any regard for her.

Fayth squinted then, as the soreness in her head made it impossible to concentrate on her stitches. Tossing the gown she was repairing into the basket at her feet, she tilted her head one way and then another, trying to ease the ache there.

‘Ardith,’ she said, beckoning the girl to her side. ‘Can you loosen these braids? The weight of them is pulling too much.’

Fayth turned herself in her chair, allowing Ardith to get closer. Once the girl let down the twist of braids some of the pain eased. Fayth closed her eyes, relaxing her head and letting her chin fall to her chest. Her hair hung loosely now around her shoulders and she waited to see if the pain would pass.

The silence surrounded her for a few minutes until Ardith’s nervous breathing drew her attention. As she raised her head her gaze met that of her captor as he stared at her from his place inside the door. She hadn’t heard the door open, but it was apparent he’d been there for several minutes.

‘Sir Giles,’ she said, rising to stand yet refusing to call him by another title he now claimed. ‘I did not hear you enter.’

Fayth motioned to Ardith to arrange her hair once more. It might be her chambers, but it was not proper, with a man present, to be so undone. Ardith hurried in her attentions and Fayth winced against the pulling as the girl gathered her hair into one long braid and replaced the veil on top of it. Once her hair was covered, she faced him and nodded.

‘Are you well, lady?’ he asked, his deep voice accented by the language of his own country.

‘Other than …’ she began, and then realised that any complaints would sound trite when compared with those her people could offer.

‘Your head?’ he asked, nodding in her direction. ‘Does it still pain you?’ He stepped closer, handing the helm tucked under his arm to one of his men.

‘It is improving,’ was all she would offer. Emma’s words about appearing strong before him echoed in her thoughts and, though he frightened her to her core, she was now the only one left who could protect her people. They must be uppermost in her priorities now.

Now that her father was gone.

Fayth glanced down and saw the ring he still wore, dangling there as a sign to everyone of her father’s death and this man’s new rule.

He frowned as she looked up at his face. Then his gaze and his mouth hardened. The tension in the chamber grew until one of his men whispered something under his breath to him and Giles nodded as though reminded of some task.

‘Now that it is safe to move about the keep and village, I thought you might like a respite from your stay here,’ he said, his voice neither welcoming nor comforting. Another whisper from his man and he said, ‘I know you worry about your people, our people, and I would have you be at ease over their condition now that I have—’ he paused, searching for a word ‘—arrived.’

Tempted in spite of her resolve to be wary of this stranger, she nodded. ‘I would like that, sir.’

He motioned the others out of the chamber ahead of them and then held out his arm to her. With his armour in place, it was clear he did not yet feel safe in her keep. That thought made her smile for the first time in many days. As she lifted her arm and placed her hand on his she felt a sense of anticipation unknown to her since learning of her father’s death.

Although this warrior carried her father’s ring, she had no way of knowing the part he had played in his death. Chances were, though, from the way he had seized control of her lands with his king’s permission, he had been involved. Now, regardless of the origin of their lives, their destinies were entwined and she needed to find her place in this new world his arrival had wrought.

They stopped just outside her door and he turned back, speaking to her of Emma and Ardith. ‘The old one and the girl have the freedom of the keep and village now, lady. They need worry not over their safety.’

Without saying so, he told her that the man who had tried to rape her servant and had knocked her unconscious was under control. Had he been executed, then? Disobedience in time of war could be punished with death, she knew. Was this man such a hard commander that he would do that? She stopped then and faced him.

‘Why? Is that man dead?’ she asked.

‘Nay, not dead,’ he answered before tugging her along at his side. ‘Stephen has learned not to disobey my orders.’

She shivered at the coldness of his words and the inherent threat as she moved down the stairs to the main floor. Then out into the yard they walked until she stood in nearly the exact spot where the incident with Ardith had occurred.

He stopped and Fayth took a few moments to catch her breath. Even feeling well she would have difficulty matching his long strides, but feeling as she did, only his arm pulling her along had kept them together. Now, she inhaled deeply, enjoying the scents of soil and air and the recent rain. Harvest had passed even while her father rode the length of England following their king and it had been a meagre one.

Both Emma and Ardith followed them, along with three of the knight’s men. Once she could breathe more easily, he led her to one of the smaller yards where he’d penned her people the day of the attack. The people were gone and the enclosure held cattle once more, though fewer than before.

Fayth lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and peered to the limits of the yard. There along the perimeter of the wall, his soldiers now paced. As she moved her gaze to the farthest part of the yard his soldiers worked alongside some of her men, carrying logs that would be hewn into boards for repairs to the walls and the other buildings.

‘Part of the blacksmith’s cottage burned during the battle. They rebuild it now,’ he offered, pointing in the other direction where men worked on the small croft that was attached to the smithy.

Everywhere she looked, the situation was the same. Though outnumbered now because so many had fled at first sight of the invader’s forces, her people wore no prisoner’s chains. Indeed, many seemed to be doing their usual duties in spite of a new lord in control of the lands. Suddenly, as many saw her there, they stopped their work and stared at her. Before she understood what was happening, Sir Giles clasped her hand in his larger one and held it high into the air.

‘As I told you,’ he called out in a voice loud enough to travel across the open space to the walls, ‘your lady is alive and well.’

Fayth could not help her response, for her people called out her name, and it resonated around the yard, warming her heart and giving her pride at their concern for her well-being.

‘You did this to show them you have not killed me?’ she asked. She turned to face him and saw amusement in his features. His blue eyes, so dark and intense, now lit with some humour.

‘I have not killed you, yet, demoiselle,’ he answered in a voice meant only for her ears. Leaning in close to her, he whispered, ‘If I discover you still work to betray me, it may yet happen.’

The shiver of fear tore through her at his words and tone. She wanted to believe he was speaking in jest, but there was a thread of steely resolution and something else, something dangerous, in his voice and she did not doubt for a moment that her life was in peril should he choose it to be so. Leaning away, but not able to free her hand from his grasp, she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze.

‘You would not find it to be an easy task, sir,’ she said, watching and waiting for his response to her challenge.

He said something to the man closest to them and then smiled at her. ‘Ah, demoiselle. You are correct—it would be no easy thing.’

He laughed then and lowered their hands, allowing hers to drop to her side. She clasped hers together in front of her and waited. ‘Come, this way, if you please.’

She allowed his stride to take him ahead of her and took advantage of the distance to study this warrior. He was tall, more than six feet in height, and his build declared his strength. Though most of him was covered in mail and armour, she did not doubt that he was as fit and muscular under all of his protection as he appeared to be.

He wore his pale brown hair longer than the Norman custom, yet shorter than the English way. No beard grew so there was no hiding the sharp angles of his face and his strong chin. His eyes, though blue, darkened when he was vexed as she’d seen already, but stayed a paler shade when no mood changed them. Fayth would never declare him to be a handsome man, yet his masculine features were powerful and unforgettable.

He stopped and waited for her to catch up. She noticed then, for she’d been too busy staring at his face before, that they’d reached the chapel. The low stone building had been the scene of the horrific fight that had ended in her capture and Edmund’s near-murder. Giles Fitzhenry opened the wooden door and waited for her to enter.

It took all her resolve to do so, for she imagined she could hear the screams of the injured men and smell the spilled blood from the wounded. Her own neck burned as she remembered his gauntleted grasp around her throat, choking the air from her, and threatening her death.

‘Come,’ was his only word to her as he walked ahead, down the aisle where the benches had been replaced and the blood washed away.

It was Emma who stood then at her back and urged her forward to follow the knight. Two of the knight’s men remained behind her, standing on either side of the doors and watching her through the slits of their helmets. Another shiver tore its path down her spine and back to her head, sending tremors through every part of her. She followed his footsteps up the centre aisle and found Father Henry standing before the altar. From his stern expression, he wanted to be present no more than she did. Still they both did as the Breton knight ordered.

A few moments passed after she stopped at his side and Fayth found her nervousness growing within her. When he reached out and took her hand in his now-bare hands, the truth of it struck her—they would marry here and now.

Surely not?

From his intense gaze, she knew they would indeed.

‘Lady, I will not go forth with this ceremony unless you give your free consent here,’ Father Henry said with a bravado she thought impossible.

Had he given Fayth an escape then, with his words? If she did not consent, could this man lay no claim to her lands or her person? Without looking at Giles Fitzhenry, she began to object when he squeezed her hand so hard she gasped. Turning to him, she followed his nod to the back of the church.

Her servants and villeins stood watching, surrounded by his warriors dressed for battle. Herded in like the cattle they tended, they bunched together watching the unfolding drama before them. They could not see what she could—the weapons held at the ready were aimed at them and not held for their defence. Facing the knight, she searched his face for his true intentions.

‘You would harm innocent servants, then?’ she asked.

‘Nay, lady. Your actions determine their safety. Fulfil your duty as their lady and all will be well.’

‘If I do not give my consent, what then?’ She held her breath waiting for his inevitable answer.

‘I will still hold these lands for my king, but I will need a new wife.’ Tempted to believe he jested with her, she glanced at his face and saw the truth there. ‘My duke has requested,’ he explained, ‘requested, that his men take the daughters of the land we gained to wife. If there is no daughter, we may seek wives where we may.’

‘So you would execute me here in God’s House, sir? With my people looking on at your murderous act?’

She pulled her hand free of his grasp and crossed her arms over her chest, challenging him with every fibre of her being. He leaned in close, so close that she could feel his breath against her neck. Shivers of another kind pulsed through her at his nearness and the sudden heat he caused.

‘There is no reason to execute you, for a woman as lovely as you has several uses. Several that come to mind immediately,’ he repeated, stepping nearer and lifting her chin so she had to meet his gaze. His eyes took on a different expression then, heated and filled with desire, and she knew she would not like his words before he spoke them. ‘Perhaps I will strip you of your position as lady here and keep you instead as my leman while I search out a new wife.’

If he was trying to intimidate her, he’d been successful, for she could see no way out of this predicament and her fears threatened to overwhelm her. In order to succeed in her own quest, to keep her people safe until they could be freed from Norman control, she needed to stay alive and that meant acquiescing to his demands. Emma’s nervous whispers from behind her drew her attentions.

‘Please, lady, do as he asks,’ she begged quietly, so quietly that only the three of them heard it.

‘Aye, lady, do you do as I ask or not?’ he said in a soft and misleading tone. ‘Father Henry has asked if you consent to our exchanging vows.’ He raised his voice now as he stepped back, releasing her. ‘Do you, Lady Fayth?’

He held out his hand in a gesture she knew was to increase the pressure on her and to make it impossible to answer any other way than the one he wanted. The silence grew and held them all motionless as they waited on her word. Glancing at Giles, she noticed the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth and she wanted more than anything to wipe it from his face, though she dared not do so.

Everything she’d lived for was at stake here. At least with Edmund there had been a mutual affection and a common cause between them. She would gain a stranger as husband now; her people would gain a foreign lord who had conquered their lands. A man with no experience other than gaining such prizes with his powerful sword. He moved his fingers ever so slightly to remind her that he, nay they, waited for her response.

As though she had any choice at all?

Edmund was probably still shackled somewhere close by and not able to gather and bring some strong army to her rescue. Her father’s friends and allies lay dead and broken on some distant field of battle. No one could help her.

Taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she did the only thing she could do—she placed her hand in his and walked at his side towards the altar and Father Henry.

Nothing after that mattered, not the words or the gestures, not the cheering of her people or of his men, not the solicitous way her new husband guided her back to the keep. She sat at his side and thought she remembered him feeding her from their shared trencher and drinking mead from a shared cup, but it all passed her by in a haze. If she responded to questions or spoke at all, she could not later say. All she could comprehend was that her life was no longer her own. She now belonged to a man who might have killed her father.

It was not until the door of her chambers closed behind them, leaving her alone with a man not of her family for the first time in her life, that she realised the extent of the changes she faced. Unsure of what to do or what to say, she was saved by his words.

‘I did not want blood to be shed today because your people tried to defend you from me. I lured you to the chapel in a way I thought would prevent that.’ Though he spoke softly, the expression in his eyes now burned with manly desires.

‘So your threats to have me killed or to take me as your whore were …?’ she asked, trying to sort through her confusion and surprise.

She watched silently then as he walked to the table set in the middle of the room and poured wine from a pitcher into two cups. He brought one to her and waited for her to drink from it.

‘Provocations only, meant to divert your attention from my true intentions.’ He smiled then, one that resembled a genuine one. ‘And they seemed to work.’

Glancing at the ring that now encircled her finger, proclaiming her position as his wife, she nodded. Nervousness poured through her at the thought that she was completely at his mercy. Mercy she could not be certain even existed. She swallowed all the wine he’d poured for her.

‘There are less offensive ways to distract me, sir,’ she said before correcting her error. ‘My lord.’

That fact had seeped into her mind even as she tried to reject it. The marriage contract proclaimed him Lord Giles Fitzhenry, Baron of Taerford. Grief clouded her thoughts then, making it difficult to even breathe at the constant reminders of her father’s death. She could not meet his gaze and witness the joy he must feel at his elevation to such an honourable, ancient title.

Still she was her father’s daughter and would bear whatever was necessary to keep their people safe through the turbulent and violent times ahead of them. She met his gaze then, not knowing what to expect from this new lord.

‘I will try to remember that in the future,’ he said.

He drank deeply from his cup and placed it back on the table. Was it time then to … consummate their vows? Fayth looked to the empty cup wishing that she’d left some to strengthen her resolve to carry through the act ahead of her.

Expecting his move towards her, she tried to calm her apprehension at the forced intimacy they would share. Giles walked slowly towards her and took the goblet from her shaking hands. Fayth looked up at him, standing so close she could feel the heat of him, and waited for him to take the first step.

The touch of his lips on hers shocked her in its gentleness. He moved his mouth over hers, once, twice and then again, before he settled it firmly there. Though he touched her in no other way than this joining of their mouths, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for his next move.

She was still standing there when he stepped away, turned and walked to the door, facing her then with his hand on the latch.

‘I bid you a good night’s rest, lady,’ he said, nodding to her.

Fayth paused, not knowing what words to say. As she touched her fingers to her tingling lips a fear unlike any before filled her. That kiss was far gentler than she ever expected, but the thought of giving herself to a man, a warrior now called husband and lord, was more terrifying now that she faced the act itself.

‘Sir,’ she said, shaking her head and not understanding his intentions again. ‘My lord, will you not …?’

‘No.’ He shook his head in reply. ‘Until I know you do not carry your lover’s child in your belly, we will not …’ He imitated her hesitation and threw a glance and a nod across the chamber at the bed.

Fayth could not stop her jaw from dropping at that pronouncement. They would not? He would not? The terror that threatened her moments ago fled and anger replaced it.

‘I carry no child!’

‘Do you confess that he was your lover, then?’

She strode across the room and met his disrespectful gaze. ‘I am an honourable woman, sir. How dare you?’ She raised her hand to strike him in answer to such an insult.

He caught it easily and she waited, expecting him to strike back for such behaviour. Instead his eyes took on a calm appearance and he shook his head at her.

‘You would give your body and self to one of your father’s men, elevate him to such a lofty position and get nothing in return?’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘A man does not risk his life for nothing more than tupping a woman. What promises did Edmund make to you in exchange for your marriage vow?’

‘You again insult me, my lord. Promises? I planned to make none other than the same I gave to you today.’ Fayth struggled to keep the whole truth of Edmund’s plans inside. ‘He promised to protect me and my lands if I took him as husband. Nothing more. But you interrupted that.’

Her husband could not find out who Edmund was, not now while he still faced death if their charade was uncovered. Shaken to her core by the events and accusations of this day and a fair amount of honest guilt, she dropped her hand and shook her head.

‘Until I discover whether your words or your actions speak the truth, I will not consummate our vows, lady. Once I know …’ His words drifted off and she shivered at the threat he implied.

The tense silence surrounded them until he stepped away from her. Now he stood in the doorway and she decided she could face no more this day—whether he be invader, husband, lord or whatever. Grabbing the edge of the door, she pushed it closed quickly, causing him to stumble out into the hall.

‘Good night, then, my lord husband!’ she said as she caught the latch and dropped the bar that had been left carelessly in the corner.

She did not delude herself into thinking he could not get back in if he chose to, for breaking the door would take only the kick of a strong man, and in addition to himself her new husband had an abundance of those available. His loud laughter from the other side of her door confused her. It was not the reaction she’d thought he would have to her act of defiance.

When no one entered or even tried to, Fayth walked around the room, blew out the candles and climbed into her bed. Tugging the headpiece from her hair and loosening it, she lay down in the middle of the bed and waited to find out if he would force his way back in.

A short time later, she could no longer fight the sleep that pulled at her mind and body. For once, Fayth pushed off the fears that coursed through her and gave in, sinking into the darkness without worrying about her fate.