Merciless

by Tamara Leigh

  Cyr drew his dagger, stepped around Vitalis, and as he cut the rope binding his hands, said, “I know about the hay and crops, that the bulk is not burned but sold to ensure the villagers want for naught.”

  The warrior stiffened.

  “A good thing you are not as dangerous as believed, Vitalis.”

  “And that you are not as merciless as told,” the man retorted.

  Regardless of whether that was meant as an insult, Cyr did not take it as one.

  The rope fell away, and Cyr motioned forward the lad who held the reins of a saddled horse.

  “You are sure of this?” Theriot asked.

  Cyr saw that though his brother had looped the long apple peel over the fence’s rail as a treat for the birds, he had yet to enjoy the fruit of his effort. “I am sure of naught, but I think it our best course.”

  Theriot nodded, took a bite of apple.

  Once Vitalis was mounted, the Saxon looked all around, then to Cyr who held the horse’s bridle. “You will have me followed to discover the one to whom I answer?”

  Squinting against the sun past the man’s head, Cyr said, “It was a consideration, but as your attempts to lose my men would delay the delivery of my message, you will not be followed. Nor do I believe it of benefit to me.” He patted the horse’s jowl. “A fine mount you have been given—as swift as those that carried you and Aelfled onto Wulfen a sennight past.”

  The man could only dampen his surprise.

  “As told, of no benefit to me.” Cyr released the bridle and stepped back. “Godspeed, Vitalis of Wulfen.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was not much of a garden, but one could be made of it, just as one had been made of that trampled by Norman captors and Saxon captives.

  “My aunt says dirt betwixt fingers and toes will do me good,” Nicola D’Argent said as she dropped onto the bench beside Aelfled. “I do not know she is right, but I am loath to test her belief. Not that I am lazy. I am happiest out of doors with a swift horse beneath me or stealing tree to tree with my pretty bow nocked and a quiver of arrows on my back.”

  Aelfled slid her gaze from her grandmother who moved among the tangled roses on the far side of the garden, to the young woman. “You know archery?”

  Nicola’s mouth bowed wider, and Aelfled thought she might have more teeth than herself were it possible. But it was not unsightly, only stunning. “I do, and I am proficient enough to take big game.” She gave a quick laugh. “Well, with some small help. I must needs strengthen my drawing arm.”

  “Your family allowed you to be instructed in weaponry?”

  “Be assured my mother protested. However, my eldest brother is of the belief a woman ought to be able to fend for herself and vows when he weds he will teach his wife the dagger and bow so she is as fearless as he in protecting and feeding their children. Unfortunately, that did not persuade our mother.”

  “What did?”

  “His assurance it would calm my restlessness. That she much desired.”

  Aelfled smiled. “You speak of Guarin, oui?”

  “Of course, he who is the greatest of…” Like something dropped from on high, her smile fell, and in a voice pushing past tears, she said, “Every night I pray him back to us, suffering aching knees to beseech the Lord not to allow the godless Saxons who took Dougray’s arm and disfigured Maël’s beautiful face to—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Feeling her nails in her palms, Aelfled forced her hands open. Though Nicola offended, she could be forgiven. She was young, and just as Aelfled had yet to master thinking before speaking, so must she of fewer years. Too, just as Saxons blamed Normans for those injured and lost to them, so this Norman blamed Saxons.

  Nicola blew breath up her face. “That was not well thought nor said. I forget you are one of them, and how could I not? You and your grandmother are civilized, and you are sufficiently educated to know my language such that only if one listens closely might they hear the common of your own tongue.”

  Offended again, and yet…

  Aelfled did not know how she was capable of laughter in such grim circumstances as those which reduced her to captivity, but she laughed, and felt fall upon her the gaze of the man-at-arms whom the lady’s youngest brother, Theriot, had insisted accompany the women outside.

  “What is funny?” Nicola snapped.

  Aelfled drew a breath, sat back. “I would not name funny what you speak, but delightful. You are very…alive.”

  The young woman’s eyebrows clipped. “And you are not?”

  Two years ago and beyond, Aelfled silently answered. Before you Normans came.

  She shrugged. “You must know the world has gone dark for my people.”

  Concern replacing annoyance, Nicola said, “I do know, and I am sorry. This day as I stood upon the inner wall with my cousin and looked down at the rebels in the paddock, I tried to imagine how I would feel were they Normans and were it your people upon our soil.”

  Before Aelfled could ask after the Saxon captives, the young woman continued, “Next I imagined how I would feel were I you.” She shuddered. “I fear I would not know how to pull myself out of that hole. But you will find your way out—will come alive again, be happy again, will you not, Aelfled?”

  Her concern was so sincere it hurt. “At present, the possibility is distant, but it is my hope.” Though not much of one, she silently added.

  Nicola set a hand over Aelfled’s. “Worry not, Cyr will make it as right as possible.”

  “I will make what right?” asked the one who had entered the garden unseen and unheard.

  As Aelfled shot her gaze to where he stood in the place no longer occupied by the man-at-arms, Nicola jumped up, hastened to his side, and kissed his cheek. “Aelfled fears never to be happy again, and I am all assurance you will aid her as best you can. I speak true, do I not?”

  Past her, he met Aelfled’s gaze. “You do. Now go find our aunt and tell her I require her attendance a half hour hence.”

  “For?”

  “Go, Nicola.”

  Muttering something, she left Aelfled and her grandmother alone with Cyr.

  He strode forward, and as she started to rise said, “Pray, do not disturb your repose.” He halted before her, sent his eyes all around her face then down her figure. “You look improved.”

  She touched the bandage. “I am, much gratitude to your aunt.”

  “Certes, she is gifted with healing hands.”

  Aelfled inclined her head. “Will you tell me how your captives fare?”

  Displeasure flickered across his face, but he said, “This day Campagnon’s men departed under guard of a half dozen of my cousin’s men who shall deliver them to King William for punishment.”

  “And the Saxons?”

  “Sigward has passed, his life forfeited not by way of a Norman but his own people. As for those he leaves behind, they are well and shall soon aid in retrieving my brother.”

  Aelfled longed to ask how that would come to pass, but certain he would not tell, said, “I pray you recover him in good health. But if you come seeking my aid, I say again I know not if he lives nor where to find him.”

  “But you know something of him, oui?”

  It was difficult to hold his gaze. “Very little, but what I know I have no right to tell.”

  Another spasm of displeasure. “As I believe I possess the means of retrieving him does he live, that is not why I am here. Thus, until I better prove worthy of your trust, keep your secrets, Aelfled.”

  She frowned. “You make it sound as if I will be here a very long time.”

  “You will. To speak on that is why I sought you out.”

  Telling herself providing her grandmother and she continued to be treated well she could tolerate being his captive, she looked to the far end of the garden. Though Bernia kept her back to them, from the angle and lean of her body, she listened.

  Returning her regard to Cyr, Aelfled said, “As you know, my grandmother is age
d and unseeing, but do you make a place for us here, I shall do the work of two in whatever capacity you decide, be it serving in the kitchen or at table, keeping chambers or—”

  “I would not make servants of you.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Then what? Surely we are not to dwell amongst you as guests?”

  Movement at his sides drew her attention to large hands folding into fists. “What I have determined to do, I want no more than you. The Lord knows, it is far from the plans I had when I came to England.”

  “What speak you of?”

  He breathed deep. Then he turned, took two strides opposite, came back around, and took one stride forward. “I planned that did I not find my brother alive, I would petition the king to pass these lands to one or both of my brothers, return to Normandy, and take my place as our sire’s heir. And did I find Guarin alive, I would resolve myself to remaining in England and joining with a noble Saxon lady in possession of a sizable dowry, that alliance more quickly gaining me acceptance from her people now made mine.”

  Wishing it did not hurt to imagine his life with another, Aelfled said, “It is no different from that done by Normans come before you. For what do you tell me?”

  “Because what I shall do is different—of no benefit to my holdings, coffers, or relations with those of these lands. Indeed, it could be of detriment.”

  “I do not understand.”

  He took a stride nearer so she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. “You are not noble, possess no lands or dowry,” he said in a rush as if there was too little time to speak measuredly as she had only known him to do except when greatly angered. “And the more you are believed a traitor to your own, the more difficult it will be for me to gain their trust and respect.”

  Still she did not understand. Unless he was saying… She caught her breath. Was it possible? Did he suggest they…

  His face, the garden, her grandmother who now moved toward them all began to tilt as if to topple, then waver as if sinking beneath water.

  “Aelfled?”

  She squeezed her eyes closed, opened them wide upon Cyr’s above her, was relieved he presented right side up. “You speak of this Saxon commoner wedding you? A Norman noble?”

  “I do.”

  She shook her head. “It makes no sense for you to join your life with mine when, as you say, it is of no benefit and may even prove harmful. Thus, either you jest—and I cannot believe you so cruel—or you are not thinking right.”

  “No jesting, though it is possible my thinking is not right. Unfortunately, I can resolve myself to no other way of saving you.”

  He wishes to save me, she thought with no small wonder that made her terribly aware of the beat of her heart. But then she recalled what he had spoken first—unfortunately. How could one word cause so great an ache?

  Because it fit, though more clearly he had voiced how regrettable his decision when he told he wanted it no more than she and it was far from his plan of wedding one of good benefit.

  Aelfled thrust to her feet and, finding herself too near him, sidestepped. Chin up, hands clenched at her sides, she said, “I thank you for being so honorable you would wed one such as me despite the many sacrifices required of you, but it is not for you to save me. I decline.”

  “Aelfled!” Bernia protested where she had halted to the right of Cyr.

  “I decline,” she said more forcefully. “Better the Baron of Stern and Balduc wed a Saxon noblewoman like Lady Hawisa.” The moment she spoke her lady’s name, more greatly she hurt over the possibility of him wedding another, but she pushed the blade deeper. “It is her hand you ought to seek. If for naught else but to see made whole the demesne off which your king carved great pieces, she might agree.”

  Cyr was a long time answering, finally said, “She would fit my plans better, but though I believe her also in need of saving, it is you I shall wed.”

  “This commoner?” Her voice rose sharply. “She who possesses no lands nor sway over her own people?”

  Beyond strands of silvered black hair, his brow rumpled. “I but state facts, Aelfled. It was not my intention to offend.”

  Remembering Nicola’s own offense, she almost laughed. “Though offense seems something at which D’Argents excel, I do not argue your facts. But this I contend—honorable though your sense of responsibility, it is misplaced. I am not your problem, will not allow myself to be made that, and the best thing you can do for all is to release my grandmother and me.” She stepped nearer, set a hand on his arm. “My word I give we shall depart Wulfenshire forthwith and never again shall you set eyes on us.”

  His nostrils flared. “Non.”

  A cry of frustration parted her lips, but before she could add words to it, her grandmother said, “Aelfled, I know enough of what is said to side with Cyr of the silver. Do you accept his offer of marriage, we need not flee our home nor fear for our lives, and once he makes babes on you, the blood of Saxon and Norman shall become one.”

  Heat so suddenly flushed Aelfled she might have stumbled were her hand not upon Cyr. And when she snatched it back, her feet nearly did fall out from under her. Holding his gaze, she said, “I will not accept. Thus, we shall remain at Stern until you tire of us or we slip free. And so we not burden you, I shall make myself useful in whatever position you entrust to me.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” he said, too accommodating for one who had lost the argument. “The position with which I entrust you is that of wife and mother of my children. Now come, Father Fulbert waits.”

  She gasped. “You think it in your power to command me to wed? It is not!”

  He reached. Before she could jump away, he took hold of her shoulders and drew her to him. Lowering his head so near she felt the warmth of his brow on hers, he said, “Why do you not wish me to save you?”

  She did wish it, but…

  Throat tightening, eyes stinging, she lowered her gaze and noted his upper lip was thin relative to the full lower lip. But already she knew that, not only by sight but feel.

  “Tell me, Aelfled.”

  She swallowed, looked up. “If you would wed me only to save me, ever you will suffer for so great a sacrifice. Each time you look at me, you will see and feel the mistake you made. As will I, and that will not do. Far preferable I leave Stern and you wed one who betters your lot.”

  He considered, and she wanted to feel relief when he said, “Very well.”

  Though his concession was best for both, it made her ache that he was letting her go—would not save her.

  “I shall bare myself, Aelfled.”

  Then he did not concede?

  “Though great my wish to save you, I would not wed you for that alone.”

  Mouth going more dry, she whispered, “What else is there?”

  “Our kiss.” He drew a hand from her shoulder up over her neck, cupped her jaw, and touched a thumb to her lips as if to quiet her. “I would have from you what comes after.”

  Distantly hearing her grandmother’s chirp of satisfaction, Aelfled choked, “After?”

  “More than any woman I have known, I want you in my arms when I lie down at night, want to find myself curled around you come morn.”

  “You…lust?”

  He growled low. “That is a crude word for desire, especially when it is given answer only after vows are spoken. But call it what you will, I want you, my little Saxon. And I believe you want me.”

  Aelfled could not think what to say. She had believed him attracted to her, but so greatly? More than any woman before? Surely he but fashioned words to gain what she refused?

  “Of course she wants you,” her grandmother said, and Aelfled felt Cyr’s stiffening as much as her own, but though he drew back, he did not release her.

  With what seemed a smile in Bernia’s clouded eyes, she stepped alongside, set fingers on Cyr’s arm, and trailed them to his hand on Aelfled’s jaw. It was then he loosed his hold and stepped aside.

  Bernia moved in front of her g
randdaughter, set her palms on either side of her face. “You will be happy with him. I imagined it when you told what this Norman did for you upon Senlac, and more so when first I met him. This is as the Lord ordains, Child, even if only the blind see His hand in it.” She turned her face to the man beside them. “Did I not tell babes are the way, Cyr of the silver?” When he did not answer, she said, “I did and am pleased you did not fail me.” Her sightless gaze returned to Aelfled. “Go with him, and before God bind yourself to this worthy man.”

  Aelfled looked to Cyr. Longing to agree to what her silly heart sought to persuade her would make her happy again as Nicola wished, she said, “Cyr?”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “You will not regret it terribly, will you?”

  “That both of us suffer as little regret as possible, I vow to do my best—that I will make you a good husband, our children a good father.”

  “What of your king?”

  “Our king. He will not like it, there being no way to hide you aided rebels, but he knows what it is to want a woman of a different class.”

  William’s illegitimacy and his mother being of the common having nearly denied the duke the woman of royal blood he wished to wed, Aelfled reflected.

  “Once he cools,” Cyr continued, “I believe he will forgive me—providing the rebellion on these lands ends, which I am confident a D’Argent will effect, whether it is done by me or one of my brothers.”

  “One of your…”

  “As told, if my eldest brother is dead, I shall return to Normandy. And as my wife, you will accompany me.” He held out a hand. “Come be my lady, Aelfled.”

  Lady. It was one moment thrilling, the next frightening. Having not been raised nor groomed for that responsibility, she would not know what to do and could easily shame Cyr.

  He caught up her hand. “Before God, a priest, and witnesses, you have but to repeat vows agreeing to become one with me, then it is done.”

  She moistened her lips. “And when it is done?”

  “We feast, then being joined in holy matrimony, experience what comes after a kiss.”