by Georgia Fox
Ifyr, thought Stryker grimly, had no responsibilities, no manor to run. His only concerns were ale and women, with the occasional fight thrown in to keep a balance. Stryker sometimes wished he could be so free of concern. Alas, he had the manor and now he had a woman too. A haughty Norman wench.
If Baron Burleigh was not satisfied with Stryker's treatment of his niece he might renege on their bargain and take her back, along with her dowry. The Baron could tell King William that Stryker did not treat his illegitimate daughter well. He must, therefore, proceed with unusual care in this matter. He needed that bride purse and, naturally, he wanted to stay on the sovereign's good side. Seventeen years ago, following the Norman conquest of England, Stryker's father pledged fealty to King William, hoping to keep hold over his small plot of land in this remote, south west corner of the country. Other landowners chose to keep fighting against the conquering army, but Stryker's father knew the rebellion would be crushed sooner or later, and then what would he have? So instead he aligned himself with the new king and was allowed to keep his remote fyrd. The last thing Stryker wanted now was for the king to take it from him and gift the place to one of his barons. He had a duty to his father's memory and to future Bloodaxes. And this woman would help strengthen his friendship with King William, as well as provide him with the necessary heir. As soon as she put her claws away.
Slowly he rubbed the rough bristles of his cheek and considered what to do about the shrew in the holding shed. He could consult with his counsel but it was late to call a meeting and if he could not handle his own bride he was not worthy of the name Bloodaxe.
****
When Ami heard the chink of keys she sat up, trying not to look too eager. She'd been quite prepared to spend the entire night in the shed if need be, but perhaps the great hunk of imbecile came now to let her out. Perhaps he was bringing her more food, she mused. Clearly he had no idea how to smoke out the enemy.
But it was not her captor. It was Villette.
Chirping anxiously, she ran to her mistress and dropped to the straw as the door was closed and locked behind her. "Oh, my lady, I thought something terrible had happened to you."
Amias looked around her and wondered how this did not count as something terrible.
"I am not drowned, you see," the girl added. "Some men rescued us and all the horses. A few things got swept away, but most were saved from the flood."
Ale hops were evident on the girl's excited breath and from the grease stains wiped down her gown she must have been fed. "No doubt you supped well, Villette, while I was locked in here."
"They have been most generous, my lady."
"Glad I am to hear it. As you see, my evening has not been quite so comfortable."
Moonlight trickled through the small window and lit the maid's plump pink face as she managed to look crestfallen. "I am sorry, my lady."
"Well, I'm not," Ami assured her. "I shall happily remain here in discomfort until that foul barbarian sees fit to apologize for throwing me about like a side of venison."
Villette knotted her plump fingers together and made a grave face, that was almost humorous in its pious solemnity. "I shall stay with you then, my lady, and share your fate."
"Just don't start singing."
"I thought it might cheer our spirits."
Ami glared at the girl. "You thought wrongly."
Outside she could hear men murmuring and laughing as they gathered around braziers in the yard. Despite the straw and the horse blanket, it was getting noticeably colder by the half hour and her head felt very thick. At least, she thought, with Villette's added body warmth she might not freeze to death tonight. She looked at the girl again.
"Did that villain send you in here to me?"
"No, my lady. I asked to sit with you. How could I enjoy a pleasant night's sleep, knowing you were out here all alone in the cold dark?"
She sighed, shaking her head. Now she must worry not just about herself, but this silly creature too. It was one thing to martyr herself for a cause, but she could hardly endanger this girl too. The little maid's safety in this strange place was her responsibility.
"He's handsome, my lady, do you not think?"
"Who?" she snapped.
"Your husband."
Ami blew her nose soundly on her kerchief. "I've seen goats with better looks. And cleaner habits." She thought of the blood and filth on his clothes that day. He said they'd been hunting, but in all likelihood he looked that way all the time. Out here in the middle of nowhere—at the ends of the earth it seemed—what cause could there be for dressing in finery? All her good gowns would go to waste, with no one to admire them in this hellhole.
The maid giggled. "There's a lot of men here and very few women. I felt safer in here with you, my lady."
"Hmm." She was skeptical about that. Villette, she already knew, was something of a flirt. The girl's morality was something else for which Ami was now responsible and it looked to be a full-time job. "Stay away from those men. Do not speak to any. Give a man an inch and he'll take a yard."
"Yes, my lady." There was a pause, followed by more giggles. "That Ifyr is a right one."
"I'm sure he is."
"I shall stay away from him, like you say, mistress."
"Make sure you do."
After a moment, as they listened to the guard stamping his feet and cursing about the cold, the little maid said, "At least you will have a husband now, my lady, a man with all his parts in working order."
"How much ale have you drunk, Villette?"
"But did you think you might never have one—a husband, so fine and strong?"
Ami pulled her hood over her hair and folded her arms. "I did not care. It was not my idea to be married." Nothing was ever final until her uncle said so. He might yet change his mind about this arrangement.
"What else is there for a lady to do? Of course you must marry and it could have been far worse. He could have been an old man with warts and a limp wick. He could have no teeth, like the last man to whom you were sent, my lady."
She did not want to agree with any part of the maid's soused ramblings, but unfortunately she could not close her ears to the cold, hard truth of her situation. It could, indeed, have been worse.
"Now you need not go back to your uncle and face the shame of being unwanted again. You will not be a spinster burden any longer. Your younger, prettier cousins will not wed before you. This man is willing to take you, temper and all." The maid shrugged happily. "I suppose your dowry makes up for everything else and he is desperate for coin."
"Yes, thank you, Villette," she replied crossly, "for pointing that out."
"I thought you would—"
"Clearly, Villette, you don't think."
Footsteps approached and they both fell silent. Male voices murmured low. Once again torchlight returned to the small barred window and those blue eyes looked in. Amias sat up straighter, retaining her dignity even till the end. Let them take her out and string her up on a gibbet. Let them punish her with twenty lashes.
"It's time we discussed a truce, woman," he announced. "This impasse will get us nowhere."
Villette must be right, she thought; Stryker Bloodaxe was indeed desperate for her bridal purse.
But, as it happened, she was frozen to the bone, longing for a fire. She was also bitterly cognizant of the many truths in her maid's speech. Irritating as it might be, this man was probably her last chance for a husband. As she'd said, many times, she didn't really want a husband, but without one she was superfluous to life. Marriage was escape from the crushing misery of her uncle's stern, miserly guardianship, even if it was simply an exchange for another kind of prison.
And there was something else to consider.
The barbarian was handsome, built like a warrior god. Distressed to find herself so shallow, Ami must admit that she would rather have a husband with good looks than an old one with no teeth. If she must look at a man every day for the rest of her life—or his—he had be
tter be pleasant to look at.
She cleared her throat. "I suppose we might discuss the matter, reasonably. As two adults."
He frowned fiercely. Obviously he did not consider them equals. "I am glad you came to your senses, wench."
"Me? You are the one who comes to me for a truce." It didn't take much to re-ignite her temper. "I could stay here all night, or for a month."
At the last word his eyes flamed and then narrowed, but just as he opened his mouth to speak Ami sneezed.
"I hope you're not sickly," he exclaimed, scratching his unshaven chin with grimy fingernails. "I can't have you spreading disease among my people."
She scowled up at him. "And there—I thought for the splinter of a second that your concern was for the state of my health."
The torchlight flickered wildly in a strong gust of wind. Again she caught a sharp jab from those deeply searching eyes. His hard gaze hit her somewhere under the ribs, then wandered up over her breasts, before dropping hastily to her knees. "Sickness can travel quickly and there are few comforts here for women of a fragile disposition."
Ami barely managed to stop herself from laughing out loud at the idea of anyone thinking her fragile.
Suddenly there was a heavy clanking rattle and then the door creaked open. She was released. Her heart skipped with unusual gladness at this victory, but she could not afford to relax yet, for who knew what he had in store—what he meant by this "truce". Doubtless his truce would not be the same as hers.
He was lucky she had Villette to worry about for she could have withstood the bitter cold much longer.
At her nod, the little maid scrambled to her feet in the straw and ducked out first. Amias walked out slowly, regally, pretending she could not feel the bite of frost in the air. No one could shrivel a man where he stood quite so well as Amias of York, with one unflinching stare. So she'd been told.
Stryker Bloodaxe let the door swing shut and, with the extravagant wave of one arm, signaled that she should walk ahead into the great hall of his manor. If Amias was not mistaken there was more than a glimmer of sarcasm in the over-wrought grandeur of that gesture.
He was up to something.
But weren't they all?
Chapter Three
She was tall for a woman, elegant in the way she moved. Even after the difficulties of a long journey in bad weather and half a day in the drunk shed she was remarkably composed. At least, it was so on the outside. One look into her honey gold eyes warned him that the temper he'd experienced already was not far from boiling over again.
Amias of York looked around his great hall and could have burned down the timbers with her disdain. Evidently these accommodations were far beneath the sort to which she was accustomed.
"We have a good apothecary here," he told her, anxious to find something at which she might not turn up her dainty nose. "I shall send for him and he will make a potion for your cold."
"I do not have a cold," she stated flatly. "I am never sick."
Apparently she never missed the chance to argue either. No matter how obvious the point against her.
Stryker struggled to keep his own temper. Think of the dowry. Think of the bride purse. He'd better keep her content at least for a month, until her uncle's visit had come and gone. Trust his damn neighbor, Coeur-du-Loup, to hold a feast and invite every notable member of the Norman court. The man was an ambitious upstart for all his pretense at being a humble soldier. Look how he wormed his way in and stole away Elsinora's affections! Now Stryker must be on his best behavior with this surly, prideful wench, or risk losing another dowry.
"Will you sit, my lady Amias." He waved at the chair beside his own, only to find a piglet sitting in it. He calmly picked it up and set it down among the floor rushes. It ran off squealing merrily, snouting for scraps. "A small oversight," he exclaimed, laughing. "An empty seat does not remain so around here for long."
She turned her head and seized him in a hard glare. "I see all animals are given free rein about the place."
"Except women," he muttered under his breath. Couldn't resist. He quickly reached for the wine and poured some for her while she was still dusting off the seat of her chair. Finally she sat and Stryker passed her a wooden cup of wine. "Let us break bread together and make amends."
Again she glowered at him, wary and doubting. "Amends? After the way you treated me? I confess myself puzzled as to what these amends might be."
But in his mind his actions were completely justified after she bit him.
She bit him. He still couldn't get over that.
If he hadn't dealt with her at once, Ifyr would probably have teased him about it. The two men were like brothers, for Stryker had taken the orphaned Ifyr under his wing and practically raised him from boy to man. He would never let the lad see him lose out to a woman. Besides, on a manor of that size, inhabited mostly by men, the leader could not afford to show weakness at any time. His wife should know that. If she did not, she soon would.
"I speak of the amends you can make to me," he replied smoothly.
Her brows rose in two fine arches. Those large, doe-like brown eyes reflected little darts of candlelight as she swept him from head to toe with one disdaining glance.
"But some of that," he added, "can wait until our wedding night."
"Something to look forward to," she snapped.
"Most definitely." He grinned at her and she sipped her wine hurriedly. Yes, she was a fine looking woman, he thought. Strange that other men had rejected her, but then rumor told that the wench had bats in the belfry. She did have an odd way of looking askance at him. Also she was stubborn—would fight to the point of injuring herself perhaps.
Time to discuss business and lay down the rules.
Supper was almost over by then and he had given the signal for clearing the hall so that they might have some privacy. Or as much as might be afforded on his manor. Stryker and his men were accustomed to living in close quarters and he'd only recently commissioned the making of a separate chamber with a large bed, preparing for his bride's arrival. If he took her there now, they would probably find two carpenters working by candlelight. It was also a distinct possibility that there would be dogs, hens and a goat or two. Another excuse for her to look disgusted.
Stryker set his cup down. "Lady Amias, let me speak plain. I suspect the idea of this marriage brings you no pleasure and, in truth, I would have preferred a woman from among my own kind—someone accustomed to my ways and the life we lead here. We work hard on this manor." He glanced at her clean fingernails and shook his head. "But this marriage can be one of mutual convenience. We both stand to gain something out of it. Do we not?"
She looked at him above the rim of her cup. "I know my uncle is paying you well to take me off his hands. You will also benefit greatly with the king's favor."
"And you have been saved from spinsterhood," he replied. "No other man is willing to deal with your wicked temper, so I am told."
Her lashes flickered and fanned downward as she took another sip of wine. "How much, exactly, is my uncle offering you? It must be a vast fortune to make you so willing, despite all that you have no doubt been told about me."
"That is a matter between men, wench."
"I am not to know the price he paid? I am not to know my own worth?"
"The business of money and negotiation should be left to men."
"Why?"
"Because we are in charge."
"Oh, there's a comfort." She rolled her eyes. "Leaving the men in charge has always done wonders for the world."
"Saints preserve me," he muttered. "Not another one."
"Another what?"
Stryker shook his head wearily. He thought of Elsinora, flapping her bossy tongue at him, trying to tell him she knew better. Now here was another. It seemed to be his fate that the two most attractive women he ever met should also be two of the most irritating scolds. "I should not bother asking you to explain. But I shall, as I have been accused of never list
ening to the squawkings of pitiful womanhood. I will hear your opinion. Just this once and once only."
****
He folded his arms, smug, self-righteous. "Speak your case," he urged again. "What have men ever done that is so wrong in your eyes?"
Ami had no problem telling him that. "Look around us, you great oaf. Here we live in a world always torn asunder by war, rebellion and greed. War is begun by men who are never satisfied, never content with what they have, but always want more."
"And what would wenches do, if they had charge?"
"We would discuss matters, remain civil and level-headed. Find compromise. Be fair and just. All things men cannot be for it is not in their nature."
"While you are busy making friends, comparing stitches in your embroidery and discussing what is to be done, your enemy will sneak up behind you and take all that you possess. Put a woman in charge and we may as well let cats guard the dairy."
"You are not—"
"I care to hear no more of your opinions. Men act for the good of all, including women. Stick to tapestries and raising babies. Leave the business of the world to men."
It was no more or less than she expected from this creature. At least he had let her say her piece, even if her opinion was summarily dismissed the very moment she was done expressing it. This was the way of life. She could not help taking her stance against it, once in a while. Not that it ever got her anywhere.
"Why do you look at me in that manner?" the brute demanded. "You have more opinions bursting to be heard? Remember, I allowed you only one chance and it is already used up."
"I had barely begun to list the faults of men."
He chuckled, pouring more wine into his cup. "One day, mayhap, should entertainment be in short supply and no jester at hand, I might ask you to tell me more."
She saw the wine had put him in a better mood, loosened his tongue. His broad shoulders relaxed against the back of his chair and his eyes grew warmer. When she looked at his mouth she remembered what he did to her earlier in the forest. Would he do that again, she wondered. Looking at her reflection in the wine, Ami mutely chided herself for succumbing to sinful desires. At least she had got a little vengeance when she bit his leg.
