He shuddered as he remembered the face with the soft blue eyes. Brianna. She had been the source of the light. Was God trying to tell him something? More likely, his own guilty conscience and too much ale had caused his slumber to be so interrupted.
Garek got up again and crossed to the hearth in the middle of the room. The fire had almost died out by now. Throwing on some kindling, Garek gave thought to what was about to transpire.
The flame caught and soon the chill eased in the chamber, although the smoke thickened around him, making his eyes sting. Garek decided he’d had enough sleep for one night. It couldn’t be long until morning.
Pulling on a soft leather tunic over the chausses covering his legs, he went to the window and looked out. Already the faint fingers of dawn were streaking across the eastern sky.
Below him in the courtyard he could see signs of activity. Bolson was awake and making ready for the contest to come.
Sighing, Garek turned away. How was he to get out of this mess he had made for himself? He could have hanged the villein from the nearest tree. But somehow, Garek knew without a doubt that soft blue eyes would haunt him the rest of his life if he did so.
He pulled on his boots and made his way to the lord’s chamber. Gently he opened the door and peered inside.
Brianna rested peacefully on the bed, her eyes closed in sweet repose. Mary lay on a pallet next to the great bed, her even breathing telling Garek that she, too, was fast asleep.
Closing the door, he made his way down the stairs and crossed to the table at the end of the main hall. He slid into a chair, dropping his head upon his hands.
“My lord?”
Startled, Garek glanced up at young Gaylan standing beside his chair.
“I did not hear you come in,” he told the boy. “What is it you wish?”
“Will you break the fast, my lord? There is not much provender left until we finish unpacking the supplies, but I will see what I can find. . . .”
Garek shook his head. “Nay. Bring me only a chalice of ale.”
Gaylan hesitated. “There is cool milk, if you would rather.”
Feeling the queasy turn of his stomach, Garek decided he would rather have the latter.
“Yea, bring me a cup.”
Garek watched the boy leave the room, entering the cooking chamber beyond. He’s a good lad. There must be something I can do to help the boy’s position—perhaps make him a page and help him begin a journey toward knighthood. He would give it some thought.
There were so many things to think about, not least of which was what to do about Brianna’s brother. He knew whatever he decided, he had to protect Brianna from him. The problem is, the foolish girl seems to have a fondness for the dolt.
Women! There was no understanding them. No reasoning with them. Especially when they took some notion into their heads. . .or hearts.
Bolson entered the room, crossing to Garek’s side.
“Everything is ready.” He hesitated. “Will you really kill the man?”
Garek blew out through his lips, slanting his friend a look as he did so. “If you can think of another way to protect the wench from the fool, I will gladly listen.”
Bolson pinched his lips together with his fingers, studying Garek thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could send him away.”
“And what is to prevent him from returning and wreaking more havoc upon us?”
Grinning, Bolson drew a bench forward and sat. “Perhaps Anton could keep him occupied in France,” he suggested, referring to Garek’s cousin, who was notoriously anti-English.
Garek looked at his knight askance. “Pray tell, why this concern for a Saxon life?”
Bolson sobered. “I do not like killing, my liege. If there is another way, I would use it. The reason for such an act in this case is quite understandable, yet it would seem the lesser of two evils to let the man live.”
“Has your heart turned to England, Sir Bolson?”
Affronted, the blond knight rose to his feet, his blue eyes flashing in anger. “Nay! It is not so!”
A sparkle in Garek’s eyes belied the seriousness of his words. “Then pray tell, Sir Bolson, why would you choose to inflict such a man upon my kinsmen? What have the Normans ever done to deserve such a reward?”
Seeing the jest of his words, Bolson relaxed. “It is only that I thought our kind might better be able to teach the oaf some manners.”
The sparkle grew as Garek considered the suggestion. “Yea,” he said softly. “You just may have the right idea.”
Rising from the table, Garek clasped his friend’s forearm with his hand. “Yea, Bolson. Let us make haste to secure this day and this fief.”
Laughing, the two friends left the room, watched by a bemused Gaylan who was holding a chalice of milk.
❧
Serin lifted the huge broadsword and handed it to Edward. The man backed away as though the instrument were an asp about to strike.
Garek drew his own sword from its scabbard and stood facing the villein. An eyebrow winged its way upward in amusement.
“What, ho, Edward? Are you refusing the challenge?”
Garek grinned as the man glared back at him, rubbing his now clean-shaven face.
“I am no knight trained to do battle. Neither am I foolish enough to fight one.”
Garek rested the point of his sword in the dirt, leaning upon the hilt. “I agree you are not trained to do battle, but you have learned the act well.” His voice grew cold. “Especially upon women and unsuspecting travelers. As to the second point, I must disagree, for a bigger fool I have yet to meet.”
Edward trembled with his wrath, and no little amount of fear. His mouth opened, then closed. Garek continued.
“These many years you have longed to wreak vengeance on the Normans, yet now your opportunity has arisen and you refuse the honor. I say that is very foolish.”
“I will not fight you,” Edward declared. “It would not be a fair fight. You are far larger than me and greatly exceed my abilities.”
“Perhaps you would prefer someone more like your sister?” Garek paused as if considering the idea, his lips pursed upward. “Agreed.”
He snapped his fingers and a young man came forward. He wore no mail, nor any of the accouterments of a knight.
Garek handed his sword to the lad, who was obviously no more than eighteen. Though the boy was slight of build, he hefted the sword easily.
“Devon, will you fight this. . .this gentleman?”
Short blond hair bobbed as the boy nodded. “Aye, milord. It will be my pleasure.”
Garek turned back to Edward. “Devon is training to be a knight, true, but he is not one yet. And since he is but a lad I thought perhaps you would have less fear.”
Although his face flushed at the sneer in Garek’s voice, Edward refused to lift his sword. Garek turned to him in anger.
“You have a choice. Fight, or be sent to Normandy where you will swear allegiance to William and be made a serf in the fief of my cousin.”
Edward’s eyes grew large. They went from Garek to Devon, and back again. He swallowed hard, trying to decide.
“Choose!” Garek bellowed. “I grow weary of the wait.”
“And if I fight?”
Garek’s demeanor grew cold as he studied the man. Edward was not a small man and at some time must have been considered handsome. The years and circumstances had taken their toll and left him with a bitter twist to his lips. Still, Garek had no doubt of the outcome should he decide to fight Devon.
“Should you win the day, you will be set free.”
“And I may leave this manor?”
Garek grinned at Devon, who grinned back. “Oh, yea, you may leave.”
Still Edward hesitated, appearing very much the coward. Garek decided to help him make up his mind. He walked across the courtyard, drawing Bolson’s sword from its scabbard. Turning, he walked back to where Devon waited. Facing the boy, Garek smiled.
“To arms, Devon.”
Grinning, the boy hefted his own sword. In one quick move he sliced down and to the left, taking Garek by surprise. Garek lifted his sword in time to turn the blow to the side. Sword rang against sword.
In the chamber above, Brianna flinched at the clash of steel against steel. Mary leaned out over the sill, watching the conflict below. So absorbed was she, she failed to notice Brianna slowly climbing from the bed. Only when the dark-haired girl joined her did Mary protest.
“Brianna! Get back in bed!”
“Nay,” she whispered hoarsely. “I will see this out.”
They both watched as Devon and Garek continued their sport. The boy was well skilled, though small of stature, and was a fair match for the older man.
Even from this distance Brianna could tell that Garek held back so as not to harm the boy accidentally. She also could see that Edward’s face had grown pale.
“Enough!” Garek’s voice rang louder than the blade, and Devon dropped his sword to his side.
Turning, Garek fixed Edward with a look. “Your decision?”
Edward dropped his sword. He knew he was no match for the boy, though he exceeded him in weight. Perhaps life in a French court would not be such an unhappy experience. With enough cunning, he might even gain the lord’s ear.
“Wise choice,” Garek told him.
Brianna sagged back against the wall in relief. Concerned, Mary edged her toward the bed.
“I told you, did I not? Now get back into bed, for heaven’s sake! It is not my wont to be flayed if milord finds you sprawled out in the rushes.”
Brianna had no more than lain down before her eyes closed in sleep.
❧
When Brianna opened her eyes again, daylight was waning. Garek sat in a chair by her bed, his head nodding to the side. Brianna smiled at the innocent picture he made.
How could one who could wield a sword and mete out justice so efficiently look so innocent?
She took time to study him, noticing that he had removed the stubble of several days growth from his face. Brianna had a hard time adjusting to this Norman custom of appearance, but she found it rather appealing. He had trimmed his hair as well. It framed his face, causing the scar on his forehead to stand out more clearly.
Brianna acknowledged that he was a fine figure of a man. Who could deny it? But she sensed in him a restlessness and an anger that seemed unquenchable. How she could know this after such short acquaintance she was unsure, but know it she did.
She blinked in surprise when his eyes suddenly opened, staring into hers. Relief was quickly disguised behind a bland mask.
“It is eventide, damsel. We thought perhaps you would sleep the night away.”
She didn’t return his smile. “What of Edward?”
Mary had told Garek that they had witnessed the morning’s encounter from the window, but Garek knew they were unaware of any words that were spoken, the distance being too great.
Garek leaned forward, bringing his face close to Brianna’s. He raised a finger and gently stroked the swollen bruise on her cheek.
“I have sent him from England, to my cousin in Normandy. Perhaps he will learn to fight men instead of women.” His voice was unusually soft as his eyes slowly roved over her face.
“Poor Edward,” Brianna sighed.
Garek rose to his feet, angry at the girl’s continued championing of such a worm as Edward.
“Waste not your pity on Edward. Men like him always find a way to turn disfavor to their advantage.” He crossed to the window, staring out at the gathering darkness.
The torch light flickered, making shadows dance across the floor. The warmth seemed to reach out and touch Garek and he found himself oddly content.
“Brianna,” he asked. “Are you familiar with this shire?”
She watched him carefully, wondering at his sudden change of subject.
“Yea, my lord. I have lived here since I was but six years of age.”
Garek grinned, throwing her a look over his shoulder. “And how long ago was that? Nine years? Ten?”
Blushing, Brianna turned her head away from him. “My lord, you jest.”
Surprised, Garek crossed the room to her side. “What is your age?”
The color deepened on Brianna’s cheeks. “I am well past marrying age, my lord. I am a score plus six.”
Garek couldn’t believe his ears. This little thing twenty-six years old? Surely not.
“You are making a jest,” he scoffed.
Brianna turned back to him, her eyes suddenly curious. “Truly you believed I was but six years plus ten?”
“Yea.” Flustered, his look went from her head to her tiny little feet. “Perhaps your size had something to do with it, but you are. . .there is something. . .”
He found himself unable to go on. How did one explain that women, older women, had an air about them, a lack of innocence that sat hard upon their features?
This girl had the look of one as yet untouched. In truth, she looked more the maid than many much younger girls, though with her face swollen so grotesquely, it was hard to tell. Garek brought them back to a less personal topic of conversation.
“You say you know the shire and its people?”
“Yea.”
He seated himself once again. “I have need of someone who can help me learn this land and its people. Would this be acceptable to you?”
Brianna was puzzled. “Milord, what is it you ask of me? Am I not to be sent with Edward?”
“Nay! Never that!” Garek lowered his voice. “You will stay here, at the castle. Mary has need of someone to help her with her chores and my men do not fancy being land serfs.”
Brianna tried to smile. “Methinks young Devon would make a fine smithy.”
“Yea, he strikes the iron well, but it is better, I think, to have him at my side.”
Garek could see the tired droop of Brianna’s eyes. He pulled the tray that Mary had fixed across the floor.
“Can you eat, Brianna?”
“I am famished,” she told him, eyeing the tray hungrily.
Placing the tray on the bed next to her, Garek tried to help Brianna eat the bread and cheese Mary had brought. A flagon of water was there to quench her thirst.
Raising an eyebrow, Garek smiled at her. “Rather meager fare, but until I have time to make the rounds of the manor and find out the exact state of my affairs, it will have to do. My men are already complaining, so perhaps I will send them out hunting on the morrow.”
“My lord.” Brianna halted him as he was about to leave the room. “The folk of this shire are good, hard-working people. They will not cheat you nor do you harm if they are treated with dignity and respect.”
Was there a warning in her words? Garek’s eyes narrowed. He’d had enough of Saxon treachery to last a lifetime. Even now it sat sorely upon him that he must be lord of this manor. He’d rather be back home in Normandy.
“Make haste in your healing, Brianna. I am in sore need, as I told you, of someone to help me establish this burg.”
This time Brianna returned his smile. He closed the door softly behind him.
Mary came later to retrieve the tray. Her eyes were alight, her face flushed. Brianna studied her, wondering what had put her friend in such a fine humor. She didn’t have long to wait.
“Sir Bolson asked after you,” Mary told her in a breathy voice.
Brianna’s lips twitched. “Did he now?”
“Yea,” Mary told her, not noticing her friend’s twitching lips. “He is a fine man, would you not say so?”
Eyebrows raised, Brianna answered her friend. “In truth, I do not know the man, but if you say it is so, then it must be.”
A dreamy look crept over Mary’s features. “Yea. Strong. Handsome. Wealthy.”
“How do you know he is wealthy?”
Mary flared at the snicker in her friend’s voice. “He told me so.”
“I see.”
Fists on her hips, Mary glared at Brianna.
Before she could say anything, a knock at the door interrupted them.
Gaylan pushed open the door slightly. “My lord wishes a word with you, Mary.”
All humor fled the girl’s face. “Coming.”
After she had gone, Brianna stared at the door. Her lips twitched with amusement. Mary is forever falling in love. The problem is, it never lasts. The smile drained away. Except for James. He had been killed at the battle of Hastings. It surprised Brianna that Mary would even consider a Norman, especially since they were responsible for the death of her intended and the destruction and ruin of the English countryside.
She sighed. Did Garek du Mor truly believe that she, Brianna, was as young as he said, or was he merely being kind? She had long since given up the idea of marriage and family, since she was considered an old maid and had no dowry.
But now that Edward was being sent away, what was she to do? It was obvious Sir Garek felt sorry for her, probably even felt some kind of obligation since she had saved his life.
Brianna sighed again. It would be nice to be as lovely as Mary and have men constantly throwing flowers at your feet. Mary had only to walk into a room and it became a brighter place.
Settling back against the mattress, she felt a moment’s guilt at having routed the lord from his own bed chambers. Still, guilt did not keep her eyes from slowly drifting shut.
When Garek looked in on her later, Brianna’s breathing came softly to his ears. Walking across the room, he stared down at her.
“Ho, wench. What have you to do with the light?” he asked softly, studying her sleeping figure several long moments. “If you invade the privacy of my dreams again, could you not make them a little more pleasant?”
A soft murmur answered him and he realized that Brianna was in a dream world of her own. Touching her cheek lightly, Garek smiled down at her.
“Sweet dreams, little Brianna.”
Turning, he quickly exited the room.
four
Days turned into weeks and the time brought healing and change to Brianna’s life. No longer did she spend her days toiling relentlessly for a man who was unappreciative. No longer did she go to bed hungry each night.
A Light Within Page 4
