Mistress to the Norman Lord

by Ling, Maria

  No: in that fractured moment, she'd seen Lord Guy only as a man. And she'd wanted to go with him, anywhere he wished, for no other reason than that she belonged there.

  A silly notion. In her defence, though, it had lasted only for a breath. Long enough for the sneer of confidence on Osulf's face to waver, and betray a hard suspicious stare.

  Then he'd seized her by the arm and tried to drag her away. At which point Lord Guy's whim caught up with her and sent her into the harsh grip of an armoured knight.

  It hadn't been a pleasant ride. Though at least she'd had no groping to endure. She could imagine only too well what Osulf would have made of an opportunity like that. The knight, for all his merciless strength and foul language - albeit the latter had been confined to a whisper - had shown no inclination to make free with her body. That much had been a great relief.

  Now she was here. In the castle. Brought for the lord's pleasure, which she could only be thankful for. He'd take what he wanted, gently she hoped, and pay her a coin or two afterwards. That was what men of his sort did, so she'd been told.

  But before, or after, or even during, she'd have the chance to speak with him in person. To explain about Osulf and the bailiff, and Mother's farm, and how everything depended on her. Plead for his intervention, vastly more precious to her than a few coins. He might do it, if he were a kind man and disposed to like her. Which she would have to make sure of, somehow.

  Well, it couldn't be difficult. Mother had told her men would kill for a chance to bed a girl like her, and that Aelfid must stand on her honour no matter what the cost.

  Aelfid hoped Lord Guy wouldn't take matters quite so far. She did not wish to cause anyone's death - though if he were minded to dispose of Osulf, she could find no great objection to that. But she ought to be able to provide what he wanted. In return, she could only hope he'd grant her own wish.

  Just in case, though - it would be worth speaking to other men also, if she could. Yet even there she must tread carefully. She didn't know what friends Osulf's uncle might have within these walls. Her brother Beorn would know, if she could only find him.

  In her naivety, she'd assumed she'd see him as soon as she got inside. Of course she'd known the castle for a big place: she'd heard of the cellars and towers and workshops and stables. But she'd expected to meet Beorn, or see him at least, with the same assurance as if the space within the walls had not exceeded the bounds of her mother's farmhouse.

  Stupid girl. She'd never find him in this sprawl of buildings. And it was too much to hope that he'd spot her by chance.

  "Excuse me." She twisted, sought the eye of the knight who'd brought her in - and who dumped her now, without ceremony, onto the stamped earth in front of the stables. Aelfid grabbed at the horse to steady herself.

  The knight dismounted, handed the reins to another man, then seized her by the arm and dragged her towards a set of stairs that climbed the high mound beyond the cluster of buildings.

  "I need to speak with my brother Beorn." Aelfid squirmed in the knight's grip. Not too fiercely: she had no wish to anger him or his lord. But she did wish he'd at least look at her, not drag her around like a sack of flour. "Do you know him?"

  The man pushed her towards the stairs, then shoved her as she hesitated. Aelfid clenched her mouth shut and began the long climb.

  She paused a couple of times, and turned in an effort to glance around in search of her brother, but the knight shoved her on each time. She grew to resent him, as they gained the top and were swallowed up by the gloom of an arched doorway set into the tall stone building that dominated the mound.

  "He's in Lord Guy's service," she argued. The knight merely caught her by the arm again and dragged her onwards. Aelfid fought free of him, or tried to, but to no avail. In the end she submitted, told herself there must be other and more sensible men about the place. Lord Guy himself, perhaps.

  Something quivered within her heart. Not fear, exactly. Anticipation and anxiety, equally mixed. That startled moment still possessed the power to shake her, it rose before her mind now. She'd wanted to go with him, eager and willing, anywhere at all.

  As if he'd want a common girl to be his companion. She had to scoff at herself. This purpose she could serve, and well enough to earn a hearing. But afterwards she'd be sent home again, she had no doubt of that. Mother had told her plenty of stories, and all of them true.

  It suited her, though. She couldn't live in a place like this, all stone and gloom and tramping men. Though the room she fetched up in was splendid, bigger than the main room of the farmhouse and decorated with beautiful fabrics. The bed was huge, almost the size of the croft shack where she and Mother and the little ones slept all crowded together on piles of straw over the cold earth floor.

  Aelfid glared at the knight as he thrust her towards the bed, then faltered as he scowled in return.

  "Will his lordship come to me now?" she asked, more meekly than she'd intended. Perhaps she'd misheard, or misunderstood: she'd thought Lord Guy wanted her brought to his room only later. Yet here she was.

  The knight shrugged and marched away, and shut the door behind him.

  So much for that. Aelfid poked around for a bit, acquainted herself with the chest and cupboard and table and stools, all neatly made from well-planed wood and smoothed with careful sanding. She peeked out of the narrow slot window, which showed her nothing but open countryside beyond the grim outer walls. No sign of her home village, she must be facing the wrong way for that. Which was a good thing, maybe, because she didn't think she could do what she must if she felt the eyes of its people upon her.

  She'd never been alone. Not like this, far from anyone's judgement. It emboldened her, she felt she could do what she pleased and risk no consequences. Mother was wonderful in every way, but she did scold. And nothing worried her more than how Aelfid looked, or spoke, or behaved. Whereas here there was no one to see, or even care.

  With a sense of daring Aelfid she sat down on the edge of the bed and bounced, admired the softness and warmth of the feather-stuffed mattress. She would be comfortable here, oh yes.

  It could be a lot worse for her first experience of intimacy with a man. Osulf would be worse, for a start. Whereas Lord Guy surely wouldn't hurt her, or at least not much.

  Hopefully.

  She quivered again, and this time felt closer to fear. He didn't have name for himself as a vicious man, at least no one had told her so, but in truth she didn't really know. Certainly he looked fine enough in his fancy apparel, and he smiled benignly in the midst of his men, she could imagine him a kind man. But she didn't actually know...

  A knock on the door startled her. Two boys carried a pitcher and a bowl full of steaming water, set both down on a small table in one corner, withdrew with hurried bows. A man who had followed them in set down a folded towel and turned to her with a bewildered frown.

  "Beorn!" Aelfid leapt at him. "Thank heaven you're here. I need to speak with you."

  "What fool dare have you pulled now?" Beorn demanded. "I'm told you're here for my lord's pleasure. Since when do you lend yourself to such games?"

  "Since today, obviously." Aelfid seized his arm. "Never mind about that. I can settle it myself. Listen. You have to help me do something about Osulf."

  It all spilled out of her, words tumbling fast one over another. Beorn's face grew grim and then fierce as she spoke.

  "I'll kill him," he growled at last. "Rip him limb from limb and feed the pieces to that scum of an uncle of his."

  "Do that," Aelfid urged. Relief flooded her, the sense of finally reaching safety and support. They could take on Osulf together, she and Beorn, between them they must be able to force his retreat. Though she wasn't sure how, exactly. Much depended on Beorn's standing at the castle. "Can you speak to Lord Guy at once?"

  "Me?" Beorn stared at her. "Don't be silly. I've not had words with him since I came into his service. He wouldn't speak to the likes of me. And he's been away of late, you know. In Normand
y. Fighting. What am to him, that I should presume so far - and on the very day of his arrival home?"

  "Never mind about the day," Aelfid insisted. "The sooner you talk to him, the sooner he can act."

  "Why should he act on my word?"

  Aelfid gave her brother a blank stare. "He might not want to listen to me."

  "I should think not. You'd best keep quiet around him. Just do what he tells you and all will be well." Beorn's face darkened with worry. "At least I hope so. Why did you choose such wanton ways? I could have helped you, if I'd known. Why didn't you come to the castle before? It's no more than a day's walk. Or send word by someone?"

  "I already told you I tried," Aelfid snapped. She'd glided over the aftermath of her capture, didn't want to dwell on that humiliation. "As for being wanton, it wasn't all my own choice." She described how Osulf had thrust her at Lord Guy.

  Beorn's face twisted in rage. "I really will kill him. That I swear."

  "Be my guest," Aelfid said. "But first let's get the farm back for Mother. Can you talk to the steward?"

  "I can try," Beorn said in a doubtful tone. "If he'll hear me. Let me go away and think this over. There must be someone who can set things right."

  "There is," Aelfid said with confidence. "Lord Guy."

  "Mmm." Beorn's doubtful expression did not improve. "If he wishes to."

  "He must." Aelfid shook her brother's arm, almost shoved him in her eagerness. "You talk to him, and I'll talk to him. Between us, we're sure to convince."

  "Don't," Beorn urged, clearly alarmed. "Stay quiet in his company. He won't take well to presumption from the likes of us. Just behave with deference, and I'll... think of something."

  "That's reassuring." She did shove him now, as they'd done so freely when they were children. He'd bulked out since then, she couldn't shift him far. "Don't worry, I won't be saucy." She'd speak to Lord Guy as to Osulf's uncle, call him 'my lord' and show due respect. That should settle it, surely. "Go on, now. I need to wash."

  Beorn looked at the bowl and pitcher, somewhat helplessly. "You don't have to do this."

  "Yes, I do." If she held hard to that certainty, she wouldn't feel afraid. "While you find other ways. I just needed you to know about these wrongs." She pushed him towards the door.

  "I'll speak to Lord Guy," Beorn said with sudden resolve. "Then he won't need to - well - you know."

  "He probably will anyway," Aelfid said. "Go on."

  Beorn left, shaking his head. She trusted him to do all he could, and that was what she'd hoped for. Pleasuring Lord Guy would be her task, and she intended to make sure she did it well.

  She washed herself with great care, wished she'd had the chance to make a new dress before Osulf's depredations began. This one had been pretty once, but it was soiled now and frayed in places, not fit for the company of a lord. Good enough to wear as she watched him ride by, or flung himself under the hooves of his horse. To stand before him as a woman, and charm him with her beauty? Not so much.

  Perhaps he would be sufficiently distracted as she took it off not to notice the loose threads and tinge of old stains. She'd have to hope for that.

  Where was he, then? She stood ready now, fresh under the linen and with her courage screwed high. An hour after sunset, he'd said - but that was a long time away yet. And for her to be brought only then to his chamber, but the knight must have misunderstood, because this surely was a lord's bed. So vast, and soft, and hung about with pretty curtains. Aelfid touched them, gently, explored the sinuous embroideries. Shivered at the thought of what would happen here, in this room, on this bed. Soon.

  She wanted it. And didn't want it. And worried that she'd do it wrong, annoy him with the wrong touch or the wrong words, lose her best chance for justice.

  She wished he would come. With the prospect of action immediate before her, she'd found ample courage within her heart. Now, in this solitary waiting, her resolve began to falter, her certainty to wane. Perhaps he wouldn't hear her, after all. Perhaps he'd laugh at her, and take her as he chose, and dump her in some muddy ditch afterwards.

  God, she'd been stupid. Why hadn't she kept back, said nothing, escaped when she had the chance? Even if it meant staying with Osulf - at least she knew the worst of him, what he was capable of.

  This man, this lord - she knew nothing about him. Nothing at all. Only that he'd fought in some country far away, fought and killed and watched men die. Seen Father die, maybe, in that last campaign. Aelfid's heart had ached as she watched the troop approach her village, because she remembered another lord returning from war. Lord Guy's father that had been. Aelfid's father had marched away in his service, and never returned.

  She didn't want to think of that. Because he'd killed men, this Lord Guy. What had he done to the women?

  He ought to come. It must be sunset now. Or nearing it, anyway. What could keep a man so long? They were supposed to like bedding women, weren't they? Osulf put effort enough into haranguing her for it. How she'd be in his bed, how he'd take his pleasure on her body. Over and over, she'd stopped listening, she didn't want to hear such words.

  They returned to her now, in awful clarity. Ones she didn't recall hearing at the time, but which must have lodged within her mind regardless. Aelfid shivered with open fear, and considered running away.

  But that wouldn't get Mother the farm back.

  She had to go through with it. No other option, nothing else she could do.

  She only hoped it would prove worth her while. That Lord Guy would listen, and understand, and choose to act on her pleas.

  God damn the man. She was ready for him. Why didn't he come?

  ***

  CHAPTER 2

  Guy slumped onto the bed. His body ached with slow exertion, his mind with constant decisions. He'd fought no battle today, but the fatigue he experienced was of a similar kind.

  Thankfully, it was no worse than a decent night's sleep would cure. Drowsiness stole over him, pushed away all thought of making ready for the night. He'd slept unwashed and in full clothing often enough, it wouldn't kill him to do so again. Might take his boots off at least, if he could bring himself to move. Which he couldn't, not while the feather bed gave so comfortably underneath him and the darkness settled so smoothly over his eyes. Only a couple of candles gave him light, he could rouse himself enough to blow them out maybe. Or else leave them to burn out, it didn't matter, he could afford new ones in the morning. Better just to lie here and drift deep into the darkness of...

  "My lord?"

  Guy winced. He'd been so close to dozing off. And here was Luke again, God damn it, reminding him of yet another thing that must be done. "What is it?"

  "The girl you wanted."

  He recalled no girl. "Wanted what?"

  "Brought to your chamber an hour after sunset, my lord."

  God, so he did. She sprang into his mind now, alive and beautiful. How could he have forgotten her?

  But he had. Entirely. And now he must make ready, strip and wash and dress in something decent. Poor girl, if he meant to seduce her he could at least make sure he didn't stink. And give her some pleasure, too, if he didn't fall asleep in the midst of it. God, he hoped not.

  Guy forced his eyes open, pushed himself off the bed. And saw her there, shadowed in the gloom of his chamber, lovelier even than before.

  Damn. Here he was, reeking after a long day's travel, stained and weary and -

  Sense caught up with him. He'd send her away, of course. It had been a mad impulse, ordering his man to pick her up. Should have left her to her own people, he had bailiffs and overseers to handle such matters, it was too trivial a thing for him to deal with himself. Compared to the army of reports and questions and decisions he'd met and bested this day, the fate of a young woman's body was scarcely worth his notice.

  Fine body, though. He could see that well enough, even in the gloom.

  "My lord." She spoke with a soft, appealing voice, offered him a deep curtsy that was the model of meek
submission.

  Guy swallowed. Desire shot through him with staggering force. He could take her now, it was not so bad a thing, she lived on his land and belonged to his service. Besides, she was willing. More than willing. He'd swear to that, by the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice and -

  Unless she was a consummate artist of pretence. Or afraid.

  He'd met that, too. Women who lived in too much fear - of beatings, or torture, or murder even - to say no to a man. And they were right, for the most part. He'd known far too many women beaten, and tortured, and murdered too.

  He'd always sworn to himself he'd never force a woman. Always sworn he'd never allow it in any man under his command.

  What could he do, though, if a woman in fear of her life told him yes?

  He could refuse.

  "Take her back." It was the only right thing to do: he despised himself for that brief hesitation. This woman had no power to refuse him, and she must know as much. Which meant he owed it to her instead. "She can stay the night - " too late an hour, this, to return her to the village he'd seized her from - "but we'll send her home tomorrow." He fixed Luke with a grim stare. "Unmolested. Understand?"

  "Of course, my lord."

  "Wait." The woman fought free of Luke's grip. "My lord, I need to speak with you - "

  God. Not another one. They saw the opportunity for advantage, and clung to it with both hands. He'd ask the bailiff to look into it, whatever it was. "Get rid of her." That came out rather too stern, and he winced at the force with which Luke grabbed her. "Not so harshly. See that she's fed and has whatever she needs. And tell the bailiff to look into her complaint."

  "That won't do any good," the woman argued. "He's his uncle, and they do whatever they like, and Mother and the little ones will go hungry, and my lord you have to listen to me - "

  Guy blinked. He was unaccustomed to ravings from the peasantry. "Who is whose uncle?" He ran the words back through his mind. "You are sister to the bailiff?"

  "What?" She paused, disconcerted, his own confusion reflected in her face.