Lord of Lyonsbridge

by Ana Seymour

  “What worm is gnawing at your innards today, Connor?” Father Martin asked, irritated at being snapped at by his brother for the third time since he’d arrived at midmorning.

  Connor set down the wooden bucket he’d been carrying and boosted himself up on the fence next to the friar. “Forgive me, Martin. ‘Tis the infernal mist, no doubt. It leads to melancholy.”

  “You used to love foggy days.”

  Connor looked around. It was midday, yet they could barely see as far as the castle. He sighed. “Mayhap. I used to love a lot of things in the old life.”

  “You are melancholy, brother mine. ‘Tis unlike you. My guess is that it has something to do with the arrival of the Normans yestreen. Mayhap in particular the arrival of a certain female Norman.”

  Connor squinted toward the castle as if expecting to see her coming toward him, as he had that morning. He’d given no sign, but her visit had hit him with visceral impact. It was not that he’d been long deprived of the company of women. There were always plenty of obliging maidens in the village to see to his needs and amusement. But he couldn’t remember ever having the sight of a female affect him so absolutely. He’d felt it the previous day, the first time he’d set eyes on her. This morning, seeing her emerging from the mist like some kind of regal faerie queen had quite simply robbed him of his senses.

  It had robbed him of his reason, too. He’d spoken brashly, without a thought for the consequences, which was a luxury he no longer allowed himself. He had too many responsibilities to be so foolhardy. It couldn’t happen again.

  “The lass has me muddled,” he admitted to his brother.

  Father Martin looked surprised at the admission and a little worried. “Connor, you know you would never be able—” He broke off and laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She’s a Norman, brother.”

  “I know. Don’t mistake me, Martin. I’m not likely to forget my—” he looked around at the stable yard “—my place at Lyonsbridge. ‘Tis clear enough at which end of the salt I sit.”

  Father Martin looked relieved. “I suspect you’ll grow used to seeing her around in time. It appears she’s something of a horsewoman.”

  Connor jumped to the ground and gave his brother a grin. “Aye, there’s no law against looking at a pretty maid, is there?”

  Father Martin rolled his eyes. “Not in your world, at least.”

  His brother laughed. “Ah, Martin, the Lord won’t punish you for a glance or two. When you’re at Mass with her today, give it a try and tell me if you don’t think her eyes are golden.”

  With more difficulty than his brother, Father Martin slid to the ground, shaking his head. He turned with a rueful smile. “I’ve already looked, brother, and, yes, a truer gold I’ve never seen.”

  The lady Ellen didn’t come to the stables the next two days. Her mount—Jocelyn, she’d called it—grew restive in its stall, and Connor walked it around the stable yard. She was a fine animal, and he’d have enjoyed riding her, but decided it would be prudent to await the mistress’s orders on the matter, particularly after his outburst the other morning.

  He still berated himself for losing his usual control in such a fashion. At his father’s deathbed, he’d promised to look after the people of Lyonsbridge, and at his mother’s, he’d promised to keep peace in the land. He could do neither task if he made the new masters so angry that they ran him off the place.

  Since something about the beautiful new mistress of Lyonsbridge seemed to spark the defiant streak he’d worked so hard to tame, he knew he’d do well to stay out of the lady’s way. He should be glad she hadn’t come again to the stables. Still, he found himself glancing toward the castle several times a day, hoping to see her heading toward him.

  This morning it was not the lady Ellen scurrying down the hill, but John the cooper’s son. Connor was repairing a shoe on one of the Norman horses. He paused in his work to greet the boy with a smile.

  “Whoa, lad, slow down. What’s your hurry on such a beautiful morn?”

  John skidded to a stop near Connor and took a gasping breath. “Good morrow, Master Connor.”

  Connor marveled at the boy’s unfailing courtesy, even though he was obviously agitated. “Good morrow, John. Now tell me what’s troubling you.”

  The words tumbled out as the boy shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry to bother you, Master Connor. I haven’t forgotten your words in the village-that we have to give the new masters a chance.

  Everyone’s trying, truly they are. But you know that me mum’s doing poorly. She’s hardly been able to eat these past four days, and Sarah must stay there to mind her, but Sir William’s men have ordered all tenants to the castle. No exception, they say, by order of the new mistress.”

  Connor sighed and carefully lifted the horse’s hoof out of his lap. The animal didn’t move. “Did you explain to Sir William’s men about your mother? Surely they know she has the wasting sickness?”

  “No exceptions, they said.” The boy gave a vigorous shake of his head, jiggling his cropped blond hair like a shaft of wheat. “They don’t care, these Normans.”

  “Why are they commanding everyone to the castle?” Connor asked, laying aside his chisel.

  John shrugged. “’Tis daft, if you ask me. They say the lady Ellen has ordered a scouring from floor to ceiling, every room.”

  Connor couldn’t argue with the fact that a “scouring” was sorely needed. There had been times when he’d winced at the forlorn state of Lyonsbridge Castle, thinking that his mother would be lying restless in her tomb. He glanced over at the stables, where even the hay was stacked in neat bundles. Though its occupants were animals, he’d daresay his domain was a sight tidier than the great hall of the castle.

  “The cleaning’s not a bad idea, lad,” Connor told the boy. “But they’ve help aplenty to carry it out. They shouldn’t need your mother, nor your sister.”

  “They’ve already taken Sarah. One of the soldiers dragged her off.”

  “Dragged her off?” At this, Connor stood, overturning the stool behind him. Sarah Cooper was barely thirteen years, a slight, pretty girl and much too fragile to defend herself against a randy Norman soldier.

  “That’s why I came to you, Master Connor. I couldn’t stop them. There was too many of them.”

  Connor’s heart went out to the lad. Only a year older than his sister, young John had tried to be the man of the cooper’s household since his father had been killed by the Normans five years earlier. Connor put a hand on his shoulder.

  “You did right, John. It would have been foolish to defy an entire band of guards. It was good that you came to me.”

  “They wouldn’t hurt Sarah, would they?” he asked. His voice broke, making him sound younger than his years.

  “Nay, they wouldn’t dare hurt her if ‘tis the lady Ellen’s orders they’re following.” Connor had no idea if his optimistic words were true, but the boy looked relieved. “Come, we’ll go find her and straighten this out.”

  “Will you talk to the lady Ellen directly?” John asked.

  Connor began to lead the horse into the stable. At the boy’s words, he felt a tingle of awareness along his limbs. The image of Lady Ellen Wakelin’s golden eyes danced in his head.

  “Aye, lad. I’ll talk to the lady Ellen directly.”

  Chapter Three

  Ellen tucked the long sleeves of her silk bliaut into the wristlets of her undergown. For a moment she wished she could strip off the elaborate finery and don a simple, coarse linen garment such as the one worn by the peasant girl working alongside her. The trailing dress and the heavy silver corselet that she wore atop it were not at all practical for hard labor. But donning rude clothing would not help her cause of showing these Saxons something of the civilized world beyond Lyonsbridge. By the time her father visited in the spring, she wanted the estate to be as smoothly run, the table to be as richly victualed, and the people to be as properly mannered as any back in Normandy. As the lady of th
e household, she would set the example.

  “Will the table need polishing, too, milady?” the girl with her asked. They’d been rubbing oil into the two heavy wooden dining chairs that were reserved for the master and mistress of the household. Their carved backs had been thick with grime, but Ellen had to admit that the workmanship was as fine as any Norman craft.

  “We’ll oil only the legs. The top must be scrubbed with sand.” Ellen stopped rubbing for a moment to look at her helper. “’Tis Sarah, is it not?”

  “Aye, milady, Sarah.”

  The slender blond girl’s eyes flickered briefly to Ellen’s face, then skittered away as if afraid that her mistress might cuff her at any moment. Ellen took pains to make her tone friendly. “You’re from the village, Sarah?”

  “Aye, milady.”

  They worked in silence for several minutes, before once again Ellen tried to engage the girl in conversation. “What family have you in the village, Sarah?”

  The girl’s pale face flared with color. “She’s not been able to eat in days, milady. She’d be of little use here. She can hardly stand, much less work—” She broke off and looked up at Ellen, her eyes brimming.

  Ellen frowned. “What are you talking about, girl?”

  The girl’s tears spilled over. “Me mum. Sir William’s men said we were all to come here, no exception. But me mum’s got the wasting disease, and she’s took bad in this cold. Please don’t punish her, milady.”

  Ellen straightened up from the chair she was working on and looked at the weeping girl in horror. “No one is going to punish your mother, child. Mon dieu, what a notion.”

  “Begging your pardon, milady. I meant no impertinence, but Sir William said that ‘twas by your orders. He said she’d be whipped if she didn’t come to work today.”

  Ellen felt a shiver of alarm. Surely there had been some kind of misunderstanding. In their zeal to please the new mistress, the guards may have been overly enthusiastic about rounding up the workers she’d requested. But whipping a sick old woman? She gave an uneasy laugh. “You must have misheard Sir William’s men, Sarah. There could have been no such talk of whipping.”

  Sarah looked away. “Not his men, milady. ‘Twas Sir William himself who said it. Verily, I heard him meself.”

  The girl appeared sharp-witted. Ellen could not completely discount her tale, but neither could she champion the word of a serf over that of the bailiff. The matter required further investigation.

  “Who is caring for your mother now, Sarah?” she asked.

  “She’s alone, milady. I’d not leave her, but the men forced me to come.”

  “Then go to her. You’re finished here for the day, and you’re not to come back while she still needs you. If anyone bids you come, you tell them to speak with me.”

  The girl’s tears had stopped, and she gave Ellen a piteously grateful smile.

  “Run along,” Ellen told her. “I’ll visit you on the morrow to see how your mother fares.”

  “Oh, milady,” Sarah gasped. She grasped Ellen’s hand with both of hers and made a quick curtsy, then turned and ran lightly across the dining room.

  Ellen gazed after her, lost in thought. Her first impression of Sir William had not been favorable, and so far he’d done nothing to change that opinion. She considered him pompous and obsequious, but her cousin had appeared to be pleased with the accounting he’d given of the estate’s affairs. Still, if he was bullying her people, she wanted to know about it. Proper management of an estate was one thing, abuse was another.

  She hadn’t seen the two people enter from the small door behind her and gave a start when one of them spoke.

  “May we have permission to speak with your ladyship?”

  It was the horse master, accompanied by a boy. Though his manner of address was more respectful than it had been the other day at the stables, he spoke forcefully, indicating that the request for permission was a meaningless formality. Nevertheless, after the news she had just heard from Sarah about ill treatment in the village, she was inclined to be tolerant.

  “Good morrow, Master Brand.” It was easier speaking to him here in the castle than it had been at the stables. She felt more in control, though she couldn’t decide if it was because she was in her own home or because the gloom of the dining hall dimmed the intense blue of his eyes. She turned toward the boy with him and asked, “Is this lad your apprentice?”

  Connor shook his head. “This is John Cooper. He’s asked my help in a certain matter about his family. Tell milady, John.”

  The boy was looking at Ellen as if she were the Holy Virgin come to earth. He opened his mouth, but no speech emerged.

  Ellen looked from John to Connor. “What matter?” she asked.

  “It seems your men have taken the lad’s sister. He’s worried about her, with good cause.”

  The tall Saxon had advanced toward her until he stood just on the other side of the chair she’d been polishing. That close, she could feel it again—the disconcerting force of the man. Since the age of twelve she’d had men fawning over her, petitioning for her hand, buzzing about her like bees at a flower. Yet this horse master, this servant who continued to treat her as if he had more important things to think about, made her knees grow weak like the most inexperienced of maids.

  The boy with him finally found his voice. “Her name’s Sarah, milady. And she’s a good girl.”

  “If your men have done the girl harm, there will be the devil to pay,” Connor added.

  The square set of his jaw as he warned her did not detract from his attractiveness. Ellen felt infuriating flutters in her midsection. Sweet saints above, perhaps the man had cast an enchantment on her in the way he appeared to with his animals. She bit the tip of her tongue until the pain cleared the fog from her brain and she could manage a proper response. She could relieve the boy of his worry in short order, but first she felt as if she should make an effort to remind the stableman of his position in her household. “What affair is this of yours, horse master?” she asked coldly.

  “Old John the Cooper is dead these past five years. Folks hereabouts are protective of his widow and children.”

  She hesitated. Put like that, Master Brand’s interest didn’t seem so out of place, though she shouldn’t allow the master of her stables to be meddling in affairs between the castle guards and the villagers. She would no doubt do well to order Master Brand back to his horses, but she had the feeling he would not go easily. Finally she gave up trying to determine the propriety of his inquiry and said, “The girl was with me much of the morning. I’ve sent her home to take care of her mother.”

  Young John’s chest sagged with relief. “Thank you, milady,” he said.

  “’Tis fortunate that she’s safe and sound,” Connor said. “The surest way to trouble in the village is harassment of the womenfolk. I don’t know how you do things back in Normandy, but the men here won’t stand for it.”

  He was lecturing her again. Ellen’s temper boiled over. She curled her fingers tightly over the carved back of the chair. “Master Brand, I believe we’ve had this conversation before. You’re a servant here. I’ll thank you to keep your advice on running Lyonsbridge to yourself. In fact, I’ll thank you to keep your opinions in general to yourself. Speak when spoken to, as befits your station.”

  Connor did not seem the least bit impressed with her outburst. “You’ll find I can be of use to you, milady. If the boy had alarmed the other men in the village instead of coming to me, you wouldn’t have progressed well today in your cleaning. There are some who would rather strike out first and talk later. Even Sir William has taken advantage of my arbitration a time or two.”

  “Sir William had little help when he first arrived, but now that my cousin and I are here with more of my father’s men—”

  Connor interrupted her. “All the more reason to be careful. In general, the Saxons of Lyonsbridge are a peaceable sort, but the more soldiers about, the more chance for problems.”

&
nbsp; Ellen tried to remember if any of her father’s retainers had ever spoken to him with such boldness, but she was sure Lord Wakelin would not put up with such behavior. “Keeping the peace at Lyonsbridge is Sir William’s concern, horse master, not yours. I think it would be best if you kept to your own dominion, which is the stable.”

  Connor cocked his head as if considering further comment, but finally only nodded. A half smile played about his lips, which sparked Ellen’s temper once again.

  “Where are your quarters in the castle?” she asked, seized with the sudden impulse to demote him to sleep in the rushes with the scrub boys.

  “I don’t sleep in the castle. My home is the stables.”

  Ellen’s eyes widened. “You sleep there?” In Normandy not even the lowliest stable boys slept with the animals.

  His smile broadened. “Aye. Feel free to pay me a visit, milady.”

  They’d both forgotten about the presence of the boy waiting behind Connor. He cleared his throat softly and Connor turned to him. “Run along, lad. Go to your mother and sister.”

  John looked up at Ellen, uncertain. She nodded to him, and he turned and scampered away.

  “It was my place to dismiss the lad, not yours,” Ellen pointed out.

  “Aye. And that you just did, did you not?” Connor answered pleasantly.

  The man was infuriating. There was no other word for it. She drew herself up and straightened her shoulders. “You’re dismissed, too, Master Brand. See that you have my horse saddled and ready for me tomorrow noon.”

  “I’m at your service as always, milady,” he answered with a small bow, never taking his eyes from her face.

  When he made no move, Ellen threw the rag she’d been clutching on the table and turned to leave. She could feel his gaze burning her back all the way across the hall.

  Connor had a feeling that in spite of the lady Ellen’s imperious manner, she was looking forward to their next encounter as much as he. They had nothing in common and, in fact, much opposed. But their proximity struck sparks more surely than a smithy’s anvil. He’d wager a pretty penny that she felt it as strongly as he.