Lord of Lyonsbridge

by Ana Seymour

  “Nay, milady.” His voice was suddenly weary. “Because of you.”

  “I told ye ‘twas a grave mistake to bring her here,” Walter Little said, smiting the rock behind him with the edge of his hunting knife.

  It was barely past dawn, but most of the men in the cave had gathered around as Connor, Walter, Humbert White and others discussed the arrival of the new Norman troops. John Cooper stood at the edge of the circle, his face drawn and pale.

  Connor looked over Walter’s shoulder toward the Cooper campsite, where Agnes, Ellen and the other children still slept. “Keep your voices low,” he warned. “I’d not upset the women and children among us.”

  “They’ll be upset soon enough if a horde of Norman soldiers comes riding into this place,” Humbert White said.

  There was a murmur of assent from the other men in the group.

  “Connor’s right,” Walter said in conciliatory tones. “They haven’t discovered this place for years. There’s no reason they will now, and there’s no reason to excite the little ones.”

  John spoke for the first time, his half-man’s voice squeaking with the effort. “’Tis because of me, all this trouble. I’m going to go back today and turn myself over to them.”

  Humbert White shot him a look of disgust. “’Twould but make their first victim an easy one, and we’d still be slaughtered for all that.”

  “’Tis not just because of you, lad,” Walter Little said more kindly. “The real frenzy is because of the lady, I’ll warrant. I knew there’d be trouble the minute I saw her.”

  Connor rubbed his eyes, which stung from the smoky cave and the lack of sleep. “I’ll take her back today,” he said.

  “So that she can tell the Normans exactly where we live?” someone shouted from the back of the group, and several others added their protests to the dissenter’s.

  Walter looked at Connor. “They’re right, Connor. Ye can’t take her back, not until we find a place to move all these people.” He gestured around the cave at the sleeping families. “We can’t take the risk.”

  Connor looked around the group of men. Except for John, who was watching with eyes full of anguish, they were all nodding in agreement with Walter. There had been a time when these men would have obeyed his orders without question, but whereas most of the outlawed men treated him with respect, his authority was no longer automatic.

  “Very well, but it must be soon. Once her father arrives they’ll be combing every bush on the coast looking for her.”

  Walter pointed at two men across the circle from him. “Godwin and Arthur, you know this coast better than any of us. Do you think you can find us a new sanctuary, one the Normans won’t find?”

  Before they’d become wanted men, the two had been fishermen. Now they scrounged from the forest like the rest of the outlaws and only occasionally risked setting out in the small boat they still kept hidden in a nearby cove.

  “There’s naught to the north. We’ll have to move south,” Godwin said. “But I think ‘tis possible.”

  “Aye,” his companion agreed. “By Lydey’s Cay there are caves like this ‘un. Mayhap not as large.”

  “As long as it will give adequate shelter for the time being,” Connor told the men. “Go quickly and report back as soon as you can. Wakelin’s soldiers will not wait to begin their campaign.”

  Humbert White stepped to the front of the group, shouldering Connor aside. “I say it’s time we stopped sniveling in caves and took back what’s rightfully ours. If Lord Wakelin’s so almighty fond of his daughter, we bargain for it. We tell him to clear out of Lyonsbridge Castle or the girl dies.”

  The man tried Connor’s patience, but he could tell that Humbert’s sentiments were shared by a number of the others. It would not be wise to dismiss him out of hand. “And then what, Humbert?” he asked calmly. “The Wakelins leave and King Henry sends someone else to take over, mayhap even more tyran nical than Sir William was.”

  “He’d have a sight of trouble doing so if we held the castle,” Humbert argued.

  “Lyonsbridge has no fortifications for battle, White. ‘Tis a home, not a fortress. And Henry would send ten men to our one.” For once it was easy to keep his pledge to his mother to argue for peace. When he looked around at the scraggly outlaws who were all that remained of the rebelling Saxons, he realized that any contest with the well-armed-and-trained Norman soldiers would be nothing short of suicide.

  “A good Saxon can outfight ten mewling Normans any day,” Humbert barked.

  Connor’s efforts to keep the discussion quiet were in vain. The volume of the discussion had heightened, and by now most of the women and children were awake. Some had even ventured close to the circle of men. It was time for him to test how much power he still held over these people.

  “The matter is decided, Humbert. Godwin and Arthur are going to scout a new location for us. With luck we can move on the morrow, and I’ll take the lady Ellen back to the castle the moment we leave here.”

  A few of the men looked as if they were ready to continue the argument, but the two fishermen obediently nodded and headed out of the cave.

  Walter Little said to the men nearest him, “We’d best make a foray to find some food before the countryside’s swarming with Normans.” He picked up his bow and quiver from the floor and started to leave, joined by a number of the other men.

  Humbert stood for a moment, watching them go, then looked across the room at Ellen, who was sitting up on her blankets and watching the group of men. There was a sneer in his voice as he said, “I wonder if it’s really our safety you’re worried about, Brand, or if you have more interest in the Norman tart than you’re admitting.”

  Peacekeeper or no, Connor had an urge to drive his fist through the man’s face.

  “Watch your tongue, White,” he said tersely. Then he turned his back on the man and started walking with long angry strides toward the Cooper fire.

  John caught up to him and clutched at his arm. “Are you sure I shouldn’t give myself up, Master Brand?”

  Connor barely gave the lad a glance as he said, “Nay, John. Leave it be.” His eyes were on Ellen, who had drawn herself up as she noticed his approach. She sat awaiting him on the blankets as if she were a queen on a golden throne. In spite of three days living in the primitive conditions of the cave, she looked as regal as when he had first seen her, galloping toward him on Jocelyn. He felt a quick stab of admiration, and something more primal.

  “Good morrow, milady,” he addressed her.

  “I see nothing good about it, horse master. I’m ready for you to take me back.”

  At her side, Agnes Cooper had not risen from her bedroll, but was watching them with open eyes. She looked much weaker than she had when Connor had last seen her. He turned back to Ellen. “I hope to be able to grant your wish on the morrow. For now, I’ll have to ask you to be content with our continued hospitality.”

  Ellen appeared to have been expecting his reply. She jumped to her feet, dragging with her a rough gray cloak. “May I borrow your wrap, Mistress Cooper?” she asked, ignoring Connor. “The day is cold, and I know not how long I’ll be walking.”

  Agnes looked from Ellen to Connor, then moved her head back and forth with a little sigh. The effort made her cough.

  Connor reached out and snatched the cloak from Ellen’s hand. “You’re not walking anywhere.”

  She glared at him. “You will stop me by force?”

  “Aye.”

  Sarah, John and the twins were watching the exchange wide-eyed.

  Ellen clenched her jaw and sat back down. “’Tis obvious that you’re stronger than I, horse master. I’d not win a match of muscles. But I shall leave this place, and my father will hear of my treatment at your hands.”

  Her eyes were sparked with fury, her hair streaming out around her beautiful face. Connor focused on her lips and felt his body awaken at the sudden memory of the kisses they’d shared. He leaned toward her and said in a voice intende
d for her ears alone, “I trust you’ll give your father a full report of your treatment at my hands.”

  Her face flamed red. Connor gave a nod of satisfaction, then spun on his heel and walked away.

  The fishermen hadn’t returned, and Connor’s temper was frayed. He’d spent the day trying to reestablish his ties with the bullheaded rebels who’d remained at the cave, but, unlike the villagers at Lyonsbridge, who still regarded Connor as their leader, these men had lived as outlaws too long to recognize the authority of any man.

  He’d hardly touched the supper Walter Little had brought him. It was past sundown, and he was having trouble keeping from succumbing to the need for sleep as he sat with his back against the wall of the cave and his legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes had drifted closed when he felt the gentle tug at his sleeve. It was Sarah Cooper.

  “Master Brand?” she whispered.

  “What is it, Sarah?” he asked sleepily.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should disturb you, but I don’t know what to do about Lady Ellen.”

  This brought Connor bolt upright. He’d asked Walter to watch her until midnight and then awaken him to keep guard, but he never should have given such duty to the old squire. “Has she escaped?” He squinted in the gloom of the cave and relaxed as he saw Ellen, still seated next to the widow Cooper’s bed.

  “Nay, she’s been helping me nurse. Me mum’s growing poorly again, Master Brand.”

  “Aye, I’ve heard her coughing. Somehow we’ll get her some tonic on the morrow. But what about Lady Ellen?”

  “I thought I should tell you, she won’t eat”

  Connor blinked in surprise. “Won’t eat?”

  “No, nor drink. She’s refused all the day long. She says she’ll perish first and let Master Brand carry her bones back to Lyonsbridge.”

  “The bloody fool.”

  “I just thought you should know, Master Brand.”

  Connor gave a great sigh and heaved himself to his feet. What he needed was sleep, not a stubborn female to deal with. “You did right, Sarah,” he told her.

  “Me mum could probably change her mind, but she’s not been entirely right in her head this afternoon.”

  Connor looked at her sharply. “Your mother’s having the delirium?”

  “I warrant. She’s hardly spoken, but her words don’t seem to be going together too well.”

  Lord, he had not only a stubborn female to handle, but a seriously ill one, as well. “We’ll tend to your mother first, Sarah, then I’ll speak with the lady Ellen. Run to Walter Little and tell him I have need of him at your campfire.”

  The girl slipped quietly away, and Connor made his way across to the widow and Ellen. He spared the latter barely a glance as he knelt beside Agnes and took one of her frail hands. “Can you hear me, mistress?” he asked. “How are you feeling?”

  The woman’s only response was a tossing of her head. In the glow of the firelight, her face looked bright scarlet. “How long has she been like this?” he asked John, who knelt at his mother’s other side.

  “Since sunset. ‘Tis the cough again. She’s spitting blood every time.”

  Connor swore softly. “We’ve got to stop it.” He knew that she should be home in a warm, dry bed, but that was impossible. “There’s so much smoke,” he said, his voice trailing off on a note of hopelessness.

  “And these damp walls,” Ellen added sharply.

  “’Tis as I’ve been saying these several hours past. I tried to tell your watchdog, Master Little, but he wouldn’t listen. We need to get her out in the fresh air.”

  “’Tis cold—” Connor protested, but she interrupted.

  “That matters not. We’ll bundle her well in blankets, but she can’t have the damp and the smoke. And she needs a potion of mead and honey.”

  “Mead?” Connor asked.

  “We have ale,” John suggested.

  “Ale, then,” Ellen said briskly. “Bring it to me.”

  Before Connor even had time to consider another protest, Ellen had recruited two men from the neighboring fire to help John lift his mother, blankets and all, and carry her out of the cave. Connor followed along behind, feeling once again as if his authority meant little.

  Walter Little came up beside him. “Where are they taking her?” he asked, nodding at the procession carrying the sick woman.

  Connor shrugged. “To the fresh air, so they tell me.”

  Walter grinned. “I’d never taken you for one of those males who lets his woman wear the pants, Connor.”

  Connor rolled his eyes. “Shut up, old man, and help me find a sheltered spot for their sickroom that won’t give us away to the Normans prowling about.”

  They’d found a copse of trees to one side of the path, about halfway up the cliff. It was not visible either from above or from the beach below.

  Though they couldn’t risk a fire, they’d laid the widow on a leather saddle blanket and wrapped her well against the cold night She’d begun breathing more easily almost at once.

  Miraculously, a pot of honey had been found, and Ellen had mixed it with ale and spooned the mixture bit by bit into the sick woman’s mouth. It had quieted Agnes’s coughs enough to allow her to fall into a deep sleep.

  Connor’s desire for sleep had fled. The nap he’d had sitting up against the cave wall had refreshed him for the moment. He sent Walter and the children back to the cave to their beds, but Ellen insisted on staying by the widow’s side.

  “You could come to bed, too,” Sarah had told her as she prepared to leave. “I’ve seen me mum like this before. The coughing’s worn her out. She’ll sleep the night.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” Connor added. “You should go get some sleep, milady.”

  She’d looked at him coldly. Now that the crisis with the widow was past, the tension between them was rising once again. “I’m not sleepy,” she said.

  “Do you intend to go without sleep as well as food and drink?”

  “Mayhap.”

  He ground his teeth. Sweet Jesu, but the woman was infuriating. He nodded at the children and Walter. “Go on down. The two of us will keep watch here.”

  After the group’s footsteps on the path faded, the only sound was the distant crash of the surf and the widow’s deep, even breaths. Neither Ellen nor Connor spoke for several minutes.

  Finally Connor reached for the flask of ale that Ellen had used earlier to make her potion, pulled out the stopper and took a long drink. He held it out to her. “Thirsty, milady?”

  She turned up her nose at him. “Nay.”

  “You’ve had neither food nor drink since breakfast, they told me.”

  “I’m not thirsty,” she repeated.

  He jammed the stopper back on the flask and tossed it to one side. “You’re a stubborn wench,” he grumbled.

  Ellen raised her eyes to look at him. Even in the dim light he could see the sweep of her long lashes. Once again, the memory of their kisses crept unbidden into his head.

  “I just want to go home. Once I’m back there, I’m sure I can straighten out this coil so that poor Agnes and her children can return to their home where they belong. From where I sit, you’re the stubborn one, horse master.”

  Connor stood and paced to the edge of the clearing. He was not used to explaining his actions, particularly not to a female, but Ellen of Wakelin was no ordinary female. “We’d have a rebellion on our hands if I took you back,” he told her. “There are those who fear that you’ll betray this place to your father’s men.”

  “I’d not,” she said indignantly.

  He regarded her steadily for a long moment, then replied, “Mayhap you don’t think so now, but when your father presses you for details, who knows what you might reveal?”

  “I’m not some blathering fool who can’t control her own tongue, horse master.”

  She’d raised her voice, and Connor cautioned her to lower it with a nod toward the sleeping woman, though it appeared that the widow’s sleep was
deep.

  “Even if I wanted to take you back, they’d stop me,” he told her. “I’m one and they are many.”

  “We could steal away now and no one would even know of it until morning.”

  “And leave the widow out here alone, exposed to any predator who might come along? Wild wolves, mayhap?” There had not been wolves in that part of England for years, but Ellen did not know that. The truth was, much as Connor wanted to believe her protestations, he couldn’t take the risk when the lives of so many of his people might be at stake. But he knew it would only aggravate her further to let her know that he doubted her word.

  Ellen looked down at the sick woman. “No,” she said, her voice subdued. “I’d not leave her here.”

  “Well, there you have it,” Connor said, relieved. “So if you insist on keeping watch with me all night, you might as well do so comfortably.” He reached over and retrieved the flask he’d discarded and extended it toward her. “Slake your thirst, milady. ‘Twill take the chill off the night.”

  Ellen appeared to be doing battle with her earlier resolution, but finally she snatched the flask from him, tore off the plug and took a long, long drink.

  “Slowly,” Connor warned, his eyes amused. “You’ll choke yourself.”

  Ellen finished her drink and with a little more dignity replaced the stopper and set the flask on a nearby rock.

  “Feel better?” he asked her after a moment.

  She nodded with obvious reluctance, and to his surprise, Connor could see that underneath her aristocratic demeanor, she was on the verge of weeping. These past three days must have been difficult for her, he realized. She’d been torn from her home and carried off in the middle of the night, forced to sleep on the ground and eat poor food in the company of rough men who were sworn enemies of her people.

  Connor’s roots had been torn from under him years ago. He was used to hardships, but Ellen was a gently bred noblewoman who undoubtedly had never experienced anything remotely like this in her entire life. All in all, she’d handled herself with courage and dignity, and she didn’t deserve his mockery.