“It would appear she has been badly beaten,” Ulric said. “Methinks it would be wise to move her inside, out of the rain, lest she is not like to live through the night. I can have a chamber readied for her abovestairs if you wish.”
No matter how badly he wanted to give the order to leave her outside, Vladamir couldn’t do it. He silently cursed himself for a fool and gave a self-depreciating laugh.
So much for being a complete monster.
“Yea,” Vladamir conceded reluctantly. He stopped his pacing and turned to go, intent on leaving Ulric to tend to the woman.
“M’lord, wait.” Ulric’s urgent voice stopped him.
“Yea?” Vladamir gripped the hilt of his sword.
“M’lord, it would seem the maiden is a lady.”
* * * * *
“Who is she, Ulric? Why has she come? Methinks ‘tis a bad omen.” Vladamir paced over a quarter length of his main hall only to turn and walk back in agitation. He always paced when he was unnerved. His arms held strong to his sides and he moved with circular purpose, his feet not stopping in any one place.
Who would leave a lady afore my door to die? Who would dare to conspire against me?
Narrowing his eyes into slits, the duke impatiently brushed back his hair only to slash his hand through the air, striking his palm with a hard crack against a table.
“M’lord doesn’t believe in omens,” Ulric said logically. The duke growled. Only after Vladamir had finished his small tirade, did the man continue, “So, ‘tis impossible fer her to be a bad one.”
Vladamir grumbled in response and continued to pace. His feet crushed the matted rushes into the stone floor and he touched the knife at his waist.
“I had Haldana look to her ladyship. It would appear she was badly beaten and it may take many days fer the wounds to heal. But Haldana is most hopeful in the recovery.” Ulric’s bemused statement wasn’t the one the duke sought. Sardonically, the man added, “With yer present generosity, m’lord, she should mend quite well.”
Ladyship? This woman is no more a noble than you are, Ulric.
Vladamir turned to glare at the impudent man. Sliding the knife swiftly from his belt, he flung it through the air, embedding the blade into a small knot of wood in a nearby table.
Ulric looked unimpressed as he reached for the weapon. With a jerk, he pulled it from the wood and handed it back to his lordship. Vladamir took it without comment and sheathed it at his waist. If he hadn’t been in his service for so long, the duke might have considered turning Ulric out of the castle. But, instead, he tolerated the man’s careless smirk and paced once more.
“It would also appear that m’lady has either fallen or has been carted in dung. Methinks it would be wise to question the peasants who work with the pigs,” Ulric advised. “I instructed that her ladyship should be bathed at once and a new garment sewn fer her.”
“Nay, don’t waste time sewing for the intruder. Only mend the clothes she has brought with her,” Vladamir commanded with another aggravated slash of the hand.
The duke thought of the odorous cloak she wore. As she was carted inside, he could tell the fine cut of the garment, though it was matted. He hadn’t wanted to get too close to her and so had refrained from intimate inspection—for not only had she fallen in pig dung, but she’d been covered with the rotted carcasses of gutted rabbits. The rabbits were set ablaze as soon as she was free of them. He imagined that he still detected her awful smell in the keep from when the knights carried her abovestairs.
His voice was abnormally loud in the empty hall and he turned to glare at the servant. “‘Tis not my place, nor my desire, to care for her. As soon as she awakens, I want her gone. She has already outstayed her welcome!”
“M’lord.” Ulric nodded, not liking the decision to turn the maiden out, but he wisely refused to press the issue.
The servant was unimpressed by the great show of fury coming from the duke. He was well used to the nobleman’s moods by now. None who saw the nobleman would know he was unsettled as he paced the floor, for Vladamir appeared to be and was accepted as, a ranting monster. But Ulric knew better. The nobleman might appear to be brooding in his ruthlessness, but really he was just scared of anything disrupting his angry world.
“Argh!” the duke yelled in anger.
Just then, Ulric noticed one of the Saxon maids entered the hall carrying a tray laden with goblets. Lizbeth was a beautiful child and so full of life, though she was very demure in her carriage. Her willowy frame swayed and she halted to a nervous stop. She diverted her round eyes from the tempest of straw and dust that his lordship kicked up from the floor in his frenzy. Taking a hurried step back, she disappeared into the kitchen clearly unaware that Ulric had seen her hastened retreat.
Ulric shook his head in pity, hating the way the people of Lakeshire feared the duke. Most of the time, the servants tiptoed around him, endeavoring to accomplish their duties when he wasn’t present. Like Lizbeth, trying to set the high table for the morning meal while the duke was supposed to be out of the castle.
Ulric knew all the whispers, knew that Vladamir earned those whispers because he had an exalted temperament. Just as he realized that if the duke would stop in his self-pity, he would grow to be an even greater leader. Ulric had become used to his overlord’s ways in his many years of loyal service. Just as Vladamir was now feared, Ulric also knew it hadn’t always been so. There had been a time when the duke had been quite charming in his ways, but those times were gone forever, and in the charming man’s wake was a self-proclaimed monster.
Ulric shook his head, drawing his eyes away from where the maid retreated into the shadowed kitchen. He returned his attention to the discussion at hand.
“Who is she?” the duke demanded. “Do you not recognize the crest on her cloak?”
Ulric was happy Lord Kessen conceded to letting the woman stay long enough to recover, knowing he could deal with Vladamir’s desire to banish her from the castle when the time arrived. Instead, he was more alarmed that the duke acted so merciless in public view, though none were there to witness the tirade. Seeing his lordship desired an answer, Ulric sighed.
“I know not, m’lord. The crest has been torn from her cloak. I cannot see what family she is from.” Hiding the mischievous glint in his expression, the servant added, “It would appear m’lady is quite beautiful.”
“With welts on her bloodied face?” Vladamir asked, his brow rising to a severe arch, before he waved a dismissing hand. Then, stopping in his restless pacing, the duke took several steps forward so he could face the manservant. “I care not what the lady looks like. I would that she was dead so I could burn her and the offending smell she brings with her.”
“M’lord.” Ulric nodded again in understanding. He easily dismissed the scathing look directed him and concealed his smile.
“Mayhap her garments are torn because she is a thief. She stole the cloak from a noblewoman she did to death. Ealdorman Baudoin, the incompetent goat, will no doubt commission the Witan and blame us for giving her aid. No doubt Alfred’s fyrd will hang us next to her in the gallows.” Vladamir’s look scathed in its intensity as he narrowed his eyes, appearing to contemplate his actions. “I have changed my mind, take her to the countryside and leave her. We have done our best by her.”
“That would be murder. She couldn’t survive unattended in the country,” Ulric protested in the reasonable tone he knew aggravated his lord. He wouldn’t be bullied to anger or driven into fear and had no intention of following the cruel decree given him.
“Very well,” Vladamir conceded with an aggravated sound of contempt. He gave Ulric a vicious growl before his mouth curled in a mischievous grimace. “Give her food and water. Then take her to the country and drop her off at some cotter’s hut. Let someone else take care of her. I won’t have a murderous thief in this keep. I have no wish to be involved!”
“Have you thought that, perchance, m’lady is the victimized noblewoman? Would you ha
ve her point the king’s gauntlet at you fer not helping her? Would you dare to bring the wrath of Alfred on our heads? And fer what? The paltry cost of a little meat and ale? The insignificant time it takes Haldana to look in on her? ‘Tis not as if you need to be bothered with her care. You have no need of even seeing her.” Ulric smiled as he saw he had his lord’s attention. He scratched his balding head before turning an audacious look to the taller man. “Mayhap, m’lady is innocent.”
The comment received the wrathful snarl Ulric expected. He flinched at the pain that flickered over the duke’s face. However, the emotion was so brief that Ulric wondered if he’d witnessed it at all. Over the years, Vladamir’s emotions had shown less and less, until the servant was left with only an impression of the deeply seated pain he knew to reside within the duke.
“No woman is innocent, especially not one of noble breeding. ‘Tis not in their devious natures. Methinks the treachery they are capable of must far surpass that of a man,” Vladamir stated. His eyes appeared to turn a supernatural black in his rage and his voice crackled in its low tonality. As his chest heaved, he continued under his breath, “If she is not guilty of murder she is guilty of something. All women are. Mayhap, ‘tis why she was banished to die.”
“Perchance this one is innocent,” Ulric persisted, softening his tone. “Besides, would you dare to anger King Alfred while we are living in his land on his good graces? You should at least find out who she is afore you sentence her to death. Mayhap the king will reward you fer yer chivalrous deeds.”
“More reward than this?” Vladamir snorted as he lifted his hand to encompass the main hall of Lakeshire Castle. He swept his fingers past the line of his vision to move over the dusty black stone of the wall and the dirty straw rushes of the floor. The hall was undusted and unkempt, just like Vladamir ordered it to remain. “Methinks I don’t wish for more reward from the king. The empty title and foreign land, ‘tis enough while I reside peaceably in Wessex and await the war that is sure to come.”
Ulric gave a wry laugh and tried to hide his disappointment in the duke’s attitude, but the man’s disposition was getting harder and harder to put up with. “These times of rest cannot last forever. The killing will soon start again. And then, perchance, you can find yer own peace as you bloody yer sword with the Anglo-Saxons’ fluids. Never mind that you have lived amongst them fer a year.”
“Yea, soon we will be fighting our way back to the border or dying in the try.” Vladamir smiled at the prospect. Ulric grimaced. The duke didn’t notice. “Though, I don’t care much for going back. What says you? Shall we head south instead and join the Franks or even the Moors? Do you think Guthrum will notice if we were to leave tonight?”
“Yea, if his peace treaty is broken because King Alfred’s most prestigious hostage disappears, methinks he might take note.” Ulric shook his head in denial. “I won’t be the cause of war.”
“Yea, but I must be the peace of it,” Vladamir grumbled in anger. The duke had said on many occasions that anything would be better than wasting away in a place he had no liking for. Pointing his finger at Ulric, Vladamir asked, “Do you think it would matter if one of the other hostages disappeared? Methinks the kings wouldn’t even take notice. By hell’s fire, the others are probably returned home as we speak.”
“‘Tis no one’s fault but yer own that you are here. You asked to be sent as a prisoner. ‘Tis a prison of yer own making.” Ulric had little sympathy as he reminded the duke of their situation. Vladamir flung his hand with a sound of annoyance. Unlike Ulric and some of the others who felt they had no choice but to come to the foreign land, Vladamir had been given an option. Albeit, a narrow one. “You made yer deal with the king, now ‘tis you who must live with it and the responsibility it bears. And if that responsibility means you are to reside here in peace, then ‘tis what you’ll do.”
“Argh!” Vladamir fumed as he again pointed a long fingernail in the manservant’s direction. His eyes darkened and shot out with a vaporous light. Snarling, the duke’s face contorted into that of a great beast. For a long moment he didn’t move from his pose. Then, whipping his finger back toward his chest, he said, “Fine! She can stay. But you mind after her care and alert me as soon as she awakens or when she is dead. I don’t wish to be bothered with her afore that time.”
“Yea, m’lord.” Ulric hid his smile by scratching his whiskered chin. He took a deep breath, pleased with the small victory.
“And clean her up! I won’t have her filling the manor with her stench.” Vladamir’s voice crackled through the air as he glared at the stairwell.
“Yea, m’lord as you wish.” Ulric bowed, wiping his sleeve over his forehead.
“Nay, if ‘twas as I wished it, she wouldn’t be here at all.” Vladamir stormed from the room, only to bark over his shoulder, “I go back to my exercise!”
“But, m’lord, the storm,” Ulric called after him. It was too late. A blanket of rain emerged behind the duke as he passed through the open doorway. Within a blink, Vladamir disappeared into the thundering morning air.
Ulric’s smile didn’t fade as he turned to the stairwell. His steps were light as he made his way up the narrow stairs to the maiden’s chamber. The ring of keys on his belt clanked a merry tune with each bounce. It had been a long time since he’d seen Vladamir unsettled and the old seneschal knew that the duke was well overdue.
End Excerpt
Maiden & the Monster
Now in eBook and Print
Winner of the 2006 Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award
A Romantic Times Magazine TOP PICK!
“4 1/2 STARS! This is a perfect blend of history, emotion, tension, hot sex and fascinating and sympathetic characters, and the writing is superb. Pillow chooses magical details to set the scene, and they add to both the history and the emotion.”
Page Traynor, RT Bookclub Magazine, April 2006 Issue
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Medieval Historical Romance
Since birth Lady Ginevra has been betrothed to Lord Wolfram, second son to the Count of Whetshire. There was never any question as to whom she would marry or who she would be. Life has been mapped out for her and she’s going to live happily ever after as a Countess. However, there is one complication to her plans. Her rogue of a future husband isn’t taking to their life together with open arms. In fact, he seems to enjoy finding reasons to put the nuptials off.
Extended Excerpt
For some, love comes swiftly at first glance, for those most stubborn it can take a lifetime...
Prologue
Whetshire Fortress, Wessex, 1171 A.D.
Baron Southaven raised his proud blue eyes from the sheepskin parchment. His quill dripped with ink as he set it aside. As he blew lightly over the bold flourish of his signature, a satisfied smile lined his mouth. Then, dripping wax onto the paper, he slipped his ring from his finger and pressed his seal onto the agreement. Next to him his wife, Lady Southaven, clapped happily. He placed the crest back onto his hand. It was done. The endless fortnights of negotiation since the birth of his daughter had finally ended to the satisfaction of both houses.
“It’s decided then,” the Earl of Whetshire announced with a solemn nod.
Wolfe’s head snapped up. In all his eight years he had never been so mortified. His father’s stern voice expressed neither anger nor pleasure at the decision. Though, by all indications, the man was pleased with the match. Turning to look down the floor of the main hall, the earl squinted in the dimmed torchlight. The hour was late and the fire had dwindled to a soft heat.
Wolfe stood dutifully with his two brothers awaiting his father’s command. Thomas, the oldest, held his head high and proud. Wolfe, standing next to him, swallowed nervously and kicked at the floor. William, the youngest, grinned sheepishly as if nothing concerned him. Their sister’s giggle broke the silence, as she sat on the lap of the baron’s only son. Robert�
��s gentle laugh followed hers.
The earl sighed as he watched his sons. Motioning to Wolfe, he commanded gruffly, “Wolfram, come kiss your betrothed’s lips and seal this match.”
Wrinkling his nose and stiffening his legs, his feet refused to move. His brothers chuckled mockingly behind the backs of their hands. Thomas knocked him forward with a swift punch to his back. Wolfe spun to his older brother with a fierce growl.
“I’ll get you fer that, Thomas!” Wolfe hissed, raising his fists in warning. “I’ll wallop you good!”
Thomas just laughed harder. Being the oldest and the heir, he wasn’t too concerned. Even though he was only two years older, he had grown well over Wolfe in size. He smiled confidently down from his impressive height. “Yea, Wolfe, go kiss your bride.”
“Wolfram?” Lady Isabella called when her son hadn’t moved. The countess’ voice was loud and booming compared to the stern tone of her husband. She pushed her flaming red hair back from her forehead as she watched her children expectantly.
“Yea, you’d better hope she don’t spit up on you!” William chimed in. He too was rewarded with a dark scowl.
Slowly, Wolfe stepped forward. His dark brown hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked solemnly up at his parents. Both the baron and baroness watched him expectantly from across the hall. Before having taken two steps, a foot jutted in front of him. He tumbled to the ground. Glancing up from the straw rushes in anger, he glared at his snickering older brother.
“I warned you, Thomas!” Wolfe hollered. He forgot his father’s command as he glared at his attacker. Jumping to his feet, he charged Thomas in the waist. He rammed his head into his brother’s chest and knocked him to the ground with the unexpected force. Thomas slid across the straw rushes that lined the hall floor, as Wolfe howled atop him.
Lord of Fire, Lady of Ice Page 40
