His Enemy's Daughter

by TERRI BRISBIN

  He dropped whatever he carried on the table at the bedside and she jumped at the sound of it. Lord Soren took her hand and, not knowing what to expect from him, she found herself shocked by the gentleness of his touch.

  Lord Soren lifted her arm and peeled off the remnants of her syrce, easing it off the burned skin, but he muttered under his breath, and loud enough for her to hear, the whole time. ’Twas clear to her that he preferred his own tongue when angry and she was glad not to understand much of it. Every so often he used some English words with great vehemence—those she could understand and flinched at them.

  Women, she understood. Wives, as well. Then stupid, foolish, does not listen, orders, commands, disobeys, stupid again, invincible, and he finished with something that seemed to compare her to a horse.

  He never paused, tending to her injury or muttering, as he cleaned the burn, applied some unguent to it and wrapped a bandage around it. Only when he was tying it off and she winced did he slow his pace or stop cursing at her. Then he stopped and she waited.

  ‘Why, Sybilla? What made you do such a thing?’ he asked and it was the quiet tone that was her undoing.

  ‘I…’ She shook her head. How could she explain such a thing to him? ‘I did not think, Lord Soren,’ she began, shaking her head. ‘I…’

  How could she tell of her confusion? When the sounds of screaming woke them and he had left her chamber, calling out orders to everyone, she had just wanted to help. Aldys had dressed her quickly and they had made their way down to the main hall. Sybilla had intended to help with the children, and only went to the door when she heard Soren calling out orders to his men to release the prisoners.

  How could she tell him the truth of the matter?

  His finger slid beneath her chin and he lifted her face as though to meet his gaze.

  ‘You what, Sybilla? You…?’

  Now that she knew he would not mock her, she thought back to what had happened and answered him truthfully.

  ‘I forgot,’ she admitted. ‘I forgot I could not see.’

  She waited for him to laugh at such a thing. She waited for him to insult her for such a foolish and stupid thing to think or to say aloud. But he did neither. Instead, he astonished her.

  ‘I’d barely risen from the sickbed when I was called on to defend myself in a skirmish,’ he said. ‘Out of habit, I drew my sword and waded into the worst of it, prepared to fight the way I had before.’

  He laughed then and moved back away. She listened to his steps.

  ‘I forgot I had not lifted my battle sword in months. I forgot that the muscles I needed to lift the sword had been cleaved nearly in pieces and were not healed yet. I forgot,’ he said, but his words drifted off as though he thought of that skirmish and those wounds once more.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, not able to stop her curiosity about him.

  ‘Larenz saved my arse,’ he replied, laughing again. ‘And he taught me that I needed to learn basic things first before I could go back to what I had been.’

  He understood because he had lived it. Strange that she’d never noticed the similarities in their lives before.

  ‘Now, what did you hear that made you react in such haste that you forgot your blindness?’ She felt his body as he sat next to her on the edge of the bed and she shifted her legs to accommodate him. When he placed his hand on her leg, she tried to imagine it was the normal custom between a man and his wife. They’d been intimate after all, his hand on her leg meant nothing.

  ‘Did someone say something that drew your attention or caused you concern in that very moment?’ he asked.

  She forced her attention to his question and away from the way her leg heated and tingled under his hand. Away from the memory of how he had caressed her skin in that same spot just hours ago. Naked. In this very bed. Naked. Sybilla swallowed and tried to answer him.

  ‘Sybilla?’

  ‘I heard Gareth call to you. I was standing near to the door and it was yet open and I heard him ask you to release him.’

  ‘Which I did. But that is not when you ran into the yard.’

  She’d sworn not to betray her people, but telling him the truth would, to an extent, do exactly that. The only thing that safeguarded her promise was that she could not identify who said the words to her.

  ‘In the confusion, someone rushed past me and claimed that they would rid me of my bastard Norman husband.’

  ‘Breton.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I am your bastard Breton husband,’ he explained.

  Why did men seem to pick up on the absurd and obscure things and miss the main point she was trying to make? She’d run out to warn him that he was the target of this attack and had forgotten she could not see. Before she could point this out to him, he kissed her, fiercely and possessively, until she lost her breath. Her head spun by the time he lifted his mouth from hers, but she ached for more.

  ‘Certainly I was the target. You were struck by accident, but the attack was against me. Killing you would do them no good, for I will simply bring a good Norman bride here and breed loyal Norman heirs.’

  Which was exactly what he would do when she left in six months. But for now, she wanted to scream. He knew? Men!

  ‘I am thankful that you wanted to tell me, but next time, think about the matter before placing yourself in danger like that.’ All she could do was nod in agreement. It was difficult to believe she either would forget again or would need to warn him of danger.

  ‘If you are comfortable now, I must go,’ he said. His footsteps led to the door and she said his name. There was one matter she needed to ask him about before he left.

  ‘Gareth and the others, Lord Soren? Will you put them back in chains now?’ she asked, fearing the answer and fearing the repercussions of such an act with many outside Alston whom she knew watched this new Norman lord and how he treated his people.

  ‘I will come to an agreement with them to serve me as their lord,’ he explained.

  ‘And you would accept their word in such a bond?’ she asked. His sigh surprised her.

  ‘Why must you judge me as the rest do?’ he asked. But before she could explain about the news that had come to her from other villages and the rebels seeking new recruits, he explained his actions—something he’d not done before. ‘I will accept their oaths and as long as they do not prove otherwise by their actions, they will be freed from their chains to live with their families.’

  In truth, it was more than they could have expected from him.

  ‘Now, rest a while here and let that salve do its work. I must go and thank Raed for his quick action and see to our guests.’

  ‘Guests?’ she squeaked. ‘We have guests?’ Had they heard his rebuke of her?

  ‘Brice has arrived, which was good timing, and he brings gifts from his wife to us and to you,’ he said. ‘And my cousin accompanies him. Tristan le Breton, he is called.’

  The undertones of his voice spoke of dislike.

  ‘Is this Tristan a problem for you, Lord Soren?’

  ‘An annoyance more than a problem, I think. But he is family, though a distant relation.’ The latch on the door lifted. ‘Sybilla, when you feel strong enough to show your face in the hall below, wear a contrite expression and let them believe I beat you. I have a reputation to uphold and a disobedient wife whom I have not disciplined will surely ruin it.’

  He was teasing her and acknowledging what was said and believed about him, even by her. She settled back against the pillows and wondered about his comments. But no sooner had she relaxed back than the door opened once more.

  ‘Sybilla?’

  ‘Aye, Lord Soren?’

  ‘Two matters before I go. The first is that I think you should concern yourself with learning and familiarising yourself with the inside of the keep before you venture to learn the outside. Organise this chamber, for example, to make it easier for you to move around it and find things.’

  ‘An excellent suggestion, Lor
d Soren.’ And it was. ‘The second matter?’

  He strode towards her, decisively and directly. Had it been earlier, she would have feared his intent. Now, she felt anticipation surge through her body and heat in her blood.

  ‘I told you to call me by name and you consistently disobey me.’ His mouth was hot against hers and his tongue tasted hers and teased her with memories of last night. ‘Tonight I will teach you the cost of such disobedience.’

  Her bones melted and she had to fight to remain sitting upright. She ached deep within at the sexual tone he used.

  ‘You will?’

  He kissed her then and his hands wandered over her body, touching, teasing, tempting her and giving her a reminder of how he could control her in ways she could not even conceive of yet.

  ‘Tonight I will have you crying my name out and moaning it as I pleasure you until you beg me to take you. You will learn my name this night,’ he promised.

  He was as good as his word and he did as he said he would. Throughout that night, he made her cry out his name and moan it in the back of her throat, and scream it as he gave her pleasure and release countless times. And, as he’d warned or promised or threatened, he made her beg him using it—for more, for no more and for whatever he wanted to do to her.

  By morning she had learned much about that other reputation he carried from before Hastings and she understood why women of all kinds would seek his bed night after night.

  And when nightfall approached that next day, her body readied itself for more of him and even thinking of his name made her ache for what she knew he would do.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Sybilla took Soren’s advice and remained mostly inside the keep over those next few days. She marvelled that she could function during the days after spending her nights completely in the power of the passion he roused in her. She would find herself drifting off in the middle of speaking to her maids when something reminded her of what he’d done or said or made her do.

  The only thing prohibited between them was that he did not allow her to touch him the way he touched her. She only felt his body when he moved over her or pressed against her from behind or when he pulled her close as they slept. But each time she reached out to caress his face, he brushed her hands away.

  She had managed to brush her hand against his manhood once and he did not seem to mind that. And during one bout of pleasure she slipped her hands around and caressed his…bottom! Sybilla felt overheated and asked Gytha to seek out some cool water for her.

  Aldys laughed, but it was a knowing laugh, one based on a common experience. Gytha was young enough to be innocent of the details about what truly happened between men and women, so Sybilla tried to spare her.

  They’d spent most of the last two days rearranging the furniture of her chamber so that she could move more easily around it, as he’d suggested. He’d told her not to put anything in the corner nearest the door, for he had a surprise for her, but gave no word of what it was or when she would find out.

  They established a sort of routine over these last days, since Lord Brice arrived. Though neither she nor Soren would eat with others, preferring to use the privacy of her chambers alone for that, they did sit at table in the hall and enjoy the company. Though Soren remained aloof and distant from the others, Sybilla liked it. None too happy over having some of his past exploits described to her by his friend and his cousin, still Soren did not put a stop to such talk.

  She could hear things in people’s voices that she never noticed before—fear, anger, even softer feelings. Even though they never expressed it, there was much of the latter between Larenz and Lord Brice and Soren when they spoke to each other. Clearly, they’d shared much of their lives with each other, so it felt right to her. Of course, they would deny such things if she pointed them out, so she did not, keeping them to herself and learning more and more about these men who had invaded her home and, she feared, her heart.

  Tristan le Breton was different. Though Soren admitted to a family connection, this cousin seemed to revel in the fact that Soren no longer was as attractive as she’d heard he’d been. He claimed to have come north to seek a place in Soren’s household, earning his place by serving as harpist and scribe, since he could read and write. There was tension between them over that, as well, for she’d learned that Soren, like many warriors of his kind, could not.

  Sybilla could tell that Soren itched to throw Tristan out or send him back with Brice when he left, but something prevented him from doing so. One good thing had occurred—Tristan had offered to teach her to play the harp. He said she did not need to see the strings, only feel her way along them, so she looked forward to her first lesson.

  Soren had growled under his breath when Tristan offered, but he’d not refused her his permission. Then he’d practically dragged her to their chambers and possessed her body in every way he could that night. She ached by morning from his vigorous attentions and felt a curious sensitive spot on her breast and another on the inside of her thigh in the morning when she washed. He’d just laughed when she asked him what they were. But it was that wicked laugh that made her shiver.

  Now, she asked Aldys to take a walk with her, something Aldys liked because they always stopped to speak to Larenz. Sybilla could hear something going on between those two in their voices. Before they could leave, three men, from the sound of the different voices, carried something into the room. Aldys gasped at whatever it was.

  ‘My lady!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘What is it, Aldys? Tell me, I pray thee!’ She felt the woman take her hand and squeeze it and was not certain whether to be afraid or not.

  Once the noise of moving something into the room finished, Aldys whispered a word that left Sybilla stunned.

  ‘Loom.’

  ‘A loom, Aldys? They brought a loom here?’ she asked, her hands itching to feel it.

  ‘Not a loom, my lady,’ said one of the men still present. ‘Lord Soren had your loom repaired. Only the one beam broke, some of the weights came loose and the threads needed to be sorted out. My wife straightened out the threads for you.’

  Sybilla lost the ability to speak then. Her loom was her last connection to her father, the man who had struck him down. Why would he do such a thing for her? Would it not remind him of his bitter hatred and need for vengeance every time he saw it?

  ‘Good day to you, lady,’ the men called as they left.

  Torn between going to it and being terrified of not being able to use it, Sybilla stayed where she was.

  ‘’Tis in the same place it used to stand, lady. Other than the new upright piece, it looks exactly the same.’

  She tried to remember what she’d been working on the day Soren had arrived, but could not. She shook her head, unable to believe it was here.

  ‘Come, here now,’ Aldys said, guiding her to it. She held Sybilla’s hands out and she ran them over the threads and the outline of the frame as Aldys named each piece. ‘You were making a bedcovering when it…broke. The blue colour you liked so much when you saw—it.’ Aldys finished the words, never realising until they were out the new reality—that Sybilla would never see that colour again.

  ‘Does he think I can weave without being able to see the warp threads and the weft? How could I keep to the pattern?’

  ‘Come now, lady,’ Aldys admonished. ‘You always claimed to be able to weave on this loom with your eyes closed. You used to do it half-asleep and with only the light from the hearth.’ She lifted Sybilla’s hands and placed them on the heddle rod. ‘At least try it before you give up.’

  Her hands shook and she dropped the shuttle three times before managing to get it between, over and under the warp threads and across the width of the loom once. She could only imagine how uneven her work was. Trying to keep the pattern in her mind, she counted as her fingers moved across the warp threads, and soon had completed three passes back and forth.

  ‘How does it look, Aldys?’ she asked. When she laughed, Sybilla t
ook it as it was meant and shrugged. ‘I will have to practise,’ she promised. Aldys produced a sack filled with the yarn the dyers had made for her for this bedcovering from the closet where they stored the linens and other clothing.

  Later, after trying for another hour or so, she convinced Aldys to help her find Soren so she could thank him, but soon discovered that he had left Alston and was not expected back until very late that night. She tried several more times to use the loom, but became frustrated when she remembered how easily she’d been able to weave both simple and intricate patterns for tapestries or clothing or linens.

  Dinner was quiet for most of those she sat with had gone with Soren and had not yet returned. Tristan tried to convince her to let him teach her to play, but her thoughts were on the loom and the man who had restored it to her.

  Sybilla went to bed alone, but could not sleep and ended up back in front of the loom, trying to feel for the lost pattern among the threads. It was much, much later when the door to her chambers opened and Soren returned.

  The day had gone from bad to worse.

  More attacks on outlying villages and the mill for Alston was burned. The miller and his family escaped, but the wheel that turned the millstone had been pushed from its support and the framework broken. Soren arranged for men to work on repairing it and left a small troop of well-armed, well-prepared soldiers guarding the workers and the mill.

  Then word had come from one of Morcar’s relatives to the east asking to meet with the new lord of Alston. Since they’d travelled east to the mill, Soren arranged to meet some miles between the Tyne River and the edge of Northumbria. It had taken most of the day to reach it. Having Brice at his back again felt good and for the first time in a long time, Soren felt a measure of control returning to his life.