Wessex Weddings 05 - Her Banished Lord

by Carol Townend

  Sometimes his sister was like a dog with bone. Hugh sighed. ‘This argument is tired, Louise. But I did warn you that you could not stay with me for ever. King William is away from Winchester at the moment. As soon as he returns I plan to beg for an audience, the outcome of which is far from certain. If matters go badly, it will be better for you not to be associated with me.’

  ‘You are my brother, I am not about to desert you!’

  His heart softened. ‘Your loyalty does you credit, Louise, but I repeat, I do not wish to be worried about you.’ He made a point of looking towards the village. ‘I wonder where the hall is…’

  ‘That is Alfold Hall?’ They were in the heart of the village, and Hugh was staring in disbelief in the direction the villager’s soil-blackened finger was pointing.

  If this villager, an elderly peasant farmer, was correct, Alfold Hall was a ram shackle wooden long house set in the middle of a village, which was itself run down to the point of collapse. It was fortunate that Hugh had been in England a number of times before. His command of English, though not fluent, was passable. Certainly the Saxon hoeing between cabbages in one of the field-strips had under stood him.

  ‘Yes, sir, that is Alfold Hall.’

  Hugh leaned on the saddle pommel. With the exception of the church, Alfold Hall was larger than the other village buildings. In all other respects, however, it was depressingly similar. Its thatch was green with age, moss and rot, just like the nearby cottages. The door of the hall had been removed—there it was, propped up against one of the walls. On the ground nearby was a ladder, several bundles of reeds, and various vicious-looking agricultural implements the exact use of which Hugh was hazy about.

  ‘They wouldn’t look amiss on a butcher’s bench,’ he murmured, even as the sun bounced off the tine of a pitch fork. ‘Or on a battlefield.’ And Saxon peasants, as Hugh could most vividly recall from 1066, could wield agricultural implements most fearsomely when called upon to do so.

  ‘Hmm?’ Louise had thrown off her ill temper and was gazing about with wide-eyed interest. ‘This is it?’

  ‘Alfold Hall,’ the villager repeated, in his slow English.

  ‘My thanks.’ Kicking his horse back into a walk, Hugh ex changed glances with his squire. ‘Mon Dieu, I didn’t think it possible to find anywhere in a worse state than Crèvecoeur was when Edouard took possession. It looks as though Aude has ex changed one midden for another.’

  ‘Lady Aude will knock it into shape soon enough,’ Gil said. ‘If she managed at Crèvecoeur, she can do the same here.’

  Hugh ran disparaging eyes over the settlement. Set halfway down the hill in a sunlit clearing in a beech wood, Alfold did have a certain simple charm. The wheat in the strips was heavy and golden, the apple and pear trees were weighed down with fruit. Dust was floating out from one of the less derelict barns and Hugh could hear the distinctive thwack, thwack, thwack of a flail. However… ‘The defences are appalling.’

  Gill grinned. ‘What defences?’

  ‘Exactly. It would have been much better to have built the hall on the top of that rise. You would have visibility for miles up there—why, on a clear day you might even be able to see Winchester. But here…’ Hugh grimaced ‘…it is scarcely worth bothering with. Poor Aude, I wonder if she realised what she was taking on.’

  ‘I expect the hall was built in more peaceful times,’ Louise said, thoughtfully.

  Sometimes Louise startled Hugh with her perceptiveness. She was right, of course. Alfold Hall had not been built by England’s conquerors. A Saxon thane would have built it, a noble who had probably expected to live out his life cheek by jowl with his neighbours.

  What had happened to that thane? Had he been killed in 1066? Since his lands had been handed over to one of the conqueror’s most honoured knights, Sir Richard of Asculf, this seemed likely. Did these people bear resentment against Normans?

  A woman had heard the horses and had come to watch them from her cottage doorway. She had a baby in her arms and her eyes were like narrow slits as she stared into the afternoon sun. Hostile? Or was the sun dazzling her? Her expression was blank, Hugh could not read her.

  It had been five years since William of Normandy had seized Harold’s crown. Did the people of Alfold yearn for a Saxon king? Did they mourn their dead Saxon thane?

  An ear-split ting shriek brought his head round. It had come from inside the hall.

  Hell, the villagers wouldn’t be avenging them selves on their new Norman lady, would they? In this out-of-the-way place, who would find out if they did?

  Gil shot him a look. ‘What the devil is that? They wouldn’t hurt Lady Aude, would they?’

  Another cry flew through the doorway, more agonised than the first.

  Hell, hell, hell. I must not get involved, I must not! But if Aude is being hurt, I would never forgive myself…

  Louise blanched. ‘Hugh, whatever’s happening?’

  ‘God knows, but I have to find out.’ Shoving his hood back, he dismounted and thrust his reins at Gil.

  ‘Hugh, do be careful,’ Louise said.

  Hugh nodded. He ought not to engage with anyone in the village, but he could not ride by when Aude might be at risk. Merde. ‘Gil, take the horses over to that smithy, and keep an eye on Louise. Neither of you are to come near the hall unless I signal that it is safe to approach.’

  Chapter Six

  Hand on his sword-hilt, Hugh paused on the threshold as another shriek rose to the rafters. A boy of about seven years of age was lying on a cloak that had been spread out before a hearth ringed with stones. It was the boy who was screaming. Not Aude. He felt the tension lift away. Aude was not being hurt.

  She was kneeling on one side of the boy, worry lines marring her clear brow. Sir Olivier knelt across from her. Sir Olivier de Fougères, here?

  The boy moaned. And no wonder, poor lad, with his arm at that angle. Hugh’s stomach gave a sick lurch as he strode towards the fire. Several people were watching from the shadows. There were a couple of women, one wringing her hands—the boy’s mother? A handful of men.

  And Edouard, Count of Corbeil? There was no sign of him. Damn.

  Several faces turned towards Hugh, but he ignored them, he found himself watching for Aude’s reaction. ‘Hugh!’ Aude’s face cleared and some thing within him eased. She might still be angry about him stealing her place on that boat in Jumièges, but she seemed happy, even relieved, to see him.

  ‘Be careful, my lady,’ Sir Olivier muttered in a low voice, as he jerked his head towards two men—knights?—sitting on a wall-bench. Hugh strained to catch the rest of his sentence. ‘It will be dangerous for your friend to be recognised.’

  Aude’s eyes widened and the subtlest of nods told Hugh that she had grasped what Sir Olivier was saying, namely that Hugh was banished from England as well as from his native Normandy. The Duke’s writ ran on this side of the Narrow Sea too, for here in England, William was King.

  Aude was gripping the hand of the boy’s good arm, fingers white as she tried, not altogether successfully, to stop him thrashing about.

  ‘Thank God you are here, Hugh, your English is better than mine.’

  Aude’s hair was uncovered and wound in a loose plait, but her struggles with the boy had taken their toll and several shining strands had worked loose. They hung about her face with the warm glow of copper.

  ‘That may be so.’

  ‘Oswy here has dislocated his arm. Olivier was trying to put it back, but Oswy doesn’t under stand and he will keep screaming. Hugh, will you explain?’

  ‘Assuredly.’ Smiling at the boy, Hugh nodded easily at Olivier as he took his place opposite Aude. Time enough to learn why the man had followed Aude to Alfold and, perhaps more to the point, why she had apparently abandoned all formality and was on first-name terms with him.

  ‘Oswy, is it?’ he asked in English.

  The boy moaned, sweat was beading his upper lip. One of the watching women shifted, echoing the boy’s moan.
Yes, that woman had to be his mother.

  ‘Oswy, you will be all right,’ Hugh said, in the calmest of voices.

  ‘Broken, broken,’ the mother said, wringing her hands. The boy writhed.

  Hugh shot the woman a glance; she was not helping. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I do not believe it is broken, and neither does Lady Aude. May I see for myself?’

  Oswy’s mother nodded and Hugh ran his hands carefully over the boy’s shoulder.

  Large amber eyes met his. ‘Hugh, am I right?’ Aude reverted to French. ‘I was afraid that if it was a break, we might cripple him for life.’

  ‘It is a dislocation,’ he murmured, looking meaning fully at her. ‘Hold hard, Aude. On the count of three…’

  She nodded.

  Casually, Hugh kept his hands in place and made as if he were looking about the hall. ‘So this is Alfold Hall…one, two…oh, look at that…!’

  Hugh gazed round-eyed through the doorway and as soon as the boy’s eyes shifted to see what he was looking at, he moved.

  One deft motion, a dull click and it was done.

  The boy squealed like a stuck pig.

  ‘A dislocation.’ Aude blew out a breath. ‘Thank God.’ Leaning back on her heels, she rose and gestured for the boy’s mother.

  The woman rushed to the hearth, crooning and smiling through her tears. ‘My lady, I thank you.’ Despite her words, a certain awkwardness in the woman’s manner warned of an inbred mistrust of Normans.

  Aude lifted a brow at Hugh, and reached for his hand. ‘That much I can under stand. Hugh, I should be furious with you.’

  He grimaced. ‘The ship?’

  ‘Yes.’ For a moment her brows drew together in a frown. ‘But I have decided to forgive you.’

  ‘I am sorry about that river barge, Aude, I had run out of time.’

  ‘I under stand. Anyway, today you have made up for that.’ She smiled. ‘Oh, Hugh, I was never so glad to see anyone in my life! Sir Olivier and I were trying our best to speak English, but there are times when it is hard. After Oswy fell off the roof I am afraid that I panicked, and what words I know abandoned me.’

  Raising her fingers to his lips, Hugh smiled. ‘You seemed to be doing very well.’ It was a pleasure to actually see her—no, it was more than a pleasure, it was a joy. Those large eyes were smiling up at him, more warm and friendly than they ought to be given that he should not have come in. He must remember, he could not stay long…

  Realising he still had her hand, Hugh released it and eased back. He had come to Alfold to learn if Edouard de Corbeil had arrived, not to renew his friend ship with Aude. The less involvement Aude had with him, the better for her.

  ‘That may be,’ she was saying, ‘but Oswy didn’t under stand what we were trying to do. He was fighting us and…oh, well, it is done now.’ She looked down at Oswy, who was already sitting up, tentatively moving his shoulder. ‘For his own good, that lad had better be strapped up for a few days.’ Her lips quirked upwards. ‘If this accident keeps him off that roof for a couple of days, I shall be best pleased. Oswy is the thatcher’s son,’ she added, taking Hugh’s hand again.

  Hugh allowed himself to be drawn towards a table under the eaves. ‘I must leave shortly.’

  ‘You will at least let me take your cloak, you must be half-stewed in it! And then you must tell me what you are doing here. Did you—’ when her smile enlarged, Hugh felt it in his belly ‘—come to see me?’

  ‘Why else?’ Hugh murmured lightly as he handed her his cloak. There was no point confessing he had not intended to cross her thresh old, and what harm could there be in letting Aude think he had come to see her? Particularly since he was harbouring some guilt on her account. Not for taking her place on that barge, that had been a necessity. It was that meeting he had had with Edouard shortly before leaving Jumièges, the one in which he had warned Edouard that his sister was going to visit her English estate sooner rather than later. He had had Aude’s interests at heart, but he hadn’t liked himself for doing it. Lucky for him, though, that that conversation with Edouard had taken place, otherwise Alfold might not have come to mind as the most obvious place in England where he might safely contact Edouard.

  Aude’s estate was close to Winchester, and all the world knew that the King had built a castle there— Winchester Castle—known to be one of his favourite residences. Since 1066, William had been obsessed with strengthening his power base in England. Determined not to lose his crown, it was said that Normandy had been relegated to the back of his mind. Whatever the truth of that, Hugh had come to realise that he would have to travel to Winchester when the time came for him to place his petition before the King. The only certain way to gain a personal audience with William would be to lie low and wait for his next appearance in Wessex.

  Soon I will prove my innocence; soon I will offer King William the kiss of peace.

  Grimacing, Hugh lowered his voice. ‘A friendly face is a rarity these days.’

  ‘Come.’ With a familiarity that made his heart ache, Aude pushed him to a bench. ‘Sit here while I find some bandages and get Oswy strapped up. Then we will share some wine and you may tell me what you are doing in England. All this time I have been thinking that you must have taken refuge in Brittany.’

  Hugh! Hugh had come to see her! Aude could scarcely believe it. In the month since she had come to Alfold, he had entered her thoughts many times. She had found herself wondering how he was faring, she had prayed for him and, yes—she had done more than a little regretting that she was not likely to see him again.

  But here he was, despite the dangers of being caught in England, large as life and even more handsome than the images she had stored in her memory. And he had come to see her!

  Aude hurried to the chest where the bandages were stored. When she had arrived at Alfold, the chest had been empty, and one of her first tasks had been to restock it. Bandages had been made, and because the herb garden behind the hall had run to seed, she had bought herbs and medicaments in the Winchester market. There had been much to busy herself with since landing in England.

  First she had had to ride to Winchester to lay her claim to the hall before Sir Guy de Mortain. Sir Guy was commander of the Winchester garrison and he had the King’s authority while he was fighting rebels in the fens.

  Aude had asked for Sir Guy’s assistance in the hiring of a couple of knights who would, along with Sir Olivier, give teeth to her commands at Alfold. The moment she had laid eyes on the men whom Sir Guy had recommended—Sir Ralph d’Auray and Sir William Laval—it had flashed in on her that neither of them looked half as strong or as competent as Hugh Duclair.

  The villagers had begun to bring in the harvest, so Aude had one of the barns repaired. After the famine of the previous year, it was essential that all the grain must be properly gathered and care fully stored.

  She had begun overseeing the cleaning and repair of the hall itself. If Alfold was to be returned to anything like its former glory, the list of things she must do was never-ending—but somehow, despite being rushed off her feet, Hugh Duclair had kept intruding into her thoughts.

  Noticing that Sir Ralph and Sir William were eyeing Hugh curiously from their wall-bench, Aude bit her lip. It might have been best if she had not called Hugh by his first name when he had walked into the Hall, but surprise had torn it from her before she had time to think. What was done was done, but she must take care to make no mention of his county; she would introduce him to her knights simply as Hugh of Jumièges, a family friend.

  Reaching into the chest, Aude drew out a strip of fabric that would make a bandage. Yes, while he was here, Hugh would be known as Hugh of Jumièges.

  ‘Eadgytha?’ Eadgytha was Oswy’s mother. Aude had been told that Eadgytha’s husband, the best thatcher in the village, was dead. This might in part explain the marked way she doted on her son.

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘Here, you had best take this.’ When all she received was a blank stare, Aude shot
a pleading look at Hugh. ‘Please to explain to Eadgytha that Oswy must be tightly strapped.’

  Aude handed over the bandage fabric while Hugh went back to the ringed hearth with Eadgytha.

  How did Alfold Hall look to Hugh’s eyes? So much remained to be done—the boards around the shutters were rotting; the door was warped past closing; and even now at summer’s end, the greying thatch brought the smell of mouldering reeds right into the hall. In its finest hour, Alfold Hall could not compare with the meanest of Hugh’s confiscated holdings in Normandy.

  Aude could hear Hugh’s opinion of the hall as though he were muttering in her ear. Unsophisticated. Draughty. Falling apart. Scarcely better than a hovel…

  Aude gave the hall a quick glance herself, only too conscious of how it must look. Indeed, her thoughts on her arrival had been much the same. It hadn’t been easy, but she had set to work, meeting the village priest, the miller, the smith. Somehow she had managed to convey her ambition to restore the hall to its proper state. Work parties had been set up, perhaps too hastily, for young Oswy should not have been up on the roof un supervised.

  Hugh was holding Eadgytha’s gaze, indicating the bandages. ‘For your son.’ He smiled, speaking so slowly that Aude could follow his English without any difficulty. ‘Bind him securely to ensure that his shoulder stays in place. And—’ a meaningful frown was directed at Oswy ‘—no more climbing ladders for a day or two. It is possible that you are too young to be on that roof, in any case.’

  ‘No, sir, I am not!’ Oswy blurted, tipping up his chin. ‘I am good on the roof.’

  Hugh glanced at Aude and lifted a brow. ‘Aude, is that true?’

  As she looked at him, her heart bumped about in her breast. He was so handsome. It was unsettling seeing him again. It was unnerving, and she didn’t want to be unnerved. Why couldn’t Hugh be more…ordinary, like Sir Olivier?

  ‘Aude?’

  ‘Yes, it is true. Or so I thought until he fell. I left it to Eadgytha to decide how much he could do.’