A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Aye, I will watch the children more closely.”

  Catching Sigga’s eye, Emma remarked, “I saw the flag of their king and his army of knights with him.” She shuddered at the memory of so many mail-clad mounted knights headed toward the city. “More Normans,” she complained. “Mayhap thousands.”

  “Would they were all like the one who brought Ottar home,” Sigga said thoughtfully. “A handsome one, he was, and kind.”

  “They are all Normans, Sigga. I would have none in our city and none in my home.”

  * * *

  From the trestle table where he sat with Alain eating the evening meal, Geoff gazed beyond the crackling hearth fire and the ascending smoke to where Malet sat at the head table with his wife, Helise, and their two young sons. The hall was crowded with knights eating a dinner of roasted lamb. The low rumble of male voices in conversation filled the large space.

  Helise’s face, normally serene, was lined with worry. Geoff did not wonder at her concern, given what must have transpired between William and her husband. Mayhap Malet would not long hold the position of Sheriff of Yorkshire.

  Alain shifted in his seat, his eyes following the object of Geoff’s interest. “William appeared none too happy when he took his seat at the dais and now he glares at Malet between sips of wine.”

  Geoff looked at his friend. “You speak uncommonly much this night.” The knight the Red Wolf had dubbed “the Bear” for his size was known for speaking in grunts and growls more often than words.

  “I speak when I have something to say.”

  “Which is not often,” Geoff teased. “But I do not doubt the truth of your words. ’Tis certain Malet earned a stern rebuke, though being a friend of the king, I expect it was delivered in private.”

  “Likely while we were seeing the injured lad home.”

  “Yea, likely so.” Suddenly the vision of the beautiful York widow ministering to the boy returned to Geoff’s mind. Despite her hostility, he was anxious about her living alone with only children and servants while the streets of York swarmed with knights, men-at-arms and mercenaries looking for trouble, looking for women to ease their battle lust.

  Returning his attention to his meal, he stabbed a large piece of meat and brought it to his trencher. She would not have listened to him had he tried to counsel her.

  The Bear slid him a mischievous glance. “From what I observed, that woman you aided did not like you much.”

  Geoff tossed a piece of bread at Alain’s chest. “She liked me well enough for a Norman, you dolt.”

  “She could use your protection were you to give it,” said Alain, more seriously. “With William’s army combing the streets, there will not be a woman left untouched in York.”

  Geoff let out a breath. “Leave it be, Alain. I want no woman and Emma of York would have no Norman.” Though I would give her my protection whether she asked for it or not.

  “None of the English women want Norman husbands,” argued Alain, “but Serena accepted the Red Wolf and my own Aethel was finally persuaded to wed with me. In time, there will be many such matches.”

  “The York widow would be near impossible to win.”

  “That which comes with much effort is more highly prized,” Alain declared thoughtfully.

  “You begin to sound like Maugris, my friend.”

  “I have learned a few truths since coming to England.”

  “Oh?”

  “It does nay take Maugris to see the only wives for French knights are English unless the women come from France, like Helise Malet.”

  Geoff cast a glance at the woman sitting beside her husband. “’Twould be a rare knight who brought a wife with him.” He laughed at what came to his mind. “We brought only horses and squires.”

  Geoff drank his wine in silence after that, watching the king and his companions on the dais. It appeared that William had recovered from his dour mood. He was now in jovial spirits laughing with his friends.

  “I heard talk of William building a second castle,” said Alain, his eyes on the king.

  “Yea, William spoke of it as we rode toward the city. I imagine the good people of York who were not killed in the fighting or escaped into the woods will be pressed into the work.”

  “’Tis his way,” observed Alain.

  “Did you happen to notice who is sitting at the dais with the king?”

  Alain glanced at the table at the front of the hall. “Aye, I recognize the older one, William FitzOsbern, the Earl of Hereford. He is the companion of the king who came with him to Talisand last year. But I do not know the other.”

  “The younger one is Gilbert de Ghent. I encountered the Fleming as I was going to my chamber when I returned from the widow’s. He told me he’s being sent by the king to Durham with a group of his Flemish mercenaries to chase down the rebels fleeing north.”

  “No good can come of that,” observed Alain. “Like wraiths, the rebels can hide in the woods. ’Tis what they always do.”

  “No matter. William is intent on chasing them down.”

  * * *

  It was night when the knock came at the front door. The sound was faint and Emma, who had been sorting through some tapestries in her chamber by candlelight, was not even certain she had heard it until Magnus scrambled from the floor beside her and went to scratch at her chamber door.

  “All right. I am coming.” She threw on her robe and opened the door of her chamber. Magnus raced down the stairs and scratched at the front door.

  This time the knock was a mere thump and then a sound like something falling against the door.

  Emma took one look at Magnus and realized whoever was on the other side of the door was someone he knew. He whined and did not growl, so the late hour visitor could not be a Norman soldier.

  She unlatched the door and a sobbing Inga fell into her arms.

  “Inga!”

  The girl trembled as she clutched her cloak tightly to her body.

  Emma wrapped her arms around her. “What is it, Inga? What has happened?”

  One look at Inga’s face told her questions would have to come later. The girl’s eyes were wide with fear, her cheeks tear-stained. She was incapable of speech.

  Still holding Inga, Emma shut the door, making sure it was locked. Wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist, Emma helped her to the stairs. “Come, I will take you to my chamber.”

  Together, they stumbled up the steps, Emma helping the young woman whose strength appeared to be at an end. As they neared the top, Inga tripped and nearly fell. Emma gripped her more securely and together they managed to reach her chamber. Magnus followed closely behind. He had known Inga since he was a whelp. She was family.

  Emma helped the girl to the bed, gently laying her upon it. Inga mumbled, “He returned… oh, Emma, he came back.”

  “Who returned, Inga? Who?”

  Inga’s terror-filled eyes fastened on Emma, telling her without words who it was. She remembered the French knight from the day he had accosted her friend outside Feigr’s shop on Coppergate. Eude, the tall, burly Norman with dark hair and a heavy jaw. A sudden loathing came over Emma, fueling her rising fury. Seeing the bruise on Inga’s face, Emma could imagine what had happened.

  Artur had apparently heard the commotion, bringing him to her chamber. “What has happened, Mistress? Do you need help?”

  “Aye, I need Sigga’s hemlock and wormwood potion that warms and brings sleep. Inga is hurt and needs rest.”

  He took one look at Inga, curled into herself on the bed, and departed.

  Emma took off her fur-lined robe and draped it over the young woman, then sat on the bed next to her, holding her hand, waiting for the potion to arrive. “Inga, can you speak?”

  Inga’s hand was cold despite the heat from the coals in the brazier and the warm robe covering her. “My father… Oh, Emma. The Norman was not alone. The men with him beat my father when he tried to protect me, before the Norman….” She broke off and shut her eyes tightly a
s if trying not to see the images that haunted her. “The knights who came with him took my father prisoner. I am afraid of what they will do to him.” Then with a shudder, she added, “At least he did not see my shame.”

  “Oh, Inga.” It was as I feared.

  On the young woman’s face, the bruise seemed to darken. She had obviously been struck. Her heavy, golden hair, always neatly confined to a long plait, was loose and tangled.

  Artur returned with the potion, a bowl of water and a clean cloth. “Thank you, Artur. I had not thought to ask for the water and cloth, but they are needed. I must bathe the dirt from her face.” Emma would not mention what had happened to her friend. Artur was a man who had lived long enough to understand what a young woman like Inga might have suffered but he would say nothing. The terrible truth would remain a secret.

  “Do you need aught else, Mistress?”

  “Yea.” A plan was already forming in her mind. “Once Inga is asleep I will need to borrow a gown and cloak from Sigga. And then I would ask Sigga to sit with Inga. I am going out but I will let you know when I leave.”

  “You would leave the house tonight?” He sounded aghast.

  “I must.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “Nay.”

  “You must take care. The Normans will spare no one. Keep to the shadows.” His countenance fell in resignation as he turned to go.

  She called after him, “Artur?”

  He paused at the door. “Yea?”

  “Do not mention what you have seen here to anyone save Sigga.”

  He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

  Emma helped the stunned girl to drink the potion that would send her to sweet oblivion. Then she waited for it to take effect.

  Once she was certain Inga was deep in sleep, Emma removed the robe she had placed over Inga. Carefully, she peeled back the edges of Inga’s cloak and gasped. Inga’s tunic and shift had been torn from neck to the hem, leaving her naked and exposed. The girl would have been no match for the Norman. “He forced you, the bastard,” she hissed under her breath. Inga’s small breasts were bruised and there were more bruises on her hips and slim thighs. And blood. It was caked in streaks on her skin from her woman’s center halfway down her thighs. The rampaging beast had hurt her, hurt her badly.

  A sudden rage rose within Emma. He will pay for this. If she could find a way, she would see him dead for what he had done.

  As tenderly as she could, Emma cleaned the blood from Inga’s young skin and wiped the streaks of dried tears from her cheeks.

  Once she had finished bathing Inga, she gently pulled the torn gown from under the girl and took one of her own shifts from the chest at the foot of the bed. After some difficulty, she was able to put it on Inga, thinking it would be best if she did not wake to see the bruises on her breasts and hips. She would surely feel them, but at least she would not have the sight of them to remind her.

  The torn and soiled garments Emma took downstairs and burned in the hearth fire. She was standing over the fire, watching the soiled clothing turn to ash, when Sigga met her with the tunic and the cloak that would disguise Emma as a servant.

  “The clothes you asked for, Mistress.”

  “Thank you, Sigga. I will return them.”

  “Are you certain you are doing the right thing, my lady?”

  “Aye, I must save Feigr if I can.”

  Sigga’s gaze followed Emma as she climbed the stairs to her chamber. Setting the clothing aside, she carefully combed the tangles from Inga’s hair using her own carved wooden comb, then tucked the cover around the girl and smoothed the hair from her forehead.

  Tears fell as Emma faced the stark reality: Inga might look innocent in her sleep, but her innocence was no more.

  Once she had made Inga as comfortable as possible, Emma dressed in the servant’s clothing. Sigga had given her the best tunic she had, a crimson one she kept for special days. It was so like Sigga not to want her mistress to be seen in the ones the servant used to prepare their meals. Still, it would serve. It was looser than her own fine gowns and would mask her slender curves.

  Wrapping Sigga’s cloak around her against the cold night air, she set forth, bidding Magnus to stay. She would not take him with her lest he growl at some knight and be slain. Her errand was one of mercy.

  Sir Geoffroi had offered her his service. She would test the sincerity of his offer, risking much to save Inga’s father. Even entering the den of Lucifer himself.

  CHAPTER 5

  For some reason he could not explain, instead of returning to his chamber after the evening meal, Geoff lingered to observe the knights and men-at-arms gathered in the hall. Leaning against the rear wall, not far from his chamber, he crossed his arms over his chest, and watched the men dicing, drinking and telling stories of their encounters with the rebels that day.

  They were a rough lot, some having newly joined William’s army, among them Flemish mercenaries who came for the plunder and the freedom to pillage. They were the most dangerous of William’s men for they cared not what destruction they left behind them. Surely they had been the ones responsible for the boys who had been killed.

  A cloaked figure moved in and out of the shadows, drawing Geoff’s attention. Though the hood mostly covered her head, he could see it was a woman. By her apparel, a serving wench, but she carried herself like a lady. As he studied her more carefully, there was something familiar about her. It was the way she walked with confidence, her head up, her shoulders back. The young widow… Emma! The only thing missing was the hound. Why had she come to the castle where so much danger threatened a woman alone?

  In the flickering light of the torches, she gazed anxiously around the hall, searching the faces of the men as if looking for someone. Suddenly her eyes fixed upon one of the mercenaries and she froze. Like the Valkyrie he had first imagined her, she glared at the knight as her hand moved slowly beneath her cloak to her hip. In the same manner she had reached for her knife that morning when he’d come upon her in the clearing.

  Geoff knew the mercenary she was staring at, a man he heartily disliked, a braggart whose mouth was never silent. Sir Eude de Fourneaux.

  It took him but a moment to realize her intent.

  Striding toward her, Geoff grabbed her arm beneath her cloak. Their eyes met and at once he discerned her intent. “Do not, lady. Else he would see you dead.”

  “I did not come for him, though I would kill him if I could. I came to seek your help if your offer is still good.”

  Before he could assure her it was, the man whom she had stalked focused his attention on them.

  “What vision is this, Sir Geoffroi? We could happily use another wench this night. One to sheathe my most worthy sword.” Eude’s words were slurred with the drink he had consumed, but his meaning was clear enough.

  Eude’s friends laughed and shouted for Geoff to remove Emma’s cloak. “Let us see the prize you have there!”

  Without taking his eyes from Emma, Geoff said, “I saw her first, Eude.”

  “You could share,” came the lazy retort.

  In her eyes, Geoff saw both fear and determination. She would not shy from murder, but with the knights’ attention drawn to her, she knew she was in grievous danger. Conversations broke off as men at the tables paused to observe the confrontation.

  Into the silence, he said in a commanding voice, “I never share.”

  The mercenary rose, a few of his companions with him. Geoff reached for Emma, pulling her against his chest. She was slender and her resistance fleeting against his knight’s strength. “If you would be spared their lust, do not fight me,” he whispered.

  He claimed her mouth as an act of possession, a demonstration to the assembled knights that she was his. But when their lips touched, it was he who was claimed. Her mouth was soft and inviting, the taste of her as sweet as summer wine. The attraction he had felt for her before now surged in his veins. Urging her lips open, his tongue fo
und the warmth within. She responded. In the honey of her kiss, his rising passion was echoed in his loins. Alone in their own world, the kiss continued.

  Hearing the jeers behind him, he broke the embrace, though it cost him to do so. Breathing heavily, he stared into her beautiful blue-green eyes.

  She shifted her passion-filled gaze to the floor.

  Turning to the knights, who had slowed their approach, he announced, “As you see, the lady is mine, I have claimed her.”

  “Leave off, Eude,” urged one of the man’s friends. “’Tis Sir Geoffroi you challenge, a favorite of the king. He is the right arm of the Red Wolf and his sword is just as deadly.”

  At his words, Eude and his companions lost interest in their mission and returned to their table.

  “There are plenty of wenches in the city,” Eude blustered.

  At Geoff’s side, Emma stiffened.

  He waited until he was certain the other knights would not pursue them, then escorted her to his chamber, his arm tight around her shoulder.

  Once inside his chamber, he dropped his arm, walked to the table near the brazier and poured her a goblet of wine. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

  With unsteady hands, she took it and drank, her chest rising and falling with apparent emotion. She had been more nervous than he had initially thought. Mayhap more afraid. Or was she also moved by the kiss they had shared?

  No matter the cause, her presence worried him. Such a beautiful woman should not be out alone, much less in a castle full of men with too few whores to share. He took in her clothing, that of a servant and ill fitting. “What could you have been thinking to come to the castle? And how did you gain admittance?”

  Holding the goblet between her hands, she stepped to the brazier as if seeking its heat. “I came as a servant. The guards gave me a bit of trouble but apparently the need for serving wenches is great. I answered their questions and they admitted me.”

  His brows drew together at the ridiculous notion. “No one would see you as a servant, even in those clothes.”

  “Your guards are not so discerning as you,” she said dismissively. “And mayhap not so sober.”