The Conqueror's Lady. Terri Brisbin
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origin of their lives, their destinies were entwined and she needed to find her place in this new world his arrival had wrought.
They stopped just outside her door and he turned back, speaking to her of Emma and Ardith. ‘The old one and the girl have the freedom of the keep and village now, lady. They need worry not over their safety.’
Without saying so, he told her that the man who had tried to rape her servant and had knocked her unconscious was under control. Had he been executed, then? Disobedience in time of war could be punished with death, she knew. Was this man such a hard commander that he would do that? She stopped then and faced him.
‘Why? Is that man dead?’ she asked.
‘Nay, not dead,’ he answered before tugging her along at his side. ‘Stephen has learned not to disobey my orders.’
She shivered at the coldness of his words and the inherent threat as she moved down the stairs to the main floor. Then out into the yard they walked until she stood in nearly the exact spot where the incident with Ardith had occurred.
He stopped and Fayth took a few moments to catch her breath. Even feeling well she would have difficulty matching his long strides, but feeling as she did, only his arm pulling her along had kept them together. Now, she inhaled deeply, enjoying the scents of soil and air and the recent rain. Harvest had passed even while her father rode the length of England following their king and it had been a meagre one.
Both Emma and Ardith followed them, along with three of the knight’s men. Once she could breathe more easily, he led her to one of the smaller yards where he’d penned her people the day of the attack. The people were gone and the enclosure held cattle once more, though fewer than before.
Fayth lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and peered to the limits of the yard. There along the perimeter of the wall, his soldiers now paced. As she moved her gaze to the farthest part of the yard his soldiers worked alongside some of her men, carrying logs that would be hewn into boards for repairs to the walls and the other buildings.
‘Part of the blacksmith’s cottage burned during the battle. They rebuild it now,’ he offered, pointing in the other direction where men worked on the small croft that was attached to the smithy.
Everywhere she looked, the situation was the same. Though outnumbered now because so many had fled at first sight of the invader’s forces, her people wore no prisoner’s chains. Indeed, many seemed to be doing their usual duties in spite of a new lord in control of the lands. Suddenly, as many saw her there, they stopped their work and stared at her. Before she understood what was happening, Sir Giles clasped her hand in his larger one and held it high into the air.
‘As I told you,’ he called out in a voice loud enough to travel across the open space to the walls, ‘your lady is alive and well.’
Fayth could not help her response, for her people called out her name, and it resonated around the yard, warming her heart and giving her pride at their concern for her well-being.
‘You did this to show them you have not killed me?’ she asked. She turned to face him and saw amusement in his features. His blue eyes, so dark and intense, now lit with some humour.
‘I have not killed you, yet, demoiselle,’ he answered in a voice meant only for her ears. Leaning in close to her, he whispered, ‘If I discover you still work to betray me, it may yet happen.’
The shiver of fear tore through her at his words and tone. She wanted to believe he was speaking in jest, but there was a thread of steely resolution and something else, something dangerous, in his voice and she did not doubt for a moment that her life was in peril should he choose it to be so. Leaning away, but not able to free her hand from his grasp, she straightened her shoulders and met his gaze.
‘You would not find it to be an easy task, sir,’ she said, watching and waiting for his response to her challenge.
He said something to the man closest to them and then smiled at her. ‘Ah, demoiselle. You are correct—it would be no easy thing.’
He laughed then and lowered their hands, allowing hers to drop to her side. She clasped hers together in front of her and waited. ‘Come, this way, if you please.’
She allowed his stride to take him ahead of her and took advantage of the distance to study this warrior. He was tall, more than six feet in height, and his build declared his strength. Though most of him was covered in mail and armour, she did not doubt that he was as fit and muscular under all of his protection as he appeared to be.
He wore his pale brown hair longer than the Norman custom, yet shorter than the English way. No beard grew so there was no hiding the sharp angles of his face and his strong chin. His eyes, though blue, darkened when he was vexed as she’d seen already, but stayed a paler shade when no mood changed them. Fayth would never declare him to be a handsome man, yet his masculine features were powerful and unforgettable.
He stopped and waited for her to catch up. She noticed then, for she’d been too busy staring at his face before, that they’d reached the chapel. The low stone building had been the scene of the horrific fight that had ended in her capture and Edmund’s near-murder. Giles Fitzhenry opened the wooden door and waited for her to enter.
It took all her resolve to do so, for she imagined she could hear the screams of the injured men and smell the spilled blood from the wounded. Her own neck burned as she remembered his gauntleted grasp around her throat, choking the air from her, and threatening her death.
‘Come,’ was his only word to her as he walked ahead, down the aisle where the benches had been replaced and the blood washed away.
It was Emma who stood then at her back and urged her forward to follow the knight. Two of the knight’s men remained behind her, standing on either side of the doors and watching her through the slits of their helmets. Another shiver tore its path down her spine and back to her head, sending tremors through every part of her. She followed his footsteps up the centre aisle and found Father Henry standing before the altar. From his stern expression, he wanted to be present no more than she did. Still they both did as the Breton knight ordered.
A few moments passed after she stopped at his side and Fayth found her nervousness growing within her. When he reached out and took her hand in his now-bare hands, the truth of it struck her—they would marry here and now.
Surely not?
From his intense gaze, she knew they would indeed.
‘Lady, I will not go forth with this ceremony unless you give your free consent here,’ Father Henry said with a bravado she thought impossible.
Had he given Fayth an escape then, with his words? If she did not consent, could this man lay no claim to her lands or her person? Without looking at Giles Fitzhenry, she began to object when he squeezed her hand so hard she gasped. Turning to him, she followed his nod to the back of the church.
Her servants and villeins stood watching, surrounded by his warriors dressed for battle. Herded in like the cattle they tended, they bunched together watching the unfolding drama before them. They could not see what she could—the weapons held at the ready were aimed at them and not held for their defence. Facing the knight, she searched his face for his true intentions.
‘You would harm innocent servants, then?’ she asked.
‘Nay, lady. Your actions determine their safety. Fulfil your duty as their lady and all will be well.’
‘If I do not give my consent, what then?’ She held her breath waiting for his inevitable answer.
‘I will still hold these lands for my king, but I will need a new wife.’ Tempted to believe he jested with her, she glanced at his face and saw the truth there. ‘My duke has requested,’ he explained, ‘requested, that his men take the daughters of the land we gained to wife. If there is no daughter, we may seek wives where we may.’
‘So you would execute me here in God’s House, sir? With my people looking on at your murderous act?’
She