Saxon Lady. Margo Maguire
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Saxon curses. “Let me untie him!”
Fitz Autier drew his sword. “Do so at your own peril, demoiselle.”
The Norman was deadly serious. Aelia smoothed Osric’s bright, coppery hair away from his dirty face and shushed him. ’Twas important to remain calm, never allowing the Norman to see how he’d rattled them.
“Aelia,” Osric said in their own tongue. “When I say the word, you feint to the side and I’ll grab—”
“Do not be an idiot,” she replied. “First of all, he could very well understand our language. Secondly, you are tied! We have no chance against them. They are armed, we are not. There are so many of them, and we are only two. We’ll have to let them trade us for peace at Ingelwald.”
Osric rolled to his side and pushed himself up. “Never! Ingelwald belongs to us! We—”
“Hush before you get us killed,” she said, blocking her little brother from any action the Norman might take.
She had known Osric would never yield to his captors. He was not an easy child, even in the best of circumstances. Their father and older brother had indulged him unrelentingly, spoiling him, making him feel as privileged as a king. He was a bright lad, but young. And headstrong. She could just imagine the havoc he’d wreaked upon the Norman camp during the night.
“Make ready to ride, wench,” Fitz Autier said. “The boy will wait outside.”
Mathieu took the Saxon boy by the scruff of his neck and hauled him away from his sister. “You will ride with Sir Auvrai d’Evreux,” he said, aware that the boy spoke French.
The little fiend turned suddenly and kicked Mathieu’s shin, then fled. Since Mathieu’s leg was shielded, no damage was done, but he did not follow. He allowed Osric to run all the way to the bordering woods, where two sentries caught him and carried him back into camp. They dropped him unceremoniously at Mathieu’s feet, where the child spat out the only Saxon words Mathieu had learned, and they were not fit for a child’s tongue.
“Are all Saxons as badly behaved as you, boy?” he asked, without expecting an answer.
He just wanted to get this business over—bargaining for the woman’s and her brother’s lives for the peaceful surrender of Ingelwald. He turned to Auvrai, the tall, blond warrior who was his second-in-command. “I’ll carry Lady Aelia. You take the boy. I want ten men on each of our flanks and the rest of…”
All activity and every conversation going on around Mathieu and Auvrai suddenly ceased. Mathieu looked in the direction of his men’s gazes and saw that Aelia had moved outside.
She might have been wearing a gown of the finest silk, with a circlet of gold upon her brow, yet her garments were merely a common tunic and breeches. She’d straightened those poor clothes and done something to her hair. ’Twas now a glorious mass of golden curls, cascading across her shoulders and down her back. She’d washed her face, and Mathieu could appreciate every feminine feature, from her delicately arched brows to the hint of a cleft in her chin.
Yet he refused to be moved by her beauty. She was his hostage, and her life would be forfeit if Selwyn refused to negotiate. He had no sympathy for her position.
With utter poise, Lady Aelia approached him, stopping at the place where Osric lay curled on his side. “I am ready, Norman,” she said, reaching down to help her brother to his feet. She spoke softly to the lad in their Saxon tongue, then looked unflinchingly at Mathieu, with eyes the clear green of England’s fertile fields.
Mathieu clenched his jaw and turned away, barely noticing the squire who led his horse into camp. He would not be duped by her quiescent manner, or swayed by her comely form. There were far more beautiful women in Normandy, one of whom would become his bride as soon as he returned to London.
Mathieu mounted his horse and Auvrai lifted Lady Aelia up to the saddle in front of him. She felt small and insignificant for all her apparent composure, and he felt her tremble slightly against his armor.
She had good reason to be nervous. Unless Selwyn was strongly motivated to save Aelia’s life, the man would have no reason to negotiate at the cost of losing Ingelwald for himself. As the warrior chosen to wed Wallis’s daughter, Selwyn had become Ingelwald’s legitimate leader. Would the Saxon care more about losing Aelia and her intractable brother, or giving up Wallis’s rich holding in what was certain to be another bloody battle?
Without a doubt, Aelia was a desirable woman. Having spent the night dreaming of her sensual awakening, then observing the noble manner in which she’d approached him just now, Mathieu could not imagine a man in all of England who would not want her.
But Mathieu did not know Selwyn, nor did he know how matters stood between him and the lady.
He pulled down his visor and waited for Auvrai to mount his horse and situate Osric in front of him. A moment later, the rest of the company was ready, and Mathieu led the throng away from camp.
He considered what to do if Selwyn refused to negotiate. There were several trees just outside Ingelwald’s walls. Mathieu had noticed one in particular, with a thick, horizontal branch suitable for hanging. If Selwyn did not surrender, Mathieu would set these two Saxons upon one horse, tie ropes ’round their necks and send the horse a-galloping. The two prisoners would strain and choke as they hung by their necks, and their legs would jerk and quiver as all of Ingelwald witnessed their deaths.
Mathieu took a deep breath and inhaled Aelia’s scent. He felt her softness against him and hardened his thoughts against any unwelcome mercy.
She was his prisoner, nothing more. And there was no excuse for his thoughts to keep returning to his arousing dream, or to wonder if he could make those sighs of pleasure that he’d imagined real. Better to think of Lady Aelia with a stout rope around her pretty neck.
Or not think of her at all.
Mathieu and Auvrai took the main path, while the men who flanked them rode through the sparse woods. Mathieu had decided to approach Ingelwald with only a few men visible. The rest would remain beyond the line of trees near the Saxon holding, awaiting the results of the parley that would take place with Selwyn. He had already instructed the herald, Gilbert de Bosc, on what was to be said, and that he wanted the Saxon’s words translated.
“Will you allow me to speak to Selwyn?” his captive asked.
“I am no fool, Lady Aelia. Either he agrees or he does not. I am prepared for either decision.”
She took a shuddering breath. “If he agrees, then we will become your slaves. If he refuses, then you must execute me. And Osric.”
Chapter Four
’T was still early when they reached the walls of Aelia’s home. The morning was cold and clear, all the better for Selwyn and the others to observe her sitting astride the Norman’s massive steed. To bear witness to her defeat.
Aelia swallowed reflexively. A light breeze ruffled her hair and her muscles tightened in spite of her resolve to appear serene. Her body was so tense with her hatred for this Norman scoundrel, she felt her bones might break if she moved even slightly.
The Norman herald rode forth and blew his horn. Then he called out to those who waited beyond the walls. “Hear ye, men of Ingelwald!”
Aelia clasped her hands into fists in her lap and gazed up at the high battlements. Without a weapon, and with no hope of escape, she could do naught but wait upon Selwyn’s pleasure. Would he trade Ingelwald for her life?
Aelia felt Fitz Autier’s breath in her hair, his powerful arms like steel bands around her. His armored thighs bracketed her hips, making her feel inadequate and small. Fitz Autier was ready for battle, but what about her? She and Osric were unprotected. If Selwyn commanded the archers to fire upon them, Aelia and her brother could easily be wounded or killed.
She glanced over at Osric, who was struggling against the Norman knight who held him fast, and felt an unrelenting urge