His Enemy's Daughter (14 page)

Her breathing had almost returned to normal when she heard voices coming down the corridor towards her chambers. The heat crept back into her cheeks as she thought of how she would explain what had happened when Gytha and Aldys asked her of it. And they would. She'd not yet thought of what words to say when they entered the room.

Though they stopped and must have been staring at the sight before them—the table, the meal consumed, two cups of wine, their dishevelled mistress… Oh! She'd forgotten her appearance! He'd pulled her hair free of the braid and it must be obvious what they were about from that and the veil that he'd tossed aside. They never spoke of it, only asked how she'd enjoyed her food.

Unable to talk about what had happened, she complained of pains in her head and found herself under the bedcovers shortly thereafter. Aldys sat with her for a short while, but left when Sybilla gave her leave to.

Exhausted from the events of the day and confused by the events of the evening, Sybilla expected to fall asleep instantly.

 

Hours later, long after the keep and manor had quieted for the night, she lay tossing and turning in her bed—her body pulsing with the strange excitement he'd caused deep within her and her mind trying to sort through the possible reasons for his bewildering offer.

If he desired her and intended to keep Alston, why did he offer her freedom from him?

T
oo restless to sleep and too aroused to even rest, Soren walked. A difficult thing to do at night, for the vision of just one eye limited how well he could see things in the dark. The moon lit his way and he was tempted to seek out the cold comfort offered by the stream, but decided to just walk.

He'd not planned to bed her this night, but when the opportunity presented itself and she seemed willing, he'd had to touch her. It was his undoing, for one touch, one taste of her skin, was not enough and drove him to seek more and more. Sybilla probably did not even realise how aroused she became in his arms. Her body answered his every touch, arching and heating, swelling and tightening…

He untied the leather hood and pulled it off. Ah, much cooler without it. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead again. Reliving her reactions even in his thoughts was far too arousing.

And it brought back many memories about the man he used to be and the ease with which he could and did seduce women.

Before.

He stumbled then over a rock in his path that he did not see in the dim light thrown by the moon. Served him right to be trying this when so distracted by his innocent siren of a wife who had held back at the last possible moment from giving herself to him.

Though he could completely understand her lack of trust—after all, he had just threatened to destroy everything she had—he wanted it. He could not restore her sight, just as no one could restore his body to what it had been, but he thought that giving her back her usefulness would be a good thing.

Soren understood that she believed she had nothing to offer to her people now. He knew that she felt unable to do any task she'd done before in service to Alston and her father. She did not realise, as he had not at first, that her mind was the most important part of her and that her experience and knowledge was valuable, more so than whether she could sew or weave.

He rounded the south-west corner of the wall and stopped.

Weaving.

He remembered old, nearly blind women in the village where he grew up weaving almost without seeing the work before them, once someone had set up the warp threads in the colours needed. They had guided the weft threads with a shuttle back and forth, weaving cloth. Sybilla would never be able to weave large, intricately patterned tapestries, but she could work on cloth
or simple designs. Smiling, he wondered where his men had discarded the broken loom when they took it from her chambers.

Would God further damn him for lying to the priest? For Soren had no intention of putting Sybilla aside if she remained blind. It was an answer to a prayer for him and he cared not if the Church or others considered it an impediment. He considered it a godsend, a blessing, in his otherwise cursed existence and he offered up a prayer nightly for it to continue.

Soren had not told her the whole truth of the matter between them and she might have sensed that withholding. He knew, though he would never admit it to anyone, that if her sight returned, she would never be able to look at him as anything other than the demonic-looking monster he resembled—torn skin stretched over badly healed bones, scars running across his head and down the length of his back and worse. He knew she would never want to remain married to him and he would never be able to tolerate the sight of horror in her gaze, so he would free her either way.

He had not lied to her about needing her help in Alston. What he truly offered her in return was not of necessity her freedom, but a chance to gain some confidence and experience at living blind in a place she knew before leaving here to live elsewhere. Just as he had had to relearn how to walk and see and fight and ride, she would need to do the same. What better place than Alston, where she probably knew every path and corner? But Soren held back from mentioning that because Sybilla was nearing the time when pity would break her spirit.

Soren knew it was coming because he'd lived it.

Taking responsibility for his actions meant he would give her the best chance at surviving the dark night that was coming ever closer for her.

He dearly wanted to talk his plan over with someone and wished Brice would arrive with the men who would serve under him and so he could talk with a friend. As much as he hated to think of it, he needed help in this endeavour. He needed someone he could trust.

Soren reached the gate for the fourth time and decided he had walked enough. He would check for the remnants of the loom in the donjon of the keep and then retire for the night. He had much to do in the morning.

Finding the broken frame, with its threads yet hanging with their small clay weights in place, pleased him. With no experience in working with wood or weaving, he could not tell if the loom could be repaired or if a new one must be built, but there were men here familiar with both and he would seek them out for their advice in the morning.

As he walked back to the kitchen, he noticed a couple talking in the shadows near the doorway to the yard. He recognised both of them immediately—Larenz and that she-dragon Aldys who served Sybilla.

Interesting…

Soren had not taken note with whom the old man kept company of the feminine kind; however, this would work out well for his plan. He needed someone he could trust and someone Sybilla would as well. He would speak to Larenz in the morn and gain his co-operation.

When he reached the small chamber he'd claimed as his own, Soren believed things might work out between him and Sybilla—he would gain a wife, at least a tem
porary one, and she would gain the chance to build her confidence before leaving Alston for a new life.

Or before accepting her blindness and staying with him.

 

After Sybilla's disturbed night, the rains and wind outside made her want to stay curled up in her bed for the day. The storms forced most to seek shelter inside, but she could hear the sound of men fighting in the yard in spite of the conditions. Every so often, Lord Soren's voice could be heard above the others, calling out commands or instructions to his men. When Gytha and Aldys arrived, she dismissed them and remained in bed, pleading the same head pains of last evening. Aldys returned every short while to make certain she was well, but even knowing she would do that did not spur Sybilla to get out of bed.

The men finished training and just in time, for the clouds began to pour unrelenting rain down by mid-morn and the thunder and lightning made outside a dangerous place to be. She had dragged herself out of bed and had managed to find the garments she needed to wear. The
syrce
was easy enough to get into, but the laces of the
cyrtel
would be impossible without help. Sybilla hoped Aldys would come back soon, for she was forced to sit with her outer gown open down her back until she did. She pulled a blanket from the bed and draped it over her shoulders to keep the chill away. As soon as she heard the door open and Aldys come in, Sybilla jumped up and turned her back to the door.

‘Aldys, my laces, pray thee to hasten and tie them,'
she said, shivering as she dropped the blanket to expose the laces.

The hands that took the laces were not her maid's.

She began to pull away, but he grabbed her and steadied her on her feet in front of him. Lord Soren, she could tell now when he chuckled.

‘Not Aldys, but I think I can conquer the laces of your…what do you call it, lady? Ah,
oui
, your
cyrtel
, as it is called here?' His hands took hold of the laces and began tightening them along their length. She could feel the heat in them and he touched her back more than once when he slipped his fingers under the gown to smooth the
syrce
under it.

Her traitorous body remembered his touch and she fought the rising heat in her blood as he worked behind her. How would it feel if he untied the laces and slid his hands inside and around to touch her breasts as he had last evening? If he pushed the
cyrtel
off her shoulders and pulled her against the hardness of his chest? If he—

‘There, Sybilla. You are tied,' he reported as he stepped away.

Her cheeks must be flushed red and the tips of her breasts pushed against her clothing. Would he notice such things? Certainly he would! A man of his experience with women would know the signs of arousal and know success and seduction were at hand. No doubt he watched for them in every encounter when he had identified his prey. She took a breath and released it, trying to regain some control over her wayward reaction to even the nearness of him.

‘My thanks, Lord Soren,' she said.

‘Soren is my name, Sybilla. I would have you use it between us.'

So said the serpent to Eve in the Garden of Eden.

She changed the topic. ‘I do not know where Aldys went off to,' she said, taking a few steps forwards, hopefully not into a wall.

‘I sent her off on an errand for me,' he informed her. ‘She should return shortly to you.'

They would be alone, then, until her maid returned. Sybilla turned around trying to judge from his position where she might be standing, but had lost her bearings when he touched her. He grasped her hand then and tugged.

‘Here, here is your chair,' he said, pulling her a few paces and then placing her hand on the wooden arm. She sat down and tugged the blanket, still in her hands, over her.

‘I would ask a boon of you, if you do not mind, Sybilla.'

He stood across the chamber now and she relaxed a bit. ‘A boon, Lord…Soren?' It would take her some time to address him in such a familiar way.

‘Your cold rains here wreak their havoc on my—injuries. May I use your chambers again for a bath?' he asked.

‘Is your home warmer than England?' she asked, trying not to think of him in her chambers, naked. Instead, she realised that he'd never spoken of anything about his home to her, leaving her with only Gytha's gossip gleaned from Stephen.

‘Oui,'
he said. ‘Aye. The sea breezes and the sun
warm the lands there. Bretagne is a beautiful place,' he explained.

‘Alston and England are beautiful,' she added, feeling as though she needed to defend the honour of her land. ‘But it does rain frequently.' It was true, but she had no knowledge or experience of places other than this one. She'd travelled only as far as Hexham once with her father, so she had little to compare to it.

‘So, may I call for a bath?' he asked again.

‘Aye, Lord…Soren. When do you wish it?'

The servants would need time to heat the water and set it up here. And she would need time to be elsewhere, she thought, developing a sudden urge to visit the kitchens and thank the cook for his efforts with last evening's meal.

‘I had hoped your answer would be
oui
, for I sent Aldys with my request before coming here.'

She stood up, clutching the blanket to her, and nodded. She'd been counting her paces these last few days, much as Guermont did when he escorted her, and she knew that the door was six paces from the chair. Counting them, she reached it when she felt him approach behind her.

‘You do not need to leave, Sybilla.'

‘I will give you privacy, my lord,' she said, reaching out for the latch.

‘I frightened you last evening and I apologise for that boldness,' he offered softly.

He did not scare her as much as her body's reaction to him did. That a complete stranger could touch her so intimately and her body would urge her on for more was beyond belief to her. Sybilla lifted the latch.

‘Where will you go?' he asked, not moving from behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her face.

‘I have not been to the hall in many days. I think I will visit with those there,' she said, trying to sound confident in her choice.

‘Here, then, take my arm and let me escort you there,' he offered.

With the way she trembled, it was a good suggestion, for she suspected that she would tumble down the steps instead of walking down them. He lifted her hand onto his arm and pulled the door open. As they walked to the stairs, she noticed he was wet. And cold. They reached the steps and he waited as she found the rope there. He surprised her more by following Guermont's practice of taking each step by itself and counting off as they moved down them.

From the sounds as they approached, many had sought refuge from the storms in the hall. Because of the flurry of attacks in the area, Guermont had informed her Lord Soren had ordered those in the village to move into the manor. So, it was a busy place now, but it quieted as they walked in.

Other than his soldiers, she'd known everyone in Alston since her birth or theirs, but she felt as though among strangers. Not being able to see them made it all uncomfortable for her. Lord Soren guided her, whispering directions as they walked to the front of the hall and the main table that remained in place at all times.

‘Bring the lady a chair,' he called out as they made their way forwards. She heard the scrambling of people and then Lord Soren brought them to a stop. He lifted her hand from his arm and positioned her so she could
sit. Leaning over to adjust the blanket, he spoke softly to her.

‘It is a score of paces forwards, then another to the right to reach the stairs,' he said. ‘But I will send Guermont to you if you need to return to your chambers before I am finished.'

The heat struck at his words, and the flush of it filled her cheeks. He'd done it a-purpose, she knew he had. She waited for him to leave before allowing herself to be at ease there. Sybilla knew when he'd gone, for the people had been silent while he escorted her and now the usual noise of so many in one place began anew. It took but a few minutes before someone approached her. Sybilla spoke to every one of them, asking them about their family and their well-being. It seemed to go on for a long time before she realised where she was sitting.

Sliding her hands along the ornately carved wooden arms, she recognised it for what it was—the lord's chair. Then, as she sat in what used to be her father's chair, the weight of it all crashed down on her.