Margo Maguire (23 page)

He arched under her, and Aelia’s blood turned to fire. She became reckless as he surged and grew under her ministrations. He slid his fingers into her hair in a silent plea for her to continue, and Aelia did, until she was weak with her own need.

Mathieu moved suddenly, turning and pinning her beneath him. He positioned his body between her legs. “My beautiful Aelia,” he said as he slid into her. She clenched him tightly, throbbing as he plunged deep.

Aelia tried to say his name, but the power of their bond rendered her speechless. He withdrew, then buried himself again, pulling her hips tightly against him. She held on to his arms as he increased their rhythm, the exquisite sensations of their union overpowering her.

Mathieu was not gentle with her. He was a fierce warrior, intent upon conquering her, and he succeeded. He drove deep inside, pushing Aelia to a fiery peak of
pleasure. She wrapped her legs ’round his hips as if to anchor him there. When her climax shuddered through her, Mathieu groaned harshly and trembled, finding his own satisfaction.

He raised himself up on one hand and gazed down at her, then lowered his head and kissed her, even as he pulsed within her. Aelia’s nerves hummed when he deepened the kiss, and her body shattered again, with another burning wave of pleasure that shook her to the depths of her soul.

Tucking her against him, Mathieu rolled to his side and stroked her hair away from her face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered. She knew that was to come later.

“Your hands are scraped raw,” he said, bringing one of them to his lips and kissing it. “And you are bruised.”

Concern was in his eyes, along with the ebbing flow of passion.

“Mmm.” Exhaustion crept up on Aelia again, making her eyelids droop and her body feel heavy.

Mathieu kissed her forehead. “Sleep now.”

Aelia took a deep, shuddering breath. “When we go to London, will you promise me something?” she asked sleepily. “I have no wish to marry one of your peers. Will you use your influence with your king and see that I am given to a household that needs no wife?”

Mathieu had no appetite for the food on the table. He’d been sitting near the fire for some time, gazing into the flames, wondering how long he could delay their departure for London. He heard Aelia moving in their bed, and saw her reach for him in her sleep.

When she did not find him, she awoke and sat up.
Gathering the blanket ’round her, she came to him, taking his hand and pressing it to her cheek. “Come back to bed.”

“No. Sit here with me awhile.” He gathered her onto his lap, touching her hair, stroking her shoulder, until she dozed against him in the warm firelight. She’d been through an ordeal and it wasn’t over yet. Mathieu did not know what would happen when they reached London, nor could he say how much influence he would have with William.

There was one thing that Mathieu was certain of. He could not give Aelia to another man. Something happened to him whenever she was near—it felt as though they were two halves of a whole—and Mathieu knew ’twould be impossible to part with her.

“You lost everything,” she said. “Even your carving. ’Twas so beautiful.”

Her words pleased him. “Aye. The stag was to be the symbol of my house.”

“The wood was from Beorn’s stores,” she remarked quietly. “Father Ambrosius told me you took it as
heriot.
”

He nodded and she kissed him softly.

He doubted that he could abide a marriage with Clarise. The woman was barely known to him, and if she was anything like her cousin, Lady Hélène de Saye, Mathieu would rather pass on the nuptials.

He wanted a virtuous wife who would manage his house graciously and fairly. She should understand the laws of the estate, and most of all, be loyal to him. She should make his blood surge with desire when he looked at her, and welcome him to her bed.

He did not want a mistress. Mathieu wanted a lover in his own hall, under his own roof, bearing his lawful heirs.

The monks found clothes for them. Mathieu did not ask where the holy men had found a woman’s kirtle that fit Aelia, nor did he care where his own tunic had come from. ’Twas better than the one he’d been wearing since the night of the Danes’ attack, though Aelia had insisted upon borrowing a needle and thread in order to rework it so it fit him.

For three days, they did naught but eat, sleep and make love in the small cottage behind the abbey. They tended each other’s wounds and avoided speaking of London, and what awaited them there. Mathieu waited to hear the words again—the words Aelia had said to him before their world had been shattered by the Danes’ attack.

But she said naught.

The abbot requested Mathieu’s presence on the afternoon of the third day. As a Saxon cleric, the man had concerns about King William’s intentions toward the monasteries. Mathieu spent an hour in discussion, reassuring the abbot of the king’s piety and faith, and he bestowed upon the abbey a few of the valuables he’d found in the Danes’ packs. By the time he left the priory, the sun had come out. Mathieu’s mood was light until he returned to the cottage and found it empty.

The fire was cold. There was barely any sign of his occupancy here with Aelia, and the sight of their empty haven made his stomach burn. He stepped outside and saw one of the monks chopping wood nearby. Approaching the man, he asked if he’d seen Lady Aelia.

The monk nodded and pointed to the tree-covered hill behind the cottage. “She went walking, my lord.”

Mathieu knew where she must have gone. They’d walked this path together the previous morning, and at
the top of the hill was an expansive view of all the surrounding lands. ’Twas a restful place.

He followed the path as it climbed uphill through the orchard. When he reached the top, he saw Aelia sitting motionless on the ground, with her back against one of the standing stones that littered the place. Her gaze was on the land below, and she did not notice his presence until he was upon her.

She started when he spoke, rising to her feet and turning her back to him. When she finally faced him, Mathieu’s heart cracked. “You’ve been weeping.”

“Don’t be daft,” she replied with a quick laugh. But her voice sounded thick. Her eyes were reddened, and too moist for Mathieu to be fooled. She pulled her shawl tightly ’round her shoulders. “’Tis only the wind that burned my eyes.”

But he knew better. Their time in the small cottage was nearly at an end. And while his own life would go on as he’d planned, Aelia’s was drastically different from anything she’d ever conceived.

“Try to catch me!” she called as she took off running.

Mathieu was taken off guard and she got a head start, circling ’round the standing stones, heading for the far end of the hill. He ran after her, but allowed her to elude him time and time again. She laughed and shrieked when he almost caught her, but she lifted her skirts and ran off once more.

She was beautiful, with her bright hair shining in the sunshine and her cheeks tinged pink from the cool air and the exertion of the chase. Mathieu could think of nothing he wanted more.

Only Aelia.

He caught up to her and grabbed the back of her shawl, then pulled her toward him. She came into his
arms and pressed her face against his chest, wrapping her arms ’round his waist.

He was not fooled by her jovial manner. ’Twas all a pretense to keep him from knowing she’d been crying all alone up here on the hilltop. Yet there was naught he could say to reassure her. He could not promise that William would allow her to remain unwed, nor could Mathieu promise that he would take care of her.

She was well and truly alone.

“The rain will soon return,” he said. He did not—could not—release her just yet. Not when she held on to him as if the wind would blow her away if he let go.

The evening air had turned cold, but Mathieu and Aelia were warm and content in their room. After supper, they sat together by the fire, as was their habit. Aelia closed her eyes and felt the solid strength of Mathieu’s chest behind her, and swallowed the lump of raw emotion that formed in her throat. They would leave here upon the morrow, and she would not spoil their last night together with her tears.

It had been bad enough that Mathieu had caught her weeping earlier in the day. ’Twould not happen again.

With a gentle touch, he unfastened the laces of her gown and slid it from her shoulders. He leaned forward and touched his lips to her bared skin.

Aelia closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment, fully aware there would never be another one like it. They had not spoken again of London, or what was going to happen there, and Aelia prayed that Mathieu could prevail upon his king to allow her to remain unmarried.

She could never be another man’s wife.

In silence, Mathieu took her to bed and made love to her body as he ravished her heart and soul. Later, she
had difficulty falling asleep and keeping her emotions in check, so she was weary the following morning as she mounted the horse she was to ride on the final segment of their journey.

Taking their leave, they bade farewell to the abbot and monks. Aelia wrapped herself tightly in her cloak against the biting wind that swept across the road.

“Tell me about London,” she said, hoping to take her mind off the biting wind.

“What do you want to know?”

“I suppose it is like Ingelwald, only larger?”

Mathieu’s brows came together for a moment, then he nodded. “Aye. Shops, people… There are many more streets, and large houses.”

“But it is no longer a Saxon city.”

“No. William is quite visibly king.”

“What do you mean?”

“Norman soldiers make their presence known,” Mathieu replied. “And the king is building a new fortress near the bank of the river.”

He described the markets and the churches, but Aelia could not imagine such grandeur. “Where will we find Osric?”

Mathieu did not respond.

“I
will
be permitted to see him before the king sends me…?” She lowered her head and blinked back tears. “I see.”

He reached over and took hold of the reins, stopping the horses. “No. You don’t see.”

She looked away, biting down on her lip to keep it from trembling.

He muttered something unintelligible and released her horse, and they continued on their way.

T
heir arrival in London came much too soon for Mathieu. He dismounted in front of the king’s hall and was met by a guard.

“King William is away at Barking, my lord.”

Mathieu helped Aelia dismount, then approached the guard. “When is he expected back?”

“This evening, baron. There is a feast in honor of—”

“Mathieu!”

“My lord.” Mathieu turned to see Robert, Count of Mortain, coming down the steps. As brother to the king, he was richly dressed, but his finery seemed more conspicuous than usual. Mathieu stiffened at the sight of his own father, Autier de Burbage, equally well dressed, swaggering down the staircase as though he’d just returned victorious from battle.

“So…you managed to rescue the Saxon wench. Raoul de Moreton told us of your misfortune with Danish raiders,” Autier said.

“Aye,” Mathieu replied. “Does it surprise you that I made it back to London?”

“No,” said his father. “Only that you wasted your time and your life going after a Saxon woman.”

Robert motioned to one of the guards. “Take her to Billingsgate.”

Mathieu saw Aelia’s expression of panic. “My lord,” he stated, addressing Robert, “the lady had hopes of seeing her brother.”

“The lad brought here by Raoul?”

Mathieu nodded.

“They will most certainly be reunited,” Robert said with a laugh. He patted Mathieu’s back and propelled him toward the steps, where a crowd of Norman noblemen had gathered, many of them shouting greetings. Mathieu stopped short and turned to Aelia, even though his father’s critical gaze was upon him.

The guard had hold of Aelia’s arm, but his treatment was not unduly rough. Still, Mathieu had no intention of letting her go. “Lady Aelia will stay with me.”

’Twas Autier’s turn to laugh. “I think not, my dear Mathieu. She is the daughter of Wallis, is she not? The king will have his satisfaction for her father’s rebellion.”

“No! She—”

“Come, Mathieu,” said Robert, as two grooms removed the saddle packs and carried them into the hall. “Your peers await you.”

“Your pardon, my lord. I’ll join you shortly.”

Mathieu left the king’s brother on the step and caught up to the guard who had started to lead a very subdued Aelia away. Mathieu had no choice but to go with Lord Robert now, and he could not bring Aelia with him. But he would not leave her this way, afraid and uncertain.

Ignoring his father’s disapproval, he took hold of her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “All will be well, Aelia. I will find Osric and make this right.”

Aelia raised her head, but kept her gaze away from his. Witnessing her struggle for control, Mathieu released her and stepped back. He would not embarrass her here, before all these men, or make their parting any more difficult.

But he would find her as soon as he could get away from the king’s hall. King William would have to deal with them together. “You will answer to me for her treatment,” he said to the guard, who did not reply.

Robert, Autier and all the men who stood at the top of the stairs observed Mathieu’s actions with frank interest. But he offered no explanation when he rejoined them and stepped inside, where it appeared that a celebration of grand proportions was about to take place. Mathieu knew most of the men who had gathered in the hall. Among them were Simon de Vilot, the father of Clarise, and his own brothers, Geoffroi and Thierri.

The enormity of all that had happened hit Mathieu at once. He’d lost the men who’d traveled with him, all but Raoul, and the two who’d remained at Rushton. He’d gained Ingelwald, and the bride of his choice—the lovely Clarise de Vilot. All he had to do was claim her.

But the price was too high if he had to forfeit Aelia.

Billingsgate was not far. As soon as Mathieu had a chance to speak privately with Simon de Vilot, he would leave the hall and go in search of Aelia. Together, they could track down Raoul and Osric.

Then ’twould be necessary to petition King William for permission to wed Aelia. He would have no other wife.

Geoffroi clapped him on his back. “Lord of your own estates now, brother?”

Before he could reply, he heard his father’s voice be
hind him. “I always told William he could count upon you, my son,” he said, a statement that Mathieu knew was untrue. His father had said naught of him to William, while he touted the prowess of Geoffroi and Thierri at every opportunity. Autier’s demeanor was one of haughty disapproval, even as he complimented him.

Mathieu did not mind. Their distaste for each other was mutual.

“We must drink to my son, the conqueror of Northumberland!” Autier called out, handing Mathieu a glass.

But Mathieu was uninterested in his father’s accolades. The highest lords of the realm drank to Mathieu’s success while he gritted his teeth. Somehow he would deal with the problem of his agreement with Simon de Vilot, and take Aelia back to Ingelwald with him. She would be his lady, and no other.

“May I have a few words with you, Mathieu?” asked Lord Simon.

Mathieu followed the man into the next room, where tables were being assembled for the feast. A number of Norman ladies and noblemen milled about near the fire, and Mathieu caught sight of Lady Clarise, talking and laughing in the midst of several young admirers.

Mathieu braced himself to deal with Lord Simon’s anger when he reneged on their agreement. He could not blame the man, but he would not go through with the marriage to his daughter.

“Let us go into the anteroom.”

A woman’s high-pitched laugh caught Mathieu’s attention and he looked back at Clarise. When their gazes met, the lady stopped laughing and her eyes skittered away nervously. More resolute than ever, Mathieu followed Clarise’s father into the next room, but kept his silence while the man lit several candles on the desk.

“I understand you were attacked by raiders on the road,” Simon said, his voice full of concern for the man who would soon be his son-in-law.

Mathieu nodded. “Danes. They’ve been harrying Norman holdings. ’Tis likely the king will need to deal with them soon.”

“How many days’ travel was it from Ingelwald to London?”

Mathieu answered this and many other questions as he considered the best way to withdraw from their marriage agreement. He decided the direct approach would be best, but was sidetracked once again by Clarise’s father.

“Do you know Martin d’Ivry?” Simon asked.

Mathieu nodded. “Aye. He has served the king nearly as long as I. Didn’t I just see him…”

“Aye. Talking with the ladies,” said Simon. “King William has given d’Ivry an estate near Windsor.”

Mathieu clasped his hands behind his back and paced the length of the desk. “He is fortunate, my lord.”

“’Tis very near London.”

“So it is,” Mathieu replied, barely concealing his impatience.

“Fitz Autier, I have some concerns about my daughter’s well-being on a journey all the way to Northumberland. And once there, the isolation of Ingelwald…”

“Aye. ’Tis a far-off place,” Mathieu replied, finally understanding the direction of this conversation. He suddenly felt as though a dark cloud had been lifted from his heart and soul. “Ingelwald is remote. The nearest estates are leagues away.”

Simon rubbed a hand over his face and looked away. “I am in a quandary, Fitz Autier. You see, my daughter…er, she is loath to live so far from…civilization.
And d’Ivry has offered for her hand. Not to fault him—he was unaware of our agreement.”

“I see,” said Mathieu. His relief was palpable. “I understand your concerns, my lord. But you and I had an understanding, even though no documents were signed.”

“Aye. We did,” said Simon. Worry weighed heavily upon him, from the crease between his brows to the slope in his shoulders. He looked up at Mathieu. “I would barter with you, Fitz Autier. King William was so confident of your victory at Ingelwald, he has already named you its lord. There can be little else you desire, but for an old man’s peace of mind, try to think of something. I will use all my influence to convince the king to grant it to you.”

Mathieu stopped moving. “Agreed.”

Simon sank into a chair. “What then? Name whatever it is.”

“Ask the king to grant me one favor, as unconventional as it may be.”

Aelia did not understand why the guard had been ordered to take her to a house on the river, rather than Billingsgate—the place where Mathieu thought she’d be. She found herself more frightened now than she’d been with the Danes.

The tall Norman lord with dark blue eyes had changed the first lord’s order for some reason, and his penetrating gaze made her skin crawl. She jerked her arm from the guard’s grip and turned to speak to the man. “Please, sir,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Will you see to it that Baron Fitz Autier is told where they’re taking me?”

The richly dressed lord stood silent, looking at her
with frank curiosity. Then he gave a slight shake of his head and muttered a few words that Aelia could barely hear. Her heart shattered when she realized what he said.

“Rid the bastard of his Saxon whore.”

The guards took her away before she could react. These Normans had conquered her land, and she knew she could expect no mercy—except from Mathieu—but only if he could find her.

She’d asked the guards about Sir Raoul and Osric, but they did not answer her questions, nor would they agree to take a message to Mathieu. They left her at a grand house, where two more Norman guards locked her into a room.

Aelia struggled against her confinement, pounding on the door and shouting until her voice was hoarse, but no one returned for her. She’d been abandoned; now she was trapped.

The room was empty, but for a chair against the far wall, beside the window. Aelia pushed open the shutters and looked down into the street, but it was no means of escape. She was much too high to jump.

She wrapped her arms ’round her middle and leaned her back against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor with her knees to her chest. ’Twas hopeless. Mathieu had done what he’d been charged to do—bring her and Osric to London. She was at the king’s mercy now. Mathieu didn’t even know where to find her.

Aelia did not know how many hours passed while she sat in the cold little room. But guards finally came for her. ’Twas no reprieve. They tied her hands and took her down a dark staircase and out of the house. They crossed a courtyard encircled by a tall fence, and entered a smaller
building. From there, she and a dozen other prisoners were loaded into a wagon and driven away from the yard.

With futile desperation, she hoped Mathieu would come for her.

But as the hour came closer to dusk, Aelia and the others arrived at a harbor where the largest boats she had ever seen were docked. And she suddenly knew her fate.

“Is this the sea?” she asked one of her fellow prisoners.

“No. ’Tis the river. But it leads into the sea. They’re taking us to France.”

Aelia could not breathe. If Mathieu had wanted to find her, wouldn’t he have done so before now?

“I cannot go! Let me off,” she cried, pushing her way to the gate at the back of the wagon. Mathieu might have forsaken her, but she would not do the same to Osric.

“Get back!” shouted the guard. He shoved her down, but Aelia scrambled to her feet.

“I must find my brother!”

The men unloaded their passengers and led them to the ship.

“Please! I was brought here to see your king. I demand—”

The Norman guards laughed in her face, then pushed her forward. “When the king returns, we’ll be sure to tell him you were here.”

It was some time before Mathieu was able to take his leave of King William’s brother and the rest of the gathering, and he was allowed to go only with his promise to return in time for the fete. He avoided his father and brothers and went directly to Billingsgate in search of Aelia, but she was not there.

“There must be some mistake. I heard Lord Robert’s orders to have her brought here!”

“Aye, my lord, but they were changed.”

Mathieu’s voice became low and dangerous. “Find me someone who knows where Lady Aelia was taken.”

All of Billingsgate’s knights scrambled to find an answer, but none had seen the lady. They’d only heard rumors of the comely Saxon slave brought by Fitz Autier from the northern country.

Mathieu mounted his horse. Surely Raoul would know where they’d taken her. He would also know where to find Osric.

There was an inn about a mile upriver where Mathieu and his men had lodged weeks ago, before leaving for Northumberland. Raoul had favored one of the Saxon serving maids there, and Mathieu had no doubt that was where he would find the knight.

He rode through the streets, passing several markets as he went in search of Raoul. When he finally reached the inn and went inside the noisy, crowded common room, he found Raoul coming down the main stairs.

Their parting after the Danes’ attack had been tense, but they embraced now as brothers. “I need your help,” Mathieu said.

“Mathieu, I offer my apologies for all I said. When they took your Saxon lady, I realized—”

“Let’s go outside.”

They pushed through the crowd and left the inn. Mathieu followed as Raoul circled ’round to the back of the building. “I need your help to find Aelia.”

“I knew I should have gone with you. When do we leave?”

“You don’t understand,” Mathieu said. “She is here in London.”

Raoul gave a low whistle. “You caught up to the Danes and rescued her?”

Mathieu nodded. “But Robert de Mortain’s guards took her into custody before I could stop them,” he said, regretting that he had not spoken up and prevented her detainment right then. “I was a fool to let them take her.”

“And defy Lord Robert? Mathieu, you might be on good terms with him, but he
is
the king’s brother.”

“Where would they have taken her?”

“Billingsgate.”

“No. I tried there.”

Raoul scratched his head. “Some prisoners are being taken to the king’s new fortress on the river, south of here. Mayhap she’s there.”

Mathieu’s sense of relief was fleeting when they arrived at the tower and spoke to the guards. They quickly learned Aelia had never been brought there.