Samantha James (10 page)

She gasped. “What is this? Are you mad? You burned my home. My possessions. And now you burn my clothes!”

“Saxon,” he said calmly. “You are mine now. I will provide for you.”

“Provide for me?” She cried her outrage. “I have naught else to wear and you know it!”

He didn’t answer. Instead he went to the chair near the hearth. There he picked up a neatly folded pile that she hadn’t before noticed.

She eyed him warily as he retraced his steps. “I believe you’ll find these more than adequate, Saxon.” One by one he displayed the articles. Alana couldn’t help but stare. There was a chemise, a bliaud of dark forest green, even a pair of soft doeskin slippers.

“’Tis up to you, of course,” Merrick continued. “Indeed, I harbor no objection if you choose to remain in your present state.” Alana flushed as he raked her scantily clad figure from head to toe. “I find your form quite lovely, indeed, Saxon.”

Alana swallowed and tore her attention from his face. Unbidden, one hand stole out to finger the chemise. It was spun of delicate cloth, finer than any she’d seen in all her days. She was completely unaware her features betrayed a wistful longing.

Her expression didn’t escape Merrick. “Well, Saxon? I had thought these would meet with your approval. Was I wrong?”

Alana bit her lip. “Sybil told me most of her belongings were taken from her,” she said slowly, her tone very low. “If these are hers—”

“They are not, Saxon. They are my sister Genevieve’s. I brought with me some of her possessions from Normandy. Rest assured, she has no need of them.” His eyes glinted. She sensed he expected her to argue.

But all at once that was the last thing on Alana’s mind. When Merrick resumed his post near the window, she hurriedly slipped the chemise over her head. It was all she could do to hold back an exclamation of delight—
never had she felt anything so smooth and delicate! The bliaud came next. She had no girdle to tie at her hips, but she cared not. With her hands she smoothed the soft, thick folds. The slippers came last. Alana wiggled her toes in delight, for they were a perfect fit.

But when she looked up, a jolt went through her. Merrick stepped before her. Eyes like a sword’s point slashed over her, leaving no detail of her appearance uninspected. To her shock and dismay he took her hand and brought it to his lips.

“Why, Saxon”—he smiled, his gaze never leaving hers “—you are truly a vision. Your beauty would surely vie with any—even the fairest in the land.”

Alana flushed and tried to tug her hand free. His grip merely tightened. He brought her close, so close she felt trapped by his nearness, surrounded by his strength and masculinity. Her pulse raced madly. Her heartbeat quickened.

She swallowed. “Release me,” she said.

He shook his head. “Nay, Saxon. Nay, for I do believe a token of your gratitude is due.”

Her gaze, wide and distressed, fixed upon his rugged features. “For what?” She could scarcely force the sound past the dryness in her throat.

“Why, what else? The gown.”

“The gown is your sister’s, not yours,” she said quickly. But her fingers, trapped securely within his, were suddenly icy cold.

“Ah, but ’tis through my generosity that you wear it. Reward my efforts.”

All at once she felt ill at ease and very much the imposter dressed in such finery. After all, she was no lady. Indeed, she had no finely jeweled girdle circling her hips, nor even a wimple. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, thick and unrestrained. No doubt his sister was very much a lady, she thought, an odd pain knotting her breast. He ridiculed her most cruelly!

Hot tears appeared without her knowing it. Her breath caught, and so did her voice. “You—you play with me, Norman.”

His hands were on her shoulders now, searing her with their warmth. “Then let us play no longer,” he whispered.

She made one curt, abortive movement—alas, in vain! She was caught fast within his binding hold. She had no time to twist away, nor even to think, before his mouth came down on hers.

But this was not the bruising assault she had last endured at his hands. There in her cottage he had been ruthlessly intent. Indeed, he had sought to punish, to possess her. Only now, now it was as if he sought to please instead.

His kiss was sweetness and magic, compellingly seductive. With naught but the pressure of his mouth, first here, then there, he stole the very breath from her lungs. Against all reason, all instinct, she felt herself weakening, drawn beneath his spell. His arms tightened around her. She was drawn so close she could feel
the brand of his legs full and tight against her own, and all that lay between…

A flicker of fear shot through her, yet she could not summon the willpower to withdraw. She could only cling to him, as if she possessed no strength of her own. No
will
of her own.

From somewhere there was an odd drumming. The sound came as if from very far away. Someone was banging on the door, she realized in some dim, cobwebbed corner of her mind.

The sound came again, more demanding this time.

“My lord,” a voice called.

Merrick broke away with a curse. Seconds later he wrenched the door open. One look at his thunderous expression and the soldier on the other side gave a hasty salute.

“My lord, there is a messenger belowstairs,” he said quickly. “Your sister has safely made the crossing from Normandy and awaits your escort from London.”

In the hall, Merrick belted his sword around his hip. From the narrow enclosure that led to the stairway, Alana saw his gaze sweep the length of the hall and back, as if searching for someone. Belatedly it occurred to her that she was the one for whom he searched. Though she tried to retreat back into the shadows, he spied her there. All too soon he stopped before her.

“I would have your word, Saxon, that you will be here upon my return.”

Alana was proud of the way she faced him unflinchingly. “Would it truly matter if I were not?” she asked daringly.

His handsome features grew taut. “Aye,” he stated, and she knew from the coldness of his tone that she had stirred his fury, “it would. I am your lord and conqueror, Saxon—your
Norman
conqueror. You will do as I say.”

More than anything, Alana yearned to slap the bronzed plane of his cheek. If only she had the courage, she thought bitterly.

Within minutes he was riding off. Alana didn’t linger to witness his departure.

In truth, she was heartily grateful that he was gone. She couldn’t help it, for she shuddered to think what might have happened if not for the interruption. God in heaven, she knew not what had come over her. The sweetness of his kiss had caught her unaware. She had been perilously close to yielding to something she didn’t fully understand. She knew only that to do so was to give in to
him
.

But now she would be wary. Now she would be on guard against it…against him.

She discovered the next morning that Merrick had given orders that a high wooden palisade be constructed around the keep. Radburn was one of those who had been chosen to help. Alana saw him one day; the chains around his wrists and ankles were gone. Though she was vastly relieved, her lip tightened as she overheard some of Merrick’s men discuss his plans; it was apparently his intent to turn Brynwald into a veritable stronghold. Alana’s emotions
simmered and churned. The Saxons had possessed no enemies until the Normans. Until
him
. Her lips compressed. One could expect naught else but the vile Norman way…for he was but a vile Norman!

So it was that she had no trouble willing her mind from him whene’er it chanced to stray—a pity it displayed the annoying tendency to do so in a most persistent fashion!

The time passed more quickly than she expected, though she’d never been one to keep herself idle. She was almost certain that some vile poison had caused Simon’s illness, but the morning of Merrick’s departure she was amazed at how much better the boy was, though he was still obviously weak. Though he grumbled long and heartily, Alana insisted he stay abed. But on the following day the boy protested his confinement and arose to resume his duties. The morning after it was as if he’d never sickened at all.

In a blatant disregard of Merrick’s orders, she resumed working in the kitchen and serving the table. At first, Sybil was tight-lipped and curt when she saw Alana’s fine clothing. Though Alana had hardly forgotten the malicious words Sybil had flung at her, ’twas not in her nature to be spiteful in return, especially not to her sister. Nay, she would forgive her both now and then, for no one knew more than she how Sybil suffered. Thankfully it wasn’t long before Sybil’s manner began to thaw.

And indeed, she shared Sybil’s distaste for serving Merrick’s soldiers. Though some
leered and jeered openly, others regarded her with dark suspicion. But none made a move to touch or fondle her, not even Raoul.

She was also glad of Merrick’s absence for another reason. She knew he wouldn’t have allowed her to visit Aubrey again, not after learning she’d intended to escape him. Though Aubrey was old, he’d always proclaimed he was well able to take care of himself. But his weariness when last she’d seen him concerned her. Alana couldn’t help but worry anew.

Merrick or no Merrick, she would not be kept from seeing Aubery.

The opportunity arose early one morning, when Merrick had been gone nearly a sennight. Since she had no desire to appear his whore, she hadn’t continued to sleep in his chamber. Instead she had taken a pallet next to Sybil off the hall with the other Saxons.

She awoke early. A predawn light filtered in through the shutters. Knowing that she could sleep no longer, Alana rose and wandered to the hall. There she stood at the edge of the wide arched doorway. Peering out into the early gray morn, she saw that the night watchman’s chin was slumped upon his chest. He was asleep!

A glimmer of excitement gathered in the pit of her stomach. If she could sneak by him, there would be time to hurry to the village. Once she’d seen Aubrey and assured herself he was well, the whole of the keep would be awake and tending to their morning duties.
With the work on the palisade and so many others milling about, she should have no trouble sneaking back to the hall. With luck no one would even notice she was missing.

Minutes later she clasped her hands together as she stopped before Aubrey’s hut—it had worked!

Aubrey, too, was already awake. His eyes lit up when she slipped inside his hut.

“Alana! Faith, girl, I wondered when I might see you again!”

She smiled shakily and embraced him. “I know,” she whispered. “I won’t be gone again so long, I promise.”

She saw to his morning meal and stoked the fire. He appeared far better than when she’d left him last time, but he took exception to her inquiries into his health.

“Aye, I’m weary,” he said with a glare. “Were your bones as ancient as mine, you would be, too, girl.”

Such fire was more like the Aubrey she knew and loved so well. She left soon after, the burden on her heart a little lighter.

As she neared the keep, she lowered her vision. An eerie sensation prickled her spine. Was it her imagination, or did it seem much quieter than she expected? Her heartbeat set up a rapid tattoo. Dear God, she prayed that she’d not been missed, for Merrick would be furious if he should find out…

All at once there was a bloodcurdling scream.

“There she is!” someone shouted.

One of the women from the village screamed and thrust her child behind her.

“Aye, she’s the one that did it!” bellowed another. “Who else would dare to do such a thing in God’s house?”

Alana froze. They were all staring, she realized numbly. Staring at
her
.

Bemused, her gaze darted from one face to another and yet another. She saw not only fear, but anger, an anger she didn’t understand.

“What?” she cried. “What do you mean? Why do you stare at me so?”

A burly Norman soldier planted himself squarely before her. “We are not fools, witch,” he sneered. “We know what you did in the chapel!”

Alana swallowed a sickly fear, afraid of what she saw in him, what she sensed. “I’ve not been to the chapel! I’ve been to the village, to visit Aubrey!”

The soldier sneered. “So you would pretend you know nothing of how the chapel was desecrated, the holy altar ruined, statues of our Lord and his saints smashed to a thousand pieces?”

“Please, I beg of you! I-I have done nothing!”

A small crowd began to gather around. She could almost feel their hatred, as if it pulsed with a life all its own. Inside she began to shake.

“Ah, but we know what you did,” someone shouted. “We know what you are, and you are a witch.”

“She deserves to be punished!” another shouted. “She deserves to be whipped!”

“Aye, she deserves to be whipped,” came the chant.

Someone grabbed her arm. She was whirled around so forcefully her head spun wildly. Then a hand at her back shoved her forward. She landed hard upon her hands and knees in the mud.

It happened so quickly she had no chance to prepare herself or to defend herself. She screamed as the first blow came. The bite of the lash cut cleanly through her clothing, stripping away the skin with shattering force. The second blow came, even more violent than the first. She bit her lip so fiercely she drew blood, for never had she felt such agony. The lash bit again and again. Alana crouched low, covering her head with her hands, praying it would end soon.

A hand in her hair pulled her head up. Dazed and half-numb with pain, she opened her eyes. Sybil’s face swam in and out of focus. A malicious smile curled her lips, as if she hated her. A voice at her ear whispered, “Your gown is not so fine now, eh, sister?”

A blow came again. A low whimper broke from her lips. She couldn’t help it. Blackness fringed the edge of her vision, threatening to engulf her.

“Bloody Christ! What goes on here?”

Pain and darkness surrounded her. She felt the thunder of footsteps, the presence of yet another. It came from a very great distance
away, but she knew that voice of steel, that hand that swept across her shoulders.