Samantha James (12 page)

Alana was puzzled. “But I am a Saxon.”

“And I am Norman,” the other woman stated evenly. “Do you hate me for what I am? For where I was born?”

Alana was unprepared for such bluntness. She shook her head, yet she could be no less than honest with this woman. “I hate what the Normans have done. I hate what your brother has done. And yet—” She spoke haltingly.
“You had no part in what happened here.” She paused. “No,” she said slowly. “I do not hate you, Genevieve of Normandy.”

Genevieve was pleased with her answer. Alana knew it from the way the woman smiled suddenly, the way her eyes warmed to deepest blue. Alana decided in that instant that this woman possessed a beauty not only of the flesh, but of the spirit as well.

“I, too, see no reason why we should be enemies. Indeed, I should hate that, for without you my son might not be alive.” Genevieve spoke softly. “Sometimes I hate that Simon chose to be a knight like his father and uncles. But I know he will not heed the call of the Church.”

A wistful sadness flitted across her lovely features. She sighed. “So while men go off to war, women are left to tend home and hearth, and I truly believe all women are kindred in the hopes and fears they share. The love they bear for their men is ever constant. But men—ah, now their allegiances are ever changing. But that’s enough of men. You must eat, Alana,” she went on, suddenly crisp. “For you must gather your strength.”

Alana did as Genevieve bade her. Not until she’d finished did she realize how famished she’d been. Genevieve took the bowl from her with an approving nod. Alana yawned, suddenly weary beyond measure.

“Pray forgive me,” she murmured with an apologetic smile. “I do not mean to be rude, truly—”

“Oh, you need not apologize.” Genevieve was already drawing up the fur beneath her chin. “Sleep is the body’s way of healing itself and fighting pain.”

Alana glanced at her oddly. “How odd you should say that,” she said slowly. “For my mother used to say the very same.”

“Well, then, I do believe your mother and I would have gotten along quite well—as well as you and I shall.” She squeezed Alana’s fingers then left her alone.

Tired though she was, it was a while before Alana slept. Genevieve was not what she’d expected, though in truth she knew not precisely what she’d expected of Merrick’s sister. She couldn’t help but respond to the woman’s calm serenity. Indeed, her mother had possessed much the same manner, and ’twas that which had allowed her mother to gain the trust of those she treated. Oddly, Alana felt a curious kinship with Genevieve that she had yet to experience with Sybil. The notion made her feel guilty, yet she found she couldn’t help it.

It was the next day before Genevieve pronounced her fit enough to dress and walk about the keep. “We need a chemise and bliaud,” she said briskly. “Where might I find them?”

Alana flushed. “Merrick burned them,” she admitted, feeling supremely awkward. She had the uneasy sensation Genevieve already knew of her relationship with Merrick, though she had said nothing. “He gave me clothing of yours to wear, but I’m afraid it was ruined
when…” She stopped. There was no need to say more.

“Well, no matter. I’ll fetch another for you. I have many that I’ve not worn for years. And indeed, I’ve already given several to your sister. I admit, I was ashamed when she told me how her clothing and all her possessions had been sacked.”

“Sybil?” Alana glanced up in surprise.

“Yes. Merrick took her from the kitchens to act as my maid.” She smiled as if to say,
You see? He can be generous after all
.

Alana was hardly convinced. She could not say what motivated him, but most likely, ’twas hardly generosity. He’d led her to believe he might very well keep Sybil in the kitchens forever—no doubt he’d wanted to see her beg! But she was glad for Sybil. Her own fate might well hang in limbo, but at least Sybil’s plight was not so bad as it had been.

The smile she managed was frugal, and solely for Genevieve’s benefit. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I vow I shall find some way to repay you—”

She wasn’t allowed to finish. Genevieve reached for her hands. “Say no more, Alana! I owe you my son’s life, and that is a debt
I
cannot repay.”

She kept to her chamber those first few days. Those infrequent times she had ventured beyond the securty of her chamber, Genevieve had been with her. Though no one said a word, there were many who stopped and stared—both Norman and Saxon—their gazes rife with glaring condemnation

But one afternoon she was seized by the compulsion to see for herself what they all believed her guilty of. She gave a sigh of relief that the chapel was unoccupied. Had she encountered Father Edgar, she would surely never have summoned the nerve to speak, or even look at him. She walked to the center of the nave, then stopped.

Her gaze swept wide. Her insides began to churn. On the spot where the tall stone sculpture of Christ had extended his hands to his people, naught remained but a grotesque stump. The statue of the Blessed Virgin had no head. The very sight was enough to turn her stomach.

A rustle nearby alerted her to another presence. She whirled to find Sybil just stepping up behind her.

“Sybil! Praise God ’tis only you.” She reached out and embraced her. “I am so glad to see you!”

Sybil smiled slightly. Her eyes flickered over her. “And I you, Alana.”

Alana smiled. “Genevieve told me you are her maid now. I am so glad that you are finally out of the kitchens!”

Sybil’s full lips twisted. “I but toil in a different way, sister.”

Alana’s smile wavered. “Anything is better than serving the Normans. And surely Genevieve treats you far better.”

Sybil shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose.”

Alana frowned. She could not conceive of Genevieve being anything other than what
she’d found her to be, a warm, caring woman of kindness and compassion.

Sybil gazed at her curiously. “I must confess, Alana, I am surprised to find you here. I should have thought this would be the last place you would come.”

Alana bit her lip. “I—I had to see for myself,” she said, her tone very low.

Sybil waved a hand. “Merrick was furious when he saw all that was done. God above, but the walls fairly trembled with his rage! Of course I assured him you could never have done such a thing and begged that he be lenient with you. ‘She’s been punished enough,’ I told him.”

Alana’s hands knotted in her skirts. All at once she wished she had stayed in her chamber. But Sybil seemed oblivious to her distress.

“Oh, Alana, but you should have seen it! Soot blackened the columns near the bell tower. There was mud and dirt and dung everywhere. The floor. Even the walls. Why, never in all my days have I seen such filth—and in God’s house yet!”

A sick sensation knotted Alana’s belly. She needed little help to conjure up all Sybil had described. What madness, she wondered, had wrought such evil? Indeed, what wretched soul would dare to brave the wrath of God…

And Merrick, too.

She shook her head. “I cannot think who would do such a thing.”

“Nor can I.” Sybil sighed. “I had best leave you, sister. Genevieve will be wondering where I’ve gone off to.” She patted Alana’s shoulder and was gone.

Alana remained where she was, still as stone, her mind turning.

Sybil said Merrick had been furious. That she did not doubt. She shivered, for she could not help but wonder what would happen when he returned. She had been so relieved that he was gone and she didn’t have to face him, for she dreaded the prospect with all her heart—and aye, now more than ever!

Did he truly believe her capable of such sacrilege? Her heart cried out, for she was not evil. She was not a witch! She feared the Lord as any other—as every other!

It came to her then…The air of tranquility that should have dwelled here had been violated. A curious tension descended. An eerie chill swept over her, a chill that swept to the very depth of her being. Something had indeed been here…Something evil…

She turned and ran as if she’d been caught in the midst of a wild tempest. Her legs did not stop until she ran through the door of Merrick’s chamber. She slammed the portal closed, then leaned against it to catch her breath.

An eerie prickling ran up her spine.

It seemed she was not alone.

So much for the sanctuary she sought. For indeed, the very person she dreaded most in all the world stood across from her.

Alana felt as if her stomach had dropped clear to the floor and beyond. He had just unbuckled his sword belt and set it aside. Though he no longer wore the trappings of war, the aura of power and might that surrounded him was as potent as ever.

He surveyed her from head to toe. “You look well, Saxon.”

Alana flushed and lowered her eyes. “I am,” she murmured.

She felt his gaze upon her but could not summon the will to meet it. The silence was never-ending.

“I was most eager to return, Saxon. Why do I sense you are hardly as anxious to see me?”

Because I am not
, she almost blurted. She swallowed, desperately seeking the strength to be brave.

He made an impatient sound. “Come now, Saxon. Will you not bid your lord a proper welcome?”

Her curtsy was made clumsily. She was shaking so badly she was certain she would never rise again. Breathlessly she said, “I-I would thank you for—for keeping your word and allowing Sybil to serve as maid to your sister.”

He said nothing for the longest time. When at last he spoke, his words were not what she expected. “Where were you just now, Saxon?”

Reluctantly she raised her chin. His countenance was not so very grim, yet neither did he smile. She could not lie, she realized. She
dared
not lie.

With the tip of her tongue she moistened her lips. “I was…in the chapel.”

“In the chapel. For what purpose?”

His regard was unwavering, but alas, her courage was not. “To—to see the atrocity that was done there. To see…why I was whipped.”

He raised a brow. “I see. You did not know what was done there?”

His words were naught but a trick, she realized. “Nay!” she cried. “Indeed, I was not even aware of it until I returned that morn—”

“Returned? From where?”

Stricken, Alana stared at him. He knew. By the Cross,
he knew
.

“I would ask you again, Saxon. Where were you that morn if not here?”

His features were hard as stone, his voice harder still. Oh, but she would almost prefer to be whipped than bear the sting of his damning glare.

He expected her to lie. Somehow she knew it, but she would not give him the satisfaction. “I went to see Aubrey. Because he is old and has no one to care for him—”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his tone as unyielding as his posture. “I have continued to send one of my men with food most every day, Saxon. So do not dare to accuse me of—”

“I accuse you of nothing! But I must see it with my own eyes! Oh, I do not expect you to understand, but he is dear to my heart. I would know only that he is alive and well!”

Though his jaw tightened, he did not argue further. “And you know nothing of what happened in the chapel?”

She shook her head. “That is why I went there. To see for myself.”

Merrick’s eyes narrowed. “Then why did you look like a frightened hare when you returned just now? Was someone there? What did you see?”

His voice rapped out sharply. Alana shook her head, her gaze wide. “I-I saw nothing. And there was no one there but Sybil.”

“Then why were you running?”

Her lips parted. “I-I do not know.” She dared not tell him what she had sensed. He might think it but more proof she was a witch.

His lips, she saw, had twisted into a faint smile. “You wound me, Saxon,” he murmured. “I thought mayhap you were running because you knew I had returned. Because you were eager to be alone with me.”

Alana’s cheeks deepened to the color of the dawn. He crossed to stand directly before her, so close she could see naught but the breadth of his chest. She swallowed, praying he wouldn’t see her dismay. “You are mistaken, Norman.”

Her body stiffened as he lowered his head. He touched her nowhere yet his mouth hovered but a breath above her own.

“Ah, so quickly I forget, Saxon. You find me repulsive, do you not? Oh, you claim you
detest me so very thoroughly. But I’m given to wonder why I have only to kiss you to feel your body melt close to mine, to feel your heart beat wild and swift against my own.”

Desperation filled her chest. “You have no heart, Norman, else you would not do this to me. I am not such a fool that I don’t know what you would do. But this is naught but a way to punish me!”

His hands came down on her shoulders, disturbingly warm, disturbingly strong. And all at once it was true—the beat of her heart was wild and frenzied.

She gave a faint, choked cry. “No—”

He caught her full and tight against him. “Yes, Saxon.” His whisper was as fierce as hers was tremulous. “
Yes
.”

His mouth came down on hers, hungry and devouring. She could feel the demand in his kiss, in the arms that swept tight around her back. Within but a heartbeat her bliaud lay pooled around her feet. She stood before him clad only in her chemise, so soft and sheer she might well have been naked.

She scarcely knew when he lifted his head and ripped his tunic over it in one fluid move. Her heart jumped at the sight of his chest, wide and awesome. Then once again she felt the stroke of his eyes on her body as surely as the stroke of his hand.

She wrapped her arms around her chest in an attempt to hide her body from his view. She turned her face aside for she knew he looked his fill.

A burning ache stung the back of her throat, even as hot tears stung her eyes. He would do as he wanted…whatever he wanted.

“Look at me, Saxon.”

Alana did not. She
could
not. Instead she bowed her head low.

Merrick’s jaw clenched. Her shoulders were heaving. She was crying, he noted furiously, though she made not a sound.

A vile oath blistered the air. Hard fingers caught at her chin. She cringed visibly, her skin pale as cream. Her eyes were huge and wounded and pleading, shimmering with tears.