Samantha James (5 page)

When the boy had gone, Merrick gestured to the tray. “I thought you might be hungry, Saxon.”

Alana hesitated. There was a generous hunk of bread on the tray, the aroma of which made her mouth water. In addition, there was a small wedge of cheese. Sharp pangs of hunger knotted her belly, reminding her that she’d had very little to eat in the last
day. Sybil had passed her a hunk of mutton last eve, but she’d been so nervous she could eat but a small portion, and instead had fed it to the mongrels who roamed the hall.

But she eyed Merrick warily, for she could think of no earthly reason why he should think of her needs…or perhaps she had found the reason after all.

“You are right, Norman. I
am
hungry. But I cannot help but wonder what I must give in return for this meal.”

His eyes flickered, as if she had caught him off guard. But then he smiled, that dangerous smile she was coming to know far too well. “Mayhap a better question would be this, Saxon…what
would
you give?”

His gaze fell to her breasts. Alana resisted the urge to cover her breasts with her hands, for she knew the thinness of her bliaud hid little of her shape. Her face flamed even as her spine stiffened.

He laughed. “A pity, Saxon, for I see the prospect distresses you.”

“Distress?” Her chin tipped high while her blow struck low. “Make no mistake, Norman. ’Tis disgust and naught else!”

His smile withered. For just an instant, his expression tightened in displeasure. Yet when he spoke his tone was oh-so-pleasant. “I can see the night has only sharpened your tongue. Mayhap your mood would be far more agreeable were you to break your fast.”

Her gaze had shifted to the tray. She was not
aware that he noted very keenly the longing in her eyes she could not quite hide.

He gently grasped her elbow and pulled her forward. Tearing off a hunk of bread and slicing a wedge of cheese with his dagger, he set it on a small wooden trencher and placed it directly before her. “Eat,” he said gruffly. “I am not such a brute as you think that I would seize you while you avail yourself of the sustenance you need so sorely.”

Alana flushed. Though always slender, she had never been quite so thin as she was now. She sat on the chair he pushed over for her. Placing her fingertips on the edge of the trencher, she cast a tentative glance at him from beneath her lashes.

“There is more than enough for both of us,” she murmured. “I would share it—”

He shook his head. “There is no need. Eat your fill and think no more of it.”

His tone was brusque, yet not so very unkind. Still, she was vastly relieved when he turned his back on her and moved to replenish the fire. Chewing on a doughy crust of bread, she watched him as he retreated across the chamber. Light flooded in as he threw the shutters wide. He remained there, his back to her, and eventually she forgot him entirely as she assuaged her hunger.

He approached just as she finished. Flustered to find him so near, Alana scooted the trencher back onto the tray and arose. To her surprise, Merrick extended a hand for it.

“I will take it back to the kitchens,” she
said quickly. “No doubt they have need of me—”

But once again he shook his head. “You may help serve the evening meal. For now, you may do as you please.” His features turned stern. “But do not leave the keep,” he warned, “for I promise you—”

Whatever feelings of softness she might have felt for him were destroyed in that instant. “Never tell me,” she said bitterly. “I will regret it, will I not?”

His smile was brittle. At the door he gave her a slight bow. “It pleases me that we understand each other so well, Saxon.”

Alana clamped her jaw shut. She slapped the table with her palm as soon as he was gone. Her mood was no longer tame. “It pleases him,” she echoed furiously. Oh, but he was an arrogant, selfish bastard—just like the master he served!

It was some time before the spate of temper eased. She paced the length of the chamber and back, time and again. The soft line of her mouth was mutinous when at length she came to a halt before the window. There she looked out upon the courtyard.

Gradually she became aware of all that went on below her. In a keep as large as Brynwald there would always be a need for rushlights, and in the center of the yard a handful of women were so engrossed. Some peeled rushes, which were then passed on to others to be soaked in fat before being bound into place. Near the stables several horses were being led back into their stalls.

But all at once there was a flurry of activity. Near the gate a handful of Norman soldiers rushed forward, shouting and pointing. From the look of them, they clearly thought the intruder a menace. Alana caught sight of a drab brown tunic, then shaggy gray hair and stooped shoulders. A strangled cry broke from her lips.

For the man now surrounded by angry Norman soldiers was none other than Aubrey.

S
econds later she was outside in the yard, intent on weaving and darting her way through the crowd that had begun to gather. A cluster of soldiers had started toward Aubrey.

Her head was bare, as were her feet. Her hair flew out behind her like a banner of sunlit gold. Stones and twigs cut into the soles of her feet. She paid no heed but forged on like a knight at full tilt.

“Hold, old man!” shouted one of the Normans.

She could hear Aubrey, his voice vibrating with rage. “You will not stop me, man, nor will your army. I will see the girl Alana, brought here by your fiendish lord Merrick!”

With that he took his staff and swiped at the ankles of the nearest soldier. The man’s legs buckled beneath him.

Alana’s heart jumped in horror, for the soldier was back on his feet in a thrice—and this time with sword in hand. “Nay!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Leave him be! Leave him be, I tell you!”

Her chest was heaving when at last she reached the outer ranks of the circle that had gathered. She darted a swift glance at Aubrey. Praise God, he appeared unharmed, save for a bruise on his temple.

“Who are you, girl?” asked one burly soldier.

“I am the one he seeks,” she said breathlessly. “I am Alana.”

“He swore to kill us all,” the man continued stubbornly. “We will not tolerate such threats from a Saxon. He must be punished.

Sheer fury flamed in her eyes. “Do not dare! If any of you lay a hand on him, I vow I’ll see that you burn in Hell!”

A low murmur went up. Several of the Saxons present crossed themselves, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the Normans.

Nor was it unnoticed by Alana. In a flash it came to her. This time—aye, this time—her curse might well mean salvation for Aubrey.

Slowly she raised her chin. Her gaze swept the crowd. “If you do not believe me, just ask those here.” She pointed to a raw-boned laundress. “Ask her. And him.” She pointed to the pantler’s assistant.

The laundress wasted no time nodding her agreement. “’Tis true,” the woman said in a rush. “Cursed she was, though she be the daughter of our lord. And from the time she was a wee one yet!”

“Aye,” chimed yet another. “A witch, she is. Everyone knows it.”

The Norman soldiers were nervous. A num
ber of them had even fallen back several steps. Gathering herself in hand, Alana prayed that God would forgive her her deception.

“You see?” she went on with a boldness she was far from feeling. “Now I suggest you let the old man go. Else I will turn you all into goats, the lot of you!”

A low murmur went up. The Normans glanced at each other uneasily. There was not a man among them who would dare challenge her further.

“Aye,” she went on brashly. “Mayhap I will do it anyway—and your Norman lord along with the rest of you!”

“Indeed,” came a grim voice from behind her. “That might prove quite interesting, Saxon.”

It was Merrick. Alana’s heart plummeted. She had the awful sensation Merrick would not be so easily daunted as his men.

And alas, she was right. He gestured to the nearest soldier. “Take the old man to the hall and await my order.”

Alana’s blood seemed to freeze in her veins. Somehow that had an ominous ring to it. Then even that thought was wrenched from her mind, for all at once his hand was on her elbow, like a clamp of iron. Though she struggled and twisted, he was determined—and far stronger than she. He dragged her toward the hall and up the stairs, all the way into his chamber. He thrust her inside and slammed the door shut.

Alana stood frozen there in the center of the room. His arms were folded across his chest.
His posture was no less than threatening. The vice-like hold of his eyes entrapped her, as surely as chains. She was afraid to move, just as afraid not to.

She had displeased him yet again. There could be no doubt, for his expression was dark as a thundercloud.

“Trouble follows you like a storm from the sea, Saxon.” His voice was as cutting as his eyes. “I begin to wish I had left you in the forest.”

He spun around and would have strode away. “Wait!” she cried. “What will you do with Aubrey?”

He turned. His face was a mask of stone.

Her hands twisted nervously in her skirts. “You will not harm him, will you? He has done nothing.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am not beholden to you, Saxon. Nor do I see the need to answer to you.”

Panic leaped in her breast, for his expression was so very forbidding. Alana did not move. With her eyes she mutely pleaded. “Please, I must know. Truly, he meant no harm.”

He said nothing.

A hot ache burned her throat. “You asked this morn what I would give. I had no answer then. But if you let Aubrey go free, I-I will offer myself to your mercy.”

Still he did not speak. Alana moistened her lips. “Did you not hear me, Norman? Do what you will with me—whatever you will.”

“Mercy? And what if I have none?”

“Then I am doomed,” she whispered. There was a stark, wrenching pain in her heart. Mayhap she was already…

And alas, he scorned her. With words. With scorching blue fire in his eyes. “So soon you forget,” he mocked. “You cannot bargain, Saxon, for you have nothing to bargain
with
. I will do whatever I wish,
whenever
I wish. You are already at my mercy—and so you will remain. And do not fool yourself into thinking I will let this pass. Make no mistake, Saxon, I will deal with you later.”

With that he was gone. Alana stood motionless but an instant. She ran to the door and tried to open it. A cry of sheer fury broke from her throat. She collapsed on the floor in a flood of angry tears. The lout had locked her in!

It was much later when she heard the sound of the bolt being slid from its berth. Alana glanced up from where she’d been sitting at the table, her forehead braced upon her arms. The door creaked open slowly. The lad Simon stood there, a tray in his hands, but he did not enter.

He extended the tray. “After you’ve eaten, my lady, my lord wishes your presence in the hall, to help serve the evening meal,” he informed her, his tone coolly formal.

My lady
. At any other time, Alana might have giggled. But as it was, a melancholy weariness dragged upon her heart. She summoned a faint smile and arose. “Thank you, Simon.” She took the tray from him, thinking that the boy would
indeed grow to be a fine, handsome young man, as handsome as his uncle…The thought brought her up short. Merrick…handsome? Sweet heaven, but her mind turned in the strangest ways!

She scarcely tasted the meal he’d brought, yet she forced herself to eat. She did not dally, but made her way down the stairs and into the smoky kitchens. She had scarcely entered when Sybil spotted her. Her sister wasted no time presenting herself in front of Alana.

She heaved her arms on her hips and fixed her with a glare. “There you are!” she snapped. “Do you know the whole of the keep knows what you did today? No doubt they will soon call me the devil’s daughter as well, and all because you are my half-sister! But ’tis well known ’twas your mother who gave you the devil’s curse.”

Devil’s daughter…the devil’s curse
. Alana’s even temper began to fray. “Say what you will about me, Sybil,” she said with flashing eyes. “As for my mother, you know as well as I she possessed the kindest soul in the village. So say no more about her.”

Sybil sniffed indignantly. “Or what? What will you do, Alana? Turn me into a goat as well?”

Sister, you need no help on that score
, Alana decided crossly, then was immediately ashamed of her pettiness. ’Twas not at all like her to be spiteful. But just as she would have sought to ease the mood wrought by the exchange, Sybil snatched up a tray and spun around.

A needle of hurt sliced deep. Oh, Alana told herself she shouldn’t allow her sister’s deliberate cruelty to bother her so. Countless times she had seen Rowena treat her mother with the very same callousness. And so it was that she was not surprised when Sybil pointedly ignored her throughout the evening.

Again Alana made innumerable trips between the kitchens and the hall, bearing great platters of food and pitchers of ale. The crowd was only slightly less boisterous than the previous eve. More than once she found herself the object of whispers and guarded glances. At least now, no one dared pinch her breasts and grasp at her buttocks as they had done last eve.

But then there was Merrick. Sybil served him, thank the Lord. Yet time and again, she felt his piercing regard. His gaze drilled into her back like the points of a hundred tiny daggers. His promise rang in her ears.
Make no mistake, Saxon, I will deal with you later
. The very thought made her belly tighten in dread. She’d heard tales of the Normans and their vicious nature. Indeed, she’d seen it firsthand in the village.

At the very least, he would have her thrashed. Or perhaps he would do it himself. He might even cut out her tongue…She dared not think of what form his punishment might take.

But whatever it was, she was certain he wouldn’t allow her to go unscathed, as he had last night.

It was very late when a scraggly line of Saxons entered the hall. Alana’s heart went out to them, for she sensed their weariness both in body and spirit. But there was one in particular…His clothing was tattered and blood-spattered. Chains fettered his feet and hands. Awareness sharpened her vision.

The man was Radburn, stoutest and bravest of her father’s men-at-arms. Of noble upbringing, his father was an earl in the south of England.

Relief flooded her, for it had saddened her greatly to think that he, too, had been killed by the Normans. A poignant memory sent her spinning back in time, for she had grown to womanhood with girlish dreams of a husband and babies…Aye, dreams of this very man had filled her mind—and her heart.

He was so tall. So strong. So brave. Deep within her, Alana had known how very foolish were such fanciful notions. Yet still she had worshiped Radburn from afar. He was ever kind and ever considerate in those brief moments when they chanced to meet. And once—
once
—she had caught him looking at her with something different in his eyes. Something wonderful. But it was not until she had seen him with a rich widow from York that reality struck a killing blow.

And Alana knew…It did not matter that her father was Kerwain of Brynwald. A man such as he would have naught to do with a bastard—a baseborn peasant.

Soon the Normans began to empty the hall. Quickly Alana’s gaze swept around. Radburn was there, slumped against the outer wall. Darting a hasty glance to either side, she sneaked a leg of mutton from one of the tables and hid it in the folds of her bliaud. Her pace hastened as she crossed the floor.

His head came up just as she reached him. Surprise lit his face. “Alana!”

Alana dropped to her knees and wordlessly handed him the haunch. She did not mind that he spared her no thanks. The way he bit greedily into the juicy flesh clearly bespoke his hunger. She kept her silence as he ate. When he’d finished, he tossed the bone to the hounds and wiped his fingers on his tunic.

She couldn’t take her eyes from his face. One entire side was red and swollen, a mass of bruises and cuts. Her hand stretched toward him. “How—”

“Tis nothing,” he said with a dry smile that made him visibly wince. “A sennight and it will be gone.”

Her lips pressed together indignantly. There were no words to vent her fury.

His chains clanged together as he touched her hand. “I saw your father fall,” he said gently. There was a small pause. “Alana, I know not what to say except…he died bravely.”

Sudden, startling tears glazed her vision. Radburn patted her hand awkwardly. “Alana—”

She dashed away the moisture from her cheek. “I’m all right. ’Tis just that I—oh, I
hate that the Normans are here. I hate what they have done. Our lives will never be the same!”

“I know.” He squeezed her fingers. “We must accept them, Alana, for we cannot beat them. But at least we are alive.” His gaze caught hers. Alana sensed he would have said more, but all at once she realized they were not alone. Merrick had stepped close. He stood there, his hands behind his back, his features as drawn and tight as she had yet to see them.

His gaze flickered over her. “You should not be here, Saxon.”

“Pray tell, why not? I do not shirk my duties,” she snapped.

“Indeed,” he said curtly. “Well, your duties for the night are not yet over. I require your presence at once in my chamber.”

Hot color stained her cheeks. Alana was furious that he would shame her so, and in front of one of her own people yet!

The line of his jaw was tense—so very tense—but she did not care. “I will be along shortly—”

“Nay, Saxon. You will come with me now.” He hauled her to her feet.

Alana’s teeth came together so tightly her jaw hurt. “Stop!” she hissed.

“Nay, lady, I will
not
stop. And I warn you now—say no more, for I will not allow you to make a spectacle of yourself yet again.” Already he had begun to propel her toward the stairway. There was no give in either his voice or his touch. His fingers dug unmerci
fully into her soft flesh. She tried to jerk free, but to no avail.

He marched her down the corridor. Undulating shadows from the rushlights mounted on the walls preceded their way. Once they were locked within his chamber, it was readily apparent his dark mood had not eased.

“I am curious, Saxon. The man in the hall…is he your lover?”

Alana gaped. Her
lover
! “Nay!” she gasped. “But even if he were, ’tis none of your affair!”

“I disagree, Saxon. It is most certainly my affair, for it’s just as I told you earlier. I am your lord and conqueror and you are mine.”

Alana still smarted with humiliation. “Why is he chained?” she demanded.

“He is a dangerous man.”

“Dangerous?” She cried her outrage. “He’s been beaten!”

“You are a woman,” he growled. “You know little of the fire that heats a man’s blood during battle. When he was taken prisoner he fought like a wild boar. My men did what was necessary to subdue him. Take heart, Saxon, for he is lucky to be alive. When we are certain he presents no further danger and is ready to accept me as his new lord, his chains will be removed.”