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.
Chapter 5
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
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.
Chapter 5
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
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