Mistress to the Norman Lord Read online

  MISTRESS TO THE NORMAN LORD

  MARIA LING

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2013 Maria Ling

  Cover image copyright msdnv - Fotolia.com

  Published by Byrnie Publishing

  83 Ducie Street, Manchester M1 2JQ

  United Kingdom

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. No similarity to any living person or recent event is intended or should be inferred.

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  ***

  CHAPTER 1

  God, it was good to be home.

  Guy de Beriner glanced around him with benevolence. Nothing could surpass the beauty of this peaceful English countryside. Especially to the eyes of a man like himself, fresh from the devastation of Normandy.

  England had seen its share of warfare. He knew that well. But no sign of it remained here, on his own estate, where old woods swept down from ancient hilltops, and villages nestled in the crooks of a lazy river. Where harvest rose golden and bountiful from well-tended fields, watched over by a still blue sky.

  No screams. No stench of corpses, no slow weeping of humans racked by hunger or pain. Just peace, and a silence rich in all the sounds of a contented life.

  Paradise on Earth. And he lived here. He was home.

  Another village waited ahead, its people courteously gathered to welcome their lord on his return. They would have seen his approach, all horses and banners and glinting armour, and left off work to come forward and greet him. A holiday on the eve of harvest, a few hours of rest and celebration. These people had earned it.

  So had he.

  Guy set his features into an expression of benign tolerance, suitable to receive the expected dues. There had been many villages already, along his way through his estates. He knew what would greet him, and none of it was calculated to offend.

  Blessings from the older women, part habit and part pretence, hoping for doles and sympathy when winter crept into their homes. Relief also, as they counted sons and husbands among his men.

  Wilted clutches of flowers from the children - Guy made a point of accepting those with grave courtesy. Already he'd received far too many to retain on his person, so his troops now sported a creditable amount of camouflage.

  Cheers from the older men, and cries for good fortune. Perhaps a hint or two that his indulgence would be begged for some trivial oversight or other during his term of absence. He'd get the true story from the bailiffs, later.

  Eager attention from the youths who'd watched their elder brothers don armour to ride away with him, and now saw them return hardened by war. Most of them, at any rate - he'd lost too many to the mud of Normandy. But he'd been lucky, disease had mainly kept away.

  He'd already passed through villages where greetings changed to grief and then to silent blame as not one of the hoped-for men rode by. The children had faltered and turned to their mothers, and offered grubby flowers there instead.

  Guy tried not to think about that. He'd send a little something in due course, meat or bread for Christmas, silver coins to buy forgiveness. The bailiffs would know what was best to offer.

  But this would not be such a village. Men already shouted pleasantries to familiar faces, and there were smiles from the women and girls. Occasionally those smiles flew towards other men also, from the saucier or more forward young women.

  Though seldom at Guy himself. The distinction didn't trouble him. Only a foolish peasant girl would dare make eyes at a noble lord. It was usually the other way around, and worse too. Men like himself could take whatever they chose, with no consequence to themselves at all, since no one held them accountable. He knew it, and deplored it, and chose to flirt only with women of his own standing.

  To the extent that he flirted at all. It seemed an age, now, since he'd thought of such things. There was no dalliance among the brutalities of war. Rape, for sure, joyless and cruel, though he strove to stamp out that evil among the men under his own command. But nothing that rose from warmth or kindness, or even from honest desire. He'd left such feelings behind him here in England, or else they lay slaughtered on the bloody fields of Normandy.

  But today he would forget that, and revel in the delight of coming home.

  Past the village, within the gap where road and river came together and broke through the line of level hills, a castle loured. That was the end of the road, as far as Guy was concerned. When he finally reached it, he prayed he need never travel again.

  It had been built for war once, that castle - a century ago or more, in an age when these fields too lay thick with rotting corpses and rang with tortured screams. But that was barely a memory. Workshops and sheds had quit the safety of those forbidding walls, and spilled out onto open land. The grim old stone keep, once sacred to soldiery, had been remodelled to allow more light and air into the upper floors. Lower down, beneath the hall, old use remained: the rooms were still given over to stores. Many a village had been glad of that in winters past, when damp or rats had got at their own barns.

  Guy nodded benign acknowledgement to blessings and cheers, affected not to hear the pleas for indulgence, gravely accepted warm clutches of torn stems. Nodded indifferently to a young woman close by the side of the road - and then reined in his horse, startled. She had not been here before, could not have been, or else he'd have taken note. Such a being could never have dwelt in his domain, unremarked by him.

  She was stunning. Dark hair lay in coils around a face vivid with brilliant eyes and tender lips that tinged a blushing pink as if some lucky man had just kissed her. But it wasn't that which drew his notice, beyond that first startled glance. It was the stillness of her, the poise all one with the sky and the fields and the silent contentment of the hills.

  The moment lasted just a fraction too long. He could feel it, like the tide of battle turning, when victory threatened to slip from his grasp. Instinct twitched his heels and tilted his wrist; the horse resumed its walk; Guy bid fair to recover and ride on.

  At which point the woman stepped forward - lunged almost, as if she'd been pushed. The man beside her leered up at Guy. "Take her then, my lord. She's yours if you care to have her."

  That was one indulgence he'd never stooped to. Not that there had been a shortage of offers. But he'd never held that women were men's to offer, not in this way.

  "Thank you," Guy said graciously. "It's very tempting. But no." He smiled at the woman, apologetically. Some did get offended, took it for a comment on their attractiveness. Which it wasn't, as a rule, and certainly not this time.

  He desired only women who desired him in return. Not those thrust at him by force or need or circumstance.

  And not peasants. They were best kept to their own sphere. God only knew what puffery might get into their heads, if they got the notion they were fit company for their masters.

  "Go on, my lord." The impertinent clod actually pushed forward to reach for the rein of Guy's horse. A nearby knight from Guy's personal retinue leaned across to smack the errant hand aside.

  Anger surged in Guy's heart. He stooped to greet these beasts, and this was how they would repay him? Almost he was tempted to seize the woman after all, and carry her away. Not for harm - he wouldn't do that to anyone - but to make a point.

&
nbsp; "I'll go with you gladly," the woman said. Quietly, but with an intensity that stunned Guy. He paused anew to regard her, and to his surprise felt desire stir deep in his belly and reach out through his loins.

  "She was to be married," the man said. A ghastly lout, all leer and shifty eyes. "But says she's changed her mind. Too high and mighty for me now. So your lordship's welcome to her, and I'll gladly take what's left after."

  Impertinent brute. "Settle your own quarrels," Guy snapped. "Get out of my way."

  Two of his knights pressed home to drive the man aside. The lout grabbed the woman and yanked her with him, but she twisted from his grip and stood her ground.

  "Take her as a gift, then," the man called. "She's a pretty thing, isn't she? You won't find better in these parts."

  Guy could well believe it. And she didn't run, damn her, didn't seize the chance for escape. Just stood there, while Guy swept past her and battled against the temptation to turn back.

  "Go on," a knight snarled behind him. Luke, a sound man and an excellent soldier, always watchful of Guy's personal safety. "Clear off."

  Guy half turned his head, enough to see from the corner of his eye. It paid to remain alert to trouble without seeming concerned. Luke slapped at the girl, who stepped back just in time to avoid the blow.

  "See?" the lout sneered, his eyes on her. "No one else will have you, for all your proud airs. You'll be in my bed tomorrow, or you'll regret it."

  That remark put a different complexion on things. Guy wheeled his horse just as the woman said: "That I won't. No matter what threats you make."

  "On second thoughts," Guy said, a little louder than was strictly necessary, "so generous an offer should not be declined." He nodded to Luke. "Bring her."

  "My lord?" Luke's tone stopped just short of disbelief, but the expression in his eyes spoke for him.

  "You heard." Guy wheeled back again, and resumed his progress towards the castle as if nothing of note had occurred.

  As for what he would do with her once he reached it - eh, he didn't know. Perhaps she would show herself more enthusiastic than he gave her credit for. Desire grew again, spiralled up from that hot core and eased through his limbs. It had been a while, he thought ruefully. Too long, in truth.

  He'd get the story out of her first, though. Then have a word with the bailiffs. Many matters would need to be set right after his long absence, and this could be one among them.

  Women should not be forced into marriage, that had already been long established by church and common law. Guy could not wink at such a flagrant disregard for justice on his own estate.

  Behind him, men cheered and jeered. He left them to it, took no notice, just rode on forward. Watched the castle that waited for him, guarding the pass with untiring patience as it had done for more than a century. Wondered, idly, how many of its lords had brought peasant women home for their entertainment.

  Not many, he suspected. Men of sense took wives for that purpose. Men without it - well, his line had been noted for its canny minds.

  Which wasn't to say his forebears hadn't tried out the local beauties on occasion. Guy only doubted it had happened there, within the sturdy castle walls.

  He wanted her now, with a strength that bewildered him. She hadn't exactly thrown herself at him. Been thrown, yes, but he'd never found that an aphrodisiac before.

  "Treat her with care," he called out, as if on an afterthought, not bothering to turn. It didn't matter much to him what happened to her, except that mistreatment of women was something he'd never permitted in his men, and did not wish to see introduced among them now. Too many ways in which that could eat away at discipline, and at any notion of honour too. He relied on those, in combat and during long weeks of waiting, he couldn't afford to let either slip.

  Except that he could, now, because he was home. England was peaceful. At least this corner of it, his own little portion of Eden. He could do as he liked here.

  Outriders approached from the castle, with his own messenger among them, and proceeded to offer the expected platitudes. They had received his warning in good time, and all was ready. Every man at the castle rejoiced in the safe return of their beloved lord, cast themselves humbly before his feet and assured him of their total obedience to his wishes, etcetera etcetera. Guy nodded with benign indifference, received these accolades with the same gravity he'd shown the village children and their elders, tried not to think of the young woman he'd stolen from her home.

  She rode behind him, safe in the grip of a scowling Luke. Guy could see them both from the corner of his eye. The expression on her face was one that puzzled him, throughout the long approach towards the gate. She didn't look frightened, or flattered, or even curious.

  He offered nods and brief waves of acknowledgement to the boys and men who lined the path on both sides: eager youths hopeful of advancement in his service, former soldiers paid off as maimed and kept on for light work around the castle. Rode into his own courtyard at last, received greeting and submission from the men he'd left in command. Dismounted from his horse, tossed the reins into the groom's hand with a negligent movement, cast a glance at the young woman's face in passing. Realised, finally, what her expression had been all along, and why it had caught his attention.

  She looked angry.

  Not heated, flushed and ready for a fight. Nor yet cold, malicious or vengeful, willing to wait for a perfect opportunity to strike.

  No. She looked exactly as a man did when he raised his sword to defend himself against the varlets who dared invade his land and threaten his family and his own person with their blades.

  Guy smiled to himself. Hers could prove an interesting tale, when he had leisure to attend to it. As for what developed after that - well, there was a first time for everything. Even for taking advantage of his position.

  But she would have to wait. Already men crowded around him, brimming with questions and reports. He must take each of them in order, understand how things had got tangled and resolve how best to straighten them again.

  "Get her cleaned up," he told Luke. "Make sure she's not harassed. Bring her to my chamber an hour after sunset." Guy would be at leisure then, and preparing for bed. Might as well settle matters to his satisfaction and hers before he slept.

  So he decided. A moment later, deep in the affairs of his estate, he'd forgotten all about her.

  ***

  She'd gained her point. Hurrah. Much good it did her now.

  Aelfid looked around. She'd never been inside the castle, though her father had served in the lord's pay and her brother Beorn did so still. They had described it well enough that it carried an unlikely air of familiarity. She glanced around now, hoping to see Beorn, but without success.

  She needed to speak with him. Someone had to stop that horrible Osulf, who'd kept the village in his grasp ever since his uncle became bailiff. No complaint against their depredations went anywhere. But this last threat was too much. Osulf had taken the farm from Mother, claiming she could not run it without a husband. Now he swore he'd take the hilltop croft as well if Aelfid didn't agree to marry him.

  Which she had never promised, though he lied about that too, claimed she'd given her word and then refused. It was nothing like the truth. She'd told him 'no' in as many versions as she could find expression for, sent messages of appeal to the castle by word of anyone travelling in that direction but received no reply, tried to walk there in search of help but been caught and whipped.

  Osulf had handled the lash himself, said he'd go easy on her since it was her first time, she supposed she ought to be grateful that he hadn't torn the flesh. And she was, really: she'd seen some of the other victims he mauled. But he'd lingered over it, caressed her bare skin with the strap, told her she must learn obedience.

  God, she hated him. Didn't fear him - she refused to let herself be afraid.

  Since she couldn't reach justice where she was, she must search for it elsewhere. The castle was still the obvious place: a steward
held authority there, direct from the lord himself, and ran the estate through commands to the bailiffs - of which there were more than one. If she could speak to any of those men, get Beorn to vouch for her character and make them believe her tale, maybe she could break Osulf's rule and bring right back to her village. Restore her home also, and secure both shelter and food for her mother and two young brothers.

  She'd tried - but Osulf's uncle, the bailiff, had caught her and brought her back. After that, she'd paid for her presumption.

  When she heard that Lord Guy was returning from war, that he'd ride through their very village on his way to the castle, she'd promised herself she'd approach him directly and beg for justice. Throw herself under his horse if necessary, just to catch his attention. She'd been ready, on the point of doing so, when Osulf caught her. Again.

  This time, goaded beyond endurance, she'd told him she meant to marry high. Her eyes had been on the lord, for no reason other than he cut a fine figure in his silvery armour and bright surcoat. She'd said she could do far better than a lowly scab of a man such as Osulf.

  Even as she spoke, the lord had paused. Only for a moment - his horse barely broke stride - but his gaze rested on her with a strange intensity that sent shivers through her bones. And then Osulf, under God knew what villainous delusion, had offered her up.

  As if she was his to give away. Loathsome man.

  But she'd startled herself by her reply.

  In that instant, meeting Lord Guy's fierce gaze with equal strength in her own, and with shivers lingering deep within her limbs, she would have gone anywhere with him. Not because of his fine horse and fancy clothes and the fact that he was lord. Those thoughts came after, and brought an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. It wasn't wealth or importance that had attracted her to him, not at first. And it wasn't even the fact that Osulf had just unwittingly offered her the perfect opportunity to make a grab for justice.