Malia Martin (2 page)

“Bathe him and return him,” she managed to instruct Cuthebert. “I will have an heir growing in my belly before Aethregard’s shadow darkens Seabreeze Castle.”

Cuthebert looked as if he might be ill. Aleene knew how he felt, but retained her regal bearing still. “Now, Cuthebert.”

The steward grabbed her husband’s arm and dragged him toward the door.

“And shave that beard from his face. It looks to be crawling with vermin.”

Cuthebert stopped, nodded, then cleared his throat. “Shall we shave his hair as well?”

Aleene looked at the prisoner’s mass of tangled hair and suddenly she needed everyone gone. She was going to lose control. She felt she might even cry. “No!” she cried a bit too vehemently. Taking a deep breath she managed to say again, “No, just kill anything that moves in that mess. Now, Cuthebert, go.”

Cuthebert looked at her strangely, but grunted an assent and left with the prisoner.

The priest looked as if he wanted to counsel her, but Aleene turned her back on him. “Be gone!” she demanded, barely keeping her voice steady, and only staying calm until she heard the heavy door close behind him.

This time the shaking came quickly, almost knocking Aleene from her feet before she had gained the chair. She dropped her head against her hands, her dark hair falling forward. She had done it. She was married to some half-wit poacher unknown to her until this very day. Unknown to her even now, truly. Aethregard would be furious. Her king would surely seek to annul the marriage. Her people would look on her with even more suspicion and abhorrence.

A tiny laugh escaped her throat. It was a terrible sound that echoed in the cavernous room.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings, but this time she was not ready. She jumped
quickly from the chair and clutched her hands together behind her back. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment.

“Enter,” she said finally.

Berthilde, her maid, bustled in, an army of servants behind her.

Aleene blinked and stepped backward at the invasion. “Berthilde, send these people away.”

“I have ordered ye a bath, milady.” Without looking at Aleene, the woman directed the servants to put the deep, wooden bath in a corner and begin filling it with steaming buckets of water.

Aleene watched the activity in silence. Berthilde was one of the people Aleene loathed to contradict. She knew the serving woman to have a will of steel, and she did not wish to be challenged before the others. These past six months since her stepfather, Tosig, had finally left his earthly bounds, Aleene had tried her hardest to gain the respect of her people. She wanted them to look upon her as the ruler of Seabreeze Castle. They would not. They wanted Aethregard, Tosig’s son, as their liege.

Seabreeze was a dower estate, handed down through the female line of Aleene’s family. Always, the women had been supported as the rulers of the estate. But Aleene’s mother had made the terrible mistake of marrying a foreigner, a Spaniard. He had built a large castle in the new French style where before there had been a traditional Saxon Hall.

The people of Pevensey feared the dark man on the hill and were happy when he died, and Aleene’s mother married Tosig. They knew Aleene had never gotten along with Tosig, and they now feared Aleene would be as treacherous to Seabreeze’s stability as her mother. Aleene knew of their feelings. She knew she must fight for the respect of her people. So she fought the only way she knew how, by covering up her insecurities and showing them a strength she could only hope to have.

Finally the room emptied except for Berthilde, who came forward and helped Aleene from her kirtle. The maid turned away then as Aleene undressed completely and slid beneath the water.

Berthilde handed her a pot of soap without turning around. It was a routine they had perfected over the years. Other servants would have thought such manners strange, and whispered among themselves and to others of the strange lady at Seabreeze Castle. And so she allowed only Berthilde to assist her, for she knew the woman would keep her own counsel.

“So ye have married a half-wit poacher, milady.” Unfortunately, the woman would not keep her mouth closed in Aleene’s presence.

“Yes.” She soaped herself ruthlessly, scrubbing between her toes and fingers.

“King Harold will not be amused, I’m sure.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Neither will Aethregard.”

Aleene rinsed herself, then lowered her head beneath the water. It took two good dunkings to get her long, thick hair completely wet. “I am the heiress of Seabreeze,” she said as she flipped her hair over the side of the tub. “Aethregard has no right to anything.” She lowered herself until her chin just grazed the water. “I am ready, Berthilde.”

The woman turned. She pushed the crinkly gray hair that had escaped its moorings away from her face with pudgy fingers. “I hope you are.”

Aleene wasn’t sure what the woman meant, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She
covered herself with her hands even though the murky water now hid her from sight as Berthilde soaped her hair. “I am finally rid of Tosig. I will no longer be controlled by anyone.”

Berthilde’s fingers stopped moving and silence pulsed between them.

“Do not say that if others are around, milady,” Berthilde finally said.

Aleene pulled away from her maid’s hands and turned carefully to face her. “What, Berthilde, what must I not say?”

Berthilde held her soapy hands above the water and stared at Aleene with sad, old eyes. “Do not say you are rid of Tosig.”

“But why? I am rid of him, and I am happy of it.”

“Turn around and let me finish your hair.” When Aleene did what the maid asked, Berthilde gently resumed massaging the soap into Aleene’s scalp. “’Tis just that I’ve heard people talk. There would be some who believe you are responsible for Tosig’s death.”

Aleene huffed a disgusted sound. “If I had been brave enough to kill him, I would have done it many years before this.”

“Do not play with fire.”

Aleene sighed.

“You say you wish not to be controlled by. anyone, and yet with this rash marriage, you put yourself in jeopardy of being controlled by the Bastard Duke.”

“All these dire warnings, Berthilde, are too dramatic. It is nearly winter; the threat of invasion from William’s Normans is over until next summer, surely.”

“Ye have put yourself in jeopardy,” the woman repeated, and Aleene bit the edge of her tongue this time and said nothing.

“I’ll not be saying anything more, milady.”

“Good.”

Berthilde pushed Aleene forward and dumped a bucket of clean water over her head. The water had become chilled and it shocked Aleene into a small cry.

“But perhaps there are those around with your best interests at heart.” The woman defied her earlier statement and said something more. “Perhaps there are those who do not wish to control but to protect and help.” Berthilde stood still for a moment over Aleene.

Aleene remained huddled in the large tub. She pulled her knees to her chest and bent her head. “Be gone, Berthilde,” she said into the water. Her breath sent small ripples out in a circle. She could see her eyes, large and dark staring back at her, screaming at her that she didn’t belong, that she, a dark-eyed, dark-skinned daughter of a Spaniard, didn’t belong among the fair-haired people she ruled.

Berthilde sighed, a long sad sound. “Yes, milady.” She turned, but Aleene waited for her to leave before moving. “Ye intend to couple with this new husband of yours, milady?”

Aleene breathed in strongly and gripped the sides of the tub. A mind-numbing feeling of ugliness, of vulnerability, shook her entire body. A darkness almost swallowed her, but it was not completely black. There was something there, someone, coming . . . Aleene pushed it away quickly. She closed her eyes and shoved it back. She would not allow Tosig to rule over her again. She had success within her grasp. With the half-wit poacher and a babe in her belly, she would be able to oust the ghost of Tosig and his arrogant son forever from her life. “Aye, Berthilde, I shall. I will be ruler of Seabreeze as was meant when King Aelfred himself made this a dowry holding to be ruled by the women of my
line.”

“Ye will need more knowledge than you have now of the mating process, milady.”

Aleene laughed, she threw back her head and guffawed. “Tis nothing I need less than to have more knowledge of the mating process.”

“Ye shall have to make him ready, milady, for I do not think he will know what to do.” Berthilde ignored Aleene’s outburst. “Let him touch your breast, that would be easiest.”

Aleene almost choked on the fear that clutched at her throat, but she remained silent.

“He will become hard then. I shall leave the sheep grease.”

Aleene closed her eyes hard. Sheep grease. The stuff smelled vile. She was not sure she could put it on again without vomiting.

Aleene closed her eyes and hugged herself tightly against the waves of terror that coursed through her. Still she remained silent.

“It will be different this time, so perhaps you can rub yourself against him and not need the sheep grease.”

Aleene shook her head. “Different? Is it not always abhorrent?”

“No, milady ‘tis not always abhorrent.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Still, I do not like this.”

Aleene nearly laughed again, but she choked on the sound and it sounded more like a gurgle.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, and Aleene finally looked up at her maid.

“I will never forgive myself for not saving you from that monster.” It was a rare burst of emotion from Berthilde. Rare because Aleene had spurned such intimacy for so long. She stiffened.

“I didn’t realize. For so many years, I didn’t realize. And then it was too late.”

“Enough, Berthilde, be gone.” Aleene turned her head, staring at the wall. It
was
too late.

She heard the door close behind her maid. Aleene surged from the tub, fumbling for the large drying sheet. She wrapped it around her shaking limbs and stood in the middle of the room. It was too late to save the naive trust of a young girl, but it was not too late to banish her captors and give to her, finally, ultimate control of her life.

The room was completely dark when Cuthebert returned with the prisoner, her husband. Aleene stood as far from the door as possible and bade Cuthebert to leave the man near the large bed.

“Shall I post a watch by the door, milady?” His words were tinged with sarcasm, hatred. “He has been docile, but he is still a thief.”

“A thief no longer, Cuthebert.” She trained a steady glare on her steward. “But my husband, your lord.”

Cuthebert blinked slowly, his chest moving quickly with his heightened breathing. “We shall see.”

“You see now, Cuthebert.” Aleene struggled to breathe normally. “Aethregard has no hope to rule this castle as of tonight.” She turned away from the man. “I will not need a watch.”

“The prisoner has not spoken, milady, he seems to be mute. He is of lowly birth, I should say. Gobbles his food like a pig. I cannot vow he will not give you trouble if left alone with you.”

“He is no prisoner, but my husband. His name is Cynewulf, Lord Cynewulf,” she said,
remembering the poems her mother had sung to her many years before by that bard. “I shall handle him.” With clenched fists she turned to Cuthebert. “Be gone, steward, I wish no more of your presence.”

The steward stared at her for a long moment. She could see the war waging within him as he gritted his teeth, making a small muscle in his jaw jump. Aleene waited, inwardly terrified that Cuthebert would defy her, call in the castle men, have the prisoner taken away, have her bound until Aethregard could return and claim her as his wife, claim her castle as his own, give Tosig the final victory.

The man turned and left without another word.

Aleene sagged against the wall and closed her eyes. She had won again. Another battle behind her, but still so many before her. She would now have to prove completely her ability to rule her own holding, be lady to her people. For they would surely revolt once it was widely known that Aethregard had been ousted from the position of control he had taken since his father’s unfortunate demise.

Aleene sighed heavily and opened her eyes. She was not alone. She stared at the dark outline of the newly named Cynewulf. She had forgotten him in the moment of turmoil and fear.

Aleene swallowed against the new surge of terror that shook her. She must now commit the final act that would bring her out of the clutches of Aethregard, Tosig, or any man who would wish to rule her or her holding, make her do things against her wishes, humiliate her. She conjured up the feelings of awful vulnerability she had felt at Tosig’s hands. Those were the feelings she would banish now, by doing this disgusting act. The air Aleene took into her lungs raked against her throat, filling her ears with harsh sounds.

Taking this man, one so malleable within her hands, would make her master, finally. Yet, still, the ever-present fear kept her leaning against the wall, her legs inert beneath her.

She did not move for a long time, unsure of what to do and not liking that feeling. The man, Cynewulf, did not move either. She watched the shadowy image closely. Because she stared so, the darkness began to play tricks with her eyes. She thought he had moved, thought he was near her, then she couldn’t find him. When her breathing calmed, she realized he still stood by the bed, exactly where Cuthebert had left him.

“Come, husband,” she said finally, startling herself with the harshness of her tone.

Cynewulf did not move.

She strode across the room. The night seemed overly warm and the room close. She wanted to be alone, to peel away the layers of clothes for relief. Instead she must share her chamber with the dark, shadowy figure that stood hunched near her bed.

She came close. He had shed his malodorous aroma and now smelled musky, male. She halted, fear gripping her heart. He smelled like a man ought to smell.

He shuffled a bit then, his feet moving slightly in the rushes.

“Lie down.” She pointed toward the bed. Aleene saw her husband’s head move, his gaze following her gesture.