The Red Wolf's Prize (4 page)

Serena took off her apron and wrapped her arm around Jamie’s
shoulders. “So, Jamie, shall we take a walk to see the horses?”

“Yea. I would like that! The knights’ warhorses are fierce,
Sarah. Even the squires can hardly control them, but there are others they ride
that are not so wild. I’ve made friends with some of those.” He took her hand
and pulled her toward the door. A smile broke out on his face, which added to
the ruddy glow on his cheeks, making him look like a cherub who had spent the
morn in a field of wheat. Serena did not like to think about Jamie near the
Normans’ fearsome destriers, warhorses trained to kick and bite, as much
weapons as the knights’ lances and swords.

Passing through the herb garden, Serena noticed Aethel
digging among the new plants. “Good morning Aethel. You seem to be working
hard.”

The woman sat back on her heels and brushed a lock of dark
hair from her eyes as she gave Serena’s clothing a long perusal. “The new herbs
will be needed for healing as well as for savory dishes. It is just my usual
work…
Sarah
.”

Ignoring the look Aethel gave her, Serena said, “I admire
your knowledge, Aethel.” The compliment was sincere. Though Serena had often
acted the healer, she had counted upon Aethel’s knowledge to tell her which
herbs to use.

Aethel smiled briefly and bent her head to her task.

“How are you getting along since the Normans have come?”
Serena asked her.

“Well enough,” Aethel said without looking up.

“It is not easy for any of us,” Sarah remarked absently.
Jamie impatiently tugged on her hand. Giving into his urging, she wished Aethel
a good morn and continued on the path leading to the yard and to the stable set
just inside the palisade.

New grass grew at the edge of the palisade and wild flowers
had sprung up in clusters around the manor, causing Serena to marvel at the
beauty of the place she called home. Despite the Normans’ coming, there was a
sameness to Talisand she found comforting. Workers mended the palisade, carts
creaked as they rolled by and brown chickens pecked at the dirt. The only
differences were the sounds of clanking metal as the knights engaged in
swordplay outside the palisade, and the dull thud of hammers pounding in the
work they’d begun on a new stable.

“I have missed you, lad,” she said to Jamie as they walked
along side by side. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

“I have been watching the knights! Each morning, they
practice with their swords and talk of the Red Wolf’s plans for Talisand. They
say we will have a grand castle set upon a great mound of dirt.” Jamie babbled
on excitedly as they covered the ground to the stable, the sun warming Serena
as they walked. “The men have even let me hold their swords!” A look of guilt
suddenly came over his face and he dropped his gaze. “I know they are Normans,
Sarah, and I should not like them.”

“’Tis all right, Jamie. I can see they have bewitched you.
Besides, ’tis best you do not anger them by telling them what we think of
Normans.” She feared for the boy if he did.

They walked to the stable’s entrance, his small hand in
hers. His face glowed as he told her of the knights. She could see the boy
considered the presence of the warriors an adventure. She hoped they presented
no threat to the child. His life had certainly become more exciting with their
arrival. While she hated the invaders of her country who had taken her beloved
family and her lands, Jamie, orphaned as a small boy, had no mother or father
to see to his training. Now that he was growing into manhood, the Norman
knights with their swords and horses would be tempting. While she acted the
part of his older sister, assuring his needs were met, she knew he longed to be
a part of the world of men.

* * *

Standing on the roof walk of the manor house, Geoff at his
side, Renaud raised his hand to shield his eyes from the blinding sun as he
gazed into the distance, surveying the land around the manor. He had yet to
select the site for the castle though he had identified a location that would
serve.

“That reminds me, Ren,” Geoff said, the knight’s gaze fixed
on the yard below.

Roused from his thoughts, Renaud faced his friend. “Yea?”

“See the girl walking with the lad, just there?”

Renaud’s gaze followed Geoff’s finger pointing to a girl
with a long brown plait walking toward the stable with a boy of about ten or
eleven years. “I see.”

“She was one of the servant girls brought back that first
eve. I think she may become a problem with the men.”

Renaud frowned. He did not need another problem just now,
particularly not with his men who were just settling in. “Why would she be a
problem?”

“Watch her at the midday meal instead of eating in your
chamber as you have been doing these last few days and see for yourself. The
men are taken with the wench. They compete to try and win her affection while
she serves. I am worried it will lead to fights among them.”

“Does she tease them?” The face of the dark-haired temptress
who served in the evening flashed in his mind.

“Nay. She does not even look at them. But she is very comely
and Sir Maurin, who carried her back when they retrieved the servant girls,
seems to have a fondness for the wench. The younger men have no intention of
deferring to the knight where she is concerned. Instead, they compete to win
the girl’s favors. She encourages none. Mayhap she is even hostile to their
smiles. From the looks she gives us, I think she has no kind feelings for
Normans.”

Renaud was not about to let his men fight over a wench.
There was much for them to do to remain ready to serve William should they be
called to battle. And they must soon hunt to provide meat. “See that she is
taken off serving duty. Send her above stairs to work as a maid. I would see
her there this afternoon so I may judge for myself.”

“That I will gladly do,” said Geoff giving Renaud a look
that said he was pleased his lord had relieved him of an unwanted problem.

Renaud lingered at the high table in the hall until he
glimpsed the servant girl with the brown plait carry a pile of linen through
the entry heading toward the stairs to the bedchambers. Slowly rising, he
nodded to Geoff and followed after her.

Quietly, he stepped through the open door of his chamber.
The girl had her back to him as she freshened the bed, the stack of clean linen
resting on a nearby chest. He did not acknowledge her but went directly to the
trestle table, poured a goblet of wine and sat, pretending to examine a drawing
of the lands surrounding the manor.

She turned. “I can come back later, my lord.” She spoke
meekly, barely looking at him as she hurriedly finished with the bed and began
a hasty retreat to the door.

He replied in the English tongue, as he did to all save his
men. “Nay, you may stay. Your work will not disturb me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her back stiffen.
Slowly, she retraced her steps and resumed her work. Her movements were rushed
as if she were trying to complete her assigned tasks in haste. Was she nervous
at being alone with him? Even with that, Renaud thought her movements graceful
as she walked to the shelves near where he sat. She held her head high, unusual
for a servant in the presence of her lord. Though her long plait was the dull
color of country earth, her profile was refined and her features delicate. He
rose and silently moved to stand behind her where she dusted a carved box.

She must have sensed his approach.

“My lord?” she said, turning to face him.

Blue-violet eyes held his gaze only a moment before looking
down at the floor. Set in her ivory face they reminded him of violets in the
snow. So mesmerized was he that, for a moment, he forgot his question.

“Your name is Sarah?”

Keeping her eyes focused on the floor, she said, “Yea, my
lord.”

“How long have you been at Talisand?”

“All my life, my lord.” Her voice was soft, a low purr, and
with her words a flowery scent drifted to his nose. He was captivated and
wanted to touch her. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? And this one
was causing his manhood to stir.

Turning back to the shelf, she resumed dusting the carved
box, as if to put an end to the conversation. His gaze shifted to her hand as
she set down the box. Delicate fingers and ivory skin. It was not the hand of a
kitchen wench.

“Let me see your hand.” She started at his request, and
though he could see she wanted to resist, she did not fight him when he reached
for her hand and brought it close to his body turning her palm upward.

It told him much.

“These blisters are new. You have not always worked in the
kitchens nor done the wet work of the laundry, have you?”

She shook her head in silent agreement.

“What were your tasks before I came to Talisand?”

Looking down at her feet, she said, “I was with the Lady
Serena, my lord.”

“Ah, a lady’s handmaiden then.” So that is where the girl
learned to speak so well, for her speech was not that of an ordinary servant
nor her manner that of a scullery maid.

He waited for her to say more but when she did not, he said,
“Tell me about her.”

She looked up. “What would you know, my lord?” Blue violet
eyes held his. He could get lost in those eyes.

“How does she look?”

“She is tall and her hair is the color of summer wheat, my
lord.”

“And her character?”

Turning her gaze again to the floor, she hesitated before
speaking. “She loves her people and her family, my lord. She is very loyal. Had
she been a man, she would have fought with her father at Hastings. Most of all,
she loves Talisand and would die for its people.”

Her voice, nearly breaking at the end, told him her words
were spoken with deep emotion. She was close to the Lady of Talisand and to the
old thegn.

“I’m told her brother took the lord’s place for a time,” he
said, hoping she would continue to talk.

She raised her eyes to his. “Yea, Steinar did lead Talisand
for a time, but then he was drawn away by other battles.” When she spoke the
young man’s name, a tender look came into her eyes. Did she love the old lord’s
son? Mayhap she was his leman. The possibility was not to his liking.

Still holding her hand, he looked down at her palm seeing
other signs. “These are the calluses of an archer. How is it a lady’s
handmaiden comes to use a bow?”

The girl’s eyes shifted to her hand where Renaud had begun
moving his thumb across her palm in slow sensual circles. He was not unaffected
and, he suspected, neither was she.

“Rhodri
taught me, my…my lord.” She spoke in a
halting whisper, confirming his touch was disrupting her thoughts. Then she
added hastily, “I was not the only one. It was the old lord’s desire that
Rhodri should teach all at Talisand who cared to learn.”

Renaud remembered that when the young servant women had been
returned to the
demesne
, Sir Niel had taken several bows from them.

He stopped stroking her palm. She tried to pull back her
hand but he had no intention of releasing her. “Who is this Rhodri?”

“He is a Welsh bard, my lord, who is also skilled with a
bow. The thegn met him on his travels and invited him here. He lived among us
for several years.”

“Where is the Welshman now?”

“I know not, my lord. Peradventure he is in Wales, though
his music and his skill with a bow are much in demand. He may yet be in
England.”

“A bard and a bowman…an unusual combination.” Renaud frowned
in concentration as he considered the idea.

“Not for a Welshman,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Renaud smiled, amused. She was so serious, so insistent,
this servant who acted like no servant he’d ever known. “Aye, mayhap you are
right. Many Welshmen would have both talents.”

He let go of her hand, but remained close. He knew now what
had attracted his men for he, too, was falling under her spell. She was
beautiful and well-spoken and something about her enticed him. If she had been
the leman of this brother of Lady Serena’s or the bard Rhodri, it was possible
she was not a maiden and would accept an invitation to come to his bed. If Lady
Serena lingered in Scotland, he might have no woman for some time.

He brushed his knuckles along her jaw from her ear to her
chin and then down her neck, feeling her skin like warm silk. She shivered and
looked away.

His mind conjured a picture of the feminine creature naked
in his bed. His heart beat rapidly and his loins grew heavy. Wild images began
filling his head.

He imagined taking the beautiful serving girl in his arms
and kissing her softly, deeply, hearing her purring with delight. In his mind
he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the fur covered bed. Throwing her
gently to the bed cushion, he covered her beckoning body with his own, pressing
firmly into her softness as he kissed her again, letting his kisses rain over
her face and down her neck, following a trail to the swell of her breasts. His
excitement was growing, his hardening manhood the proof.

“My lord,” Sarah whispered. “My lord, is something wrong?”
This time the question was louder than before, bringing him back to the
present. He blinked.

The girl looked as if she was preparing to flee. It had been
too long since he’d had a woman. His heart pumping, he controlled his breath
and shook himself out of his fantasy.

“Sarah, would you come willingly to my bed?”

Angry violet eyes glared at him. “Nay! I may be seventeen
summers but I am a maiden still!”

So, the kitten has claws.
Her fierce reaction
suggested she spoke the truth, or was it only that she hated Normans enough to
lie and lie well?

“You have said no woman would be forced by you or your men,”
she reminded him.

He slid a finger along her jaw and saw her shiver. “You
could come to me of your own accord, Sarah. I desire you.” It occurred to him
then that if she were a maiden still, mayhap he should help her find a worthy
husband among his men, but he found no joy in such a thought. No, he wanted
this one in no other bed but his own.

She glared at him. “Are you not promised to Lady Serena?”

He stepped back at her challenging words, forcing his ardor
to cool. “Yea, she has been given to me by William’s decree, and I will take
her to wife because I must. It is my duty. But she is not here. Even if she
were, you could be my leman.” He knew he would never have a desire like this
for the woman William had ordered him to marry. And he did not want to let the
comely servant go.

“Nay! I would never come willingly to a Norman’s bed. And I
will be no man’s whore.”

Her words hit him like a hard slap. He was surprised a
servant would be so adamant to refuse her lord, now an earl, even if he were a
Norman. But he would not press the matter. He could be patient, at least for a
while. With the challenge of wooing Sarah to his bed, he might not mind the
absence of Lady Serena.

Stepping away from her, he flicked his fingers toward the
door. “Go then. Your work is done here for today.”

* * *

Serena looked up at the clouds gathering above her. Hunting the
next day not far from the village, she was hurrying to take enough rabbits to
satisfy Maggie before the deluge began. She’d taken four when a woman’s scream
broke the quiet of the woods. Dropping her catch, she ran toward the sound. As
she neared the small clearing just ahead, she heard a familiar voice.

“Nay! Let go of me! Do not do this!” the woman pleaded.

“Come wench! Give me what I want and I will gladly release
you.” The man’s voice was deep, husky and harsh.

Serena stepped into the clearing just as she heard the sound
of ripping cloth. She had known who the woman was. Eawyn was her friend. And
she knew the knight from the hall when she had first served the Normans their
evening meal. His leering glances had made her uneasy.

With one hand, the swarthy dark-haired knight held the woman
in his grasp while wrenching down her tunic and shift, tearing the cloth still
further. Eawyn struggled to pull away while clutching at the torn fabric with
her free hand, trying in vain to cover her naked breasts.

He reached out to touch one of the pink-tipped mounds of
pale flesh, and Eawyn let out a pathetic wail.

With lightning speed, Serena moved her bow into place
nocking an arrow and pulling it back, ready to fire.

The knight threw Eawyn roughly to the ground, falling
heavily atop her. With her hands pinned beneath his weight, there was nothing
Eawyn could do to fight off the inevitable.

“Release her!” Serena shouted.

The knight did not stop but mercilessly squeezed one of
Eawyn’s breasts, while violently sucking the other into his mouth. Eawyn
writhed beneath the Norman, struggling to free herself while he shoved his
other hand between her legs, pulling up her tunic.

“Stop, I say!”

The knight turned to see Serena’s poised bow. Rolling off
Eawyn, he rose from the ground, dragging the terrified woman with him, still
holding her in his punishing grip. “Ah, another young beauty…and this one with
a toy in hand. Come join us wench and we shall have good sport. There is more
than enough of me for the both of you.”

With cold determination Serena looked into the dark eyes of
the beefy knight, who unlike his fellow Normans, wore a mustache and short
beard and was all the more menacing for them.

“I will not miss my mark, Norman. Let her go
now
, or
I’ll dispatch you to hell where you surely belong.” She would not hesitate to
kill this man who would defile one of Talisand’s women. The vengeance she
craved ran strong and deep. Not just for Eawyn, but for her father, Talisand
and all of England.

Still holding the struggling Eawyn, the knight laughed.

Serena would give him one last chance. She aimed for the arm
that held her friend. Letting the arrow fly, its metal tip sank deep into the
fleshy part of his arm, sending a warning the knight could not ignore.

With an oath, he let go of Eawyn. “What have you done,
wench?” He looked at his arm dripping blood. “For this you will pay!”

“I think not,” Serena said. “Now, move away from her.”
Serena quickly nocked another arrow. This one she would aim at his heart.

“Nay, I shall have my feast here in the woods,” he said
defiantly, his dark eyes crazed as he gripped Eawyn with the hand of his
uninjured arm. “And then I shall have you before I kill you!”

“Say your prayers, Norman, for hell awaits you!” About to
let her arrow fly, Serena heard heavy footfalls behind her, snapping twigs.

“What goes here, Sir Hugue?” The blond knight who was
companion to the Red Wolf stomped into the clearing and stood next to Serena.
In a gentle voice he said, “It was good your aim went amiss, Sarah. You do not
want the death of a knight laid upon you. Put down your bow. I will handle
this.”

Serena slowly lowered her bow but did not take the arrow
from its place, nor her eyes from the one called Sir Hugue. Inside she still
seethed.

At the blond knight’s words, the knight who held Eawyn
released her and stepped back, lowering his head as if a humble suppliant. To
Serena, his submission appeared feigned. His arm where the arrow pierced it
dripped blood but he seemed not to notice. “Naught but a bit of sport, Sir
Geoffroi. And for it, I took an arrow in my arm from the wench.”

Eawyn ran to Serena who dropped one of her hands from her
bow to wrap an arm around the distraught woman who was desperately trying to
cover herself.

Serena whispered in her ear, “Do not reveal my identity.”

Eawyn’s dark tresses had come loose from her plait to fall
in strings around her face and her blue eyes were full of tears, but she nodded
even as she continued to sob.