Free The Conqueror (Hot Knights) by Mary Gillgannon Page A

will talk to him myself. He obviously doesn’t understand what is expected of him. He sees his duty as a license to bed every wench he takes a fancy to!”
    “I gave him your orders. In fairness, I do not think he knows what the women are supposed to do. He has no experience in managing a household. Nor do any of us.”
    Jobert heard the resentment in Alan’s voice and felt an answering aggravation. ’Twas not all the men’s fault. They had never been charged with these sorts of tasks before. In an army train there were washer women and cooks, and every castle had a whole crew of servants working under a skilled steward.
    “Mayhaps I should have Rob take over supervising the women,” he said. “He has a gentler manner and would be less likely to encourage them in drunkenness and fornication.”
    “Mayhaps.” Alan shrugged again and took a swallow of the warm ale another woman brought them. He made a face. “I would not drink it.” He pushed Jobert’s cup away from him. “’Twill make your belly ail.”
    “God’s blood!” Jobert pounded his fist on the table. “Where is the brewer? I’ll have him flogged for trying to poison us!”
    “I sent him out to herd cattle.”
    “You what?”
    Normally unflappable, Alan flinched at Jobert’s livid expression. “We’re short of men to care for the livestock, and he’s a brawny, lively sort. I thought he could manage both. But he must have drawn off the ale too soon.”
    Jobert shook his head. His dream of possessing a prosperous demesne was being thwarted by a group of incompetent nitwits! Worse yet, he could not be rid of them because they were his own soldiers.
    “What this place needs is a chatelaine,” Alan said. “A woman’s touch. ’Tis a pity none of the old thegn’s womenfolk remain.”
    Jobert looked at the stairs leading to the upper story. Alan followed his gaze, and then shook his head. “You cannot mean the hellcat. What would one such as her know about managing a household?”
    “She sews as well as any woman I’ve known, Never have I had such a comfortable, well-fitted pair of hose.” Jobert touched the soft wool covering his legs, still in awe of the fineness of the garment.
    “But you said she was a seamstress from Flanders.”
    Jobert snorted. “She is no seamstress.”
    * * *
    Slowly, Jobert climbed the stairs. He was uneasy with what he was about to do, but he had no choice. Alan spoke the truth. Oxbury needed a chatelaine, a competent, strong-willed woman who could set things right.
    He was not certain what countless, important tasks the Saxons were leaving undone every day. But he knew there were many. If they were not to starve this winter, they must begin the butchering soon, and he had not found the salt necessary to preserve the meat. In a Norman household, it would be kept in a hidden cache and the chatelaine of the keep would have the key.
    The chatelaine, He could think of only one person who might possibly fill that role.
    The Saxon woman was almost certainly a member of Leowine’s family. His daughter, or a younger sister. Only a woman born to privilege and wealth would act as she did, daring to defy and fight her conquerors. No servant or seamstress would even think of it.
    He had avoided facing the obvious because he did not want to get more entangled with the wench. She made him nervous, not only because she was shrewd and devious, but because he desired her. He could not get the image of her tempting body out of his mind. Her bountiful breasts, smooth creamy skin, that remarkable golden thatch between her thighs.
    Jesu, he had to stop thinking about it. About how she was his helpless prisoner. About how he could do anything he wanted to her. If he did not force the tantalizing ideas from his mind, he would completely forget the bargain he had made and ravish her like a wild beast!
    He’d avoided her the past few days. Slept on a bench in the hall like the other men and had Rob attend to her needs. But if he asked