Free Margo Maguire by Saxon Lady Page A

already had the boy executed.
    She blinked away the tears that welled in her eyes, and pounded on the door again. “Take me to Fitz Autier! I must see him!”
    If there was any Norman who would kill a child, ’twould be Fitz Autier. The man’s reputation for ruthlessness had preceded him. For months they had heard rumors of his exploits, of the terrible toll exacted upon the Saxon lords at his hands. Aelia wondered if there was anything that could sway him from putting Osric to death.
    She had naught to offer but the riches of Ingelwald, and he’d already claimed them, from the lowliest cottage outside the walls to her father’s own hall. What more could she give him?
    The candle sputtered and died just as the heavy wooden bar rasped against the door. Aelia took two steps toward it and pulled the door’s handle, anxious to get out, whether or not that was what her guards intended. The door suddenly gave way and she staggered back into the pantry.
    Durand grabbed her arm and pulled her from the room. In the moment it took for her eyes to adjust to the light in the anteroom, he shoved her forward.
    The man was as dark as Fitz Autier, and there was a scar upon his cheek that mirrored the one Aelia had given his master, along with a cruel glint in his steely gray eyes that was unlike any expression she’d ever seen in Fitz Autier’s. The man was as brawny as theNorman who’d killed her father in battle against Gui de Reviers, but that knight had worn an armor helm, so Aelia would never know who had struck the fatal blow.
    She recoiled at Durand’s touch and pulled her arm away as the other guard spoke. “Fitz Autier wants to see you.”
    “Where’s my brother? What has he done with him?”
    Durand struck her, knocking her to the floor. Aelia was stunned by the man’s brutality, though she should not have expected anything less. These men were her enemies and she would do well to remember it.
    “On your feet, wench!”
    In silence, Aelia did as she was ordered, and the men flanked her as they made their way to the great hall, where Gilbert the Herald still tended the wounded. Aelia bit her lip to keep her chin from trembling as they walked outside.
    ’Twas a dank and rainy morn, but Aelia was glad to be free of her confinement, no matter what the weather. Fitz Autier stood in front of the village bake house, looking freshly washed, wearing a black mantle over his hauberk, and clean, dark chausses on his legs. He seemed impervious to the rain as he spoke to the one-eyed knight who’d carried Osric away from her the night before. Fitz Autier turned slightly and caught Aelia’s gaze, and his conversation seemed to stop.
    A moment later, Aelia realized she must have been mistaken, for he resumed his discussion with Sir Auvrai as if he had not noted her presence. She stumbled and nearly fell, but her escorts were relentless, pushing her in the direction of the stable, where a saddled mare stood.
    “Mount up.”
    Aelia took a shuddering breath. She could not leaveIngelwald without asking after Osric again, nor could she ride away without knowing her destination. But she was afraid.
    She damned her weakness and tried to form the words to question her guards, but her throat would not work. There was no doubt that any questions would raise the brutal guard’s ire, and Aelia was not inclined to suffer another blow.
    “Damn useless Saxon. Don’t suppose you can ride.”
    She bit back a retort that would only cause her more pain. Of course she could ride. And if mounting this horse would get her away from these two oafs, Aelia was all for it. She would go to Fitz Autier and ask him her questions directly.
    She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted as Sir Hugh took hold of the bridle; it seemed she would not be allowed to escape her guards, after all. When the men led her to the bake house where Fitz Autier stood, Aelia allowed herself to hope she could get some answers from him, though she now knew ’twas too much to