Free Margo Maguire by Saxon Lady Page B

hope she could convince him to release Osric.
    The Norman baron did not spare her a glance, but mounted his own saddled gelding. A contingent of Norman warriors rode toward the gate and stood waiting for him—and her. Aelia fought back tears and tried to compose herself enough to ask about Osric…and her destination.
    “Durand! Hugh!”
    Mathieu beckoned the two guards toward him.
    “Did my orders include abuse of my prisoner?” His voice sounded low and menacing to his own ears, but that could not be helped. He maintained strict discipline among his ranks, and though these two had been boundto Gui de Reviers, who had fallen before Mathieu’s arrival at Ingelwald, they had clearly overstepped their orders.
    At Mathieu’s question, Hugh looked abashed, but Durand’s expression darkened. Mathieu had not taken particular note of the man before, but he had an attitude of defiance and superiority that would not be tolerated.
    “No, seignior,” Hugh replied, but Durand remained silent.
    “Turn yourselves over to Sir Auvrai. ’Twill be your task to deal with the stables. From the manure on the ground to the thatched roof.”
    Mathieu felt Lady Aelia’s eyes on him as he gave his order, then turned and rode through Ingelwald’s gate to the land beyond.
    “S-seignior…” she stammered.
    The welt upon her cheek did not concern him. She was no longer a noblewoman, but merely his prisoner in this battle for her homeland. She was his slave, and if King William did not execute her in London, Mathieu had no doubt he would ship her to Normandy, where she would be compelled to serve on one of his many estates.
    She caught up to him. “My brother…?”
    “Will remain in custody at my pleasure, demoiselle. ” He looked away from the worry in her eyes. Her troubles could be of no consequence to him. “And your cooperation buys the boy’s continued good health.”
    Once Mathieu turned her over to the king’s men in London, ’twould be an end to whatever connection was between them. He intended to be well occupied celebrating his betrothal and his victory at Ingelwald, and there would be little time to think of Lady Aelia. Or her fate.
    “’Tis time for you to show me Ingelwald.”
    “But I—”
    “ Demoiselle, you are most qualified to do so, and with you, language does not pose a problem. I wish to assess the holding before I leave for London.”
    She hesitated. “Ingelwald is too vast,” she finally said, no doubt keeping in mind Osric’s tenuous position. “Its southern border is two days’ ride from my father’s hall.”
    “Fine. We’ll ride north.”
    “As you wish, seignior.” Her words were clipped, her posture stiff as she rode beside him. The morning’s rain had turned into an annoying drizzle, and Aelia’s torn and ragged clothes were soon soaked through. Though the weather was mild, Mathieu knew she would become chilled.
    “Take this,” he said, pulling his mantle from his shoulders. “Put it on.”
    She took it and draped it ’round her like a shawl, covering her head. “Thank you,” she muttered. “The path joins the river beyond those trees.”
    “It flows south?”
    “In parts. It has a circuitous route, but mostly flows east.”
    “By way of the mill—and Ingelwald’s northern wall.”
    “Aye.”
    “And away west? What lies past those fields?”
    “The hills in the distance are Ingelwald’s. We graze our sheep up there. Beyond that is Grantham, held by Fugol the Bold.”
    Not any longer. Fugol had been taken to London when Baron Richard Louvet had conquered the Saxon lord’s holding. Mathieu had seen the man hanged in London a year ago. He cleared his throat. “How many sheep?”
    “Hundreds.”
    ’Twas no wonder Wallis had fought so hard for this land. There was wealth here beyond anything Mathieu had expected. ’Twas likely a richer holding than his father’s estate in Normandy. Autier de Burbage would not be pleased when he learned that one of his many bastards