 |
 |
Available August 1998 - ISBN: 0-380-79896-4
|
 |
England, 1066 A.D.
"Shall we have the prisoner killed, milady?"
Aleene kept her back turned toward her steward. "No." She fingered the heavy tapestry that hung on the wall of her chamber.
"Surely you don't wish him tortured."
"Of a sort, Cuthebert." She brushed the pads of her fingertips against the silk threads, knowing she shouldn't handle the beautiful piece so. "I shall marry him."
"Marry?" Her steward's voice cracked in the middle of the word. "But, milady, Aethregard and the king..."
"Will not succeed in their quest to control me." She turned slowly, keeping her shoulders squared, her spine straight. "Bring the priest and collect the prisoner, Cuthebert, we must do this before Aethregard returns." Her steward swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. She waited a full second, then blinked once. Her gaze, she knew, was icy.
"Milady, he is but a lowly poacher.
A simpleton at that!" Cuthebert's face had turned a mottled red.
"Cuthebert," she said, "I have not asked
you to expound on my decision. Bring the prisoner and the priest."
Her steward shook his head. "You cannot, milady! Your betrothal has been accepted by the King. And Aethregard will expect..."
Aleene cut off his words with a slice of her hand. "Now!" She did not yell, but Cuthebert stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes bulging. “You shall incur the wrath of powerful men, milady,” he said, anger straining his voice. He turned on his heel and left.
Aleene waited until she could no longer hear Cuthebert's retreating footsteps before she allowed herself to let the air out of her lungs. Clenching her fists, she stilled the tremor that radiated down her arms. There was always that split second before her servants obeyed her when Aleene was sure that they wouldn't. And what would she do then?
She went to the massive chair that had been her father's and sank into it. She hated the doubt that ate at her tenuous self-esteem. She hated it so she hid it from all. Now, alone, Aleene dropped her head into her hands, as the shaking she thought she had mastered overtook her. Her entire body trembled as if she had just come from a sound dunking in the icy waves that splashed against the cliffs below. She did not allow tears, though. Never tears. Others would never know she had succumbed to her fears for a few still moments just so long as she didn't cry.
Her thoughts turned to the dirt encrusted prisoner she had seen being led from the forest that morning, and she felt her stomach heave. She must do this! It was her only hope. She had hired professional soldiers, house-carls, which usually only earls had, she had bought ships and readied her coveted castle for attack. All this to show King Harold that she needed no man, yet still he wanted to wed her to Aethregard. Still he felt the jewel that sat at the mouth of Pevensey Harbor would be better controlled by a man.
When the knock at her door sounded, she had once again found control. She stood facing the massive doors of what had once been her father's bed chamber and bid Cuthebert enter.
He did, looking twenty years older than he had when he left. The priest followed him, clutching his book of prayers like a life-line. Behind this sorry troupe came the prisoner, shackled and dirty. The entire room suddenly reeked of manure. Aleene did not allow herself even to wrinkle her brow.
She turned to the priest. "You may proceed, quickly."
He stared at her, misgivings written clearly in his lamb-like eyes. Aleene put every ounce of disdain she could in the look she settled upon him. He did not speak his discontent.
He motioned for Cuthebert to bring the prisoner forward. The man shuffled in deference to the chains about his feet. Or, perhaps, that was how he walked normally. Aleene could not have known. She had seen him only once before, when her men had brought him from her forests where he had been caught poaching. He had been trussed up and ready for the dungeon then as well. He looked at her now as he had then, blankly. He blinked once, then twice. He scratched himself and stared.
Aleene turned toward the priest and nodded.
The priest opened his prayer book quickly, his fingers clumsily going through the pages.
"Dispense with the trivialities, Father Bartholomew, get this thing done quickly," Aleene ordered in her hautiest voice.
The priest nodded, his eyes darting from her to the book in his hands. He gulped loudly and began to read. Aleene watched as fat beads of perspiration emerged from the edge of the priest's tonsure and slid down his pale, rounded cheeks. His girth jiggled beneath the coarse robes he wore, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Aleene stood erect, not allowing herself to blink.
Cuthebert breathed heavily behind her.
The prisoner stood a sword length away from her, staring blankly out the window. She would lie with him this night, and through every night that stood between now and Aethregard's return. The thought of allowing another to touch her brought terror, but she pushed it aside. She would not allow her stepbrother to annul this marriage, and so she had to be with child, soon. Aleene controlled the shudder that stirred at the base of her spine.
"Milady?" Father Bartholomew looked at her, his brows raised in hopeful question.
Aleene berated herself for letting her thoughts wander. She tried to think of what the priest might have asked, then understood suddenly. "I will," she said.
The priest's brows dropped in a crestfallen expression. He continued.
Aleene clenched her hands in the fabric of her gown, only then realizing that she wore one of her oldest kirtles, and it covered an equally old tunic. Her mind reached back to memories of her early childhood. She had dreamed often of her wedding. She would wear silk and jewels. She would sing and be merry. Her husband would be tall and strong.
An almost unbearable sweep of longing crushed through her defenses. She might have even let out a small gasp. The priest looked up quickly, but Aleene saved herself. She immediately stiffened, and stared down her nose at the short, fat man.
He averted his eyes, and continued.
Aleene stole a glance at the flesh and blood husband beside her. Even with his shoulders hunched forward he was tall, taller than her, which made him taller than most men. His straggly, long hair, so matted with dirt and who knew what else she could not tell what color it was, hid most of his face. His blank stare turned to her then, and she studied him in return.
His eyes were blue. They might have actually been a startling feature had any intelligence glowed there.
Aleene looked away, the longing for her childhood dreams of happiness that had crushed her before now threatened to bring her low, but she stood straighter and gritted her teeth together. There was no avoiding what she must do.
The priest moved suddenly, and Aleene realized it was over. She had married the half-wit poacher. Cuthebert's breathing had escalated to an alarming rate. She feared he might succumb to a faint. As she turned, she had an hysterical need to laugh. Life really was quite hilarious in a sick kind of way.
"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 to 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 hair. "'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 Normands 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 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 naïve 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.
He did not move.
Aleene did not like to touch or be touched, but she knew she would have to guide her new husband. She put her hand tentatively around his arm. Fear blossomed anew and froze her limbs.
He was strong. She could feel the muscles beneath his tunic. They bunched when she touched him, as if he might swing at her. And then they relaxed, quickly, against her fingers.
She pulled her hand away, unbalanced by the strange intimacy of the fleeting touch in the dark, scared by the hidden strength that touch revealed to her.
They stood still, the quiet in the room pulsing with its own life. She could feel her husband's breath fan against her cheek. It smelled of dark ale and fennel. She had expected to endure the stench of rotting teeth and old food. This man surprised her.
She did not like to be surprised. Aleene stepped backward and clenched her hands at her side. "Lie down, Lord Cynewulf." She jerked her head toward the bed. "Now."
The man cocked his head to the side. She couldn't see his expression, but felt that perhaps he looked confused. It would be a nice change from the blank, stupid look that never seemed to change. "I have named you, since you cannot tell us your name. You shall be Cynewulf, Lord Cynewulf of Seabreeze Castle." She turned from him and moved further away. "A great honor. You have been blessed with luck this day, Lord Cynewulf." She spoke to him without looking at him. She heard his feet move among the rushes again. "You are the Lord of a rich castle, one of only a few in this land."
Aleene went to the small, high window and looked out. The night was dark. Clouds covered the silver moon, keeping the landscape shrouded in shadows. "Kings juggle for control of this castle, Cynewulf." She found comfort in speaking, a comfort she hadn't felt in many years. "But they shall not have it." She could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs. She sighed and laid her cheek against the rough wooden wall. Cool against her skin, it was a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the room. It felt so good to put distance between herself and the intruder in her life. Closing her eyes, Aleene willed herself to be strong. Walking away from him, speaking to him as if he understood, only delayed what she must do. She nearly laughed again as she considered the irony of her goal here tonight, an act she had once fought so often she would now have to initiate with another.
The ropes of her bed creaked in protest, and Aleene realized her husband must have finally done her bidding. She did not move. The pounding surf became a dull roar in her head. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck, and she pressed her tunic against herself to stop its decent. Her fingers rested against the swell of her breast, and she remembered. He would touch her there.
Aleene squeezed her eyes shut against the terrifying images that catapulted through her mind: darkness, heat, hands, groping, fear, crying. Her breathing came fast, making her feel dizzy.
Gripping the edge of the window, Aleene fought to banish the memories. She must do this. Better to bed this half-wit than a true, whole man. A man sired by Tosig. She shuddered, then stiffening her back and thrusting out her chin, Aleene pushed away from the wall.