скачать книгу бесплатно
Saxon Lady
Margo Maguire
Drawn to her avowed enemyBaron Mathieu Fitz Autier expected some resistance when he staked his claim to the Saxon land he'd won in battle. But he never imagined that the former lady of the manor would have the courage to fight back–with an arrow aimed at his head!Lady Aelia saw her world slipping away as the Normans took control of her beloved home. Worse, she was drawn to Fitz Autier–her avowed enemy. She would not give in to the passion she sensed in this fierce warrior: not when he was honor-bound to deliver her to a Norman king. The journey ahead was sure to test them both beyond reckoning.
“None of this is yours!”
Aelia exclaimed.
Her father had been dead merely a month, yet this usurper had moved in as if he had every right to do so. As if her father had never been lord here.
“You think not, my lady?” Mathieu Fitz Autier took hold of her arm and led her roughly to the window. “Observe. All that you see is mine. You are vanquished, Saxon.”
Aelia turned to slap his arrogant face, but he caught her hand and pressed it against the cool metal hauberk covering his chest. ’Twas a place where no normal heart pulsed, but a cold and cruel one.
Yet he did not strike back. He lowered his head, his face, his lips coming but a breath away from hers.
And then he kissed her. He slid his hands around her waist as he lowered his mouth to her jaw, then her ear and her throat, sipping, tasting Aelia.
Praise for Margo Maguire
The Virtuous Knight
“These are memorable characters whose story plays out against a well-researched backdrop.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
His Lady Fair
“You’ll love this Cinderella story.”
—Rendezvous
Dryden’s Bride
“Exquisitely detailed…an entrancing tale that will enchant and envelop you as love conquers all.”
—Rendezvous
Celtic Bride
“Set against the backdrop of a turbulent era, Margo Maguire’s heart-rending and colorful tale of star-crossed lovers is sure to win readers’ hearts.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
Saxon Lady
Margo Maguire
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to Kate Blessing, a reader, musician and scholar. May your last high school years be as full of grace and brilliance as your first.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter One
Northern England
Early Autumn, 1068
I t was all Lady Aelia could do to keep her men calm before the battle ensued. She walked the perimeter of the palisade and spoke to the archers, bolstering their courage, praising their prowess in battle.
“’Twas not for lack of skill that we’ve survived against the enemy these past months!” she called to them. “You are worthy warriors, you are Ingelwald’s heroes! Fear not the Norman bastard, Fitz Autier, who invades our lands. He is no different from Gui de Reviers, or any of the others whom you killed in battle—he is powerless against our might!”
Aelia hoped it was true. The tales of Mathieu Fitz Autier’s conquests were many and terrifying. He had become a legend in Northumberland with his ruthless ways, sent by King William to conquer where other warriors had failed. No Saxon man, woman or child was spared when Fitz Autier won the day.
Aelia would just have to make certain that he won naught at Ingelwald.
It was nearly dawn, and a hazy mist hovered below. She could sense more than see the activity on the ground beyond Ingelwald’s stone walls. Fitz Autier, no doubt, was marshaling his men into position. But Aelia refused to be unnerved by the enemy she had not yet seen.
Many formidable thanes of Northumberland had come to Ingelwald when their own smaller holdings had fallen, swearing fealty to Wallis, Aelia’s father. Now that Wallis and so many of those Saxon warriors were dead, it fell to Aelia to deliver her people from the Norman peril.
A sudden, hard yank on her arm nearly pulled her off her feet. She whirled ’round and faced the angry countenance of Selwyn, her betrothed. His bearded face lacked the comeliness of a younger man, someone closer to Aelia’s age. And now he lacked even the lands that had swayed Wallis’s decision to give the man his daughter.
Wallis had wanted to ally himself with his closest neighbor, who had a fine estate to the south. And to keep Aelia near him after she married. ’Twas the primary reason he’d given his promise to make her Selwyn’s wife.
“Get down with the women and children,” he rasped angrily, spraying spittle from his darkened lips.
With distaste, Aelia pulled her arm from his viselike grip. “No. These are my father’s archers. They look to me for—”
“Ingelwald is my ward now, as are you and young Osric,” Selwyn asserted, and not for the first time.
“My father made no such provision,” Aelia retorted, her temper flaring, “as you well know.” Wallis had promised her to Selwyn only for the purpose of allying Ingelwald with its powerful neighbor, Selwyn’s holding—which had already fallen to the Normans.
That purpose was moot now, and Aelia would have an end to this distasteful betrothal as soon as her battle for Ingelwald was won.
’Twas unnaturally quiet on the grounds below, the women and children huddled within the walls of her father’s hall, praying for deliverance. It was not Aelia’s intention to join them.
“Wallis never meant for you to dress yourself as some fabled shield-maiden in breeches and tunic,” said Selwyn, “yet you stand here among the men with your quiver on your back, your bow at the ready. What think you, woman? That you are some fatal match for the bastard Fitz Autier?”
Naught would please Aelia more than to be the one whose arrow took the life of that Norman warrior. Yet she would be satisfied if any one of her father’s men accomplished the feat.
“Aelia!”
She and Selwyn turned to see the young red-haired boy who ran toward them. Her brother was merely ten years old, but had the reckless daring and unyielding fortitude of a man twice his age. ’Twas all Aelia could do to keep the lad out of trouble even as she was careful not to crush his formidable spirit.
“’Tis dangerous up here, Osric,” she said.
“Get away with you, boy!” Selwyn demanded.
Wary of unsettling the warriors who manned the battlements, Aelia drew Osric to a quiet corner and spoke softly to him. “Did I not give you a task—an important one?”
“Aye,” he said.
“But you are here with the archers. Were you not instructed to assist the swordsmen with their armor?”
“Aelia, I cannot,” the boy protested, his exuberance nearly palpable. “I am master of Ingelwald and I must—”
“Bah!” Selwyn’s guttural retort sounded behind her, but she ignored him.
“You must return to the horsemen of Father’s fyrd, Osric. They will need every hand to prepare for battle.”
“They are mounted and ready for the dawn,” her brother said. “My place is here with you. I have my bow.”
And he could easily be shot. Aelia searched her mind for a new task to set him upon, something that would not seem trifling to him.
“Christ’s bones, woman!” Selwyn growled. He pushed Aelia aside, grabbed Osric by the scruff of his tunic and shoved him toward the ladder. “Get you gone, boy! This is no place for a brat.”
“Selwyn, cease! He is not your—”
Sunlight broke over the distant horizon and the first onslaught of enemy arrows came with it. Ingelwald’s archers met the attack, arrow for arrow, as the armored horsemen in the courtyard prepared to exit the gates.
Aelia forgot about Osric for the moment as she took her place among the archers and looked down at the Normans who would seize her father’s hall, his lands, her home. Taking aim, she found a target once, twice, then a third time before she noted a tall knight on a massive destrier rallying his men, keeping them in position.
Aelia could not see his face, for he was clad in armor from helm to spur. Even his horse was protected from stray blows by a coat of steel. When she realized that this knight must be Fitz Autier, Aelia raised her bow and took aim.
But he had no vulnerable spot. She closed one eye and targeted him, ever ready should he raise an arm or bend his body in such a way that a vital part was left exposed.
’Twas to no avail. He was a seasoned warrior who knew better than to leave himself open to attack. His movements were powerful and controlled, his horsemanship without flaw. Still, Aelia kept watch on him as he battled the mighty Northumberland thanes.
When his helmet became momentarily dislodged, she saw that the Norman bastard was a comely demon. Even from a distance, Aelia could appreciate the masculine angles of his countenance, the strong lines of his jaw. His dark hair was long for a Norman—it lay in wet strands upon his brow, which was furrowed in anger—or frustration. So handsome was he that Aelia had no doubt many a Norman maid would mourn his passing.
She raised her bow, but her aim was disturbed by a sudden tremor that racked her narrow shoulders, and a strange light-headedness. She had all but forgotten her mother’s portentous words years ago, but when the sight of the Norman warrior caused a burning heat to singe her from blood to bone, she remembered her saying: “The earth will move and your body will quiver with awareness when you first see your one true mate.”
Aelia had always believed her prediction. It had happened to her mother and grandmother, and all the other women in her line, yet… It could not be a Norman—a bastard Norman.
Fitz Autier could not possibly be the man.
Aelia let the arrow fly and an eternity passed as she waited for it to meet its mark. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands clenched tight with anticipation when a sudden rush of blood burst upon the Norman’s face. Aelia’s heart jumped with jubilation, for she had accomplished what every thane in Britain had striven for: death and destruction of the Norman leaders who had come to take their lands.
But no…Fitz Autier was not slain, merely nicked. Blood gushed from the wound in his cheek, though Aelia’s arrow did not protrude from the spot. With disappointment, she realized she must have only grazed him.
While she watched, he turned his gaze up to the battlement where she stood. Their eyes met and held, and in that moment, Aelia realized that Fitz Autier knew it was she who had wounded him.
And she wondered if he felt the same racking tremor that she experienced once again when he looked at her.
The battle raged all morning and far into the afternoon, and Aelia managed to shrug aside the uneasy notion that what she’d felt when she looked upon Fitz Autier was exactly what her mother had predicted.
Her mother, dead after Osric’s difficult birth, could never have known that Aelia would one day find herself face-to-face with this fierce Norman enemy. And that was the only explanation for the odd sensation she felt when she looked at him.
Aelia had no further opportunity to dispatch the Norman bastard. Though Ingelwald warriors managed to hold the gate, too many archers had fallen. Her Northumberland swordsmen outside the walls managed to carry the day. As dusk set in, the Normans retreated to their camp beyond the southern wood to prepare, no doubt, for battle upon the morrow.
