He’s her enemy...

...and she must not fall for him!

When her mistress is claimed as an enemy knight’s betrothed, handmaiden Aelfhild knows it would be too dangerous for her lady; she must go in her place. But there’s more to the scarred knight than she first thought—she isn’t expecting to fall for him! As the line between friend and enemy blurs, Aelfhild realizes she might be protecting her mistress, but not her heart...

“Readers will be drawn in by the fast pace, constant action and tragic love story.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Saxon Outlaw’s Revenge

“Hobbes’ Medieval world sparkles with detail.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Blacksmith’s Wife

ELISABETH HOBBES grew up in York, where she spent most of her teenage years wandering around the city looking for a handsome Roman or a Viking to sweep her off her feet. Elisabeth’s hobbies include skiing, Arabic dance and fencing—none of which have made it into a story yet. When she isn’t writing she spends her time reading and is a pro at cooking while holding a book! Elisabeth lives in Cheshire with her husband, two children and three cats with ridiculous names.

Also by Elisabeth Hobbes

Falling for Her Captor

A Wager for the Widow

The Saxon Outlaw’s Revenge

The Danby Brothers miniseries

The Blacksmith’s Wife

Redeeming the Rogue Knight

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Beguiled by the Forbidden Knight

Elisabeth Hobbes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07376-9

BEGUILED BY THE FORBIDDEN KNIGHT

© 2018 Claire Lackford

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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To Emma and Jules for many years of silly jokes, Dylan impersonations, bottles of wine and camping trips.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Yorkshire —May 1071

‘Tell me, madam, where is my bride?’

Gilbert du Rospez flung his arms wide in a gesture that encapsulated frustration, surprise and disbelief. He turned a circle around the brightly lit hall, then once again faced the impassive woman sitting on the dais.

‘I have travelled from York to Haxby in appalling weather, and at risk to my safety, with the sole intention of meeting your daughter and now I discover she is not here!’

From his place at the left side of the hall Guilherm FitzLannion hid a frown as he watched his liege lord and childhood friend grow increasingly irate. The journey from the city to this manor house was manageable within half a day on foot, and on horseback had been even faster. The Galtres Forest had provided shelter from the sudden May rainfall and there had been no sightings of any trouble. Gilbert was merely attempting to impose his status on his audience and, as usual, he showed no sense of how to do it with poise or effectiveness.

With his even features, chestnut hair cut in the fashionable style and a slim frame, Gilbert seldom failed to charm anyone he raised his soft brown eyes to, but if the glowing youth was hoping to make a good impression on his future mother-in-law he was failing. From her seat above them, Emma, Countess of Haxby, continued to look down her nose with an expression of disdain.

‘Perhaps you should have checked before setting out on such an—’ Emma smirked openly ‘—arduous journey whether it was one worth making. My daughter has not lived with me for almost two years.’

Her blue eyes became flint. ‘I sent her away in the winter of sixty-nine when your King marched to retake York from Edgar and his allies. I did not want her in the city when he was wintering there.’

Your King, Gui noted. He had not expected her to call William ‘the Great’, but this open disdain was a clear signal. If Gui had wondered which claimant to the throne of England Herik of Haxby’s widow might have supported in the tumultuous events five years previously, this was the evidence to confirm it. She either believed the oath-breaker Harold’s claim had been valid, or perhaps she had supported the Aetheling in his failed attempts the previous year to take York back from Norman control.

Gui flexed and bunched the fingers of his right hand and ignored the creeping itch in his left wrist. He looked at Gilbert to see if the nobleman had also picked up the inflection. Doubtful. Lady Emma would have to openly call William ‘the bastard’ for Gilbert to notice her hostility.

‘I know you have sent her away. You are telling me nothing I don’t know and I believe you are being intentionally unhelpful!’ Gilbert gazed on her with eyes full of injured dignity. ‘The question is, to where did you send her?’

Gilbert’s voice was rising and a blush was creeping up his throat. Any moment now he would stamp his foot. Gui noticed a shift in the stance of the attendants standing at either side of Emma’s chair. The two men were middle-aged and wore short swords buckled at their waists. Emma must have considerable influence to be allowed to keep armed guards after William’s determination to bring Yorkshire’s defiant inhabitants firmly under his yoke.

Gui and Gilbert carried swords so Gui doubted they were in any real danger. Part of Gui relished the idea of drawing English blood and teaching these northern curs that they were under the rule of William of Normandy. Another part grew clammy with cold sweat at the thought of taking arms in battle. The sword had never been his preferred weapon, but he no longer wielded the bow that he had loved since his youth.

In any case, William had decreed that was not the way things were to be done. England had been taken by force and subjugated by brutality, but would be held and secured through marriage and creating alliances.

Gui was growing tired of listening to the demands and refusals going back and forth. It was time to intervene and smooth the path for his lord as he had done so many times before. That was why Gilbert had brought him today after all, not to fight. He was no use in that respect any longer.

Gui swallowed the bitter bile that caused his stomach to twist in self-loathing. He cleared his throat and stepped forward to stand beside Gilbert.

‘Lady Emma, it’s time to put an end to this nonsense. Be gracious enough to tell us where the maid is. Now.’

Emma raised an eyebrow in surprise. Her watery blue eyes raked over Gui. She blinked, but did not outwardly show aversion at the sight of him as most women did. Gui felt a grudging touch of admiration for the woman who faced down these unwelcome visitors in her house and lands with such assurance.

‘Who are you to speak so boldly on a matter which does not concern you?’

What must she think of him in comparison to the noble knight he now stood beside? He was a head taller than Gilbert and with a broader frame. He bore a nose that was slightly crooked after a break during his childhood, and his time in William’s army had left him with a scar that split his lower lip into two uneven parts and eyes that were charcoal smuts from frequent sleepless nights. He felt like a rough tree trunk beside a tower of polished oak.

He thanked his stars that his greatest disfigurement was not immediately apparent to an onlooker and folded his right arm over his left, masking the padded leather glove he always wore. He turned his eyes to meet the widow’s gaze, boldly as she had called it.

He gave Lady Emma a smile, knowing that even when he meant it—which was rare these days—his scarred grin was more likely to provoke repulsion than kindness.

‘My name is Guilherm FitzLannion, my lady. I am no one of import.’

No one. Not a man of rank, simply an archer who had followed his friend and lord to England to seek his fortune and failed to find it.

Gilbert clapped a hand tightly on Gui’s shoulder and gave him a wide smile. The sorrow in his eyes was replaced with a warmer expression.

‘Gui is my closest confidant and my advisor, Lady Emma. He reminds me that I need to temper my speech at times and perhaps now is such a time.’

Emma flashed Gui a look of understanding that took him by surprise. Perhaps she had spent the years before widowhood smoothing the path of a rash nobleman.

Gui bowed his head. ‘Sir Gilbert does me too much kindness. I would add my petition to his, however. Delaying this affair simply to provoke us will solve nothing. Whether or not you accept William as King, he has spoken on this matter.’

He gave another crooked smile, took a step back and waited.

‘She is with her companion—a foundling left with us as a child—at the priory at Byland near Elmeslac,’ Emma said after a long pause.

Her voice caught. Her eyes were blank, viewing something other than the room before her. Were her nights plagued by bad dreams as Gui’s were? Did she hear the same cries?

‘Sigrun was already of fragile temperament and is not strong in body or spirit,’ Emma continued. ‘She narrowly escaped defilement, first at the hands of the rebels, then by men such as yourself who came to take back the city. Despite his determination to break our shire, I believe William of Normandy respects the sanctity of holy orders enough to allow a maiden to be safe in a priory from abuse and slaughter.’

Her voice dripped with contempt. Having travelled from the south through the ruins of what had once been prosperous villages, Gui found it hard to blame her. He studied his boots, ashamed of his countrymen, though he had not taken part in such dishonourable exploits.

‘My heart aches for the maid’s distress, but if you have sent her away you must fetch her back,’ Gilbert blustered.

A gleeful smile flitted across Emma’s lips.

‘That is out of the question.’

Gilbert growled deep in his throat and tensed his shoulders. Gui laid a restraining hand on his friend’s forearm, foreseeing a return to the hostilities he had hoped were ending.

‘You are making this harder than necessary, my lady,’ he cautioned.

Emma rose from her seat and walked slowly to the men. Her attendants stayed at their stations, but both stood poised to act if the need arose. Did these men of the north think Normans so dishonourable that they would attack a woman in her own home?

Emma stopped before Gui.

‘I am a poor widow with few resources. I do not have the means to escort my child here safely and she cannot travel alone, not while bands of rebels and outlaws roam through Yorkshire. It is simply not safe.’

‘Your daughter will come to no harm,’ Gui assured her.

‘You thought York was safe after FitzOsbern was given the garrison in the city, but Edgar and Sweyn of Denmark proved you wrong! Yorkshire may rise in rebellion again at any time.’

‘Now Alan Rouz holds the estate as Tenant in Chief, Yorkshire will not rise again. William has seen to that. Barely a village stands between here and Durham.’

Gui and Gilbert had marched with Alan the Red of Brittany to take York back when the Aetheling had attacked for the second time. Rouz had been granted land and William had decreed that Gilbert was the man to marry the sister of the young eorl who had taken arms against him.

Emma looked from man to man. Approaching her late thirties and therefore at least ten years older than either man, she was still an attractive, elegant woman with full breasts and a gently curved belly. Where once he might have taken his time to appreciate her beauty, Gui remained unmoved, simply noting that time and her troubles had not diminished her looks.

‘I agreed to allow my daughter to marry you, Sir Gilbert,’ Emma said coldly, ‘but I do not have to like it. Nor do I have to aid you in the process.’

‘You did not agree. You were given no choice,’ Gui pointed out. Neither was Gilbert, he thought ruefully. ‘A marriage was settled in return for your lands not being devastated after your son joined with the Aetheling’s forces.’

Emma’s eyes filled with hatred. Gui shrugged. A daughter’s virginity was a small price to pay in return for the guarantee of safety for those who lived on her manor, especially when the girl would have been doubtless married off to some straw-haired eorl in any case.

‘Sigrun is a compliant and dutiful maiden and will do what is required of her. If you wish to marry my daughter go and bring her here yourself!’ Emma lifted her chin. ‘I’ll send word ahead that the prioress should expect the noble Gilbert du Rospez to come claim his bride. Until you marry her, this house is mine so leave it now. Both of you.’

She turned on her heel and vanished behind the thick embroidered hangings into her private quarters, leaving Gui, Gilbert and their escort standing alone. Her attendants moved silently to stand before the curtain and block entry.

Gilbert spun on his heel and marched out of the building with as much dignity as the departed woman. Outside he sagged against the beam of wood at the corner of the building and sighed.

‘That woman is impossible. How dare she behave to me in such a manner?’

This was Gilbert through and through. Veering between tongue-tied shyness and wild outbursts of bullishness. Managing him took all Gui’s efforts.

‘We have invaded her land and now you wish to claim her daughter as your wife. Did you expect to be greeted with open arms?’ Gui asked.

‘Wish to marry her daughter! Wish to?’ Gilbert threw his arms up. ‘The wish is not mine. You know that, Gui. It is as much a penance to me as a reward. I don’t want to marry an English mouse who by her mother’s own account might be feeble-minded!’

Gui doubted that Gilbert had the urge to marry any woman. His mind was consumed entirely with thoughts of riding or breeding his beloved horses. Give him a kindred spirit and he would waste the night in enthusiastic discussion, but with a woman he was useless. Gui strongly suspected he was still a virgin.

‘Calm yourself. You might not want the girl, but you do want this.’

Gui gestured at the imposing house and the fields surrounding it, his throat catching with envy. It was built in the old style from tall planks of oak with wicker fencing surrounding a courtyard. To own such a home would be the greatest thing Gui could imagine. Gilbert shrugged him off and stalked to his destrier and the mare Gui had hired in York.

Gui followed him. ‘You’ll be a man of means with land here. Plenty of room to breed your horses. It’s better than being the second son of a nobleman in Brittany, even if it does mean marrying an English mouse.’

Much better than being the son of a vassal in that nobleman’s fief, too. Although Gui had accompanied Gilbert from Brittany at the behest of his friend, no one had offered him land, much less a bride for the part he had played in the conquest.

‘You know where the girl is now. All you need to do is go fetch her and the matter can be settled. You can have her back here by midsummer’s day. That would be a good-omened day for a wedding.’

‘I can’t go fetch her. I’ll be as useless persuading the girl to leave the priory as I was compelling her mother to retrieve her,’ Gilbert said gloomily. ‘Besides, I’ve been offered an opportunity I’d like to take.’

‘Which is?’ Gui prompted.

‘I’ve been invited to hunt on the Earl’s lands in the west. One of the men going breeds good stock horses. I told him I’d be there. There are good deer to hunt. You should join us.’

Gui’s jaw clenched. He jerked his head to his left arm. ‘And how would I bring them down with no means of drawing a bow?’

Gilbert’s eyes lit and he pointed a finger at Gui. ‘My friend, I have a solution. Go to Byland in my place. Bring the girl back for me while I am away.’

Gui gave a short laugh, then stopped short. He scowled. ‘You actually mean that, don’t you?’

Gilbert swung himself into the saddle. ‘Why not? It should be a simple matter. If you don’t intend to come with me, you have nothing better to do with your time.’

Gui had planned to spend his immediate future visiting as many of York’s drinking dens as he could and passing into oblivion. Traipsing halfway across Yorkshire to collect another man’s bride did not hold any appeal, even if that man was his oldest friend. He mounted his horse, gathering the reins in his right hand.

‘We’ll make arrangements within the week,’ Gilbert mused.

‘My lord! Gilbert! I said no.’

‘Of course you did, but you’ll do it anyway.’ Gilbert exuded confidence, displaying the easy charm that had failed to work on Lady Emma. ‘I could command you as your liege lord, but I know I won’t have to. My good friend. I ask a lot of you but I’ll reward you, too. You’ll need a better horse, of course. Better clothes, too. It will cost me dearly.’

Gui rolled his eyes. He was ambivalent about horses, something Gilbert found incomprehensible.

‘I imagine Lady Emma will see it as a personal insult if you send a messenger in your place.’

Gilbert pouted. ‘It’s the daughter I have to marry, not the mother.’

Gui gave him a stern look. Diplomacy was not Gilbert’s strongest feature.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Gilbert conceded. He broke into a trot and they skirted around the edge of Lady Emma’s land towards the forest path. Gui followed, uneasy on horseback and watchful for signs of trouble Gilbert might ignore.

As they reached the edge of the forest Gilbert pulled his reins sharply and turned to Gui.

‘You go as me!’

Gui drew his horse to a halt, momentarily puzzled.

‘You go in my place to Byland,’ Gilbert clarified. He smiled. ‘Take my name. Lady Emma is sending word I am coming, but the Lady Sigrun and I have never met. She won’t know you aren’t me. I’ll even give you my seal to wear to add to the deception.’

He trotted on, lost in his plans, talking half to himself. ‘It would cause difficulty if she discovered the deception halfway home. Swear to me that you will take my name until you return here with my bride.’

‘I haven’t agreed yet,’ Gui pointed out. ‘She’ll discover I’m not you on your wedding night. What will she do when she finds out she has been deceived?’

‘She’ll be uncomplaining if she’s as timid and compliant as her mother says,’ Gilbert answered. He smiled. ‘Court the girl on my behalf, Gui, but do not let her know what we have done. When she arrives here she will be more amenable to the thought of marriage. If I went to bring your bride back, I can see that would be a problem, but as it stands...’

He left the thought unfinished. Gui ended it for him.

‘As it stands she will take one look at you and thank God she does not have to marry a one-handed, scar-lipped, crook-nosed beast after all.’

Gilbert had the grace to look abashed. ‘That isn’t what I meant.’

It had been, but Gui had long grown accustomed to Gilbert’s unwitting tactlessness. The offence was never meant. Besides, it was true. A wife of his own had seemed an unobtainable dream since his injuries.

‘You really don’t look as bad as you imagine,’ Gilbert said. ‘If you were wealthier, a woman would look past your injuries anyway. When I am master of this manor I’ll have the power to grant land. If you do this for me, I’ll grant a portion to you. I’ll make you my reeve. My second-in-command.’

Gui gazed around him. Lady Emma’s land had been spared the worst of the harrying that had all but destroyed the north. A river ran through the flat plain that lay barren, but in time could be brought back to life. It reminded him a little of home and the farmer’s son in him awoke. To be master of his own lands under the fiefdom of his friend would be a good thing to be.

Gilbert had been spinning tales of riches and power for them both since they had left France. They had so far failed to appear, for Gui at least, and this could be the opportunity he craved to rebuild his life and start afresh. All for making a journey of a week and escorting a girl to her home. What could be simpler? His lips twitched into a smile.

‘I’ll bring your bride,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll take your name if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes.’

* * *

Gui raised himself high in the saddle and rolled his shoulders back. It was now mid-afternoon and he had been riding all day, but the final stage of his journey was almost complete. He had reached the highest point of the hill and stopped beside the stone marker, and could make out the roofs of the priory nestling in the dip below. It stood along the opposite bank of the river that wound lazily between hills and back towards York, passing by the remains of a couple of desolate villages and vanishing periodically into knots of trees.

He pulled at the neck of his cloak to loosen it. In the three days since he had left York the spring weather had changed steadily for the better and the new wool was still stiff and itchy in the unexpected sun.

Not that he was complaining about his new attire. Gilbert had been so grateful for Guilherm’s agreement he had presented Gui with the new cloak, two fine linen undershirts and a new tunic of light wool with a deep band of embroidered braid along the thigh-length hem. A new buckle adorned the worn leather belt Gui insisted on retaining along with his old boots and gloves. They were by far the finest clothes Gui had ever possessed and how he looked exactly like what he was supposed to resemble: a knight of middling wealth hoping to make a favourable impression on his bride.

He could almost believe their plan would be a success, and as he rode he passed the time making idle plans for the crops he would plant and the house he would build when the promised land was finally his. It wouldn’t have to be a big house; he would be living there alone after all. Best not dare to dream too big—a companion to share his life with was so unlikely that the pit of loneliness that made his heart ache soured his thoughts.

He brushed his hair back from his forehead where it had become damp with exertion from the ride. Despite all Gilbert’s coaxing Gui had steadfastly refused to shave his head in the same style as the knight, and had kept his dark-brown hair longer than fashionable so it skimmed his jaw and framed his face. Sweat pooled beneath his arms and the linen clung to his torso. He frowned. It would not do to arrive at the priory looking so travel stained. No doubt the prioress would provide the means to bathe, but sunlight turned the river silver and to Gui it was a more appealing prospect. He turned the horse towards the river and in a lazy walk he made his way down the hill to one of the bends where trees would afford him some privacy in the unlikely event he encountered anyone.

Gui tethered his horse to a tree close to the river where she could drink as she wished or take shelter from the sun. He unbuckled the short sword he wore at his belt and stowed it alongside the bow and quiver of arrows he could not bear to part with, which were wrapped in leather and strapped to the pannier. He stripped off his clothes, gritting his teeth in frustration as he worked the buckles and laces with his right hand. He paused before removing the padded glove on his left hand, but in this isolated spot no one would cast their eyes on his affliction so he removed that, too.

Naked, he plunged into the river, which proved to be deeper than he had expected. He stood, gasping and shuddering, toes curling in the silt as the chilly depths closed around him to his waist. When he became accustomed to the cold, he swam under the surface with powerful strokes and emerged downstream when he could no longer hold his breath. He scrubbed at his hair and body until his flesh stung, wishing he had the means to scrape the bristles from his jaw that had become a rough beard. He resembled one of the Yorkshire Norsemen the longer he wore it.

The sun was still warm, lessening the worst of the chill. He lay back in the water and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the sweet-scented air. He drifted along with the gentle current, allowing the water to caress him, feeling knots in his muscles loosen as the current and weeds played around his body. For what was almost certainly the first time since stepping foot in England, Guilherm felt truly at peace.

* * *

‘That’ll do until I come again next week.’ Aelfhild tightened the knot holding the bandage on Brun’s leg. She wiped the greasy balm from her fingers, pulled the threadbare blanket back over the old man’s legs and smiled. ‘Try to move a little if you can or you’ll get more sores. That poultice will help ease the discomfort.’

‘You’re a good lass, Aelfhild. You’ll make a good wife to some man,’ Brun rasped.

Her first thought was that she’d rather be a good nurse, and her second was whom would she marry anyway; now Yorkshire’s men were in short supply.

‘I don’t think a foundling with no dowry would be many men’s first choice,’ she sighed.

Brun started to answer, but coughs racked his frame. ‘I won’t be sorry to go, but you’ve made these months more comfortable,’ he wheezed.

‘Don’t talk like that! You’ve got years ahead of you,’ Aelfhild lied.

A film of tears covered Brun’s eyes. ‘Weeks. A month or two, perhaps. I didn’t think I’d see this year come when they came to burn the village. My home is gone; my sons are dead. I’m ready to join them.’

They. The Normans. They’d lain waste to the villages all around Elmeslac, and further afield if tales were true as the new King’s vengeance for what had happened in York. For the people daring to try to regain their city. Aelfhild’s throat tightened with hatred. If she ever met a Norman she’d drive her knife through his black heart!

Brun was her final patient. She began to pack up her bag of poultices and medicines to stop her hand straying to the brooch she wore concealed beneath a fold in the neck of her shapeless tunic. She would not think about the man who had given it to her or her eyes would fill with tears, too.

She left the dimly lit hut where the remaining villagers lived together: the old and the young, those who had escaped the killing. She began to make her way back to the priory, considering herself lucky to have a home however much she hated the confining walls. She stomped along the rutted track and tried to ignore the fields that should have been thick with growing barley. Her boots were sturdy and she set a good pace up the hill, only pausing for breath when the top came into view. The breeze was warm as it caressed her cheeks, a sure sign that spring would be hot this year. She felt perspiration rising on her face and neck.

Aelfhild’s skirts billowed around her and she shook her head, enjoying the sensation of the wind’s kiss upon the back of her neck. She ran the last few paces to the top of the hill, then spun around, arms wide and head thrown back. She laughed at her foolishness, as she realised what she must look like. She did it again, sure no one was watching, for who was there left to watch her now?

Her stomach growled. Breakfast had been gritty bread and sour cheese, and supper was nothing worth anticipating. The river glinted in the sunlight, winding through the valley. Aelfhild had time to spare before she had to return to the priory and her spirits lifted. When such feeling came upon her she could forget her country was under the yoke of the Conqueror, could forget she had not seen her home for almost two years and the walls that now confined her.

She was thirsty and hot. The river could satisfy both those needs and she could even try to catch a fish to supplement the meagre diet at the priory, using the method Brun described when his mind wandered to his youth.

Anticipating the cool water swirling around her legs, Aelfhild hastened her steps as she neared the river where it bent towards her side of the bank, skipping and occasionally spinning in circles in the sheer joy of being alive. The world was empty. She could even bathe completely naked if she chose, though would not go that far. If her swim was ever discovered, Aelfhild would no doubt receive the customary whipping from one of the sisters, but there was no one to see and no one to tell. It would be her secret and hers alone.

Chapter Two

It was only when he heard a high female voice singing that Gui realised he was no longer alone.

He tensed. The voice was coming upstream from the direction where Gui had left the horse. He had drifted much further than he had realised. He rolled over on to his front and lowered himself beneath the surface until only his head from nose up was visible and searched for the owner of the voice.

A girl was making her way through the field towards the river on the opposite bank from Gui’s horse and clothes. She wore a grey cloak and grey tunic with a veil that covered her hair and shadowed her face and had a bag hooked over her girdle. She moved with purpose, making quick progress, which was why she had come upon Gui so quickly. As she neared him she slowed her pace. Once or twice she spun in a circle, arms raised wide, and did a handful of dance steps, humming in a carefree manner that Gui envied.

It was so rare to see anyone who appeared untouched by what had taken place in the country that Gui was transfixed. He raised his head to better watch the girl as she cavorted around, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. Perhaps she was a simpleton to be behaving in such a way: one of those poor unfortunates for whom time and place had no meaning. Gui shook his head ruefully. He almost envied her that, too.

As she reached the curve in the river almost opposite Gui’s horse the girl dropped her bag to the ground. Still humming, she removed her shoes, unbuckled her girdle and dropped it beside them. She moved slowly, languorously stretching her arms in a manner that sent shivers running over Gui and causing more goosebumps to rise on his skin than the chill of the water had alone managed. The girl unpinned the veil from her hair and revealed a thick plait of pale-blonde hair, the colour of sand from his homeland.

Slowly, and completely unaware of Gui’s presence, the girl pulled her billowing grey tunic over her head to reveal a closer-fitting linen shift beneath. Gui froze, acutely aware that he was intruding on something private, but unable to leave. He could not return to his horse without alerting the girl to his presence and for both their sakes he did not want to do that.

At first Gui had mistaken her for a child: partly because of her manner, but mainly because she was so slightly built. Now she was closer he could make out the shape of small breasts beneath her shift and the blossoming curve of hips as she twisted and bent to unlace her shoes.

She was more woman than child.

Faced with this new evidence Gui gulped in surprise. He lowered himself further beneath the water, conscious of his own nakedness. Fortunately for Gui’s composure the girl did not do as he had done and shed every layer. She hitched up the skirt of her shift and waded purposefully into the water to her knees. Just as Gui had done she shivered in the cold. Beneath the water Gui grinned to himself in sympathy as another shudder racked his body.

The girl paused her song and giggled to herself. Unexpectedly she ducked under the surface to her neck and came up again in one fluid movement, now soaked to the skin. She gasped aloud in a series of breathy panting noises that reached inside Gui to a time when he had been capable of causing women to make such sounds. His guts twisted with longing as he looked at her, transfixed.

The curves that were now apparent beneath the thin cloth indicated she was even closer to womanhood than he had at first supposed. True, her breasts were small, but her waist was shapely and the wet tunic clung to her legs. Through the fabric Gui could make out the dark triangle of hair where her legs met, and the pink of her nipples. Despite the cold water Gui felt himself hardening. He almost choked on the cold water in surprise at the unexpected awakening of an urge that had lain dormant for so long.

The girl had not spotted Gui or the horse. She waded to the edge, but instead of climbing out she fumbled with her belongings. When she turned around Gui realised she was holding something in her hand. She unwound it and Gui caught a glint of metal before she dropped it into the water and began staring intently down with a look of concentration on her face.

She was fishing.

Gui was transported back across years and the sea to his home in Brittany where he had done similar as a boy in the river that ran through Gilbert’s father’s land and an ache stabbed his heart.

He tore his mind from the memories that were simultaneously comforting and painful to recall. This might be his only chance to slip away. Keeping low in the water, he eased his way slowly towards the bank, taking care not to splash. He was roughly halfway there when his horse spotted him and whinnied in greeting.

The girl straightened up and turned around. She raised her head and in doing so her eyes slid over Gui who was half-crouched in the water. They fell instead on the horse. She became rigid, eyes moving around from side to side as she searched along the bank for the owner. Still she failed to see Gui who was almost beneath her nose, holding himself equally still and barely daring to breathe. Instead of turning and fleeing to the opposite bank, as any sensible person would have done, she started wading towards the horse. And towards Gui.

‘Kac’h!’

Gui swore under his breath. He was faced with two choices. To duck beneath the water and try to swim out of her way, or to surface and reveal his presence. If it had just been his own possessions at stake he might have risked leaving them, but Gilbert’s seal ring was in the saddlebag where Gui had put it for safety during the journey. He could not risk it being discovered and taken.

In the brief moment he had before the girl waded straight into him he made his decision and rose from the depths to face her.

Water cascaded off Gui’s body as he pushed himself to the surface. His hair clung to his face in tangles, half-obscuring his view. The girl began screaming at a volume and pitch that her previous soft humming had not suggested she was capable of. Still she did not make any attempt to run but stood, eyes wide and fixed on Gui. They flashed to his face, then downwards over his body where they settled at the level of the water. Her mouth widened and she screamed once more.

‘Serr da veg! Loukez plac’h!’ Gui bellowed. Stop that, you foolish girl!

He realised too late that he had spoken in his own tongue, the Breton dialect that even Frenchmen struggled to master at times. To her ears it must have sounded like meaningless babbling.

In any case, it didn’t stop her cries. He would have to stop her forcibly if necessary. He plunged towards her, holding his right hand up towards her in an attempt to silence her screams before half of the shire came running to discover the cause of her panic.

The girl made a lunge at him as he neared her, fishing hook outstretched. He had expected her to retreat to the far bank, not attack. Surprised at her ferocity, Gui flung himself to one side. The hook gouged the length of his left forearm, drawing blood and leaving a deep scratch. He roared in pain and whipped his arm away viciously.

His toe bashed a half-buried rock and he lurched under the water. Instinctively, he reached out to steady himself and grasped hold of the nearest object. It turned out to be the girl’s outstretched arm. His fingers closed around her wrist as he went back and then she too was slipping below the surface.

With his eyes closed Gui could only feel rather than see what took place. The girl’s legs tangled with his, shift floating loose. He felt bare flesh against his shins and she fell face forward on to him. Through her shift Gui could feel her small breasts, the hard nipples straining against his naked chest. Her sharp hipbone brushed against his groin, sending a tremor through his entire body and causing him to swell despite the icy water. He had not been this close to a woman for longer than he cared to remember. In any other situation this would be the most arousing sensation imaginable, but now he focused his energy on breaking through the surface once more.

He rolled so that he was on top of the girl and grasped her firmly round the waist with his right arm, holding her close to him as he straddled her. Feeling for the riverbed with his feet, he pushed upwards, taking the girl with him.

They came up, both gulping for air. The girl pushed herself violently from Gui, kicking his shin for good measure. Almost as soon as her lungs were full she began screaming once more. She looked from his face downwards whereupon her eyes opened wide and her mouth became a perfect, pink oval of alarm.

With mounting horror Gui realised that although he was standing waist deep in the river, the water was not particularly murky. The half of him that was below the surface must be clearly visible to the girl. He instinctively brought his arms round to cover himself in a belated gesture of modesty. He realised too late that his disfigured left arm was now on full display instead and put both arms back behind his back.

The girl screamed again. She was similarly attempting to cover her body with a two-handed version of the dance of modesty Gui was performing. Gui dropped to a crouch so that the water came to mid-chest and his lower half was less conspicuous. He kept his left arm behind his back, suspecting that the sight of his deformity would cause her further panic.

The girl settled for covering her breasts with one arm and the dark triangle between her legs with the splayed fingers of her other hand. Gui did his best not to stare at what she was trying to hide, but she drew more attention to her attributes than she concealed.

Now she was seemingly satisfied with their attempts at modesty, the girl’s screams became words.

‘Leave me alone, dweorgar!’ she cried.

‘Stop screaming,’ Gui ordered. His brain caught up with his ears. ‘What did you call me?’

‘You can speak!’ the girl gasped. Her eyes grew wide with surprise.

Gui frowned, his earlier suspicion that she was mentally deficient creeping back into his mind.

‘Of course I can.’ Her accent had been broad, with the flat vowels of York. He’d understood her words, but it had not come naturally. ‘If you mean in your tongue, then why not?’

The girl took a careful step backwards, folding her arms tightly across her breasts. To Gui’s relief she didn’t scream again, but widened her eyes and jutted out her jaw assertively. Their eyes locked and Gui recognised terror brimming in hers below the confrontation.

‘What are you? Swartalf? A dweorgar?’ she demanded.

‘What did you call me?’ He recognised the Danish words for elf and dwarf and barked a laugh at such a preposterous accusation.

The girl looked furious. ‘Don’t laugh at me, monster!’

Her voice was deep. Hoarse from screaming.

‘Are you a child to believe in such things?’ Gui mocked. ‘I’m no monster. I’m a man.’

‘Well, you look like a beast!’

Gui pictured what he must have looked like, rising from beneath the surface, his frame broad and towering, the dark spread of hair on his chest darkened further by the soaking and with traces of waterweeds clinging to it. His hair had obscured his eyes so she would only have seen his scarred lips and crooked nose through the matted locks and beard. It was no wonder she believed him to be some unearthly creature.

Humiliation coursed through him, reddening his face and heating his blood. He stopped laughing and raised himself higher in the water, pushing the hair back from his face.

‘I’m a man,’ he repeated firmly.

Gui shifted his right hand before him in an attempt to create a sense of decency, but not before the girl’s eyes had flickered rapidly down. Her eyes slid over his body once more, examining him and flickering to the area of his body that could be guaranteed to prove his claim. As he concealed his most intimate parts she brought her head sharply up again to settle on Gui’s face with a look of mortification. Her skin was very pale like most of the women in these northern parts and now bright streaks of red flashed across each cheek. He wondered if she was a virgin. She had certainly known where to look for confirmation of his masculinity. He spread his hand wider in front of his cock as the speculation about her innocence caused a throb of lust that necessitated a little more concealment.

Presumably satisfied that he was what he claimed to be, the girl had recovered enough to glare at him.

‘You were spying on me!’

‘I was here first!’ Gui exclaimed, stung by the accusation.

‘You were watching me at any rate. How long were you there?’

Gui heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘I don’t know. I was enjoying the peace before you came upon me. I was trying to get back to the bank without you spotting me. That’s my horse you saw.’

It was at this point Gui became aware that during their underwater tussle they had inadvertently swapped positions. Now the girl was between him and his belongings, and he stood in the middle of the river, preventing her reaching hers. At some point while they had wrestled beneath the water she had dropped her fishing hook. Gui could see it glinting on the riverbed halfway between them.

‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Gui assured her.

‘You tried to drown me!’

‘No, I didn’t!’ This was becoming tiresome. ‘I slipped and you were the nearest thing to take hold of. If you hadn’t screamed, I wouldn’t have had to come near you at all, but you were making enough noise to wake a dozen korrigans.’

Her forehead wrinkled.

‘Water creatures,’ Gui clarified. His forearm stung where she had razed him with the pin. He wiped away the blood she had drawn. Her eyes followed his movement and a hint of triumph filled them.

‘The only one who has caused injury so far is you. Are you sure you aren’t a korrigan sent to tempt me to my watery death?’ he teased. It struck him that if he was to drown, doing it in the arms of a creature as alluring as this one would not be the worst end he could imagine.

The girl looked outraged.

‘I’m nothing of the sort! What are you doing here?’

She eyed Gui haughtily, then her face changed into an expression of hatred that Gui had seen so many times. ‘You’re Norman, aren’t you?’

The tone she used implied this was worse even than if he had indeed owned to being a dwarf or other monstrous creature. He’d been met with hostility and hatred since arriving in England so that was hardly a new experience to Gui. Nevertheless his jaw clenched.

‘I’m Breton, but I expect to you it makes no difference.’

She blinked at the ferocity in his voice and opened her mouth as if she was intending to scream again. Perhaps she was not as alone as Gui thought. They were close to villages, the fields must be tended and bands of outlaws roamed the countryside. There were plenty of men who would not hesitate to slit the belly of a lone Frenchman in vengeance for what William’s army had done to the north. Gui did not relish the idea of dying naked in a river that was increasingly feeling icy. He lowered himself into the water a little, bending his legs to take the weight on his thighs and held his right hand out in supplication.

‘I’m travelling and wanted to bathe because the day was so warm. Just as you did.’

Uncertainty filled her eyes. The colour struck Gui for the first time and once he had noticed it he could not tear his gaze from a blueness so pale the irises almost blended seamlessly into the whites. Her sandy hair stuck to her face in long tendrils and she looked more of a sprite than Gui first thought.

‘I mean you no harm. I’m twice your size. If I’d wanted to rape or kill you, I’d have done it by now.’

The colour drained from the girl’s cheeks as he so casually spoke of the deeds she must have been dreading. She unwound her arms from across her body and shifted into what she clearly thought was a fighting stance, fists raised and feet spread apart. Gui recognised the bravado he had seen in enough fights in taverns to know she would probably swing for him if he got close enough.

‘You’re safe with me,’ he said. ‘Wrestling unwilling girls into submission isn’t my idea of pleasure. Especially not in water as cold as this.’

‘Why should I trust you? You’ve taken my land and killed my countrymen.’ Her accent was becoming broader as her fury rose. ‘Men like you intend harm to everyone they meet. All you know is how to destroy and hurt. Where is your army now? Did they forget you?’

William’s soldiers must have passed this way on their march to Durham a year or so ago. Perhaps the girl believed he was one of them. Gui ground his teeth. He heard once more the screams of battle, smelled the iron scent of blood and the smoke of burning buildings. Would she believe him if he told her all he longed for was a life of peace far away from the memories that haunted him? Despite the cold water he was standing in, sweat broke out across his back and in the pits of his arms. He stepped backwards.

‘I’m travelling alone. Are you alone also?’

She eyed him warily, then nodded. Irritation surged in Gui’s chest.

‘If you think the country is so dangerous, why are you dancing around in fields and singing to yourself?’

He jabbed a finger towards her, his temper rising and mingling with an unexpected sense of protectiveness towards the silly girl. He wondered again if she was a simpleton to put herself at such risk.

‘Why are you bathing and fishing if you fear you might be set upon at any moment? Who knows you are here? Who would search if you don’t return home?’

His volley of questions came as rapidly as the arrows he had once loosed. She folded her arms defensively across her small, firm breasts.

‘No one knows I’m here.’

She snapped her mouth shut. Gui watched with private amusement as she realised the stupidity of what she had just admitted to a naked stranger, even one who had professed benign intentions.

‘I’m doing nothing wrong,’ she added, a shade too defensively.

Something struck Gui. Wherever she was supposed to be and whatever she should be doing, it wasn’t fishing and bathing. The breeze whispered around Gui’s body, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

‘I have somewhere I need to be and I suspect you do, too. The water is getting colder so I suggest we both get out. On our own sides of the river, of course.’

She nodded slowly, glancing behind him to where her heap of clothes lay. She shivered and tightened her arms around herself. Her pale lips trembled and she looked colder that Gui felt. The breeze was becoming stronger and her soaking wet shift must offer little protection.

‘Go on. Get yourself to where you need to be.’

She took a step towards him, then stopped and stepped back.

‘You’re in my way.’

‘And you’re in mine.’ Gui grinned. ‘What do you propose we do about it?’

‘Close your eyes while I walk past you.’

‘No. I doubt I’m going to see anything more than I already have. You go one way. I’ll go the other.’

He took a step to his left. The girl did the same and they circled round each other, wading in a wide arc. As soon as she was close to her own bank the girl turned and waded in long strides that sent deep ripples around her back towards Gui. He stood and watched her. Water lapped against his belly, caressing him like fingers.

The girl heaved herself on to dry land, giving Gui a perfect view of her rounded buttocks as she pulled herself up. She gathered her clothes and bag and turned back to look at Gui. He averted his eyes, not wanting her to know he had been so openly admiring what he saw, but when she did not move he looked up. They held each other’s gaze briefly, then the girl was off, running away through the grass, a white slip among the greenery.

Gui watched until she turned a bend and was out of sight. He looked down and the sun glinted on metal on the riverbed. He bent to pick up her fishing hook, which turned out to be a horseshoe-shaped brooch of silver with the pin twisted at the tip. The design was like others he had seen both men and women wearing in York. Gui closed his fist over it and waded to the bank.

He tugged his fingers through his hair to remove the knots as best he could, then dressed. He examined the scratch the girl had given him with the brooch. Blood seeped out in places where the wound was deep and he hoped he would escape infection.

The last thing he did—the last thing he always did when he dressed—was to spread out the leather thongs that were sewn to the cuff of his padded leather glove and push the padding until it formed the shape of the hand it replaced.

The stump where his hand had been removed was no longer puckered and red as it had once been, and far less unsightly than the horrific scabbed wound when his hand had been amputated in the aftermath of the victory at Senlac Hill. Gui could look at the ruin of his arm without recoiling even if no one else could. That it caused his stomach to tighten in despair until he felt physically nauseous every time he thought of how his life had changed since that dark day was something he was resigned to.

He ran his fingers over the end of his left wrist, musing on the fact that when faced with the choice, he’d rather the strange girl had seen his nakedness than this mutilation. He pulled the glove over the stump and tightened the laces of the high cuff, winding them around his forearm to secure it in place. He held his arm up before him. Hidden in this manner no one could tell that beneath the leather was nothing more than thickly wadded wool.

He put his head in his hands—hand—hand and glove. He still caught himself referring to them in the plural at times. The girl had thought him a monster and that had been without appearing to have noticed his deformity. How much worse would she have thought him if she had seen that? He looked across the river, but there was no sign that she had ever been there. He fixed the brooch to the left shoulder of his tunic as a memento of his curious encounter and folded the neck over it. He pulled his cloak on, fastening that awkwardly at his right shoulder.

The day was growing late. He had spent much longer than he had intended to in the water and he still had a way to go down this side of the river before he came to the ford and was able to take his horse across. He heaved himself to his feet and unhitched the reins from the branch. The mare snickered in greeting, pushing her velvet nose against Gui’s shoulder. He nuzzled her neck, smelling the earthy warm scent of horse. Rather than mount immediately he walked on foot back to the road, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at the river.

He would be at the priory before curfew even if he walked. He cast a final glance across the river, wondering where the girl had come from, or was returning to, and whether she would learn from her adventure not to go dancing about the countryside alone when there were men such as him roaming it.

Chapter Three

Aelfhild ran, not caring she was soaking wet and dressed only in her shift, which tangled between her legs and slowed her down. Not caring the stones in the grass hurt her bare feet and her plait was becoming a knotted rope down her back.

She ran until the river was safely out of sight and with it the alarming man in the water.

She threw herself on to the ground, her heart thumping, and dropped her bag beside her. To her horror, her legs began to shake. She clamped her hands on to her knees to stop the shameful reaction and stifled a sob. She had no time now to indulge her emotions, not when she should never have stopped to bathe in the first place and would be missed if she did not return to the priory soon.

She gathered her shift in her hands and wrung the water out as best she could. When she had decided to swim she had thought she would only be in the water briefly and would have plenty of time to dry herself. She shuddered, imagining what might have happened if she had taken the shift off and swum naked as she had briefly considered. As the man in the water had.

Her knees had stopped shaking, but at the memory of the muscular form rising before her the trembling began again and a curious fluttering filled her belly. Aelfhild unrolled her dress and dragged it down over her head. The shift would have to dry beneath her tunic as she walked and she would have to suffer the damp. Her hand slid to her collar and she gave a cry of dismay.

Her brooch! She had dropped it in the water when the Norman had pulled her under. Her lip quivered. The brooch had been a gift; the only token she had to remind her of a man who had once been dear to her, but she could not go back to search for it now. The man might still be there and even if he wasn’t she would be missed if she took that much time. She would have to try to slip away at another opportunity and hope it would be on the riverbed where it had fallen.

She pulled on her stockings and shoes and sped across the fields, arriving at the priory from the rear. She could enter via the main door, but the portress would raise her eyebrows at Aelfhild’s dishevelled appearance. She strode instead to the tree with overhanging branches. No one but her seemed to have discovered its use as a ladder, but then again, no one except her seemed inclined to leave the priory.

The timbered building loomed above her. Aelfhild shivered at the idea of re-entering the dim confines. She hid behind the wall and pinned the veil on, hiding the tangle of hair beneath it, then went inside to find Sigrun. With less than a year between their ages, Aelfhild had been raised to be part-maid, part-companion to Sigrun under the watch of Lady Emma, who had shown more kindness to the foundling than she had any need to do. In a house with three boys, the two girls had bonded and mistress and servant were as close as sisters.

Sigrun was in the small cell in the dormitory that the two girls shared, praying as she most often was. Most inmates of the priory—sisters, nuns and women sent there like Aelfhild and Sigrun to be shielded from the horrors of the conquest—spent their days sewing or cleaning, gardening or taking alms to the nearby villages. Sigrun spent much of hers on her knees; hands clasped, eyes closed and motionless, leaving Aelfhild to ensure practical tasks were completed.

It was rare that Aelfhild felt her lower status too hard and she willingly took on Sigrun’s chores. If Sigrun’s heartfelt prayers were heard by any gods listening, Aelfhild’s soul might reap a little of the benefit, too.

Aelfhild stood in the doorway, reluctant to disturb the devotion that was more sincere than most she had witnessed. When Sigrun finally stirred and opened her eyes she turned to Aelfhild with a serene smile, indicating a peaceful soul that Aelfhild envied.

‘I heard you come in, Aelfhild. You didn’t have to wait there. You wouldn’t have interrupted me. You might even have joined me...’

Sigrun left the suggestion hanging. Aelfhild ignored it as she always did, but returned the smile. She sank on to her cot in the corner and leaned back against the cool stone wall. Sigrun’s expression changed from serene to anxious. She joined Aelfhild and took hold of her hands.

‘What’s wrong? Did something happen in the village?’

The morning had been so overshadowed by what had occurred since that Aelfhild had almost forgotten she had left the confines of the priory to take medicine to Brun and his neighbours.

‘No, nothing happened in the village. Brun seemed in so much pain he barely recognised me, but he slept after he had drunk a draught.’

She rummaged in her chest for a dry shift, removed her veil to let her hair free and pulled her dress over her head.

‘You’re soaking wet!’

Aelfhild peeled the damp linen shift from her skin and hung it on the peg by the narrow slit of window. She wriggled into the dry one and followed it with the dress. She grinned at Sigrun; less perturbed by the memory now she was home and dry.

‘Not any more. It was so hot and the day was so fine that I decided to stop to bathe. I thought I might try to catch a fish.’

Sigrun looked horrified. ‘You shouldn’t have done that! If anyone finds out you’ll get another whipping!’

The last whipping had been five days ago when Aelfhild had retorted sharply to the wrinkled nun who had tugged her hair for making too-large stitches in her embroidery. She frowned at the memory and rubbed her calf even though the wheals had subsided days ago.

‘No one will find out if you don’t tell anyone,’ she told Sigrun sternly.

Aelfhild found her comb and began to tease the knots from her hair. Sigrun took it from her and continued the task. Aelfhild twisted her hands in her lap, then turned to her mistress.

‘There’s more. There was a man. In the water.’

Sigrun stopped combing and clutched Aelfhild’s arm.

‘Did he hurt you?’

Her fingers settled on the same spot the Norman had grasped her. Aelfhild shuddered as she remembered the lurching terror as they had sunk down and the unsettling pressure of his muscular arm enveloping her, holding her tight against him and dragging her back to safety.

‘He didn’t hurt me. He was bathing like I was, only I didn’t see him at first so we surprised each other.’

Her stomach squirmed as she recalled the sight of him emerging from the river, water streaming off him in a cascade as he rose above her, dark hair on his head and torso. She waved her arms to try describing the size and shape of him and capture the broadness of his body, the sense of tightly packed muscles that had reminded her of a horse or ox.

‘He had dark hair that masked his face, his nose was crooked and his lips were scarred. I thought he was a river monster, but he was just a man after all.’

She broke off as her cheeks flamed. He had most definitely been a man. The—the—conspicuously large thing between his legs had been proof of that. She’d felt it pressing against her as they had tumbled together in the river, tracing a path from her inner thigh to hipbone. At the time the sensation had been unsettling, but now as she recalled it the odd fluttering filled her lower belly again and a pulsing ache made her thighs tighten.

She’d never seen a naked man before, but how could she have behaved so wantonly as to openly stare at him as she had done? She understood the practicalities of how babies were created, but how something that size could possibly fit where it was intended to seemed to her mind incredible. Perhaps he was not human after all, because what human could be shaped with such a body part?

The fluttering inside her grew stronger, spreading out in every direction like ripples on water after a stone broke the surface. Something was inside her; it felt as though a living creature that she could not identify was struggling to escape.

She was aware of Sigrun’s arms slipping about her waist and that she had been lost in a reverie for too long.

‘Poor Aelfhild, you must have nearly died with terror. I know I would have done in your place.’ Sigrun’s blue eyes were full of distress. She, no doubt, would have fainted and drowned.

Aelfhild shook her head thoughtfully. She had been scared at first but that had given way to fury as he had laughed at her. She’d wanted to fight him, not run, to be one of the women of legend who drove attackers from her home, a shieldmaiden like the traders who came to York laughed about as they boasted how they would best and bed such women.

If Aelfhild were such a woman no one would easily bed her without her consent! She remembered the flush of satisfaction as the Norman had wiped away the blood she had drawn, but that thought turned to sorrow. She twisted to look at Sigrun. Tears filled her eyes as she admitted what she had done.

‘I lost the brooch Torwald gave me before he left to join the rebellion in York.’

Sigrun’s mouth twisted and she pulled Aelfhild closer. The two women embraced silently. They both grieved for Sigrun’s brother, but for different reasons: Sigrun with the natural sorrow anyone would feel at her brother’s death and Aelfhild for the additional loss of the first man who had touched her heart. The difference in their status meant he would never have married her, she was realistic enough to understand that, but she had treasured the hours they spent together.

‘I’ll go back for it.’

Sigrun shook her head with a violence she rarely exhibited.

‘No! You mustn’t leave the priory again. You could have been killed, or worse! We’re safe here as my mother wanted. No one can touch us within these walls. No man.’

Sigrun’s voice was full of terror and her body convulsed. She had been in York itself when William’s army retaliated and had narrowly escaped rape. To her, sex was a thing of horror to be endured.

Aelfhild looked on with mingling pity and interest that something she craved could cause such a reaction in her friend. ‘I won’t, I promise.’

And there was the difference between them, Aelfhild mused as Sigrun continued the heroic task of de-knotting Aelfhild’s hair. Sigrun shrank from the idea of ever leaving the priory, whereas Aelfhild burned to escape even if it meant facing dangers such as she had encountered today.

If she ever left the safety of the priory she would have to learn to fight. She had been victorious today, but a scratch on the arm would not stop most men. She also suspected, from the way he pinned her to his body and lifted her from beneath the water with such ease, that if the man in the river had wanted to take her, she would have been powerless to prevent it.

She ground her teeth, hating the small flame between her legs that flickered disloyally into life at the memory of his hands on her. No man would take her in the manner the men of York had joked about heroes taking the warrior women of legend. The Normans had taken England, but no one would conquer her.

* * *

By the time the women made their way to the refectory for the early evening meal, Sigrun had recovered her composure and Aelfhild showed no signs that she had spent the day doing anything out of the ordinary.

They crossed the cloister side by side in a silent procession with the other inmates. The women ranged in age from their teens to their mid-forties. Some had chosen the life of the veil either through a sincere devotion or in preference to what life intended for them otherwise. Others like Aelfhild and Sigrun had been placed there by guardians to safeguard them. At least one to Aelfhild’s knowledge had arrived with a swelling belly and now wandered the cloisters red eyed, grieving for the child she had given up. No spoke of how they viewed their home. Only Sigrun knew that to Aelfhild the place was a prison rather than a sanctuary.

The bell tolled for the second time. The women quickened their pace. Hilde, the prioress, disliked lateness. She ran her establishment with an iron hand, perhaps hoping one day to be spoken of with the same reverence as her namesake at Whitby was.

Midreth, leading the procession, reached the heavy wooden door to the refectory and pushed it open. Instead of the oppressive silence that usually greeted them a male voice boomed out.

‘I have not travelled all this way to be thwarted at the last! I respectfully ask, again, that you bring her to my presence at once!’

Aelfhild reeled. Her limbs became water. The voice was unmistakable, the tone of exasperation equally familiar, the demand for her to be brought more dreadful than any other utterance she had heard. The Norman was here and he was looking for her.

How had he discovered where she was? More than that, why? The small injury she had caused him with her pin could not have been enough to warrant seeking her out to demand vengeance. Vomit rose in her throat. She should run. Leave the priory and hide somewhere where he could not mete out a punishment. Possible places to shelter filled her thoughts, but she knew as she thought it that such an idea was impossible.

Midreth turned and looked back at her companions in alarm. ‘What should we do?’

Seeing that she was not the only one startled by the unexpected male invasion of their female domain gave Aelfhild the courage she had briefly lacked, and her legs regained some of their solidity. Now she was furious that her first impulse had been to escape rather than to confront her adversary. She had been tested and found wanting.

Straightening her back, she slid a glance to Sigrun to see if she had noticed Aelfhild’s reaction, but she was whispering with the two novices and had seemingly not seen anything untoward in Aelfhild’s behaviour. No one had.

The prioress was replying to the visitor’s unsettling demand in her low, firm voice. Aelfhild couldn’t make out her words, but her tone was decisive.

‘We should go in,’ the woman standing behind Aelfhild whispered.

There were murmurs of agreement. Everyone apart from Aelfhild was curious to discover the owner of the voice.

‘Why hasn’t the message arrived? A letter bearing news of my arrival should have been sent a week ago!’ the Norman replied angrily. ‘Why are you not expecting me?’

Aelfhild’s shoulders sagged with relief and she almost laughed aloud. When they had met, he had mentioned that he was travelling. He was not here for her and their meeting had been coincidental. She would slip away and he would never know she was here at all. She turned to go, but Sigrun seized her arm and pulled her towards the doorway. Reluctantly Aelfhild followed.

The women crept into the refectory and made their way on silent feet to the back of the long, high-ceilinged room. The Norman was standing in front of the fire with Hilde. That he had succeeded in gaining entry this far into the building was notable in itself. Most visitors were admitted no further than the porch. Hilde protected her domain fiercely—an elderly, tiny woman whose size belied her strength of will and strength of arm. She came barely up to the Norman’s chest. Her head was tilted back, his forward as they stood face to face in a manner that reminded Aelfhild of pieces on a hnefatafl board. Which player would withdraw first was anyone’s guess.

Aelfhild bowed her head in what she hoped would pass as modesty and peeked out at him from under her veil. Three more novices whose turn it was that day to prepare the meals had been carrying food to the tables, but now gave up all pretence that they were ignoring the spectacle and joined Aelfhild’s group. Aelfhild followed the cluster and stood in the corner of the room behind the others, hoping to remain unnoticed.

‘I receive many messages. Until I know who you claim to be from, how should I know if you speak the truth?’ the prioress said calmly. ‘I most certainly will not release any woman from my care other than to the designated person.’

The Norman gave a cold laugh. He delved inside his cloak and brought out a leather pouch on a long cord. He tipped the contents into his left hand, then held up a large ring. It glinted gold in the shaft of late afternoon light that streamed through the high window.

‘I may have no letter to prove my legitimacy, but perhaps this will secure your co-operation. The seal of Gilbert du Rospez, knight of King William.’

A soft murmur rippled through the women, this time with a hint of warmth. A Norman, but a noble one. A rich one, perhaps. The ring had done nothing to melt Hilde’s frostiness. She waved a hand at the gathered women to silence them.

‘The name means nothing to me. Why should I send away one of my charges on the sight of a seal?’

The Norman seemed to pause. Perhaps it took time to translate the meaning to his own tongue. He folded his arms. ‘What if I was to tell you I was the owner as well as the bearer?’

‘Is that what you claim?’ Hilde stared at the Norman. ‘Do you bear the name as well as the seal?’

‘Would it make a difference?’ the Norman asked sardonically.

‘I am not foolish enough to bring the wrath of our King on my establishment. I have seen how you Normans deal with resistance. Are you Gilbert du Rospez,’ Hilde snapped, ‘or are you merely a rogue who has come by this seal by foul means?’

The Norman lapsed into silence. He seemed to be battling with some inner turmoil, then came to a decision. He folded his arms and jutted out his chin.

‘I am du Rospez. Now, tell me, who is my bride?’

The word bride caused the women to burst out once more in a riot of talking. Even Hilde’s curt demand for silence did nothing to quell the noise. Sigrun slipped a trembling hand into Aelfhild’s, who pressed it tightly. Aelfhild glanced around in her scorn, wrinkling her nose in distaste that such news could excite the women.

Hadn’t their fathers, brothers, lovers been cut down by men such as this? Were others so keen to be released from confinement here that such a possibility could excite them? She would rather live the span of her life as a solitary anchoress than marry such a hated enemy.

‘Not tonight,’ Hilde said firmly. ‘As you can see we now have an audience and this is no longer the private matter I intended it to be. I shall not name the girl under these circumstances. Neither will you name her, or I shall have you turned out instantly.’

She looked into the Norman’s face and a serene smile graced her lips. As much as Aelfhild resented the punishments Hilde had bestowed on her for various misdemeanours, at this moment she felt nothing but admiration for the prioress.

The Norman tossed his head back in annoyance. In profile the kink in his nose was obvious. His hair had dried to a lighter brown and was now pushed back behind his ears where it brushed around his collar. His bearded jaw masked his age, but he could have been anything from twenty-five to forty. He was imposingly tall and broad, but now he was dressed in a good cloak of dark-brown wool and his hair was dry, he did not look half as monstrous as he had in the river. Aelfhild could not help but smile at how foolish she had been. No wonder he had mocked her in such a demeaning way when she declared him to be a dwarf. She mocked herself inwardly now.

The Norman glanced around him and took notice of the women for the first time. He took three strides towards them, but stopped halfway across the room as a collective murmur of apprehension swelled.

His eyes roved over the huddle of women appraisingly, settling briefly on each one in turn. He paused longest on Godife, a handsome, dark-haired woman in her late twenties. His eyes crinkled at the corners in obvious appreciation before he moved on. His eyes slid over Sigrun without pausing to where Aelfhild stood behind her in the shadow.

Invisible claws tightened around Aelfhild’s throat as their eyes met. She was unable to tear her gaze away as the tightness eased and the claws became fingers, caressing her neck in a manner that sent her stomach spinning. When the Norman had surprised her in the river his gaze had been unsettling enough. Now it caused her blood to turn hot in her belly.

The Norman’s eyes widened in surprised recognition. A smile flickered across his lips, drawing the scar to one side in a crooked manner that did not diminish the appeal of it. He raised an eyebrow. Panic washed over Aelfhild, obliterating the shameful desire that had reared within her. He was going to reveal that they had already met. She shook her head ever so slightly, sending a desperate plea with her eyes for him not to give away her secret. He closed his lips and reached up with his left hand to brush a lock of hair awkwardly back from his cheek.

His eyes never left Aelfhild’s. The dark-lashed depths that commanded her attention were the colour of burned oak and impossible to break free from even at the distance between them, to the extent that Aelfhild almost forgot his crooked nose and scarred lip. She twisted her skirt in clammy hands, wondering how someone who by rights should be disconcerting to behold could be at the same time so enticing. She decided his eyes were the source of the disconcerting effect he had on her. Currently, they were deeply thoughtful.

Please, don’t, Aelfhild mouthed. She shook her head once more and took a small step backwards.

Slowly, deliberately, the Norman lowered one eyelid, then raised it. He was winking at her! He held her with one final penetrating look before he turned his eyes from her. Aelfhild felt a flush of alarm spread across her throat and chest that by entreating him to keep her secret she had placed herself in his debt.

‘One of these women is the maiden I seek. Am I correct?’ the Norman asked. ‘Let me meet her at least.’

It was halfway between an entreaty and an order and Aelfhild’s interest was piqued. He did not seem overly comfortable issuing commands.

The prioress was granite faced. ‘You see the uproar you have caused. You shall cause no more on this day. I have no proof you are who you say you are or that what you tell me is true. Until I do, you will not remove any of the women who have been entrusted to my care.’

The Norman looked again at the ring in his hand. He closed his fist over it, squared his shoulders and set his feet. A soldier’s stance. Aelfhild realised that she alone was looking at the man holding the ring and he was looking back at her once more. Unsettled to find his eyes on her again, she lowered her head and modestly pulled her long veil closer around her shoulders and face. The Norman slowly turned his head to face Hilde.

‘Then I will wait. May I have a room here or will I have to spend the night in the open?’

Hilde pursed her lips. ‘I am bound by laws of hospitality to offer you shelter for the night, but until the message arrives from the girl’s home I shall not present her to you. I bind you, too, not to name the girl until that time.’

The Norman’s rugged face twisted with irritation, but then he did something unexpected. He bowed deeply to Hilde, took her hand and lifted it to his lips briefly.

‘In your house I shall abide by your wishes, lady prioress.’

Hilde’s face softened and a hint of cream touched her milk-white cheeks. Oh, he was cunning, this Norman!

‘I shall provide you with quarters in our guest rooms. You may bathe and I will have food sent across.’

‘Thank you. I have bathed already, but a meal will be welcome.’ Once more the Norman’s eyes flickered to where Aelfhild stood. Unbidden, her lips began to curve into a smile and for a moment they felt like compatriots, their shared secret a private amusement. She pressed her lips together firmly.

Oblivious to this, Hilde continued. ‘In the morning we shall talk again and see if we can come to some arrangement. Let me escort you there.’

Hilde folded her hands and walked serenely down the centre of the refectory, heading for the small door at the end that led to the outside courtyard. The Norman followed, taking long, easy strides and moving with a languorous grace. He slowed as he neared the women, passing so close to Aelfhild she could reach a hand out and touch him. Could stroke her fingers down his tunic where his broad frame tapered to a lean waist and feel the muscles concealed beneath the cloth. A shudder went through her.

His eyes slid rapidly sideways to land on her once more and he paused for a heartbeat. Had she inadvertently spoken her secret thoughts aloud or were they evident on her face? Shocked at the thought he could discern the unseemly acts she was imagining, she lowered her head and held her breath, only releasing it when he had left the room and disappeared from her presence.

Aelfhild leaned against the wall. Her legs were distressingly shaky and the cold stone did nothing to ease the heat that curled about her throat. She realised Sigrun was talking to her, pulling at her arm.

‘You’re white as ash!’

‘That was the man from the river.’ She was finding it hard to speak without her voice shaking.

Sigrun began to speak, but at that moment Hilde returned. She stopped in front of the gathered women.

‘Why are you not in your seats? Have you forgotten yourselves so much that you are happy to let the food you are graced with turn cold! Be along now, all of you.’

The women settled at their places. Aelfhild barely registered the customary prayers of thanks for the watery gruel. Meals were eaten in silence. Usually Aelfhild disliked this, missing the easy laughter and discussion that had filled Herik and Emma’s house. Now she relished the silence because it meant she was safe from having to make conversation. The meal ended and the women rose to begin their final tasks of the night. Sigrun was the last to leave the table and Hilde drew her aside.

‘Our guest needs serving. Take him bread and stew. He already has wine.’

Aelfhild lingered as she piled the bowls on to the table.

‘Why me?’ Sigrun whispered, voice sticking in her throat.

‘I do not have to explain my reasons to you. Don’t speak to him. If he tries to talk to you, ignore him.’

The prioress swept out. Sigrun looked close to tears. ‘I can’t do it. He looks too terrifying.’

The thought of being alone with him made Aelfhild’s stomach churn with a mixture of trepidation and desire. She doubted Sigrun felt the desire, only the fear.

‘I’ll go instead. Keep out of sight in the courtyard so Hilde doesn’t realise you disobeyed her.’

Aelfhild filled a bowl from the large pot on the table and balanced a hunk of bread on the rim. She paused outside the quarters outside the main building where the occasional guests were housed. She could pretend she was doing a favour to her mistress, but for once Sigrun’s feelings took second place to her own. She wanted to see the Norman again.

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