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Authors: Sarah Hegger

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BOOK: Conquering William
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Night fell early this far north, and already grim shadows cloaked the bailey. She drew closer to the comforting bulk of the covered cart, and out of the path of the two sturdy draft horses Gresby had harnessed to pull it. Placid and large, they did not frighten her as much as the enormous bay destrier awaiting his master. If she dared stand beside it, her head would not clear the horse’s shoulder.

“Holy Hell! What is that?” William’s voice cut through the muffled noises of shifting horses and waiting men.

“My lady’s cart,” Dunstan called from behind her.

William appeared before her. “Alice?”

“Aye.” She bunched her hands into her cloak and steeled her spine. “When I heard you were going to The Crags, I thought I might come with you.”

“Did you now?” The dark obscured his expression, but his eyes glinted at her.

“Aye.” Sister Julianna had tried to talk her out of making the trip. For certain her tales of wild beasts and Scottish reavers had given Alice pause, but she had steeled herself and here she stood. “Aonghas knows me well,” she said, before William could forbid her from accompanying them. “I could help. I know Aonghas’s tricks, and I believe he trusts me.”

“In that?” William jerked his head at the cart.

“I will not slow you down too much.”

William studied the cart for a long moment and then turned back to her. “I should have asked Cedric to bring you a palfrey from Anglesea.”

So far he had not uttered the words that would force her to remain. “It is no matter, for I do not ride.”

“Pardon?” William bent and looked more closely at her. He shook his head and stepped back. “If you do not ride, my lady, then into the cart with you.”

Alice stared at his outstretched hand. Braced for his refusal, he caught her wrong-footed.

“My lady?” He moved his hand closer. To assist her. Assist her into the cart so that she might go with him.

Alice grabbed his hand and clambered into the cart beside Gresby.

William mounted the great destrier with enviable ease, and they set off.

Alice clasped her hands together in her lap. What a strange one William was, but a trip out of Tarnwych always cheered her.

* * * *

William kept Paladin to a walk. The destrier tugged at the reins, impatient with the crawling pace. What idiocy had compelled him to allow Alice along in her ponderous conveyance? He could tell himself he entered uncharted territory with Aonghas the Red, and that did form part of his reasoning. However, their current pace stretched their journey threefold. Not to mention he could not like the lack of a good escort when she accompanied him. Somehow, none of that had mattered in the face of her desperate need to come. Dwarfed by her ridiculous cart, fair trembling with suppressed emotion, her desire to accompany him had taken hold of his reasoning and muffled it. Bloody fool! He had helped her into the cart with nary an argument.

Sensing his mood, Paladin sidled and tossed his head.

William took a deep breath and corrected Paladin’s path before he nudged the sorry nag beneath Dunstan. Alice could assist him, perhaps. Time spent away from Sister Sunshine might also give him an opportunity to unravel more of Alice.

It wouldn’t have surprised him if the sour old besom had squatted in the back of the covered cart, her beady eyes burning into his back. But nay, she had sent him on his way with a stiff nod as he left the hall.

Around him, the men huddled like dark boulders atop their stringy beasts, heads lowered as they avoided the worst of the stinging wind. Sending men abroad without adequate clothing in this cold pricked his conscience. Anglesea’s men were much better equipped, and they did not contend with this bitter chill.

Tarnwych and her people were in a bad state. The weight of his new responsibilities tempted him to dig his heels into Paladin and ride hard for home. Not even a full day as new lord and he had more snarls to untangle than a three-fingered yarn spinner.

It made no sense. Whilst not a wealthy lord, Sir Ivo’s coffers remained adequate to care for his demesne. Father had used money as an incentive to this marriage, but more as an appeal to Sir Ivo’s greed than to save him from poverty. Why had Alice let her keep drift into such a miserable pit? Yet, her people uttered no harsh words about her. Mostly, they spoke of her with fondness and pity.

Everything came down to Sister Julianna. What she did in Tarnwych baffled him. Nuns, for the most part, stayed inside their convents, sheltered from the world. Yet, here she bided, in a keep and apparently in command of it. Her influence over Alice concerned him the most. The woman had Alice, the keep, and all the residents in a death grip.

Well, he had dealt with difficult women before.

Ahead of them, the path wound through dark, oppressive spires of rock, close enough they brushed the sides of the cart. Hooves clopped on the hard ground, echoing against the unforgiving stone. Night closed around this barren, harsh land in an unrelenting grip of deep dark, and William could almost believe the tales of haunting and evil deeds northerners delighted in telling.

A man could imagine witches, fey folk, and demons peering down at him. If he was the sort of man who believed in such nonsense—which he wasn’t. In the distance, a lone wolf sent its spine-chilling howl at the moon across the moors.

Beside Gresby on the cart, Alice looked like a child, and William drew his destrier as close as the narrow path would allow. “How do you fare?”

She turned her head toward him and grinned. “Is it not a fine night for travel?”

William chuckled, the sound pushing back the dark and the cold for a moment. He looked forward to solving the mystery of Alice.

 

 

Chapter 7

 

Weak morning sun lit the rooftop of The Crags. William shifted in his saddle, his ass frozen solid to the leather. Despite his constant suggestions to call a halt, Alice had insisted they not stop on her account all through the interminable, bitter night. Right now, William felt every inch the soft southerner.

He wanted out of the nagging wind, off this bloody horse, a warm fire, and a full belly. Aonghas the Red had best not provide the sort of hospitality Sister Sunshine favored, or William might cry like a little girl. The bedamned northerners, none of them swathed in fur like him, looked as spry as if they had stepped out of the keep. Please God, let them hurt as well, or he would toss away his spurs and sword.

The lands around The Crags lay fallow. Rich, dark earth turned for the winter. Small thatched crofts nestled between stone walls that separated rolling grassy hills. Aonghas kept his demesne well. Tarnwych lands shared the same soil, and yet they suffered like a beggar beside a lord’s table in comparison. A large herd of brown cattle cropped the grass beside the road. Travel improved across its well-maintained surface, for which his bruised ass throbbed in gratitude.

They passed through a tiny village and the road climbed toward a large, sprawling manor house. They stayed in the open, easy for watching sentries to spot. He creaked about in his saddle and faced Dunstan riding on his heels. “Do they mount no guards?”

“They have guards,” Dunstan said on a grunt. “Only they know us well.”

Or rather, they feared nothing from Tarnwych. A small party, alone on a broad expanse of land. Aye, Aonghas had no need for trepidation. The land about them offered no concealment for a force sneaking up on the manor, and as Englishmen he doubted they would find any help here.

As they approached, the manor’s studded wooden door opened and a man stepped out. Dressed only in a chemise and chausses, he faced the cart with arms outspread. “It is a fine day when a pretty wee bird flies into Aonghas’s hall.”

Braced for a burly, ginger Scot, Aonghas the Red was a bitter disappointment. Thin and wiry, he would not even reach William’s shoulder. Beneath dull brown hair, his winter pale complexion gave him a fragile air.

“I see our pretty bird has brought a visitor.” Aonghas turned and greeted him. Keen intelligence gleamed in the light blue eyes of his adversary. William’s nape tingled with anticipation.

William dismounted, gritting his teeth and forcing his numb legs to keep his ass out the mud. “Sir Aonghas.”

Aonghas threw back his head and let out a boom of laughter completely at odds with his frame. “We have no place for sir this and sir that up here, lad. Just Aonghas.”

Alice hopped from the cart. “Aonghas, allow me to present Sir William of Ang…Tarnwych.”


Sir
William.” Aonghas rubbed his hands together. “You have found yourself a pretty English lord here, Alice, my flower.”

An invisible gauntlet whistled past William’s ear. “When I am up north, it is merely William,” he said. “I cannot have it said the new lord of Tarnwych puts his lady to the blush with his manners.”

Aonghas narrowed his eyes. “You must be chilled,” he said. “Not being accustomed to our cold. This is a hard land. It breeds hard men.”

“With frozen asses.” William threw Aonghas his most disarming smile. If the man chose to dismiss him as a soft southerner, he did so at his peril, and Aonghas would learn. Just as soon as William could feel his extremities again. William took Alice’s hand and pulled it through his arm.

“Aye, well.” Aonghas chuckled, his gaze lingering a moment on their twined arms. “I have fire enough to warm that for you.”

William kept Alice tucked against his side as they followed Aonghas into the manor.

For a hard northerner, Aonghas enjoyed surrounding himself with the trappings of luxury. Large, sumptuous tapestries adorned the walls.

Aonghas motioned them to a set of fine, carved wooden chairs resting on furs before a roaring hearth.

Seating Alice closest to the fire, William perched on the arm of her chair. Beneath his fingers the intricately carved wood felt fine enough for a king.

Clapping his hands, Aonghas shouted orders to the large number of serving folk clustered about.

“My men?” Poor bastards had nothing near as fine as the raiment of Aonghas’s people, but he would see them warm and fed.

“They are being well cared for.” Sir Aonghas lounged on the seat across from Alice, one leg flung over the chair arm. “I will wager they already have a wench in one hand and a mug of something warm in the other.”

William accepted a gleaming pewter goblet from a pretty serving wench.

The serving wench gave him a saucy grin, invitation glinting in her fine eyes.

Alice tensed.

William dropped his hand onto her shoulder. Whatever the future brought for them, his wife should know he would not accept every invitation cast his way. William sensed it would matter more to Alice than most. Even though her words on their wedding night would lead a man to believe she understood the way of things, even accepted them. Such a fool would grow frigid in his wedding bed. Behind her grass-green eyes lurked a fragility that tugged at William.

Rich notes of nutmeg and orange rose from the warmed wine in his goblet and almost brought him to tears of gratitude. Aonghas probably used Tarnwych’s meager bounty to support his lifestyle, and William planned to enjoy it to the fullest.

“It was good of you to visit, with your wedding so recent.” The old fox gathered details with each sweep of his gaze.

William’s blood rose to the challenge. He’d spent years slithering his way around the venomous halls of King John’s court. First rule of engagement: never underestimate your opponent. Men could appear weak and then develop a spine of hardened steal. Strong men could crumple at the first sign of opposition. Some might look at Aonghas and see a border Scot with no manners and refinements, but William knew better. He saw a man as canny as a ferret.

“Verily.” William toyed with the edges of Alice’s wimple. He’d like to damn the thing to hell for covering her glorious hair. “As nearest neighbors, I thought it wise for us to meet. Get the measure of each other.”

“Ah, indeed.” Aonghas sipped his spiced wine.

He took a small sip, enough for politeness but not enough to risk muddling his senses. “It is so easy in these troubled times for small annoyances to blossom into larger disagreements. Sir Arthur of Anglesea, my father, has earned a reputation as a man of war, but he has always taught his sons that war only happens when diplomacy and reason fail.”

Aonghas’s swinging leg paused, and then resumed. Aye, he got the message. William had powerful allies and a wealthy family.

“A wise man, indeed.” Aonghas rested his chin on his palm. “Anglesea lies to the south, does it not? A goodly ways south.”

“It does.” William silently applauded Aonghas’s parry. It’s what he would have done. “We are a close family, and they write often.”

A different serving maid refilled his goblet. This one even prettier than the last, with her generous bosom overflowing her bodice. So, Aonghas had made it his business to know all about William.

Aonghas sipped his wine, watching all the time over the goblet rim if William would take the delicious bait. “Tarnwych and The Crags have long been the most harmonious of neighbors.”

“So Gord, my bailiff, informs me,” William said.

“How is Gord?” Aonghas accepted a refill from the same girl. His gaze didn’t stray near her bosom either.

“Gord is well.” William grimaced. “Actually, Gord is not so well. He finds himself at a bit of a loss.”

“Indeed.” Aonghas cocked his head.

William slipped his hand beneath Alice’s wimple and caressed her nape. “He finds himself unable to account for some missing beasts: cattle, goats, most of the deer. Enough for a man who keeps such excellent records as Gord to bring it to my notice.”

Aonghas’s shocked expression was wondrous, a thing of skilled dissembling. “I would like to tell you, Sir William, that such things do not happen in the north, but alas, I am unable to.”

“Please call me William.” William smoothed a charming grin over his features. He tightened his grip on Alice’s nape. Please God, let the girl be sharp enough not to leap into this battle of wits. “Are you telling me theft is common in these lands?”

She sipped her wine. Twining the fingers of her free hand with his hand against her shoulder, she gave him a subtle squeeze.

BOOK: Conquering William
11.83Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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