Knight's Caress (10 page)

The slave collar tightly encased the thickness of Tedric’s neck. Ranulf, the blacksmith, closed the lock and said nothing to Tedric, the man who had once been his lord and now was to serve the Lady Amberlie at Woodrose. But Maeda, Ranulf s wife, had a great deal to say, and ceased her sweeping of the floor of the tiny hut.

“‘Tis sinful that Lord Tedric should be treated thus,” she whispered, hot tears of anger filled her eyes. “I thought Lady Amberlie was kind, but now I fear she is as evil as the Lady Julianne and that wretched brother of hers. May a pox take the lot of them!”

“Quiet, woman,” Ranulf ordered. “Do ye wish for Norman wrath to settle upon us for your loud and vicious tongue?”

“I speak only the truth, my husband.”

“And the truth is disturbing to me and to Lord Tedric.” Ranulf managed a weak smile at Tedric, who sat before him on a stool. “Forgive my wife, my lord.”

“I forgive her willingly, Ranulf, but I’m no longer your lord, but a slave.”

“Will you run or fight?” Ranulf inquired.

Tedric shook his head. “Neither, for my actions might harm my family. My mother isn’t well, and with winter’s sting soon to be upon us, I cannot risk her health by running away—or fighting.”

“But when spring comes, my lord, what then?”

Tedric smiled wanly, not about to confide in anyone, even a trusted man like Ranulf. He feared that his words would be taken wrongly and passed along to Guy de Bayonne, who’d no doubt retaliate by harming Edytha, his mother, or Glenna. For now, Tedric would be forced to play the slave—until something happened to turn things to his advantage. But what that might be, he didn’t know.

“Quiet, yon comes Lady Amberlie,” Maeda warned, and went about her sweeping. She bowed respectfully when Amberlie entered the small house.

“I’ve come for my slave. Is he ready?” Amberlie asked Ranulf. Tedric sat rigidly still, fists clenched. Apparently someone had given him a blue tunic to cover the welts on his back. Yet his face was still bruised and the skin beneath his eyes was colored a purplish-black. Amberlie tried not to stare at him, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Aye, my lady, and here is the key which removes the collar.” Ranulf handed Amberlie a small key, which she tightly clutched in her hand.

“Come,” she commanded Tedric. “The evening meal awaits and needs to be served.” With an imperious swish of her dark gown, Amberlie turned and left the blacksmith’s hut with Tedric following behind her.

“Expect no thanks for saving my life,” Tedric said in a voice which didn’t sound at all slave-like in tone as they crossed the bailey.

“Should I have stood idly by and watched your execution?” Amberlie retorted with barely a twist of her head in his direction. “I was kinder to you than you were to my husband.”

“I remember not killing your husband, my lady. But I shall not beg to be released from bondage either.”

“Still prideful,” she mumbled, and attempted to harden her heart against him. It would never do to feel anything other than contempt for such a man. He’d taken so much from her. Henri’s death must be avenged, and humbling Tedric was the tool.

“You’re a heartless woman, my lady, but I beg nothing for myself, only for my family. Please do not be hard on my sister or my mother; and Glenna is a true lady, not a thrall.”

Amberlie spun around, nearly colliding with Tedric’s broad chest. Her mood veered sharply to rage. “I would not wish your punishment to be visited upon those close to you. Your mother and Edytha are with Magda in the weaving room where they’ll be safe. Edytha helps with the sewing and your mother, who is ill, has been given a pallet where she can rest and do needlework when she feels well enough. Your precious Glenna sees to Lady Julianne, which is a most sought-after position among the serfs. I hold no animosity against them.”

“Ah, then I am to be thankful for your kindness, my lady? Is that what you wish?”

“A bit of gratitude for saving your wretched life would be sufficient.”

“For that, I am not grateful, but I do thank you for extending some generosity to my family.”

Amberlie turned, unable to look upon this man whose face was so battered and bruised for much longer. She felt an overwhelming urge to tend to his bruises and to the wounds on his back, which she knew must hurt him still. But she was mistress of Woodrose, and it wouldn’t do to extend any kindness to a slave, especially this slave. Already, some of the knights were watching them, openly curious as to the reason their mistress occupied herself with a slave.

Inside the great hall, Amberlie took her place upon the dais beside Guy. On his right sat Julianne. The older woman’s mouth curled up into a vindictive smile when Tedric approached with a trencher of freshly cooked venison and rice, placing it grudgingly before Amberlie. He looked distinctly out of place among the serfs, for Tedric was larger in height, his body bronzed and well-muscled. His face showed no emotion, resembling a mask.

“Your slave needs to learn the proper way to serve,” Julianne told Amberlie from across Guy. “Also, he must learn humility. I should be most pleased to teach him, my daughter.”

Amberlie hid her repulsion from Julianne, knowing just how cruel Julianne could be and how delighted she’d be if Amberlie turned Tedric over to her for punishment. There were too many slaves already at Woodrose who’d suffered beneath Julianne’s heavy hands and thin beating rods. “Indeed, this slave has much to learn, and in time, he will,” Amberlie said. “But I think his subservience will be sufficient punishment for his crime in the end.”

Julianne considered the arrogant stance of Amberlie’s new slave with a finger on her lips.
“Oui,
the end is what counts,” she said cryptically.

Guy sniffed the air in disdain. “The lout deserves to die, and I agree that the end is what counts for I’ll have my way in the end.”

Amberlie ignored Guy, her attention on Glenna, who approached the dais and placed trenchers before Julianne and Guy. Amberlie didn’t miss her air of arrogance or the way her eyes flickered possessively across Tedric. But her mouth dropped open when she noticed the slave collar. No matter what Amberlie felt about Glenna, the woman truly cared for Tedric, a fact made obvious by the small tear coursing down her cheek. For the entire meal, Tedric stood stone-like, except when Amberlie ordered him forward to refill her cup with mead or clear away her trencher.

After the meal ended, Amberlie went to her chamber. Magda appeared as she did each night to help Amberlie undress. “I’ve ordered Lord Ted—” The old woman broke off with a scowl on her face and began again. “Your new slave is warming the water for your bath, my lady.”

“‘Twas kind of you,” Amberlie said, and pulled off her headdress so Magda could begin combing her hair. She sat before the mirror, her own dark-clothed figure suddenly very unappealing to her eyes. She was so tired of wearing black, so sick of mourning for Henri, that she felt much older than her twenty years. “How are Lady Mabel and Edytha faring?”

“Fine, my lady.”

It seemed that was all the information Magda would willingly volunteer. Amberlie bit down upon her lower lip, for she sensed Magda’s animosity, more so than usual. Of all the serfs at Woodrose, Amberlie wanted Magda’s respect. “You’re upset with me, aren’t you?” Amberlie watched Magda’s reflection, aware of the thin line of her mouth, and the way she harshly combed Amberlie’s hair, pulling at her scalp. “You know I informed Sir Guy as to Tedric’s hiding place.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“I did what needed to be done.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“For the love of God, Magda, say something else!”

“Would you like a fire lit, my lady?”

Exasperated, Amberlie ordered Magda to get the tub ready for her bath and to light the hearth. Soon, Tedric began carrying in buckets of water and pouring them into the tub. Not once did he look her way, but he diligently performed his task. Amberlie realized how demeaning this must all be for him, and she wondered if she should have allowed Guy to execute him. Why had she saved his life? He deserved to die for killing Henri. Didn’t the Bible say an eye for an eye? A life for a life? Who was she to contradict the word of God?

“Your tub is ready, my lady,” Tedric said woodenly.

Amberlie rose from her chair by the mirror, and realized that Magda was no longer in the room. “Please find Magda for me. I need more kindling for the fire.”

Tedric bowed and disappeared.

Quickly disrobing, Amberlie slipped into the small wooden tub, pulling her legs up to her chest to accommodate her length. The water lapped at her thighs, just barely covering her breasts. How wonderful the water felt upon her body, the tensions of the day receding. She closed her eyes and began to doze. She barely heard the chamber door opening, though she stirred awake as she heard wood being thrown upon the fire, followed by hissing and sizzling sounds. Without opening her eyes, she asked Magda to please wash her back. Amberlie felt her long hair being lifted from her neck. The soft cloth gently stroked along her collarbone to the center of her back, kneading her flesh in the most delightful way. Amberlie moaned under Magda’s massaging fingers, never having experienced such a wonderfully refreshing bath before. The muscles in her neck and back relaxed; the tenseness left her body entirely.

“Oh that feels so wonderful,” she breathed, and started to doze again, vaguely aware that the  cloth traced a path to her lower back and around to her hip, where it skimmed across her abdomen and found its way up to her chest. The cool rag dipped between the valley of her breasts, stopping for a moment to wet each one. Then fiery fingers kneaded each globe until the nipples stood out hard and firm—and Amberlie’s eyes flew open, for this was a most unusual washing. “Magda, what are you doing!” she shouted, much flustered, and grabbed at the cloth.

“‘Tisn’t Magda, my lady.”

It was Tedric.

He lecherously grinned at her, laughing aloud when she bolted to her feet and threw the wet cloth to hit him solidly in the chest. His amusement ceased when Amberlie, who was startled and embarrassed, tripped in her haste to get out of the tub and secure a towel. She tumbled to the floor on her side, completely naked, and so humiliated she wished to die. Tedric picked up the towel and laid it over her. “Are you hurt?” he asked, genuine concern replacing his earlier amusement. He reached out to help her up.

She slapped his hands away. “You lecherous lout! How dare you sneak into my chambers and—and wash me! Where is Magda?”

“She was called away by a serf who is in childbirth. I volunteered to bring in the wood for her.”

“And to wash me!” Amberlie finished, her cheeks burning a bright red.

“Nay, that wasn’t on my list of duties, but I didn’t mind, my lady, truly I didn’t. If I remember correctly, I am your personal slave.” He shot her a devastatingly handsome smile, so dazzling that her pulse quickened.

With as much dignity as she could muster, Amberlie wrapped the towel around her and stood up. “Your duties do not extend to such personal matters as tending to my bath. I should have you flogged for your impertinence, your presumption—”

“Mayhap you should have me killed.”

Her hands tightened around the towel. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d be a martyr to your people and your cause.”

“I trust your good judgment, my lady.”

“And I trust you’ll remember your place here, slave! You’re no longer master of Woodrose Keep. For the rest of your days you’ll serve me and my kin. I’ll see to it that you haven’t one moment’s rest during the day. If not serving me, you’ll be slopping the pigs or cleaning out the stables and foul-smelling dovecote. No chore will be too demeaning by the time I finish with you.”

“All of this fury is because you enjoyed my touch. You know that, Amberlie.”

“You hateful, arrogant man!”

“Why? Because I deign to tell you the truth? Because you respond to a barbarian like a washwoman each time I touch you?”

“Get out of my chambers,” she said through gritted teeth, and turned her back to him. Somehow she knew he hesitated a moment, but then she heard the door close behind him. She changed into her nightclothes and slid beneath the pelts on the bed, remembering his remarks,

Tedric had spoken the truth, and the truth pricked at her heart like a thousand thorns. She’d never thought herself to be a weakling; dependent upon others, yes, but not so weak that her knees felt ready to collapse each time he laid a finger upon her. The brawny man possessed a power over her and had caused her no amount of grief, in the past and the present. How would she deal with her own shameful weakness for him in the future?