Knight's Caress (13 page)

Amberlie was just about to blow out her candle when a slight tap sounded at her door. “My lady, ‘tis Mabel of Woodrose. I—I should like to speak with you, if you are awake,” said the feeble-sounding voice.

Throwing back the covers, Amberlie answered the door in her shift, baffled that Tedric’s mother was about and at her door on such a chilly night. The chill seeped into her bones as she stared at Mabel. Mabel’s usual pallor had been replaced by slightly rosy cheeks, but still she leaned against the wall for support. “Please come in,” Amberlie said, and helped the woman to a chair. Quickly, she covered Mabel with a pelt from her bed, very much aware that Mabel’s frail form shook beneath the fur. She wondered if the woman had a fever. “You should be abed,” Amberlie said softly.

Mabel shook her head. Her large blue eyes swam with tears. “Nay, I cannot sleep, not when my son is soon to die.”

“Tedric is not in harm’s way, I assure you. He is a slave to Guy de Bayonne.”

“Nay, nay he is not.” Mabel grabbed for Amberlie’s hand. “Your kinsman has placed my son in the pit, where he will surely die unless someone can save him. If not by starving my boy, de Bayonne shall kill him some other way. Please, my lady, I beg of you, if you have no heart for my boy, and I know you believe him guilty of murder, think of me and my poor Edytha. We’ve done naught to hurt you. Find it in your heart to entreat Guy de Bayonne to release my son from the pit. A life of slavery is more than enough punishment—I do not want my son to die!”

The pit was a hellish place for it was only a deep hole cut in the ground and covered with wooden slats; in it one could see the sun, but the warming rays never reached those depths. But Tedric had killed her husband. And he’d made his choice to suffer at de Bayonne’s hands of his own free will, rather than serve her. Tedric belonged to Guy now, and he could do with him as he pleased.

But never had anyone pleaded with her like Lady Mabel. The woman’s pale face was streaked with tears, and the hand clasped around Amberlie’s shook so much that Amberlie didn’t have the heart to deny her request. She knew that Guy wouldn’t willingly release Tedric, but perhaps the knights who guarded the pit would. “I will do what I can,” she said lowly, “but I can’t promise—’’

“Thank you, my lady! Thank you!” Mabel didn’t seem interested in hearing the rest of what Amberlie would say; she knew only that Amberlie was willing to help. Mabel rose slowly to her feet, and Amberlie supported her as she walked to the doorway. Magda appeared in the doorway and she immediately took Mabel’s arm. “Lady Amberlie will help my son,” she whispered to Magda with a jubilant smile.

For the first time since Amberlie had known Magda, Magda smiled back. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

~
~
~

The hood of Amberlie’s cloak covered her unbound hair, as on slipper-clad feet she stealthily made her way down the back stairs of the keep. Carefully, she maneuvered a path over the sleeping forms of some of the knights and serving help as she found her way to the wooden back door. The hinges squealed, sounding like a screech owl, and she held her breath. No one stirred except to snore or moan in sleep.

Few stars illuminated the night sky. The entire grounds behind the keep were bathed in darkness, but Amberlie knew the direction well enough to traverse it without a candle. It wasn’t so much that she dreaded having to explain herself to her knights as to Guy or Julianne if she were caught. She wasn’t certain if she was on a fool’s errand or not, but she had to try to free Tedric from the pit—though she knew it wouldn’t be easy. However, she was lady of the keep, and her word should mean something. Shouldn’t it?

The three guards by the pit noticed her immediately, and raised their lances. “‘Tis Lady Amberlie,” she hurriedly explained, recognizing one as Sir Christophe.

Christophe ordered the other two knights to lower their weapons. Moving toward her, he took her arm and propelled her away from the pit. “May I assist you, my lady?” he asked just as if he were used to seeing her walking near the pit in the black of night.

“I understand that Tedric the slave is in the pit. I should like him freed to my service again.” She spoke evenly and without hesitation, yet Christophe seemed greatly taken aback.

“He belongs to Sir Guy, my lady. I cannot release him to you.”

“I’m mistress here and I insist that you do. I’ve no reason to believe that Sir Guy wishes his death in this way.”

Christophe shook his head. “I cannot, my lady.”

“I insist!”

“Only the king can release him over Sir Guy. I’m sorry.”

She could tell Christophe wasn’t going to change his mind easily. “I could have you thrown into the pit for disobeying my order.” Why she said such a stupid thing she didn’t know. She only knew that she was frustrated that no one paid any heed to her, that Julianne and Guy so thoroughly controlled everyone from the knights to the lowliest slave. She had no power. “I demand you release this man to me—”

“I shall deal with Lady Amberlie, Christophe,” said Guy’s cool and malevolent voice behind her.

She didn’t need to turn to see the anger in his eyes; rather she sensed it in the way he roughly grabbed her elbow and steered her toward the keep as if she were a slave herself. And in fact she was, for she had about as much power as Tedric in the pit.

“So,
cherie,
you think to free my slave. Tell me, why does it matter so much to you if Tedric lives or dies? Is there some reason that I should suspect a soft heart on your part for him?”

She tried to shrug loose, but Guy held her fast and so she allowed herself to be led. “I trusted you wouldn’t kill him. The Saxons shall rise up if Tedric dies, and I’m sick of violence.”

“Ah,
cherie,
if not for violence I’d be out of an occupation, so to speak. Let the Saxons rise up. They’ll be dead for I have an excellent group of knights, and the king has brought his own knights. If the Saxons don’t know that they’re outnumbered, then they’re a stupid bunch and deserve to be killed.”

“Have you no heart at all?”

Guy halted in his tracks, pulling her up short against him.
“Oui,
my heart belongs to you and you stomp upon it. I’ve spoken to the king about you. He is giving consideration to our marriage.”

Amberlie felt her stomach sink almost to her toes. For the first time since Guy had broached the subject to her, she now felt that perhaps William would order her to marry him. She could protest the alliance, she knew that, but no one had ever listened to her or understood how she felt. Not even her father, who’d ordered her to marry Henri when she was barely fourteen years old. Luckily, the marriage had been a happy one, if not a fruitful one, because Henri had loved her and been kind to her. But she doubted if Guy would be so kind, not when he was filled with such burning hatred for Tedric, when by rights she should be the one eager to see the man dead.

Guy wanted her only for her home and lands. He’d been married to a wealthy lady for a short time years ago, and the bride had died under odd circumstances. Henri confided to her that he wondered if his uncle had killed the woman after the marriage because she no longer served his purpose. If so, what might Guy do to her?

“I won’t marry you.” She glared at him.

He peered instantly at her, his face turning into a hostile mask to match her own.
“Bien,
that is your answer but the question lies with the king, and he shall decide. But I tell you one thing,
cherie.
I will make certain that Tedric dies, for I don’t trust your answer about what didn’t happen between the two of you.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Really? So it won’t matter if I kill the heathen, will it? I mean, if nothing happened then his death shouldn’t concern you.”

“Guy, please don’t. Consider his mother and sister.” Why was she begging Guy de Bayonne? What did she care about Tedric’s family? But she did care and that was the root of the problem, because they
were
Tedric’s family, and this sudden knowledge startled her. Did she possess a soft spot for him? Impossible.

Guy considered her and smiled ruthlessly. “If you care so much about saving his life, then I will bargain with you. Marry me and Tedric will live—as my personal slave—but he’ll live.”

It would be so easy to agree. But she couldn’t. Marriage to Guy would be a nightmare and she had no assurance that Tedric wouldn’t be killed anyway. She wouldn’t bargain away her happiness for the man who had killed her husband. She couldn’t, even though an unfamiliar part of her ached to do so, if only she knew for certain she could save him. “I can’t,” she whispered, and clutched at her cloak as the wind whipped it about her to reveal her thin shift beneath.

Her tempting curves weren’t lost on Guy. A lecherous gleam flooded his gaze as he lightly stroked her jawline. “You’re a sweet temptation,
cherie,
but soon you’ll be my wife. No matter what you want or don’t want, you’ll marry me, and Tedric shall die.” With a hearty laugh, he bowed; they had reached the keep’s back door and he held it open for her.

Amberlie hurried upstairs, not looking back. Her heart thumped hard in her chest and her palms perspired, but she felt wretchedly cold. To her misery, Magda appeared in her chamber. “My lady?” Her voice contained hope.

“I cannot save him,” Amberlie whispered miserably, and questioned her own emotions as to why she felt so terrible.

“At least you tried. Thank you, my lady.” Then Magda left her alone.

All Amberlie could think was that she’d failed—again.

 
“Up the ladder, man, we’ve not got all day. The king is waiting for you.” A knight’s lance painfully pressed against Tedric’s thigh, rousing him from a fitful sleep. The boards above the pit had been removed and for the first time in over a week, sunshine spilled into the slimy, dark area, practically blinding Tedric. On the side of the pit, a long ladder rested.

Tedric recognized the knight with the lance as a man named Baudelaire, a hardened-looking man with a long chin and deceitful eyes. The climb up the ladder was difficult. Tedric grew dizzy but fought the overwhelming urge to fall back down. He wouldn’t humiliate himself in front of his enemies. By sheer will, he made it up, with much prodding in the rump from Baudelaire’s lance, to stand finally on his own two feet when he reached flat ground.

Another knight, whom Tedric recalled as Christophe, smiled almost apologetically when he grabbed Tedric by the arm. Tedric felt weak-kneed, and his stomach growled loudly like a forest animal. He’d lost count of how long it had been since he’d stopped eating the slop which had been thrown into the pit, food not fit for human consumption. Evidently, Guy de Bayonne had intended to starve him to death. But now, William the Bastard wanted to see him, and Tedric immediately understood that the plans had changed. He was to die in front of the king.

“No use trying to fight us,” Christophe advised with a warning shake of his head at the sudden way Tedric thrust out his chin and clenched his fists. “You’re much too weak to challenge us.” That was true, and Tedric also lacked the strength really to care what happened to him. He’d spent over a week in near darkness with barely enough water to drink, much less bathe. He was dirty and chilled, having not been allowed even his tunic. Seven days’ growth of beard stubbled his face, and tawny hair hung to his shoulders in stringy waves. He accepted what had happened to him, and what soon would happen, but he worried about his mother and sister. As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, two more knights appeared and attached heavy chains to each arm. Like a weak, wounded lion, Tedric was pulled into the keep.

He heard Guy de Bayonne’s triumphant laugh before he saw him. His hated enemy sat upon the dais, smirking at him. The Norman king sat in the center, flanked on both sides by Julianne de Fontaine and Amberlie. Tedric couldn’t help but notice Amberlie, dressed in a gray gown with a white linen headdress on her head. If he’d felt better, he’d have turned his eyes away from her to prove that she affected him not at all, but she was so lovely to gaze upon that he couldn’t stop staring at her. He hated himself for his weakness where this Norman wench was concerned. The woman had betrayed him and reduced him to a wretched creature, being led before her in chains. Still, he longed to touch her soft cheek, to brush his lips against her sweet mouth. He’d have continued staring at her, but then he saw that her eyes had widened, and her hand clutched her throat in what he took to be pity. He didn’t want her pity. So he scowled at her, preferring her repulsion instead, and turned his attention to the king.

“Our prisoner has arrived, sire.” Guy de Bayonne gestured a well-manicured hand toward Tedric while addressing the king. “Tedric, the renegade, awaits your pleasure.”

William leaned back in his chair, forming his fingers into a tent, and studied the prisoner, his expression guarded and emotionless. He took in every aspect of Tedric’s appearance, from his dirty, mud-filled hair to his filthy torn hose. He noted bruises on Tedric’s massive torso, even the whip marks on his back that were healing over with scar tissue. The man could barely stand from weakness, but there was an arrogance about him, a cockiness which not even the whip had dispelled. “So, you’re the Saxon who has bested my most able-bodied knights for so long.”

Tedric didn’t know how to respond to the king’s statement, so he said nothing, but he didn’t miss de Bayonne’s sheepish expression at the humiliating remark. “You’re a traitor to your king,” William continued. “I have it within my power to execute you. What say you on this?”

“Nothing, for you shall do what you wish.”

“Oui,
I shall.”

“Sire, how shall he die?” Julianne asked much too eagerly, her lips curled upward into a pleased grin. “I can offer several suggestions to bring about his end, something painful to offer me suitable vengeance.”

William shifted in his chair. “I’m certain you’ve thought of many innovative ways to kill this Saxon traitor. But I would like to hear what sort of tortures the Widow de Fontaine has in mind for her husband’s murderer.” William’s voice was calm, his gaze steady. All eyes from the king to the lowliest slave in the great hall turned toward Amberlie. Tedric ignored her; instead he concentrated on the rush-covered floor beneath his mud-caked feet.

“I … I do not know, sire,” Tedric heard her say in a soft, silky whisper after what seemed to be a long time. “Torture is not to my liking.”

“Ah, then you wish the slave to die quickly.”

“I do not wish him to die at all.”

Both Guy and Julianne gasped in unison. William quietly assessed Amberlie’s pale face and Tedric’s rock-hard demeanor. The prisoner’s eyes stared straight ahead. “Don’t you want this man punished for his crime against your husband?”

Amberlie earnestly inclined her head in the king’s direction. “I believe sparing his life and forcing him to live as a slave would be just punishment for Henri’s death. He … is a proud man who is unafraid to die. By killing him, you’d be doing him a favor.”

William stroked his chin. “Really? That is most interesting.”

“Sire,” Guy hastily broke in, his voice sounding shrill, “Lady Amberlie has a tender heart. You mustn’t seriously consider what she says for she is only a woman.”

“Oui,
sire,” Julianne put in. “My daughter-in-law hasn’t been coached in the art of meting out justice.”

William nodded and said to Tedric, “It seems your mode of death is undecided, Saxon. What say you?”

In a low, tired voice, Tedric answered. “I won’t beg for my life. To exist as a slave is to live as an animal, and I am not an animal to be kicked and beaten, humiliated at every turn. I ask nothing for myself but I beg mercy for my family. My mother is ill, and my sister is frail of mind. The woman to whom I am betrothed has done nothing to warrant punishment. You are a mighty king, and I hope a just one. Take not your wrath out upon my family. I beg mercy for them, only for them … sire.” He could barely force out that last word.

Not a sound could be heard in the great hall. Everyone seemed to be captivated by Tedric’s plea. Some of the Saxon serving women who’d served Tedric’s family before the invasion wiped at their eyes. A lump formed in more than a few Norman throats at Tedric’s concern for his family. Though they were the conquerors, the Normans too had families they loved with as much fervor.

William aptly read the situation. This man was no ordinary renegade but a noble man, a man who inspired allegiance among his own people and who had also softened the hearts of his enemies. Might such a man be valuable to him? Killing him would serve no real purpose but to prove how mighty a king he was, and he’d already done that hundreds of times over the last year. Something warned William that Tedric could be put to better use by keeping him alive.

A slight sound on his left drew his attention to Amberlie. Her wide, frightened eyes had fastened upon the captive and not once strayed. The woman was enthralled by the Saxon, though she didn’t know it—not enough reason to suspend the death sentence, but something he’d dwell upon at a later time. However, the remembrance of Guy de Bayonne’s request, his hunger for Amberlie, and his desire for Tedric of Woodrose’s demise gave William pause. He didn’t care for Guy, who was a good knight but too crafty and clever—and perhaps guilty of the murder of his wife. Guy’s wife had been a kind, sweet woman, not unlike Amberlie de Fontaine. Was it possible that the same fate might befall Amberlie, the child of William’s best friend? He also didn’t care for Guy’s lust for power, which he considered more dangerous than lust for a woman. And Guy had taken over the keep’s operations on his own initiative. Perhaps it was time to put Guy in his place.

“A noble spirit resides within you, Saxon,” William responded, choosing his words with care. “I trust you’re aware of my power, that not only might I order you slain but your family as well.”

Tedric swallowed hard, his face ashen. He could barely speak from fear for his loved ones. “Aye, sire.”

“Then be of good cheer that I do not order their deaths—or yours at the moment.” As he leaned forward, William’s hands clenched the edge of the table. “You are familiar with this area, the woods and the animal life within it. I have been led to believe that stags abound in the forests. Is that true?” Tedric could only nod.
“Bien,
then on the morrow I will hunt and you shall be my guide.” He turned to Amberlie. “And you, madam, shall accompany me and my party.” Amberlie too could only nod, apparently more than amazed by this turn of events. “Please see that Tedric is bathed and given adequate nourishment, my lady, for I wish him to be well and hearty on the morrow.”

“Oui,
sire, as you wish,” Amberlie responded with a grateful smile.

William then ordered the two knights who’d dragged Tedric into the hall to remove his chains. The king was very much aware of the horrified expressions on Guy’s and Julianne’s faces. Both said nothing, having the good sense not to interfere. Before Tedric was led away, William warned him. “Remember, Saxon, that you shall be watched—and your family’s safety rests with you.”

Tedric inclined his head in agreement, realizing William was testing him. Then the king told Amberlie she could deal with her charge, and she left the great hall to see to Tedric’s needs.

~
~
~

Glenna had seen and heard all that transpired between Tedric and the king. As she carried her bucket to the pond with the other women, she listened as they spoke of William’s sudden generosity. They were very much impressed; Glenna, however, wasn’t. This was the sort of information which Wulfgar needed to kill the bastard king, and she would act upon it.

After the women filled their buckets and turned hurriedly back to the keep, Glenna dawdled behind and watched for Wulfgar, who didn’t disappoint her. Quickly she told him of the king’s hunt on the morrow. “Good, good. Tomorrow I strike,” Wulfgar told her, and hurried away to blend into the forest.

Glenna started back, and stopped short to notice Sir Christophe, standing on the path some distance away. She doubted he’d seen Wulfgar, and then knew he hadn’t by the huge smile he bestowed upon her. Without words, he held out his hand and took her bucket, as he’d done each day for a week now. He hadn’t tried to steal a kiss yet, and Glenna was disappointed. She wanted him to kiss her, but wouldn’t admit such a traitorous thought when it was Tedric whom she loved. At least, she thought she loved Tedric. Such a long time had passed since they’d lain together that she wasn’t certain anymore. Her dreams now centered upon Christophe. Though she found the knight handsome, she worried that she was being unfaithful to Tedric, disloyal to her own people.

“You needn’t wait to help me,” she snapped at Christophe, hiding her happiness at seeing him. “I can manage to carry a bucket on my own.”

“I know,” he said softly, his dark eyes softening like melted butter when he looked at her. “You can do anything you want,
cherie,
but I wish you wanted me as much as you long for your Saxon.”

This man could adequately read her thoughts. Did he discern her traitorous sentiments? Glenna narrowed her eyes at Christophe. It would never do to fall in love with this man. Never. He was her enemy.

“Just stop waiting for me and helping me! I hate you!” Rudely, she grabbed the bucket and quickly trudged down the path back to the keep, not turning around to see if Christophe followed. She knew he didn’t. She found herself blinded by her own tears because she’d hurt him.

~
~
~

The kitchen help buzzed around Tedric, who sat in a small wooden tub. The serving women giggled and hovered in groups at the doorway to watch the large man at his bath. There was very little privacy for a slave, and since the kitchen was the nearest place to bathe, the buckets were hauled there. “Stop your gaping, you silly wenches,” a disgruntled male serf shouted at the tittering group. “Lord Tedric would like to bathe in peace.”