The Red Wolf's Prize (8 page)

The Red Wolf let his head drop forward and he uttered a soft
moan, causing her to lift the cloth from his back.

“You have a beautiful voice, Sarah,” he said in a lethargic
voice. “Did the Welshman teach you the songs?”

She forced a thank you from her lips, and resumed scrubbing
his back. “Yea, Rhodri taught me his music.”

He reached back, took her hand that held the cloth and drew
it to his chest. “Sarah, I would have you also scrub my chest.” He was
deliberately forcing her to confront his maleness, to put her hands on the dark
hair that covered his chest. She kept her eyes above the water even as her
breathing became more strained. She had to fight her own attraction for him in
order to keep her distance.

He took the cloth from her and finished scrubbing his legs
and what lay beneath the water. She was grateful she would not have to touch
that part of his body.

“What is the Welshman to you, Sarah?”

The question surprised her.
Why would he care?
Reaching for the pail of rinse water, she considered how to answer. She did not
look at his naked form but her fingertips touched his warm flesh as she poured
the water over his hair and his back. The heat of his body made her keenly
aware they were alone in his chamber and he was unclothed. She had never
touched a man like this, never felt her heart race at the nearness of so
powerful a warrior.

She managed to say, “He is a friend and my teacher of the
bow as he is to many at Talisand.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nay, my lord.” Her voice was calm but his words caused her
anger to rise. What business of his was her relationship to the Welsh bard? But
a servant would not ask so she said naught.

“That is good.”

Still behind him, Serena reached for the drying cloth,
bringing her head near to his. He turned to look at her. His eyes, only a
hand’s width away, flashed liquid silver, and in them she glimpsed raw desire.
Like a mouse caught in the fixed glare of a snake, she was unable to move. The
drying cloth slipped from her hand.

His gaze fell to her lips. “Sarah…”

He reached out his hand and pulled her towards him as his
mouth closed the short distance to hers. His lips touched her own ever so
lightly. His tongue followed the curve of her bottom lip, causing her skin to
tingle. Had he tried to force her she might have fought, she might have fled,
but his slow seduction lulled her into remaining still. His hand moved to her
nape where his fingers curved around the tingling skin and held her tenderly.
She responded, willingly offering her mouth to him and closed her eyes.

A feeling of pleasure she had never experienced swept over
her as his lips softly teased and his tongue slipped between her parted lips to
freely explore her mouth. His slow deliberate movements tantalized as they
promised pleasure, a pleasure for the first time she very much wanted. She
entwined her tongue with his and moaned.

When he pulled her tightly against his chest, the touch of
his wet skin and the edge of the tub pressed against her breasts awakened her
to what was happening. She wrenched back, frightened at how close she had come
to giving him what he sought and angry with herself for allowing such intimacy.

“My lord!” Still on her knees, she scurried backward and
hastily rose.

“Sarah…” His voice was deep and coaxing. “Come back.”

“Nay!”

She raced to the door, flung it open and fled, letting it
slam behind her. He called her name but she did not respond. Flattening herself
against the wall next to the door to what had once been her chamber, her heart
pounded in her chest. Pressing her palms against the wall, she willed her heart
to slow.

Her mind reeled, alarmed at what had transpired. No man had
ever kissed her like the Norman had—no man had ever made her want him.

How could the Norman knight affect her so?

She reached one hand to her lips; the soft flesh still
throbbed from his kiss. Hearing voices below, she stepped away from the wall to
peer into the entry where a few men lingered. One of them looked up at her.
Maugris.
The old man’s gaze held hers and a slow smile spread across his face. She fell
back against the wall, her heart still racing as she sought to hide in the
shadows. Did the old man know what had transpired?

The sun was nearly at its zenith when Renaud set aside his
sword and wiped his face with the back of his hand. After the night before when
Sarah had fled his bedchamber, leaving him hard and wanting, he relished the
physical activity of sword practice with his men. Besides, he would need to
keep up his skills for battle.

“Good work, Alain. You have wearied me,” said Renaud.

His banner carrier, the knight who always reminded him of a
large bear, smiled. “And you have me sweating like a pig in a slaughterhouse,
my lord,” said Alain, sheathing his sword.

Renaud looked around at his other knights. All were sweating
in the heat of the midday sun from hours of heaving their swords in mock
battle.

“Take a break and get some food,” Renaud urged his men.
“This afternoon, some of you will hunt while others have duties supervising the
motte construction.” Then to Geoff, who had just sheathed his sword, “The men
appear ready, even eager for an engagement.”

“Aye, they do. They enjoy the peace they have found here,
but they are trained for war, so a short excursion to join in one of William’s
campaigns would appeal. Do you think it will be long ere the king calls us to
attend him in some skirmish?”

“There are rumors of rebellions in the south, so it might
not be long.” William had not conquered all of England and, knowing his sire,
Renaud thought it was only a matter of time before they were summoned to put
down some rebellion. In the meantime, he had duties here.

“Geoff, this afternoon I would see the village. I intend to
take Maugris with me, but I need someone who can accompany me who knows the
villeins well. Can you identify such a one?”

“Maggie knows everyone. She will have a name.”

“I will bathe first, then join you in the hall. And, yea,
ask Maggie.” Renaud liked the cook and her easy acceptance of him and his
knights. She could have poisoned them all, but instead, she fed them well.

On his way back to the manor, Renaud passed the Welsh bard
as he was going through the gate. “I would have a word, Welshman.”

The bard stopped. “Yea, my lord?”

“I am a bit confused as to who you are. Be you bard, Welsh
warrior or something else?”

For a moment, Renaud thought he saw a flicker of concern in
the bard’s dark eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Merely a bard, my lord, who entertains along the road. When
I first visited Talisand, the old thegn saw me practicing the bow and asked me
to train any who would learn.”

Renaud suspected there was more to the story. “And why do
you return now?”

“I am merely passing through. I did not know the thegn was
dead and thought to visit him.”

An unlikely story.
“Know you aught of Lady Serena,
where she might be, for instance?”

“I have not seen her on my travels, my lord. The people say
she has followed her brother to Scotland.”

“Yea, that is what they say.” Renaud considered the
Welshman, the bard who could fashion a bow that competed well with those of his
archers, and his suspicions were raised. “Do you train with my archers this
afternoon?”

“If you would desire it, my lord, I would be willing.”

“It may be you can teach them something.”

“Or, I might learn from them,” the Welshman said with a
grin.

As the bard, who Renaud suspected was more than a bard,
started to walk away, Renaud called him back. “Rhodri, there is another matter
I would address.”

“Yea, my lord?”

“What is your relationship with the servant girl Sarah?”

The Welshman paused before answering. “Why, I am but her
instructor of the bow and her friend. And sometimes her partner in song.”

Renaud rubbed his fingers over his chin as the bard bowed
and sauntered through the palisade gate. There was more to the man than music
and arrows, he was certain of it.

* * *

Geoffroi strolled into the kitchen to find Maggie and her
daughter Cassandra hard at work putting the finishing touches on the midday
meal, while one of the lads stirred the contents of a large kettle suspended
over the central hearth. Smells of a rich stew rose in the air making his
stomach growl.

“Good day, Sir Geoffroi. Can I help ye?” Maggie paused in
her work setting fresh loaves of bread on platters.

“Good day to you, Maggie, Cassandra,” he said with a nod
toward each of the women. “I need your recommendation for someone to accompany
the lord on his walk through the village this afternoon. It would be best if it
were a person who is familiar with the people and their needs…someone who can
assist with introductions.”

Maggie wiped her hands on her apron and exchanged a glance
with her daughter. Drawing her brows together, she appeared to ponder his
request while her daughter continued in her work, and the lad stirred the
kettle that was the source of the spicy aroma. Geoff’s mouth watered.

Cassandra’s eyes never left her mother. Suddenly a smile
spread across Maggie’s face.

“Well, now, the best be steward Hunstan, but he is nay here
today. The lord sent him to the far manors to see what workers could be had for
the building of his castle.”

She must have seen the disappointment on his face, because
she quickly added, “But there be another who is perfect for the task.”

Geoffroi raised his brows expectantly.

“’Tis the maid, Sarah. She knows the people well and often
carried Lady Serena’s wishes to the village.”

He thought for a moment. It did seem that the girl Sarah
spoke well and she had the friendship of Eawyn. And Ren had a personal interest
in the servant girl, of that he had no doubt. Yea, she might be just the one to
introduce the Red Wolf to the people. “’Tis a grand idea, Maggie. See that she
is available this afternoon. I will tell the lord.”

* * *

Serena stepped into the dirt path leading to the village, the
Red Wolf on her right and Maugris on her other side. The village was close to
the manor so they had no need of horses, which was good, as she did not want
the Normans to know she could ride well. She missed her daily rides on Elfleda,
the white mare her father had given her in her fourteenth year, but it could
not be helped.

A boy chasing a squawking copper feathered chicken ran in
front of them and missed when he reached down to grab the panicked fowl. The
Red Wolf laughed, his deep voice bringing back the memory of their encounter in
his chamber the night before. Serena shivered though the sun on her head was
warm. The memory of his lips on hers brought back exciting sensations. Her
fingers twitched as she recalled the feel of him and the smell of his wet skin.

How foolish she was to think of such things when this man,
she reminded herself, was one of the Bastard’s knights.

She had argued with Maggie saying that going to the village
with the Red Wolf was not a wise thing. But her words had only drawn a smile
from the older woman, who insisted the new lord had need of the servant girl
Sarah. Thankfully she had dyed her new hair growth that morning.

The thought of being so close to him after what happened the
night before left her anxious and unsettled, her stomach churning as if two
cats fought within it. After successfully avoiding the man all morning, she was
to be with him all afternoon. It was not just his nearness that plagued her,
though that was surely enough cause for concern. Nay, visiting the men and
women of the village was something she had often done with her father and
Steinar. Seeing her with the new lord would surely remind the villeins that she
was their lady. She prayed none revealed her identity.

Other lads joined the boy who had chased the chicken, the
group of them pausing at the side of the path to gape at the tall knight, who
bore the name of the wolf he had killed with his bare hands, and the old man the
whole village thought of as a wizard.

The boys’ openmouthed gazes lingered on the Red Wolf’s dark
blue tunic circled with a silver-studded belt at his waist from which hung a
deadly short sword that glistened in the afternoon sun. His hosen were brown as
were the leather straps that crossed them. Even without a hauberk or the wolf’s
pelt, he appeared dangerous. The children’s wide-eyed stares followed him as
though they were watching a mythical god. He was so different from the English
thegn they had known with his long fair hair and graying beard.

The Red Wolf cast a glance at the young ones, then paused,
his gaze lingering on the cottages with their neat thatched roofs extending
nearly to the ground. “The cottages seem well kept. Though some of the thatch
needs to be repaired. Maugris, see that Sir Geoffroi knows of this task.”

Before Maugris could answer, Serena said, “Those are repairs
we make before winter, my lord.”

He raised an eyebrow but Maugris only looked amused.
Instantly, she realized she had stepped outside a servant’s demeanor.

“You are an impudent one for a servant, Sarah. Do you think
I would not know that?”

“Nay, but ’tis not time for the repairs while spring is
still upon us. New thatch will be laid after harvest. And some repairs have been
delayed for lack of men to complete them.”
Men the Normans have taken from
us.

As if to make peace between her and his lord, Maugris
inquired, “Are all these cottages homes?”

“Nay,” replied Serena politely, “some are the workshops of
the men and women who provide what Talisand needs. The tools, wooden
implements, cloth and cooking kettles. And the smith, of course. The mill lies
on the river just north of the village.” She pointed into the distance to a
larger thatched structure rising amidst the trees.

“Is it the same in Normandy?” she asked, curious.

“Aye,” said the old man, “’tis similar, but there are some
differences.”

Serena hoped the Norman knight appreciated what a
well-tended village Talisand had. Did the knight fail to notice how the people
were well clothed and the children well fed notwithstanding all the fathers
they were missing?

“How many slaves are in the village?” asked the Red Wolf. “I
have seen few in the manor.”

“There are no slaves in the village, nor in the manor,” she
answered with pride. “All those the old lord brought here he freed.” That was
one of the reasons her father was so loved. He brought those to Talisand who
had skills to share, and the people produced much from the pure joy of building
lives they were proud of, of working their own land.

The Red Wolf seemed to consider her words. “It seems a waste
to me, but then he was an unusual thegn.”

Serena could feel her anger rise but she quickly damped it
down. As if explaining to a child, she said, “It is because they are free, my
lord, that the people work so hard. They work for the future of their sons and
daughters. They were happy to give back to the thegn who gave them so much. To
now become serfs does not sit well.” Inwardly she cringed, knowing she had
again stepped over the bounds of a servant, but it was important to convince
this Norman her father’s ways were best. Obviously he knew little of caring for
villeins.

His gray eyes seemed to study her for a moment. She felt
uncomfortable beneath his intense gaze. Then, in a deep voice he said, “Lead
the way to the blacksmith, Sarah. It is time that I meet him.”

Serena dropped her head as Cassie had instructed, though the
gesture ran against her nature. “Yea, my lord. His name is Angus. His cottage
is a short way ahead.”

Maugris smiled.

She pointed toward the cottage set off from the others. The
small building they entered was open on one end where the breeze from the large
door fanned the fire in the forge. A wave of heat billowed out to meet them as
she spotted the stocky man with bright red hair sitting on a stool, sweat
rolling off his soot-smudged face. In one hand he held tongs that gripped a bar
of iron he forced into the fire. In his other hand was a large hammer, which he
used to pound the red hot metal, the clanking sound resonating as sparks flew
upward.

Angus paused in his work to thrust the glowing bar into a
vat of water sending steam shooting into the air as the tortured metal
screamed. As Serena approached, he set aside the cooling bar and rose, wiping
his powerful hands on his leather apron.

The Red Wolf followed her through the door, bending his head
to avoid hitting the lintel. Maugris was close on his heels.

“Greetings, Angus. ‘Tis Sarah,” she said, careful to remind
him of the name she had taken, hoping the Normans did not think it odd. “The
new lord and his wise man have come to meet you.”

“Aye,” said Angus, looking at the tall knight and Maugris
behind him. “Maggie told me ye would be coming. Yer men are keeping my forge
busy, m’lord.”

“My men have much need for a smith’s services,” remarked the
Red Wolf. “I trust you can keep up. We’ll need the horses shod and some armor
repaired. Then there will be fittings for the castle.”

“The forge and workers I have willna be enough.”

“Then you must build another and hire more men,” said the
Red Wolf shortly, “or I’ll send for a smith who can.”

“My lord,” Serena interrupted, “Angus can do it but he will
need coin to pay for materials and for the workers required for a second forge.
Talisand does not have such resources.”

The Red Wolf’s eyes flashed in anger.

“Aye, I will need more iron and more workers,” echoed the
smith, running his hands through his tousled red hair. “There be some lads in
the next village who can be put to the task.”

The Red Wolf’s brow furrowed as his gaze came to rest on the
forge. “I will see you have coin for the workers and the iron you need. Let Sir
Geoffroi know your requirements, and you will have them.”

Angus dipped his head. “Aye, I shall do as ye say.” He
winked at Serena and she breathed a sigh of relief. Though she had incurred the
Red Wolf’s anger to do it, she had helped the Norman understand what Angus
needed and for that she was glad.