Lord Of Lyonsbridge

Connor marveled at the boy’s unfailing courtesy, even though he was obviously agitated. “Good morrow, John. Now tell me what’s troubling you.”

The words tumbled out as the boy shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry to bother you, Master Connor. I haven’t forgotten your words in the village-that we have to give the new masters a chance.

Everyone’s trying, truly they are. But you know that me mum’s doing poorly. She’s hardly been able to eat these past four days, and Sarah must stay there to mind her, but Sir William’s men have ordered all tenants to the castle. No exception, they say, by order of the new mistress.”

Connor sighed and carefully lifted the horse’s hoof out of his lap. The animal didn’t move. “Did you explain to Sir William’s men about your mother? Surely they know she has the wasting sickness?”

“No exceptions, they said.” The boy gave a vigorous shake of his head, jiggling his cropped blond hair like a shaft of wheat. “They don’t care, these Normans.”

“Why are they commanding everyone to the castle?” Connor asked, laying aside his chisel.

John shrugged. “’Tis daft, if you ask me. They say the lady Ellen has ordered a scouring from floor to ceiling, every room.”

Connor couldn’t argue with the fact that a “scouring” was sorely needed. There had been times when he’d winced at the forlorn state of Lyonsbridge Castle, thinking that his mother would be lying restless in her tomb. He glanced over at the stables, where even the hay was stacked in neat bundles. Though its occupants were animals, he’d daresay his domain was a sight tidier than the great hall of the castle.

“The cleaning’s not a bad idea, lad,” Connor told the boy. “But they’ve help aplenty to carry it out. They shouldn’t need your mother, nor your sister.”

“They’ve already taken Sarah. One of the soldiers dragged her off.”

“Dragged her off?” At this, Connor stood, overturning the stool behind him. Sarah Cooper was barely thirteen years, a slight, pretty girl and much too fragile to defend herself against a randy Norman soldier.

“That’s why I came to you, Master Connor. I couldn’t stop them. There was too many of them.”

Connor’s heart went out to the lad. Only a year older than his sister, young John had tried to be the man of the cooper’s household since his father had been killed by the Normans five years earlier. Connor put a hand on his shoulder.

“You did right, John. It would have been foolish to defy an entire band of guards. It was good that you came to me.”

“They wouldn’t hurt Sarah, would they?” he asked. His voice broke, making him sound younger than his years.

“Nay, they wouldn’t dare hurt her if ‘tis the lady Ellen’s orders they’re following.” Connor had no idea if his optimistic words were true, but the boy looked relieved. “Come, we’ll go find her and straighten this out.”

“Will you talk to the lady Ellen directly?” John asked.

Connor began to lead the horse into the stable. At the boy’s words, he felt a tingle of awareness along his limbs. The image of Lady Ellen Wakelin’s golden eyes danced in his head.

“Aye, lad. I’ll talk to the lady Ellen directly.”

Chapter Three (#ulink_ef6ee837-2b33-5792-b787-a6081598d0ec)

Ellen tucked the long sleeves of her silk bliaut into the wristlets of her undergown. For a moment she wished she could strip off the elaborate finery and don a simple, coarse linen garment such as the one worn by the peasant girl working alongside her. The trailing dress and the heavy silver corselet that she wore atop it were not at all practical for hard labor. But donning rude clothing would not help her cause of showing these Saxons something of the civilized world beyond Lyonsbridge. By the time her father visited in the spring, she wanted the estate to be as smoothly run, the table to be as richly victualed, and the people to be as properly mannered as any back in Normandy. As the lady of the household, she would set the example.

“Will the table need polishing, too, milady?” the girl with her asked. They’d been rubbing oil into the two heavy wooden dining chairs that were reserved for the master and mistress of the household. Their carved backs had been thick with grime, but Ellen had to admit that the workmanship was as fine as any Norman craft.

“We’ll oil only the legs. The top must be scrubbed with sand.” Ellen stopped rubbing for a moment to look at her helper. “’Tis Sarah, is it not?”

“Aye, milady, Sarah.”

The slender blond girl’s eyes flickered briefly to Ellen’s face, then skittered away as if afraid that her mistress might cuff her at any moment. Ellen took pains to make her tone friendly. “You’re from the village, Sarah?”

“Aye, milady.”

They worked in silence for several minutes, before once again Ellen tried to engage the girl in conversation. “What family have you in the village, Sarah?”

The girl’s pale face flared with color. “She’s not been able to eat in days, milady. She’d be of little use here. She can hardly stand, much less work—” She broke off and looked up at Ellen, her eyes brimming.

Ellen frowned. “What are you talking about, girl?”

The girl’s tears spilled over. “Me mum. Sir William’s men said we were all to come here, no exception. But me mum’s got the wasting disease, and she’s took bad in this cold. Please don’t punish her, milady.”

Ellen straightened up from the chair she was working on and looked at the weeping girl in horror. “No one is going to punish your mother, child. Mon dieu, what a notion.”

“Begging your pardon, milady. I meant no impertinence, but Sir William said that ‘twas by your orders. He said she’d be whipped if she didn’t come to work today.”

Ellen felt a shiver of alarm. Surely there had been some kind of misunderstanding. In their zeal to please the new mistress, the guards may have been overly enthusiastic about rounding up the workers she’d requested. But whipping a sick old woman? She gave an uneasy laugh. “You must have misheard Sir William’s men, Sarah. There could have been no such talk of whipping.”

Sarah looked away. “Not his men, milady. ‘Twas Sir William himself who said it. Verily, I heard him meself.”

The girl appeared sharp-witted. Ellen could not completely discount her tale, but neither could she champion the word of a serf over that of the bailiff. The matter required further investigation.

“Who is caring for your mother now, Sarah?” she asked.

“She’s alone, milady. I’d not leave her, but the men forced me to come.”

“Then go to her. You’re finished here for the day, and you’re not to come back while she still needs you. If anyone bids you come, you tell them to speak with me.”

The girl’s tears had stopped, and she gave Ellen a piteously grateful smile.

“Run along,” Ellen told her. “I’ll visit you on the morrow to see how your mother fares.”

“Oh, milady,” Sarah gasped. She grasped Ellen’s hand with both of hers and made a quick curtsy, then turned and ran lightly across the dining room.

Ellen gazed after her, lost in thought. Her first impression of Sir William had not been favorable, and so far he’d done nothing to change that opinion. She considered him pompous and obsequious, but her cousin had appeared to be pleased with the accounting he’d given of the estate’s affairs. Still, if he was bullying her people, she wanted to know about it. Proper management of an estate was one thing, abuse was another.

She hadn’t seen the two people enter from the small door behind her and gave a start when one of them spoke.

“May we have permission to speak with your ladyship?”

It was the horse master, accompanied by a boy. Though his manner of address was more respectful than it had been the other day at the stables, he spoke forcefully, indicating that the request for permission was a meaningless formality. Nevertheless, after the news she had just heard from Sarah about ill treatment in the village, she was inclined to be tolerant.

“Good morrow, Master Brand.” It was easier speaking to him here in the castle than it had been at the stables. She felt more in control, though she couldn’t decide if it was because she was in her own home or because the gloom of the dining hall dimmed the intense blue of his eyes. She turned toward the boy with him and asked, “Is this lad your apprentice?”

Connor shook his head. “This is John Cooper. He’s asked my help in a certain matter about his family. Tell milady, John.”

The boy was looking at Ellen as if she were the Holy Virgin come to earth. He opened his mouth, but no speech emerged.

Ellen looked from John to Connor. “What matter?” she asked.

“It seems your men have taken the lad’s sister. He’s worried about her, with good cause.”