Lord Of Lyonsbridge

The tall Saxon had advanced toward her until he stood just on the other side of the chair she’d been polishing. That close, she could feel it again—the disconcerting force of the man. Since the age of twelve she’d had men fawning over her, petitioning for her hand, buzzing about her like bees at a flower. Yet this horse master, this servant who continued to treat her as if he had more important things to think about, made her knees grow weak like the most inexperienced of maids.

The boy with him finally found his voice. “Her name’s Sarah, milady. And she’s a good girl.”

“If your men have done the girl harm, there will be the devil to pay,” Connor added.

The square set of his jaw as he warned her did not detract from his attractiveness. Ellen felt infuriating flutters in her midsection. Sweet saints above, perhaps the man had cast an enchantment on her in the way he appeared to with his animals. She bit the tip of her tongue until the pain cleared the fog from her brain and she could manage a proper response. She could relieve the boy of his worry in short order, but first she felt as if she should make an effort to remind the stableman of his position in her household. “What affair is this of yours, horse master?” she asked coldly.

“Old John the Cooper is dead these past five years. Folks hereabouts are protective of his widow and children.”

She hesitated. Put like that, Master Brand’s interest didn’t seem so out of place, though she shouldn’t allow the master of her stables to be meddling in affairs between the castle guards and the villagers. She would no doubt do well to order Master Brand back to his horses, but she had the feeling he would not go easily. Finally she gave up trying to determine the propriety of his inquiry and said, “The girl was with me much of the morning. I’ve sent her home to take care of her mother.”

Young John’s chest sagged with relief. “Thank you, milady,” he said.

“’Tis fortunate that she’s safe and sound,” Connor said. “The surest way to trouble in the village is harassment of the womenfolk. I don’t know how you do things back in Normandy, but the men here won’t stand for it.”

He was lecturing her again. Ellen’s temper boiled over. She curled her fingers tightly over the carved back of the chair. “Master Brand, I believe we’ve had this conversation before. You’re a servant here. I’ll thank you to keep your advice on running Lyonsbridge to yourself. In fact, I’ll thank you to keep your opinions in general to yourself. Speak when spoken to, as befits your station.”

Connor did not seem the least bit impressed with her outburst. “You’ll find I can be of use to you, milady. If the boy had alarmed the other men in the village instead of coming to me, you wouldn’t have progressed well today in your cleaning. There are some who would rather strike out first and talk later. Even Sir William has taken advantage of my arbitration a time or two.”

“Sir William had little help when he first arrived, but now that my cousin and I are here with more of my father’s men—”

Connor interrupted her. “All the more reason to be careful. In general, the Saxons of Lyonsbridge are a peaceable sort, but the more soldiers about, the more chance for problems.”

Ellen tried to remember if any of her father’s retainers had ever spoken to him with such boldness, but she was sure Lord Wakelin would not put up with such behavior. “Keeping the peace at Lyonsbridge is Sir William’s concern, horse master, not yours. I think it would be best if you kept to your own dominion, which is the stable.”

Connor cocked his head as if considering further comment, but finally only nodded. A half smile played about his lips, which sparked Ellen’s temper once again.

“Where are your quarters in the castle?” she asked, seized with the sudden impulse to demote him to sleep in the rushes with the scrub boys.

“I don’t sleep in the castle. My home is the stables.”

Ellen’s eyes widened. “You sleep there?” In Normandy not even the lowliest stable boys slept with the animals.

His smile broadened. “Aye. Feel free to pay me a visit, milady.”

They’d both forgotten about the presence of the boy waiting behind Connor. He cleared his throat softly and Connor turned to him. “Run along, lad. Go to your mother and sister.”

John looked up at Ellen, uncertain. She nodded to him, and he turned and scampered away.

“It was my place to dismiss the lad, not yours,” Ellen pointed out.

“Aye. And that you just did, did you not?” Connor answered pleasantly.

The man was infuriating. There was no other word for it. She drew herself up and straightened her shoulders. “You’re dismissed, too, Master Brand. See that you have my horse saddled and ready for me tomorrow noon.”

“I’m at your service as always, milady,” he answered with a small bow, never taking his eyes from her face.

When he made no move, Ellen threw the rag she’d been clutching on the table and turned to leave. She could feel his gaze burning her back all the way across the hall.

Connor had a feeling that in spite of the lady Ellen’s imperious manner, she was looking forward to their next encounter as much as he. They had nothing in common and, in fact, much opposed. But their proximity struck sparks more surely than a smithy’s anvil. He’d wager a pretty penny that she felt it as strongly as he.

It was mad, of course. He hadn’t needed Martin’s reminder to tell him that any association, much less friendship, between a Norman noblewoman and a Saxon stable hand was absurd. But that didn’t stop him from tossing on his bed well into the night thinking about her. By the next morning he was tempted to leave one of the stable boys in charge and hie himself off to visit his brother at the abbey church. He had a premonition—a “sight”, his mother would have called it—that further meetings with Lady Ellen were going to end in trouble for them both.

He was still considering the wisdom of such cowardice when he saw her coming down the hill. She was earlier than promised, leaving him no time to flee, and he realized at once that he was glad.

He greeted her with a smile, but this time let her speak first.

She looked uncertain as to how to address him. Finally she said, “The sun has come out to warm us at last, it appears.”

“Aye. ‘Tis a fine day for a ride, milady. But forgive me, I’ve not yet saddled your mount.” She was wearing a green frock that made her coloring more striking than ever. Connor realized that he was staring to the point of rudeness. He turned toward the door of the stable. “I’ll just be a minute. Your Jocelyn is not a troublesome animal.”

One delicate black eyebrow went up. “Strange,” she said. “In Normandy the lads used to draw lots not to have to care for her. They said she was naturally wild.”

“All horses are naturally wild, as are all living things, for that matter. But they’ll respond to the right hand. You seem to ride her with no difficulty.”

“They said she was a one-woman mount. She responds to no other.”

“Ah.” Connor smiled. “I’ll saddle her for you, milady. Would you care to watch?”

She followed him into the shadowy recesses of the stable, a cavernous building with a double row of stalls on each side of a center aisle. “You’ve many horses, Master Brand,” she observed.

Connor slowed his pace so that he would not be walking in front of her. “No, milady, you have many horses. These animals belong to the Lord of Lyonsbridge. It’s always been so.” Connor kept his voice carefully even. He was not going to repeat his mistake of the previous day and rail on about Norman masters.

“Fine animals,” she said as they walked along the center stalls. “They’re thicker than ours.”

“Aye, and stronger.” He smiled at her. “I will refrain from saying that the animals mirror the Saxons themselves in comparison to the weaker Norman counterparts, because I’m determined not to anger milady today.”

She was standing in a shaft of sunlight that filtered in from a loft window on the far wall. In her leather riding gown she looked unattainably regal, but when she returned his smile, he felt it like a swift kick to his gullet. “Then I shall determine not to get angry,” she said. “And you may boast about your Saxons’ strength, if it pleases you. I made ample witness of it yesterday when we were cleaning the castle.”

“Hard work makes a man, we say.”

“Aye.” She appeared to be taking in his own strong arms and chest when she mused, almost to herself, “You, for example, would make two of my cousin.”

Connor had seen Sebastian Phippen touring the estate with Sir William. The Frenchman was tall, but reed slender, and his face looked white and pinched compared to the ruddy, broad faces of the Lyonsbridge residents. Connor did not, however, think it prudent to make such a comment about the new castellan, so he turned and continued on toward Jocelyn’s stall.

He stopped a couple of yards away and pointed to the animal. “Do you see the tenseness? She carries her head high, her tail tucked in. She waits to see who approaches. So talk to her and let her know. Softly.”

Ellen watched in wonder as he murmured gently to the animal and placed a hand on her neck. Her head lowered at once. “Watch how she licks her lips,” Connor said. “That means she’s ready to cooperate.”

He hoisted her expensive saddle to the horse’s back and tightened the cinches. The sleek animal didn’t so much as lift a hoof in protest.

“Mayhap she’s not as wild as I’d been told, horse master,” Ellen observed. “Mayhap my trainers back home were just telling tales.”

“Mayhap,” Connor said simply, then finished his task and stepped backward to lead the horse out of her stall.

“Can you give me directions to the cooper’s house?” Ellen asked.

“Aye, but.” He paused. “Milady, forgive me, but is it the custom in Normandy for maids to go about the countryside alone?”