Hers To Command

That would teach him to stand too close, Henry thought, even as he seized his chance, and with a deft turn of his body, shoved Cerdic backward with his left shoulder. The man landed on the ground, spread-eagled, flat on his back and weaponless.

In the next moment, Henry’s foot was on Cerdic’s throat. “I believe I have the advantage, my friend,” he said, still holding his club in case Cerdic was able to break free or grabbed his left ankle and tipped him back, as Henry would have done.

Apparently, however, that move didn’t occur to Cerdic, who gave him a disgruntled frown. “I yield.”

Henry removed his foot and reached out his hand to help Cerdic to his feet. The fellow would have none of it, however. He rolled onto his side and got up unaided. “Thou didst not say thou could use either hand.”

“I wasn’t born able to do that,” Henry replied, prepared to be friendly, especially since he had won. “I was trained to do so. It isn’t easy, but any man may learn how, with enough practice.”

Cerdic merely grunted as he went to his clothes on the ground nearby and fetched a small purse. The other men continued to regard Henry with wary caution, and perhaps—or so he hoped—a little respect.

He’d probably made more of an enemy of Cerdic, though. However, if a man hated you on sight for something that was not your fault—your birth, or your rank, or your looks—there was little to be done to change it, and Henry did have his pride. Even so, had he been staying at Ecclesford for the winter, he would have willingly lost the contest, if only to ensure himself a little less animosity from the men of the garrison.

“Here,” Cerdic said, handing him ten silver pennies.

“Thank you,” Henry replied, sincerely happy to have them. As Lady Mathilde had been informed, he had nearly nothing in his purse, and while he wouldn’t take payment for helping ladies, he would certainly pocket the winnings of a wager fairly won, and with some effort. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll see what sights the town has to offer.”

From the smirks on the faces of the men, he could guess how they thought he’d be spending his money. In that, they were quite wrong. He enjoyed wine, to be sure, and women, but not today, and not here. Not when there was a lady to woo.

So instead, the pleased, triumphant and slightly richer Henry sauntered through the village of Ecclesford, surveying the buildings and the wares in the marketplace, and trying not to notice that everybody stopped and stared at him as he passed by. He could also easily imagine what they’d be saying about him in the tavern and around the well when they heard of his defeat of Cerdic, and that it wouldn’t be flattering. That was only to be expected, and since his visit here was not likely to be long, he wouldn’t let their hostility disturb him.

All in all, Ecclesford seemed a fairly prosperous place. The main road skirted a green, and several two-story structures—stalls on the bottom, living quarters above—surrounded it. Women were both selling and purchasing goods ranging from bread, to chickens in small wooden cages, to bolts of woven cloth. He spotted the sign for an inn called, to his amusement, the Cock and Bull, and the ringing of a hammer on an anvil proclaimed the smithy. Another group, this time of men, were gathered outside the entrance, some standing, the older men on a bench that faced the west and setting sun. A massive oak grew near the smithy, and its spreading branches, now yellowing in the autumn, still provided some cooling shade on this warm day.

On the other side of the village beside the millpond, he paused to take a deep breath and realized that he stank of sweat. He needed to wash, and well.

He could always ask the servants at the castle to prepare a bath, he mused, until he thought of the very friendly Faiga. He was tired after his contest with Cerdic and didn’t particularly feel like fending off any unwelcome advances.

He glanced at the pond. It looked deep and inviting. A dip in those cool waters would be just the thing—except that he would be in plain view of half the village if he did that here.

Seeking a more secluded spot, he kept walking until he rounded a curve in the road and came upon a grove of willow trees along the riverbank, their graceful branches hanging to the ground, some grazing the river itself as it made its leisurely way toward the sea. Yes, this was much more to the purpose, he thought, ducking under the branches and removing his clothes.

Naked, he waded gingerly out into the water, wincing as he walked barefoot over the rocks and pebbles. When the water was up to midthigh, he dove.

The shock of cold water hit him like a blow, but he didn’t come up for air immediately. He struck out with strong, clean strokes.

Sir Leonard had insisted his charges learn to swim, too. All had succeeded, more or less, and this was one skill in which he’d excelled. Merrick, who was otherwise the best warrior, had proven to be surprisingly awkward in the water, while Ranulf always seemed to be rowing Sir Leonard’s boat.

Smiling at the memory of the time he and Merrick had overturned the boat and dumped Ranulf into the shallow water before Sir Leonard had embarked, Henry broke the surface and rolled over onto his back. Ranulf had been furious—but he’d deserved it.

How merry they’d been in those long-ago days, even the usually silent Merrick. Now Merrick was a great lord, married and with a child on the way. As for Ranulf, Henry wondered, and not for the first time, what exactly had happened that time Ranulf had been at court without them. Something certainly had, for he’d returned a colder, more cynical man.

No doubt it had to do with a woman. Who could understand the fairer sex? They were mysterious, unfathomable creatures, bold and haughty one moment, fearful and uncertain the next….

What the devil? When had Lady Mathilde become the model for her sex? If anything, she was the opposite of what a noblewoman ought to be—quiet, demure, gentle…dull, boring, lifeless.

He was being ridiculous. If there was any woman here worth pursuing, it was the beautiful Lady Giselle who, fortunately, wasn’t already betrothed.

He wondered why. If Lady Mathilde had been the eldest, he would have assumed that their father believed that the younger daughter shouldn’t marry before the eldest. Certainly finding a man willing to marry the brazen, outspoken Lady Mathilde would prove a difficult task. Since Lady Giselle was the eldest, perhaps no suitable candidate for either lady had been forthcoming.

Cooler now, and cleaner, and still determined to ignore any wayward thoughts involving the younger lady of Ecclesford, Henry walked out of the river. He swiped the water from his body as best he could, then tugged on his breeches. He threw on his shirt, but decided against putting his tunic and sword belt back on. He sat to draw on his hose and boots, then rose, grabbed his sword belt and, with his tunic hanging over his arm, started back to the poorly defended Ecclesford.

“Sir Henry?”

He halted and slowly turned around when he heard Lady Mathilde call his name. What in God’s name was she doing here and had she seen him naked—again? He wasn’t normally the most modest of men, but he didn’t enjoy feeling as if his entire body was available for her perusal.

Fortunately, Lady Mathilde was far enough away that she probably hadn’t seen him in the river or on the bank. Thank God.

Her head was uncovered and she carried a basket in her hand. Her chestnut hair hung in a single braid down her back nearly to her waist; that must be her veil tucked into her girdle. With her plain light brown gown and uncovered hair, she looked like a simple country girl.

The first woman he had ever made love to had been a dairymaid.

God’s blood, it had been years since he’d thought of Elise, and the passionate excitement, unique to youth, to be found in her welcoming arms. That must explain the sudden heating of his blood and the rush of desire in his loins.

Whatever Lady Mathilde looked like and whatever she aroused, she was no milking maid eager to instruct him in the ways of love.

“My lady,” he said, bowing in greeting as he waited for her to reach him, glad his shirt hung loose to midthigh.

She ran a puzzled gaze over him. “Have you been in the water?”

“It’s a warm day,” he replied, “and I thought I’d save your servants the trouble of preparing a bath. Cerdic challenged me to show my skill and I obliged. Afterward I wanted to wash more than my face and hands.”

Her brows knit with concern. “I hope he didn’t hurt you.”

He couldn’t help smiling a little. “He was the one left lying on the ground.”

“You defeated Cerdic?” she asked incredulously.

He shrugged with chivalrous modesty. “As I said, I can wield more than a sword.”

She started walking toward the castle, her strides betraying her agitation.

He’d better keep quiet about the wager, he decided as he fell into step beside her. “Would you rather I let him hurt me?”

“I don’t know why you had to involve yourself at all,” she snapped, her full lips turned down in a peeved frown.

“I had nothing better to do. Neither you nor your sister were in the hall to offer suggestions as to how I might spend my time while I was your guest.”

He let the implication that they had been remiss in their duty hang in the air between them.

“I thought Giselle would be in the hall when you finally deigned to get out of bed,” Lady Mathilde replied, her voice betraying some slight remorse. “She usually does her sewing there, and there was no need for her other skill today.”

“Other skill?” he asked, curious as to what that might be and trying not to get annoyed with Lady Mathilde’s less-than-ladylike tone.

“She tends to the sick in the castle and the village.”

A most excellent quality in a knight’s wife, Henry reflected. His recent recovery would surely have been aided, and made all the more pleasant, had he been cared for by such a physician. “And you, my lady?” he inquired politely. “Are you similarly skilled?”

“The smells of the sickroom make me ill and the sight of a bloody wound turns my stomach.”