The Maiden And The Warrior. Jacqueline Navin

who were bound to serve their lord and defend the castle. Good people, whose fault lay only in that they were required to serve your enemy.”

      Lucien gave her a hard stare. “I sought to minimize such tragedy. It is why I offered the challenge to Edgar to meet me face-to-face.” His men gaped at him, apparently astounded that he had offered this. He usually explained himself to no one.

      “Aye, after you slaughtered his fighting men!” Alayna accused.

      “You have a quick tongue and a shrewish way,” Lucien snarled.

      Alayna narrowed her eyes. “Did you come here to gloat over your victory or disparage me? It poorly speaks of your character either way.”

      “I need make no explanation to you for being here. This is my castle, and this is my chapel. And these are my villeins.”

      “Chapel?” Alayna mocked. “I think not, for chapels are made of prayers and alters, are they not? This place has none of that, for it is full of broken men and thin pallets made quickly with the haste of need. The stench of death fairly chokes you when you enter, instead of the sweet smell of incense and candles. A chapel, you say? Nay, ’tis a place of despair.”

      “Well, it makes no difference either way, does it?” Lucien’s eyes glared. “’Tis mine! Need I remind you at every turn that I am now the lord and master here?”

      “’Tis a grand testament to your prowess as a warrior that you see spread before you, but it does you little credit as our new lord and protector. ‘Twas a deplorable performance in lordly protection you showed us yestermorn.”

      Lifting a dark brow, Lucien eyed her sardonically. “This day has seen many noteworthy events, not the least of which seems to be this—a woman is making complaint about my ‘performance.’”

      Alayna colored at his innuendo and Will snorted momentarily before bringing himself under control. He was sobered by Alayna’s indignant look. He smiled apologetically, but she only notched her chin higher.

      She was angry enough to be reckless, yet she realized the hopelessness of arguing. She could never outmatch de Montregnier, for he would say the most out-rageous things to shock and offend. With a sigh, she said, “Your rude comments are not necessary, my lord. I did not wish to antagonize you, though I find that, indeed, I seem to do so without much effort.” She looked at the men lying in their humble beds, shaking her head distractedly. “Perhaps I have been a bit too vehement, but tending the fallen is not an easy duty. It grates on one as much as the loss of precious freedom.”

      Lucien eyed her carefully, clearly suspicious this sudden penitence might not be entirely sincere. When nothing else followed that last comment, he turned away, dismissing her apology without comment.

      He spoke loudly in the vaulted chamber. “Those of you who were not in the bailey this morning, hear me.” He repeated his offer of pardon in exchange for their pledge to honor him as their new lord. The terms were the same as before.

      No one said a word. Alayna was silently glad, thinking that these men, embittered by their injuries and the death of their comrades, would refuse. At last, to see de Montregnier thwarted!

      Then, unexpectedly, a murmur rose up as Hubert, a castellan of Gastonbury who was a good and noble man, rose slowly from his pallet. His wife, the Lady Mellyssand, caught Alayna’s eye. Mellyssand had been the only person at Gastonbury who had befriended her, offering Alayna comfort when she was forced to marry Edgar. In the absence of Alayna’s mother, Mellyssand had counseled her on what to expect in the marriage bed. Further, Alayna suspected Hubert had been largely to blame for Edgar’s inability to consummate their marriage, for it had been the kind man’s voice she had heard raising toast after toast to his newly wedded overlord.

      Hubert limped to stand before de Montregnier. The room hushed. Hubert spoke. “Aye, I will accept you as my liege lord. And if the king’s justice finds your claim false, I will commit my armies to serve any challenge you wish to make to that decision.”

      De Montregnier remained outwardly impassive, but after a moment’s hesitation, or what could have been shock, he reached out a hand to firmly grasp Hubert’s forearm in the gesture that men-at-arms shared as a sign of truce.

      “I knew your father, Raoul,” Hubert said. “He was friend to my own sire. He was a man of honor, a man who was admired. I had recognized your name, but I have been racking my poor brain these last hours to place your face, for you appeared familiar to me. At last I seem to have come up with some recollection. You were a lad, I remember, who was already showing remarkable skill with the sword. I recall your father’s pride in you, and a bit of jealousy myself, for though I was older, I was not sure I was your better.”

      Lucien accepted this stoically, nodding. Hubert moved aside, calling the others to come forward.

      When he had finished his business, Lucien came again to stand before Alayna. He raised his brows at her expectantly, as if to say what do you think of that?

      “I see it pleases you to have your plan working so well,” Alayna said.

      “I am pleased. I have everything that I want.”

      “My mother taught me a bit of ancient wisdom,” Alayna said lightly, “It teaches us the lesson that we must be careful what we wish for. We might just get it.”

      He nodded to her as if he understood, but Alayna did not know if he truly fathomed her meaning.

       Chapter Five

      Alayna would have never suspected that the new Lord of Gastonbury was feeling less than triumphant on this, the eve of his great victory.

      As he made his way to the master’s chamber, Lucien wondered at his strange mood. He was tired, which was understandable. He had barely slept in the two weeks previous to the siege—the anticipation had been too intense. Yesterday and today he had fought hard, fought with everything in him. Fatigue was natural, of course. But this day had brought him the realization of his great dream. After all was said and done, there should be something more than weariness for him tonight.

      He raked his hand through his hair with a vengeance and exhaled. He should feel exhilarated! Sweet revenge was his at last. Yet the darkness inside him still burned as strongly as it ever had.

      Certainly there was all that nonsense with the young widow. She was a minx, that one. She put him to mind of his mother. Well, actually she was not very much like his dame except for her sharp tongue, though it was not cruel and used to wound as his mother’s had been, but rather self-righteous and angry. He did not really blame her, he could even empathize to a degree. He understood bitterness and the instinctive need for freedom; he had lived eleven years as a slave. But he was not about to let the soft lull of sympathy jeopardize his victory. The lovely Alayna was a powerful pawn in this gambit he played and, her feelings not withstanding, she was his.

      He was suddenly struck with a clear image, one of eyes narrowed in contempt and a full, a pouty mouth set in a stern line, chestnut-colored hair swirling wildly around a sculpted face. He might as well admit, Edgar’s virgin bride was much on his mind. She was a spitfire, defiant and irreverent, and he had an aversion to women of a headstrong nature. She did, however, have a vitality he found stirring. That was it! That was what troubled him so deeply tonight. It was that unanticipated response that disturbed him. It was so unfamiliar that it eclipsed his mood and dominated his thoughts.

      Annoyed with himself, Lucien scowled. As he passed a timorous servant, she bobbed a quick curtsy and smiled, but the dark expression he shot her caused the poor woman to shrink away.

      He was not a man who played the fool for women. He had never needed to. His status as Norse slave had done nothing to discourage female interest during the cold Viking winters. Summers, too, for that matter.

      While he had lived under the savage rule of one of the Northland’s most prodigious warmongers, his strength and