The Conqueror's Lady. Terri Brisbin

my lord—’ Emma began.

      With a wave of his hand and a dark look at each of them, he stopped any arguments. ‘In the hall. Get her ready.’

      Wisely, Emma only nodded and moved to the table to begin her duties. The new lord of Taerford walked out of the room, giving orders as he went until only silence remained in the chamber. When the door closed and they were alone, Emma leaned towards her and motioned for Ardith to move closer.

      ‘I thought he would strike you down, Emma. You must not anger him,’ Fayth urged. But the words were barely out before the servant shook her head in disagreement.

      ‘My lady, this new lord respects only strength.’ Emma reached over and slid her arm behind Fayth’s shoulders, readying her for what Fayth knew would be a horrible experience. ‘You must prepare yourself now and meet his strength with your own. Be the daughter your father knew you would be.’

      Fayth wished that Emma’s confidence were enough to convince her of the truth of her words, but the shocking events of this day were too fresh to allow her to hide in ignorance. And his words warned of more dire changes to her life and her people. Did Edmund yet survive? Could he rally his supporters, as he’d claimed, to take England back?

      She was so caught up in her thoughts that Emma’s sudden movement bringing her up to sit surprised her. The pain from such a grievous head injury should not have. It was several hours later that she was ready to go to the hall. Her legs trembled until Emma was forced to call two guards to her side. Better to be assisted down the steep stairway than to end up at the bottom of it in a heap, she advised.

      Fayth concentrated only on putting one foot in front of the other and did not see the new lord until she stood before him. At his frown, his men let go of their hold and stepped back. Just when she thought she would fall over from the throbbing in her head, Fayth caught sight of something new on the Norman knight. Her father’s signet ring, a thing he would never remove in life, hung on a chain around the new lord’s neck.

      Her father’s ring.

      Fayth looked up and met his gaze. A satisfied look rested on his face, confirming without words his position and his rights here.

      Her father was truly dead and this man owned everything that was once his.

      The truth sank into her, but she could not accept it. Fayth reached out to take the ring from him. He grabbed her hand just as she grasped it in hers and squeezed it hard.

      ‘It is mine now. As are this keep, and you. King William has named me Baron of Taerford to rule over all the lands that Bertram ruled and more.’

      In spite of her agreement with Emma about presenting her strength to him, Fayth lost control in that moment. The hall and the keep began to spin and she gave herself up to the pain in her head and now in her heart.

      Her father was dead.

       Chapter Two

      Three days passed by before she regained her wits and Fayth did not see her captor during that time. At the least, she did not think so, but a few confused memories of a deep voice rousing her from sleep several times that first night told her to suspect otherwise. Emma spoke of a leech’s directions not to let her sleep too long a time or her mind would be for ever muddled. The clarity gained from the still-throbbing pain in her head assured her she was not so.

      Fearing that any moment could see her dragged to the hall and married to the Norman knight kept her from ever truly letting her guard down. Nay, not Norman, though he fought for the Bastard. She rubbed at the growing ache in her forehead. He hailed from Brittany, Emma had informed her, along with the men who fought at his side. His place of origin gave her no relief from worry, for William the Bastard had gathered men from all parts of the continent to fight for him and his illegal campaign to gain control over her country.

      As he had gained control over her keep.

      His first orders found her moved into her father’s chambers while the usurper took hers. And though the door remained impassable for her, for she was stopped by the guards each time she tried to leave, Emma moved freely through the keep and grounds. Ardith stayed mostly at Fayth’s side, fearing further attention from the soldier who’d attacked her three days before. From what Emma had learned, this Giles le Breton had an iron grip over her home now. He’d replaced the soldiers her father had left behind with his own, he’d placed his men to oversee every aspect of the workings of her keep and people and had done it without any regard for her.

      Fayth squinted then, as the soreness in her head made it impossible to concentrate on her stitches. Tossing the gown she was repairing into the basket at her feet, she tilted her head one way and then another, trying to ease the ache there.

      ‘Ardith,’ she said, beckoning the girl to her side. ‘Can you loosen these braids? The weight of them is pulling too much.’

      Fayth turned herself in her chair, allowing Ardith to get closer. Once the girl let down the twist of braids some of the pain eased. Fayth closed her eyes, relaxing her head and letting her chin fall to her chest. Her hair hung loosely now around her shoulders and she waited to see if the pain would pass.

      The silence surrounded her for a few minutes until Ardith’s nervous breathing drew her attention. As she raised her head her gaze met that of her captor as he stared at her from his place inside the door. She hadn’t heard the door open, but it was apparent he’d been there for several minutes.

      ‘Sir Giles,’ she said, rising to stand yet refusing to call him by another title he now claimed. ‘I did not hear you enter.’

      Fayth motioned to Ardith to arrange her hair once more. It might be her chambers, but it was not proper, with a man present, to be so undone. Ardith hurried in her attentions and Fayth winced against the pulling as the girl gathered her hair into one long braid and replaced the veil on top of it. Once her hair was covered, she faced him and nodded.

      ‘Are you well, lady?’ he asked, his deep voice accented by the language of his own country.

      ‘Other than …’ she began, and then realised that any complaints would sound trite when compared with those her people could offer.

      ‘Your head?’ he asked, nodding in her direction. ‘Does it still pain you?’ He stepped closer, handing the helm tucked under his arm to one of his men.

      ‘It is improving,’ was all she would offer. Emma’s words about appearing strong before him echoed in her thoughts and, though he frightened her to her core, she was now the only one left who could protect her people. They must be uppermost in her priorities now.

      Now that her father was gone.

      Fayth glanced down and saw the ring he still wore, dangling there as a sign to everyone of her father’s death and this man’s new rule.

      He frowned as she looked up at his face. Then his gaze and his mouth hardened. The tension in the chamber grew until one of his men whispered something under his breath to him and Giles nodded as though reminded of some task.

      ‘Now that it is safe to move about the keep and village, I thought you might like a respite from your stay here,’ he said, his voice neither welcoming nor comforting. Another whisper from his man and he said, ‘I know you worry about your people, our people, and I would have you be at ease over their condition now that I have—’ he paused, searching for a word ‘—arrived.’

      Tempted in spite of her resolve to be wary of this stranger, she nodded. ‘I would like that, sir.’

      He motioned the others out of the chamber ahead of them and then held out his arm to her. With his armour in place, it was clear he did not yet feel safe in her keep. That thought made her smile for the first time in many days. As she lifted her arm and placed her hand on his she felt a sense of anticipation unknown to her since learning of her father’s death.

      Although this warrior carried her father’s ring, she had no way of knowing the part he had played in his death. Chances were, though, from