The Baron's Bride. Joanna Makepeace

hand, so slight of form was she. Her luxuriant tawny braids caught golden lights from the fire as she moved nearer to her father.

      He thought her heart-shaped face with its small, slightly tip-tilted nose, her luminous blue eyes and generous, sensuous mouth with its slightly fuller lower lip, even the remains of the summer freckling on nose and cheeks—for Gisela rode out in all weathers despite her former nurse’s warnings about the ruination of her fair complexion—quite enchanting. Now he saw, as her father had already noted, that something had disturbed her badly.

      Sir Walter urged her down upon a stool beside him and placed a gentle hand upon her bowed head.

      “What is it, Gisela?” His heart thudded against his ribcage as he thought she might well have been accosted, even molested, on this ride into Allestone wood. “You have not encountered masterless men abroad and had to ride hard to safety?”

      “No, nothing like that,” she assured him hastily and turned, a little uncertain smile parting her lips, to face the anxious frown she could see gathering on Kenrick’s brow.

      “No, I have been in no danger. It is Sigurd, Father. He—he attacked the Lord Baron of Allestone Castle and—and he has been arrested and imprisoned there. It is very serious. Aldith is terribly upset and I have brought her here to Brinkhurst. You will give her shelter?”

      “Of course, child. You know we owe so much to Aldith we can never repay her adequately. You say Sigurd dared to attack Alain de Treville? How in the world could that happen with the Baron well guarded? Is he seriously hurt?”

      Gisela choked back tears as she tried to marshal her thoughts to tell of the encounter coherently. She explained the Baron’s determination to oust Aldith and her son from their home and his reason for clearing the land and her own objections and attempts to dissuade him.

      Her eyes clouded with tears as she burst out, “Then—then he refused point blank to reconsider and made to move away. Sigurd—he—sprang at him with a knife—and—and the Baron’s arm was injured. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to turn in time or—or—he might have been killed.”

      She read the dawning horror in both her listeners’ eyes and added, tearfully, “I—I blame myself for what—what happened. I should not have interfered. I think—poor Sigurd took that as encouragement for his cause and—and he lost all control.” She stopped and turned away.

      “Father, I know how terrible a crime this is, to attempt to kill your lord. In spite of everything, Sigurd is still just a boy and—and you will try to save him, won’t you, for Aldith’s sake?”

      Walter of Brinkhurst let out an explosion of breath and leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment.

      “Gisela, as you’ve said, this is a very serious matter indeed. Sigurd may well hang for this, or be maimed, at the very least. The boy is getting past control. I’ve said as much to Aldith many a time recently. Now, child, stop weeping, you will make yourself ill. You cannot blame yourself. The boy could well have done this whether or no you were present.”

      Kenrick gave a hasty nod of agreement to this last statement.

      Walter went on, “Though, I have to say, you were unwise to come to odds with Lord Alain over this. He is quite within his rights to clear his own land for defensive purposes and Aldith’s assart was cut by Rolf unlawfully. It is to be hoped that your disagreement with the Baron has not further prejudiced him against the boy. Such a man is unlikely to countenance any criticism of his orders, especially before his men.

      “I cannot say how I would have reacted to that myself. However,” he added hastily, as he saw his daughter’s eyes begin to brim with tears again, “what’s done is done and we must make the best of it we can. Certainly I will plead for the lad at the manor court, but I have to warn you that my intercession is unlikely to be received well by my neighbour. From what I hear of the man, he makes his own decisions, consulting with no one, and likes to keep himself to himself.”

      Gisela reached up to hug her father. She loved him dearly, this broad-built, heavily muscled, still-active and attractive man, whose brown hair was beginning to recede now from his brow. His round, blunt-featured face with the brown eyes that were often disposed to twinkle whenever he gazed on his lovely daughter, the apple of his eye, but which now had darkened with concern for her distress and the reason for it, began to take on an expression of very real alarm.

      Baron Alain de Treville had been sent by King Stephen expressly to assist the shire reeve of Oakham to keep the peace in this district and Walter of Brinkhurst felt distinctly uneasy at being the man to oppose him on any matter. He fervently wished his daughter had never met and come into open conflict with his most powerful neighbour.

      He gave another heavy sigh. “We may have need of this man in the future, so be circumspect in your dealings with him. Kenrick has come to inform us of another attack on a nearby manor, this time only five miles on the far side of Oakham, more than likely the work of that devil, Mauger of Offen, or the rabble of unruly routiers he keeps to attend him.”

      Gisela turned a horrified face to Kenrick. “Were people killed?”

      “Fortunately not. The family was away attending a wedding in Leicester Town. When the place was attacked the household servants fled into the forest land nearby and only returned when it was all over, but the manor house was sacked and its valuables stolen, then the house was fired. It’s unlikely it will be habitable this winter.

      “Only the sense of preservation of the serfs in the village in running and hiding saved their womenfolk from pillage and rape. As your father says, Gisela, it isn’t safe these days for you to ride far from the desmesne without suitable escort. This unrest has been going on far too long. It is time Mauger was brought to justice. Everyone in the shire knows who is responsible for these depredations.”

      Sir Walter shook his head regretfully. “The wily fellow covers his tracks and disowns those fellows who are caught. The King is too busied with continued insurrection throughout the realm to be concerning himself with our small pocket of land here.

      “In the South, men are suffering far worse. There is talk of merchants being savagely tortured to reveal hidden wealth, nuns ravished and priests murdered while church plate is plundered and no man can trust his neighbours. It is a sorry state of affairs when our King and his cousin, the Empress Matilda, cannot reach an equable solution of their differences.”

      Gisela said fiercely, “Father, you said all men swore allegiance to the Lady Matilda when commanded to by her father, the late King Henry. Why didn’t the barons keep faith—simply because she is a woman?”

      Her father shrugged. “There is no binding law which says in England that the eldest son of the monarch must inherit. Even before King William came to our shores from Normandy he believed he had right of inheritance, but the Witan chose Harold Godwinson to be King and William only succeeded in his claim by his victory at Senlac.

      “William’s oldest son did not succeed him to the English throne. William, called Rufus, became our King and, after him, his brother, King Henry. It is likely that his son would have inherited but, as you know, he was lost in the tragedy of the wreck of the White Ship, a terrible blow to his father. Yet life continued to be unsettled and, on his death, the council almost unanimously decided that his sister Adela’s son, Stephen, should be our King.

      “I cannot help agreeing that they were right. The English barons and earls will not readily accept a woman to rule over them, not even one so strong and formidable as the Lady Matilda.”

      Gisela’s mouth set in a hard line. “Yet many men do support her. Her half-brother, Robert of Gloucester, accepts her as sovereign lady.”

      Walter nodded, pursing his lips. “Aye, and so battle has been waged these many years. I cannot believe now Matilda will ever ascend the throne. Unfortunately, I cannot place much hope for peace in the King’s eldest son, Eustace, who has proven himself feckless and unstable. I wish it were otherwise.

      “Stephen is a fine soldier, too chivalrous for his own good. A King needs to be ruthless