The Laird's Captive Wife. Joanna Fulford

the women’s bower. She had only just reached her chamber when a servant arrived with a message.

      ‘Your father desires your presence, my lady.’

      Ashlynn grimaced, more than ever aware of her unorthodox appearance. Having dismissed the servant, she swiftly divested herself of leggings and tunic, and dressed again in her blue wool gown. Pausing only to tidy her hair and throw a mantle over her shoulders against the chill she made her way to the hall.

      Lord Cyneric had been sitting in his accustomed chair by the fire but hearing her step he looked up, his shrewd blue gaze appraising, surveying her in silence. Then he inclined his head.

      ‘Sit down, Ashlynn.’

      Obediently she took the offered chair opposite and waited, wondering what this meant. For a moment or two he said nothing, his weathered face thoughtful. Almost it was as though he were seeking the right words. His expression was more sombre than usual and for the first time she felt the vague stirrings of unease. Had he found out about the sword practices with Ban? Was she about to be rebuked again for unladylike behaviour? Would her brother get into trouble too? It wouldn’t be the first time, of course. As long as she could remember, their escapades had landed them deep in the mire. Her mind, following that track, was quite unprepared for what came next.

      ‘It is time you were married, Ashlynn.’

      For a moment she was rendered speechless and could only stare at him.

      ‘We live in dangerous times,’ Cyneric continued. ‘For your own protection you must have a husband, and one well able to defend you.’

      She swallowed hard. ‘But I am under your protection, my lord.’

      ‘It may not be enough. The situation is dangerous and getting worse.’ He paused. ‘I would see you safely settled. Heaven knows you’ve had suitors enough. Yet at eight and ten you are unmarried still.’

      Her face grew hot. It was true. By rights she should have been married long since. ‘I never met a man I liked well enough.’

      ‘You have had plenty of time to choose, but you have not done so. Now the circumstances force me to choose for you.’

      Her heart lurched. ‘My lord?’

      ‘The Thane of Burford has asked me for your hand several times already and—’

      ‘Burford!’

      The name brought her out of her chair. In her mind’s eye she could see the man for they had met several times during the celebratory gatherings for Yule and Beltane. Older than her by ten years he was of average height with a stocky frame and, like many Saxons, his colouring was fair. He was unfailingly attentive and courteous yet nothing about that homely, bearded face attracted her in the least.

      Her father fixed her with a piercing gaze. ‘He is much smitten with you, Ashlynn, and it’s my belief he will make you a good husband.’

      She shook her head. ‘I do not love him, my lord.’

      ‘It is not necessary to love your future partner in life, only to respect him. The rest will come later when you know him better.’ He paused. ‘You are a pretty wench, enough to twist any man around your little finger if you wished to.’

      Ashlynn took a deep breath, fighting panic. ‘I don’t want to twist Athelstan round my little finger. I don’t want to get to know him better!’

      She had only ever behaved towards him with the requisite good manners though his interest in her had been clear from the first. She had never encouraged it knowing she could not return the sentiment. The thought of receiving much closer attentions from him was inconceivable.

      ‘Ashlynn, listen to me—’

      ‘No! I am not some chattel to be handed over thus.’

      ‘I would not give you lightly to any man. Athelstan is worthy and he has been most constant in his affection for you. He will treat you well.’

      ‘I will not agree to this.’

      ‘My word is given. You will be married at Yule.’

      The blue eyes widened. Yule was only a few weeks away. ‘No!’

      Lord Cyneric’s jaw tightened but he held his temper in check. ‘There is no time to be lost. Burford’s lands lie further off some five days’ ride, and he has at his command a large force of men under arms. He will protect you.’

      ‘But I—’

      ‘No more argument, Ashlynn. You will marry him and there’s an end. This year our accustomed Yuletide feast will be to celebrate your wedding. Afterwards you will leave with your new husband.’

      ‘My lord, please…’

      ‘Enough. I am the head of this household and I shall be obeyed.’

      If the tone had not been enough to convince her of the futility of further argument one look at that implacable expression was. Ashlynn turned on her heel and ran from the room, ignoring the exclamation that would have demanded her return. Half-blinded by angry tears she had no real idea of where she was going, only of a need to be alone for a while. In the event, her precipitate flight brought her to the stables and she slipped inside, pausing a moment on the threshold to look around. Mercifully the place was devoid of human company. Dashing the tears away with a shaking hand she made her way along the stalls until she came to Steorra’s. The chestnut mare heard her step and turned to look, whickering softly in recognition and presenting the white star on her forehead for which she was named. Ashlynn stroked the velvet muzzle for a moment or two. Then she buried her face in the horse’s mane and wept.

      It was late when she returned to the hall. The evening meal was preparing though in truth she had little appetite for it. A group of people was gathered near the fire, among them her father and brothers. Ethelred was deep in conversation with his parent but Ban saw her come in and smiled. Then the smile faded a little and his eyes narrowed, taking in her altered appearance, for although she had sluiced her face with cold water before rejoining the company, her eyes were still suspiciously pink-rimmed, her face unwontedly pale. However, one warning glance held him silent and he merely watched as she turned away, extending her hands towards the blaze.

      Letting the conversation wash around her Ashlynn kept her gaze on the fire, though in truth she saw nothing. All she could think of just then was being tied for life to a man she did not love, and being taken from her home and everything that was familiar to live in a distant place among strangers. Her father used the excuse of the troubled times but both of them knew it was more than that. Whenever he looked at her he saw her mother, the beloved wife he had lost just days after Ashlynn’s birth. Though he tried to hide his resentment afterwards he had never quite succeeded. With this marriage she would be gone and the reminders with her.

      In due course they took their places at table but Ashlynn’s appetite had deserted her and she ate little. Around her the conversation continued, still very much focused on the political threat that hung like a pall over all their lives.

      ‘Will Heslingfield remain safe from the Conqueror’s anger?’ said Gytha.

      Her sister-in-law’s voice penetrated Ashlynn’s consciousness and she glanced up, her attention caught in spite of her sombre mood.

      ‘We have done nothing to provoke it,’ Ban replied. The tone was even enough but Ashlynn detected the criticism beneath. Her brother had been much in favour of the rebellion and their father’s refusal to allow his kin any involvement had rankled with him. Lord Cyneric threw him a shrewd glance.

      ‘Be thankful for it.’ He frowned. ‘All the same we shall be ready to defend ourselves if the need arises.’

      ‘Against an army?’ replied Ethelred.

      ‘William will hold the city and use it as a base to consolidate his position as he has with York. Besides, the weather is on our side too. He will seek winter quarters for his men. We may perhaps see forays for food and supplies but little more, I think.