‘Yes, I will join you.’
He offered a quick bow and nearly ran from the chamber, calling out something to his men in his dialect. Fayth listened as his steps faded in distance and sound and then, when the door was jammed once more into place, she sat down on the bed in a heap.
What had she been thinking to stand so before him and not cover herself immediately? The terrible lapse could only have lasted a few seconds, but why had Emma allowed it at all?
The deeper, more telling question she asked herself in those few moments was why did he affect her so? Oh, she knew that just by his position as new lord and husband he affected her, but somehow it was more than that. His voice and his touch wrought such confusion and excitement within her when fear and loathing should be her reaction. It seemed that her wits and judgement were crumbling around her much as her world and life had.
In only two short months, her life had been twisted and turned until she no longer recognised it or herself. From beloved daughter to orphaned war-prize. From betrothed maiden to rejected wife. From loyal Englishwoman to the wife of a foreign enemy. It was no surprise then that she knew not how to act or what to think or feel!
Now she was all that stood between the conquerors and her family and people and it was time to remember that she was Fayth, daughter of Bertram, thane and earl of Taerford, and carried a proud legacy in her blood from her Saxon and Dane ancestors. Dressing quickly with Emma’s help, she decided it was time to take the first steps at reclaiming herself and her people.
In spite of his hard labour, chopping the felled trees into smaller chunks and hauling them to the storage area near the stables, the desire for Fayth that raged through Giles’s veins had not lessened. And presently, even after three hours had passed and he stood naked to the waist so that the cool air could ease the heat within him, it still sent a pulse through his body and kept his cock hard and ready.
He’d worked for the whole first hour or so in full chainmail before he allowed himself to slow down and remove it. Luckily, the bulk and weight of the hauberk covered most of the evidence of his reaction to seeing his wife in such a state. Then working himself to exhaustion was the only way he could keep himself from running back inside the keep, peeling off whatever the lady was wearing at the moment, and claiming every inch of the body he’d seen.
The sight of the creamy skin, pert, rose-tipped breasts and the shapely curves of her body had nearly undone him and the memories of her haunted him even now. The fading bruises on her neck had given him pause, but then he noticed the newer mark he’d left on the top of her breast last night. His mouth watered at the memory of her skin under it and once more his body readied itself to take her.
Damn! He’d gone to ask for her help and when faced with her stunning beauty and nakedness he’d stood, awestruck and unable to say a word. Then with a hurried request, he’d run and tried to work off his arousal so he could deal with her in a more controlled manner.
With a lifted arm, he wiped the sweat from his brow and surveyed the yard to see how work progressed. The wall and main outlying buildings were now in good stead and could withstand an attack. The keep was designed strangely, unlike any keep or castle he’d yet seen, for its innermost wall was of stone with the rest being wooden. So some rooms, like the kitchen and his chamber and the smaller one as well, could have stone hearths, while braziers were used for heat in the chambers farther away from the central wall.
He still had no idea of how many villagers had stayed behind or had followed Edmund and his men into the forests and he must find that out. They needed an accounting of all of that and their other supplies as well and it need be done quickly so that they could gather everything together and guard it from attack or pilfering, for November was full upon them and the winter winds and cold would howl soon. Stay alive, strengthen the walls, fight off attacks and hold these lands until spring—those were his only goals and every action he planned and carried out were aimed at those.
Yet, here he stood with lust rushing through his veins, thinking about inconsequential things like passion when critical things remained undone. He wanted the fair Fayth of Taerford and he would have her, but it would not be until he knew the truth and standing here yearning for her would do no good in the face of his every other needed task.
There was a moment last night when he’d questioned his chosen path in dealing with her, a moment when he’d recognised the deep hurt in her eyes when he’d doubted her word and wanted to believe her. Too much depended on him dealing with this whole situation well to simply cave in to the desire and the lust that coursed through his blood even now.
Too much.
Just then, a gap-toothed boy of about eight years ran up with a bucket of water and held out the dipper to him. After drinking the first two then pouring the rest over his head and his chest, Giles realised that his wasteful action would make the boy need to refill the bucket again for those waiting for a drink. He laughed then, more at himself than the boy, for no lords either Breton or English would have given a moment’s consideration of it.
The look on the boy’s face reminded him of himself at that age, for the job of water boy had been his at that time. He had run through his father’s yards and brought water to all the men training there. And it was exhausting work, hauling the bucket to and fro the well, and refilling it from the depths and carrying it again. No one but he would understand the difficulty of the task, certainly not most lords who never faced that kind of labour.
Giles understood.
Giles took the bucket back from him and motioned for the boy to follow. He knew he’d said the right word in their English tongue,come,yet the boy remained rooted in place. He repeated it and waved the boy towards the well and finally the boy followed, though he did not keep up with Giles’s longer strides.
By the time he’d reached the well near the smithy’s hut, a man stood by the boy, head and eyes lowered but still watching him. Then he noticed that many watched from their places in the bailey. All in silence, yet nothing moved that they did not see. Turning back to the well, he spoke to the man.
‘Your name?’ he asked as he checked the knot on the rope holding the dipping bucket. He tossed the pail over the edge of the well.
‘I am Hallam, my lord,’ the man said, bobbing his head even lower. Glancing between the two as the bucket splashed below into the water, he thought that they might be father and son.
‘Is this one your son, then?’ Giles nodded at the boy as he walked to the other side of the well.
‘Aye, my lord. His name is Durwyn.’ Hallam stepped closer to his son and then asked, ‘Has he done something to displease you?’
Giles saw the nervousness now in both their behaviour and in those watching the scene from where they stood. ‘Durwyn did nothing wrong, Hallam. I am but filling the bucket from the well.’
Leaning over, he checked to see that the bucket sank deep enough to fill and then grabbed hold of the handle of the windlass and cranked until the bucket appeared over the stone edges. Giles lifted the overflowing pail, turned to fill Durwyn’s bucket and met their gaping expressions. Finishing the task before stopping, he held the bucket out to the boy.
‘For all that I used, Durwyn,’ he said, smiling.
Hallam pushed the boy forward and Durwyn took the bucket and ran off, trying not to spill more of it than he kept.
‘My thanks to you, my lord, for helping the boy,’ Hallam said, bowing again and backing away. It was not until Hallam returned to his own task that Giles realised the misstep he’d taken.
Giles was lord here. Not water boy or servant living on the pleasure of their lord any longer. He was lord now…here. It was difficult to shake off memories of his past though.
