Read Online Malia Martin by Her Norman Conqueror - Free Book Online
Authors: Her Norman Conqueror
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a tuft of lint and realizing, again, the breadth of her husband’s chest. Her hand came back trembling slightly, but she straightened her shoulders.
“Come, Cyne,” she said as she left the room, smiling again as she heard her husband follow. He kneeled silently next to her as she said her prayers in the chapel, then mimicked her again as she washed her hands when they finally sat at the table in the great hall. When he ate his cheese slowly, methodically, and took great care to leave his trencher intact, Aleene realized with a start that she need not force herself to sound as a warrior commanding his troops when she spoke to Cyne. Her husband would follow her to his death. He knew no other course than to follow.
That thought brought a burden of shadow to her light mood. Yes, Cyne gave her a long-forgotten bit of freedom, but he also weighed down her responsibilities. As she watched him, though, his beautiful, blond hair falling against his cheek as he leaned towards his food, Aleene knew that she wanted that responsibility, yearned for it, really. Beside her sat the only person in her life she did not have to fear or mistrust.
She kept Cyne at her side when she went to Cuthebert to speak of her people’s fears. Her husband fingered the rolled parchments in her steward’s chamber, running his hands over the few rare books with a touch of awe. Aleene watched him, barely able to keep her attention on Cuthebert’s words.
“Milady?”
“Hm?” Wrenching her gaze from her scrutiny of Cyne’s jawline, Aleene returned it to her steward’s hunched form.
He arched a brow with just a touch of menace. “Milady, the harvest?”
“Oh, yes.” Shaking her head, Aleene tried to concentrate. “The harvest.”
“Most of the men are gone, giving their time to the Fyrd, and we must begin the harvest.”
“The king has promised they may return on the Nativity of St. Mary, Cuthebert, which is only a few days away. By then we may be assured Duke William will not attempt a channel crossing.”
“Still, we may not see them for another week as they make their way home. Meanwhile, their crops, and ours, sit ripening in the fields.” Cuthebert frowned at Cyne, then pulled a much-treasured tome from his lord’s hands.
“The fields will keep for another few days.” Aleene scowled at Cuthebert, taking the book from him and returning it to Cyne. “Assure the people that our men will be returning home within the next week. And when they do, I will personally make sure that every family brings in their harvest.”
“That is quite a promise, milady.” She hated the derision she could hear in her steward’s voice, but she knew the only way she was going to wipe it from his tone was to keep herpromises to her people, without the help of Aethregard.
Aleene sent an icy look down her nose at Cuthebert. “I have given my word. Pevensey will not go hungry this winter.”
Cuthebert averted his gaze and watched Cyne from under heavy brows. “And if the people do not believe even your promise?”
Aleene narrowed her eyes on the small man in front of her. “They have no reason to doubt it. I have never done anything to give them leave not to believe me.”
Cuthebert finally met her gaze full on, his thin lip curling into a sneer. “This castle is without a lord; the people are nervous.”
“This castle has a lord now,” she snapped, gesturing toward the blank-faced man at her side. “They would do well to remember it.”
Her steward settled a disgusted gaze on her husband. “Time will tell,” he finally said.
A tremor shook Aleene’s hand, but she clenched her skirts within her grasp to hide it. Would she ever find favor in the eyes of her people? Aleene took a deep breath, then smoothed her hands down the front of her kirtle. “I thank you, Cuthebert, for keeping me informed of the people’s worries.”
Cuthebert blinked, his dark look for a moment broken by surprise. “Well, I . . . you’re welcome.” His
“Come, Cyne,” she said as she left the room, smiling again as she heard her husband follow. He kneeled silently next to her as she said her prayers in the chapel, then mimicked her again as she washed her hands when they finally sat at the table in the great hall. When he ate his cheese slowly, methodically, and took great care to leave his trencher intact, Aleene realized with a start that she need not force herself to sound as a warrior commanding his troops when she spoke to Cyne. Her husband would follow her to his death. He knew no other course than to follow.
That thought brought a burden of shadow to her light mood. Yes, Cyne gave her a long-forgotten bit of freedom, but he also weighed down her responsibilities. As she watched him, though, his beautiful, blond hair falling against his cheek as he leaned towards his food, Aleene knew that she wanted that responsibility, yearned for it, really. Beside her sat the only person in her life she did not have to fear or mistrust.
She kept Cyne at her side when she went to Cuthebert to speak of her people’s fears. Her husband fingered the rolled parchments in her steward’s chamber, running his hands over the few rare books with a touch of awe. Aleene watched him, barely able to keep her attention on Cuthebert’s words.
“Milady?”
“Hm?” Wrenching her gaze from her scrutiny of Cyne’s jawline, Aleene returned it to her steward’s hunched form.
He arched a brow with just a touch of menace. “Milady, the harvest?”
“Oh, yes.” Shaking her head, Aleene tried to concentrate. “The harvest.”
“Most of the men are gone, giving their time to the Fyrd, and we must begin the harvest.”
“The king has promised they may return on the Nativity of St. Mary, Cuthebert, which is only a few days away. By then we may be assured Duke William will not attempt a channel crossing.”
“Still, we may not see them for another week as they make their way home. Meanwhile, their crops, and ours, sit ripening in the fields.” Cuthebert frowned at Cyne, then pulled a much-treasured tome from his lord’s hands.
“The fields will keep for another few days.” Aleene scowled at Cuthebert, taking the book from him and returning it to Cyne. “Assure the people that our men will be returning home within the next week. And when they do, I will personally make sure that every family brings in their harvest.”
“That is quite a promise, milady.” She hated the derision she could hear in her steward’s voice, but she knew the only way she was going to wipe it from his tone was to keep herpromises to her people, without the help of Aethregard.
Aleene sent an icy look down her nose at Cuthebert. “I have given my word. Pevensey will not go hungry this winter.”
Cuthebert averted his gaze and watched Cyne from under heavy brows. “And if the people do not believe even your promise?”
Aleene narrowed her eyes on the small man in front of her. “They have no reason to doubt it. I have never done anything to give them leave not to believe me.”
Cuthebert finally met her gaze full on, his thin lip curling into a sneer. “This castle is without a lord; the people are nervous.”
“This castle has a lord now,” she snapped, gesturing toward the blank-faced man at her side. “They would do well to remember it.”
Her steward settled a disgusted gaze on her husband. “Time will tell,” he finally said.
A tremor shook Aleene’s hand, but she clenched her skirts within her grasp to hide it. Would she ever find favor in the eyes of her people? Aleene took a deep breath, then smoothed her hands down the front of her kirtle. “I thank you, Cuthebert, for keeping me informed of the people’s worries.”
Cuthebert blinked, his dark look for a moment broken by surprise. “Well, I . . . you’re welcome.” His
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