interrupted. “My lord, the Lady Ysane is a dear friend. Might I attend to her?”
Fallard motioned to the steward, hovering out of earshot. “Ethelmar, escort Lady Lewena to the bower of Lady Ysane…and Ethelmar, I would have a report of how the lady fares.” He watched as the steward disappeared up the tower stairs with his guest, then turned his attention back to Randel who, with his wife absent, spoke more openly now of his concern.
“May I ask your intentions, Lord D’Auvrecher, now you are lord? What plan you for my wife and my men?”
“I am neither Renouf nor Ruald, Thegn Randel. ’Tis my intent to rule Wulfsinraed and its fiefs with honor, offering fair treatment to my people. You and your party are free to come and go as you please.”
Briefly, the two men shared a solemn gaze, then Randel smiled, his features relaxing for the first time since his arrival. “I would be honored to call you ‘friend’, my Lord D’Auvrecher, if you are satisfied I am worthy of your trust.”
“Aye, Randel, and my name is Fallard. ’Twould please me did you use it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Within the confines of Wulfsinraed’s gatehouse Sir Ruald of Sebfeld huddled, shivering, a scratchy woolen blanket wrapped close. The covering was too flimsy to provide true warmth, but ’twas better than naught. ‘Twas truth, he would not have been so generous had the Normans been in his place. Around him were the most loyal of his men, stretched out on the hard wood of the floor, their backs to the wall. Ruald was uncomfortable and hungry despite the stale bread and ale he had been served, but he was not unhappy. He could be languishing in the miserable conditions of the holding pits, and indeed, was surprised he was not.
Also, as he had hoped—and aye, counted on—the Foolish One had contrived to be among those bringing their meal, such as ’twas. He had used the Foolish One, as he had oft times used her in other, more pleasant ways, to pass a message to another who remained free outside the wall, whose loyalty was given to him.
In the dancing shadows formed by the single flickering tallow candle in its sconce by the oaken door, Ruald smiled. The jealousy of the Foolish One would be her undoing, but she was no longer his concern. His use for her was over for the nonce, and he cared little how she fared. All that mattered now was that his message was received.
Together with Renouf, he had planned for this eventuality. If all went well, in but a brace of days he would again be a free man. Then the hated Normans, usurpers, one and all, would feel the razor’s edge of his vengeance. Soon, very soon, the woman who had humiliated and scorned him would be dead, as he had meant her to die that morn. Wulfsinraed and its riches would still be his. He had but to be patient for a short while longer.
***
’Twas very late. Fallard, his breath congealing in foggy puffs, stood alone on the south wall, looking out upon the ebon smudge that marked the thick growth of forest. In but a few hours, the new dawn would break. The previous day’s clouds had dispersed and the night was cold, clear and very still. Below him, the river burbled to itself like a contented babe. To the southwest, the contours of a lake broke the ragged silhouette of the trees, its waters glistening darkly beneath the pallid moonlight.
How lonely is this place, and how empty this land, so far from every place I deem civilized. Not a single pinpoint of light glimmers in all the far-flung landscape that stretches like a silent, static ocean before my eyes. One could nigh be tempted to believe not another human lives in all the land. Even the brilliance of the stars seems muted, as if their very distance is increased from the earth. Aye, the lives of those who dwell here would be closely intertwined, else the isolation would weigh too heavily.
Fallard leaned against the cold stone of the parapet, and placed his gloved palm against its solid, level top. No
Fallard motioned to the steward, hovering out of earshot. “Ethelmar, escort Lady Lewena to the bower of Lady Ysane…and Ethelmar, I would have a report of how the lady fares.” He watched as the steward disappeared up the tower stairs with his guest, then turned his attention back to Randel who, with his wife absent, spoke more openly now of his concern.
“May I ask your intentions, Lord D’Auvrecher, now you are lord? What plan you for my wife and my men?”
“I am neither Renouf nor Ruald, Thegn Randel. ’Tis my intent to rule Wulfsinraed and its fiefs with honor, offering fair treatment to my people. You and your party are free to come and go as you please.”
Briefly, the two men shared a solemn gaze, then Randel smiled, his features relaxing for the first time since his arrival. “I would be honored to call you ‘friend’, my Lord D’Auvrecher, if you are satisfied I am worthy of your trust.”
“Aye, Randel, and my name is Fallard. ’Twould please me did you use it.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Within the confines of Wulfsinraed’s gatehouse Sir Ruald of Sebfeld huddled, shivering, a scratchy woolen blanket wrapped close. The covering was too flimsy to provide true warmth, but ’twas better than naught. ‘Twas truth, he would not have been so generous had the Normans been in his place. Around him were the most loyal of his men, stretched out on the hard wood of the floor, their backs to the wall. Ruald was uncomfortable and hungry despite the stale bread and ale he had been served, but he was not unhappy. He could be languishing in the miserable conditions of the holding pits, and indeed, was surprised he was not.
Also, as he had hoped—and aye, counted on—the Foolish One had contrived to be among those bringing their meal, such as ’twas. He had used the Foolish One, as he had oft times used her in other, more pleasant ways, to pass a message to another who remained free outside the wall, whose loyalty was given to him.
In the dancing shadows formed by the single flickering tallow candle in its sconce by the oaken door, Ruald smiled. The jealousy of the Foolish One would be her undoing, but she was no longer his concern. His use for her was over for the nonce, and he cared little how she fared. All that mattered now was that his message was received.
Together with Renouf, he had planned for this eventuality. If all went well, in but a brace of days he would again be a free man. Then the hated Normans, usurpers, one and all, would feel the razor’s edge of his vengeance. Soon, very soon, the woman who had humiliated and scorned him would be dead, as he had meant her to die that morn. Wulfsinraed and its riches would still be his. He had but to be patient for a short while longer.
***
’Twas very late. Fallard, his breath congealing in foggy puffs, stood alone on the south wall, looking out upon the ebon smudge that marked the thick growth of forest. In but a few hours, the new dawn would break. The previous day’s clouds had dispersed and the night was cold, clear and very still. Below him, the river burbled to itself like a contented babe. To the southwest, the contours of a lake broke the ragged silhouette of the trees, its waters glistening darkly beneath the pallid moonlight.
How lonely is this place, and how empty this land, so far from every place I deem civilized. Not a single pinpoint of light glimmers in all the far-flung landscape that stretches like a silent, static ocean before my eyes. One could nigh be tempted to believe not another human lives in all the land. Even the brilliance of the stars seems muted, as if their very distance is increased from the earth. Aye, the lives of those who dwell here would be closely intertwined, else the isolation would weigh too heavily.
Fallard leaned against the cold stone of the parapet, and placed his gloved palm against its solid, level top. No
Similar Books
