Chapter 3
The fire in the hall’s hearth burned slowly as the smoke ascended to the opening in the roof, drawing Renaud’s attention to the carved timbers above him.
Soot had darkened the wooden members, but he could still see the rich ornamentation and the intricate patterns and scrollwork he had observed in other English dwellings, particularly in the churches.
He had left his hauberk, spurs and the wolf’s pelt in his chamber and now sat at the table on the dais enjoying the evening meal.
Torches set into the wall cast a warm glow about the long timbered room, and candles set upon the tables flickered as servants with expressionless faces laid trenchers of food before him and his men.
Gazing about the room, he paid scant attention to the low male voices and hearty laughter coming from his men.
A few dogs lurked in the shadows among the rushes, eager for a scrap.
Renaud took it all in and marveled that this now was his as well as the lands that were a part of his earldom.
He ate with relish the venison, fish and roasted vegetables the cook had prepared.
His prayer had been granted. Maggie was a fine cook.
Taking up his goblet of French wine, Renaud leaned back in the lord’s chair, well satisfied.
The wine and a full stomach lulled him into a mollified state after his anger of the afternoon.
A dark-haired woman ambled toward the dais carrying a pitcher of wine. As she refilled his goblet, she leaned over the table, allowing her long dark hair and breasts to fall into his view. His eyes gazed upward to see her smiling. He did not fail to note the invitation in her dark eyes.
“My name’s Aethel, m’lord.” The seductress slowly grinned. “Is there aught else ye would require of me this night?”
“Nay. That will be all.”
As she sauntered away, hips swaying, Geoff leaned close to whisper. “It seems not all at Talisand resent Normans, Ren. If you want her, I wager she’s yours. Best to take her afore Sir Alain does. See there, he stands in the corner with his arms crossed watching her with possessive interest.”
Renaud followed Geoff’s gaze to see his standard bearer watching the wench.
“Nay, I want her not. She reminds me of the serving women in Rouen, comely but available to any of William’s knights.
” He took a long draw on his wine. “Let Alain have her if he will. Mayhap he will make an honest woman of her.”
“Yet she seems to favor you.”
Renaud shrugged. “Or, she favors the title I now carry.”
“I see you have not changed,” teased his friend, “still the warrior priest.”
“Ah… That description bandied about London. I’d forgotten,” he said thoughtfully. “Why? Because I protect the women?”
“Yea, that and because you wear honor like a cloak and expect the same of your men. You would seek to gain a measure of trust with the vanquished when other knights care nothing for such sensibilities.”
“You know me well, my friend.”
“Ah, but there is more to the tale. In London, William’s courtiers wondered at the rules you adhere to and the discipline you insist your knights follow.
Some consider the justice you mete out for breaking the rules harsh—the lashings and, in some cases, death by the sword.
It has earned you the reputation the Red Wolf has today. ”
“The rules are necessary,” Renaud said dismissively. “I’d not change them. To fight battles without discipline is to set out to lose.”
“And then there are the many women you have denied your bed,” Geoff said with a wink. “I believe that is what accounted for the label ‘priest’.”
Renaud could not resist a small laugh. “I am not celibate, as you know. Merely particular—and too consumed with William’s many tasks to spend my evenings wenching.”
“Well, many who serve William do.”
Renaud shrugged, tired of the subject. Sated from the evening meal, he rested his palm on his stomach.
“That food was most welcome after the meager fare we have had these last weeks. Still, I am glad we brought those casks of wine. I much prefer it to the English ale and to the wine they make in England.”
“Aye, ’twas a veritable feast,” said Geoff, filling his mouth with a choice bit of venison and following it with a swallow of wine.
At the sound of the door to the yard opening, Renaud turned.
A knight wearing a hauberk came toward him at a brisk pace, his spurs making a slight jingle as they hit the floor.
Renaud recognized Niel le Brun, the knight Geoff had sent with Sir Maurin to find the missing servant girls.
Once Renaud’s squire, the young knight had earned his spurs with the jagged scar on his left jaw he had gained at Hastings.
“My lord,” said the knight, pausing for Renaud to acknowledge him.
“We found five women and two men several hours’ ride north.
They were traveling on foot. When I assured them no harm would come to the women if they returned, the men admitted they were from Talisand.
The weapons they carried are now in the armory: several bows, some carried by the women, a seax, and the scramaseax knives the men carried. ”
“Where are the women now?”
“Sir Maurin has taken them to the manor’s entry where he stands guard. I thought you would want to speak to them.”
Renaud pushed back his chair and rose. “Yea, I will see them.”
Geoff stood, casting a regretful glance at his trencher and the still uneaten venison.
“Your food will keep, Geoff. Let us see what the woods have returned to us.” Renaud was anxious to get a look at the women. He hoped Lady Serena was among them.
Curiosity compelled him forward, and with Geoff at his side, his long strides soon covered the distance to the wide doorway leading from the hall to the manor.
Crossing the threshold, he saw a small group of women gathered around the brazier.
Two bearded men stood in front of them, their stance that of protectors, no matter they had been relieved of their weapons.
They wore the shorter tunics of the English and both had shoulder length hair, one brown and the other fair with a golden mustache.
Among the women, he glimpsed a redhead and several with hair in various shades of brown. Not a flaxen one among them.
Disappointed, and angrier than ever that his bride had escaped, his eyes narrowed on the women.
“I am Sir Renaud de Pierrepont, now Earl of Talisand by King William’s decree.
I understand why you fled but you need have no fear for your virtue.
Any who ride with me know my command in this matter.
Return to your work; you will be safe for I protect what is mine. ”
His task done, Renaud turned and confidently strode back to the hall, dismissing Sir Maurin with a flick of his wrist.
* * *
A great wave of weariness swept over Serena as the two Normans turned their backs and, with long strides, returned to the hall.
She had walked for most of the day and then been forced to ride in the lap of the knight who brought her back to the manor.
Night had descended and the spring air grew chilled.
Yet she knew the weary feeling was due to more than the long journey or the cold. She was anxious and angry with herself.
They should have left days earlier.
Serena had watched the two Normans approach from where she stood behind the other women.
Leppe had placed her there in an attempt to protect her from the probing eyes of the new Norman lord.
The moment she had set eyes on the knights, she knew which of the two was the Red Wolf.
He came through the door wearing a fierce scowl as his eyes roved over the women like a beast seeking one to devour.
She had known he was looking for her and had dropped her gaze to stare at her feet.
But when he began to speak, she could not resist raising her head to look at him.
He was different from Sir Maurin, the knight with the weathered face who had carried her back to the manor and spoke to her in stilted English.
This one, who claimed to be the Earl of Talisand, was used to giving orders, his air of command proclaiming it so in English any would understand.
He had glowered at them, his piercing gray eyes like a threatening storm. Power like soundless thunder emanated from his lean muscular body as he stared at the small group huddled in front of the brazier.
Unlike Englishmen, his face was devoid of any beard and his dark reddish brown hair fell in waves only to his nape.
He stood erect as if surveying a battlefield but he wore no knight’s mail, only a dark green tunic and a leather belt studded with silver.
His legs spread apart and his hands fisted on his hips, he stood like a Viking on the deck of his ship.
She supposed that he was. The Norsemen who invaded Normandy had left their mark well enough.
And now one of their descendants had invaded Talisand.
She was glad she had not willingly accepted her fate of belonging to him for he had the undeniable look of one who tolerated no weakness and no dissent.
A warrior who demanded his due. It gave her a secret joy to know she defied him and the Bastard King.
Yet despite that, she was intrigued. He was undeniably handsome in a raw sort of way, and now he was the master of all that was hers.
She was more determined than ever to despise him.
The knight who had stood next to the Red Wolf was unlike his lord, so fair as to appear nearly Saxon, save for the shorter hair and the lack of a beard. He was not so tall, either, and carried more weight. The lines around his mouth and eyes suggested he laughed often.