Chapter 4
Renaud lingered at the high table in the hall until he glimpsed the servant girl with the brown plait carry a pile of linen through the entry heading toward the stairs to the bedchambers. Slowly rising, he nodded to Geoff and followed after her.
Quietly, he stepped through the open door of his chamber.
The girl had her back to him as she freshened the bed, the stack of clean linen resting on a nearby chest. He did not acknowledge her but went directly to the trestle table, poured a goblet of wine and sat, pretending to examine a drawing of the lands surrounding the manor.
She turned. “I can come back later, my lord.” She spoke meekly, barely looking at him as she hurriedly finished with the bed and began a hasty retreat to the door.
He replied in the English tongue, as he did to all save his men. “Nay, you may stay. Your work will not disturb me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her back stiffen.
Slowly, she retraced her steps and resumed her work.
Her movements were rushed as if she were trying to complete her assigned tasks in haste.
Was she nervous at being alone with him?
Even with that, Renaud thought her movements graceful as she walked to the shelves near where he sat.
She held her head high, unusual for a servant in the presence of her lord.
Though her long plait was the dull color of country earth, her profile was refined and her features delicate.
He rose and silently moved to stand behind her where she dusted a carved box.
She must have sensed his approach.
“My lord?” she said, turning to face him.
Blue-violet eyes held his gaze only a moment before looking down at the floor. Set in her ivory face they reminded him of violets in the snow. So mesmerized was he that, for a moment, he forgot his question.
“Your name is Sarah?”
Keeping her eyes focused on the floor, she said, “Yea, my lord.”
“How long have you been at Talisand?”
“All my life, my lord.” Her voice was soft, a low purr, and with her words a flowery scent drifted to his nose. He was captivated and wanted to touch her. How long had it been since he’d had a woman? And this one was causing his manhood to stir.
Turning back to the shelf, she resumed dusting the carved box, as if to put an end to the conversation. His gaze shifted to her hand as she set down the box. Delicate fingers and ivory skin. It was not the hand of a kitchen wench.
“Let me see your hand.” She started at his request, and though he could see she wanted to resist, she did not fight him when he reached for her hand and brought it close to his body turning her palm upward.
It told him much.
“These blisters are new. You have not always worked in the kitchens nor done the wet work of the laundry, have you?”
She shook her head in silent agreement.
“What were your tasks before I came to Talisand?”
Looking down at her feet, she said, “I was with the Lady Serena, my lord.”
“Ah, a lady’s handmaiden then.” So that is where the girl learned to speak so well, for her speech was not that of an ordinary servant nor her manner that of a scullery maid.
He waited for her to say more but when she did not, he said, “Tell me about her.”
She looked up. “What would you know, my lord?” Blue violet eyes held his. He could get lost in those eyes.
“How does she look?”
“She is tall and her hair is the color of summer wheat, my lord.”
“And her character?”
Turning her gaze again to the floor, she hesitated before speaking. “She loves her people and her family, my lord. She is very loyal. Had she been a man, she would have fought with her father at Hastings. Most of all, she loves Talisand and would die for its people.”
Her voice, nearly breaking at the end, told him her words were spoken with deep emotion. She was close to the Lady of Talisand and to the old thegn.
“I’m told her brother took the lord’s place for a time,” he said, hoping she would continue to talk.
She raised her eyes to his. “Yea, Steinar did lead Talisand for a time, but then he was drawn away by other battles.” When she spoke the young man’s name, a tender look came into her eyes. Did she love the old lord’s son? Mayhap she was his leman. The possibility was not to his liking.
Still holding her hand, he looked down at her palm seeing other signs. “These are the calluses of an archer. How is it a lady’s handmaiden comes to use a bow?”
The girl’s eyes shifted to her hand where Renaud had begun moving his thumb across her palm in slow sensual circles. He was not unaffected and, he suspected, neither was she.
“Rhodri taught me, my…my lord.” She spoke in a halting whisper, confirming his touch was disrupting her thoughts. Then she added hastily, “I was not the only one. It was the old lord’s desire that Rhodri should teach all at Talisand who cared to learn.”
Renaud remembered that when the young servant women had been returned to the demesne, Sir Niel had taken several bows from them.
He stopped stroking her palm. She tried to pull back her hand but he had no intention of releasing her. “Who is this Rhodri?”
“He is a Welsh bard, my lord, who is also skilled with a bow. The thegn met him on his travels and invited him here. He lived among us for several years.”
“Where is the Welshman now?”
“I know not, my lord. Peradventure he is in Wales, though his music and his skill with a bow are much in demand. He may yet be in England.”
“A bard and a bowman…an unusual combination.” Renaud frowned in concentration as he considered the idea.
“Not for a Welshman,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Renaud smiled, amused. She was so serious, so insistent, this servant who acted like no servant he’d ever known. “Aye, mayhap you are right. Many Welshmen would have both talents.”
He let go of her hand, but remained close.
He knew now what had attracted his men for he, too, was falling under her spell.
She was beautiful and well-spoken and something about her enticed him.
If she had been the leman of this brother of Lady Serena’s or the bard Rhodri, it was possible she was not a maiden and would accept an invitation to come to his bed.
If Lady Serena lingered in Scotland, he might have no woman for some time.
He brushed his knuckles along her jaw from her ear to her chin and then down her neck, feeling her skin like warm silk. She shivered and looked away.
His mind conjured a picture of the feminine creature naked in his bed. His heart beat rapidly and his loins grew heavy. Wild images began filling his head.
He imagined taking the beautiful serving girl in his arms and kissing her softly, deeply, hearing her purring with delight.
In his mind he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the fur covered bed.
Throwing her gently to the bed cushion, he covered her beckoning body with his own, pressing firmly into her softness as he kissed her again, letting his kisses rain over her face and down her neck, following a trail to the swell of her breasts.
His excitement was growing, his hardening manhood the proof.
“My lord,” Sarah whispered. “My lord, is something wrong?” This time the question was louder than before, bringing him back to the present. He blinked.
The girl looked as if she was preparing to flee. It had been too long since he’d had a woman. His heart pumping, he controlled his breath and shook himself out of his fantasy.
“Sarah, would you come willingly to my bed?”
Angry violet eyes glared at him. “Nay! I may be seventeen summers but I am a maiden still!”
So, the kitten has claws. Her fierce reaction suggested she spoke the truth, or was it only that she hated Normans enough to lie and lie well?
“You have said no woman would be forced by you or your men,” she reminded him.
He slid a finger along her jaw and saw her shiver.
“You could come to me of your own accord, Sarah. I desire you.” It occurred to him then that if she were a maiden still, mayhap he should help her find a worthy husband among his men, but he found no joy in such a thought.
No, he wanted this one in no other bed but his own.
She glared at him. “Are you not promised to Lady Serena?”
He stepped back at her challenging words, forcing his ardor to cool.
“Yea, she has been given to me by William’s decree, and I will take her to wife because I must. It is my duty.
But she is not here. Even if she were, you could be my leman.
” He knew he would never have a desire like this for the woman William had ordered him to marry.
And he did not want to let the comely servant go.
“Nay! I would never come willingly to a Norman’s bed. And I will be no man’s whore.”
Her words hit him like a hard slap. He was surprised a servant would be so adamant to refuse her lord, now an earl, even if he were a Norman.
But he would not press the matter. He could be patient, at least for a while.
With the challenge of wooing Sarah to his bed, he might not mind the absence of Lady Serena.
Stepping away from her, he flicked his fingers toward the door. “Go then. Your work is done here for today.”
* * *
Serena looked up at the clouds gathering above her.
Hunting the next day not far from the village, she was hurrying to take enough rabbits to satisfy Maggie before the deluge began.
She’d taken four when a woman’s scream broke the quiet of the woods.
Dropping her catch, she ran toward the sound.
As she neared the small clearing just ahead, she heard a familiar voice.
“Nay! Let go of me! Do not do this!” the woman pleaded.
“Come wench! Give me what I want and I will gladly release you.” The man’s voice was deep, husky and harsh.