Chapter 8
The sun was nearly at its zenith when Renaud set aside his sword and wiped his face with the back of his hand.
After the night before when Sarah had fled his bedchamber, leaving him hard and wanting, he relished the physical activity of sword practice with his men.
Besides, he would need to keep up his skills for battle.
“Good work, Alain. You have wearied me,” said Renaud.
His banner carrier, the knight who always reminded him of a large bear, smiled. “And you have me sweating like a pig in a slaughterhouse, my lord,” said Alain, sheathing his sword.
Renaud looked around at his other knights. All were sweating in the heat of the midday sun from hours of heaving their swords in mock battle.
“Take a break and get some food,” Renaud urged his men. “This afternoon, some of you will hunt while others have duties supervising the motte construction.” Then to Geoff, who had just sheathed his sword, “The men appear ready, even eager for an engagement.”
“Aye, they do. They enjoy the peace they have found here, but they are trained for war, so a short excursion to join in one of William’s campaigns would appeal. Do you think it will be long ere the king calls us to attend him in some skirmish?”
“There are rumors of rebellions in the south, so it might not be long.” William had not conquered all of England and, knowing his sire, Renaud thought it was only a matter of time before they were summoned to put down some rebellion. In the meantime, he had duties here.
“Geoff, this afternoon I would see the village. I intend to take Maugris with me, but I need someone who can accompany me who knows the villeins well. Can you identify such a one?”
“Maggie knows everyone. She will have a name.”
“I will bathe first, then join you in the hall. And, yea, ask Maggie.” Renaud liked the cook and her easy acceptance of him and his knights. She could have poisoned them all, but instead, she fed them well.
On his way back to the manor, Renaud passed the Welsh bard as he was going through the gate. “I would have a word, Welshman.”
The bard stopped. “Yea, my lord?”
“I am a bit confused as to who you are. Be you bard, Welsh warrior or something else?”
For a moment, Renaud thought he saw a flicker of concern in the bard’s dark eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had come.
“Merely a bard, my lord, who entertains along the road. When I first visited Talisand, the old thegn saw me practicing the bow and asked me to train any who would learn.”
Renaud suspected there was more to the story. “And why do you return now?”
“I am merely passing through. I did not know the thegn was dead and thought to visit him.”
An unlikely story. “Know you aught of Lady Serena, where she might be, for instance?”
“I have not seen her on my travels, my lord. The people say she has followed her brother to Scotland.”
“Yea, that is what they say.” Renaud considered the Welshman, the bard who could fashion a bow that competed well with those of his archers, and his suspicions were raised. “Do you train with my archers this afternoon?”
“If you would desire it, my lord, I would be willing.”
“It may be you can teach them something.”
“Or, I might learn from them,” the Welshman said with a grin.
As the bard, who Renaud suspected was more than a bard, started to walk away, Renaud called him back. “Rhodri, there is another matter I would address.”
“Yea, my lord?”
“What is your relationship with the servant girl Sarah?”
The Welshman paused before answering. “Why, I am but her instructor of the bow and her friend. And sometimes her partner in song.”
Renaud rubbed his fingers over his chin as the bard bowed and sauntered through the palisade gate. There was more to the man than music and arrows, he was certain of it.
* * *
Geoffroi strolled into the kitchen to find Maggie and her daughter Cassandra hard at work putting the finishing touches on the midday meal, while one of the lads stirred the contents of a large kettle suspended over the central hearth. Smells of a rich stew rose in the air making his stomach growl.
“Good day, Sir Geoffroi. Can I help ye?” Maggie paused in her work setting fresh loaves of bread on platters.
“Good day to you, Maggie, Cassandra,” he said with a nod toward each of the women.
“I need your recommendation for someone to accompany the lord on his walk through the village this afternoon. It would be best if it were a person who is familiar with the people and their needs…someone who can assist with introductions.”
Maggie wiped her hands on her apron and exchanged a glance with her daughter. Drawing her brows together, she appeared to ponder his request while her daughter continued in her work, and the lad stirred the kettle that was the source of the spicy aroma. Geoff’s mouth watered.
Cassandra’s eyes never left her mother. Suddenly a smile spread across Maggie’s face.
“Well, now, the best be steward Hunstan, but he is nay here today. The lord sent him to the far manors to see what workers could be had for the building of his castle.”
She must have seen the disappointment on his face, because she quickly added, “But there be another who is perfect for the task.”
Geoffroi raised his brows expectantly.
“’Tis the maid, Sarah. She knows the people well and often carried Lady Serena’s wishes to the village.”
He thought for a moment. It did seem that the girl Sarah spoke well and she had the friendship of Eawyn.
And Ren had a personal interest in the servant girl, of that he had no doubt.
Yea, she might be just the one to introduce the Red Wolf to the people.
“’Tis a grand idea, Maggie. See that she is available this afternoon. I will tell the lord.”
* * *
Serena stepped into the dirt path leading to the village, the Red Wolf on her right and Maugris on her other side.
The village was close to the manor so they had no need of horses, which was good, as she did not want the Normans to know she could ride well.
She missed her daily rides on Elfleda, the white mare her father had given her in her fourteenth year, but it could not be helped.
A boy chasing a squawking copper feathered chicken ran in front of them and missed when he reached down to grab the panicked fowl.
The Red Wolf laughed, his deep voice bringing back the memory of their encounter in his chamber the night before.
Serena shivered though the sun on her head was warm.
The memory of his lips on hers brought back exciting sensations.
Her fingers twitched as she recalled the feel of him and the smell of his wet skin.
How foolish she was to think of such things when this man, she reminded herself, was one of the Bastard’s knights.
She had argued with Maggie saying that going to the village with the Red Wolf was not a wise thing. But her words had only drawn a smile from the older woman, who insisted the new lord had need of the servant girl Sarah. Thankfully she had dyed her new hair growth that morning.
The thought of being so close to him after what happened the night before left her anxious and unsettled, her stomach churning as if two cats fought within it.
After successfully avoiding the man all morning, she was to be with him all afternoon.
It was not just his nearness that plagued her, though that was surely enough cause for concern.
Nay, visiting the men and women of the village was something she had often done with her father and Steinar.
Seeing her with the new lord would surely remind the villeins that she was their lady. She prayed none revealed her identity.
Other lads joined the boy who had chased the chicken, the group of them pausing at the side of the path to gape at the tall knight, who bore the name of the wolf he had killed with his bare hands, and the old man the whole village thought of as a wizard.
The boys’ openmouthed gazes lingered on the Red Wolf’s dark blue tunic circled with a silver-studded belt at his waist from which hung a deadly short sword that glistened in the afternoon sun.
His hosen were brown as were the leather straps that crossed them.
Even without a hauberk or the wolf’s pelt, he appeared dangerous.
The children’s wide-eyed stares followed him as though they were watching a mythical god.
He was so different from the English thegn they had known with his long fair hair and graying beard.
The Red Wolf cast a glance at the young ones, then paused, his gaze lingering on the cottages with their neat thatched roofs extending nearly to the ground. “The cottages seem well kept. Though some of the thatch needs to be repaired. Maugris, see that Sir Geoffroi knows of this task.”
Before Maugris could answer, Serena said, “Those are repairs we make before winter, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow but Maugris only looked amused. Instantly, she realized she had stepped outside a servant’s demeanor.
“You are an impudent one for a servant, Sarah. Do you think I would not know that?”
“Nay, but ’tis not time for the repairs while spring is still upon us. New thatch will be laid after harvest. And some repairs have been delayed for lack of men to complete them.” Men the Normans have taken from us.
As if to make peace between her and his lord, Maugris inquired, “Are all these cottages homes?”
“Nay,” replied Serena politely, “some are the workshops of the men and women who provide what Talisand needs. The tools, wooden implements, cloth and cooking kettles. And the smith, of course. The mill lies on the river just north of the village.” She pointed into the distance to a larger thatched structure rising amidst the trees.
“Is it the same in Normandy?” she asked, curious.
“Aye,” said the old man, “’tis similar, but there are some differences.”