Chapter 8 #3
As they returned to the main part of the village, the same boys who had earlier stared at the Norman knight followed them.
The old man drew his lord aside to show him some damage to one of the thatched roofs. A boy with sun streaked brown hair ran up to Serena.
“M’lady,” he said, his dark eyes beseeching while he tugged on her sleeve, “I’ve something to tell ye.” Fortunately, the boy spoke hardly above a whisper.
She whispered in return as she took his hand and squeezed it. “’Tis Sarah, Beorn, remember?”
“Oh,” he said, covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes bright and a smile on his lips. “I forgot.” Then taking a deep breath, he began again. “Sarah, have ye heard about Dunn’s father? He died two days ago and now the cottage and land will nay be Dunn’s, but will belong to the Norman lord.”
Sarah looked to where the Red Wolf and his wise man were talking amongst themselves before she turned back to the boy.
Letting out a breath, she said, “Yea, I knew of Dunn’s father’s passing.
Dunn and his mother may remain in the cottage.
But all of Talisand, its lands and manors, now belong to the Red Wolf, Beorn.
The Norman king has claimed England for his own and doles out parts of it to his barons and knights. The Red Wolf is one of them.”
“I like it not,” said Beorn, a frown creasing his young forehead.
She sighed. What could she say? “I know. I feel the same. But ’tis the way of it now.” She did not want to give him hope the situation might change though she held onto that slim thread of hope herself.
Serena let go of the boy’s hand, and he rejoined his companions. Beorn thought she could work miracles. Much as she wanted to, she could not.
She returned to the two men. When their conversation ended, she directed them to the cottage where a short piece of cloth hung over the open door announced to all in the village the weavers were working.
“Good day to you, Ingrith, Annis,” she said as she led the men through the door.
“’Tis Sarah and I’ve brought with me the new lord and his wise man to see your fine work.
” She turned to the Red Wolf who was standing close behind her, his nearness unsettling.
“Ingrith and Annis weave for the whole village, my lord, nay just themselves.”
“Talisand has women who weave for the others?” he asked with a puzzled look.
“All the women can weave,” Serena proudly replied.
In any village the women would know how to weave cloth.
“But Ingrith and Annis became so skilled at weaving the fine wool of Talisand’s sheep that the old thegn encouraged them to do only that.
’Twas he who had this workshop built for them.
” Dark-haired Ingrith smiled at Serena from behind a large loom in the corner, while Annis with her lighter hair and green eyes sat looking on from another loom to the side.
“The villagers pay Ingrith and Annis for their cloth in trade for things the two women and their families require.”
Serena walked to the table that held folded lengths of cloth in colors of blue, rust, brown and green. “You can see the cloth is very fine.”
The Red Wolf observed the two women working at their looms. His size made the cottage seem small.
It was no wonder he wanted a castle; his body was made for such a grand structure.
But she knew his king’s demands were for more than shelter.
Castles would tell all of England the Normans were here to stay.
After a moment, the knight’s gaze shifted to Serena as though he had sensed her eyes upon him. Heat rose in her cheeks and she averted her gaze. She did not want him to know her thoughts were of him.
Maugris walked to the table where the finished cloth lay, running his fingers over the woolen fabric. “My lord.” He looked to the Red Wolf. “’Tis softer than velvet.”
Happy to have another subject to fill her mind, Serena said, “Ingrith and Annis provided the cloth for the tunics worn by the old lord’s family. And the thegn traded Talisand’s woolen cloth for goods the villagers did not make and for the treasures he sought from other lands.”
Maugris glanced at Serena’s simple tunic. His smile, as if he were amused, caused her brow to wrinkle. What did the old man see? Was he amused by her ill-fitting servant’s attire?
The Red Wolf was still studying Ingrith working at the loom and Serena breathed a sigh of relief that he had not witnessed his wise one’s mirth.
“I have need of a new tunic,” the Red Wolf said to Ingrith. “Some of your cloth in dark blue would do nicely.” He reached for a folded piece on the table. “I’ll send my squire for several lengths of the other colors.”
“But my lord,” interjected Serena, “they trade for their wool. You cannot just take it!”
His glower was sharp evidence of his displeasure. “This is now my land and Ingrith is my serf. You would do well to remember it, Sarah. A wise servant does not disagree with her lord.”
Serena bowed her head. “Yea, my lord.” She had already crossed the line from servant to something more. It would not do for her to fight him on this. But inside she was shocked. Did he mean to disrupt the system her father had worked so diligently to establish?
Maugris exchanged a look with his master, but it brought no change in the Red Wolf’s expression. He seemed determined to take what he considered to be his.
With regret, Serena bid the weavers good day and left with the men to continue their advance through the village. The Red Wolf handed the blue cloth to his wise one as they approached the next workshop.
A goose followed by her goslings crossed the road, hurrying at the sound of the knight’s heavy footfalls.
The familiar bark of a dog sounded in the distance.
When Maugris looked at her in question, she said, “The sheep grazing in the far pasture are being brought in for the night. The dog you hear is one the shepherds use.”
“Where do you keep the sheep after gloaming?” he inquired.
“There are pens at the far end of the village and on the south side of the manor, where the sheep are protected from wolves and other beasts.”
Maugris’s mouth hitched up in a grin aimed at his master, but the Norman knight did not see the old man’s smile.
It was then Serena realized what she had said.
A wolf was a predator, a beast all feared.
Had she brought to the old one’s mind the Norman knight he served?
Serena cared not if her comment displeased the Red Wolf.
After all, he was the one who had chosen to wear the wolf’s pelt.
Observing his fierce countenance, she thought the name he had taken suited him well.
As the afternoon lengthened, Serena observed the Norman knight’s interest grow in the village and its people, though his regard was not always returned. In response to his presence, she glimpsed fear in the eyes of some.
Was the Norman impressed with the lands his king had bestowed upon him?
Talisand was a prosperous holding, a place of peace in a land that had often known war.
He was a warrior far from home who had followed his duke, now his king, to a distant land.
All knights wanted land, did they not? But it was not just any land he had taken, it was her land.
As she walked through the village, Serena had to fight the desire to act the thegn’s daughter and the lady of her people, planning the things she knew were needed for the winter to come, inquiring about their families and seeing to their needs.
They were good people, trying to do the best for their children and she wanted to help them.
Playing the servant limited her role. Could she do more if she accepted the marriage foisted upon her?
Or, could she better serve the people by seeking Steinar’s aid to one day reclaim their lands?
Aid that might only bring war to Talisand.
The desire to flee and the desire to stay warred within her.
Introducing the Red Wolf to the villagers had a strange effect upon her.
While being deferential to him, as a servant must be to her lord, the hatred she’d held onto so tightly began to ebb.
It was easy to hate the dreaded Norman king who had conquered England with his army of knights and mercenaries, but it was not so easy to hate the knight who talked with her people.
He needed her help to understand their needs.
Though she had been angry at his ignorance of their ways and had bristled at his rebuke, she could not forget his kiss.
His reputation was that of a ruthless warrior, as vicious as the wolf he had slain.
Yet he’d been gentle with her. She fought to remember the steel gray of his eyes and the firm set of his jaw when he gave orders to his men, and when he had claimed the blue cloth he believed was his by right.
She fought to remember he was her enemy, but she could not fight the desire that welled up inside her.
The Red Wolf bent to greet a village lad and images of his naked back from the night before flooded her mind.
She remembered the scar on his shoulder and the one on his wrist. He is not invincible.
He is only a man, imperfect and vulnerable.
Mayhap he wore his tunic and weapons more confidently than most, his stance prouder, more sure.
And he was more handsome to her mind with his dark hair and olive skin, bronzed from the sun.
But for all that, he was just a man. And her fascination with him was disturbing.
A loud boom violently rent the air like a thunderclap. Serena jerked her head in the direction of the noise. With lightning speed, the Red Wolf shoved her behind him and drew his sword from its sheath.
“What was that?” Maugris shouted.
“I know not,” said the Red Wolf. Then to Serena, “Wait here until I see what has happened.”