‘I may have no letter to prove my legitimacy, but perhaps this will secure your co-operation. The seal of Gilbert du Rospez, knight of King William.’
A soft murmur rippled through the women, this time with a hint of warmth. A Norman, but a noble one. A rich one, perhaps. The ring had done nothing to melt Hilde’s frostiness. She waved a hand at the gathered women to silence them.
‘The name means nothing to me. Why should I send away one of my charges on the sight of a seal?’
The Norman seemed to pause. Perhaps it took time to translate the meaning to his own tongue. He folded his arms. ‘What if I was to tell you I was the owner as well as the bearer?’
‘Is that what you claim?’ Hilde stared at the Norman. ‘Do you bear the name as well as the seal?’
‘Would it make a difference?’ the Norman asked sardonically.
‘I am not foolish enough to bring the wrath of our King on my establishment. I have seen how you Normans deal with resistance. Are you Gilbert du Rospez,’ Hilde snapped, ‘or are you merely a rogue who has come by this seal by foul means?’
The Norman lapsed into silence. He seemed to be battling with some inner turmoil, then came to a decision. He folded his arms and jutted out his chin.
‘I am du Rospez. Now, tell me, who is my bride?’
The word bride caused the women to burst out once more in a riot of talking. Even Hilde’s curt demand for silence did nothing to quell the noise. Sigrun slipped a trembling hand into Aelfhild’s, who pressed it tightly. Aelfhild glanced around in her scorn, wrinkling her nose in distaste that such news could excite the women.
Hadn’t their fathers, brothers, lovers been cut down by men such as this? Were others so keen to be released from confinement here that such a possibility could excite them? She would rather live the span of her life as a solitary anchoress than marry such a hated enemy.
‘Not tonight,’ Hilde said firmly. ‘As you can see we now have an audience and this is no longer the private matter I intended it to be. I shall not name the girl under these circumstances. Neither will you name her, or I shall have you turned out instantly.’
She looked into the Norman’s face and a serene smile graced her lips. As much as Aelfhild resented the punishments Hilde had bestowed on her for various misdemeanours, at this moment she felt nothing but admiration for the prioress.
The Norman tossed his head back in annoyance. In profile the kink in his nose was obvious. His hair had dried to a lighter brown and was now pushed back behind his ears where it brushed around his collar. His bearded jaw masked his age, but he could have been anything from twenty-five to forty. He was imposingly tall and broad, but now he was dressed in a good cloak of dark-brown wool and his hair was dry, he did not look half as monstrous as he had in the river. Aelfhild could not help but smile at how foolish she had been. No wonder he had mocked her in such a demeaning way when she declared him to be a dwarf. She mocked herself inwardly now.
The Norman glanced around him and took notice of the women for the first time. He took three strides towards them, but stopped halfway across the room as a collective murmur of apprehension swelled.
His eyes roved over the huddle of women appraisingly, settling briefly on each one in turn. He paused longest on Godife, a handsome, dark-haired woman in her late twenties. His eyes crinkled at the corners in obvious appreciation before he moved on. His eyes slid over Sigrun without pausing to where Aelfhild stood behind her in the shadow.
Invisible claws tightened around Aelfhild’s throat as their eyes met. She was unable to tear her gaze away as the tightness eased and the claws became fingers, caressing her neck in a manner that sent her stomach spinning. When the Norman had surprised her in the river his gaze had been unsettling enough. Now it caused her blood to turn hot in her belly.
The Norman’s eyes widened in surprised recognition. A smile flickered across his lips, drawing the scar to one side in a crooked manner that did not diminish the appeal of it. He raised an eyebrow. Panic washed over Aelfhild, obliterating the shameful desire that had reared within her. He was going to reveal that they had already met. She shook her head ever so slightly, sending a desperate plea with her eyes for him not to give away her secret. He closed his lips and reached up with his left hand to brush a lock of hair awkwardly back from his cheek.
His eyes never left Aelfhild’s. The dark-lashed depths that commanded her attention were the colour of burned oak and impossible to break free from even at the distance between them, to the extent that Aelfhild almost forgot his crooked nose and scarred lip. She twisted her skirt in clammy hands, wondering how someone who by rights should be disconcerting to behold could be at the same time so enticing. She decided his eyes were the source of the disconcerting effect he had on her. Currently, they were deeply thoughtful.
Please, don’t, Aelfhild mouthed. She shook her head once more and took a small step backwards.
Slowly, deliberately, the Norman lowered one eyelid, then raised it. He was winking at her! He held her with one final penetrating look before he turned his eyes from her. Aelfhild felt a flush of alarm spread across her throat and chest that by entreating him to keep her secret she had placed herself in his debt.
‘One of these women is the maiden I seek. Am I correct?’ the Norman asked. ‘Let me meet her at least.’
It was halfway between an entreaty and an order and Aelfhild’s interest was piqued. He did not seem overly comfortable issuing commands.
The prioress was granite faced. ‘You see the uproar you have caused. You shall cause no more on this day. I have no proof you are who you say you are or that what you tell me is true. Until I do, you will not remove any of the women who have been entrusted to my care.’
The Norman looked again at the ring in his hand. He closed his fist over it, squared his shoulders and set his feet. A soldier’s stance. Aelfhild realised that she alone was looking at the man holding the ring and he was looking back at her once more. Unsettled to find his eyes on her again, she lowered her head and modestly pulled her long veil closer around her shoulders and face. The Norman slowly turned his head to face Hilde.
‘Then I will wait. May I have a room here or will I have to spend the night in the open?’
Hilde pursed her lips. ‘I am bound by laws of hospitality to offer you shelter for the night, but until the message arrives from the girl’s home I shall not present her to you. I bind you, too, not to name the girl until that time.’
The Norman’s rugged face twisted with irritation, but then he did something unexpected. He bowed deeply to Hilde, took her hand and lifted it to his lips briefly.
‘In your house I shall abide by your wishes, lady prioress.’
Hilde’s face softened and a hint of cream touched her milk-white cheeks. Oh, he was cunning, this Norman!
‘I shall provide you with quarters in our guest rooms. You may bathe and I will have food sent across.’
‘Thank you. I have bathed already, but a meal will be welcome.’ Once more the Norman’s eyes flickered to where Aelfhild stood. Unbidden, her lips began to curve into a smile and for a moment they felt like compatriots, their shared secret a private amusement. She pressed her lips together firmly.
Oblivious to this, Hilde continued. ‘In the morning we shall talk again and see if we can come to some arrangement. Let me escort you there.’
Hilde folded her hands and walked serenely down the centre of the refectory, heading for the small door at the end that led to the outside courtyard. The Norman followed, taking long, easy strides and moving with a languorous grace. He slowed as he neared the women, passing so close to Aelfhild she could reach a hand out and touch him. Could stroke her fingers down his tunic where his broad frame tapered to a lean waist and feel the muscles concealed beneath the cloth. A shudder went through her.
His eyes slid rapidly sideways to land on her once more and he paused