He put his head in his hands—hand—hand and glove. He still caught himself referring to them in the plural at times. The girl had thought him a monster and that had been without appearing to have noticed his deformity. How much worse would she have thought him if she had seen that? He looked across the river, but there was no sign that she had ever been there. He fixed the brooch to the left shoulder of his tunic as a memento of his curious encounter and folded the neck over it. He pulled his cloak on, fastening that awkwardly at his right shoulder.
The day was growing late. He had spent much longer than he had intended to in the water and he still had a way to go down this side of the river before he came to the ford and was able to take his horse across. He heaved himself to his feet and unhitched the reins from the branch. The mare snickered in greeting, pushing her velvet nose against Gui’s shoulder. He nuzzled her neck, smelling the earthy warm scent of horse. Rather than mount immediately he walked on foot back to the road, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at the river.
He would be at the priory before curfew even if he walked. He cast a final glance across the river, wondering where the girl had come from, or was returning to, and whether she would learn from her adventure not to go dancing about the countryside alone when there were men such as him roaming it.
Aelfhild ran, not caring she was soaking wet and dressed only in her shift, which tangled between her legs and slowed her down. Not caring the stones in the grass hurt her bare feet and her plait was becoming a knotted rope down her back.
She ran until the river was safely out of sight and with it the alarming man in the water.
She threw herself on to the ground, her heart thumping, and dropped her bag beside her. To her horror, her legs began to shake. She clamped her hands on to her knees to stop the shameful reaction and stifled a sob. She had no time now to indulge her emotions, not when she should never have stopped to bathe in the first place and would be missed if she did not return to the priory soon.
She gathered her shift in her hands and wrung the water out as best she could. When she had decided to swim she had thought she would only be in the water briefly and would have plenty of time to dry herself. She shuddered, imagining what might have happened if she had taken the shift off and swum naked as she had briefly considered. As the man in the water had.
Her knees had stopped shaking, but at the memory of the muscular form rising before her the trembling began again and a curious fluttering filled her belly. Aelfhild unrolled her dress and dragged it down over her head. The shift would have to dry beneath her tunic as she walked and she would have to suffer the damp. Her hand slid to her collar and she gave a cry of dismay.
Her brooch! She had dropped it in the water when the Norman had pulled her under. Her lip quivered. The brooch had been a gift; the only token she had to remind her of a man who had once been dear to her, but she could not go back to search for it now. The man might still be there and even if he wasn’t she would be missed if she took that much time. She would have to try to slip away at another opportunity and hope it would be on the riverbed where it had fallen.
She pulled on her stockings and shoes and sped across the fields, arriving at the priory from the rear. She could enter via the main door, but the portress would raise her eyebrows at Aelfhild’s dishevelled appearance. She strode instead to the tree with overhanging branches. No one but her seemed to have discovered its use as a ladder, but then again, no one except her seemed inclined to leave the priory.
The timbered building loomed above her. Aelfhild shivered at the idea of re-entering the dim confines. She hid behind the wall and pinned the veil on, hiding the tangle of hair beneath it, then went inside to find Sigrun. With less than a year between their ages, Aelfhild had been raised to be part-maid, part-companion to Sigrun under the watch of Lady Emma, who had shown more kindness to the foundling than she had any need to do. In a house with three boys, the two girls had bonded and mistress and servant were as close as sisters.
Sigrun was in the small cell in the dormitory that the two girls shared, praying as she most often was. Most inmates of the priory—sisters, nuns and women sent there like Aelfhild and Sigrun to be shielded from the horrors of the conquest—spent their days sewing or cleaning, gardening or taking alms to the nearby villages. Sigrun spent much of hers on her knees; hands clasped, eyes closed and motionless, leaving Aelfhild to ensure practical tasks were completed.
It was rare that Aelfhild felt her lower status too hard and she willingly took on Sigrun’s chores. If Sigrun’s heartfelt prayers were heard by any gods listening, Aelfhild’s soul might reap a little of the benefit, too.
Aelfhild stood in the doorway, reluctant to disturb the devotion that was more sincere than most she had witnessed. When Sigrun finally stirred and opened her eyes she turned to Aelfhild with a serene smile, indicating a peaceful soul that Aelfhild envied.
‘I heard you come in, Aelfhild. You didn’t have to wait there. You wouldn’t have interrupted me. You might even have joined me...’
Sigrun left the suggestion hanging. Aelfhild ignored it as she always did, but returned the smile. She sank on to her cot in the corner and leaned back against the cool stone wall. Sigrun’s expression changed from serene to anxious. She joined Aelfhild and took hold of her hands.
‘What’s wrong? Did something happen in the village?’
The morning had been so overshadowed by what had occurred since that Aelfhild had almost forgotten she had left the confines of the priory to take medicine to Brun and his neighbours.
‘No, nothing happened in the village. Brun seemed in so much pain he barely recognised me, but he slept after he had drunk a draught.’
She rummaged in her chest for a dry shift, removed her veil to let her hair free and pulled her dress over her head.
‘You’re soaking wet!’
Aelfhild peeled the damp linen shift from her skin and hung it on the peg by the narrow slit of window. She wriggled into the dry one and followed it with the dress. She grinned at Sigrun; less perturbed by the memory now she was home and dry.
‘Not any more. It was so hot and the day was so fine that I decided to stop to bathe. I thought I might try to catch a fish.’
Sigrun looked horrified. ‘You shouldn’t have done that! If anyone finds out you’ll get another whipping!’
The last whipping had been five days ago when Aelfhild had retorted sharply to the wrinkled nun who had tugged her hair for making too-large stitches in her embroidery. She frowned at the memory and rubbed her calf even though the wheals had subsided days ago.
‘No one will find out if you don’t tell anyone,’ she told Sigrun sternly.
Aelfhild found her comb and began to tease the knots from her hair. Sigrun took it from her and continued the task. Aelfhild twisted her hands in her lap, then turned to her mistress.
‘There’s more. There was a man. In the water.’
Sigrun stopped combing and clutched Aelfhild’s arm.
‘Did he hurt you?’
Her fingers settled on the same spot the Norman had grasped her. Aelfhild shuddered as she remembered the lurching terror as they had sunk down and the unsettling pressure of his muscular arm enveloping her, holding her tight against him and dragging her back to safety.
‘He didn’t hurt me. He was bathing like I was, only I didn’t see him at first so we surprised each other.’
Her stomach squirmed as she recalled the sight of him emerging from the river, water streaming off him in a cascade as he rose above her, dark hair on his head and torso. She waved her arms to try describing the size and shape