Joanna Makepeace - The Baron's Bride

“Demoiselle, I must reiterate that what you ask is impossible. I regret it must be so, but there it is. I am Alain de Treville, and you, I surmise, are the daughter of my near neighbour, Walter of Brinkhurst.”

He shrugged slightly in the Gallic fashion and the unusual intonation of his Norman French told her he had probably come originally from the dukedom overseas and had only lived in England for a few years.

Her lips trembled mutinously. “Yes, I am Gisela of Brinkhurst and, as I was explaining to your sergeant here, Aldith, whose cottage this is, is my former nurse and we are very fond of her and anxious to ensure her welfare. She cannot be cast from her home with so little consideration.”

“Believe me, demoiselle, I have given this matter every consideration. This woodland must be cut back to give my garrison a clear view of any approaching enemy force. Your father will explain that it is a very usual tactic. King Stephen has commanded me to improve Allestone’s defences, which have been neglected sorely of late.

“Your father will also agree with me that there have been frequent attacks on property in this district by unscrupulous mercenaries. He must be well aware of the need for defensive measures himself.”

His eyes dwelt momentarily upon Gisela’s still-indignant form and then travelled to Oswin, whose portly figure and frowning expression revealing alarm at this unfortunate encounter, hovered anxiously some little distance behind his young mistress.

“I see you do have an escort, but I consider one man is hardly sufficient to protect you should you be ambushed. I would have thought at least two sturdy men-at-arms would be necessary to accompany you when you leave the boundaries of your father’s land.”

“Oswin is perfectly trustworthy,” Gisela snapped irritably. Her father had, indeed, often remonstrated with her recently over such rash behaviour for she had sometimes ventured from the manor lands alone and, as a result of her father’s anger, had suffered curtailment of the freedom she had formerly enjoyed since childhood.

“I am sure he is,” the Baron replied mildly as if to a fractious child, “but it is possible to be too reckless of one’s own safety these days and, if you were my daughter, I would insist on more stringent precautions.”

“Quite likely you would,” Gisela returned drily, “but I am no kin of yours. Now, can we return to the matter in hand? Surely you can make an exception in the case of this one small building?”

He stood facing her, feet astride, one hand upon the serviceable hilt of his longsword. She was annoyed that he continued to smile as if he were reasoning with a child who did not understand the point at issue.

“Demoiselle, you must see that such an exception would defeat the object of the exercise. Your nurse is vulnerable here. The improved defences of Allestone Castle are for her advantage and the rest of the serfs and villeins nearby, as well as for your father and his neighbours, for the castle garrison is at his service should he need to call on it.”

“I hardly think that will be necessary.” Gisela knew her shrillness of tone could be deemed rude and somewhat ungracious for such an offer but she was so incensed by his lordliness that she could not prevent herself from blurting it out.

“I hope your father is of the same opinion,” de Treville commented pithily and she blushed hotly.

“My father has defended his own manor and been ready to answer the King’s call and to go to the assistance of his neighbours,” she retorted.

He made no answer and his very silence added to her feeling that her behaviour was both callow and boorish.

“It is not to be borne,” she said angrily. “Why should Aldith be made homeless simply for a whim of the new master of Allestone?”

“I am prepared to offer your nurse accommodation within the castle precincts where she and her son will be adequately protected,” he replied smoothly, which rather took the wind from her sails and made her draw in breath quickly.

“But there is the question of her vegetable plot. How will she survive the winter when that is destroyed?”

“Again, I am perfectly prepared to provide for her and the boy. She can take service within the castle.”

Aldith clutched agitatedly at Gisela’s arm and she turned to face her. It was evident from her expression and the meaningful glances she directed at first her son, and then the Baron, that she feared for Sigurd within the castle enclosure.

The boy would not bow down easily to discipline. Since his father’s death he had roved the forest fearlessly at will, and, doubtless, acquired food for the pot both from the woodland and possibly from the Baron’s own private preserves of stew ponds and rabbit warrens.

Gisela said hastily, “That will not be necessary. Aldith and Sigurd must come to Brinkhurst. I know my father will receive them. I will make arrangements for her belongings to be fetched tomorrow.”

She heard Aldith sigh with relief behind her.

The Baron bowed in answer. “As you wish, demoiselle,” he said quietly, “but should your father not wish to accept them, they must come immediately to Allestone.”

He turned as if to move back to his courser, having decided that the matter had been settled satisfactorily. Gisela gave her attention to Aldith and neither of them was aware of what happened next until it was too late. Sigurd gave a great snarl of fury and, leaping the wattle fence, made for his tormentor, whose defenceless back was turned towards him. Gisela heard the boy shout something she could not catch and then came a sudden oath in French from de Treville.

She turned horrified eyes to see the flash of a blade in the November sunlight and to discover that the boy and de Treville were struggling together. Gisela caught Aldith’s arm to prevent her rushing to her son’s assistance and could only watch helplessly with the two men, who had also been taken completely by surprise.

De Treville must have had ears like a lynx for he had discerned before any of them footsteps coming towards him across the fallen leaves. He had swung round in an instant and wrestled with the boy’s arm and now held his wrist in a cruel grasp which made Sigurd give a sudden animal cry of pain.

Gisela saw the hunting knife fall from the boy’s hand on to the leaves below and the older of the men-at-arms rushed forward to secure it. He bawled a quick command to his companion, who rushed to the Baron’s side, ready to give immediate assistance.

Still de Treville held on to Sigurd’s wrist and Gisela saw the boy’s face contort in pain and the colour drain from it. Aldith cried out in fear for her son and alarm for the Baron’s safety. Gisela thought de Treville would break the boy’s wrist as, inexorably, he forced the arm back and back until he released his hold abruptly and Sigurd gave another hoarse half-scream and fell back into the brawny arms of the man-at-arms behind him.

Then, and then only, did de Treville speak. “Secure him and bring him to Allestone.” The voice was deadly calm and ice cold.

“No, no, oh please—” Aldith burst through the gate and ran towards the Norman baron. “—please, please do not hurt him any more. He was mad with fury. He is just a boy and meant no real harm.”

“Indeed?” De Treville raised two dark eyebrows that Gisela could just discern beneath the rim of his iron helmet and placed his right arm across the mailed sleeve of his left. To Gisela’s amazement and deepening alarm, she saw that blood was welling between the rings of the hauberk. She would not have believed that Sigurd’s knife could have done such damage and in so short a time.

“You are hurt,” she blurted out, somewhat foolishly she realised later.