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 of him and capture the broadness of his body, the sense of tightly packed muscles that had reminded her of a horse or ox.
‘He had dark hair that masked his face, his nose was crooked and his lips were scarred. I thought he was a river monster, but he was just a man after all.’
She broke off as her cheeks flamed. He had most definitely been a man. The—the—conspicuously large thing between his legs had been proof of that. She’d felt it pressing against her as they had tumbled together in the river, tracing a path from her inner thigh to hipbone. At the time the sensation had been unsettling, but now as she recalled it the odd fluttering filled her lower belly again and a pulsing ache made her thighs tighten.
She’d never seen a naked man before, but how could she have behaved so wantonly as to openly stare at him as she had done? She understood the practicalities of how babies were created, but how something that size could possibly fit where it was intended to seemed to her mind incredible. Perhaps he was not human after all, because what human could be shaped with such a body part?
The fluttering inside her grew stronger, spreading out in every direction like ripples on water after a stone broke the surface. Something was inside her; it felt as though a living creature that she could not identify was struggling to escape.
She was aware of Sigrun’s arms slipping about her waist and that she had been lost in a reverie for too long.
‘Poor Aelfhild, you must have nearly died with terror. I know I would have done in your place.’ Sigrun’s blue eyes were full of distress. She, no doubt, would have fainted and drowned.
Aelfhild shook her head thoughtfully. She had been scared at first but that had given way to fury as he had laughed at her. She’d wanted to fight him, not run, to be one of the women of legend who drove attackers from her home, a shieldmaiden like the traders who came to York laughed about as they boasted how they would best and bed such women.
If Aelfhild were such a woman no one would easily bed her without her consent! She remembered the flush of satisfaction as the Norman had wiped away the blood she had drawn, but that thought turned to sorrow. She twisted to look at Sigrun. Tears filled her eyes as she admitted what she had done.
‘I lost the brooch Torwald gave me before he left to join the rebellion in York.’
Sigrun’s mouth twisted and she pulled Aelfhild closer. The two women embraced silently. They both grieved for Sigrun’s brother, but for different reasons: Sigrun with the natural sorrow anyone would feel at her brother’s death and Aelfhild for the additional loss of the first man who had touched her heart. The difference in their status meant he would never have married her, she was realistic enough to understand that, but she had treasured the hours they spent together.
‘I’ll go back for it.’
Sigrun shook her head with a violence she rarely exhibited.
‘No! You mustn’t leave the priory again. You could have been
