style="font-size:15px;"> Before she could speak, Hugh and Jerome tensed beside him in a way as familiar to him as breathing—the quiet moment before a fight. Both men had seized the hilt of their swords, intent on something behind him.
A cold blade came to rest none too gently against his neck. Tightening his grip on the girl in his arms, he kept still as a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. From behind, an Englishman barked into his ear, but the meaning was lost on Alex.
Hugh and Jerome unsheathed their swords and took a cautious step toward him.
“Wait!” Matilde cried.
The fierce fingers digging into Alex’s shoulder told him he would do well to call off his men even though his hands burned to take up his sword and fight.
The bastard pressed the steel more firmly against his neck. His skin stung at the contact. Alex cursed to himself. It was no use. He gave his men a warning look, and they came no closer.
The gray-haired knight spoke harshly to the man holding the sword to Alex’s throat and pointed at Alex and the girl in his arms. He did not know what the old man was saying, but he prayed the Englishman would listen to reason.
He held his breath and fixed his stare on Matilde. She seemed frozen in place, her face a mask of horror, as the sword dug into his neck. He barely noted the fact the Englishmen had stopped conversing over the roar in his ears.
Heartbeats later, his attacker finally pulled away with a growl.
The spell on his men broke, and they rushed forward to seize the Englishman. Alex squared his shoulders, the tension that had gathered in his frame slow to dissipate.
He knew his reaction to the attack would be crucial to his relations with the Dumont household. If he were too harsh, he risked angering Lord Dumont for disciplining one of his men in his stead. If he were too lenient, the English household might not respect his authority. And respect was already hard enough to come by.
First, though, he needed to see the man who dared to draw his sword against a Norman knight. He well remembered how fiercely the axe-wielding housecarls had defended Harold at Hastings. He expected some bearded giant, not the lad barely on the cusp of manhood who struggled in Hugh and Jerome’s grasp.
The boy’s blond hair was streaked with blood and grime, but the matted locks did not hide his glare as he locked eyes with Alex. That this young whelp had caught Alex and his men by surprise rankled. He debated the best way to punish the boy, when the young Englishman’s gaze fell to the girl in his arms, his face filled with something stronger than concern. Interesting.
The boy held still as Hugh stripped him of his weapons. He spoke to the older knight again, gesturing to the girl and then the prone man on one of the mounts in the courtyard.
“What are they saying?” Alex asked Matilde.
The woman’s wrinkled face slowly regained its color. “One of the men in the scouting party was badly injured,” she said in halting French.
“Why did you not tell me half the household was away?”
“Your pardon, sir. I did not know when they would be returning. I thought—”
He could not stomach her excuses right now. He just thanked God the confrontation had not brought more carnage. He tipped his head toward the young Englishman. “Who is that?”
Matilde frowned. “Kendrick, one of Lord Dumont’s men-at-arms. Your presence here… surprised him. You can be assured he will cause no more trouble. He understands the situation now.”
Alex doubted that very much, seeing the hatred still simmering in the young man’s eyes. “And her?” he asked, adjusting the girl in his arms.
“My daughter,” Matilde said, hesitating for only a moment. “Let me take her.”
Desperation haunted her careworn features, but he was three times a fool if he believed he held her daughter in his arms. Before he could reply, the gray-haired knight tried to lead Kendrick away, but Hugh and Jerome stood in their way. The man looked at Matilde and pointed to the injured rider, still unattended, and spoke urgently.
“They are only going to see to the wounded man’s injuries,” Matilde said.
“Then they will welcome my men’s assistance.” Turning away from her beseeching expression, Alex gave his men a nod. Hugh and Jerome would escort the two Englishmen to ensure they only intended to go to their comrade’s aid.
“By your leave, I will take her to my room,” Matilde said.
Alex gave her a curt nod. “Show me.”
The old woman ushered Alex into a room off the kitchens. Female servants scattered as she motioned him over to a small pallet along the far wall. Alex laid the girl down gently. Heat radiated off her body. “We will need bandages and a poultice. She also needs dry clothes. It is a wonder she is not frozen.”
Matilde relayed his orders to the servant who had followed them. The servant returned with supplies and heated the brazier set in the center of the room.
Alex felt the girl’s forehead and brushed the hair back from her burning face. It was a pleasing color, a gleaming golden brown in the torchlight. He slid back her cloak.
Matilde gasped and pulled him away. “What are you doing?”
Alex looked at her sharply, and she dropped her hands. “The girl has a fever. Her clothes are sodden, and she is already chilled through. We must dress her wound.”
“Yes, sir, but let me tend to her. You must be busy with your other duties.”
“Your…daughter is in no danger from me. I have seen my share of arrow wounds.”
Matilde put herself between Alex and the bed. “But, sir, it would not be proper for you to…” She worried her lower lip.
“This is no time for modesty,” he said as he looked back at the pale, drawn countenance of the young lady. “Step aside. Now.”
He waited until the old woman moved away before approaching the bed once more. Alex managed to pull off the girl’s cloak and ease it away from the wound. Dried blood coated the right sleeve of her dress. The belt came next. The finely scrolled, double-edged broadsword and scabbard he had observed earlier, along with a well-made knife—a seax if he recalled the English name correctly—came with it. Their bearing and craftsmanship were exquisite.
He looked questioningly at Matilde before setting them aside. “How did your daughter come to possess such fine weapons?”
Matilde did not answer as she helped him peel off the girl’s dress. Underneath, the girl wore a silk and linen shift, not a coarse woolen one, which bespoke nobility. Alex’s gaze found Matilde’s hooded one once more, but he said nothing as the shift too was removed.
He looked her over. Certainly more woman than girl. Pearly skin stretched over her frame, with hollows and curves in all the right places. There was just enough to her for a man to grab hold of.
He gritted his teeth. Now was hardly the time for such thoughts. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the arrow and pulled while Matilde held her down
