‘You would not find it to be an easy task, sir,’ she said, watching and waiting for his response to her challenge.
He said something to the man closest to them and then smiled at her. ‘Ah, demoiselle. You are correct—it would be no easy thing.’
He laughed then and lowered their hands, allowing hers to drop to her side. She clasped hers together in front of her and waited. ‘Come, this way, if you please.’
She allowed his stride to take him ahead of her and took advantage of the distance to study this warrior. He was tall, more than six feet in height, and his build declared his strength. Though most of him was covered in mail and armour, she did not doubt that he was as fit and muscular under all of his protection as he appeared to be.
He wore his pale brown hair longer than the Norman custom, yet shorter than the English way. No beard grew so there was no hiding the sharp angles of his face and his strong chin. His eyes, though blue, darkened when he was vexed as she’d seen already, but stayed a paler shade when no mood changed them. Fayth would never declare him to be a handsome man, yet his masculine features were powerful and unforgettable.
He stopped and waited for her to catch up. She noticed then, for she’d been too busy staring at his face before, that they’d reached the chapel. The low stone building had been the scene of the horrific fight that had ended in her capture and Edmund’s near-murder. Giles Fitzhenry opened the wooden door and waited for her to enter.
It took all her resolve to do so, for she imagined she could hear the screams of the injured men and smell the spilled blood from the wounded. Her own neck burned as she remembered his gauntleted grasp around her throat, choking the air from her, and threatening her death.
‘Come,’ was his only word to her as he walked ahead, down the aisle where the benches had been replaced and the blood washed away.
It was Emma who stood then at her back and urged her forward to follow the knight. Two of the knight’s men remained behind her, standing on either side of the doors and watching her through the slits of their helmets. Another shiver tore its path down her spine and back to her head, sending tremors through every part of her. She followed his footsteps up the centre aisle and found Father Henry standing before the altar. From his stern expression, he wanted to be present no more than she did. Still they both did as the Breton knight ordered.
A few moments passed after she stopped at his side and Fayth found her nervousness growing within her. When he reached out and took her hand in his now-bare hands, the truth of it struck her—they would marry here and now.
Surely not?
From his intense gaze, she knew they would indeed.
‘Lady, I will not go forth with this ceremony unless you give your free consent here,’ Father Henry said with a bravado she thought impossible.
Had he given Fayth an escape then, with his words? If she did not consent, could this man lay no claim to her lands or her person? Without looking at Giles Fitzhenry, she began to object when he squeezed her hand so hard she gasped. Turning to him, she followed his nod to the back of the church.
Her servants and villeins stood watching, surrounded by his warriors dressed for battle. Herded in like the cattle they tended, they bunched together watching the unfolding drama before them. They could not see what she could—the weapons held at the ready were aimed at them and not held for their defence. Facing the knight, she searched his face for his true intentions.
‘You would harm innocent servants, then?’ she asked.
‘Nay, lady. Your actions determine their safety. Fulfil your duty as their lady and all will be well.’
‘If I do not give my consent, what then?’ She held her breath waiting for his inevitable answer.
‘I will still hold these lands for my king, but I will need a new wife.’ Tempted to believe he jested with her, she glanced at his face and saw the truth there. ‘My duke has requested,’ he explained, ‘requested, that his men take the daughters of the land we gained to wife. If there is no daughter, we may seek wives where we may.’
‘So you would execute me here in God’s House, sir? With my people looking on at your murderous act?’
She pulled her hand free of his grasp and crossed her arms over her chest, challenging him with every fibre of her being. He leaned in close, so close that she could feel his breath against her neck. Shivers of another kind pulsed through her at his nearness and the sudden heat he caused.
‘There is no reason to execute you, for a woman as lovely as you has several uses. Several that come to mind immediately,’ he repeated, stepping nearer and lifting her chin so she had to meet his gaze. His eyes took on a different expression then, heated and filled with desire, and she knew she would not like his words before he spoke them. ‘Perhaps I will strip you of your position as lady here and keep you instead as my leman while I search out a new wife.’
If he was trying to intimidate her, he’d been successful, for she could see no way out of this predicament and her fears threatened to overwhelm her. In order to succeed in her own quest, to keep her people safe until they could be freed from Norman control, she needed to stay alive and that meant acquiescing to his demands. Emma’s nervous whispers from behind her drew her attentions.
‘Please, lady, do as he asks,’ she begged quietly, so quietly that only the three of them heard it.
‘Aye, lady, do you do as I ask or not?’ he said in a soft and misleading tone. ‘Father Henry has asked if you consent to our exchanging vows.’ He raised his voice now as he stepped back, releasing her. ‘Do you, Lady Fayth?’
He held out his hand in a gesture she knew was to increase the pressure on her and to make it impossible to answer any other way than the one he wanted. The silence grew and held them all motionless as they waited on her word. Glancing at Giles, she noticed the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth and she wanted more than anything to wipe it from his face, though she dared not do so.
Everything she’d lived for was at stake here. At least with Edmund there had been a mutual affection and a common cause between them. She would gain a stranger as husband now; her people would gain a foreign lord who had conquered their lands. A man with no experience other than gaining such prizes with his powerful sword. He moved his fingers ever so slightly to remind her that he, nay they, waited for her response.
As though she had any choice at all?
Edmund was probably still shackled somewhere close by and not able to gather and bring some strong army to her rescue. Her father’s friends and allies lay dead and broken on some distant field of battle. No one could help her.
Taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she did the only thing she could do—she placed her hand in his and walked at his side towards the altar and Father Henry.
Nothing after that mattered, not the words or the gestures, not the cheering of her people or of his men, not the solicitous way her new husband guided her back to the keep. She sat at his side and thought she remembered him feeding her from their shared trencher and drinking mead from a shared cup, but it all passed her by in a haze. If she responded to questions or spoke at all, she could not later say. All she could comprehend was that her life was no longer her own. She now belonged to a man who might have killed her father.
It was not until the door of her
