the house he would build when the promised land was finally his. It wouldn’t have to be a big house; he would be living there alone after all. Best not dare to dream too big—a companion to share his life with was so unlikely that the pit of loneliness that made his heart ache soured his thoughts.
He brushed his hair back from his forehead where it had become damp with exertion from the ride. Despite all Gilbert’s coaxing Gui had steadfastly refused to shave his head in the same style as the knight, and had kept his dark-brown hair longer than fashionable so it skimmed his jaw and framed his face. Sweat pooled beneath his arms and the linen clung to his torso. He frowned. It would not do to arrive at the priory looking so travel stained. No doubt the prioress would provide the means to bathe, but sunlight turned the river silver and to Gui it was a more appealing prospect. He turned the horse towards the river and in a lazy walk he made his way down the hill to one of the bends where trees would afford him some privacy in the unlikely event he encountered anyone.
Gui tethered his horse to a tree close to the river where she could drink as she wished or take shelter from the sun. He unbuckled the short sword he wore at his belt and stowed it alongside the bow and quiver of arrows he could not bear to part with, which were wrapped in leather and strapped to the pannier. He stripped off his clothes, gritting his teeth in frustration as he worked the buckles and laces with his right hand. He paused before removing the padded glove on his left hand, but in this isolated spot no one would cast their eyes on his affliction so he removed that, too.
Naked, he plunged into the river, which proved to be deeper than he had expected. He stood, gasping and shuddering, toes curling in the silt as the chilly depths closed around him to his waist. When he became accustomed to the cold, he swam under the surface with powerful strokes and emerged downstream when he could no longer hold his breath. He scrubbed at his hair and body until his flesh stung, wishing he had the means to scrape the bristles from his jaw that had become a rough beard. He resembled one of the Yorkshire Norsemen the longer he wore it.
The sun was still warm, lessening the worst of the chill. He lay back in the water and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths of the sweet-scented air. He drifted along with the gentle current, allowing the water to caress him, feeling knots in his muscles loosen as the current and weeds played around his body. For what was almost certainly the first time since stepping foot in England, Guilherm felt truly at peace.
* * *
‘That’ll do until I come again next week.’ Aelfhild tightened the knot holding the bandage on Brun’s leg. She wiped the greasy balm from her fingers, pulled the threadbare blanket back over the old man’s legs and smiled. ‘Try to move a little if you can or you’ll get more sores. That poultice will help ease the discomfort.’
‘You’re a good lass, Aelfhild. You’ll make a good wife to some man,’ Brun rasped.
Her first thought was that she’d rather be a good nurse, and her second was whom would she marry anyway; now Yorkshire’s men were in short supply.
‘I don’t think a foundling with no dowry would be many men’s first choice,’ she sighed.
Brun started to answer, but coughs racked his frame. ‘I won’t be sorry to go, but you’ve made these months more comfortable,’ he wheezed.
‘Don’t talk like that! You’ve got years ahead of you,’ Aelfhild lied.
A film of tears covered Brun’s eyes. ‘Weeks. A month or two, perhaps. I didn’t think I’d see this year come when they came to burn the village. My home is gone; my sons are dead. I’m ready to join them.’
They. The Normans. They’d lain waste to the villages all around Elmeslac, and further afield if tales were true as the new King’s vengeance for what had happened in York. For the people daring to try to regain their city. Aelfhild’s throat tightened with hatred. If she ever met a Norman she’d drive her knife through his black heart!
Brun was her final patient. She began to pack up her bag of poultices and medicines to stop her hand straying to the brooch she wore concealed beneath a fold in the neck of her shapeless tunic. She would not think about the man who had given it to her or her eyes would fill with tears, too.
She left the dimly lit hut where the remaining villagers lived together: the old and the young, those who had escaped the killing. She began to make her way back to the priory, considering herself lucky to have a home however much she hated the confining walls. She stomped along the rutted track and tried to ignore the fields that should have been thick with growing barley. Her boots were sturdy and she set a good pace up the hill, only pausing for breath when the top came into view. The breeze was warm as it caressed her cheeks, a sure sign that spring would be hot this year. She felt perspiration rising on her face and neck.
Aelfhild’s skirts billowed around her and she shook her head, enjoying the sensation of the wind’s kiss upon the back of her neck. She ran the last few paces to the top of the hill, then spun around, arms wide and head thrown back. She laughed at her foolishness, as she realised what she must look like. She did it again, sure no one was watching, for who was there left to watch her now?
Her stomach growled. Breakfast had been gritty bread and sour cheese, and supper was nothing worth anticipating. The river glinted in the sunlight, winding through the valley. Aelfhild had time to spare before she had to return to the priory and her spirits lifted. When such feeling came upon her she could forget her country was under the yoke of the Conqueror, could forget she had not seen her home for almost two years and the walls that now confined her.
She was thirsty and hot. The river could satisfy both those needs and she could even try to catch a fish to supplement the meagre diet at the priory, using the method Brun described when his mind wandered to his youth.
Anticipating the cool water swirling around her legs, Aelfhild hastened her steps as she neared the river where it bent towards her side of the bank, skipping and occasionally spinning in circles in the sheer joy of being alive. The world was empty. She could even bathe completely naked if she chose, though would not go that far. If her swim was ever discovered, Aelfhild would no doubt receive the customary whipping from one of the sisters, but there was no one to see and no one to tell. It would be her secret and hers alone.
It was only when he heard a high female voice singing that Gui realised he was no longer alone.
He tensed. The voice was coming upstream from the direction where Gui had left the horse. He had drifted much further than he had realised. He rolled over on to his front and lowered himself beneath the surface until only his head from nose up was visible and searched for the owner of the voice.
A girl was making her way through the field towards the river on the opposite bank from Gui’s horse and clothes. She wore a grey cloak and grey tunic with a veil that covered her hair and shadowed her face and had a bag hooked over her girdle. She moved with purpose, making quick progress, which was why she had come upon Gui so quickly. As she neared him she slowed her pace. Once or twice she spun in a circle, arms raised wide, and did a handful of dance steps, humming in a carefree manner that Gui envied.
It was so rare to see anyone who appeared untouched by what had taken place in the country that Gui was transfixed. He raised his head to better watch the girl as she cavorted around, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings. Perhaps she was a simpleton to be behaving in such a way: one of those poor unfortunates for whom time and place had no meaning. Gui shook his head ruefully. He almost envied her that, too.
As
