to watch her. Take careful note of everywhere she goes, of everyone she meets. I’m to marry the younger sister—’ he jerked his thumb towards the small figure on the bench and his lips twisted ‘—and I want to know most especially of any communication between the two of them.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Félix Tihell snapped his heels together and clapped on his helm, leaving Adam to stare through the smoke at his betrothed and wonder what he was marrying. A sweet novice bride with whom he might build a new world? Or a scheming Saxon witch who would thrust a seax in his back the first time it was turned?
Abandoned to her own devices in the great hall while Adam stalked into the upstairs chamber, presumably to confer with the garrison commander, Cecily had never felt so alone. Of course she was not really alone. How could she be when she was surrounded by so many of Duke William’s men? Men. Life at the convent had left her unused to their company. She would have been uncomfortable even among men of her own people, but as for these…these invaders: her skin crawled; her mouth was dry.
The Saxon Palace was alive with hulking Franks in chainmail who thundered in and out, who charged up and down the stairs, oblivious of the graves over which they trampled. On her bench, Cecily held herself as still as a mouse in the presence of several cats, trying not to draw attention to herself. She was not afraid. She was not.
She was the only woman present. Had they murdered all the other women? A wave of nausea swept through her and she buried her face in her hands.
‘Don’t be sad, chérie,’ a strange voice said. It was full of false sympathy and something else—something dark and unknown that had Cecily shuddering behind her hands and her blood running cold. She refused to lift her head. ‘Come here, chérie. I will warm you.’
Covertly, she peered through her fingers. A brace of Norman knights who had been hugging the fire were winking and gesturing in her direction. She sat very straight. They would not do anything. She was betrothed to one of their number, so she would be safe, wouldn’t she? But where were Sir Adam’s men? Not one of them was in sight…
‘Chérie…’
One of the knights was rising to his feet. Cecily closed her eyes—she felt sick, she actually felt sick. That edge in the man’s voice had visions of assault—rape—running rampant in her mind. If he touched her she would vomit. She—
‘My lady?’
Adam’s squire, Maurice Espinay, was at her elbow, and Cecily all but slumped in relief. Politely, he offered her his arm and escorted her to a bench at the far end of the hall. Others of Adam’s troop had staked a claim there, she realised, for men she recognised were dicing on an upturned packing crate. Warriors from another land, to be sure, but ones who answered to Sir Adam. More of her tension ebbed away.
With another bow, Maurice turned and marched back to the Normans at the fire. She could not catch what he said to them, but it proved effective, for afterwards they did not so much as glance her way.
Returning to her side with her bundle, Maurice dropped it at her feet and remained nearby, rooting through a saddlebag that must belong to Sir Adam. Adam must have asked him to watch over her, but whether that was for her safety or because he did not trust her she could not say. Whatever his reason, Cecily was grateful. Being taken from the convent with so little warning was hard enough. She had no experience of fending off foreign knights.
Was she really going to marry one of them? It did not seem possible. Adam Wymark’s acceptance of her wild proposal seemed to have knocked the sense from her head. She glanced towards the fire, frowning at the two knights as she took a moment to absorb the implications of marrying Sir Adam. Like them, Adam Wymark was her enemy. She chewed her lip. She had offered to take her sister’s place on impulse. A foolhardy move, perhaps, but she had not been certain that volunteering to be Adam’s interpreter would be enough to convince him to take her with him. One thought had been clear: her brother and the people of Fulford must not be abandoned to the enemy. In order to be certain to get home she would have offered to marry the devil himself.
And now he had accepted her. The devil—the foreign devil who had sailed with Duke William and stolen her father’s land. By rights she should fear him as she feared those Norman knights. Yet she felt safe at this end of the hall, in the company of his men. How could that be when only moments ago she had looked at his fellow Franks and had feared…?
‘Sir Adam said to tell you that his plans have changed,’ Maurice said. ‘We will not be returning to Fulford till tomorrow at the soonest.’
‘Oh?’ She was uncertain whether to be relieved or dismayed. It would mean her wedding to Adam Wymark would be delayed, but it would also mean not meeting her baby brother for another day. Thank the Lord that Fulford’s new lord did not fill her with revulsion, as those other knights had done. How curious. Adam Wymark had come with the Normans, and yet he did not revolt her or fill her with fear. He was not like those others. How strange.
Maurice was industriously hauling bedding from a heap at the far end of the hall. More soldiers tramped in. Normans, Bretons…invaders.
‘Maurice, where will I sleep?’
Being in the Palace of the Kings in these circumstances was hideously unsettling, with reminders of how life had changed at every turn. By the Minster, in those few brief moments when she had been alone with Adam, when they had kissed, she had been able to forget about the changes. Adam had seemed a different person then—handsome, smiling and approachable, someone who would take note of her feelings and show genuine concern for her.
By the Minster it had seemed that a small miracle had taken place, and that everything might yet turn out well, but the moment they had crossed the Palace threshold Adam’s demeanour had altered. One word with his captain and his smile had gone. He had glowered, positively glowered across the fire at her.
Were military matters so pressing that they drove all finer feelings from his mind? Or, worse, had he somehow found out about Emma and Judhael’s presence in the city? She prayed not. For if Adam Wymark—Adam—were to challenge her on that subject, she did not know how she would answer him.
The key point, though, and the one she must hold fast to, was that she should get to Fulford to see to her brother’s safety. She must also keep an eye on her father’s people.
Were they the only things that mattered? a little voice wondered as she recalled the warmth of Adam’s smile after they had kissed. A genuine warmth, she would swear. And yet, set that next to the way he had scowled and glowered at her only a few moments ago. But, scowl and glower though he may, she did not fear him. She sighed. Life might have been bleak in the convent, but it had been so much simpler.
‘Maurice, where will I sleep?’ she repeated, inwardly praying there was a ladies’ bower. Given that she was the only woman in the hall, it seemed a faint hope.
Maurice spread his hands. ‘Sir Adam didn’t say. You’d best ask him at supper.’
She rose from her bench. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
The squire shot her a startled look. ‘Do, my lady?’
‘I’m not used to being idle. I’d rather do something.’
‘Such as?’
She shrugged. ‘Anything. Is there an infirmary? I could help there. Or I might be of
