Saxon Lady

A wall of flame roared up behind them and Fitz Autier grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him, until they were outside and clear of the building. Aelia fell to the earth, coughing.

She was still trying to catch her breath when the entire storehouse collapsed. Aelia heard shouts and screams of panic all ’round her, but paid them no heed as she coughed and wheezed.

Fitz Autier lowered Leof to the ground and knelt beside Aelia, fighting to catch his own breath. His bare arms gleamed with sweat and his face was covered with soot.

“Of all the witless… What were you thinking, going in there?” he demanded angrily between bursts of coughing.

“Osric! He’s…” The full impact of Aelia’s loss hit her, and she began to weep. She had failed in her duty to Ingelwald, and had been unable to rescue Osric. What happened to her now was of little consequence. If Fitz Autier chose to execute her here and now, ’twould be no less than she deserved.

Mayhap the black ash in her lungs would kill her first.

She pushed herself up off the ground, but her movement was impeded by Fitz Autier’s iron grip on her upper arm. Aelia shook off his hand and rose unsteadily to her feet, turning to gaze upon the site of her brother’s death. Emotion welled in her chest and she whirled away from the charred storehouse amid the shouts of the people all ’round her. Tears blurred her vision, but she managed to see Fitz Autier’s big, blond companion push his way through the crowd, dragging a kicking, screaming boy with one massive hand.

Osric!

“Tell the bastard to turn me loose!” he bellowed as though he were lord and master here. As if he had not just barely escaped with his life.

The blood rushed from Aelia’s head and she remained standing only because someone slipped his arm ’round her waist and supported her from behind. “Osric!” she wheezed.

An expressionless Auvrai d’Evreux held on to Osric as he pulled the boy toward Aelia and dropped him unceremoniously at her feet. “This is the one who torched the storehouse.”

“You lie, Norman. My brother would never—”

Osric jumped to his feet and dashed away from Sir Auvrai’s reach. “I knew they would have to set us free if the building was on fire!” His tone was defiant.

The blood suddenly drained from Aelia’s head. “Osric, no! You could have killed so many…” She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. There had to be some additional explanation for Osric’s actions. Surely he had understood the danger of a fire in the center of the village. And now he risked immediate retaliation by their Norman conquerors. “Leof almost died in there.”

“As did your sister, boy,” said Fitz Autier. He kept one hand at her waist as he confronted Osric. “Lock him in again with the other prisoners, Auvrai. The boy’s a menace. He needs to be watched all night.”

“Please let me stay with him!” Aelia cried, relieved once more that Fitz Autier had not seen fit to kill them both.

“And wreak more havoc on this holding? No. He will remain under guard until I order otherwise.”

With little effort Auvrai lifted Osric and tossed him over his shoulder. The knight was impervious to the boy’s kicks and blows as he carried him away from Aelia, who felt suddenly weightless. She would have fallen to the ground had Fitz Autier not held her up.

“But I can see to it that he does no more damage.”

“No, demoiselle. He is no longer your responsibility.”

“He is my brother. I—”

“Enough! Look around you!”

Her people were quiet now, all watching scornfully as Sir Auvrai carried Osric away. They’d heard Osric admit that he’d set fire to the storehouse, putting so many Saxons in danger. He may have intended to get them all free, but had endangered all the buildings in the village. As it was, the storehouse was gone, and the stable had nearly been destroyed.

The Saxons must view Osric as the enemy now—not Fitz Autier, who had risked all to stand on the stable roof, toiling at his own personal risk to douse the flames.

’Twas a horrible end to a dreadful day.

Mathieu was furious. He did not know what made him angrier—knowing that the little Saxon brat had set the fire intentionally, or seeing Aelia run into the burning building.

She might have been killed.

He forced himself to release her. Whatever he’d felt when he’d seen her dash into the storehouse was just a momentary distraction from his purpose here. He needed his prisoners alive and well enough to travel to London. King William expected it.

“Where will your knight take Osric?”

Her face and clothes were filthy. One sleeve of her tunic hung by threads from her shoulder, where a large abrasion glowed red in the light of the fires that smoldered nearby. Several of Mathieu’s own stitches had torn free, but he seemed to have more than enough to hold the edges of the wound together. He would suffer no more sewing, at her hand or anyone else’s. “I hope Auvrai finds a cage to put him in.”

Aelia’s eyes darted around her. “Our people…they’re looking at Osric as if he were a fiend.”

“What would you call someone who tried to burn fifty men alive?”

“He did not intend to hurt anyone,” she countered.

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