The Saxon Outlaw's Revenge

‘You don’t mean that!’

He twisted his head and gazed at her, his brow knotted. ‘At least I’d have died with honour. You’ve condemned me to live and die a slave knowing I failed to avenge my family.’

She’d come hoping to ease his suffering, but his tone was harsher than she’d ever heard. His words cut into her deeper than the rope that had split his back open. She couldn’t have watched him die, but how could she let him live the life he described?

‘You don’t have to,’ she whispered. She looked around cautiously and drew out her dagger, one of a pair that had been the legacy from her father. The blue stone in the hilt caught the light. Aelric’s eyes fell on it.

‘Make it swift,’ he said, his lips twisting downwards.

‘I’m not going to kill you!’ she exclaimed in shock. ‘I’m not a savage! What do you take me for?’

‘A Norman,’ he said bitterly, ignoring the implied insult.

‘Your friend,’ Constance said, biting back the hurt his words caused. ‘I came to free you. You can run away.’

Aelric’s eyes flickered. ‘It’s revenge I want. Where is the honour in running?’

Constance stepped back and threw her cloth to the ground in irritation. ‘Nowhere, probably. But why throw away your freedom for the sake of pride?’

‘Pride is all I have left,’ Aelric growled. ‘And vengeance.’

Constance picked up her stick and turned to walk away.

‘Wait!’ Aelric’s voice was urgent.

‘Why? I would free you because you aren’t a killer, not so you could become one. I’m not risking myself for that!’

‘You would put yourself in danger to help me? Why? Because I brought back your horse?’ Aelric asked. ‘Is that the only thing you will remember me for?’

‘You know it isn’t,’ Constance said quietly. She refused to let the memories out.

‘I don’t want you to come to harm,’ Aelric said, holding her gaze.

Constance felt again the sharp pain from Robert’s slaps, thought of Jeanne crying in the night and dead-eyed by day. If someone were to kill Robert she would not grieve, but Aelric would never succeed.

‘I’m being sent to a convent tomorrow, I’ll be safe. If I cut you down you have to swear to leave tonight and not to try to harm Robert.’

Aelric tugged at the bonds on his wrists. ‘If it will make you happy I won’t attempt to kill him.’

‘Swear,’ Constance said. ‘On something that matters.’

He looked furious, but she held his gaze until he sighed.

‘I swear by my honour, and on the name and soul of my father, Brunwulf, that I will not raise arms against Robert.’

She nodded, satisfied. Keeping her eyes from Aelric’s, she quickly cut the ropes binding him. Aelric sagged to the ground, massaging his wrists. Constance helped him to stand, warmth spreading along her fingers from his hands that were so cold.

‘Now I am in your debt,’ he said. He lifted her hand to his lips, then put his hand to her cheek, drew her close and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Constance raised her head and brushed her lips against the edge of his mouth. She felt his lips twist into a smile.

‘I won’t forget what you’ve done for me,’ Aelric whispered.

The enormity of what she had done crashed over Constance. She did not want to think what Robert might do when he discovered the boy had disappeared in the night.

‘Take me with you,’ she asked impulsively.

‘You don’t mean that,’ Aelric said. ‘I don’t know where I’ll go, but it won’t be suitable for a girl used to the life you lead.’

‘I don’t care how hard it might be,’ Constance whispered.

‘I do,’ Aelric said firmly.

‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I have nothing to keep me here. We could be together.’

Her eyes filled with tears. She gazed into Aelric’s eyes and put a hand on his arm. He closed his hand over it.

‘I’ll wait by the old cowshed at the fork in the Bollin until dawn,’ he said. He gave a slight smile. ‘You know where I mean.’

Constance blushed and looked away, knowing very well where Aelric meant.

‘Take this,’ she said. She handed him the dagger. His hand tightened over hers then he slipped away.

She watched until he became a shadow and disappeared from view, then picked up her stick and returned to the house. She wouldn’t need much. She didn’t have much to take anyway.

She made it back as far as the bedchamber and had pulled the dagger’s twin and her spare kirtle from the chest when a hand seized her hair roughly from behind. Robert hauled her to her feet.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Nowhere,’ Constance whimpered.

‘Liar! You were seen leaving the house,’ Robert bellowed. ‘Tell me the truth or I’ll beat it out of you.’

Robert slapped her without warning, the palm of his hand setting her cheek ablaze.

‘Nowhere,’ she repeated. If she told him now then Aelric would never escape.

Another slap. This time backhanded and with force that left her reeling. Robert unbuckled his belt.

‘I’ve tolerated your waywardness for too long,’ he said.

Constance tried to duck past him, but he pulled at the neck of her gown and swung her around. She landed heavily across the table face first, the stab of pain in her belly making her retch. Robert brought the leather strap down upon her, buckle end swinging free. Lights burst in Constance’s head as it caught her the bare flesh of her shoulder and she screamed.

She knew then she would never meet Aelric.

* * *

Aelric watched the dawn rise.

Constance wouldn’t come, but there was a spark of hope within him that refused to die. He caressed the dagger that she had given him. It was well made and the stone set into the end would fetch a good price alone: enough to see his belly full for a month or two at least.

When the sun was a half-circle behind the hills he pushed himself to his feet. He wrapped the sacking around his shoulders, biting down the pain in his back where the rough cloth grazed every cut. He stared back towards Hamestan, hoping to see the familiar dark-haired, slender figure making her way towards him, but the road was deserted.

Reluctantly he turned away, trying not to care. While they lived under the same roof he had entertained daydreams of marrying her, Norman or not, but what well-bred noblewoman would really swap a life of comfort for one of uncertainty and exile. It was for the best. He could move faster alone.

Casting a final look over his shoulder he walked away, knowing it would be a long time before he saw these hills again.

Chapter Two

Worcestershire—1075

Constance folded the parchment over and ran her finger across the two halves of the thick seal. She dug her thumbnail into the wax until the edges chipped.

‘Do you know what this letter says?’ she asked her guest.

Hugh D’Avranches, Palatine Earl of Chester, reached across to the low table and refilled their goblets. The jug nestled among the remains of the late meal they had shared. It had been pleasant before Hugh had produced the parchment.

‘I can hazard a guess,’ he replied, handing Constance her wine. ‘When your brother-in-law asked me to carry this message I asked if he would like me to bring your reply back to Cheshire. He said there would be none as he was certain you would obey his instructions and begin your travel preparations immediately.’

Constance suppressed a shudder.

‘He would have me travel in December! He expects me to return to live in Hamestan.’

She flung the hateful letter to the floor beside her and began pacing around the chamber, her stick striking loudly on the stone floor. When she had left Hamestan seven years ago she had intended never to go back.

‘Who is he to command me to do anything!’ she exclaimed. ‘And why now? You should have refused to bring this to me.’

Hugh folded his arms; a calm, thickset, tawny-haired man who was more jowly every time Constance saw him, despite not yet being thirty. He regarded Constance with an expression of mild reproach, then beckoned her to sit down. It was impossible to stay angry with him for long so she returned to the settle by the hearth and eased herself on to the cushions, stretching her leg on to a low stool.

‘Robert de Coudray is one of my tenants-in-chief. It would have been churlish for me to refuse to bear his letter as I was travelling past Bredon on my way to Gloucester. Besides—’ Hugh smiled and took Constance’s hand ‘—I would not pass up the opportunity to visit you. I have seen you so rarely this past three years. My new responsibilities keep me busy.’

Such familiarity was unbecoming, even if she was a widow. If anyone were to find them in such a position she was risking scandal, but Constance was beyond caring. One way or another she would be gone before long.

‘I’m glad to see you, Hugh. I have so few friends. I don’t want to quarrel with you when you’re here for such a short time.’

Hugh placed the letter on the table alongside the wine jug.

‘You could intervene and make Robert change his mind,’ Constance suggested hopefully.

Hugh pursed his lips. ‘Not without causing bad blood and I need the loyalty of all my vassals at this time. As much as you hate it, now you are a widow, your brother-in-law is your legal guardian. If Robert commands you to live within the protection of his household that is his right.’

The notion of Robert de Coudray offering any sort of protection would be laughable. Except it wasn’t funny. Not when she wondered who would offer protection from Robert himself. She rubbed her ear, feeling a faint scar beneath her fingertips left by Robert’s belt buckle.

‘I don’t want any man’s protection,’ she said. She stared into the fire, watching the flames rising from the logs and entwining sinuously, like lovers dancing.

‘You cannot stay in Bredon,’ Hugh said.

‘My late husband’s nephew has inherited the land and title. He has agreed that I may live here until twelve months have passed. After that I intend to return to take holy orders at the convent at Brockley.’

‘Constance, you’re far too young to shut yourself off from the world in such a way,’ Hugh exclaimed.

Constance took a long drink of wine. She didn’t feel young. Dark shadows under her eyes and a permanent worry crease on her forehead was evidence enough of that. The ever-present stiffness in her leg merely accentuated it.

‘I am twenty-three. Many women commit themselves to life in the cloisters from a much younger age and, as you say, I have to live somewhere.’

‘Why Brockley?’ Hugh asked. ‘Why not somewhere closer to here?’

Constance clasped her hands around her arms and shivered.

‘The sisters cared for me when I arrived there from Hamestan. I would have stayed then if I’d been permitted, but once Robert brokered my marriage I was brought here.’

‘You never speak of that time,’ Hugh mused.

Constance lifted her chin and fixed him with a fierce glare, her stomach lurching violently. None but the nuns knew what she had learned about herself when she had arrived there and she intended to keep it that way.

‘No,’ she said curtly. ‘I don’t.’

After an unusually tactful length of time Hugh broke the silence by throwing another log on to the fire.

‘Tell me...why did you question the timing of this letter?’ he asked.

‘Piteur—’ Constance winced slightly as she always did when mentioning her deceased husband ‘—has been dead for nine months. Lord de Coudray has made no attempt to communicate with me until now.’

‘Perhaps he has finally realised the necessity of deciding your future,’ Hugh pointed out. ‘If you had borne an heir matters would have been different.’

That was the problem. Five years of marriage had produced no child who had lived. Hugh, like all men, would think only of the lineage that must be carried on and her failure to provide the required child. The grief for her daughter, dead after only four days in the world, was still raw after three years. It seemed unlikely ever to diminish. The pain, helplessness and indignity that had accompanied her other failed pregnancies, before and afterwards, still clawed at her in nightmares.

She thought back to the first baby. The one she had not even suspected she was carrying and tears burned her eyes. Tears of sorrow, and hatred for the man who had unknowingly caused its death.

Hugh took her hand gently.

‘King William dislikes widows living alone. You know you will have to marry again,’ he said. ‘I know your husband granted you a legacy when he died.’

Piteur’s legacy had been earned many times over in ways Constance did not wish to contemplate ever again. She would crush every jewel and melt every ring if she could.

‘I’m sure I could find a dozen husbands who would look past my deformity—’ she indicated her crooked foot ‘—and spend it for me, but I have had enough of marriage,’ Constance said bitterly. ‘I’m done with men using me for their own ends.’

‘If I had been in England when your brother-in-law was searching for a husband, I would have put myself forward.’

Constance’s eyes widened in surprise. She was fond of Hugh, but it had never crossed her mind his feelings ran that deep.

‘I’m flattered,’ Constance said sincerely, ‘but you are married now so that is not a possibility.’

Hugh stretched out his stocky legs towards the fire. ‘That is true, but I would gladly become your patron and protector if you would become my mistress.’

She should be shocked. She should dismiss him immediately from the room, but she didn’t.

‘You don’t mean that,’ she said gravely.

‘Sometimes I do,’ he answered. ‘Especially when the night is cold and the wine is sweet and I think how soft your lips are.’

Hugh’s eyes slid to the corner of the room where Constance’s bed stood and a suggestive smile played around his lips.

‘It’s late and my horse is tired. It would be cruel to make him travel further tonight,’ he said roguishly. He reached for Constance’s hand again and began to run his fingers up and down her arm. ‘Come to bed with me. If you’re determined to cloister yourself away you should have some memories to look back on fondly. Perhaps you will change your mind.’

She was almost tempted, just to see what it would be like. Hugh was kind and reputed to treat his mistresses well. Not all men could be as brutal and demeaning as Piteur and his companions had been. She’d loved a boy once before, in her youth, and that had been sweet and exciting. It was the memory of Aelric that tipped the scales against Hugh.

‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ Constance said, withdrawing her hand. ‘I’m done with men and men are done with me. You are welcome to my hospitality in every other respect though. Speak to my steward and he will find you a bed. Come and say farewell before you leave in the morning,’ she instructed.

Hugh accepted her refusal with a good-natured bow. Constance stood and held out her arm and together they walked to the door.

Hugh stopped in the doorframe.

‘I know you don’t like to speak of your time in Hamestan, or the circumstances under which you left, but I am asking you to consider returning to Cheshire. It might be to both our advantages.’

Constance looked at him suspiciously.

‘I haven’t been entirely honest. The timing of Lord de Coudray’s letter troubles me, too,’ Hugh admitted. ‘Rumours are beginning to emerge that in certain parts of the country there is talk of dissent.’

‘From the Saxons?’

Images Constance had buried for years flashed through her mind. Bodies swinging from the gallows on a foggy day. A pair of blue eyes still defiant despite unendurable pain. Her heart throbbed unexpectedly, surprising her. She had believed it had petrified beyond beating with such intensity.

Hugh’s lips tightened. ‘Not only them. None have dared to rebel since William’s harrying. The earls in Mercia are becoming restless and William fears Cheshire may follow.’

‘Why should this involve me?’ Constance asked.

‘Your brother-in-law’s name has been mentioned indirectly and it would be helpful for me to have a connection close to his household. So much of my time is taken up dealing with the Welsh borderlands.’

‘I don’t want to return there,’ Constance said quietly. ‘I can’t forget what he did, or forgive him. What advantage is there for me?’

‘Do this for me and I will make sure you are safe,’ Hugh said. ‘If you will not become my mistress I cannot prevent you being required to marry, but if Robert were disgraced, or condemned for treason, he would have no influence in the matter.’

‘What will happen to Robert if I find any indication he is involved in conspiracy?’ Constance asked.

Hugh’s eyes were steely.

‘If he is involved in any treachery, he will be brought to justice.’

Constance turned her head so Hugh could not see the emotions assailing her. He was her friend, but first and foremost he would protect his lands and King. His protection might be the only hope she had. Moreover, aiding him would be a fitting revenge on Robert.

For the first year since leaving Hamestan her hatred for Robert had seared her from within. When she was given to Piteur, her husband replaced him as the object of her loathing, as a black shadow obliterates the grey rock. Now the emotions that had diminished came back in a rush.

‘I’ll think on it,’ she promised.

Hugh’s face broke into a smile. He kissed her briefly on the cheek and left. Constance summoned her serving girl and sat before the fire as the maid combed and plaited her chestnut hair until it shone. She re-read the letter until she could recite it word for word. It was curt to the point of rudeness, but she expected nothing less from Robert. There was no word either of or from her sister, but as Jeanne was not a skilled writer this was to be expected as well.

Constance climbed into bed and drew the furs up high. In the fading firelight she stared around the small chamber that had been her sanctuary since her wedding. Piteur had seldom entered it. He had kept his quarters in the adjoining room, summoning Constance when he required her presence. She shivered with instinctive revulsion. When he died she had burned his mattress and coverlet, ignoring the protestations and gossip of his servants and tenants who excused her behaviour as the actions of a grieving young widow.

This house was not hers and despite her words to Hugh, she had no real inclination to stay here. She fell asleep, wondering about the previous owners before Piteur had been rewarded the land. Perhaps they had been hanged like the old thegn of Hamestan. She realised she couldn’t remember his name. She would never forget that of his son, however. How could she after what they had done together? He was probably long dead, believing she had chosen to stay behind. It made her unaccountably sad.

Blue eyes and a wide grin flitted through her dreams that night, for the first time in years. Blood and screaming followed. She woke before dawn drenched with sweat and trembling and sat wrapped in blankets, hugging her knees until light.

* * *

When the morning came her decision was made. She joined Hugh in the snowy courtyard as his horse was saddled and he prepared to depart.

‘I’ll do what you ask, but it isn’t enough that you will stop Robert deciding my marriage. I want you to swear that if I find the proof you need to convict him you will help me reach the convent.’

Hugh put his hand over his heart. ‘You have my word. I’d found an order myself if it would keep you happy.’

Constance nodded in satisfaction. ‘When you return to Cheshire tell Lord de Coudray I will come when my year here is up. I will stay with him for a year. No longer.’

Hugh’s forehead creased. ‘That will be early March. That’s no time for travelling.’

Constance shrugged. ‘I doubt he’d wait longer and this country is miserable whatever the time of year.’

‘Then let me send an escort to you,’ Hugh said. ‘The countryside is swarming with wild men.’

‘If my brother-in-law wishes me to return, he can stretch to the expense of an escort himself,’ Constance said. ‘Besides, I can travel inconspicuously.’

Hugh smiled. ‘I look forward to hearing of any information you discover. Remember, I want him to be dealt with openly as a warning. I need proof.’

He swung his large frame into the saddle and galloped away. Constance watched him go, wondering what secrets Robert was keeping. She owed him no loyalty and if she could uncover anything that could do him ill she would not weep over that!

Cheshire

The man who called himself Caddoc crouched in the undergrowth. His thighs and back ached from holding the stance so long, but when his target came within his sight it would be worth the discomfort. Sleet dripped down his neck and he pulled his leather hood closer to his cloak.

A flash of brown between the trees caught his attention. She was closer now. Another few paces and he would have clear aim. He drew a silent breath and pulled back his bowstring. There was a crack behind him as a foot stepped on a twig and the bushes moved. The doe stiffened, and then was gone.

Caddoc swore and turned to see a redheaded man, twenty years or so his senior. He eased his bowstring back.

‘Thank you, Ulf. I didn’t want to eat tonight.’

Ulf grinned, showing a collection of broken teeth. ‘Lucky it was me and not one of the Earl’s men or you’d have lost your eyes as well as your ear.’

Caddoc scowled. He scratched his thick tangle of beard.

‘It’s unlikely they’d come so deep into the forest this late in the day. Let’s hope someone else had better luck.’

He stood, twisting life back into his aching limbs. He stowed his bow and arrows and checked for the dagger he always wore at his waist, then the two men made their way through the dense forest to the camp they shared with a handful of other men.

Anyone watching would think their path was haphazard unless they happened to notice the small notches and marks cut into certain trees. A single slab of moss-covered rock concealed a narrow gap through which they could pass single file. A boy of fourteen stood guard at the furthest end, brandishing a scythe.

‘It’s us, Wulf.’

The boy lowered his weapon as Caddoc and Ulf pushed back their hoods and raised their hands in greeting as they passed. They scrambled over rocks upwards until they reached a flat ridge overlooking the edge of the forest. Beyond that the ground fell away giving a view over the plain and the hills beyond.

Home was the remains of a derelict watchtower built then abandoned by some bygone people Caddoc neither knew nor cared the name of. Wood had been added to an upper level and it had been covered with skins and bracken, creating a structure that was sufficiently weatherproof and well concealed. A scattering of small shelters huddled alongside. This camp would do for another month or two, until spring came, but after that they would have to move on. To stay anywhere too long risked someone revealing the location, accidentally or otherwise.

Caddoc went inside, called a general greeting, removed his wet cloak and settled himself cross-legged on a pallet by the fire. Old Gerrod sitting to his left passed him a wineskin and he tossed the ale down his throat.

‘No luck hunting. I almost had a doe, but Ulf surprised her.’

‘Osgood and Wulf brought back a couple of bucks. They’re almost ready for the pot,’ Gerrod said. He jerked his thumb to the corner where his wife, a thin woman named Elga, was hacking a rabbit into pieces.

As they ate the men talked. Caddoc closed his eyes as he lay back on his straw-filled mattress and let the voices wash over him. The pottage was good and his feet were nearly dry. He was almost approaching contentment.

‘Do we get a song tonight?’ Ulf asked him.

Caddoc shook his head, tempting though it was to unwrap his crwth and lose himself in the song. ‘My fingers are still too cold to play tonight.’

‘I heard in Acton this morning that Fat Hugh of Chester has sired another bastard on one of his mistresses,’ Ulf said.