Alana was still fuming after Fallon had long left the room. She could still feel the heat of his muscled frame and feel his presence as if he were still in the room.
How dare him! She seethed silently. No matter his plans for her, she intended to stay out of his bed, of that she was certain.
He expected her to submit to becoming his thrall? He was in for a surprise for she had little intention of doing so. When the opportune moment presented itself, she and Nettie would flee at first chance.
She struggled to believe she too would become a prisoner of Normans, as the conquered land.
Squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine, she smoothed her wrinkled skirts and started for the door but as she reached for the latch, a persistent knock sounded from the other side.
“Are you in there, girl?” the voice from the other side demanded.
Stepping back, Alana reached out and opened the door. The voice belonged to an older, stout woman with a thick mop of black hair streaked with wisps of silver.
The older woman’s face pinched grim and her dark eyes studied Alana with open scrutiny. “You the lass brought from Lechmere?”
Alana was silent a moment as the woman continued to regard her coldly. She lifted her chin, mirroring the older woman’s glower, “I am.”
The woman’s dark eyes narrowed, “I am Matilda and I’ll be overseeing your labor-“ she paused briefly before adding, “-and I don’t tolerate any haughtiness, especially from a Saxon miss.”
She stepped aside and motioned Alana onward. “Come along, there is much to be done.”
Deciding it was best not to argue; Alana gathered her skirts and followed the austere woman. She wouldn’t have to tolerate this Matilda or Fallon for long so it would be in her best interest to comply for the time being.
As Matilda began reciting the daily tasks, Alana followed, assessing the corridors and doorways, planting mental images that could potentially assist her in escaping.
“Are you daft, girl?”
Alana jolted and peered questionably at Matilda, “I’m sorry?”
Matilda’s dark eyes narrowed irritably. “You best pay attention, girl, for if you lack in your tasks, Master Fallon will have my hide!”
Alana stiffened, “He is cruel to you?”
Matilda hesitated, as if weighing Alana’s concern. “Master Fallon is a man of extreme temper. Many seek to avoid provoking him. You should heed my warning and do the same.” With that the plump woman spun about and proceeded down the hall.
“You will learn to do as the others-churn butter, scrub the floors, weave and if Master Fallon sees fit-“ she paused to turn back around to Alana, “-satisfy him.”
Alana froze with sudden fury. “I will do nothing of the sort!” she snapped.
Matilda merely peered at her with indifference. “Well now, that is not up to you, is it?” she didn’t wait for Alana to respond and turned away.
Glaring at the older woman’s back, she slowly fell into pace with Matilda’s strides. As they continued down the hall, the distinct clank of steel against steel brought her before a narrow window.
Her blood hastened through her veins at the sight that greeted her. Below the window, Norman soldiers dotted the field, some equipped in armor, and others meagerly dressed in tunics without the protection of chain mail. Several stood aside, studying the strategies demonstrated, those participating in the training wielded deadly weapons ranging from swords, axes and spears.
Most of the men contended on foot while a selected few attempted combat atop their horses.
Alana watched completely enthralled, drawn to their lithe movements and sleek agility in wielding such dangerous weaponry when a cloud drifted astray and sunlight captured a tawny head.
She inhaled a tiny breath as her eyes fell on Fallon. He was not the largest man in the swarm of swarthy bodies, nor the smallest, but something about him had her completely captivated.
He stood beneath the sun bare-chested, the sunlight glinting sharply upon his sleek chest, each muscle protruding with his efforts as he handled the sword with ease, severing the air with fleeting exactness as his men looked on.
She forgot Matilda at her back as she watched his steps, swift and artful as he spun about, stirring the earth with his fluid movements.
There was a slight commotion and the crowd parted, lowering his sword, Fallon peered around as Curran stepped into the clearing. Alana watched from above, intrigued as the two of them exchanged words.
She sensed a moment of hesitation from Fallon and than he extended his arms, motioning the crowd back.
“Come girl-“ Matilda called from behind but Alana was far too interested in the activity bellow to pay heed to the older woman.
The men formed a circle and Alana realized Fallon intended to battle his brother. She leaned further out the window as a sword was passed to Curran.
Fallon’s face was expressionless but Alana sensed his agitation as he gripped the golden hilt of his sword in a firm, unyielding grasp.
Curran handled his sword lightly, tossing the weapon from palm to palm with a swaggering grin as he advanced left, Fallon stepping right.
The two brothers lifted their swords, the midday sun shimmering against the steel as Curran was the first to strike.
Alana held her breath as she watched Fallon intercept blow by blow, every attempt by Curran was thwarted effortlessly.
She felt the tension beginning to rise even from her stance as Curran’s face reddened when Fallon showed little signs of tiring beneath his advances.
Curran veered right and Fallon readily shifted left, raising his sword to deflect the blade that became precariously close to his chest, but Fallon appeared unfazed as he continued to hinder Curran’s attacks.
The men surrounding began to shout and applaud, some cheering in mirth for their Chieftain, others encouraging the younger of the two. But praises for his older brother only incited Curran’s anger, making him brash and his steps inept.
He wheeled about and whipped his sword in a severing motion, catching Fallon unaware as the tip of the blade grazed his chest. Their was a collected gasp from the men surveying and Alana watched in shock, surprised that Curran would go so far as to wound his brother.
She sensed the sudden rage in Fallon and knew he had kept his skill at bay to keep from harming his younger brother but a maddened frenzy seem to unravel his defenses and he surged without warning.
Curran lifted his blade to shield the unswayable force barreling down upon him. The amused grin swiped clean from his face, he retreated to deflect the relentless crack of steel that caused his weapon to tremble in his hands. He weakened beneath Fallon’s maddening blows and his meager attempt to ward Fallon’s blade only angered him more.
Alana was disgusted by their show of arrogance to out due one another. She had seen enough. Even if these men were her enemy, violence was senseless; she would not abide this display of masochism all for the sake of who was the better barbarian.
She turned away from the window and started angrily down the corridor, a huffish Matilda following at her heels.
When she reached the yard, she gripped her skirts and started into a run with little heed to the horde of Normans crowding the two.
With as much muster, Alana shoved her way through the muscled bodies until she reached the clearing. Undaunted by the men suddenly aware of her presence, she released a shrill shout laced with anger.
“Cease!”
A gasping Matilda stood to the side, taken aback by the unexpected stillness. Her chieftain no longer entertained the fight; his face impassive as his gold eyes settled on the Saxon woman. Matilda was even more amazed that this mere woman could have the power to still both blades for even the younger of the two Macaulay brothers appeared transfixed.
“This is foolishness!” the girl shouted and Matilda peered fleetingly around the crowd, certain she would be reprimanded for her brazenness but amazingly, the men appeared just as bewildered as she and with that, the Saxon girl spun around and stalked away, all eyes on her retreating back.
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