It took several moments of soft knocking, for obviously Turold did not want to arouse anyone else, but finally a drowsy-looking Gundreda pushed open her door, blinking as she saw her son clutching Aldyth by her hair.

"Let us in, Mother. I'll explain once we're inside."

"What" "Please, you must tell him to let me" -- Aldyth began to plead, but then Turold clamped his other hand over her mouth. He repeated,

"Let us in!"

The old woman blinked at Aldyth, struggling against her son, and obeyed Turold.

A fire still burned in the brazier, and from this Turold's mother lit a rush light.

"What have ye done, Turold? Ye must're scared her with rough wooing a night too soon!" Gundreda scolded, continuing to eye them both.

"I tried to warn ye! And look, ye've made yet handiwork plain," she added, raising a bony finger to trace the bruise on Aldyth's cheek.

"You must make him let me go, Gundreda," Aldyth said firmly as soon as Trold removed his hand from her mouth.

"I won't marry your son! Never fear, I won't shame him before our guests...

I'll not tell them the wedding is called off because he's a whoring brute" -- Turold raised his fist to strike her again, but at a hissed command from Gundreda, he only clapped his large hand over her mouth again.

"Silence, Aldyth!" he said, his tone soft but lethal in her ear.

"Gag her, Mother."

Incredulous, Aldyth watched as his mother rummaged among her garments until she found a clean sc.r.a.p of cloth and moved to obey her son.

"You'll be pa.s.sing the night here, my beloved," Tarold told her after the gag had been properly secured with knots at the back of her neck.

"If any ask, we'll say you came here to ask Gundreda's counsel in making me happy, and then fell asleep. My mother will accompany you on the morrow until the ceremony has taken place and you are safely my wife. Then none may come between a loving husband and his wife." He smiled, a horrible, wolfish smile.

How could she have thought he was gentle and kind? He was a madman!

Aldyth shook her head and tried to say, "No, I won't marry you, I'll tell the priest I won't," but only m.u.f.fled gibberish came out.

"And lest you think of making some protest at the church door on the morrow, think again. My dagger will be well hidden in my sleeve, and I'll cut your throat before you ever finish your foolish words. Oh, they'll execute me for a murderer, likely enough" -- He grinned.

"But you'll be dead, too, so what profit is there in that?"

She stared, chilled to the bone as his words flowed on, gently chiding now.

"Aldyth, Aldyth. This little... quarrel ... need not stand between us forever. As soon as you learn to be my obedient wife we'll have no further need for harsh words, will we? And once you learn the delights of sharing my bed, the same delights Maud has known" -- he fondled himself crudely in ill.u.s.tration "--I doubt very much you'll find aught else to protest about .... " "Enough, my son," Gundreda said behind him.

"Get you gone this chamber. Here's another cloth. Tie her wrists and leave me your dagger. I'll sit up and guard your foolish bride."

Once Turold had stumbled out of the door, Gundreda motioned Aldyth to the bed she had been occupying, then she pulled up a stool.

"Ye may as well sleep, for I will not," the old woman cackled as she settled down to watch her son's prisoner.

Aldyth had never felt less inclined to sleep in her life. She must get free, she must! She could not allow herself to be tied in wedlock to this brutish madman! Her mind raced. She thought she could work free of her bonds, for Tarold had been clumsy in his drunkenness and the knots at her wrists were loose. But the old woman was watching her like a hawk.

She whimpered under the gag to draw Gundreda's attention, then shivered elaborately.

"Oh, cold, are ye? Ye won't be cold tomorrow night, not wi' my young stallion Turold to cover ye," the old woman said, chuckling at her bawdy play on words.

"Well, here's a blanket,"

she said, putting it over Aldyth.

Now her hands were free to work, lfidden by the blanket! Aldyth reigned a yawn and let her eyes drift shut as if she were overcome by sleepiness.

Feverishly she worked at the knots while she thought of what to do.

Should she go to her father? He loved her, but he had been adamant that she choose a husband or the veil, and as there were no other men she could stand to think of marrying, he might well insist she choose the nunnery. G.o.dric?

Nay, he was so blinded by the idea of Tarold as the good Englishman--much as she had been, too, she admitted bitterly--that he would likely guard her for Turold.

Perhaps she should go to Lady Nichola and beg her to intercede.

But the betrothal ceremony was as binding as a marriage, she reminded herself. It might be a long, complicated and expensive process to free her from her contract with Turold. Her father had LITTLE ready coin, she knew, and what if Lord ltienne disapproved? And Turold had a vengeful nature, as she had discovered tonight. What if, during the long process of annulling the betrothal, he caught her alone somewhere? Might he not force himself on her, perhaps even causing the Church to decide they ought to wed despite her protests? Nay, it would be far better if she just disappeared.

But where could she go? A woman alone was fair game for the two-legged wolves of the world. If only there was a way by which she could maintain some connection with her family. Then she remembered Warin, who was at court with Lord Ranulf. He had written to tell her he was happy for her, but she knew that was only because she was happy; he had never met Turold and would have no conflicting loyalties. He would help her.

There! She had the knot loosened beneath the blanket. Now all depended on Gundreda falling asleep, and soon, so she would still have time to carry out her plan.

Chapter Seven

By dawn, Aldyth, clothed in the rough wool tunic and hose she had stolen from one of the sleeping scullions, had reached a cave where she had once played with Ranulf and G.o.dric when they were children. The rocky outcrop was not far from the track leading south over the chalk hills, but its entrance was covered by a thicket, and she thought she would be safe enough here until she had accomplished her transformation.

Lighting a candle with the flint and tinder she had brought with her, Aldyth dripped some of the hot wax on a low boulder inside the cave's dark exterior so that the candle would stand up, then propped up a small square of silver-painted gla.s.s that served as her mirror and crouched before it. For a moment she stared ruefully at the bruises that shadowed one cheek. Taking the sharp knife she had brought from her sewing, she pushed back her hood and pulled her braid forward. She trembled, for her chestnut tresses had been her glory. Then she emembered Turold, and what it would mean if she was caught, and with a sigh of regret raised the knife.

Minutes later, the sun peeked over the rolling downs, illuminating the figure of a slender "lad" dressed in the rough 77 hood, tunic, hose and crude boots of a serf, following the track that led south to Winchester.

"b.i.t.c.h! What have you done with her? Where did you hide her? Answer me or I swear I'll kill you!" raged Turold at the woman he had just knocked to the stone floor of the kitchen.

He ignored the screeching of the cook, Maud's mother, in the background.

Maud could barely breathe, let alone answer him. There was blood in her mouth. With her tongue she felt the empty sockets where two of her teeth had been. It felt as if he had broken her jaw.

When she could, she raised herself up on one elbow and stared at her erstwhile lover, though with difficulty, for his blows had blurred her vision and one eye was rapidly swelling shut.

She spat, the broken teeth coming out in a thick red stream.

"I told her the truth--aye, I'll admit it--and I'm glad I did! But I didn't help her escape, Turold, and I know not where she is. I swear!" she cried, her defiance fading as he lunged at her again.

"Lying wench! I'll make you tell me!" he shouted, ignoring her scream.

"That's enough! Touch her again and I'll run you through!" commanded a voice, but Turold felt the p.r.i.c.k of cold steel against his neck before he was actually conscious of the words.

Sir Nyle stood there, having been fetched by Helwise, who was certain her daughter was about to be murdered by the jilted bridegroom. His sword was bared, his expression stern enough to make Turold let go of the neckline of Maud's gown.