My Fair Lady Romance in days of yore!

Amicable matches have to be put aside when there is a tactical alliance to be made between families…

Marry Elfhild? But she’s Saxon!” Robert de Malin stared at his father, his brows rising. “She is.” Geoffrey de Malin helped himself to another collop of beef. He made no further comment and merely chewed the meat in silence.

“But I thought I was to be contracted to Matille Beaumains?”

Matille certainly thought so. She’d made that plain. And that wouldn’t be too bad, would it? Robert had known Matille since they were children, even if he had no particular regard for her.

But Elfhild, Osric’s daughter? He knew nothing of her, save that she had the flaxen hair and blue eyes of her people. And the few times he had seen her, she had simply looked through him as if he didn’t exist.

Adeliza de Malin leaned foward, the gauzy head-rail fluttering about her face.

“And that would please you, would it, my son?”

Robert met his mother’s twinkling eyes with a wry smile. “At least Matille’s Norman.” Geoffrey wiped his lips with his napkin and took a large gulp of wine.

“Nevertheless, you’ll marry where I bid you. It’s to our advantage.”

“Why?” Robert asked. “Duke William – the King’s father, I mean – gave Osric’s father’s lands to my grandsire when he conquered England. I don’t want a wife who’s like to knife me in my sleep as a thief of her family’s fortunes.”

Geoffrey snorted. “Not a milk-andwater girl like that. She’ll do as she’s told. As will you. You’re of age now, and it’s time and more you were wed.

“I’m tired of quarrels on my lands. They’ll be yours, when I’m gone. You’ll find the peasants answer easier to your hand on the reins if you’re wed to the granddaughter of their old lord, and I’ve no doubt she’ll be more than willing.”

Iwon’t!” Elfhild glowered. She folded her arms across her stomach. “That preening puppy? He’ll wed one of the noble ladies who have been dropping their kerchiefs at his feet ever since he stopped hiding behind his nurse’s skirts.”

“You’ll do as I say.” Osric had been scraping dirt from his nails with his knife and pointed it at his daughter. “And you may wipe that look from your face.”

“But I love Edmund of Laxby. And you’d have been happy enough to see me wed to him if our lands hadn’t been stolen from us. My grandsire was killed fighting in Harold’s shield-wall at Senlac, and you want to give me to a Norman? I’d rather die!”

“Elfhild!” Her mother frowned and shook her head, trying to convey that she was going the right way to make Osric more stubborn.

But Elfhild was Osric’s daughter. She could be stubborn too.

“Huh!” Osric leaned back in his chair. “I doubt it. But you’ll get a good whipping if you don’t behave.”

Elfhild bounced to her feet, her long plaits flying, and ran from the hall. Osric reached for his horn of ale and waved his hand at his wife as she rose to her feet to follow her.

“Ach, let her go. If she thinks to weary my ears with her skreeking, she has another think coming. But she’ll wed young de Malin. It’s all arranged.”

He blotted drops from his beard with his sleeve. He might have had his lands taken from him but, by God, his daughter would still be the mistress of them. One way or the other.

His lands may be TAKEN but his CHILD would be MISTRESS of them

Elfhild let the horse slow to a trot and then to an amble. The path through the wood meandered like her thoughts as her anger cooled. Although the fierce flame had sunk to a sullen glow it was not extinguished but, like the way ahead, she couldn’t see around the next bend.

All she was clear about was that she

would marry no Norman. The time of fire and sword of the old king’s conquest might have abated, but it wasn’t dead. There were still pockets of resistance to the Norman intruders.

Edmund would fight them to get back his inheritance. And she’d help him. She would ride to his manor and give herself to him. Then her father couldn’t wed her to Robert de Malin, could he? He’d have to let her marry Edmund, and they’d continue the fight together until all was as it had been before William the Bastard seized King Harold’s rightful throne.

She straightened her shoulders, took firmer hold of the reins and dug her heel into the horse’s flank.

But, as she did so, a deer came flying through the trees, chased by a barking dog. Shouts followed it and a man slithered down the bank, all arms and legs, landing in front of her. The horse

reared and she slid off ignominiously over its quarters.

Elfhild scrambled to her feet, red with anger, while the horse snorted in disapproval and cantered away, disappearing among the trees.

“Now see what you’ve done. You and that ill-trained hound of yours!”

“He’s not an ill-trained hound,” Robert said with rancour. “He’s only a youngster and the deer started right under his nose. What would you expect him to do? I wasn’t even hunting.”

He spread his arms to prove he carried no bow or quiverful of arrows.

Elfhild glared at him, thinking that the stern jaw and short dark hair made him look more unapproachable than Edmund, although she knew they were much of an age.

“Didn’t you have sense enough to catch Larkin’s bridle? What am I to do?”

“Don’t worry,” he said stiffly. “I shall escort you back to your home.”

All his instincts were to search for his dog, but he couldn’t abandon her, horseless, in the middle of the wood. If only he’d had the sense to bring a groom or a page with him – but he’d decided against riding today. He’d wanted to walk off some of his frustration and annoyance on his own. And now he’d almost literally bumped into the cause of it.

He saw Elfhild wince as she put a hand to her back. “Are you hurt?” he asked belatedly. Elfhild sternly repressed tears of rage and humiliation.

“No, I thank you,” she said icily. “And I will not trouble you to escort me.”

Swinging around, she walked off with her head held high, conscious that the back of her cloak was mired, there was a rip in her dress and her backside hurt. She willed herself not to limp, expecting his footsteps to follow, but they didn’t. Determined not to give him the satisfaction of looking for him to catch her up, she carried on walking until she could bear it no longer and glanced over her shoulder. There was no sign of him.

And this was the man her father was forcing her to marry! Elfhild stamped her foot. She would not! She would marry Edmund, and Osric and the de Malins could plot all they liked.

The woods seemed very empty and lonely as she walked on, and the manor a long way still to go. Without Larkin’s comforting presence – or even Robert de Malin’s – every rustle of a leaf or crack of a twig was magnified.

Elfhild shivered and clutched her cloak tighter. Outlaws were everywhere. Men who had been dispossessed. Men who had committed crimes and were running from the gallows. Men who were still fighting the Norman invaders. It was why she’d been forbidden to ride alone, but she’d been too angry and set on finding Edmund to care.

So it was almost as though her thought had called him up when she saw him sitting by the side of the road.

“Edmund!” she cried, hurrying forward. “Oh, how glad I am to see you! I was coming to find you.”

He squinted up at her, his long moustaches swaying, but he didn’t

get up. Instead, he took another pull at the earthenware bottle he held.

“If it isn’t a maiden all alone. Why were you coming to see me, my pretty?”

His words were slurred. Elfhild halted, suddenly wary. “Edmund! It’s me, Elfhild.” “I can see that. You and I – going to be wed – but Osric has other plans, hasn’t he, now?” “Yes, I came to find you, to tell you…” He leaned back, his legs wide in their gartered breeks, and looked at her over the rim of the jug.

“As beautiful as ever,” he declared. “Come, sit here.”

He patted the ground beside him. Elfhild frowned. This was not the Edmund she remembered. She hadn’t seen him for five years. He’d been fifteen then, tall and gangly but she’d thought him handsome.

Now his belly bulged over his belt, his face was coarsened and she could smell him from where she stood. All thought of giving herself to him so she couldn’t be made to marry the Norman evaporated.

She shook her head, clutched her cloak around her and made to walk past but he lurched to his feet quicker than she’d bargained for. His hand shot out to grab her round the waist and pull her close, nuzzling at her neck.

“Get off me,” she spat, but he only laughed, trying to pull her face around so he could kiss her.

Anger surged through her. She might have expected it from some lordly Norman, who thought her countrymen were there only for his convenience, but Edmund was Saxon, like her. Shouldn’t he have more respect? She brought her knee up with a savage jerk.

He doubled forward, his sour breath expelled in a gasp which made her turn her head away. Elfhild picked up her skirts and ran.

She had only got around the next bend in the path when she heard hooves coming up behind. She whirled round, ready to give battle.

Trotting towards her was Larkin, with Robert on his back, his dog following with lolling tongue. There was no sign of Edmund.

She sagged with thankfulness, too glad to notice how funny Robert looked with his long legs dangling either side of her small gentle palfrey, and he a man used to riding a snorting, plunging destrier.

He slid off a plainly relieved Larkin and stood looking at her.

“Lady, I’ve brought your horse.”

“You found your dog as well,” she said, glad that the beast was not lost. She held out her hand. The hound sniffed at it and bestowed a swift lick on her fingers before bouncing back to his master.

“He came back on his own,” Robert answered proudly. “And now I shall escort you home.” A smile trying not to be a grin glimmered in his eyes. “Shall I put you up on your steed – or would you rather walk?”

Elfhild smiled back, rubbing her behind ruefully.

“I think I’d rather walk.”

Robert stole a glance at his bride over the rim of his goblet. Milk-andwater, his father had called her. That wasn’t true. She was a lady to be reckoned with. He’d never let on that he’d passed Edmund still writhing on the side of the road and guessed what had happened. He looked forward to learning more of her.

Elfhild felt Robert’s eyes on her and

turned to him with a quirk of her eyebrows. He smiled and offered her the wine. She felt a thrill of anticipation, like a breeze blowing fresh and untainted through the hall.

Her father was making somewhat laborious conversation with Geoffrey de Malin. Her mother and the Lady Adeliza had their heads together. Between English and French, they were no doubt talking of the best way to dry herbs or make possets.

Saxon and Norman, around one board. Perhaps, one day, the two languages would combine to make one that both could speak.

Her children – hers and Robert’s – would not be either Saxon or Norman. They’d be something else entirely. A new nation. And maybe love would come between her and this interesting man she was wedded to.

He reached for her hand and she let it rest in his. The first tendrils were growing. She could feel them beginning to bind them.

“If it isn’t a MAIDEN all alone. WHY were you coming to SEE ME?”