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LENGTH: Long Category
SENSUALITY: Spicy

Cover art (c) Jenny Dixon 2004
ISBN 1-58608-488-7
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When Lord Arnaud arrives at the Saxon hold of Rasgarth to claim it for himself, he finds one perfect, white rose is more valuable to him, more to be desired than anything else, the Lady Elspeth. And yet, they are enemies by birth and by the fortunes of war, even if it were not for the sacred vows he can not, in all honor, break.

Rating: spicy, some language, graphic sexual content and some violence in keeping with the time period.

CONQUEST OF THE WHITE ROSE

By

Goldie McBride

©copyright by Goldie McBride, June 2004

Cover Art by Jenny Dixon

ISBN 1-58608-488-7

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA

www.newconeptspublishing.com

Chapter One

The first roar of fury barely penetrated Elspeth’s semi-conscious haze, although it generated a spark of fear and the vague thought that the Normans, who’d taken over Rasgarth, her family’s holdings, were embroiled once more in a drunken brawl among themselves. The second was punctuated by a kick that lifted the man she was trapped under. Elspeth peered up at the man who stood above her through one eye. Her other eye was swollen nearly shut.

Her heart nearly stopped when the blurry visage looming above her swam into focus.

A demon!

She knew it must be, for it could be no man—this dark giant, his perfectly chiseled face twisted in fury, his eyes as black as sin.

Renard belched a gaseous cloud of soured wine in her face at the blow, but gathered himself and rolled off of her.

Elspeth made a feeble attempt to cover herself, but Renard had lain upon her so long that she could not seem to command her limbs to move. It was some relief that the dark lord’s rage seemed to be focused upon Renard. A flicker of hope went through her. Perhaps he’d come to take the vile Normans instead of the women they had despoiled?

Renard lifted his head groggily, focusing with obvious difficulty. When he finally did manage the feat, his eyes all but bulged from their sockets, which seemed to lend a good deal of credence to Elspeth’s fears.

Renard had led the band of ruffians that had descended upon them like demons from hell after William the bastard’s army had defeated the forces gathered to repel him from Saxony, and had lain waste to the lands her father had spent a lifetime building to fruitfulness. They had slain all who opposed them and many who had only tried to flee--and those had been the fortunate ones. Those who’d survived had endured a reign of terror such as they could never have imagined.

Her own life had become such a nightmare since Renard had first fastened his lascivious gaze upon her that she had longed for death to end her suffering and would have sought it if he had not watched her so assiduously as to remove all opportunity of a quick and painless end.

"Guillume--my Lord Arnaud! We did not expect you for at least another fortnight!"

"That much is obvious!" Arnaud of Valognes said in a voice that was deadly cold. "Else you and your guard might have been on watch instead of rolling about on the floor with your laymen." He glanced toward the doorway and Elspeth saw two men at arms stood at attention there. "Take him."

"But … Guill—my Lord!"

The two soldiers strode forward at the command. Each grasped an arm. Hauling Renard to his feet, they marched him from the room between them. The man he had called Lord Arnaud watched their departure through narrowed eyes. When he turned at last, his gaze focused upon her and Elspeth’s blood ran cold.

"Out!"

Elspeth stared at him blankly. She had made it a point to pretend she didn’t understand a word of their language. She wasn’t certain if it would transpire that there was any sort of advantage to it, but she had thought it possible it would. At the very least, she knew they would speak more freely around her and she might be warned of any evil intent toward herself or their people in time to prevent more bloodshed.

She was in no condition at the moment, however, to recall the dangerous charade she had been playing. She looked at him blankly because she simply could not fathom what he wanted.

After studying her a moment, he strode toward her impatiently. Reaching down, he grasped her by one arm and hauled her to her feet. Renard had shredded her gown when he’d fallen upon her. Trying vainly to cover herself, Elspbeth grasped the tatters of her clothing as he pulled her to her feet.

The abruptness of being dragged up so quickly sent a wave of dizziness through her and worse, her body was still numb and uncooperative from being pinned to the cold floor beneath Renard so long. Her knees refused to hold her. The moment his hand loosened, she began to sink toward the floor despite her best efforts to brace herself upright. With a sound of impatience, he hauled her up once more. This time, he caught her face in one hand, jerking it up for his inspection. "Are you too drunk to walk?"

Elspeth stared back at him fearfully, but she’d had time to consider her situation. It seemed unlikely, despite his irritation, that he had it in mind to kill her on the spot. As tempting as it was to respond immediately and try to spare herself yet another beating, her knowledge of their language, pitiful as it was, was her only weapon. Instead of answering, therefore, she merely met his gaze as steadily as she could manage, swallowing her terror.

His frown turned thoughtful as he scanned her face and then looked her over more carefully. She would’ve given much to know what was going through his mind, but the dark eyes typical of the Norman devils made them nigh impossible to fathom. Finally, apparently satisfied that he had discovered what he sought, he released the bruising grip on her cheeks and turned, dragging her from the room.

She did her best to keep up, unwilling to test his temper further by deliberately provoking him, but her legs still felt strange and uncooperative and it was difficult to hold her gown together with one hand. His long stride was impossible to match in any case.

She stumbled. He glanced down at her frowningly several times and finally slowed his angry stride.

She saw when they reached the great hall that it was overflowing with Normans. The servants were gathered in frightened knots, watching while those, apparently, who’d arrived with Lord Arnaud, lay about them with the flat of their swords, and fists, and booted feet, rousing Renard’s drunken men from the floor.

Even as she reached the hall with Lord Arnaud, they began to push the revelers toward the door.

From the knot of frightened servants, an elderly woman detached herself and Elspeth recognized her old nurse, Griselda. "Lady! Lady! What has that monster done to you?" she wailed, falling to her knees beside Elspeth.

Elspeth stared down at her in horror as Lord Arnaud came to an abrupt halt. "Shh! Are you mad, woman! Do you want me to join my ancestors? I’ve survived nigh two weeks of that pig of a Norman. I’ve taken no serious hurt, not near so much as I’m likely to take if they learn who I am."

Griselda scrambled to her feet abruptly, wringing her hands and casting fearful glances toward Lord Arnaud.

Elspeth didn’t dare look at him. She knew few of the Normans had any grasp of the Saxon tongue, but it would take no great intellect to figure out who she was if Griselda was determined to treat her as her lady in front of them. With the exception of her mother, who had passed on many years ago, the Normans had slain the rest of her family—her father and brothers had all fallen beneath Norman blades when they’d gone to protect the realm from the invaders from across the sea. She had no protector and no way of knowing whether the Normans would be satisfied with the blood already spilled or if they were bent upon wiping out the last of her father’s seed. It seemed to her, though, that the possibility was great that they would prefer not to harbor the daughter of the old lord.

After a moment, Lord Arnaud tugged her into motion once more and strode toward the servants purposefully, releasing her at last when they reached them. Elspeth cast an uneasy glance at him, but he seemed to have dismissed her. With an effort, she hobbled over to join them. They stared at her fearfully, but parted, allowing her to find her way to the back where she would be less noticeable.

"Who among you speaks French?"

Everyone shifted, exchanging nervous glances when he addressed them. Finally, Jean, the young man who’d come into her father’s household as a troubadour and remained as her tutor, stepped forward cautiously and bowed. "I do, my lord."

Lord Arnaud looked him over, assessing him. "You are not Saxon."

"I am a troubadour, originally from Vereins. I joined Lord Odolf’s household last spring."

Lord Arnaud’s brows rose. "And stayed to entertain so long?"

Jean blushed but didn’t glance in Elspeth’s direction. "I made myself useful."

Lord Arnaud studied him for so long that Jean shifted restlessly. "Then you may stay and make yourself useful to me, as well. I’ve need of someone who can speak their crude tongue and pass my orders along until I can master the language myself."

Jean bowed again. "I am happy to be of service, my lord."

Lord Arnaud nodded. "Then set them to work cleaning this pig sty. Remove anything that can be fixed for the craftsmen to repair. The rest should be piled far enough from this tender box so that it can be burned without setting the house ablaze, as well."

Jean looked at him uncomfortably.

"Is there ought about the order that you do not understand?" Lord Arnaud demanded impatiently.

Jean swallowed with an effort. "The carpenter and his apprentice were killed when the … uh … others arrived," he said weakly.

Lord Arnaud’s lips tightened with barely suppressed fury. After a moment, he nodded. "The order stands. Use your best judgment. Dispose only of those things that appear beyond redeeming."

Battered as they were, everyone was so relieved that they were expected to do no more than perform the tasks familiar to them that they nigh fell over themselves to show their willingness to comply. Elspeth knotted her gown together the best she could and set to work with them.

The first of the servants to venture outside to begin the task of disposing of broken furnishings returned fearfully. Lord Arnaud, they said, had rounded up Lord Renard’s men and had lined them up at the whipping posts. The news sent a ripple of unease through everyone as the thought occurred that they might be next, and everyone bent to their tasks with renewed vigor, despairing, but hopeful their efforts might please Lord Arnaud enough that he would consider showing some leniency.

Elspeth would have preferred to remain inside and as unobtrusive as possible, but she was as fearful as the others and presently gathered an armful of refuse and went out to see what she might learn of Lord Arnaud’s plans. She made Griselda walk with her, hopeful it would make her less conspicuous, but when she nerved herself to glance toward the proceedings, she saw that Lord Arnaud was watching the progress of the servants to and from the growing pile of refuse. His dark gaze so unnerved her that she stumbled. Griselda steadied her, preventing her from falling on her face, and she concentrated thereafter on listening rather than watching.

When she returned to the hall, she was able to report that Lord Arnaud had ordered twenty lashes for each of the men he’d charged with the task of securing his holdings, including Lord Renard, who was his bastard half brother.

They were certain she must be wrong. Twenty lashes hardly seemed like any punishment at all if he truly was displeased about their behavior. When Jean confirmed her report, they became excited with the notion that it seemed to indicate Lord Arnaud was not nearly so much to be feared as they’d thought.

It was a dangerous misconception, Elspeth thought, and pointed out to them that Lord Renard, whom they were so certain was far more to be feared, had quailed before his half brother. "I think it’s far more likely he doesn’t wish to render them completely useless. It would be a mistake we might all come to regret to perceive him as weak only because he seems to have shown mercy to his men. There seems to be some hope, however, that so long as we do as we are told, we need not be overly fearful."

They scattered and hurried about their tasks when they saw that Lord Arnaud had returned to check their progress. Unfortunately, no one noticed his arrival until Elspeth had finished speaking, including Elspeth, and she couldn’t forebear sending a panicked, and she didn’t doubt, guilty, glance in his direction before she hurried to join the servants and, hopefully, vanish among them.

When she finally nerved herself to glance at him again, she saw that his gaze was on her still and the uneasy feeling that he had realized she was the old lord’s daughter could not be shaken.

To her relief, he seemed reasonably satisfied with their progress, however, and left again after he’d thoroughly frightened everyone out of the little wit that remained to them by watching their progress with his cold, assessing gaze. Mid morning, Jean was summoned and disappeared for a while. When he returned it was to inform them that they were to prepare a meal for the men. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been cause for great alarm, but there was little left in the larder to appease fighting men. Her father had taken much of their supplies with him when he’d gone off to make war, and Renard’s men had made great inroads into what had been left in the two weeks since their arrival. To make matters worse, much had been destroyed when they’d seized Rasgarth.

Renewed fear swelled among them. It didn’t matter that they were not responsible. They would be held responsible and bring Lord Arnaud’s wrath down upon their heads.

Assuring them that something could be managed, Elspeth directed them to return to their work, sent the kitchen folk to the kitchen to set it to rights and went off with Jean to check the larder to see if it was possible to keep her word. Her mother had died at her birth. She had been chatelaine of her father’s household for years and there had been many lean ones in her time when the crops had failed or a particularly bad winter and late spring had required a good deal of skill to keep the folk fed. She felt—hoped—she could come up with something that would at least be filling if not particularly elegant.

The condition of the larder dismayed her, however. There was no fresh meat since Renard and his men had seemed more inclined to drink and whore than pursue anything useful, and very little smoked meat. The bread was virtually non-existent and most of the cheese was gone, as well.

"We are going to starve," Elspeth said with conviction once she’d assessed the situation, "if Lord Arnaud doesn’t slay us first. How many Normans would you guess there are, Jean?"

Even as she glanced toward Jean, the larder grew dark as someone stepped into the doorway, blocking the light. She glanced quickly toward the door.

"What did she ask you?" Lord Arnaud asked coolly.

Jean glanced at Elspeth nervously before he answered. "We were trying to calculate how much we would need to feed everyone, my lord."

Lord Arnaud studied him piercingly for several moments and finally turned to survey the larder, his face hardening. "By what name is she called?" he asked as his gaze settled at last upon Elspeth.

"La--Elspeth."

Lord Arnaud’s gaze zeroed in upon Jean once more. One dark brow arched upward. Instead of commenting on Jean’s near slip, however, he informed Jean to see to unpacking the supplies he’d brought with him.

Elspeth sagged with relief when he’d left with Jean following at his heels. She found that she was shaking with reaction. She had never considered herself a coward, but the reign of terror they’d experienced at the hands of the Normans had done more than instill a healthy respect of them. It had made her long to flee to some place safe from their merciless tempers. She would have except that she had no where to run to—any family she might have that had survived the invasion would not be in any position to lend her aid. She was certain in any case that the Normans would only hunt down anyone who tried to flee—Lord Renard had made great sport of doing so.

She’d hoped to escape notice, however, and with the best will in the world, she could not make herself believe that she had. Somehow, most likely because he believed she was his brother’s whore, Lord Arnaud had focused his attention upon her—with suspicion she feared, but she did not want his attention for any reason.

That thought provoked a wry glance at herself. She had once been considered comely, but she need not look upon her reflection to know that she could have no appeal now for any man. Lord Renard had battered her face into a grotesque, misshapen mask. She was filthy from having been thrown on the floor like a common doxy at any time Lord Renard had been sober enough to spy her, and she had been slow enough for him to catch. Her hair was filthy as well, and scarcely half of it still contained within its braid since they had ransacked her apartments and she no longer even had so much as a comb to her name.

She wasn’t certain why Lord Arnaud was interested, but she thought she needn’t fear that he would take his brother’s place. Unlike his pig of a brother, Lord Arnaud seemed a fastidious man. He wore the grime of the road, of course, but he had not the look of someone careless about their person, and his determination to see that the manor was cleaned seemed to support that assessment.

Very likely it was only that he suspected that she was not a servant at all, but that was hardly reassuring.

Despite her anxieties, Lord Arnaud concentrated on securing his new holdings and setting it to rights. He and the men he’d brought with him spent most of their days hunting for fresh meat for the larder, patrolling, and making certain the serfs were tending the fields that had not been destroyed. The men he’d had whipped were given the additional punishment of having to supply the labor they’d deprived their lord of by slaying so many of his serfs and were put to work preparing the foundation for a stone wall that was to surround the manor in the style of a European fortification.

Little more than a week after his arrival, just as they’d begun to relax and the workings of the manor had begun to resume some semblance of normalcy, they learned why Lord Arnaud had set about seeing that the household was put to rights as quickly as possible. His bride arrived from Normandy.

Chapter Two

Elspeth and Griselda had found shelter for themselves in one of the tiny cottages near the manor that had belonged to one of the craftsmen killed in the initial raid. Lord Renard had been kept far too busy to turn his unwanted attentions upon her since Lord Arnaud’s arrival, and the lord himself had been preoccupied with trying to set his estate in order. Yet, Elspeth knew the peace would not last.

Her bruises had faded. Sooner or later, if she was too available, Renard would notice her again and life would once more become the nightmare it had been before Lord Arnaud’s arrival.

The cottage provided the most that she could hope for in avoiding Renard.

Little escaped the new lord of the manor, however, as Elspeth discovered when she opened the door to Jean one evening after she and Griselda had finished their duties and been allowed to seek their rest.

He looked uneasy and Elspeth was immediately alarmed. "What has happened?" she asked a little breathlessly.

Jean twisted his cap uncomfortably. "Might I come in for a word with you, Lady?"

Elspeth gripped his arm and dragged him inside. "I wish you would not call me that! I am lady no more, and I would as soon our enemies did not know that I am the daughter of Odolf."

He flushed but looked even more uncomfortable. "I am not so certain he has not figured it out. He sent me to find you. I am to tell you that he expects you to serve his lady and you must make yourself presentable."

Griselda was more outraged than Elspeth, if possible. "Our lady to serve as maid to that Norman whore!" She turned to look at Elspeth. "I told you, my lady! You should have told him who you are and demanded that you be treated according to your station!"

Elspeth flushed angrily. "He said that I was to make myself presentable!" she demanded furiously. It was insulting, even though she was obliged to admit that she was a disreputable creature, as bad or worse than the lowest scullery maid. It was hardly her fault, however, that she dared not even allow herself the comfort of decent grooming for fear that Renard would assault her yet again.

"Nay! He did not say that. He said only that he had need of a woman to serve his lady. I thought it would be easier for you, my lady! He asked me about you and I told him that you had been maid to the old lord’s daughter.… I could think of nothing else to say once he had remarked that you did not seem to be a common peasant." He stopped, blushing furiously. "And I know that you have tried to hide yourself among the servants and have no wish to draw attention to yourself, but you can not expect to be accepted as lady’s maid when you…. It is not at all a wise idea to challenge him by appearing…."

"Like a filthy Saxon peasant?" Elspeth finished for him.

"She is too good to serve such a one as that devil’s whore, even if she looked like a swine maiden … which she most assuredly does not!"

Elspeth glanced at Griselda uncomfortably. In truth, she could pass for one now and it irked her no end that she must go about soiled and untidy, wearing nothing but the mended rags that remained from the gown Renard had torn from her when she had struggled with him.

"You should have thought of something else to tell him. I will not suffer being mauled by that pig of a brother of his!"

Jean frowned. "You have no protection here. If he decides to seek you out, you will be at his mercy. At least if you serve his lady, you will have some protection. You would sleep on a pallet in her room to be close for her call. Renard would not dare to enter there—and you would spend your days in her company."

Elspeth studied him, wavering. As repugnant as the idea was of serving as maid in her own home, it was surely no worse than serving as a lower servant in her own home, and she couldn’t deny that the lure of protection was nigh irresistible.

Jean mangled his hat nervously. "I don’t think Lord Arnaud would take a rejection kindly, lady."

Elspeth’s lips tightened, but she was not such a fool as to think that she could defy the new lord with impunity. Finally, she nodded. "When am I to present myself?"

* * * *

She had nigh forgotten how good it felt to be fresh and well groomed, Elspeth reflected as she made her way to the great hall the following morning at sunrise. The gown Lord Arnaud had sent to her had been one of her own, which had caused her more than a pang or two. It was an older gown and well worn—Renard had taken her better gowns and sold them at the market to put a few coins in his pockets—but it was far better than the one she’d mended and worn for so long.

It made her feel hopeful of a future free from fear.

It made her incautious.

She had already passed the men working on the wall when someone caught her arm, jerking her to a halt. Whirling, she found herself face to face with Renard. Terror closed her throat instantly.

"I have missed you, my pale Saxon rose."

Elspeth blinked at him rapidly, trying to force her mind to work. She didn’t think to respond in his own language or she might well have done so, even knowing that she would not be able to reason with him regardless. All she could think was that Jean had told her she would be safe. "Unhand me," she said, her voice cold, but shaking with the terror that gripped her.

He grinned. "Fortunately for you, I can not understand your guttural tongue, or I might know that for the insult I suspect it was."

She tried to pry his fingers loose but to no avail. "Lord Arnaud summoned me to serve his lady," she said desperately.

Renard’s eyes narrowed at the only two words that needed no translation. "Lord Arnaud?" He stepped back to survey her from head to foot. "He’d have no interest in taking my leavings, chere, even if not for the fact that he expects his bride this very day."

Elspeth licked her lips and turned to look at the manor, so near, and yet so far away. "Jean! Please come! Jean!" she screamed, tugging at her arm again in an attempt to free herself.

Renard laughed, glancing around at his men, who’d gathered closer to watch, their gazes avid as if they had been promised a special treat. "Do you hear that? She summons the scrawny boy to her aid! I am quaking in my boots!"

"You should be," Guillume growled from directly beside them.

Renard’s head snapped around so quickly that he met the fist Lord Arnaud slung at him head on. The impact laid him on the ground. Blood spurted from his nose and ran down his face. Arnaud moved to stand over him, waiting to see if he would rise to challenge him. When Renard merely remained where he’d fallen, holding his nose and gaping up at his brother stupidly, he stepped back and surveyed the men who’d gathered around them.

"Know this—the war has ended. This is my home and I will have peace in it. No man will take an unwilling maid. Slake your needs on the willing, or take your coin and pay for the services of a whore." He glanced down at Renard, his face tight with suppressed fury. "That includes you, brother."

Renard picked himself up and dusted his clothes off. He was angry but trying hard to hide it. He laughed unconvincingly. "She is willing. She likes to play coy, but she was more than willing until she set her sights a little higher. If you want her for yourself, though, brother, who am I to deny you?"

Lord Arnaud’s eyes narrowed. "She was summoned to serve my lady. Lady Rosabel has been sheltered and would be distressed to see her maids misused. I saw nothing to indicate that she was willing, and much to indicate otherwise—but if you want it verified, I will send for Jean to interpret for you."

Renard glared at him. "If you do not want her for herself, then why not give her to me as a reward for securing Rasgarth for you?"

Lord Arnaud gave him a look. "Do not draw me into a discussion, here, regarding what you have done for me, brother. She will serve my lady and you will look elsewhere for a layman. I suggest, this time, that you use gentle persuasion. It will take you further with the woman you choose to bestow your favors upon."

Lord Arnaud had already turned to leave when Renard spoke again. "Your gentle bride will not be pleased to learn that she is being waited upon by a Saxon whore."

Lord Arnaud turned to survey his brother coldly. "I would be … very displeased if Rosabel were to hear anything that might distress her."

With that, he turned and strode toward the manor once more. Elspeth stared after him for several moments, glanced at Renard, and hurried to catch up to him. She was so busy trying to set herself to rights that she nearly plowed into him when he stopped just inside the door.

She looked up at him when he turned to study her, swallowing her residual fear with an effort. "Merci, my lord," she said shakily and bobbed a nervous curtsey.

He surveyed her with keen interest, his gaze missing nothing. After a moment, his face hardened. Lifting a hand, he caught the thick braid that lay across her shoulder, stroking his thumb over her smoothly bound hair almost absently. "It is as I thought—hair the color of sunlight; eyes as cool as a placid lake under a summer sky; skin like cream; and lips like ripe berries—you are clever as well as beautiful, chere—a dangerous combination. But do not thank me so quickly." Releasing her braid, he ran the back of his hand lightly down her cheek. "If I were not forsworn, I would have you for myself—and I am not at all certain that it would sway me if you were unwilling. If you are as wise as you seem, you will take care not to tempt me to forsake my vows."