[Reviews - 660]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2092 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Firstly a huge thanks to my beta, and husband, who noticed that my muse had taken a weird left turn and wasn't concentrating on this story at all. thanks for correcting my history luv.

and secondly, i hope you all enjoy he new chapter
Buffy was hanging out the freshly washed linen clothes on the bushes and enjoying the relative quiet and peace the job gave her. She had spent the morning by the stone lined stream scrubbing the mud and sweat from every last one of the shirts that her hall contained. The hard new soap burned her hands as the lye in it cleaned the clothes; she would have to put on some of that rose scented hand-cream she had been given by Anne.

It seemed that everything everybody owned had become muddy from the daubing of the walls. It had been a long job but it had been worth it: the hall was finally sound and weatherproof long before the start of the autumn gales. Now all they had to do was sort out the inside and finish off the outbuildings. Tonight would be their last night in the old hall and Buffy for one would be most grateful. The little hall was cramped and smelly and gave her little time or space to be with William. And she had volunteered to wash everything through, it was either that or cook, and Helga still wouldn’t let her near the cooking fire.

The new hall at Brimstage had grown during the summer and now with the nights getting darker and the harvest on the way it was as beautiful as any this side of Shrewsbury. The rich colours of the paintwork glowed in the late summer sun and reflected the rays back into the large and colourful interior. Buffy hung the last of the woollens out to air before heading back into the hall to oversee the clearing of the benches. She had been glad that the heavier clothes didn’t need washing, just airing and brushing down.
The Saxon workers had fussed about her insistence that every area in the hall was cleaned out at least every month, but she was mistress here and her word had become law.

She had spent the time well, working hard inside the pale while William worked without. They had fought and wrestled this forgotten and unkempt hall into something to be proud of, a hall fit for a thane, fit for William.

Connor had visited them during the warm weather, and had brought her messages from Willow and Tara as well as some of the profit from her own estates, profits that Buffy intended to invest in the lands she and William were building into a home. Buffy smiled as the memories of that summer flooded through her mind. William and Connor had spent long hours together; it reminded Buffy of the winter they had spent in the north. It was good to return the hospitality William had been shown.

Both men had spent a few days in the city. There was a church being built on the road down to the river, just outside the great walls, just for the use of her people and William had been invited to the consecration. It was not an invitation he could refuse, and Connor had gone with him to see this miracle of Norse and Saxon working and living together.

The estate had been quiet and civil before William left, but Buffy was still looking forward to his return. He would most probably bring Godwin with him: he was hoping to interest the man in taking over the running of his home when he and Buffy returned north. With enough money William knew the man would be tempted. And then they could return home, back to her own home and lands. Buffy gave herself a shake: there was work to be done. The sounds around her had lulled her to daydreaming again. Buffy raised a hand and waved to Helga. The woman was making her way over to Buffy with a grin on her face.

‘I’ve come to get Nordlys for her sleep, Buffy; thank you for keeping her out of the way while we boiled up the mash for the ale.’

‘She’s with you…’ Buffy looked mystified. The last time she’d seen her little girl the child had been playing in the brew-house at Helga’s feet, content with her doll and rattle.

‘No, she’s with you, Hildelith told me you’d taken her.’

‘Get the woman here.’ Buffy’s voice went cold, she was livid that someone had lied to her friend, but most of all she felt nothing but a cold hand of fear covering her heart.

Hildelith and Sara stood shaking. ‘We honestly thought you had her, my lady: we saw you.’

‘I want this place searched from top to bottom. She can’t have gone far, she’s only a baby.’

Her child, her precious child, was gone. Buffy looked around at the shocked faces staring at her: she should be giving them orders but she couldn’t think straight at all. It was an all too familiar sight and reminded Buffy’s heart and soul of the night when Leif died. She couldn’t lose another child, she just couldn’t. Hildelith took pity on her mistress, she knew that it wasn’t her place, but the sight of the young woman who was normally so vibrant, broken and distraught, melted her heart.

‘Right, you lot,’ she said, getting their attention as Helga wrapped an arm around her friend, ‘this is what we need…’

Helga had taken the grieving Buffy into the hall and fixed her a drink of peppermint tea laced with poppy juice. Despite her heightened state Buffy was soon falling asleep from the effects of the drug. All they could do now was wait. Wait for word of her husband and her child. Helga wished that William was in from the fields: that at least was something she could do.
Hoping William had remembered the calls used when he had been their guest, Helga took the signal horn outside and blew the summons. The noise reverberated off of every wall in the pale and sounded its long note over the woods and fields, calling the lord home.


Andrew heard the commotion going on inside the wooden wall that protected the hall from the wild wood beyond. He had spent the whole morning hoeing the herb garden. The days had been long and warm and the various plants would soon be ready to pick and dry for winter use. Andrew walked slowly round the garden again. He heard a noise coming from the corner by the lavender. What he saw made him smile: there was a little girl curled up by the sweet smelling flowers, a small bunch held tightly in her little fist.

Andrew knew that the child shouldn’t be outside the main yard. He wasn’t sure how to get her back there though. Did they talk? Did she understand instructions?

‘Little one, you must not be here. Go home: this is Andrew’s garden.’

The child looked at him with piercing blue eyes, and blinked and as she held out the drooping stems Andrew felt fear. This was his lady’s child! Andrew tried to pull the child but she made a weird sound, as though she was in pain. Andrew looked at the size of his hand against her tiny arm and drew back. He didn’t want to hurt her accidentally. He would never be forgiven by the people up in the hall. He held out his calloused hand to the child and gave a smile. Nordlys smiled back at the funny man and pulled herself up on to her feet, using the bush as a lever. She giggled as she nearly fell, but tears threatened when her flowers tumbled out of her grasp and landed in a sad little pile on the ground, taking Alvert, her little doll, along with them. Andrew watched as the child’s lip began to tremble and a tear fell down onto her cheek. He didn’t know what to do and wished there was someone wiser to help him. He lifted the youngster into his arms and pointed at the marigolds with their bright orange heads.

‘Flowers,’ he said and picked one to give to her, but she still didn’t look happy. Andrew picked up the doll from where it had tumbled and made it walk to the flowers and smell them: that brought a small smile to Nordlys’ lips. She looked very like her mother when she smiled. He then made Alvert pick a flower, walk to across to Nordlys and give it to the slowly calming child.
Nordlys stopped crying as she grabbed the bloom with chubby fingers and tried to eat it. Andrew snapped off a few more stems to keep his charge amused as he carried her home to her mother. The doll was safely tucked into her owner’s arms along with the small bunch of flowers.

William had run home as fast as he could, angry that he hadn’t taken a horse with him; there had seemed no need to use one when he was only inspecting the stream that ran through the network of fields. The horn kept drawing him nearer and nearer to the stockade; he felt a tightness in his chest, and fear crept into his very marrow. He took little notice of the armed man standing on the gate.

‘What’s happened? Where’s Buffy?’

Helga was red from the exertion of using the signal horn and tried to speak but she had to catch her breath. Hildelith spoke up.

‘It’s Nordlys sir, she’s gone missing. Mistress Helga has given my lady something to quieten her and we’ve everybody searching.’ She blushed as she came under the scrutiny of William’s gaze.

‘Send a runner to the fields and bring the men in to help in the search, and if I find out that anyone is behind this, I will kill them.’ There was no warmth in his ice blue eyes, they held the promise of retribution to anyone who hurt his family.

The women nodded and Helga turned to go back to the hall to check on Buffy when a movement from the gate caught her eye. The guard was shouting something and as he moved out of the way they could see Andrew walking through the gates with Nordlys in his arms. William felt himself go slightly dizzy and breathed a sigh of relief, one that was echoed throughout the camp. Helga and Hildelith snatched the child from Andrew, kissing her all over and checking that she was unhurt. Both women were shaking with emotion, tears rolling unchecked down their faces. William then took his wriggling daughter from her carers’ arms and just held her tightly, drinking in the smell of her warm hair and the feeling of having her safe again. He wouldn’t let go for quite a few minutes, his arms seemingly locked in place around her.
Helga smiled and led father and daughter into the hall, guiding William when he didn’t or couldn’t see where he was going. The tears were still falling unchecked from his eyes.

Having fed Nordlys with warm milk and bread, and allowed the women to clean her up, William lay the now sleepy little girl beside her mother. Nordlys would be the first thing Buffy saw when she awoke from the effects of the drug Helga had given to Buffy to calm her.

Andrew was confused by the changes that happened to him that day. William had been relieved and incredibly grateful to Andrew. He had given the man a silver ring after evening meal; Andrew’s plate and bowl had been higher up the table, nearer the fire, and he had been served before anyone except William that night, but best of all, he had promised that Andrew could sleep in the main hall, near the fire forever. The young Saxon lad had never felt such happiness before, never felt so wanted or so much part of a community.


William couldn’t believe how just hearing the story of how far Nordlys’ adventures had taken her made him cold to the core. It felt as though some great icy knife had stabbed him, leaving him shaken and angry. That night he slept poorly, as did Buffy, both sleeping fitfully, constantly waking to check on their child.

Nordlys slept oblivious to the fuss she had caused, refusing to release either Alvert or her flowers. Her mother and father just wished they could find such peace themselves.


Chapter End Notes:
well?? what did you think?



You must login (register) to review.