Conquering William by Sarah Hegger Page A

and cheer.
    Out in the bailey, the blacksmith got the old forge running, and his fires belched heat into the overcast day. Over the clang of hammer on anvil, work continued on the barracks. It gave her a thrill of excitement every time she glanced out the casement and saw the men-at-arms scurrying this way and that, their posture taut with purpose. William broke his fast outside with the men and worked alongside them throughout the day.
    The hall that night fair buzzed with the number of voices. Scrubbed clean with damp hair and fresh faces, the men skulked into the hall and took their places at the newly set out trestles. Fires blazed in the hearths, dispelling the chill from the walls. Cook blossomed under her new freedom, sending yet another excellent meal into the hall.
    Beside Alice, Sister refused all offers of richer fare and worked her way through a bowl of thin beef broth. Alice rolled her eyes when Sister requested yesterday’s bread, and near laughed aloud when the serving woman reported Cook had fed the pigs with it.
    Sinful, perhaps, but Alice tucked into her dinner with relish. Her heart lifted as she looked about her at the contented faces in the hall. Despite Sister’s dire warnings, the men did not get drunk, belch or pinch the serving women. Alice would wager their night and day of grueling work had exhausted them. It had thrilled her to do her part, and have the new pallets stuffed and smelling of heather delivered to the barracks. Today her keep functioned as a keep should, a place of refuge and respite.
    William entered the hall and her breath gave a curious hitch. Hair still slicked to his head from bathing, he wore a simple linen tunic, still much finer than aught she owned. The deep blue fabric imperfectly mimicked his eyes as he looked at her and waved. As he moved through the hall, people returned his greeting. He stopped at the men’s table, clapped a hand on the shoulder nearest him, bent and spoke with them. A deep, base guffaw rippled through the hall. Her husband had this way about him, as if he carried a pocketful of faery dust and scattered it about the heads of those he encountered.
    She liked a lot less how the women blushed and simpered as he greeted them. Even old Maggie, eighty if she was a day, bridled and batted her eyes at him.
    “Ah, my Alice.” He took the seat beside her with a smile that twined inside her chest. “How I have missed your lovely eyes.”
    Sister’s head snapped in their direction, her gaze burning the side of Alice’s face. “My stagnant pond eyes?”
    He grinned and motioned for wine. “Is it poetry you require of me now, my lady?”
    “Thank you, nay.” She could not resist the sparkle in his eye. “I have had an adequate sufficiency of your verse.”
    “Wise woman.” He sipped his wine and gave a sigh of appreciation. Slumberous warmth filled his gaze. “Far better to glut yourself on my other skills.”
    Alice’s throat dried. Not since he had kissed her had William gifted her with that look. It crept across her skin in a tingling rush of awareness, and she shivered. This man was her groom, not yet husband. A low thrum hummed in her belly, spreading its tendrils outwards.
    “Wine?” William’s voice startled her. A serving girl stood beside her, Lord knows for how long, waiting to know if she wanted her goblet filled.
    Over his shoulder Sister’s dark eyes met hers. Mouth twisted in a sneer, Sister turned her shoulder on her.
    “Nay.” Alice waved the girl away.
    William dug into his meal and Alice let out her pent breath. Thank the Heavens he had decided against pressing the issue. She rather fancied a goblet of wine, but with Sister already wroth over her unbound hair when riding with William, followed by their disagreement in the hall yester eve, abstaining seemed wiser. The weight of Sister’s voiceless anger pressed on Alice’s shoulders. In her life, Sister had been the one constant, the person who stood by her when all others passed