His Captive Lady by Carol Townend

name?'
    'Father Agilbert.'
    'Father Agilbert. Well, Father, if you do not mind, I will rest here until Thane Guthlac...until...'
    'Thane Guthlac is a proud man. He will not appreciate your summons.'
    Raising her head, Erica met his gaze straight on. 'Do you know who I am?'
    'Aye, you are Lady Erica of Whitecliffe. I know you are well intentioned, but your attempt at reconciliation is doomed.'
    She sighed and rested her head against the chapel wall, watching him through half-closed eyelids. 'You should not be saying that, Father Agilbert. For surely that is tantamount to saying that Thane Guthlac will never treat with me and my people, that the bloodfeud will never come to a close.'
    'That is what I believe.' Father Agilbert heaved a sigh. 'Much as I might pray otherwise. I think, my lady, that I am a realist where Guthlac Stigandson is concerned.'
    'And I am not?'
    The priest spread his hands.
    'Father, will Thane Guthlac respect sanctuary?'
    'I believe so.'
    'Thank God.' Erica closed her eyes and leaned her shoulders against the wooden planking. She was Guthlac Stigandson's prisoner, but it was also as she had told Wulf--no, Saewulf , his name was Saewulf --here in the chapel, she was imprisoned on her terms, not Thane Guthlac's. There was comfort in that thought. True, it was watery gruel, but at that moment watery gruel was all there was.

Chapter Seven
    A t dusk three days later, Wulf was rowing back across the lake towards the rebel castle, cursing the fact that he was not rowing in the opposite direction. He needed to get De Warenne's archers to their practice butts, with all speed. What he was planning would be challenging enough in full daylight, but at night...
    As he pulled on the oars, a heron looked across at him from the reed-fringed bank and, wings beating heavily, launched itself clumsily into the air.
    Wulf was on borrowed time. Having missed the first meeting with De Warenne's man, Lucien, he had but one chance to make the next. De Warenne wanted the fens cleared of rebels as soon as possible--he would not thank Wulf if his intelligence was delayed. Like a warhorse with the smell of battle in his nostrils, De Warenne was champing at the bit...
    That morning Wulf had left the rebel stronghold on Guthlac Stigandson's orders. 'Patrol the waterways, Saewulf,' Guthlac had said. 'Nose around. Keep a sharp eye out for enemy activity.'
    Wulf had used the time he should have been patrolling to gather together supplies at a disused fisherman's hut. The hut stood on a small spit of land at the end of one of the lesser-known waterways. Some days earlier, Wulf had stumbled across it by accident, and the hut's relative inaccessibility had made him pick it for the meeting point. Lucien should be there at dawn tomorrow. Wulf could not afford to miss this rendezvous, which meant he must leave the castle soon. Thank God.
    Except that--Wulf glowered at the approaching jetty--except that he could not help but wonder how Erica of Whitecliffe was faring in her sanctuary. It was none of his business, but his conscience would not let him rest until he had ensured there was no risk of her suffering the fate of his sister, Marie. And, of course, there was that other matter. What had happened to the rest of Thane Eric's warband? There had to be more than the two housecarls Lady Erica had brought with her--where were the others? It must be possible to use the lady to gain yet more information about them. Guthlac's outlaws were not the only Saxons in the fens who were plotting insurrection. Wulf's brow creased. These were the matters he ought to be considering; politics was his first priority, not the safety of a reckless Saxon noblewoman.
    Tying his boat up at the end of a line of other, similar rowboats, Wulf vaulted onto the jetty. Lady Erica's vessel was still there, firmly secured in the middle of the line. Her pennon no longer fluttered in the stern, but, as he walked past towards the portcullis, he glimpsed it lying forlornly