Lord of My Heart by Jo Beverley

out.”
    “I know. I know Odo de Pouissey.”
    Gyrth raised his brows. “Nice friends you have.”
    “He’s no friend of mine,” said Aimery. “He’s a braggart lout and now my enemy.”
    “So,” said Gryth. “Who was the pretty maid? No servant, I’ll go odds, dressed so fine and with gold bindings on her braids.”
    “No.” Aimery hadn’t really considered her appearance before. He gave a crack of laughter. “She must be the Baddersley heiress, and I almost rolled her by the stream that day. No wonder she screamed no.”
    “Well now,” said Gyrth thoughtfully. “You could do a lot worse, lad.”
    “A lot worse than what?”
    “Roll her by the stream— after you’ve married her. Baddersley would be in good hands then until Hereward claims it back.”
    Aimery was surprised by the wanting that pulsed through him. He could have her, and finish what they’d begun. And damned well teach her how to defend herself. Would she really have tried to hold them off with that little knife? He suspected she would. She was brave, if foolish, his dusky maiden . . .
    “I don’t see her setting up a squawk,” said Gyrth, “after the way she was looking at you today.”
    Then Aimery came to his senses. “You should have had this tempting idea before you embroiled me in Baddersley’s affairs. I’ve been here too often now as Edwald. If I move in as lord, someone will soon recognize me, and there’s a traitor in the village.”
    “We’ll soon find him and put an end to that,” said Gyrth flatly. “Most of the people would die before they’d betray you. You’re their hero.”
    “It would be madness,” said Aimery, tempted all the same. But then he shook his head. “She’d recognize me. It would hardly be fair to put her in a position where she would have to deceive the king or betray me. Nor to tie her to a man walking the perilous path I have chosen. My fall would ruin her, too.”
    And his fall came closer every day.
    He had a special fondness for Baddersley, and the people here were suffering. That was why, against his better judgment, he’d returned. Aimery had responded to the pleas of the most desperate and had agreed to help them flee. They were gathered in the woods nearby. Aimery would set them on their way to the north country, which was less firmly under the Norman heel, but he well knew some of the more warlike would head east to the Fens and Hereward. He’d seen Gyrth speaking with some of the young men, recruiting.
    And that—providing soldiers for the king’s enemies— was undoubtedly treason. It even went against his own aim of dissuading rebellion. But the alternative was worse: to leave the people under the tyranny of Paul de Pouissey.
    Killing Normans. Helping fleeing peasants. Recruiting for Hereward. One day he would have to pay the price, but he had accepted that when he had set his foot on this path in those days after Senlac. His only regret was the pain and disgrace he would bring to his parents. There was no need to add the heiress to those who would suffer.
    “I would have thought,” said Gyrth slyly, “that Baddersley held fond memories for you. Aldreda, wasn’t it?”
    Aimery couldn’t help a grin. “Yes, Aldreda of the chestnut hair and luscious body.”
    Gyrth grinned back. “A man never forgets his first woman.”
    And that, thought Aimery, was true.
    It had been at Badderseley that he’d become a man. He’d just turned fourteen, and Hereward had decreed he was ready. He’d received his last tattoo—the hart on his right hand, which was supposed to gift him with the powers of that animal. He’d received his ring. He’d chosen his woman and made love to her there in the hall.
    It was an honor to be chosen, and neither Aldreda nor her husband, Hengar, had objected. After the celebration a chosen woman spent the night with the lord, and any child born a nine-month later was considered the lord’s child. It would be given favor and raised high. Aldreda had borne