Samantha James by My Lord Conqueror Page A

with lazy amusement.
    He ran his finger down the tip of her nose. “Tonight, sweet witch,” he had whispered. “Tonight.”
    An awful dread seized hold of her. In the cold light of the dawn, she realized…She could never accept the Normans—she could never accept him . Most certainly not in the way he intended! It came to her then, an idea sown in desperation.
    She must flee, before it was too late.
    She did not pray for an answer, for salvation. Indeed, her prayers had done little thesepast days. Nay, she dare not bow to a heavenly force. If she was to escape from Merrick, she could rely on no one but herself. And—oh! but God might strike her dead, she dared not trust in Sybil. She bit her lip, recalling that first night when she had thought to escape. Sybil had been only too eager to point an accusing finger. Sister or not, Alana sensed Sybil would go to any length to protect herself, no matter the cost to another.
    It was a sobering thought. Yet Alana knew that Sybil was far from helpless. She was well able to fend for herself. And indeed, it was not Sybil he had threatened to bed.
    The opportunity to flee came far sooner than Alana expected. That very day, in fact. She overheard one of the pantler’s assistants say that Merrick had gone out on horseback this morn and was not expected back until nightfall—the mighty lord out surveying all he had wrested from another, she reflected scathingly.
    But then her mind began to race. She could scarcely contain her excitement. For the first time a frail hope flared brightly in her chest.
    Shortly after noontide, the servants took a short rest in order to eat. Alana did not seek an empty corner like the others; when no one was looking she slipped a loaf of wheaten bread and a large hunk of cheese into a linen cloth. Her hands weren’t entirely steady as she tied the ends together, then grabbed a horn of ale. No one said a word as she slipped out a kitchen door.
    Her head held high, she crossed the yard and marched toward the open pasture that led to the village, as if she had nothing to hide. The day was overcast, yet here and there a watery sunshine crept through the clouds. She shivered a little against the damp chill, for she had no mantle to warm her. But she continued on, for she would not allow a little discomfort to sway her from her course. And indeed, she was almost free…
    “Hold there!” A Norman whose girth nearly exceeded his width blocked her way. He wasted no time looking her up and down. “I know who you are, lady. And my lord Merrick gave no instructions that I should let you leave.”
    “No doubt he didn’t tell you not to let me leave either,” she challenged boldly. Her breath tumbled to a standstill. She prayed she was right. But when the soldier said nothing, she tossed her head and held up her pouch, “The cook told me I was to take his meal to him near the village.”
    It appeared the guard was not ready to take her at her word. He took the pouch and poked through one of the folds with a grimy finger. Though he seemed satisfied with what he saw, he remained unconvinced.
    “It seems odd my lord did not tell me.” Beneath his noseguard, he peered down at her.
    “That I do not know,” Alana answered. “But I do know he will be most displeased that I am delayed. Aye, I’d say his wrath will be great indeed should he learn you kept me from my task. As will mine,” she added pointedly.
    She regarded him unblinkingly. The guard paled and thrust the pouch back into her hands. “Go then,” he muttered. “And be quick about it.”
    Alana could have shouted her joy. Instead she hurried away as fast as she was able. It was indeed the village where she directed her steps. As she walked, she glanced from side to side, searching for any sign of horses and Norman soldiers.
    She passed a few herdsmen along the rutted path to the village, but they paid her no heed. She planned to stop at her mother’s cottage as well to gather up her mother’s