Juliana Garnett by The Vow Read Free Book Online

those who defied them with sword and hatred. If she did not escape, she would die as well.
    It seemed an eternity before Luc leaned back and away from her, though he kept a hand on her shoulder, his fingers toying with her loose hair. Did he never tire? He had not yet satdown, but stood behind her like an avenging angel while his men kept Saxon prisoners at work clearing the hall.
    Ceara did not betray the turmoil inside her by word or gesture, yet it gnawed at her while she sat silently at the Norman’s feet. Time lagged endlessly. Nor did she betray her distress when Saxon captives were brought before Sir Luc weighed down in heavy chains. The men, bloodied and yet hostile, were offered a choice between swearing fealty to him and to William, or death.
    “Know you,” Luc warned, “that if you swear to me, you will keep your oath or suffer the consequences. I do not tolerate treachery, and would respect a man more for the unwelcome truth than a false oath.”
    The silence that fell over the hall was oppressive, rife with foreboding. Ceara held her breath, mutely pleading with each man not to yield to the Norman foe.
    But she was disappointed, as each man bent the knee to Sir Luc and swore fealty to him and to William, swearing to ply arms only for the Norman rulers. Not one abstained, not even Kerwin, the grizzled captain who had been her father’s finest commander.
    “You have made wise decisions this day,” Luc said to the grim-faced Saxons. “I have need of good men to serve me, and will see you rewarded justly for loyal service. Go now and have your chains removed and your heads shorn to the Norman mode, so that all will know of your free choice.”
    Ceara closed her eyes, sick at heart. This, then, was the end.
    The sickness stayed with her long after the men were led away. They would return to homes and families, while she was to face her fate alone. But had she not known this from the first? Yea, she had known when she took up the reins of command and convinced Balfour’s men to follow his daughter that she risked more than they did if she failed.
    At last Luc took his seat, and a table was dragged to the dais and laid with platters of meat, bread, and cheese, as well as flagons of ale. She did not touch the trencher that was placedbefore her, but stared with such pointed disdain at Luc when he bade her eat that he did not persist.
    “Rebellious Saxon. Starve yourself if it pleases you, then.”
    A small smile touched the corners of his mouth, and she was struck by how much younger he seemed then. Without his helmet and coif, she could see that his dark hair was longer than most Normans’, with tousled locks covering his ears and almost brushing against his broad shoulders. Strong black brows soared over his inky eyes like hawk wings, and a rough stubble of beard shadow darkened his cheeks and jaw. Despite a thin scar at the corner of one brow, and another along the square line of his jaw, he was a well-favored man. Yet he was still Norman—still the enemy—and thus detestable to her eyes.
    Her disdain did not have the unsettling effect on him that she would have liked. Instead he seemed to find amusement in her aloof silence, and took advantage of any opportunity to goad her with comments made to Captain Remy in English, so she would be certain to comprehend. But she understood the game, and controlled her temper with an immense effort.
    Torches burned low, pungent sparks flickering to the tile floor as the Normans ate and drank, celebrating their victory over the Saxons now being forced to serve them. Most of those pressed into service were young and untrained, and looked terrified as they stumbled clumsily about in a desperate attempt to satisfy the victors. Acrid smoke from green wood filled the hall in drifting layers and stung the back of her throat. The smell of burnt meat mingled with the stench of unwashed bodies and spilled ale. What tables were not shattered had been set up along the length of the