By Right of Arms by Robyn Carr Page A

head, half frightened and half sad. “Please, milord, may I be excused? I can bear no more of them.”
    He touched her cheek with the knuckle of his finger. “Go ahead, madame.”
    She fled up the stairs toward her chamber, pausing at the top to look down at Hyatt. She imagined that his eyes were burning into Sir Verel, for he stared into the common room. Then he slowly turned to follow her up the stairs, leaving everyone who saw them to wonder if they bedded together in the light of day.
    Aurélie knew he would follow her. She sat on a small stool in front of a cold hearth, struggling to collect herself. He came into the room, but stood just inside the door.
    “What is it you should tell me?”
    “There is nothing, Sir Hyatt.”
    “You are unsettled.”
    “Indeed,” she flung back at him. “Would you be at ease in such a circumstance? I have had to explain to my dead husband’s forces that I am wed to the conqueror and seek their docile acceptance of our lot. Lord above, Hyatt, I am ever amazed at what you expect of me.”
    “No more than I believe you are capable of.”
    “Please … give me a few moments alone, I beg of you.”
    She turned away from him, hearing the door softly close as he left. A shudder possessed her.
    Her mind went over the years of companionship with Giles. She shook her head in disbelief. She had tried to bear her burdens graciously, while the villeins whispered piteously about her sadly barren state. And she had hungered for affection, craved physical love. Had she known that Verel, the most handsome among them, had lusted for her …
    Her shoulders shook with her sobs. She had felt such longing that when the conqueror came, her body betrayed her even to the enemy. Surely she could not have resisted Sir Verel, had he but spoken his desire. And now, Giles, who had never touched her, was dead, and an honorable knight of France wanted her. But between them stood an English warrior who would not hesitate to kill. Hyatt held fiercely what he had claimed.
    She wept piteously. The only time in her life that a man had spoken words of love and passion with the will to consummate such oaths, he was a prisoner and she was wed to the victor. The Englishman had arrived and acted quickly, branding her in vows and body as a wife, but there was nothing of love. All she had ever prayed for was the love of a good man, and the joys of intimacy and children such a love could bring. It had always seemed like such a modest prayer.
    “Oh Verel,” she cried, “had your passion been spoken sooner, I might have yielded all. Hyatt might still hold the power of life and death over me, but he would not know my secrets. Now, such spoken words will only be stained with my tears, and your blood.”
    She had longed to hear words of love. Now through pain and fear, she wished she never had.

Chapter Five
    Aurélie looked from the window in her bedchamber into the inner bailey below. Orderliness slowly fell over the castle. The cloths and tents that had housed the wounded and captive were being dismantled and villagers wandered in and out of the bailey doors. Everyone who had fought for Giles had accepted their freedom.
    She heard the chamber door open and close and knew that Hyatt had returned. She had used an hour of time to compose herself, but it seemed not enough. Months, she reasoned, might not ease the plight in her heart. She did not turn to look at him.
    “Sir Girvin tells me to be wary of Verel, and I know Guillaume would risk his life for you. Are there others?”
    She shook her head. She knew of no others who were so driven. It amazed her that there were things she did not know of her own people. She had not expected Verel’s spoken desire. What else had missed her close perusal?
    “I know it is difficult for you. You did well.”
    Aurélie turned toward him. “It is difficult for them, milord. I would ask one thing more.”
    He gave a slow nod that she should voice her request.
    “Please do not touch me