Samantha James by My Lord Conqueror

slain by his men. My sister has been reduced to a servant. Battle rages across the land, and no doubt countless others lie cold in their graves. You Normans take our land and our freedom. Now I would ask you, Simon, do you truly expect me to fall on my knees and give thanks to your uncle? I think not.”
    There was a faint flicker in the boy’s eyes. “’Tis true that some men make great sport of killing—”
    “Aye, and you would know, wouldn’t you?” Her words were heated and biting. “Isn’t that what you Normans do best?”
    He stood a bit stiffly. “Aye, ’tis what we do best, for we are a fighting breed, like our Viking forebears. A knight must be prepared, for who among us knows when the next battle will come? As for the battle here, my uncle slew only those who would have slain him. And do not forget, ’twas your father who first engaged the battle, lady.”
    “He defended his land. His home!”
    “And Merrick but did his duty to his liege, Duke William. The English say we make war for no reason. But ’twas your own King Edward, upon his death, who promised England to William. Earl Harold was but a usurper. Duke William had no choice but to take England by sword and lance, when by all rights there should have been no need. ’Twas a matter of honor…and duty.”
    Honor. Duty. It was on the tip of her tongue to snap that his countrymen knew little of either. But she was coming to realize it was but a waste of breath and spirit to argue with these Normans, even one so young as Simon.
    Simon gave her a long, slow look. “My uncle is a man who values loyalty and trust above all else, lady. When he gives his word, he will not forsake it. And when another gives their word to him, he expects no less. I would remember this were I you.”
    Her lips compressed. She would say no more, for what was the use? Instead she turned and moved to take the chair before the fire. She felt Simon’s watchful gaze but ignored it. Instead she tugged her fingers through the tangles in her hair, which had come loose in her struggle with Merrick. She sighed and bent her head, suddenly weary beyond measure.
    The afternoon dragged. Alana was not inclined toward further speech, and neither was Simon. She ate the food that was brought later, though she had little appetite. When she’d finished, he moved to the door and waited. It was time for the evening meal in the hall.
    Merrick was not yet there when she entered the cavernous room. But she knew the moment he arrived, for she felt the weight of his stare like the prick of a dagger. He walked on to the high table, and when Sybil moved to serve him, Alana breathed a sigh of relief. Yet whenshe deigned to glance his way some time later, she realized he watched her still, grim and unsmiling. Her heart jolted, then set up a wild clamoring. Deliberately she turned her back, seeking desperately to put him out of mind as well as sight.
    But the evening was still young. The night was yet to come. And she could not bear to think what might happen once they were alone. What surely would happen…
    Some time later she paused to wipe her hands on a rag. Her gaze scanned the far wall where she’d seen Radburn last eve. Her brow furrowed, for there was no sign of him. And then, alas—her eyes caught Merrick’s.
    An odd feeling knotted her belly. From across the hall he beckoned to her. Alana hesitated. It spun through her mind to turn aside, to pretend she hadn’t seen him. But after all that had happened today, she was not so brave as she might have wished.
    Her legs felt wooden as she moved across to stand before him. He did not rise when she reached him, but remained seated. Even then, he radiated a power and presence that reminded her all too keenly of his strength. Long, dark fingers curled around a goblet of dull silver. A muscled leg stretched out before him.
    His expression was granite-hard. “You search for someone, Saxon…who?”
    Alana returned his gaze but said nothing.
    He