Disclaimers & Copyrights: The characters of Amanda Montrose (Darieux, etc.), Rebecca Horne are copyrights of Davis/Panzer Productions and Gregory Widen. No infringement of their rights is intended nor is any income expected from this story. The story plot is original and is copyright to Maril Swan.

The Fledgling
by Maril Swan

Part Four of five

Late Fall, de Bretagne Manor, 848 AD

Heavy rain rattled against the mullioned windows as the wind moaned and shrieked around the manor. Fall was turning quickly into winter. The chill damp of the large building seemed to seep into Amanda's bones, as she shivered, drawing her shawl more closely.

The room she shared with Yolande, the cook's helper, was very small, and the girls shared the single cot. Even huddling close together for warmth did not overcome the chill of the unheated room. Amanda could see her breath as she talked quietly with Yolande.

Two months had passed since entering the seigneur's household. The manor had become nearly as familiar as her old home or the convent. Caring for Eleanor was taxing and tedious but after her stint with Ghislaine, the noble lady seemed much easier to bear. Her ill health kept her confined to her rooms, and Amanda had to lift her to her commode chair, bathe and dress her, bring her meals and any other menial service she demanded.

Perhaps it was the sullen sky, or the discomfort of being cold, but Amanda's spirits were low. She sighed heavily, expelling a large puff of steaming breath.

"Do you ever wish for adventure, Yolande?" Amanda asked the other girl.

Yolande, a scrawny plain girl of about seventeen, peered at Amanda as if she were speaking a foreign language. "Adventure? What do you mean, Amanda?"

"Being free to go where you want, do exciting things like going into battle, travel to strange places. Haven't you ever wanted to do that?" Amanda stared dreamily into the dark room, its single candle casting large shadows against the walls.

Yolande snorted derisively. "No! I don't fancy getting killed in battle, or drowning in the sea. I like it here just fine. Cook hardly ever beats me, I get lots to eat, and I'm safe. What more should I want?"

"There must be more to life than this," Amanda gazed moodily at her companion. "What about love? Finding a true love who will adore you and give you beautiful children. Don't you want that, Yolande?"

"I helped birth babies down at the serfs' huts. I don't want nothing to do with that. And what about our mistress? One stillbirth after another, until her health is wrecked. If that is what love gets you, you can keep it!" she replied decisively, pulling the thin blanket closer around her shivering frame. "Lay down now, ‘cause I'm freezing."

"I think madame hates me, and so does Lenore, " said Amanda, laying down next to Yolande's chilled body. The girl is bloodless, Amanda thought. Her bed companion seemed to be drawing the very heat from her own body, making her shiver.

"Why?" yawned the other girl. "They treat everyone badly, Amanda," she added sleepily.

"It's the way they look at me sometimes. I feel frightened of them, like they mean to harm me, especially Lenore. I know they give me the most menial work to do, but I think there is something more. I don't know what it is."

"Maybe they're jealous." Yolande sighed. She was finally warming enough to drift off to sleep.

"Jealous? Why should they be jealous of me?" Amanda nudged her friend back into wakefulness.

"Because you're beautiful and they're not. Now go to sleep!"

"I'm beautiful?" she asked Yolande, but her friend was already snoring softly. Amanda stared at the dancing shadows on the ceiling. She had never seen herself except as a wavering image in her wash water, or parts of her face in Elspeth's small hand mirror that she had accidentally broken when she was twelve. She had little concept of herself except for the way others treated her.

Yolande's revelation drove away sleep for a long while as she wondered about herself. Is it beauty that attracts men and makes them want to harm me, she asked herself, remembering Randall, and then Aeglfinn. Would it not be better to be plain like Yolande whom men seem to leave alone?

She recalled that the young men in her village, before she was sent to the convent, had tried to corner her and touch her body. Being bigger than most boys, she easily rebuffed their crude advances with a kick to the shin or a hard pinch on the arm. The more she thought about beauty and love and the act of love, the more confused she became. Eventually, she drifted into a troubled sleep without resolving anything.

Everyone said it was the hardest winter they could remember. Snow drifted into huge mountains against the manor. The servants shovelled paths to the outbuildings to tend the animals and get supplies, and the cold winter winds filled them in again.

Inside the manor, the huge fireplace in the great hall was piled with burning logs, and a blue haze of smoke floated near the vaulted ceiling like a cloud. Near the fire it was warm, but everywhere else in the large house, it was bitingly cold.

Amanda paused by the fireplace to steal a bit of warmth before she had to return to her own unheated room. She felt she was being watched and turned to see Gilbert staring at her. Fearing censure for being indolent, she hurried to the spiral staircase to retire for the night.

"Amanda," his voice rang across the room. "I wish to speak with you." He crossed the hall and went into his study, a small room with a desk and a shelf with some books and scrolls upon it. Several candles in sconces on the walls cast eerie shadows against the walls. Amanda followed him across the hall. She had never entered this room before. It was his sanctum.

He closed the door behind her, and Amanda felt a knot tighten in her stomach as she wondered what she had done. He had hardly taken any notice of her as she went about taking care of Eleanor. Indeed, they rarely had occasion to meet. He kept to his farm duties outside and she to hers inside.

With the winter snows, he was confined to the manor house lately and she felt his presence like a weight. She often noticed Gilbert watching her. It made her clumsy and awkward. She tried to avoid him.

"Amanda, you may have wondered why I hired you last fall." He began, nervously pacing the small room as Amanda followed him with her eyes. "Eleanor, my wife, has been in poor health for a long time. It would seem that childbirth is not for her. You have done well looking after her. I have other duties for you now."

Amanda relaxed and breathed normally. She unclenched her jaw. So, it was not for criticism that he had called her into his study.

Gilbert continued pacing, his brows drawn down in concentration. His anxiety seemed to communicate itself to her, as she wondered what he wanted of her. He cleared his throat and studied her face, looking for comprehension of where this conversation was going. It was not there. She stared blankly back, and it seemed to irritate him.

"What I mean to say is that I cannot ask my wife to fulfill her duties to me as it may cause her health to deteriorate further. She may even die." He watched for some sign of understanding and shook his head. Was the girl simple, he wondered, running his hands through his fine blond hair.

Bluntly, he said, "I will require you to lie with me in my rooms some nights. Is that clear enough for you?"

He looked into those dark eyes. He had seen the same look on a deer just before he had shot it through the heart with an arrow, a kind of wild, unreasoning terror. He shrugged.

"That is all," he said, dismissing her and turning to his desk. "You will come to my room tonight."

"No!" Amanda said, finally getting control of her voice. "I am no serf. You cannot order me to do this. I am hired to look after your wife. Seek your comfort elsewhere."

He smirked slightly and then laughed. "My wife said you were insolent, and so you are. Do not make the mistake of crossing me. This is my fiefdom and I own you as much as I own everything else here."

Gilbert sat on the edge of his desk, swinging his leg casually. "I heard an interesting story in the local town just after you came here. It seems that a carter from the village of Beauchamps was seeking a runaway serf who had stolen a large amount of money from him. The description of the thief fitted you exactly. Do you know, Amanda, what happens to runaway serfs? Or to thieves? The gibbet is the kindest of their punishments."

The room seemed to rock suddenly as Amanda realized she was trapped. No chance of running away. The heavily drifted roads were impassable, and she had no warm clothes for travel in winter anyway. Denial was useless, he would not believe her. Nor would anyone else, she knew from bitter experience.

"What of your wife? Will she not object?" Amanda knew she was grasping at straws but she would not give him the satisfaction of easy victory. Maybe his conscience would deter him.

"My wife is none of your business. Go to my room and make yourself ready. I will be there soon."

She returned to her own room, trembling and ashen. Yolande asked what was wrong, but Amanda could not speak. For long minutes she sat on her cot, with her friend holding her hand, waiting for her to confide her troubles.

The door slammed open and Gilbert stood glaring into their tiny room. "Get out!" he yelled at Yolande and she sprang up and was gone, with the sound of her bare feet slapping on the cold flagstones as she descended the staircase.

He entered the room and closed the door. It seemed much smaller suddenly. She could hear his laboured breathing though she had not yet looked up at him. She knew he was watching her but she could not move.

"You have two choices, girl. You can leave here right now with what you came with, or you can stay, under my conditions. What is it to be? I am a man of little patience."

"A choice between life and death?" Amanda said, finally looking at him. "I must choose life." She stood up and moved toward him.

If Amanda felt Eleanor and her daughter disliked her before, she now found, as Gilbert's mistress, she was actively hated by both. They lost no opportunity to make her duties more onerous or to criticise everything she did.

The other servants treated her with more deference. It seemed the closer one was to the master, the more status one had, so Amanda surmised. But Amanda felt their cool disapproval. Their contempt was painful as she had begun to make friends and now those servants avoided her unless their duties required it. As if I had a real choice, she thought morosely. Even Yolande was guarded around her, their comradeship a chill echo of what it had been.

As the winter wore on, Gilbert demanded more and more of her time, not just for lovemaking but for long talks. He seemed to want more from her than just a complaisant body, he wanted part of her mind too, her spirit and her affection. These she would not give and it drove him to greater efforts. He gave her gifts of fine clothing, an expensive warm woolen cloak, sweets, scented oils. She remained aloof and remote except when passion ignited her body. He could give her pleasure but could not win her heart.

With nothing to do but wait for the snow to melt, he became obsessed with this strange girl. Her dark eyes tormented him, his insatiable desire for her never satisfied. He took up her time, leaving her less time for her duties to his wife. Eleanor harangued and cavilled at Amanda for her laziness.

Her relationship with Gilbert was never mentioned between Amanda and Eleanor. It was just there, like a spectre, haunting the room, his presence following Amanda like a ghost as if he were part of her, whether she wished it or not.

Gilbert wanted to monopolise Amanda. He resented any time she was away from him, doing work for his wife. He wanted her to stay the whole night with him, but she would not. She never wanted to encounter his wife or daughter as she left his room in the morning, nor yet, any of the servants. It would be too demeaning to bear.

Night after night, she returned to her own room, and without speaking to Yolande, would try to fall asleep. Sometimes, Yolande would feel the cot trembling as her friend wept, and she would stroke her back consolingly. There seemed to be nothing either could say. They were worlds apart these days.

Icicles dripped and splashed on the casement, the warm sun penetrated the mullioned windows of Amanda's room. She stretched languorously, enjoying the rainbows of colour that twinkled on the walls from sunlight passing through the stained glass. Almost spring, she thought hopefully. Soon, the roads will be dry enough and I will leave this accursed place.

With a lightness of heart, she slid out of bed, disturbing Yolande who peeped open an eye then rolled over. The sound of hoofbeats attracted Amanda's attention to the window, and she forced the casement open a crack, letting in the cool fresh air.

A soldier reined his horse in front of the manor, and leapt down with a splash of mud. Amanda could hear excited conversation as he disappeared from view into the house.

"What was that about?" Yolande asked, coming to the window.

"A messenger, I would guess." Amanda turned from the window to wash and dress for the day's duties.

All that day, the manor was abuzz with excitement over the messenger and what his appearance imported. The whole place seemed lively with expectation as the servants hurried about their duties. Amanda was questioned several times by other servants who overcame their reserve to ask about the messenger. They seemed to think she would know, being closer to their master than anyone else. She had no information to give them, and wondered herself.

That night, as she lay beside Gilbert, she asked, "Who was that soldier today? Was he a messenger?"

Gilbert pulled her closer, and answered, "Yes. He came with a summons from my liege, King Charles. I am to assemble a group of men-at-arms and meet with his army on the banks of the Seine. The Norsemen are at Rouen, and we must intercept them before they reach Paris. We leave in two days."

Amanda shuddered. The Norsemen! So close! Almost automatically, she murmured the prayer, "From the fury of the Norsemen, deliver us, O Lord." She heard Gilbert chuckle.

"They will not come so far south, Amanda. The heathen devils stay near their ships. Do not fear. You are safe here on my lands." He looked into her dark eyes and saw anxiety there.

Amanda feared the Norsemen, but what she really dreaded was being left behind with Lenore. Unrestrained by her father's absence, who knew what cruelty she was capable of. All the servants kept a wary distance from her, from the leather crop that was always in her hand. Amanda had felt its sting more than once when she had not hastened to Lenore's bidding quick enough. She reaffirmed her resolve to leave. As soon as Gilbert was gone, so would she go.

Almost as if he were reading her mind, Gilbert's eyes grew troubled and he embraced her fervently. She could feel his tension, his clinging need. "Amanda," he whispered close to her ear, "promise you will not leave here when I am gone. I will return, hopefully, in a few weeks, when we have turned back those devils. Swear you will be here when I return." He searched her face for some sign of acknowledgement, some light of affection in her eyes. He saw nothing that gave him hope.

"I love you, Amanda," he declared passionately. "I would marry you if I could. Eleanor is in poor health. She cannot live much longer. When she is gone, I will make you my wife. Swear you will wait for me."

Gilbert held her so tightly, she could hardly breathe. This declaration had caught Amanda off guard. She never expected such a proposal. Marriage! She would be the lady of this manor. All she had to do was wait for the inevitable. It was too good to be true!

"I swear I will be here when you return, Gilbert," she said solemnly, then smiled radiantly upon him, excited by the sudden change in her prospects. "And you must swear you will be true to your proposal," she added.

"Upon my oath, I will marry you when I am free." He took her hand and kissed the palm fervently. "Do you love me, Amanda?"

She looked ardently into his eyes, and lied, "Yes, Gilbert, I do love you."

The little troupe marched off in ragged order, with Gilbert riding at their head. The men were poorly armed, and dressed more for ploughing than for battle. Sullenly, the serfs straggled behind their master as he led them toward the terrible Norsemen and probably death. There was no cheering from their families. The loss of their man meant greater hardship for the family.

Amanda and the other servants watched them out of sight, then turned back into the manor house. She sighed. It was not the glorious sight she expected. Gilbert looked splendid in his armour of mail, and helm, with his banner floating on the breeze as he held it on a staff. But the rest of his rag-tag army already looked defeated. A wrinkle of worry crossed her brow. What if they cannot hold back the heathen hordes? We are defenceless here.

All that day, Amanda felt Lenore watching her, a look of cunning in her eyes. She tried to steer clear of her and succeeded until that evening. Amanda was summoned to Eleanor's rooms, and found her ladyship sitting up in her bed, propped up by several pillows. Lenore was standing by the bed.

Amanda sensed some menace in Lenore's mien, but came forward with a deferential bow, and asked, "Are you ready for your supper now, my lady?"

Eleanor regarded Amanda with eyes that were harsh and feverish. She looks worse than ever, Amanda thought a little guiltily, as the corollary was the betterment of her own station. Eleanor's face seemed old and sunken, with dark smudges under her eyes. She hardly had the energy to lift her head. Her laboured breathing was pitiful to hear. In spite of herself, Amanda felt a sudden keen sympathy for the dying woman.

"Now that Gilbert is gone, I want you to be gone too!" Eleanor gasped harshly. "You have stolen the affections of my husband, and I want you out of my house." She collapsed back onto her pillows as if that declamation had taken the last of her strength.

"I cannot go, your ladyship, until my lord gives me leave. It was he who hired me to care for you," Amanda said gently. She could not admit to the vow she had made Gilbert.

"My mother doesn't need your help any longer, Amanda," Lenore snapped, her face a mask of pure hatred. "She has me to care for her, especially with the new baby coming. We want you to leave. Now!"

Eleanor watched with satisfaction as Amanda paled, stricken. She laughed harshly. "Did you think my husband would neglect his own wife for a slut like you?"

That accounts for her worsening condition, Amanda thought in shock. Did Gilbert make her pregnant knowing it would kill her? Amanda shoved the thought away, but it came back. Could he be so ruthless? Her mouth was dry and she felt sickened by her own guilty hope for Eleanor's imminent death.

Amanda felt trapped, by her oath and by the threat Gilbert held over her head. She was guilty of theft, the proof was hidden in the room she shared with Yolande. She could not leave, nor could she stay.

She lowered her head and said, "I gave my word I would not leave until his lordship returns. I cannot go back on my word." Turning without being dismissed, Amanda moved toward the chamber door.

She heard a sudden movement behind her, then a blow to the back of her head. She heard Eleanor shriek, "Lenore! What have you done?" Then she sank into darkness.

The murmur of voices drifted into her consciousness, as she tried to realize where she was. It was completely dark and Amanda felt smothered under the heavy canvas. She could hardly breath as a wad of something was stuck in her mouth. Her hands were tied behind her. Each jolt of the waggon brought a flash of unbearable pain in her head. She groaned and struggled to find a more comfortable position. The rattling and squeaking of the waggon covered any sounds she made and the two men on the driver's bench continued talking uninterrupted.

Now fully conscious, Amanda tried to hear what they were saying.

"Do you reckon we've taken her far enough yet? Her ladyship said to dump her about a half-day's journey from the manse. I think we've gone far enough, don't you? Travelling in the woods at night can be dangerous. Who knows what's lurking out there?" The speaker's voice quavered slightly.

The other man laughed. "Afraid of ghosts, are you? But, you're right. This should do it. Let's get her out of the waggon."

Amanda felt the waggon stop, then heard the crunch of footsteps coming to the back where she was hidden under a canvas. She was suddenly lifted, none too gently and carried a short distance, then dropped onto the ground as if she were a heavy sack. Maybe they think I'm dead, she thought in shock. Had Lenore tried to kill her?

"What're you doing with that knife?" she heard one of the men say. Her heart went cold as she tried to still her trembling.

"What I was paid to do. Make sure she doesn't come back. Go and turn the waggon around. I'll finish this job and we'll get out of here."

Amanda listened intently to the sound of retreating footsteps and the heavy breathing of the man squatting next to her. With her mouth gagged, she couldn't plead for her life or call out. It would do no good anyway, she thought hopelessly.

"You were always kind to me, Amanda, so I guess I owe you something." She felt the canvas being lifted with a rush of coolness, then the cold steel of the knife between her hands. The ropes suddenly fell away. "Stay still and don't move until we're gone. And if you value your life, don't ever come back." With a gentle pat on her shoulder, he walked away and she heard the cart rattle off.

Concluded in Part Five of five