Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(42)

He shook his head. “Women that belong to me,” he said. “Call them servants if you will.”

She looked at one of the cotes, dyed a dark blue. “Your servants wear fine things such as these?” she asked, awed. “You must be a very generous master.”

Gaetan watched her as she rubbed her hand on the soft woolen garment. Truth be told, those things belonged to his first bedslave, Prima, whose real name was Adéle, an Anglo-Saxon woman he’d stolen from a Breton baron whose home he’d overrun many years ago. Adéle was bright, sensual, sexually experienced, and older than him by a few years. He was fond of her, just like he was fond of Camulos the dog, but there wasn’t anything more to it. There never had been, even when she’d given birth to his two sons. He’d almost lost her in the last birth but she had recovered, still to adorn his bed where or when the mood struck him.

For some reason, he hadn’t brought her on this trip, mostly because none of the usual camp followers were coming because of the limited space on the cogs that brought the men to the shores of England. Therefore, Adéle remained behind in Brittany along with the rest of the non-military retinue he usually brought, mostly servants, but Adéle’s clothing was still intermingled with his.

Now, Ghislaine would wear it. There was a part of him that was slightly eager to see what she looked like when dressed as a woman. As beautiful as she was, he could only imagine what fine clothing would do for her.

“I can be generous when it is warranted,” he said. Then, he unslung the satchel that was over his shoulder and dropped it onto the ground beside her. “I am not entirely sure what is in there, but you may use the satchel to keep your possessions in.”

Ghislaine picked it up and put it on her lap, peering inside the leather sack. “More possessions for your servants?”

“Aye.”

Possessions, indeed. There was a small hand mirror, a comb, a horsehair brush, tweezers, an alabaster pot that contained some kind of balm made from wax and honey, a lumpy white cake of soap that smelled of rosemary, and a glass phial tucked inside a small leather pouch, stuffed with dried grass, that was half-full of oil that smelled of roses.

It was more feminine things than Ghislaine had ever seen, like a treasure trove of silly things she’d never cared for, perhaps because she’d never had the money for them. But now, someone was giving her these things.

Selfishly, she wanted to keep them, even if other women before her had used them. Wondrous, magical things that Norman women used.

As the dog lay down beside her and kept trying to put his paws on her, Ghislaine forgot about the fight and the general reluctance to accompany the Normans northward as she inspected and then neatly folded all of the clothing that Gaetan had thrown at her. Three shifts, two cotes, a scarf, a belt, and even a pair of what looked like short braes, or fine woolen trousers that stopped right above the knee.

Ghislaine had never seen such a thing before and held them up, inspecting them curiously. But one thing she noted as she went through the possessions – de Wolfe’s “servants” were heavier than she was. She didn’t have the round bottom to fill them out, although her breasts were rather full. She knew the items were going to hang on her somewhat but, in truth, she didn’t care. Looking at the rags she wore compared to the clothing she had in her hand… she was willing to let it hang. It was a benefit to the situation that was unexpected, indeed.

The food came after that as did a bucket of cold water that Gaetan had requested to wash with. He was still over by his chest, alternately watching Ghislaine as she sat there with the attention-demanding dog and Adéle’s clothes spread around her, and pulling forth items to take with him on their journey.

Outside the tent, his men were packing their possessions and the army was amassing. But inside the tent, Gaetan was quite curious about the young woman in whose hands he would soon be placing his life and the lives of his men. Had he not been so desperate to regain Kristoph, he more than likely wouldn’t have forced the lady into his custody. But the truth was that he wanted his knight returned, and in one piece, and the lady on the ground seemed to be his best option. As he’d told William, every step they took northward, Ghislaine of Mercia would be in the lead.

He didn’t know if he was anticipating this trip or coming to dread it.

Either way, there was little choice but to go.





CHAPTER NINE




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The Humanity Beneath


Two days later

Outside of Chipstead, 52 miles north of the battlefield

Ghislaine didn’t mind travel, for she was heartier than most women. She was used to traveling with men and suffering hardship of cold and weather and limited food, but traveling with over two thousand Norman soldiers and nine Norman knights was something of an experience for a woman who thought she was well-seasoned for such things.

Dressed in one of the cotes that Gaetan had given her and wearing a cloak that one of the men had loaned her, a heavy thing that wasn’t very clean but it was very warm, she rode a shaggy stout mare and was relegated to riding just behind the knights at the front of the column. There were soldiers behind her, mounted cavalry, foot soldiers behind them, and the provisions wagons bringing up the rear with a small contingent of soldiers to protect them from behind.

There was crisp organization to the movement and the structure of the army, something Ghislaine found quite fascinating. She’d been a warrior most of her life but the Normans had a different type of philosophy when it came to their troops than her people did. She would admit that her people weren’t nearly as organized in some aspects, nor as well-armed. The Normans seemed to bring everything with them – smithies, leatherworkers, quartermasters, cooks – everything to possibly keep an army of this size going.