Lord of My Heart Read Free Page B

affairs of state.”
    He glanced back. Aimery was pale and tense. There was nothing to read in that. He’d been pale and tense since the battle, with three notable exceptions. Just after Senlac —weak, in pain, and distraught—he’d wept in his father’s arms; as he recovered he’d twice been violently and bitterly drunk. The healing of his wound had not brought a recovery of health and spirits, and Guy wanted only to get him away from England , home to Normandy and Lucia.
    “You have Roger to help with Gaillard,” Aimery said.
    “I am leaving Roger to look after Rolleston.”
    That set a spark ablaze. “Roger! Does he know a sheep from a wolf?”
    “Does he need to? He’ll keep order.”
    “At sword point. He’ll ruin the place!”
    “All England is at sword point,” Guy countered. “I need you at home.”
    Aimery broke a little and turned away. His hand went to his left shoulder, where he still wore bindings to help the healing of a deep ax blow. He’d been lucky not to lose his arm or his life. He looked out through the narrow window over the thatched roofs of the houses of London .
    At last he spoke. “This is my home.”
    “By God it is not!” Guy roared as fear and rage broke free. He swung Aimery against the wall. “You are Norman ! Or do you question your paternity?”
    Aimery’s eyes blazed. “I also have a mother!” He moved to twist from his father’s grip. Guy unhesitatingly pressed him to the left until Aimery caught his breath and desisted.
    “You are Norman ,” Guy said quietly, inches from his son’s face. “Say it.”
    “I am Norman ,” Aimery spat back. “Though whether I’m proud of it is another matter.” He took a deep breath. “The king is making England his home, Father, and he is fully Norman. Though, of course, he claims English blood.”
    Raging terror surged in Guy. “That’s treason, you—” He banged Aimery against the wall.
    Aimery bit back a cry.
    Guy forced himself away from his son before he did serious damage. He kept his eyes on the opposite wall as he struggled for control. William’s claim to England hinged on his blood-link to kings Ethelred and Cnut through his grandmother. Even though she had merely been widow of both kings and thus brought no royal blood to her grandson, it was not a matter open to debate, even by Aimery, who was William’s much-loved godson.
    What would Lucia say if she heard Guy had risked a healing wound to assert his will? A lot, and none of it pleasant. But Lucia was too gentle to raise Norman men. See, now that he’d stopped handling the boy like an anxious nurse, there was a spark of life in him. He swung back.
    “I’ll have no son of mine play the traitor!”
    “Fine trust in me you show!” Aimery shouted back. “By the Rood, I killed for the king, didn’t I, like a good Norman vassal? The English came to withstand an invader, and I rode them down. I drove my spear into them. I sliced off arms and heads . . .” His teeth clenched, and he breathed deeply and raggedly, as if he had come straight off that battlefield.
    “And you liked it, did you?” Guy asked maliciously.
    “What?”
    Guy closed the distance between them. “Got a taste for hunting peasants, have you? Why else do you want to stick around, hey? There’ll be lots of chances for that as William shows the English whose hand is on the bridle. Women and children, too, I shouldn’t doubt—”
    He blocked the swung fist, but only just. Aimery was of a height now and strong. God, he was strong. Gripping his son’s wrist, Guy had to fight control where so recently he had won or allowed to win.
    The nature of the struggle changed. Neither of them brought the other hand into play, for that would involve Aimery’s weakened shoulder. Neither tried to maneuver for better torque. Guy’s sword-calloused hand gripped just below his son’s hand, and just above a heavy bracelet. His muscular arm could not prevail against an arm as strong.
    They were