Chapter Eighteen

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               Alana was still fuming after Fallon had long left the room. She could still feel the heat of his muscled frame and feel his presence as if he were still in the room.

            How dare him! She seethed silently. No matter his plans for her, she intended to stay out of his bed, of that she was certain.

            He expected her to submit to becoming his thrall? He was in for a surprise for she had little intention of doing so. When the opportune moment presented itself, she and Nettie would flee at first chance.

            She struggled to believe she too would become a prisoner of Normans, as the conquered land.

            Squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine, she smoothed her wrinkled skirts and started for the door but as she reached for the latch, a persistent knock sounded from the other side.

            “Are you in there, girl?” the voice from the other side demanded.

            Stepping back, Alana reached out and opened the door. The voice belonged to an older, stout woman with a thick mop of black hair streaked with wisps of silver.

            The older woman’s face pinched grim and her dark eyes studied Alana with open scrutiny. “You the lass brought from Lechmere?”

            Alana was silent a moment as the woman continued to regard her coldly. She lifted her chin, mirroring the older woman’s glower, “I am.”

            The woman’s dark eyes narrowed, “I am Matilda and I’ll be overseeing your labor-“ she paused briefly before adding, “-and I don’t tolerate any haughtiness, especially from a Saxon miss.”

            She stepped aside and motioned Alana onward. “Come along, there is much to be done.”

            Deciding it was best not to argue; Alana gathered her skirts and followed the austere woman. She wouldn’t have to tolerate this Matilda or Fallon for long so it would be in her best interest to comply for the time being.

            As Matilda began reciting the daily tasks, Alana followed, assessing the corridors and doorways, planting mental images that could potentially assist her in escaping.

            “Are you daft, girl?”
            Alana jolted and peered questionably at Matilda, “I’m sorry?”

            Matilda’s dark eyes narrowed irritably. “You best pay attention, girl, for if you lack in your tasks, Master Fallon will have my hide!”

            Alana stiffened, “He is cruel to you?”

            Matilda hesitated, as if weighing Alana’s concern.  “Master Fallon is a man of extreme temper. Many seek to avoid provoking him. You should heed my warning and do the same.” With that the plump woman spun about and proceeded down the hall.

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