The Virgin Proxy(3)

Deorwynn sat up, interest piqued. “Untouched?”



“Virgin.”



“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t for want of trying, but few opportunities had come her way to amend the situation and the best she could own up to was a quick fumble with the fishmonger who trundled his cart into the yard once a week.

“Good.” Sybilia took a deep breath. “Then you will be my proxy on the wedding night.”

“Your what?”

“My husband expects a virgin bride. If he finds me amiss in any way he will beat me, possibly kill me. They say he is a man without mercy.”

Deorwynn stared. “You’re not….”

“I am not a maid. I am in love with another. I gave myself to him last year when I went home to visit my sick mother. My family will not allow us to marry. He is poor. A groom. A Saxon peasant.” Tears dampened her lashes. “I am trapped now, you see, in this other marriage that is arranged for me.”

There was another lengthy pause while Deorwynn straightened her thoughts. It was hard to imagine prim and proper Sybilia succumbing to lust with a groom, and a Saxon at that, when she was so proud of her Norman heritage. It was indeed an enlightening discovery, even gratifying for Deorwynn to know she was not the only bad girl in the world. In fact, she was positively saintly compared to Sybilia, even if it was simply due to the dearth of available men.

“I need a virgin to take my place on the wedding night,” the young woman clarified, probably assuming her silence meant she didn’t understand. “It will only be once.”

Abruptly Deorwynn laughed. “You don’t think he will know the difference between us? Then what will happen to us at the hands of this man who has no mercy?”

Sybilia had a ready answer. “You will wear a heavy veil in bed. I will say it is traditional in my family to wear such a veil on the wedding night.”

“And if he takes the veil off me?”



“He must not. Tell him you’re shy. Anything.”



“But you and I are nothing alike. No veil will be thick enough to obscure the truth entirely.”



Sybilia smiled stiffly. “We are of the same height and build, both fair headed with brown eyes. People have said many times how alike we are in looks. Have you not heard them?”

But Sybilia was beautiful. How could she look like her? Deorwynn had never thought herself remotely pretty, although she stopped searching for her reflection in shiny surfaces long ago. Despite her determination to remain skeptical, she couldn’t prevent the little flutter of hopeful vanity suddenly warming her unhappy, lonely heart. She even felt the customary frown melting away from her brow.

“And we both know how little attention men pay to our faces,” Sybilia added. “Do this for me, Deorwynn and I will ask my new husband to recommend a pardon for your brother. He is still imprisoned by the king is he not?”

Oh, it was too cruel. Sybilia knew exactly how to work under her hardened skin—first with flattery and now a tug on her seldom played heart strings. Her brother, Raedwulf! How she would love to see him again, safe and sound. She’d almost given up hope, although she’d never admit that to another living soul.

She nodded slowly, thinking it through. This was a chance of escape and must be considered. Whatever Sybilia was up to, times were desperate, opportunities scarce.

What did she fear? That the Norman would hurt her? She’d been hurt before, many times. She could tolerate pain more than most women, and if she stayed here it would be far worse, with no end in sight. She chewed frantically on a jagged fingernail.

There was more than pain to consider. There was the possibility of death at the hands of an angry Norman warrior. Well, as the Mother Superior had said, they all faced death eventually. She was one and twenty and still a maid. Did she want to die a virgin and take her last breath in this cold, heartless place that tried to suck the very soul out of her? To never feel the sun on her face again? Then hope would truly be lost.

If there was a chance, however slim, that this ruse would work, she should try it for Raedwulf’s sake. Even if, to do so, she must put herself into the dirty hands of a Norman pig.

It was a sad state of affairs indeed when bedding the enemy was the only preferable option, but as Sybilia said, it was for one night only.

Mother Superior had warned smugly that the only way to freedom for Deorwynn would be laid out dead in a freshly dug grave. But it wouldn’t be like that after all. Her way out would be laid in a Norman’s bed.





Chapter Two



Guy Devaux sat with his legs spread wide, head back, eyes closed. The only sounds in the room were the putter of candles, the crackle of burning wood in the fire pit and the regular sucking of the woman kneeling between his thighs. Weary after a day’s hunting, he’d almost fallen asleep, when a log tumbled in the fire and shot sizzling sparks across the flagstones. He sat up straight, opening his eyes.