Kim Iverson Headlee

by Snow in July

  “Alain, wait. I vowed to never marry someone of the same race as the man who murdered Del. He was slain by—by his own kinsman.” She shook her head as if struggling to believe it.

  “I am but half Norman,” he reminded her glumly. “My mother was a Saxon.”

  Kendra curtseyed to the king. “Your Majesty is most wise for selecting a knight of dual heritage to help unite our races. I shall be delighted to comply with Your Majesty’s decree to marry Sir Robert Alain de Bellencombre, if”—she rose and faced Alain with crossed arms, sternness dominating her features—“if you swear never to deal deceitfully with me again.”

  “Then first I must confess my other private motive for deceiving you.” Alain swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump closing his throat. “I swore to my dying mother that I would protect my brother. At Hastings, that vow was shattered, and I—” Gritting his teeth against the rising tide of guilt, he forced himself to finish. “I doubted that I could ever protect anyone, least of all a bride who would depend on me as her protector.”

  “But you did protect me. From the outlaws, from Ulfric—”

  “My brashness drove you from Edgarburh that day. If you hadn’t been abroad, lightly escorted, none of this would have happened.”

  “You don’t know that, Alain. If Ulfric was bent on getting to my father through me”—she glanced at the king—“because of my father’s unswerving loyalty to Your Majesty, then he would have found some other way to accomplish it.” When she returned her gaze to Alain, it was flooded with compassion. “Your brother’s death wasn’t your fault either.”

  How I long to believe you! He closed his eyes.

  “Oh, Alain.” He felt her fingertips press his cheek.

  Heat branded his face, and intense light turned the insides of his eyelids bronze. When he opened his eyes—or thought he had—he found himself standing in the same dense fog that had accompanied the earlier dream of Kendra and Del.

  The figure standing before him was no Saxon.

  Shame forced Alain to avert his gaze.

  “Greetings, my brother! Mama and Papa send their love.” The hands gripping his shoulders felt real enough. Alain tried to wrest free but couldn’t. “Mama understands, as do I.”

  This time he did pull away, and he folded his arms. “Then explain it to me, Étienne, for I do not understand.” Feeling his eyebrows lower, he stared at the eternally youthful face. “Explain, if you please, why it had to be you and not me to die at Hastings. And why I couldn’t prevent it from happening.”

  “Did you believe that you could shield me forever? Come, Alain. I was a man grown when I chose to enter Duke William’s service. Fully grown—and fully prepared to accept any consequences that befell as a result.”

  Alain clenched his fists. “I do not accept them!”

  “You must if you are ever to truly live.”

  “How can I accept an outcome I should have been able to prevent?” he asked with asperity.

  “I forgive you, Alain, and so does Mama. Most importantly, so does God. Now you must forgive yourself.” Étienne’s countenance clouded. “Otherwise, it is as if you are rejecting our forgiveness, considering it of no value.”

  Lord God, no, never that!

  One problem remained, however.

  “How do I begin?” Alain whispered.

  “Lay my memory to rest.” Étienne gripped Alain’s forearm in farewell. “Learn to focus not on yourself but on others.” He grinned. “Beginning with your beautiful bride.”

  That was the most sensible thing Alain had heard anyone utter, living or dead.

  Determined to demonstrate his trust in Étienne’s advice, Alain broke contact first. At once his mental burden began to lift. He knew his guilt would take time to conquer, but he felt encouraged by the start.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?” Not Étienne’s voice but Kendra’s.

  Blinking, he shook his head and glanced around. Thornhill’s hall had returned, sans fog and sans Étienne—though that didn’t disturb him as much as he’d expected. Everyone was looking at him curiously, but from the candles’ heights it seemed that no time had passed.

  He gripped her hands, stroking the dovelike skin with his thumbs and gazing into her slate-hued eyes. “I thank you for your understanding and patience. I have regretted my deception since the first hour I met you, as Ruaud can attest.”

  “I forgive you, Alain, with all my heart.”

  He resisted the urge to kiss her and instead squeezed her hands before releasing them.

  “What is this, Sir Robert?” asked the king querulously. “Do you love this woman or not?”

  “I do, Your Majesty. More than I can ever say.”

  “Then”—William’s brief grin at Odo hinted defiance—“hang propriety and show her, you imbecile.”

  That was one royal command Alain wasted no time obeying. His sole regret, as he clasped her body to his and their mouths met in sweet reunion, to the cheers erupting throughout the hall, was that he could not keep kissing her until all the stars fell from the sky.

  Chapter 25

  ARM IN ARM with Alain, her lips atingle from the imprint of his, Kendra couldn’t have felt more ecstatic.

  She beheld the gallows and the ragged line of prisoners snaking around it, entrapped by three concentric ranks of Norman guards, and choked back a gasp.

  Several of the prisoners were Edgarburh men.

  Apparently drawn by the sound of the king’s party emerging from the feast hall, they seemed to notice Kendra, and hope flickered through the despair clouding their faces.

  Alain must have seen them too. He excused himself from her company and lengthened his stride to catch the king, who was mounting the viewing platform, accompanied by his bodyguards. Kendra grabbed her skirts and broke into a most unladylike trot. Ruaud passed her to join Alain at the base of the platform.

  “I need a word with His Majesty,” Alain told the guards. “Some of these men are innocent.”

  The king heard Alain over the guards’ refusal. He ordered the executioner to wait and signaled Alain to ascend the platform. Ruaud and Kendra followed him too closely to be denied passage.

  Regent Odo stepped forward. “His Majesty has decided to offer the rest of the rebels the opportunity to swear fealty to the Crown. But these men”—he swept a mail-clad arm toward the prisoners—“were members of the upper echelon, and their executions are to commence forthwith.”

  Morbid curiosity turned Kendra’s attention toward the scaffold. Six ropes hung looped, knotted, and waving in a perversely inviting manner. A large wagon, hitched behind a pair of shaggy brown draft horses, waited to bear away the corpses. No doubt the soldiers stationed closest to the scaffold had been tasked to remove one group and prepare the ropes for the next.

  She chafed her arms to ward off the chill that defied the warm July morning.

  Alain’s jaw tightened. “May I ask whose testimony has condemned them, my lord?”

  “Eosa Thorgudson identified them as members of Ulfric’s army. Some tried to deny it, of course,” said the regent.

  “He was right, after a fashion,” Alain conceded. “Your Majesty, Your Grace, the fault is mine for not rendering a complete report. Please accept my humblest apologies.”

  He bowed low and held the pose until the king bade him to rise and continue.

  “When I reported that Ruaud and I had infiltrated the camp, I neglected to state that a hundred of Thane Waldron’s men were accompanying us. We pretended to enlist because the army lay encamped between us and Thornhill. Skirting the camp undetected in the rain would have taken far too long. In fact, my plan could not have succeeded without the help of Lofwin Octhason and his companions-at-arms.”

  A hundred of the fyrd? Kendra squinted through the forenoon glare toward the bedraggled men. She didn’t recognize threescore in the entire group. None of their injuries seemed too severe; perhaps some were yet recuperating in the infirmary.

  Her
heart ached to imagine that even one of her father’s warriors had died helping Alain rescue her.

  “If it pleases Your Majesty,” Alain was saying, “and on behalf of my betrothed and her father, I respectfully request that the Crown consider releasing the surviving members of Thane Waldron’s fyrd in recognition of their valiant service during these last several days, culminating in yesterday’s battle.”

  “Now that I think about it, I do recall Thane Waldron having mentioned that he had given you some of his men to rescue Lady Kendra. They fought beside Normans against their own kinsmen?” The king sounded incredulous.

  Kendra realized that in his place she probably would have been hard pressed to believe it too.

  Alain ducked his head in a half bow, half shrug. “In all honesty, Your Majesty, I am quite sure their beloved lady’s plight stood foremost in their minds. But—”

  “But what Sir Robert is too modest to say, Your Majesty,” Ruaud broke in, “is that Waldron’s men looked to him for leadership.” Kendra wanted to hug the man. “The Edgarburh unit was the sole reason Sir Robert was able to quit the fray to seek and rescue Lady Kendra.”

  King William strode over to grip the rail, gazing across the square. It didn’t surprise Kendra that the only men to return his gaze were Norman soldiers; most of the prisoners kept their heads lowered, with but a few stealing a glance toward the platform.

  “Who shall identify the Edgarburh men?” asked the king.

  “Please allow me, Your Majesty.”

  Kendra dropped into a curtsey, not daring to look up even when she heard the chink of mail nearby. Gentle fingers lifted her chin, and she found herself staring into the king’s compelling green eyes.

  “Lady Kendra, your father’s men shall still be required to swear fealty to the Crown,” he said, not unkindly.

  “The oath that binds my father to Your Majesty binds everyone at Edgarburh.” She blinked, not certain where those words had come from; they sounded more like something Del would have said. His memory made her smile, bolstering her resolve. “The fyrd should have no objection to swearing this oath to you in person, my lord.”

  “Well spoken, Lady Kendra.” The king offered his hand to help her rise and bade Alain and Regent Odo to escort her among the prisoners.

  Reunions were, by necessity, brief but heartfelt as she greeted each fyrd member by name and pulled him from the line. Some kissed her hand. Many saluted her with unabashed tears.

  As she had predicted, every surviving member of Edgarburh’s fyrd rushed to swear allegiance to King William.

  One man, however, gave her pause.

  He was standing next to Dragon—Eosa, she reminded herself, who leered at her until one of the guards cuffed him. Dragon’s accomplice had hidden his face from her, but not before she saw the scar that slithered across his cheek.

  She rejoiced to see him alive.

  “Is this everyone, then?” asked the regent.

  “Yes,” Alain said.

  “Nay,” she told Regent Odo and her husband-to-be.

  Alain shot her a puzzled glance. She smiled at him, took the last prisoner by the hand, and pulled him away from his condemned companions.

  Her betrothed regarded the man for a long, intense moment before giving Kendra a look of pure astonishment. “You wish to pardon one of the brigands?”

  She gave Snake’s hand a squeeze and released it. “If he is willing to swear fealty to King William and renounce his former lifestyle, aye.”

  “An outlaw?” Regent Odo’s eyes narrowed. “What is this man to you, Lady Kendra?”

  She thrust her chin to ward off the insinuations in his tone. “My lord, Snake was one of my captors. But he offered me kindness on several occasions, guarding my dignity, privacy, and comfort when the others refused to do so. I believe he has a decent heart and deserves another chance.”

  Snake’s face became a study in remorse, surprise, and hope. “My lady is most merciful, but”—the hope died—“I cannot accept.”

  “Why not?” Kendra couldn’t bridle her surprise or dismay.

  “I have no place,” he replied. “I know no other life save a lawless one.”

  A bruised and bandaged Lofwin, having just sworn his oath to the king, approached them. “The fyrd’s numbers are sorely diminished. He fights well and could make a new life with us, if Thane Waldron and”—he nodded toward his liege—“Your Majesty agree.”

  “Sir Robert?” called King William from the viewing platform, over the heads of those still queued to swear allegiance. “For Edgarburh’s future lord, you have remained remarkably silent.”

  Alain inclined his head. “Silent, Your Majesty, but pondering.” He faced Snake. “You abducted Lady Kendra?”

  Snake’s eyes flinched, making his scar seem alive. “One of them what was sent to fetch her, I was, my lord.” He squared his shoulders. “But I did treat her ladyship with all the respect owed a fine lady, I swear by Saint Dunstan’s bones!”

  “Saint Dunstan?” Alain asked the regent.

  Amusement creased the craggy face. “A well-connected Saxon who lived in this shire a hundred years ago. By all reports, he was a Godly man who served both as Glastonbury’s abbot and as a close adviser to many Saxon kings.” Regent Odo turned his eyes skyward for a moment. “Would God that I may serve King William even half as well.”

  “If I swear by Saint Dunstan, will you let me go free too?” Dragon sneered.

  “You shall be swearing to the entire company of saints in person soon,” remarked the regent. “If they’ll deign to have you, which I doubt.” He ordered a guard to escort Eosa up the gallows steps.

  Kendra gave the regent a grateful smile; she wasn’t sure how much more of Dragon’s presence she could have tolerated. Regent Odo responded with a polite nod.

  “My lady, I am so sorry for taking you captive. I was only following”—Snake jerked his head toward the first man of the lot being fitted for a noose—“Dragon’s orders.” He knotted his hands in an imploring gesture. “I swear to serve you better than ever I served him.”

  She glanced at her husband-to-be, who seemed undecided. “Alain?”

  At length he asked Snake his name.

  Snake hesitated, as if he had trouble recalling it. “Liam Fletcher, my lord.”

  “You make arrows?” Alain asked.

  Snake—Liam looked chagrined. “’Tis been right many a year, my lord.” He scratched his bewhiskered chin. “I may recollect a mite or two of the craft.”

  Alain clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, Liam Fletcher, you have already sworn fealty to my lady. Now you need only swear to the king, and we shall have you back into an honest trade before the next market day. Enlisting you in the fyrd as well as having you supply arrows for it ought to keep you clear of the gallows.”

  Liam’s expression exuded gratitude as he bobbed an awkward but respectful bow. “My lord, ’twill be my pleasure.”

  Kendra too felt immense pleasure for having helped to deliver a lost soul—this time without benefit of the Glastonbury thorn’s magic.

  She commanded Liam to stay with Lofwin, turned her back on the gallows, where the executions were getting underway, and addressed the king once more: “May I search the infirmary too, Your Majesty?”

  “You may,” he replied. “The Crown had already decided to leave those men’s fates in the hands of God.”

  This, Kendra presumed, meant minimal care, but perhaps she could reach some in time. She curtseyed her thanks. Alain helped her rise, and with the king’s leave they departed for the infirmary.

  Chapter 26

  ALAIN HAD SENT a courier to Edgarburh with the news that Kendra, Ruaud, and most of the fyrd were on their way back. But Waldron had regretted not accompanying his men, and he yearned to see them all as fast as his best horse could carry him.

  He and his ten-man escort intercepted the much larger party half a day west of Edgarburh. Only because Waldron had been forewarned did he know that Kendra wasn’t the sole bene
ficiary of the soldiers’ protection; not even so much as a kerchief bearing the royal colors betrayed King William’s presence. The foremost ranks of the king’s bodyguards drew their swords against what must have looked like a dervish churning across the rolling plains.

  Somehow, even from her position in the formation’s center, Kendra must have guessed what was happening. Over the din, Waldron heard a high-pitched shout of “Father!” and she and her horse emerged from the pack. A tall, helmed knight carrying a rose-emblazoned shield shadowed her.

  As the distance narrowed, it pained Waldron to notice evidence of Kendra’s trials in her disheveled hair and clothing, but her beaming smile eclipsed whatever discomfort she must be feeling.

  Relief coursed through him. He couldn’t spur his horse to hers fast enough. She all but launched herself from her mount into his arms, crying and laughing all at once. He hugged her so tightly, he feared she might not be able to breathe, and he loosened his grip. She didn’t complain but nestled against him, sighing contentedly. If she’d wanted to remain thus forever, Waldron wouldn’t have minded in the least.

  He did know of someone, however, who would mind. Over her head, he gazed at the man fated to take his place in her heart.

  Nay, that wasn’t true. Blood forged a bond that might bend but could never break.

  Alain removed his helmet, and Kendra stepped out of Waldron’s embrace to take Alain’s gloved hand. The couple shared a brief but tender glance that told him everything he needed to know about their future. He hoped his bow to the courageous Norman knight conveyed the vast depth of his gratitude that mere words could never express.

  King William, flanked by the regent and a handful of their soldiers, swaggered toward them. Waldron dropped to one knee at his sovereign’s feet, prompting his escort to do the same.

  “England is once again most well come to humble Edgarburh.” Waldron meant it even more sincerely than ever.

  “England appreciates Edgarburh’s gracious hospitality.” The king cracked a grin. “But England wonders when Edgarburh was planning to extend an invitation to the wedding.”