The Sea King

by Jolie Mathis

  Father Janus led her up the stairs and pushed open the door. Once inside, he carefully closed and secured the portal behind them.

  Isabel looked toward the altar. The last time she had come here, Kol had knelt there. Now the nave was deserted. A sense of peace settled over her, as if the turmoil of the previous days had not touched the protected space between these walls.

  Father Janus led her down the center aisle. Though she expected him to don his chasuble, to drape his stole around his shoulders so they could begin, he did not. Instead he drew her to the side of the altar.

  At once, Isabel detected a change in the air, as if an unseen force possessed the room about her. One glance at the priest's face told her he felt the presence too. Fear deepened the lines of his brow.

  "Wait here," he whispered, as if the words stole his breath.

  "What is it?"

  "Silence, child. Forgive my impertinence, but please simply wait as I have instructed."

  He disappeared into the shadows, but returned almost immediately. But no, Isabel realized. The figure emerging from the darkness was not Father Janus at all.

  Chapter 16

  "Ranulf," she whispered.

  For a moment he simply stood, appearing just as astounded by her appearance as she was by his. He wore the same garments he'd worn when she last saw him, on the field of battle. From beneath his shirt of mail, his linen cuff hung, torn and soiled. His cheekbones protruded, and his hair and beard had grown unkempt.

  'Twas almost as if a stranger stood before her. But the man who hastened toward her wore the eyes of her brother—aye, her brother, for Ranulf was nothing less, even though they shared no blood. His broad-palmed hands touched her cheeks.

  Tears glazed his eyes. "I feared you slain. Do they not know you are my sister?"

  She took his hand. "Yea. They guard me closely, but I have not been harmed."

  "But dishonored?" Emotion roughened his voice. "Isabel, I could not bear knowing I had again failed to protect you."

  "I have not been dishonored." Her face flushed hot, remembering, in a flash, the passion she had shared with Kol.

  "You lie to spare me a brother's anguish." He searched her face, attempting to deduce that which she would not confess. "I vow it, Isabel, I shall avenge thine honor with my sword."

  "Nay, Ranulf." She shook her head. "'Tis the truth I speak."

  "Then why do you weep so bitterly?"

  Only then did Isabel become aware of the dampness of her cheeks. "Because I am so gladdened to see you alive." But in my heart I betrayed you, at least in part, for the Dane.

  Relief softened his features. When he pulled her to him, she rested her forehead against his chest. She was glad to see him alive. But if she truly honored her brother and king, how could she have forsaken him? She had revealed Ranulf's darkest secret to his most dangerous enemy.

  She had loved Kol in the cavern, and along with love there had been trust. Had her trust been wrongfully bestowed? Elsewhere in the church, incense burned. Heavy and florid, the scent sickened Isabel. Only a full confession would relieve her afflicted conscience. "Ranulf, I must—"

  "And what of Rowena? Is she also well?" He held her by the shoulders and peered into her eyes. "I would have the truth from you, sister, in all things."

  Isabel clasped his hands. "All too quickly the Dane tired of her tears and banished her to the abbey to pass her days with the sisters."

  Despite the tension of the moment, Ranulf barked out a short laugh. Since childhood, their sister's rampant emotions had made her a trying sibling.

  The smile fell from Ranulf's lips. "I had thought never to see you again. No matter what happens in the days to come, knowing you are well is my life's greatest reward. I hope you would not keep the truth from me. Once before, not so long ago, I reacted badly, and without understanding. Now I strive to be a better man."

  His earnestness pained her. Confess to him.

  "Ranulf." She held his forearm. "You must hear what I have to say."

  "There will be time to talk later. Now we must go."

  Another voice joined their whispered exchange. "Aye, for we are in danger each moment we remain." A man stepped forth from the shadows, his face partly shielded by a cowl.

  Isabel's pulse bounded. "Stancliff. Hermione said you fell during the battle. That you were dead."

  Stancliff reached to take her hand. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He kissed her palm. "Do not tell Rowena. Not yet. I prefer to reveal myself when the time is right and our future is secured."

  "But you must allow me to tell her." Isabel had known no greater joy in the previous days. Rowena's betrothed had survived! Perhaps in some way, her half sister could now forgive her.

  Ranulf warned softly, "Nay, sister. Our incursion must remain secret, and as you well know, our sister suffers from the most careless of tongues."

  He was right. Rowena held secrets like a sieve held water. Ranulf's gaze shifted to his man-at-arms, as if he dared him to dissent.

  Stancliff merely shrugged. A sly smile spread across his lips. " 'Tis a sad pity, but a weakness I shall readily forgive when all this is past and I can hold her in my arms once more."

  "When all this is past?" For the first time, Isabel realized several more Saxon warriors hovered in dark crevices of the chancel. Doubtless, more waited outside to escort their king to safety. No matter how great their collective strength and cunning, her brother and his men must have had help from the citizens of the burh, to secure this meeting with her. "Have you some strategy to bring our oppression to an end?"

  Ranulf nodded, his eyes sharp. "Aye, Isabel, we mount an offensive." At Stancliff's signal, he led her toward the rear of the church. " 'Tis only a matter of time before Norsex is regained from the barbarian."

  A sphere of fire formed in her belly. The barbarian. The barbarian with whom she had lain the night before. Ach! No matter how badly he had hurt her this morning, she knew Kol was no barbarian, but a man noble and proud, who had suffered a horrible injustice. But while Kol had been wronged, when she looked into Ranulf's eyes she could perceive none of the depravity which Kol accused. She felt such confusion. While she supported her brother's claim to the throne, she would feel no satisfaction if Kol were defeated.

  The warriors emerged, weapons held at the ready, to disappear, one by one, through the rear doorway. Stancliff followed them, but paused to hover beneath the bent timber archway.

  Though she knew this was not the time nor the place to question her king, she could not remain silent. "Will the Northumbrians lend their forces? I witnessed with my own eyes how they offered Thorleksson payment in exchange for peace. Would they dare break their agreement with him?"

  Ranulf's nostrils flared. "I have no need of the Northumbrians, nor their treacherous king. For an age they have coveted Norsex. They hover at the border to watch our destruction, like vultures, ready to tear apart our carcass once the Northmen have had their fill."

  She clenched the cuff of his tunic. "Then how do you foresee victory? Our surviving forces are few."

  "Such details have not escaped my notice." His voice sharpened. "But as I have said, we will discuss all of this further, once we have returned to a safer place."

  Stancliff signaled to his king that it was time for them to depart. Isabel felt her skin go cold. They intended to take her with them.

  "Where dost thou take me?" Isabel asked in a low voice, watching as Ranulf accepted a dark bundle from Stancliff. 'Twas a rough peasant's tunic. This he draped over her more finely woven cloak.

  "You shall return with us to Caervon. 'Tis there we mount our defense."

  Isabel stood like a child, allowing the hood to be fastened, but inside her a battle raged. "What of Rowena? And Godric? He too is held at the abbey."

  Without offering any sort of answer, Ranulf led her beneath the archway. He no longer met her eyes.

  Isabel pushed his hand from her arm. "Nay."

  She retreated from him, pushing the cloak from he
r shoulders. "I cannot leave as long as my son remains imprisoned. I shall not risk his life by making my own escape."

  "Isabel." His tone reprimanded her. "You prick my patience. Come with me. I command you to do so. When the attack is made, I cannot guarantee your safety."

  " 'Tis not my safety for which I am concerned, but that of my son. Any escape I would make would endanger not only Godric, but Rowena as well." Her gaze veered pleadingly to Stancliff. "Dost thou not see?"

  Stancliff spoke softly. "Trust your king, Isabel."

  Isabel's heart grew hard. Too many men demanded her trust, when she had so little left to give. Oh, she trusted that their intentions were good. But someone was wrong in this entangled conflict. Was it Kol or Ranulf?

  In her desire to know, she blurted, "He claims our father summoned him to Norsex."

  Ranulf's face grew stark. "Summoned him? Obvious lies. Why would our father invite a mercenary force into our midst when none was necessary? Our fyrd performed sufficiently, and well, in our border disputes."

  "Thorleksson says the threat came from within."

  He snapped, "And I see you have chosen to believe him." Amidst the anger, she also saw hurt, as if he sensed some part of her had already betrayed him.

  "My liege, we must go," Stancliff urged.

  'Twas as if Ranulf did not hear Stancliff. His eyes continued to hold Isabel's. "We both know what he did to you."

  No. The denial flew to Isabel's lips, but from behind them came a hard rattle of the doors at the entrance to the church.

  Ranulf snared her arm in a painful grip. "If I am defeated and slain, your son will not live to become a man. Our enemies will come from all sides, to purge our blood from the earth. Do you truly believe you alone can protect him from that fate? Come with me now, and we will see to Godric's deliverance in the days to come."

  Male voices sounded from the nave.

  "Go now, brother," Isabel implored. She twisted her arm free. "Before you are taken."

  "Damn you, Isabel." Ranulf's hand flexed upon the hilt of his sword, and for a moment she feared he would remain to engage the Dane in battle, here upon the tiled floor of the altar. He retreated into the darkness. "We will encamp in the northern forest until morning. Remember your noble line. Your duty to your kinsman."

  Kol stood in the alley beside the church, waiting for Isabel. He did not intend to interrupt her private Mass with Father Janus. Yet she had spent the past two days in the wilds. She required fresh, warm garments and food. Despite the emotional distance he had cleaved between them, he would see her well tended. 'Twas essential for the princess to remain strong and healthy for herself, and for her child, in the coming days.

  A short distance away, Vekell and Ragi bartered over some bit of goods with a Saxon merchant. Vekell shook his head, and shifted stance, clearly on the losing end of the bargain. Kol smiled, dimly. Was he wrong to believe his people might eventually be accepted here?

  This morning it had pained him to hurt Isabel. He sorely regretted his words and actions, for they had cut her deeply. But their inevitable parting would be easier if she harbored no gentle feelings for him. He would rather she feel the sting of betrayal now, than when Ranulf was slain.

  Kol looked to the sky. The noonday was near past. At this moment, Svartkell and thirty Danish warriors waited in the forest near Leswick for the traitor to appear with Ranulf. Would that he were with them, but his unanticipated night with Isabel had precluded his involvement. Despite all that had passed this morning—he could not say he was sorry.

  A peasant, draped in a colorless cloak, walked past the alleyway. The man glanced in Kol's direction, his face framed by a hood, before continuing on. Familiar. Kol straightened, and gripped his sword pommel. He'd seen the man before. Perhaps amidst the rage of battle.

  Kol took the corner and searched the muddied road, yet Calldarington's winter shadows seemed to have swallowed the man.

  The hairs along Kol's neck stood in awareness. Instinct compelled him up the steps of the church. Only to find the doors barred against entrance.

  "Vekell," he called. "Ragi."

  Within moments, Father Janus stumbled alongside him, his voice raised in clear warning to whomever might hide in the chancel.

  "My lord. I am not prepared to offer the sacrament at present, as I am required posthaste at the bedside of an ailing citizen."

  Vekell blocked the priest's path. Kol advanced toward the nave. His sword sang a whisper when he pulled it from its berth.

  Father Janus pled, shrilly. "Would it please you if I came to the keep's chapel this eventide, before vespers?"

  At the altar, Isabel whirled, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. Instantly, Kol knew.

  Fury lent calm to his voice and his thoughts. "My lady."

  Ragi strode past. "There are footprints. A good many of them."

  The old warrior pushed open the rear door, and searched the muddied lane behind the church.

  Kol approached Isabel, circled her. "You have seen him."

  Vekell cursed softly.

  Isabel shook her head. "Nay, I came to the church to—"

  In that moment, the flame he'd jealously guarded, hidden deep inside his heart, flickered and died.

  "Do not lie to me," he shouted. Isabel flinched, as if his words struck a physical blow.

  His voice barely rose above a hiss. "Come."

  He led her past the moist-eyed Father Janus, down the aisle and out of the church doors. To his consternation, countless Saxons hovered silent and watchful along the edges of the muddy road.

  "To the keep, Isabel."

  She took one step down.

  A man's voice called from the crowd, "Thou art our lady, Princess Isabel!"

  Isabel stopped her decent. Kol's gaze swept out to see what Saxon might have offered such an encouragement. Did they not all despise her for setting him free, and for allegedly bearing his son? He did not think it his imagination she now stood taller and prouder beneath her winter cloak.

  "Continue," he growled.

  Isabel's cloak fanned behind her as she finished the stairs, and took the road toward the keep. Vekell and Ragi provided escort, their swords still drawn.

  "Free our lady, Danish scourge!"

  "Norse poison!"

  Kol felt a strike against his chest, and with it a chink of metal. Someone had cast a stone at him! At learning of Isabel's meeting with Ranulf, he had felt a numbing anger. At this act of Saxon defiance, his temper erupted.

  He bellowed, "Do not test my benevolence."

  Before his eyes, the crowd disbursed, granting him some level of satisfaction. Nostrils flared, he drew to Isabel's side and chided, "It seems your fickle subjects seek to embrace you into their fold."

  She kept her eyes on the keep, yet her lips formed a pleased—nei, smug—little smile. "They can be no more fickle than you, Dane."

  She increased her pace, and left him standing alone in the road. Kol lunged in pursuit, but halted himself. He had wanted this. A reason to set her free of the bindings of his heart. Let her go. Let her go forever.

  From a distance, a horn lowed in announcement. Up the road, Isabel whirled round. How beautiful she was, Kol thought with intense longing, even with the smile fallen from her lips.

  "What was that?" she demanded.

  He set off toward the stable. Over his shoulder, he called, "Go to the rampart. Soon, you will see."

  Isabel gathered her heavy skirts in one hand, and climbed the rampart stairs. A hard ocean wind swept her hair from her face.

  Riders emerged from the weald, making their way toward the burh. Several hundred of them. Mail and weaponry glinted in the morning sunlight. Standards whipped the sky. The world around Isabel grew frenzied.

  Beneath her feet the walkway vibrated as the great wooden gate creaked down to impact the earth. Warriors lined the walls. Others grouped in the courtyard.

  Panic hummed in her blood. Had Ranulf's attack come so soon? Had Kol anticipated it? At once, she reali
zed she was not ready to learn the final resolution of things, no matter what it might be.

  Frantic to catch one final glimpse of Kol, she followed him, maneuvering through a solid column of warriors and weaponry, up steps and over walkways to the foremost promontory of the earthen wall. A banner rippled at the forefront of the advancing horde, but at this distance, 'twas only a slash of featureless gold.

  From below came the sound of horses' hooves upon the weighty planks of the gate.

  Her breath caught as Kol rode through the opening, carefully nudging through the crowd of citizens who, at first sign of an attack, sought the protection of the keep's high walls. Goats bleated and children cried.

  Kol had donned a shirt of mail. Light reflected off the sword scabbarded at his side. His hair fell free, uncovered by any helm. Fingers of apprehension scored Isabel's spine. Never mind his cursed destiny! Why would he face his enemy so recklessly? He could be killed.

  The advancing force grew closer. The rapid step of the foot soldiers echoed an even cadence across the valley. Again her eyes narrowed upon their banner. She saw it now, a two-tailed fish upon a vert and argent background. Only one man flew such a banner.

  Ugbert of Wyfordon.

  Ranulf's salvation had arrived in the form of their uncle from the north.

  She searched the field for Kol, but a second faction of riders drew her attention as they burst forth from the forest to join the first. Amidst the men she saw the flowing mantle of a woman upon a white horse. 'Twas her half sister, Rowena.

  Ugbert's contingent halted, still a goodly distance away. Silence filled the narrow valley, broken only by the steady pulse of the ocean's waves.

  No orders rang out, no horns were blown. No battle cry arose.

  Instead, Kol and his officers rode to the forefront of the Danish forces. Instead of halting to take his place there, Kol continued on. Isabel's gaze traversed the open field and saw a single Saxon who rode toward Kol.