The Sea King

by Jolie Mathis

  Kol strode through the camp with Vekell at his side. "—and you will return her safely to Calldarington. From this day on, your duty is to Isabel, and to her child."

  Vekell grimly agreed. "Aye, my liege."

  Kol gauged the time by the paling hue of the morning sky. "I suppose I should prepare."

  "I will wait for you here, my lord."

  Kol walked toward the tent. The fragrance of spring scented the air and the earth about him felt new. How he yearned to remain in this life with Isabel.

  He stared at the tent. How would he say goodbye to her?

  He had no time to ponder the question, for, from behind the tent appeared a rider in mail and helm. A warrior? The rider grew close.

  He saw himself.

  An unsteady, suspiciously smaller version of himself. Atop his horse. The rider snapped the reins and thrust Morke into a full-out run. Kol's hair whipped about his face as the rider sped past.

  The air carried her scent.

  "Isabel," he roared. Dirt thrown up from the horse's hooves showered all around him.

  "Stop her," he shouted. But already she had flown past his men, who stood looking perplexed at the rider. They turned confused looks upon him as he shouted again.

  Isabel rode Morke at high speed down the narrow path. She knew the way to Caervon. She had been there before, years ago, with her father. 'Twas an ancient stronghold, abandoned long ago. Leaves whipped around her, branches snagged in Kol's mail shirt.

  She grasped the pommel of Kol's saddle. It was a struggle to remain upright beneath the weight of his helm and mail.

  They would follow her. She just had to make the clearing.

  She could waste no time. She must allow Ranulf to see her immediately, to realize her willingness to be taken prisoner. She grasped the chin piece of the helm and lifted—

  "Oh—" Pain speared her shoulder.

  She plummeted, amidst the scrape and clash of mail, to the ground. Overhead the sky shone a radiant blue, through the narrow aisle of trees. Breath escaped her.

  She twisted, rolled. The scent of earth covered her. She faded in and out of awareness.

  "Don't touch her," a man's voice commanded. Isabel did not want to awaken to see who spoke. The darkness protected her from the pain. Someone lifted her. A sharp jolt shot through her left side.

  Someone rolled a huge boulder onto Isabel's chest. Isabel's eyes flew open to find no boulder, only a balding, berobed man, who sat on the floor beside the pallet where she lay. He held a length of linen and leaned over her.

  "Greetings, lady princess." Gently he lifted her into a near-sitting position, and deftly secured the linen beneath her arm and shoulder. "I am the medicus. You will survive the wound, but you must rest."

  "Wh—who—" she croaked. Her mouth had no moisture.

  The man lifted a crude wooden goblet to her lips.

  "Drink."

  As soon as the liquid soothed her parched tongue, she asked, "Who brought me here?"

  The man seemed not to have heard. Calmly he turned from her, placed several small tools into a leather case. That done, he stood and left the room, closing the door.

  The room around Isabel slowly became clear. She lay in a partially ruined tower. That she knew from the circular shape of the chamber, and its high, pointed rafters. Through great, sagging holes in the roof, she heard birds call to one another. Tree branches and leaves littered the floor, as well as the trestle at the center of the room.

  Men's voices came from outside. 'Tis the only way to ensure your victory, my king."

  Moist lips pressed against her cheek. "... my love... thought you were he..."

  Isabel tried to open her eyes, but her lids were so very heavy.

  "... should not have interfered..." So familiar. Even his scent called to mind hazy, vague recollections.

  "Soon we shall be together."

  The door burst open. She saw the back of Ranulf's head as he turned to argue with the other man.

  "I do not like it. I will fight by my own skill, my own strength. If God deems me worthy, he will see that I prevail."

  "God would not wish that Danish bastard to have your kingdom. 'Tis yours by right." Stancliff pursued Ranulf into the room. "Take it." In his hands he held a sword. The weapon glinted in the sunlight.

  At that moment Ranulf realized she did not simply occupy the pallet on the far side of the room, but watched, fully aware.

  He rushed forward and fell onto his knees beside her. "God, Isabel." He took up her hand. "At least God has seen fit to answer one of my prayers."

  Isabel stared down at the crown of Ranulf's head.

  When he looked up, she saw the tears that brightened his eyes. She saw his plea. Forgive me.

  Aloud, he said, "Can you believe that Danish pig had you shot in the back?" His hand shook as he extended it toward a trencher at the side of the pallet. From it he lifted a shattered arrow shaft. "Today I will kill him for it."

  Dreamlike memories sprouted from within... should not have interfered... my love.

  Realization flowed over her like a wave of scalding water. She forced herself to take slow, even breaths. She knew full well no Danish arrow had pierced her shoulder.

  Stancliff had led the ambush against her, believing she was Kol.

  But why would Stancliff seek Kol's death when he had sworn him fealty? By his interaction with Ranulf now, it became clear to Isabel he played each man against the other.

  "Why did you escape the Dane?" Ranulf leaned to adjust the pillow beneath her head, giving her a direct view of Stancliff.

  "Because I realized I wish for the same outcome as you," Isabel lied, staring hard into Stancliff s eyes. "I wished to prove my loyalties before the contest."

  Stancliff stood rigid and silent. He still held the sword crosswise in his hands. After a moment, a smile crept to his lips.

  She turned her cheek to the pillow, unable to look at either man. "I am so tired. May I see Godric now?"

  "Godric?" There was a short pause, and somehow Isabel knew what Ranulf would say before he said it.

  "He remains at the abbey. I shall send for him posthaste, once the contest has been won."

  Isabel knew she could no longer avoid Stancliff. Lord, his eyes bored holes into her very skull. She knew he watched, waited for her reaction to Ranulf's ignorance of Godric's whereabouts. All along he had plotted against her brother, and desired her for himself.

  Godric's life could depend upon her reaction.

  As Ranulf stood, Isabel smiled at Stancliff, a small, secretive smile. Let him believe they were co-conspirators. 'Twould buy her time to decide what she must do.

  Relief broke across Stancliff's face. His skin, which had been pallid, flushed with warmth.

  When Ranulf turned back to them, she purged the smile from her face.

  "I must go now and prepare." He straightened proudly. "Isabel, if you should wish to watch, this window overlooks the field where I shall defeat the Dane."

  "My lord," Stancliff interrupted with clear urgency. "The sword."

  Ranulf glanced at Stancliff as if he were a bothersome, but necessary, fly.

  "All right," he muttered tightly. "I shall carry the sword."

  Stancliff held it out, his eyes aglow. "Careful. Touch only the hilt, and here, the midsection of the blade."

  Isabel's stomach roiled with the understanding that the blade had been poisoned to give Ranulf an unfair advantage in the contest.

  Ranulf did not take the sword. "Friend, if you would take the sword belowstairs and wait for me. I would like a moment with Isabel."

  Isabel's skin crawled. Surrounded by murderers and liars, she wanted only to scream. But what if Stancliff held Godric elsewhere? That is, if the child were not already murdered by his hand.

  Surely not, she calmed her fears. Certainly Stancliff knew if he hurt her child 'twould only engender her hatred. She prayed Godric remained safe at the abbey.

  Stancliff's lips tightened. 'Twas clear he did not
wish to leave the two of them alone. "Of course, my lord. As you wish." He glanced out the window. "But make haste. Already the Danes line the field."

  "Let them wait," Ranulf snapped. "I will be there anon."

  "Yes, my lord." Stancliff held the sword carefully, and pushed backward through the door, leaving them alone. Isabel sat up from the pallet. "Lie back, sister."

  "Ranulf, you must listen to me. Stancliff has betrayed you."

  Ranulf's brows creased downward and a half smile quirked his lips. "What is this you say?" Suspicion edged his tone.

  "Stancliff told me you held Godric hostage and would kill the boy if I didst not surrender to you."

  "No." Ranulf pulled away. "That is impossible. Stancliff has been my closest ally since boyhood."

  "I would not lie to you, Ranulf, I—"

  "Yes, you would." Ranulf shoved his fingers through his hair. "You despise me for... for what I did to Father."

  He peered at her with shadowed eyes. Suddenly he strode forward and pulled her from the pallet. She cried out as pain scored her shoulder in jagged rows.

  He forced her to look out the window. Instantly she saw Kol emerge from beneath a large tree on the south side of the field. He wore no mail, or jerkin. Only a linen shirt. A leather strap held his hair back, and his face appeared angular and fierce.

  His eyes fixed upon the window, where Ranulf held her. To her surprise, Aiken stood amidst Kol's gathered legion. Was the Saxon prisoner or friend?

  Beside Isabel, Ranulf hissed, "Watch me kill your lover. When he is gone, you will have no choice but to turn to me." He thrust her onto a stool beside the window.

  "Ranulf!" Stancliff's voice, sharp and disapproving, called from the door. He strode forward and looked at Isabel.

  "Isabel, you should not be out of your bed."

  Ranulf's eyes flashed. "She will remain at the window, and she will watch me kill the Dane. Only then will she begin to forget." He backed away from them both. "I won't be back until he is dead."

  He whirled and departed. The sound of his boots faded down the narrow stair.

  Stancliff drew closer to her side. '"Twill all be over soon, Isabel."

  "Aye, it will." Isabel cautioned herself against hysterics, but she had to ask, "Stancliff, my son—"

  "He is safe. Well guarded and well fed. You will see him before nightfall." He smiled with utter arrogance.

  She had need to see Godric, to know Stancliff spoke the truth. "At the abbey or—"

  "I must go." He smiled hopefully. "Ranulf will want me there when the contest begins."

  "Of course." She forced her own smile, one that could have been nothing more than wan. "I will wait here. For you."

  Isabel turned toward the window, her heart racing. Kol still stood at the edge of the field, staring at her window. She must warn him of the poisoned blade. Could he see her? The sun moved high overhead, and surely she was lost in shadows.

  Ranulf rode out from beneath the wall. He glanced up at the window, his lips turned down in a grimace. If only he would believe her, that he had been manipulated by Stancliff.

  How long had Stancliff played his wicked game? At the north edge of the field Ranulf dismounted. He stopped and rested his face against the side of his saddle, as if praying for strength.

  He turned to a Saxon beside him and extended his hand for the sword. With a swish of chain mail, Ranulf lifted the blade, examined it. The metal glinted in the sun.

  Isabel remembered Ranulf's strength, his prowess. Even if Kol managed to inflict a fatal wound, in all likelihood, Ranulf would achieve his goal.

  Just a scratch of the poisoned tip could kill Kol.

  On the far side of the field, Kol took up his own sword, and turned to meet his challenger. She saw his eyes search for, and find, the window where she stood.

  He thrust his sword into the air and shouted, "Remember me!"

  Isabel opened her lips to scream a cry of warning.

  A large hand clamped down on her mouth. "I knew it. I knew you would try to warn him." Stancliff's breath blew hot and fetid against her neck. "Faithless bitch."

  She grew faint from pain as he applied pressure to her wounded shoulder.

  "Watch. Watch as your Danish lover dies."

  Held captive against Stancliff's chest, she could do nothing but. Ranulf and Kol sat atop their mounts, on opposite sides of the field. Each man shouted, and thrust his heels into his animal's sides. The steeds stormed toward one another. Spears were lifted—

  Isabel screamed against Stancliff's hand. He wrenched her closer, his arm immobilizing hers so she could not move. Isabel slumped in Stancliff's arms. He sensed her surrender, for his hand slid from her lips, to her neck.

  "That's it, my sweet. Soon we will be together."

  She screamed. Loudly, fiercely, fighting and kicking. Caught off balance, Stancliff rocked back, falling to the floor with her in his arms.

  Her wound screamed with pain. Blood darkened her kirtle. Yet she leapt to her feet, kicked away his clawing hands. She leaned out the window, only to see both men afoot and staggering. Wounded?

  She shouted as loudly as she could. "The sword! Poi—

  Chapter 24

  Amidst the shouted encouragements of his warriors, Kol rolled up from the ground. Ranulf's spear had knocked him from his borrowed horse, but inflicted no wound. He glanced over his shoulder to see his own spear lying shattered, but Ranulf stood, and appeared to favor no wound.

  Vekell thrust out Kol's sword and shield. "Destiny be damned! Take the day, my lord!"

  Grasping both, Kol swung round, and advanced on his enemy. His mind held only shadowy memories of the man who had tortured him in Calldarington's fortress pit. He'd preferred to believe Ranulf was weak, and too cowardly to fight without aid of an army beside him. But the man who came at Kol now, with sword raised, matched him in size and skill.

  The clearing fell silent, but for the crush of their boots upon the dry grass. Ranulf swung, and the ring of sword against shield-boss signaled the continuation of the contest.

  A scream—Isabel's—pierced Kol's concentration.

  Ranulf's eyes darted toward the window, revealing a concern which perplexed Kol.

  Desperate to spare Isabel any harm, Kol shouted to his opponent, "You care for the princess, I see you do. Release her and the boy, and we shall meet in peace to negotiate terms."

  "The boy?" Ranulf shook his head. "Speak no words to me, Dane. Only die." The Saxon lifted his sword above his head, but froze as a strangled scream carried over the field.

  Fury raged from Kol's lips. "Damn you. Why doth she scream? What do they do to her?"

  Kol leveled a murderous blow. Ranulf deflected it with disconcerting ease, his fair hair clinging to the side of his face. " 'Tis a Viking arrow in her shoulder, not a Saxon one. Do not accuse me of causing her pain."

  "She is wounded?" Instantly, he lowered his sword. Desperation eclipsed all else. "Send my physician. He is there at the corner of the field."

  Ranulf snapped, "Her wound hath been duly tended."

  "Then why doth she scream in such pain? Who tends to her now?"

  "She is attended by mine own captain," Ranulf snarled defensively. "Now, concern yourself only with my sword, for it sings your death with my every blow." He crouched, as if to attack.

  Suspicion spread through Kol like plague. "Your captain? The man called Stancliff?"

  "Aye." Ranulf shifted his grip on the pommel of his sword. "Cease your delay, coward. Let us finish what should have been finished two winters ago."

  Kol's blood pounded so hard in his head, it smothered the roar of the Saxon and Danish warriors who lined the field. "You must stop him. He is traitor to you and I. He hath played us against one another."

  With an angry roar, Ranulf turned to stalk away. He whirled, and extended the point of his sword toward Kol.

  "Lies!"

  " 'Tis his plan that we destroy one another."

  At that moment, another scream came from
the keep.

  Kol looked to the sky and uttered a desperate prayer. "God, take my life, not hers."

  "What is this you pray?" Ranulf circled Kol.

  "She is my wife." Kol threw his sword to the ground. All around, his men shouted in protest. Stepping toward Ranulf, he said, "I swear on all God's saints, 'twas no Viking arrow which did her harm but a Saxon ambush, because your captain believed her to be me. If we delay any longer, Stancliff will kill not only Isabel, but your son as well."

  "Godric is not my s—" Ranulf took several steps back. "Oh, God. 'Tis all so clear now."

  Though exertion reddened his face, a certain calmness appeared to claim him. Only then did Kol see the blood seeping from the Saxon king's side. His Viking spear must have pierced the Saxon king's armor at the onset of their contest.

  Kol approached Ranulf, his voice low so that no one else could hear. "I know you love her, and Godric. Come, let us put aside our hatreds and save them. Together as allies."

  With purposeful slowness, Ranulf drew his blade across his leather-clad thigh; and, turning it to the other side, did so again.

  For the first time, he met Kol's eyes. "Tell Isabel... 'tis a wedding gift from her brother."

  Before Kol could react, the Saxon attacked.

  Rolling, Isabel kicked Stancliff in the center of the chest. He grabbed her leg and yanked her from the wall. He pulled himself on top of her and ground her shoulders into the floor.

  "You will forget him."

  "You're mad!"

  "No, I just go after what I want."

  "You were betrothed to my sister!"

  "Second choice is no choice at all." He fisted a handful of her hair. " 'Twas you I wanted. Always. Perhaps because I knew he desired you, and would never allow himself the pleasure. But Ranulf refused."

  "No."

  "Aye, it's our story, my love."

  "No!"

  "Ranulf knew you set the Dane free, and spoke his suspicions to me. Always the little hellion, sneaking about at night, getting into trouble. If the burh learned the truth, they would burn you on a stake."