Wild Lavender

by Nicole Elizabeth Kelleher

  “You’re late, Lady Anna. But you more than made up for it with your entrance,” Lord Baldric half joked. He turned and nodded to Warin, who signaled the soldiers at the gatehouse. A flag was raised to let the enemy know they were riding out to discuss terms. With Baldric leading, and Lark and Trian riding on either side of him, their group rode out the main gate.

  • • •

  The bridge had been extended for the rendezvous; six riders waited on the other side. Lord Baldric came to a stop ten paces away.

  The riders from Nifolhad regarded Baldric and Anna with interest. Finally, their leader spoke. “I am Lord Phelan. You must be Lord Baldric of Whitmarsh.” He turned his attention next to Anna, and then grinned wolfishly at his men. “My friends and lords,” he announced, “we are honored by none other than Lady Aubrianne of Stolweg. And, I suppose, the Lady of Chevring as well. Tell your husband he does you an injustice in his description,” Phelan admitted, as if trying to garner her favor. “And speaking of Lord Roger, why is he not here to welcome us?”

  • • •

  Lark’s eyes came to rest on the man to Lord Phelan’s right. He wore a full beard, and unlike the others, his head was helmeted. He slouched in his saddle as if he were bored by the entire affair, a sneer on his face. It was an expression that Lark had oft worn himself. This one would bear watching, he determined.

  “Your hospitality is lacking, my lady,” Phelan accused when no one answered his question. “Why did you draw back your bridge and ignore my captain? Once again, where is Lord Roger?”

  “My husband has had a sudden change of heart,” Anna replied. “He is…resting.”

  The helmeted lord lifted his head at her response, and Lark was struck by her reaction to the man. She focused in on him, taking in his lazy moves as he leaned forward to whisper to Phelan.

  Lord Phelan dropped all pretenses of courtesy. “Resting? I see,” he spat at Anna.

  “But I do not,” she bit back. “Why are you on my land? You claim to have come here to speak with my husband. You talk of hospitality. What type of guest are you that you assemble your strange weapons and align them in what can only be construed as a threat?” Tullian shifted aggressively as she spoke.

  “Return to Nifolhad before you start something that will only end in your demise,” she warned. “Leave Stolweg. Leave this realm. Tell the poser-king Diarmait that you have no business here.”

  Lark could see Phelan’s anger rise. “Such strong words from a mere woman. What do you say, Lord Baldric?” he sneered. “Come, let us discuss the terms of your surrender, man to man. Are women allowed such headway in Aurelia?”

  “I am of a like mind,” Baldric replied pleasantly. “I would only speak as she.”

  Phelan turned his disgust on Anna. “You should be more polite, Lady—”

  “Polite?” she shouted back. “Lessons on manners from a filthy group of murderers! You had best take my advice, Phelan.” Tullian stomped excitedly.

  The man next to Phelan mumbled something to his friends. Whatever was said caused a burst of raucous laughter among them. Lark calmed Rabbit as his own horse picked up on Tullian’s agitation and inched forward. He heard the dangerous tone in Anna’s voice as she demanded to know what they found so amusing.

  Phelan leered at her before answering. “My friend was merely pointing out that Lord Roger’s little Lady Aubrianne is not so broken after all.”

  Lark, more than anyone, realized the meaning behind the words. He started forward but was too late. Anna beat him to the punch. He caught a glimpse of her before she spurred to action. There was no shocked expression from a woman maligned. Rather, her visage was cold and calculating. And despite the hard set of her face, he noted a touch of glee in her eyes as she signaled her destrier to do what he was born to do.

  Tullian charged forward. As her horse closed the gap to the bearded lord, her great steed lifted his knees and chest and rammed the offending man’s horse full on. Struck hard by Tullian, the other horse’s hind legs buckled, and its body lifted with the impact. The rider, no longer bored, managed to jump free of his saddle but flew through the air and landed with a terrific thud on his back. His helmet was knocked askew.

  Before swords could be drawn, shouts of “Hold!” were called out from both sides. But Anna was not finished. There was absolutely nothing Lark could do to stop her as she walked a calmer but still deadly Tullian over to the man on the ground. The man moved to lift his sword but was prevented from doing so when Tully’s hoof landed solidly on the blade and imprisoned it in its sheath.

  “You dare pull your sword under a flag of truce,” Anna hissed. “We already know you to be rude and dishonorable. But we didn’t expect a lord of Nifolhad to be so unbelievably ignorant. Go home, you fool. Have your mother teach you better manners.”

  “You attacked me first, you bitch!” he shouted.

  “Tsk, tsk. Such language,” Anna chided him. “But you’re wrong. Your vile tongue struck the first blow.”

  Anna was in her element now. “You do not seem to be overhurt. I see no broken bone, no blood. You are supposed to be a nobleman, yet you complain like an old woman.”

  Lark studied her. Except for Anna, every soldier present stiffened, ready to attack. She shifted subtly in her saddle as Phelan and his men inched closer to her. What amazed Lark more than anything was when he saw her grin. Damn it, Lark thought, here we go. He tightened his hold on Rabbit.

  She clicked her tongue, and Tullian reared. Instead of landing on the prone man beneath his hooves, her stallion twisted sideways into the horses of the enemy. Anna set Tullian into a series of turns and backward leaps, scattering the Nifolhad horses in every direction.

  Then she calmed her stallion as if nothing had happened and returned to her place next to Baldric. A satisfied smirk played on her lips.

  But Lark kept his eyes on the man she’d unhorsed. As he made his feet, he removed his helmet. “Impossible,” Lark said aloud. Except for his beard, the man was identical to Lord Roger.

  “M’lady,” Cellach warned, and she brought her attention to bear on the man once again. Lark wasn’t sure what she would do, and that worried him. His reflexes spurred him to action, positioning Rabbit betwixt Anna and the Nifolhadajans. She managed to keep the shock from her face as the man sneered at her, but Lark could tell that she was badly shaken.

  “Get down, you fools,” Lord Phelan yelled at the others still ahorse. “Help your prince. Enough of these games, Baldric. You have until noon to find your sense.”

  “I think you may have overestimated your strength, Phelan,” Baldric countered. “And even if you manage to breach the curtain, you will still have to contend with us.”

  “So be it, Baldric. We will look on this as more practice before moving on to Whitmarsh.” When the man who could have been Roger’s twin remounted his horse, the men from Nifolhad rode back to their camp.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven—Fodder

  Baldric rode next to Anna. “We oft wondered about Roger’s ties to Nifolhad. Not even King Godwin suspected the bond would be so close. What think you, m’lady? The resemblance is so striking, they could be twins.”

  Anna nodded, thankful that Baldric was speaking to her in such a commonplace way. When her gaze had fallen upon Roger’s lookalike, her courage had fled, thinking Roger back from the dead.

  “Well, it was quite the surprise,” he continued, “I had expected Prince Bowen, but I did not think it would be so soon. The man you so brilliantly unhorsed was none other than Diarmait’s son, sole heir to the throne of Nifolhad.”

  Baldric turned to her. “That was quite a stunt back there. Tullian is a magnificent horse to be able to respond to your commands so well. It is too bad the horses of the Royal Guard are not so trained.”

  “What do you mean, not trained?” Anna asked. “Your mounts all have the same battle skills. Lark knows this; I’ve seen him ride Rabbit. Times have changed indeed when the rider of a Chevring steed knows not upon what he sits.”
/>
  “Indeed.” He fell silent until they rode up to the bridge. “Lady Aubrianne, you made a powerful enemy today in Prince Bowen.”

  “No, Baldric,” Anna corrected. “Prince Bowen made an enemy of me, weeks ago, when he and Roger destroyed Chevring.” At her signal, Tullian moved a little quicker, pulling her slightly ahead of the others.

  At the stable, Will took Tullian. Anna turned and ran right into Lark. He’d been standing behind her, holding Rabbit’s reins.

  “I would have done it for you, you know,” he said. There was a different light in his eyes.

  “I know. Rabbit was ready. You were ready.”

  “Then why?” he asked. “Why did you not let me?” He was angry. “Who were you trying to protect this time? Surely not your people.”

  “Is that all that you have to say to me, Lark?” she asked, wounded that he would think so little of her. “Did you not notice who he…nevermind,” she ended, for Ailwen and Warin approached. From their excited faces, Anna guessed that the morning’s work was yet unfinished.

  For at least a couple of hours, Anna was distracted by the enthusiasm of Warin, Ailwen, and the others as she put them through their paces with their destriers. When they were finished, Baldric placed his arm around her shoulder. “It is heartening to know the Chevring line did not end, Lady Anna.”

  They continued to the castle and walked the flights of stairs that would take them to the battlements. Judging from the sun, the attack was nigh. Across the river, the enemy lay encamped. A single rider approached. He waited nervously before riding back to the large tent erected behind the men and weapons.

  “How long, Baldric?” Anna asked, wanting to know when he thought the assault would commence.

  “An hour, perhaps. They think the curtain wall is indefensible from the mordemurs. I had once thought they would take their time, but not now. Not since you attacked Bowen.” The corner of her lip twitched. “Lady Anna, you could stand to be as direct in other regards as well.”

  She followed Baldric’s gaze to Lark’s brooding figure. “Lark made his choice,” she replied.

  Baldric sighed and searched her face with caring eyes. But her focus remained fixed on her people in the courtyard below.

  Cellach came to stand next to them. Across the river, there was a flurry of activity near the tent as the prince and his lords rode to the top of a nearby hill. Then the soldiers began loading the payloads into the buckets of the mordemurs. They turned the great spoked wheels that would pull their missiles into position.

  No one atop the battlements asked if Anna was sure of her sabotage. If she wasn’t, there was nothing they could do about it. “They’re ready, Lady Anna,” Cellach stated, interrupting her thoughts.

  She turned to Baldric. “What do you think they’ll do after?” she asked.

  “Let’s hope that they will run around like pullets with their heads cut off,” he answered.

  The firing levers would release the stored tension of the throwing arms, and what remained of the ropes below would snap. Many would be injured, even killed, in the resulting havoc.

  “First they’ll lick their wounds,” Baldric continued. “Then they will reassess. Their numbers are greater, but Bowen will see the futility of attacking the keep without a wall breach. Their scouts have no doubt reported that Godwin’s army will arrive in two days. With no siege possible, they’ll hasten for the coast, and we’ll give chase, scouring them from Aurelia.”

  The attention shifted back to the enemy across the river. After what seemed an eternity, the signal was given to fire the weapons. The ballast arms on all ten mordemurs were set in motion, one after the other. Atop the parapet, they held their breaths as the spars arced through the air.

  Midway through the swing, first one mordemur, then the others, bucked. Anna imagined the sounds of snapping ropes. The giant swinging arms on three wall killers broke away completely, their payloads shooting straight up only to crash down on the machines. Wood splintered and ropes lashed out. Half of the machines’ arms continued their arcs but with much less force than the others. The momentum of their payloads pulled their buckets into the ground, causing booms to crash down, splitting the platforms in two.

  The remaining five mordemurs unleashed the worst damage. These weapons had just begun to pull their heavy stone balls when their ropes snapped. The payloads shot backward into the assembled soldiers, dragging split timber and whipping cords into the men.

  Every weapon was damaged beyond repair. Almost all were rent in half from the uneven pressure. The men of Nifolhad had been taken unaware. As the payloads and the ensuing splintered beams and ropes caromed in their direction, many of the shocked men remained rooted to the ground. Those unlucky enough to be in the direct path of the barrage were knocked away like kindling.

  Anna caught Lark’s eye as she turned away from the gory scene below. Her people waited in the courtyard, safe from the destruction. But no one cheered knowing death was so near. Many walked to the chapel and disappeared inside its cool grace.

  Anna left the battlements to Baldric and the guards. She desired nothing more than to be alone with her thoughts. Only, she could think of nowhere to go. It came as a great surprise when she found herself in Lark’s room. He found her there, hours later, standing at the window, peering into the deepening sky.

  She was still suited in her armor and was stiff from not moving. She heard him enter and pause at the door upon seeing her. He closed his door and, already shed of his own protective gear, moved nearer. She sensed him standing behind her, then felt his fingers work to remove the ties and undo the buckles of her armor. He lifted it away, setting it on the table.

  Anna didn’t speak as her body melted into his strong arms. She turned to him, and he roughly took her face in his hands. His lips fought to find hers. Though their anger and fear was forgotten, their embrace was not gentle. Their hunger for each other was intense. There were no whispers of love. No calling out of names. Atop his small bed, they took equally from each other. Afterward, as they lay spent, Anna waited until Lark fell asleep. Then she silently got up and dressed, collected her things, and tiptoed to his door.

  • • •

  Alone in the dark, Lark wished more than anything that he had called her back to him. But once again, he hadn’t been able to find the words. He was still angry, but not for the reasons she suspected. He should not have let her leave, for the words he longed to say, I love you, were as yet unuttered. Restless, Lark left his room to seek Baldric’s advice.

  On the way to the council room, he passed the west chamber. The door was open, and he saw Grainne, busily at work giving orders to a small band of women. Some pounded herbs, others tore fabric for bandages. On the chamber’s bed, the children rolled the strips into tight balls. “Lady Anna’s orders,” Grainne explained to him. “We’ll not ignore the injured and abandoned,” she added. “Even if they are from Nifolhad.”

  As he turned away from the scene, Lark finally understood why he was so angry. Anna didn’t need him. She was strong enough to protect her people. She was strong enough to defend herself. And now, hearing Grainne give instructions, he discovered that Anna was even strong enough to overcome her bias and give aid to the wounded soldiers of Nifolhad. A very small part of his heart cautioned that he was being petty, but his pride silenced this quiet voice.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight—Three Days and Three Nights

  Three days had passed since the mordemurs had been destroyed. Prince Bowen and what able-bodied men remained with him had decamped immediately, leaving behind their wounded to die on the field. Three nights had passed since Anna’s last encounter with Lark. He’d volunteered to track down and capture Bowen.

  It was Grainne, not Lark, who had told her. And her maid had heard it from Ailwen. Warin had volunteered to go as well. Two guards and a contingent of Godwin’s newly arrived men were to scour the realm of the Nifolhadajans.

  Anna sought the quietude of the battlements, gazing out to the northwes
t. Word had come that Bowen’s ships had been able to land on the coast of Ragallach. He and his men had passed unimpeded through Stolweg’s western forests, all thanks to Roger, for the lookout points and strongholds had long been manned by soldiers loyal to his cause. These men decamped as soon as Bowen passed through their lines, leaving Lark and Warin to release the families that had been held captive there for years. And Prince Bowen? He was somewhere in the mountains that rose to the northwest, racing hell-bent to the safety of his ships.

  Anna walked to the south-facing battlements. The stars were brilliant, and the waxing moon was just rising above the trees. The ground below, illuminated by the heavenly lanterns, was peaceful.

  Three days had stretched into weeks, and Lord Baldric asked Anna to travel with him to Whitmarsh, then on to King’s Glen. Anna had yet to decide. But as she peered out into the night, just as she did each morning, she realized that she was searching for Lark. She made her decision: wait no more.

  • • •

  Lark and Warin flushed out small bands of Nifolhadajans, most of whom wanted to fight. The few who swore the oath to never return were stripped of their weapons and sent to the ships waiting on the coast. From there, they would sail for the Nifolhadian city of Sophiana, and be turned over to Lord Ranulf instead of to Diarmait.

  Word came to Lark and Warin that Bowen had already set sail, vowing to return and avenge Roger’s death. The small contingent that Godwin had placed under Lark’s and Warin’s command would remain at Ragallach. With their mission deemed complete, Lark and Warin traveled south, to where Stolweg touched the sea.