Wulfgar

by Wulfgar (NCP)(Lit)

  She was too weary even for the crossing to terrify her and so ill from being tossed around by the churning water that death would have been welcome. She managed to rouse herself sufficiently, however, once they had crossed the channel to realize that escape was not much of a possibility and that she had far worse things to consider.

  Jean-Pierre had not touched her. He had not even spoken to her once he discovered that she refused to respond to his taunts, but he had made it perfectly clear that he intended to ravish her the moment the opportunity arose. She could not allow that, although she was well aware that fighting him off was not an option.

  If she had not been carrying Wulfgar’s child, she might have considered that enduring was worth it if it insured life, but she was, and enduring would not insure her life or the child’s—for she didn’t delude herself for a moment that he would be gentle with her even if she gave him no resistance.

  She had to protect her babe—the question was, how?

  Desperation and a fertile mind supplied a note of hope when she was allowed to go into the woods to relieve herself. She had squatted near a plant that she had previously had a very unpleasant encounter with. She was about to move away from it when the idea sprang into her mind. Glancing toward the man set to watch her, she wrapped her hand in the folds of her skirt and pulled the plant up, rubbing it against her bare thighs and belly before she could lose her nerve.

  Her skin immediately began to sting but she resisted the urge to press a handful of snow against it.

  It occurred to her, afterwards, that she might only have made herself miserable for no reason at all, or that the poisons in the plant might hurt the babe—but she had no other choices that she could see.

  By the time they reached Jean-Pierre’s English holdings, Alinor was nearly mindless with the itch from the rash and all else paled by comparison.

  Jean-Pierre cut the bonds around her ankles before he pulled her from the horse, but Alinor’s knees buckled the moment her feet touched the ground. With an impatient oath, Jean-Pierre swung her into his arms and carried her inside. Instead of stopping in the great room, as she had hoped, he climbed the stairs to his apartment. When they reached his bed chamber, he slammed the door behind them, strode across the room and tossed her onto the bed.

  Alinor immediately scrambled away, but she was not quick enough for him. He caught the fabric of her gown. Hearing a distinct ripping sound, Alinor fought harder to crawl away from him. As if the sound itself had spurred him on, however, Jean-Pierre leapt upon her, grasping her gown and ripping it from her in a frenzy until no more than tatters hung about her.

  She fought him. Despite her resolve to acquiesce for the sake of her child, she was so terrorized she lost all sense of logic and fought him purely on instinct. After slapping her several times with no appreciable effect, he finally slammed him fist against her jaw.

  Stunned, Alinor went limp, trying to fight the blackness that threatened to descend, leaving her completely helpless and at his mercy.

  She was relieved, momentarily, when he rolled off of her, until it finally clicked in her mind that he had only left her to discard his own clothing. He halted abruptly, however, cursing.

  "What, by all that’s holy, is wrong with you?"

  With an effort, Alinor lifted her head to look at him. Following the direction of his gaze, she looked down at herself. Her mind went perfectly blank for several moments. Finally, however, she recalled her desperate ruse. "It is nothing. A rash only," she muttered somewhat drunkenly, so dizzy from the blow that she could hardly gather her wits about her. "My lover said I was not to concern myself over it. It would go away."

  Jean-Pierre looked at her in revulsion for several moments. "Your lover?"

  Alinor nodded with an effort. "The captain of the guard—he said it would surely be gone before Wulfgar returned."

  Jean-Pierre’s eyes narrowed and Alinor’s heart squeezed painfully while she waited, wondering if he would believe her lie—wondering if her ruse would work as she had hoped. Finally, he stepped to the door and bellowed for one of his men to fetch the old Saxon witch woman.

  He paced the room while they waited. Slowly, the dizziness receded sufficiently that fear curled around Alinor’s innards.

  Finally, they heard a shuffle outside the door. Jean-Pierre strode to the door and snatched it open. Grasping the old woman who stood there by one arm, he dragged her into the room and shoved her toward the bed. "Attend her."

  The woman stumbled but managed to right herself and shuffled nearer. Alinor dragged her gaze from Jean-Pierre and looked at the woman, wishing Jean-Pierre had left and given her the opportunity to speak with the woman alone. The woman leaned forward, looking at the angry, reddened skin that covered Alinor from her waist almost to her knees. Her glance flicked briefly to Alinor’s face.

  "It is the rot, my lord. Her man’s done got it off some whore and given it to her."

  Jean-Pierre cuffed her. "You lie, witch!"

  The woman cringed, scurrying away. "’Tis the truth," she whined. "Your cock will rot off if you touch her."

  "You can cure this?"

  "Nay, my lord. There is no cure."

  Jean-Pierre ground his teeth in impotent fury. "If you value your life, old woman, you will find a cure."

  When he had slammed out of the room, the old woman glanced at her. To Alinor’s amazement, her eyes were alight with both amusement and, strangely, respect. "There’s a nasty rash ye’ve got yerself. Ye should have used the leaves more sparingly."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wulfgar’s anger grew the closer he came to Arrus. He had been looking forward to returning to Vardon with an impatience that had grown impossible to ignore after nearly a week of shivering in a miserable tent. When he had seen the activity in Jean-Pierre’s keep increase as they began making preparations for a feast, he had been convinced that Jean-Pierre had indeed settled in for the winter and had, with relief, ordered his men to strike camp and head for home, anxious to return to Alinor.

  He had been stunned when he returned and found her gone. Disappointment had very quickly turned to irritation, however. He had been more than a little inclined to sulk at Vardon and send word to Arrus demanding that Alinor return immediately, but, after wandering the halls miserable for several days, had decided instead to go after her.

  His mood was foul when he arrived at Arrus and it did not improve when he was shown into the great hall and saw no sign of Alinor. "Where is my lady?" he growled when Chrétien and Claire greeted him.

  They exchanged a glance. "She is at Vardon," Claire said a little breathlessly even as Chrétien jumped to his feet.

  "She is not with you?" Chrétien demanded.

  Wulfgar stared at them for several moments. "I was told a messenger had been sent inviting her here for the festivities nigh two weeks ago."

  "Oh," Claire gasped, pressing a hand to her heart.

  Chrétien paled. "We sent no messenger."

  Wulfgar’s heart sank, but he had no need to question her parents further. He could see from their faces that they were as stunned and frightened as he was. Whirling on his heel without another word, he strode from the keep. Chrétien, bellowing for his cloak, followed him.

  Wulfgar found once he had ridden out that he was seized by an unaccustomed indecisiveness. It immediately leapt to mind that Jean-Pierre had somehow taken her, but he could not decide whether it was logical to assume so or not. He had tracked Jean-Pierre and his men back to his keep. He was certain of that. There had been only one window of opportunity for Jean-Pierre to leave without his knowing it—when he had returned to Vardon for supplies.

  Jean-Pierre must have followed him, waiting until he’d left again to set his trap.

  The question was, would he have taken her back to his keep at Merrill? Or would he have considered that that was too easy and have taken her to England? Wulfgar frowned. The channel was treacherous most any time, but far more so at this time of year.

  After a mo
ment, he kicked his horse into motion and struck off along the road to Vardon. He’d ridden cross country before. Most likely, Alinor’s escort would have taken the road.

  He found the men purely by chance when his horse stumbled over one of the bodies hidden in the snow. Dismounting, he pushed the snow aside and studied the man he’d discovered. Recognizing the man, he pulled his sword from its scabbard and began to poke around until he found several others.

  Chrétien rode up with a troop of men while he was examining the corpses. He dismounted, joining Wulfgar.

  "Her escort?"

  Wulfgar nodded grimly. "Thomas said he sent six men with her. I have found only three." He glanced around at the woods. "Wolves might have dragged the others off," he added thoughtfully.

  Chrétien dropped to one knee in the snow. "Alinor?"

  Wulfgar glanced at him sharply. "He would not have killed her."

  "You think this is Jean-Pierre’s doing?"

  "Thieves would not have fallen upon six well armed men."

  Chrétien nodded, looking around at the woods. Finally, he motioned to the men still mounted and had them search for bodies. They found a fourth man a little away from the others and Chrétien sent a man back to Arrus to bring a cart for the dead.

  Wulfgar stood up. "They came out of the woods here. These men would have been ordered to guard their back while the other two tried to escape with Alinor."

  Briefly, hope flickered across Chrétien’s countenance before he realized Alinor had not escaped or she would have been returned to Vardon.

  "I will take Merrill apart stone by stone if need be," Wulfgar said through gritted teeth.

  Chrétien stood abruptly. "I will gather my men and meet you at Vardon."

  * * * *

  When their army had gathered at the gates of Merrill, Chrétien and Wulfgar rode forward, demanding to speak with Jean-Pierre. The captain of the guard laughed. "He can not come, Monsieur. He is busy entertaining his lady."

  Wulfgar made an abortive moment, as if he would charge the gates that moment, but Chrétien grasped his arm. "He thinks to taunt you into riding within his archers’ range. You are no good to Alinor dead!"

  Pulling his horse around, Wulfgar rode back toward his men. Chrétien brought his horse even. "We must settle in for a siege. We can not use the trebuchets when Alinor is held within without risking her life. At any other time, I would suggest we dig under the walls, but the ground is frozen now. The keep might well fall from siege before we could dig a tunnel to bring the walls down."

  Wulfgar nodded grimly, but he was of no mind to wait to starve them out. Alinor would starve as well as everyone else and she was far too thin already, and well gone with child. The risk was too great that she would be among the first to starve. After studying the walls for some time, Wulfgar ordered the trebuchet brought forward and carefully positioned so that the stones it lobbed against the keep struck the outer wall itself, low so as to weaken it. There was still a danger to Alinor if any of the stones went wild, but far less so than lining it up to strike the men along the crenalations or firing wildly into the keep itself.

  The men who held the keep jeered when the first stones began to strike the walls. When cracks began to form along the walls, however, and the stones of the wall itself began to crumble, they brought men up with long bows to fire at those manning the trebuchet. It was out of range, but occasionally a spent arrow would strike one of his men and pandemonium would briefly ensue.

  Wulfgar had begun to have the uneasy feeling that he had been tricked long before the walls finally collapsed, for, in all the time that they had battered at Merrill Jean-Pierre had not once been spotted. In the beginning, he had been certain that Jean-Pierre would not have taken her all the way back to England. The more he thought of it, however, the more he saw the advantage to Jean-Pierre in doing so.

  His holdings in England had no stone walls to protect it, but Wulfgar would not be allowed to bring an army into England—or indeed any number of men of sufficient strength to overcome Jean-Pierre.

  Impatient to know for certain, Wulfgar set his men to building another trebuchet. In only a few weeks, they had two firing steadily at the walls. In little more than a month, holes began to form and finally, one large section of the keep walls collapsed and the combined armies of Wulfgar and Chrétien stormed the breech. Within a day, the men defending Merrill lay down their arms and were rounded up. Every inch of the keep was searched, but Wulfgar knew long before the searchers reported back that Alinor was not there.

  Selecting the highest ranking officers, Wulfgar had them questioned. When they proved reluctant, they were tortured until he had the information he sought.

  Chrétien felt they should petition Duke William for Alinor’s return. He had never met the man, but from what he knew of William, he felt that William would do his best assure her safe return. Wulfgar was of no mind to wait so long. It could take many months to free her using diplomatic channels and he had no confidence that Alinor could survive Jean-Pierre’s tender mercies so long—if she still lived even now.

  Taking only the men who had come with him from England, he set out with the determination to finish the war between himself and Jean-Pierre.

  * * * *

  Alinor had begun to despair that Wulfgar would come for her. Try though she might to reassure herself, it crept through her mind, unbidden, that Wulfgar need not take the risk. He had been acknowledged as her husband and heir. If she were dead, all that had been hers would be his and he would be free to wed another more to his taste.

  She knew Wulfgar was a man who valued his honor, and that he was not of an avaricious nature—he was bull headed and sometimes quick tempered, but he was no fool. He must know that it would be nearly impossible to rescue her. Perhaps, even though it had never been his intention to profit from her death, he had realized the futility of trying to get her back? Perhaps, even though it was not her fault, he could not stomach the notion of taking her back when he must believe that Jean-Pierre had made her his whore?

  He might yet if Wulfgar did not come for her. Despite Jean-Pierre’s fear of disease, he had been suspicious from the first and she was not certain he still believed the rash she had perpetuated with judicious applications of the poisonous plant was in truth the disease of whores.

  Moreover, she was growing increasingly unnerved about the old Saxon healer’s involvement in her deception. It would mean her life if she was discovered. She had assured Alinor that she did not count the cost to herself so long as she protected Lord Wulfgar’s child, for she was well past the age where life had a great deal of meaning, but she deserved the peaceful death of a long life, not the death that Jean-Pierre would deal her if he discovered her deception.

  Then, one evening when the healer came, her eyes were alight with excitement. At the first opportunity, she leaned close and whispered, "Wulfgar has come for you. Be ready, for we must move quickly when the time comes."

  Alinor was at once thrilled and terrified. Two days passed in an agony of suspense. Even the healer, Hilda did not come. Then, in the afternoon, she slipped into Alinor’s room. "Do not eat tonight," she said quickly and turned to leave. "I will come for you an hour past supper."

  "You will take me to Wulfgar?" Alinor whispered urgently.

  The woman paused and looked back at her. "He comes here. I am to take you down to the great hall to meet him."

  Alinor paced the room when she had gone, pausing by the window from time to time to watch the sun as it sank toward the horizon, listening to the manor around her, though she wasn’t certain what she listened for. It seemed certain Hilda had arranged to poison the food, but she closed her mind to that unimaginable horror. If it would insure the safety of Wulfgar ….

  She was standing by the window, listening to the sounds below that told her the men had gathered to eat when her door was flung open. Jean-Pierre stood upon the threshold.

  "I see you are better today," he said coolly.

  Alinor sta
red at him in apprehension. She had feigned illness to match her rash and spent much of her time in bed, but Jean-Pierre had not even been into her room in weeks and she had relaxed her guard. She saw now that that had been a serious error in judgment.

  "You will be joining me tonight. Make yourself presentable."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alinor discovered she had no need to feign illness as she was seated beside Jean-Pierre at the head table. She was ill with terror, but well aware that she could not behave in any suspicious manner or she risked unraveling the entire plot that Hilda and Wulfgar had hatched.

  She could not bring herself to eat the food. She had no idea of what Hilda had given the cooks to lace into the food—if it would merely cause illness, or death--nor if all of the food had been poisoned or only some dishes. To her relief, one of the young serving maids appeared beside her shortly after she was seated, placing a trencher in front of her. "Hilda prepared this especially for you, knowing the difficulty you have had in holding your food," the girl murmured.

  Alinor forced a smile, refusing to allow Jean-Pierre to catch her eye. In truth, even the certainty that the food was not tainted did nothing for her appetite for she could not help but notice that Jean-Pierre ate little himself. Her belly felt as if it had tied itself into knots. With an effort, she managed to eat a few bites, chewing her food slowly.

  "We will wed when you have dropped that bastard you carry in your belly."