by Karin Tabke
“He would slay Wulfson!”
“He may wish to, but he has grander plans.”
“Tell me!”
“I overheard a Welshman speak of your uncle’s glee in capturing six of the Blood Swords. He means to taunt William with their lives.”
“He will only bring the wrath of Normandy upon his head!”
“Aye, but he does not seem to care. Methinks he will use them as leverage to keep us from his borders and, I suspect, to make a treaty on behalf of Edric.”
“For what?”
“Herefordshire.”
“William will not give it up!”
Stefan smiled slowly. “Rhiwallon is wily, to be sure, but I have a golden snare.”
Tarian sat silent for a long moment as his words penetrated her mind. “How came you by the princess?”
Stefan grinned and told her, leaving out the more intimate details of their encounter.
Tarian smiled knowingly. She knew him too well.
“What do you plan to do with her, Stefan?”
He grinned wider. “Fate delivered her into my arms. We must use her wisely.”
“I understand your fascination with the lady, but my concern is how to restore my husband and your brothers.”
“The answer lies abed just down the hall. A princess for the Blood Swords.”
Tarian gasped. “ ’Tis brilliant!” Just as quickly, her brows knitted together in thought. “How do you know they will trade for the princess?”
“She is to meet and marry Magnus, a great jarl of Norway Olaf’s cousin in Yorkshire. Olaf, milady, is Thorin’s half-brother. The Norse desire allies to the west. ’Twill put William in the middle. Give Olaf his brother, Magnus his bride, and William the Blood Swords.”
“And what for my loving uncles?”
Stefan laughed low, “A king’s ransom, and a most gracious alliance with the Norse that they so desperately desire, and William’s gratitude.”
“And you think the princess is the answer?”
He nodded. “I am sure of it. As you heard, she is the daughter of Prince Hylcon of Carmarthenshire, and her mother Branwen is blood aunt to Rhiwallon. Arian is his cousin. For his blood, he will make the trade, for if he does not, he will not only find an enemy in Hylcon and Magnus but we both know how vindictive William can be. ’Tis a combined fight Rhiwallon does not want, and one he cannot win.”
“How will you orchestrate this?”
“Dispatch your swiftest messenger now. Instruct him to find the captain Cadoc and give word of his lady here, but give no other information. He will come running. When they arrive, offer the hospitality of Draceadon. Once inside the gates they will be disarmed, and guards set to watch that they do not make trouble. We allow the princess to see her man, but not speak privately. Once he is assured she is safe and no harm has come to her, he, along with Gareth, will go to Rhiwallon and offer our terms.”
“And you will give her up?”
Stefan’s head snapped back and his eyes narrowed. “Of course. Why would I not?”
Tarian smiled a knowing smile. He shook his head. “Nay, ’tis not like that. Besides, even if I desired the maid, you saw her dislike for my station. I would see her gone from here and married to her Viking as soon as possible.”
“There is more, Stefan,” she said quietly.
“There can never be any more, and not with my brothers’ lives at stake!”
Tarian pushed. “Would you see her to her betrothed?”
Stefan’s heart lurched against his chest. “Nay.”
“A Norman escort would not be a bad thing.”
“Nay, when the trade is made I will return to Normandy.”
Stefan stood and moved past Tarian. Turmoil swirled in his belly. The thought of never seeing the princess again roiled with his emotions. He did not like the feelings. “We must send word immediately to Hylcon,” he said, moving past the subject of the princess.
“He will bring an army here!”
“Nay, he will send it to his dead wife’s cousin, who holds the key to his daughter’s safety.”
She grabbed his hands. “Think of what I just proposed, Stefan. Promise the Welsh a full Norman garrison, take Ralph and his men with you, as well as the Blood Swords, to see the princess safely to her betrothed. Allow her men and those of my uncle to accompany you. Do you think for one moment they will attempt another crossing in this war-torn land? With such a show of power, promise her safely delivered as part of the bargain.”
“Do you think the Welsh so foolish to think she will be safe in Norman hands? What would prevent them from thinking we would demand another ransom?”
“A guarantee. A hostage. A person the Blood Swords value highly, and because of that would be sure the exchange was made.”
Stefan scowled. “Who?”
“I would give myself to Rhiwallon as hostage.”
“Nay! ’Tis too risky. He would keep you! Wulfson would never permit it!”
“ ’Tis logical. Strike the deal, and when the Blood Swords cross the border into England I will pass to their right into Wales. My uncle will not harm me, of this I am sure. If the men are able to ride to Yorkshire with you, so be it. Upon your return and that of the lady’s captain bearing Magnus’s seal that he is delivered of his bride and wed, I will be released.”
“I do not like it.”
“Nor do I, but there is no other way.” She turned to look up at him. “Stefan, what if they act as if they are in agreement, but choose to attack us here and take the lady back by force?”
Stefan’s face tightened, the memories of the bloody battlefield erupting in his mind’s eye. “Many Welsh and Saxon were lost at Hereford, my lady; the rest scourge north. With Ralph’s men and your garrison, we have a sufficient army to repel them. I will send William a message immediately, and if the tides are in our favor he will know soon enough. He will be sending more men to fortify Herefordshire as it is. And if we are attacked? With the fortifications you and Wulf have made, and full stores, we will be able to wait them out.”
Tarian nodded, the deal struck.
Arian woke with a start, sitting up in the darkened room. Where was she? Immediate realization hit her. Draceadon. A hostage. She glanced across the wide expanse of the bed. Soft snores from the other side filled the room. Squinting in the low light, she could barely make out the soft silhouette of the lady Brighid curled up in a ball, slumbering soundly beside her maid. More snores filtered up from the foot of the bed, no doubt the girl Annis on the pallet there on the floor.
And with that recognition more realization crashed in her head. Stefan! For a long moment Arian sat there in the bed, the only light the soft glow of the candle on the table beside her. Her stomach made low roaring sounds. She swallowed and winced. Her throat was dry and despite the small meal she had eaten earlier, she was now famished. Hunger drove her to move from the bed, but more than that, her desire to extract from the Norman knight her fate. He as well as the lady of the manor had been tight-lipped. Fear gnawed at her. Had Stefan lied to her? Had his plans changed? Would she ever see her betrothed?
Arian slipped from the bed, and quickly pulled a borrowed tunic over her soft chemise. As she carefully opened the heavy door she stopped all movement. A large guard snored at the threshold. Peeking up and down the well-lit hall, she lifted one leg then the other over him, and hurried down to the hall.
As she moved silently down the wide stairway, Arian could see the hall slept. At the far end gray shadows outlined scores of men, sprawled out on pallets. At the base of the stone stairway, she stood silent for a long moment, debating whether to return to her chamber or brave the kitchen for food. Her hunger held sway. The warmth of the low-burning hearth drew her like a moth to a flame. Silently she walked to it. There was an alcove just beyond that led to a hall that most likely led to the outer kitchens, and, she realized, to escape!
“ ’Tis not wise to be about the hall at this late hour, milady,” a deep male voice said from behi
nd her.
Slowly Arian turned, and though the tall Norman was several paces from her, his blue eyes glittered with a predatory gleam. Fear coiled tightly in her belly. He bowed, sweeping his arm across his chest, then stood. When he smiled, the hair on the back of her nape spiked. “I am Ralph du Forney, heir to the great lordship of de Lyon. I am at your service.”
Regally, Arian nodded her head, acknowledging him. “You speak English well, sir.”
He smiled again, and stepped closer. “I am well traveled and spent much time in Edward’s court.”
Arian moved a step back for each step he took toward her. “You have nothing to fear from me, milady. I can assure you I am not the savage my cousin is.”
“Your cousin?”
“Aye, that knave de Valrey. He has the manners of a boar.”
“Stefan is your cousin?” she stuttered in disbelief. He was a bastard mercenary.
“Unfortunately, he is.”
“But—I thought he was a bastard?”
“In heart and soul and name, he is. And though my uncle Robert refuses to acknowledge him, he is the mirror image of that great lord.”
“Who bore him?” She asked still not believing the Norman.
Ralph chuckled softly and moved in closer. She had only the wall to offer her refuge. “Ah, that is the great mystery. Some say ’twas the Duke’s own sister-in-law, Alyce. But if that were true, she being a married woman, her husband would have grounds for divorce, would he not?”
Arian looked harder at the man, and for the first time realized that while his blue eyes were not nearly as brilliant as Stefan’s, they were much the same. The information slowly sank in, and as it did, shame filled her at her treatment of him.
The news stunned her. He was a noble! But she should have realized it, for as much as he spoke of his humble heritage, he spoke as a noble, he carried himself with the confidence of one, and though he had the hardness of a mercenary, he knew well how to handle himself in a way that bespoke of courtly life.
Ralph touched her shoulder, his fingers sliding across the lock of hair that rested against her breast. She slapped his hand away. “Do not touch me, sir!”
“I but admire you, milady.” He moved in closer and inhaled her scent. “You smell sweet.” He pressed the palm of his hand to her breast. Arian twisted away from him.
“You are too bold, sir! I am spoken for, and even were I not, I give you no permission to touch me so!”
“But you allow a bastard to pant atop you?”
Arian gasped. “You speak untruths.” And despite it, her anger seethed not at the insult to herself, but to Stefan. She stepped toward the arrogant Norman. “And even had I, noble sir, your bastard cousin for all of his faults is five times the man you could ever hope to be! Do not slander him in my presence again. Now, be gone before I scream so loud the entire shire will come running to my defense!”
Ralph threw his head back and laughed. Arian wanted to strike him. He sobered and looked closely at her. “He has gotten to you too? ’Tis his way, milady, he is the master of seduction. He leaves a trail of broken hearts and bastards littered from one end of the continent to the other. He will do the same to you.”
Ralph’s words struck deep. A sickening feeling, like poison, spilled into her heart. Ralph moved closer. “I do not tell you this to slander but to warn. His heart is black with hatred of women.”
Arian’s fury mounted. “Are you so ignoble yourself, Sir Ralph, that you would have me lift my skirts here and now for your amusement?”
“Nay, fair lady, I would woo you as a lady of your station is due.” He reached out again to touch her, and when he did the unmistakable sound of a sword sliding from a scabbard sliced through the quiet.
“Touch her, Ralph, and you will find your innards on the floor,” Stefan said, emerging from the shadows.
“Do not challenge me, cousin. You will lose,” Ralph growled.
Stefan glanced at Arian, making sure she was not injured, then gave his full attention to his cousin. He pressed the tip of his sword to the man’s chest. “As wounded as I am, you are no match for me. If you would like to prove otherwise”—Stefan stepped back and pointed to the sword in Ralph’s belt—“draw your steel and let us clear this up here and now.”
Ralph’s fingers toyed with the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowed to slits, and a twisted smile played upon his lips. “When I lay you low there will be more to witness it than the lady.” He bowed to her, then turned on his heel and stalked back toward the front of the hall.
Stefan sheathed his sword, then held out his hand to her, palm up, an invitation for her to take it. Instinctively her hand twitched, wanting to touch him, to place her hand in his, and to trust him. But she resisted. To touch him again, she feared she would succumb to more if he pressed her.
“I will not bite you, Arian,” Stefan said softly.
She looked up into his somber eyes for a long moment before she placed her hand into his. His long warm fingers closed gently around hers, and he drew her farther away from the hall to the small alcove just beyond. When they stopped, she withdrew her hand and squarely faced him, a tumult of emotions sparring in her chest.
Despite all she had learned of the man before her, Arian had warmed first at the deep, familiar timbre of his voice and second, to his gentle touch. The feeling angered her. “Would you slay your own cousin? Is violence your answer to every misdeed?” Whirling away, she moved to the edge of the deep alcove. He did things to her heart and body she did not understand, and, moreover, did not like.
He came to stand close behind her, so close she could feel the heat radiate from his body, and she could smell the clean manly scent of him. ’Twas of spice and sandalwood. She closed her eyes and set her jaw, warding off the warmth he stirred in her.
“That is the second time you have chastised me for preserving your virtue.” The soft percussion of his breath when he spoke caressed her ear.
She straightened her back. “You are wicked,” she breathed.
“Aye, I am more wicked than you will ever know, princess.”
She whirled around and caught her breath. His cobalt-blue eyes burned hot and bright under the low light of the wall sconces, and she noticed his wounded face had been tended. And tended well. There was no swelling and the redness had gone. The stitches were clean and neat. Without realizing what she did, Arian raised her hand to his cheek. He grabbed it and squeezed.
“I wish you no harm!” she cried out. Immediately he dropped her hand.
“Nor I you, so to that end do not touch me.”
Confused, Arian demanded, “Do I repulse you now?”
“Nay,” he said softly. “You forget, I have seen all that God gave you the day you were born.” He moved a step closer. “I have touched you in a way only a lover true should. The memories stir fire in my loins.”
Heat flushed her cheeks at his admission, and she felt it deepen when she envisioned him as she first saw him. Tall, muscular—hard. “As I have seen you, sir,” she whispered, not trusting her voice. Her knees quivered and her fingers twitched. A familiar warmth spread from her belly to other body parts. She realized it was a feeling unique to her proximity to the man before her.
He grinned, and Arian almost mirrored it. The gesture lit up his austere face, humanizing his demon features to handsome.
“Aye, you did, and a most unusual introduction was ours.”
Ralph’s words of Stefan’s amorous affairs prickled at her. “Have you seen many women as you saw me?” Arian bit her bottom lip, embarrassed she spoke what was on her mind.
Stefan’s smile widened. He reached out a hand to touch a lock of her hair. “If I am honest, I would say too many to count.”
Indignant, she gasped, but he moved a little closer, and brushed the tendril from her cheek. “But if I am truly honest, I will admit, I have never beheld such perfection as I did that morn.”
More heat spread through her veins at the knight’s bold confession. And
though she had never been a woman who looked for compliments, she found his most welcome. And knowing that he made her feel as warm as if she were wrapped in furs in front of a roaring fire, Arian knew she played a game she was not permitted to. She was betrothed to a good man, and not only would her honor not allow her to dally again with the demon Norman, her heart could not bear the burden of loving him.
Swallowing hard, Arian moved to a safer distance.
Stefan shrugged and reached past her to a small table there, and filled two goblets with wine. He handed her a cup and took a long draught from his own. He drained it and set it down on the small table. “Drink up, milady, and I will see you back to your room. As you just witnessed, ’tis not safe for you at this late hour with so many men about.”
Stefan offered his arm, and when she placed her tiny hand upon his skin, heat flared. His groin tightened, and he fought the battle that raged within him. As they mounted the stairway, Arian’s sweet scent played with his senses. Dirty she had been beautiful; clean and garbed in rich clothes that fit, she glowed with ethereal beauty. He fondled the hilt of his sword, wanting a release. Arian looked up at Stefan, and asked, “How did you know I was in the hall?”
“You are under lock and key, milady; my man came to my chamber to alert me of your movement.”
“But he was snoring!”
“A ruse.”
As they approached her door, he maneuvered her against the wall near a sconce. The flame burned nowhere near as brightly as her eyes. “Beware, Arian. There is nowhere for you to hide, and if you should manage to slip past the guard, you will find more to fear outside the castle walls than here within them.”
“What are your plans for me?”
He placed a hand on either side of her head, against the stone. “At the moment, my plan is to steal a kiss.”
“How many women have you seduced, then left with child?”
Stefan started, her outburst halting him. “What kind of question is that?”
“One to which I would like an answer!”
He grinned and lowered his head to hers. His eyes trailed across her heaving bosom, the nipples taut beneath the thin fabric. He fought the urge to press his lips there. Instead, he lowered his lips to hover just above hers. “I do not keep count.”