by Karin Tabke
He nodded.
“Promise me, sir knight, you will see me safely to Moorwood in Yorkshire, and there we will say our farewells.” She swallowed hard and looked up at him through misty eyes. “Promise me you will not look over your shoulder, and I promise I will not look over mine. ’Tis best for us both.”
“Arian,” he said hoarsely, and she almost succumbed to the ache in his voice. Clenching her jaw, she remained rigid, unwavering.
Stefan grasped her hands and dropped to one knee. She caught her breath, and for the first time in her life, Arian felt a deep raw unrestrained desire to put her own needs and desires aside for another. Bringing her hands to his lips, he kissed them. She moved closer, wanting to draw from his power and strength. His arms slid around her waist and he drew her to him. Her fingers sunk into his hair and she pressed his head to her breast. “Stefan,” she whispered, her voice mirroring the ache she heard in his. “I do not understand this thing between us. It terrifies me. I fear one day soon I will no longer have the strength to fight it.”
He looked up at her, his eyes blazing with desire, but behind the fire she saw raw pain. He pulled her down to her knees. Sliding his hands into her hair, he brought her lips up to his. “It terrifies me as well,” he said softly, then lowered his lips to hers in a deep passionate kiss that left her breathless.
Her world spun out of control. Never had she wanted anything more than she wanted this man before her, and never had she been so miserable knowing he could never be hers. Stefan tore his lips from hers and abruptly stood, bringing her up with him.
He extended his arm and smiled softly. “Come, my lady, let us go our separate ways.”
Moist heat welled in her eyes. Hastily, she nodded, and allowed him to escort her down to the hall, where he left her at the lord’s table and walked away from her, never once looking over his shoulder.
In the ensuing days Arian caught only a glimpse of Stefan when she visited the stables to tend her mare and to Belenus, the stallion she had bred and raised from a foal. To her surprise, she found a friend in Lady Tarian. She was drawn to the woman’s quick wit and sage running of the manor. By simple observation, Arian learned what she had never bothered to learn in Dinefwr. Lady Tarian allowed her to accompany her in minor dealings with the churls and the many servants assigned to duties in the hall. ’Twas enough to keep her occupied and to keep mind and body from thinking of Stefan.
Eight days after Gareth had ridden off to Powys, he returned not only with Cadoc but, to her delight, her brother, Rhodri, and word from the Welsh king.
Rhodri strode into Draceadon’s hall as if he were lord and master. Arian ran to his open arms. “Rhod!” she cried. For one so young, his face was stern to those who watched, but he could not help a smile when he embraced his sister, lifting her off her feet.
“Arian, you have worried a score of years off my life! Father is fit to be tied. I fear Rhiwallon will have a full-scale war on his hands if the lout double-crosses the great prince of Dinefwr!”
“Then he has agreed to the terms?” she asked, and lost much of her happiness when Stefan strode into the hall, followed by Ralph and that rodent lackey of his, Philip.
Everyone turned at his entrance, and Arian’s heart leapt high in her throat.
“Gareth?” Stefan called. “Does Rhiwallon agree to our terms?”
“Pray he does!” Lady Tarian said breathlessly, coming to join the group.
In a short span of time the, hall was cleared of all but those who had a stake in the trade.
“Rhiwallon is furious,” Gareth admitted. “But he relented when young Rhodri here arrived with an ultimatum from Prince Hylcon and his cousin Cynfyn in the northern kingdom. There would be hell to pay. Still the stubborn king refused, until he was assured that the Viking would sent a flotilla of longships to regain his bride.” Arian watched Stefan’s face tighten. Gareth grinned. “I of course informed him William was prepared to cross the Channel with two thousand strong, more than willing to breach the Marches if his men were not returned.”
“What of Wulfson, Gareth, did you see him?” Lady Tarian demanded.
Gareth’s smile waned. “He is alive; and though not in top form all of them will survive.”
Lady Tarian and Stefan let out a sigh of relief.
“This all sounds too easy, Gareth. What twist does the Welsh king put on the trade?”
Gareth scowled. “He wants not only Lady Tarian, but the Lady Brighid as well.”
“Nay!” Tarian cried.
Stefan reached to her and pulled her close, and softly but firmly said, “He will not harm the girl. She will no doubt be reunited with her father.” He looked to Gareth. “I agree to his terms. We will set out at first light.”
“There is one more thing, sir,” Gareth said.
Stefan nodded.
“He requires seeing the princess with his own eyes before the exchange is made.”
“He is free to come to Draceadon.”
“He insists she be present at the meeting place.”
Stefan laughed, the sound cold and calculating. “Does Rhiwallon think I am a clod? The lady stays here. Out in the open, too much can go awry.”
He looked to Rhodri. “You are her brother?”
He nodded, standing tall and unyielding before the Norman. Pride swelled in Arian’s chest. “Aye, and I will kill any man who lays even one finger upon her person.”
Stefan’s lips twisted into a nasty smile. “Ride ahead and assure your kin that you have seen your sister with your own eyes, that she is alive and well. She will not leave this place until my brothers are safely returned. We will set out tomorrow and meet. I expect you to convince Rhiwallon he has no other choice.” Stefan stepped closer to the young prince. “For if he does not agree to my terms, you will never see your sister alive again.”
Rhodri drew his sword. Arian screamed but it was for naught. Stefan kicked the lad from him, drew his own sword, and pressed it to her brother’s throat. “Do not begin a battle you can never win.” Stefan stepped back and waved his sword toward the door. “Go.”
Rhodri looked to Arian, and she slowly nodded. He turned stone-faced from the group, calling for his squire and his men, then disappeared through the hall door.
Stefan turned, sheathing his sword, and bowed to Arian. “You are excused, my lady. What we have to discuss now is of no interest to you.”
Anger at his rude dismissal boiled just beneath her skin. Haughtily she raised her chin, spun around, and turned to the wide stairway to her chamber.
SEVENTEEN
Two days later found Stefan, Lady Tarian, Lady Brighid, Sir Cadoc, and their respective companies high upon a ridge, overlooking a small clearing in the thick woods along the Welsh and English border. They watched as the dragon standard of the Welsh king Rhiwallon broke through the thick forest on the Welsh side, behind it a battle-ready accompaniment of mounted soldiers. Rhodri of Dinefwr also rode with them.
Stefan’s heart leapt high in his throat with happiness as his brothers emerged under heavy guard, their hands bound behind their backs, their horses roped in a train, each upon their own good steeds, looking no worse than what a good night’s sleep and a hot meal could not cure.
“My love,” Tarian said softly, as she leaned forward in her saddle to see her husband, Lord Wulfson, leading the group of them. “He lives,” she said between tears.
Stefan nodded. “Aye, Rhiwallon is no fool. Had he harmed them he would face William here or in hell.”
Stefan gave the signal for his men to follow, and very carefully, they made their way down the steep hillside.
Stefan felt Tarian’s excitement beside him as they approached. “Steady, my lady. Steady,” he cautioned.
When only thirty paces separated each side, Stefan called out to Morgan, Rhiwallon’s captain. “So we meet again, Morgan.”
The Welshman nodded. “I fear, Sir Stefan, it will not be the last time.”
“Pray that it is,” Stefan said, a
s he urged his mount closer. He made eye contact with Wulfson first and saw raw fury in his eyes. Did he know Tarian was to be traded for him and their brothers? Next to him, Rorick, whose lips quirked in a smirk. Then to Ioan, the big Irishman, stoic as always, to Warner, who nodded, and to Rohan, whose jaw twitched with anger. And finally he looked to Thorin who sat towering over most of them, his cool pale eyes ever watchful. Only Rhys was absent, and that gnawed at Stefan’s gut. With him gone, they would be much like a hand without a finger.
Stefan looked to Gareth, who escorted Lady Brighid to the other side. When Gareth made to escort Tarian, Wulfson shouted out, “Nay! She is not part of the bargain.”
Immediately Tarian was surrounded by armed Welshmen and moved further away.
“Wulfson!” Tarian cried, valiantly trying to retain her composure. “ ’Tis only until you deliver the princess to her betrothed.”
“Nay!” he roared, and urged his horse forward. Morgan drew his sword, backed by several others. Stefan spurred his destrier and rode interference between the raging Norman lord and the king’s captain. He grabbed the bridle of Wulf’s steed and yanked hard, bringing him around. “Think, man,” Stefan hissed in his friend’s ear. “Rhiwallon will not harm her for fear of retaliation! Leave with me now so that we all may live tomorrow!”
Morgan smiled a nasty smile. “You may all go, but the Viking returns with us.”
“Nay, ’twas not part of the deal,” Stefan said menacingly.
“Rhiwallon insists. Should Wulfson fall, there will be no urgency to carry out the exchange, and return for his lady. Thorin is kin not only to Olaf but blood brother to all of you. For him, any one of you who lives will see the exchange made to save his skin.”
“I will stay, Stefan, and keep watch over the ladies.” Thorin’s deep voice boomed over them all.
Angry, Stefan glared at Morgan and nodded. A man cut Thorin’s horse from Rohan’s and pulled him into the thick protective fold of soldiers.
Morgan motioned to another man, who nudged his horse forward and dropped a large satchel to the ground; it clanked when it hit. “Your swords,” Morgan said. He looked to Rhodri. “You are free to return with us.”
Rhodri spat and spurred his horse toward Stefan, crossing sides; his handful of men followed his lead.
Morgan sneered in contempt at them all, reined his horse around, and thundered into the woods; his men followed, surrounding Tarian, Brighid, and Thorin.
“I will kill him!” Wulfson yelled to the wind. “I will kill him!”
Stefan’s heart tightened for his friend. He was beginning to understand what he must feel. He would feel it soon enough when Arian married Magnus. Deftly, Stefan dismounted, and cut them all loose from their bindings. He handed each brother his sword, then remounted.
“Come, let us go to Draceadon. I will explain all on the way.”
“Explain now why my wife is in the hands of that cur Rhiwallon!”
Stefan waved his brothers over, and as they circled around him he could not help a smile. “I cannot explain my joy. I have worried like a milkmaid over you these past weeks.”
“Aye, we thought you dead upon the field, Stefan,” Rorick said grimly.
“Where is the lad Rhys?” Rohan demanded. “And why do you ride his horse?”
“I fear he is mulch at Hereford. His horse found me as I lay wounded myself, and I searched the field for him. ’Twas there I heard a Welshman speak of your capture. Once I was able to ride I came upon Prince Hylcon of Dinefwr’s daughter on her way to marry a Norse jarl.” Stefan grinned. “I saw an opportunity and seized it. Her for you six, but before Rhiwallon will release Tarian, we must deliver the princess to Moorwood, south of York, to her betrothed.”
“Tarian, the girl, and now Thorin, are the guarantee the princess is safely delivered and no other ransom demanded?” Wulfson asked.
“Aye, Wulf, ’twas your lady’s idea. Though I argued with her, it made the most sense. That Rhiwallon sent for Lady Brighid as well was a surprise but understandable. Alewith no doubt cavorts with the Welsh and that blackguard Edric.”
Wulfson seemed to lose some of his anger, though he looked as if he had not had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. “Then let us get this princess of yours to York! I have a yearning for my wife!”
The Blood Swords, united save for two, thundered from the thick forest toward Draceadon.
Wulfson refused to wait one day for Yorkshire. Stefan understood his urgency, though he himself did not feel it. The sooner they reached the eastern part of the island, the sooner he would turn away from Arian and not look over his shoulder. The reality of never seeing her again began to gnaw at his gut.
But Wulf was adamant, and Stefan could not argue. The men, though tired and hungry, were fit for the journey.
As they entered the hall, Stefan hurried straight for the dungeon. The dank smell of urine and feces that would forever permeate the hellhole assaulted his nostrils, as it had months before, when Wulfson had rescued Lady Tarian from the same place. But this time, though a princess was held in the bowels of the fortress, ’twas not to keep her prisoner but to keep her safe. Safe from his own kind.
He grabbed a torch from the wall sconce and shoved the key into the lock, then hurried down the slick steps. When he approached the cell that held Arian, he was met with a fierce glare. He challenged it and quickly unlocked the door, and swung it open.
“My lady?”
She stalked past him without so much as one word, and regally crossed the cistern center and walked slowly up the stairs. He cursed and followed her, giving her light lest she fall and break her neck.
Her maid Jane met them atop the stairs, her hands a ball of nervous flittering. “My lady? How farest thou?”
“I am well, Jane; please see to my bath.” Arian said staunchly, as she made her way past her and into the hall. Stefan caught the nurse’s eyes. He did not expect the softening in them.
She bobbed her head and said, “ ’Tis well you kept her under lock and key as you did, sir, Sir Philip has tried everything but burrowing under the castle to get to her.”
Stefan nodded. “I entrusted the other key to Father Dudley for her release, should I not have returned today.”
Again, the maid bobbed her head. “My thanks, sir.” She hastened from him then.
Slowly Stefan made his way to the hall, to find his brothers seated at the lord’s table, eating and making plans.
“Stefan!” Ioan boomed, raising a skin of wine. “Our thanks!”
The others joined in, even Wulfson, raising their cups, bellowing their thanks to him.
Stefan scowled, but drew closer. When their voices died down Warner asked, “What eats at you other than the obvious, brother?”
Stefan poured himself a full goblet of wine. “ ’Twas my mistakes that caused your capture and Rhys’s death. What is there to thank me for?”
“How can one man be responsible for that slaughter?” Rorick solemnly demanded. “We were outnumbered eight to one, and while the Blood Swords are the mightiest warriors in the realm, even we have our limitations. That we survived is the true testament to our skill!”
Warner took a long pull of his wine, and said, “Had you not devised such a wily plan with the archers in the field we would all be burning in hell at this very moment!”
Rohan slapped Stefan on the back. “We shall find Rhys. My instinct tells me the lad is lying in some nubile maid’s bed as she lavishes attention upon him. He will milk it as long as he can, then return to us. Have no doubt!”
Despite their dark mood, Stefan smiled at the image of the young knight lying abed as a beautiful maid clucked over him like a mother hen over her chicks. Aye, he would accept her ministrations until he was well enough to travel. He looked to Wulfson, who stared at his feet. Emotion he could not put a name to clogged his throat. He cleared it, and softly said, “Wulf, if it is the last thing I do, I will see your lady returned to you.”
His brother’s deep green ey
es lifted to his. Slowly he nodded. “I have no doubt, but her safety is my responsibility. I will not have her taken from me.”
“We will ride hard each day, Wulf,” Stefan said. “With the large contingent of men and show of arms no one will dare accost us along the way. Upon the Jarl’s arrival the vows will be said. Accompanied by the young prince Rhodri to bear witness to the nuptials, you will ride to Rhiwallon. I have sent word to William; he will send more men to accompany you.”
“I do not trust Rhiwallon,” Wulfson gritted. “He smiles like the fox after swallowing the hen.”
“He is not daft,” Ioan said. “He will not stand to lose everything just to smite William.”
Warner stood and raised his cup. “To finding Rhys alive and well in the arms of a nubile maid! To Lady Tarian returning to soothe the savage wolf, and the safe return of our brother, Thorin, who were it not for his sage guidance we would all be mulch!”
Grimly the Blood Swords raised their cups, and drank.
Arian was roused before the break of dawn to ready herself and her train. They would depart for Yorkshire after the breaking of the fast. A short time later, when she descended into the hall, dressed for travel, she found it a wild blur of activity. Taking advantage of the chaos, she slipped from the hall to the stable, where she found Cadoc’s squire readying her mare Fahadda.
“I will see to her, squire. Find another chore to busy yourself,” Arian commanded. The boy bowed and hurried from the stall. She looked to the next stall and recognized Stefan’s black beast. He shook his great black head and snorted at her, as if laughing. “You will not think it so funny should I geld you!” she hissed.
“Pray do not geld him, milady,” Stefan said from behind her. “He will lose his fire for battle.”