Master of Craving

by Karin Tabke

  And though she fought it, her body instantly warmed and her hands shook.

  Slowly she turned and faced him. He was close. So close she could see the silver spokes in his brilliant blue eyes. So close she could smell him. So close she could feel his warm breath upon her cheeks.

  “Is the thirst for battle all that drives him? Does he not look forward to green pastures with a mare and foals and to live out his days in harmony?”

  Stefan snorted. “He is a horse!”

  Arian turned from Stefan to Fahadda. Smoothing her hand down the mare’s sleek neck she said, “He is a horse, true, but when he is old and broken down from too many battles, what will become of him? Will he be slain and used as dog meat?”

  Stefan pressed close to her back. “He is a fine stallion, with a long noble lineage; he will sire many like him.” Stefan reached past her and placed his hand upon hers that lingered on the mare’s neck. The contact was warm, and cracked like lightning between them. “He will mate with mares such as your Fahadda, to be sure. She is noble, mighty, and strong. They would produce a great line for generations to come.”

  Arian stood perfectly still as her emotions ran rampant with thoughts of a child of Stefan’s. He too would be noble, mighty, and strong.

  Slowly, she turned to face him, holding her breath fearful he might press her, but more fearful that she would allow him. “When your warring days are behind you, Stefan, will you see a green pasture and begin your legacy?”

  He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “Nay. I will be too old and broken to offer comfort to any woman. My life is in the saddle.”

  “But there is land to be had!”

  “Aye, there is, but I have no name, no family.”

  “But Stefan! You could build your line. A proud, mighty line. Why would you choose not to?”

  He scowled, and dropped his hand, moving away from her. “I would be no comfort to a wife or child. I am a solitary man. Even amongst the Blood Swords I find myself on the outside looking in. ’Tis no life to share with any woman.”

  Deep sadness for this man, this good man who risked all to save his brothers, gripped Arian’s heart. “You do yourself a grave dishonor, sir. You are more worthy than you know.”

  His eyes narrowed and his head snapped back. “You misunderstand, princess. I am worthy of many things, but I am not so arrogant to think that what I have to offer a woman would be enough to keep her content. Women want a noble husband, riches, land, and status. Not a mere soldier who would lay down his life for his own true love. Even you, dear princess, have made it clear that as a royal you would marry only one of your own station, and you scorn all others.”

  “Nay! ’Tis not true!”

  “It is, and I do not hold it against you. You are who you are, just as I am who I am. Long ago I accepted my lot in life. You should do the same.”

  He turned from her and went into the stall beside hers and led his horse from it, leaving Arian standing in stunned silence. With each passing moment, she realized he spoke the truth. And it was ugly. Were she free to marry any man, she would never look lower than her station. And that made her very sad, for she thought she was more worthy than that. She had never thought herself like the other noble ladies at court, who walked the halls with their noses so high in the air one could not see their faces.

  But in the last weeks she had realized there was more to a man’s character than his bloodline. And though Stefan de Valrey was bastard-born and bastard-raised, he was a man who stood above all others in her eyes. She wished to tell him her feelings, but she could not. She turned to the mare and readied her for the journey ahead.

  EIGHTEEN

  As they turned their horses to the road, Arian felt a nervousness she could not define. ’Twas not fear of the impressive accompaniment of knights and soldiers, nor fear of what lay ahead. She had no cause to fear her betrothed. Magnus was a good man who had the respect of his king and vassals. He was a man she could proudly stand beside. But ’twas the other, Stefan de Valrey, who caused her such torment. His presence made her belly flutter wildly, her heart tighten, and her blood warm.

  She looked ahead to the man who had changed so much about her. Gone was a silly girl who thought life was but trivia and feasts. Gone was the girl who did not consider the responsibility she was born to. And gone was the girl who vowed to never open her heart to have it broken. If she were honest with herself, she felt more than admiration for the proud knight.

  Arian was acutely aware of the special bond Stefan shared with his men, and though he may have felt an outsider amongst them, he was not. Their bond was complete. Unwavering as the earth was solid. He was relaxed and easy in their presence. ’Twas only when Ralph or Philip interfered in a conversation that his reticence returned. She understood his love for his brothers, and moreover, his determination to free them.

  On the first night on the road, beneath the lavish tent from Dinefwr, Arian watched Stefan relax against his saddle and lift a goblet to his lips. Lord Wulfson said something and Stefan threw his head back and laughed. Her longing grew deeper. While he had made every effort to see that her train was protected, and that she was comfortable, he did nothing more. He kept his distance. And while she understood, she did not like it.

  When they broke camp the next day, Arian made several attempts to steer her mare toward Stefan, but he was always just out of her reach. As the day drew to a close, the knights ahead came to an abrupt halt. She spurred her mount to the front, despite Cadoc and Rhodri’s calls to return. Her blood curdled at the sight before her. The outrider who had left that morn to scout a manor for them to spend the night lay dead on his back in the road, a sword with the gold and red dragon standard of the house of Godwinson whipping in the harsh wind, taunting all who stood witness.

  Stefan dismounted beside the dead Norman and drew the sword. He ripped off the standard and threw it to the ground. Turning to his men, he said softly, “I have had my fill of unruly Saxons. From this moment forward, any man, woman, or child who stands in our way shall be cut down at the knees.”

  His hard gaze caught Arian’s before moving past her to her brother and Cadoc. As he mounted his horse, he said to his squire, “See that he is buried.”

  The young man hurried to the task.

  “Tighten the flanks,” he called back to Ralph and Philip, then to his men, “We will stop at the first manor we come upon, and God help them if they refuse us.”

  Just as the sun sank behind them, an impressive wooden and stone structure rose ahead. Arian sighed in relief. Until several moments later, after Stefan and several of his men stormed into the place and the inhabitants ran shrieking from the structure. Stefan strode up to Arian and gave her a short bow. “ ’Tis called Worthington. Your lodgings for the night, princess.” He clicked his heels, then turned from her.

  His surliness irritated her already drawn nerves. But she allowed her brother to help her dismount and accompany her into the structure. In a sharp wave of revelation, she stopped on the threshold. In all but size, it was an exact replica of the hunting lodge they had spent such intimate time in. Her skin warmed as she remembered the moments spent there. Heat spread across her cheeks down to her chest. She could well understand Stefan’s mood.

  Once settled in a small but comfortable chamber, Arian returned to the main room, and was surprised to see the large trestle shoulder to shoulder with knights. When she entered the room, Stefan stood and the others hurried to follow. He nudged Wulfson aside so that there was a spot for her on the end.

  She smiled and sat, but not before she said, “ ’Tis customary for the nobles to sit first.”

  He scowled. “Here we are the same.”

  Arian did not argue with him as she sat looking for her brother.

  “A-wenching,” Stefan muttered.

  “I detect a note of envy in your tone, Sir Stefan.”

  His blue eyes bored into her. “Aye, would that I could find the release I so desire. My mood would be greatly soot
hed.”

  Arian took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Why, then, do you sit here when England’s thighs await?”

  Stefan nodded and stood. “Aye, why not.” Then he stalked from the hall.

  When the door slammed behind him, Arian turned to find his brothers’ eyes solemnly regarding her.

  “I ask on behalf of all of us, Lady Arian, that you set Stefan free,” Rorick said carefully.

  “Set him free?” Arian asked, confused. “But there are no ties that bind us!”

  His deep sea-colored eyes narrowed as he fought for control of his next words. “Invisible though they are, the bonds are strong. Make the break, marry your jarl, and give my brother back his heart. He has suffered more than you will ever know. I do not wish to see him suffer more.”

  She looked at each and every one of them, and saw the same closed look. She understood clearly: she was the enemy. “I—I do not know what to say to you, sirs. I am on my way to wed. Stefan’s heart is his to give. I do not have control of it.”

  “You do!” Rorick ground out. He leaned closer. “He is no good to anyone when you lead him along by the leash of hope. Make the break. Make it permanent.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Or I shall.”

  “Do you threaten me?”

  “Nay, I do not. I have no quarrel with you. I state only that if you do not sever the ties I will do it myself.”

  Feeling like a deer caught between two bows, Arian defended herself. “Stefan is a man of his own mind and heart. He understands I am promised to another, as I understand he is wed to his king.”

  “Then make it clear,” Rorick said. Shaking with anger, Arian stood, having barely touched her meal. How dare he threaten her? Did he expect her to lie to Stefan and tell him she no longer cared for him? She could not do that, any more than he could say it to her. Such cruel words would tear her heart in half. But then—then she could turn all her attention to her betrothed … and not pine for what could never have been. ’Twould force her to look ahead and not behind.

  Her shoulders slumped. ’Twould tear her apart to hurt Stefan. But it would also set him free. “Excuse me.” Slowly she made her way down the hall. As she entered the chamber, Jane raised her deep brown eyes from her stitching, and Arian knew she read her heartbreak. She sank to her knees at Jane’s feet. “After all these years, Jane, I begin to understand my father’s heartache.”

  A loud thud, followed by the scrape of metal, roused Arian from sleep. She shot up in the bed, Jane shielding her from the intrusion. Deep voices in French and English clashed in the hall. Stefan’s voice was close, just on the other side of her door. Arian moved from behind Jane and reached for her short dagger on the side table. Grasping it to her breast, she moved to the door.

  “Nay, milady! ’Tis too dangerous!” Jane cried.

  The clash of steel upon steel told the story of what transpired on the other side. More Saxon voices erupted. Dread filled Arian’s heart. They were under attack! Did Stefan fight alone? Where were the Blood Swords?

  She threw the bolt and heaved the door open. Stefan stumbled in backwards, fighting off two Saxon swordsmen. Arian jumped back and watched horrified as Stefan lost ground an inch at a time under the harsh attack. She dared not scream lest she distract him. More fighting sounds came from the hall and Arian realized they were under attack from all sides.

  The two men had pressed Stefan back into a corner when a third man burst into the room. Frozen with fear and not knowing what to do, Arian stood rigid in the room. She could barely make out Stefan’s large form from behind the three men. He lost more ground. When he went down on one knee, fending off the violent thrusts of the three swords, Arian snapped.

  “Nay!” she screamed, and lunged at the closest man, who turned in surprise. She plunged the dagger deep into his chest. The other two shifted their attention from Stefan just long enough for him to impale one with his sword; the other he kicked forward. Arian pulled her dagger from the dead man and turned on the other, ready to see him to hell. But Stefan did the honor. He hacked back with his sword, stopping the man in his steps. His dying eyes widened and in a slow fall forward he hit the floor dead.

  Stefan stepped over the carnage and pushed her back toward the bed. “Stay here. Do not leave this room!” Then he flew from her, slamming the door behind him. Jane threw the bolt. Arian stood in stunned silence, the bloody dagger in her hand, and stared aghast at the three dead men on the floor. “I have slain a man, Jane,” she whispered. “I have taken a life.”

  And with shattering realization that kicked the breath from her chest, Arian knew she would do it one hundred times again to save the life of the man she loved.

  When Stefan ran into the small hall, he was met with the cold stares of his men and a floor littered with bodies. Fury seethed in his gut. “How did they gain entrance?” he demanded of Ralph, who stood guard at the main door to the manor.

  Ralph pointed with his bloody sword to a hole in the floor near the short hallway leading to the chamber where Arian had slept. “A secret passage? Why was it not discovered when we swept the hall?”

  Rorick wiped the blood from his sword on the tunic of one of the dead Saxons, then glared at Ralph. “Next time we will not leave the chore to the inept.”

  Wulfson strode through the door, followed by Warner and Ioan. “There were at least thirty of them. The stables run wet with their blood.”

  Rhodri came bursting in behind them. “What goes on here?”

  Stefan snarled, “If you were not so bent on repopulating the island, you would know we have been attacked!”

  “Arian?” he gasped, stepping past Stefan, who grabbed his forearm, halting him. The younger man yanked his arm from the Norman’s grasp.

  “She is safe in her room. Barely.”

  Rhodri faced Stefan, anger twisting his face. “She would not have been in such danger had you not kidnapped her for your own gain!”

  Stefan turned on the young man. “Would you have her raped then? Would you have her bring shame upon your house because she was no longer a virgin and her chances of a royal marriage gone?” He stepped closer to the upstart. “Would you, Prince Rhodri, have forgiven her for what she had no control over?”

  The young man stood, silently furious. “She is my sister! I would have stood by her no matter what.”

  “You have an odd way of showing your loyalty, lad. Had you not been so enamored of the milkmaid you would have been the one sleeping on the pallet by her door, not I.” He fondled the hilt of his sword. “Mayhap it was best you were not there. I doubt you would be alive now.”

  Rhodri drew his sword. Before it was fully free of his scabbard, the Blood Swords, with the exception of Stefan, drew on him. Stefan smiled and walked into the sharp point of Rhodri’s blade. “Do you challenge me?”

  “Aye! I call you out.”

  Stefan threw his head back and laughed. In a move so swift no one expected it, he flung his brawny arm against the blade and half-turned, kicking the young prince onto his royal arse. He caught the sword before it hit the floor and stepped on the lad’s chest, bringing the blade down to his throat, pressing the point to the vein there. “I refuse to fight an unarmed opponent.” Stefan dropped the sword to the floor next to Rhodri’s head. Turning to his men, he said, “Let us clean up this mess, then prepare to depart at first light.”

  He turned and strode down the hall to Arian. He pounded on the door. “ ’Tis Stefan.”

  The door flew open, and with a sob, she flung herself into his arms. For one tense moment, he stood stiffly, but he could not resist her warm softness. His arms slid around her waist and he brought her gently against his chest. Something warm and wonderful filled his belly. She clung to him and his arms tightened around her. He pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling the flowery scent of her perfume. “The danger has passed, Arian. You are safe.”

  Her body shuddered in his arms. “Stefan,” she said, tears clogging her throat, “I—I killed a man.”

  He s
moothed her hair from her face and pushed her head slightly back so that he could look into her eyes. “My thanks. Had you not, ’twould be he standing here with you in his arms, not I.” He looked to the ground where the dead men lay sprawled upon the bloody rushes then back to her deep silvery eyes. Lowering his lips to her cheeks, he kissed away the tears. Then he kissed her moist lips, drawing her harder against him. Emotion swelled in his chest, clogging his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe. “Come,” he said, his lips hovering above hers. “Let my men clear the bodies.”

  When he turned with her in his arms, Wulfson and Rorick stood silently watching. Neither seemed pleased with his handling of the princess. He scowled, narrowing his eyes, daring either one of them to say a word.

  He guided her past them all, out to the front steps of the manor, where he sat her down on a bench. Quietly she sucked in the fresh air. Her hands trembled, as did her shoulders. After several long moments she looked up at him, her eyes glittering like steel. Gone was the terrified girl; in her place stood a furious woman. “Who were they and how did they gain access to the manor?”

  Taking exception to her curt tone, he scowled. “From the wood, there is a trapdoor with a tunnel, leading to the hallway just outside your door.”

  “Why was not a guard posted at my door?”

  “I slept across your threshold, princess. They were silent and deadly. Two were upon me before I heard a sound.”

  “Why did you even sleep if you suspected trouble?”

  “I am human.”

  “You gave your word you would see me to Yorkshire! I was nearly slain this night! Because of your laxness I was forced to take a man’s life!” She stood, and began to pace in front of him.

  Confused by her sudden mood change and her attack on him for yet again saving her life, Stefan lashed out. “Once again, you chastise me for saving your skin. If your life is so unimportant to you, then it is to me as well.” He curtly bowed. “Find another champion, Princess Arian, one who does not mind your constant nettles and barbs. I am through with you.”