by Karin Tabke
“Make your peace, cousin,” he said, and just as he brought the sword down a hiss, followed by the indisputable thump of an arrow finding home in skin and bone, rent the air. Stefan watched, shocked, as Ralph grabbed at the arrow that went clear through the side of his neck. He raised his eyes up and beyond Stefan, who followed his gaze. Arian sat upon her horse, another arrow notched in her bow.
“Stand down, Ralph, or my next arrow will cut your throat in half,” she threatened.
He stepped toward Stefan, and before his foot touched the soil, another arrow ripped through his throat. Blood sprang forth, and Stefan knew he was done. Stefan rolled over and slowly stood; grabbing his sword from the ground, he moved to Arian as quickly as he could. She held out a hand to him, and he vaulted onto the back of her horse.
“My thanks, milady.” He took up the reins and spurred the horse toward his men, who, with the help of the Norse guard and Arian’s Welshmen, had formed a tight gantlet around the quivering Saxons and the remaining Normans, who cowered worse than the Saxons did. In the distance, the entire manor and bailey lit up the night sky in flames.
Stefan gave the signal to blow the horn. After several trumpets, eerie quiet fell over the bloody field.
“The day is lost!” he shouted to the subdued army. “Throw down your weapons, now, and I will spare your lives this day.”
Metal clanked upon metal as the men dropped their swords, axes, and bows. Stefan looked beyond, to the raging fire that once was Moorwood. “You Saxons destroy well.” He looked to Ralph’s men—some half-score left. “Dismount.” Slowly they did. The Blood Swords circled them. “You are traitors to the Crown. Decide this night how you wish to die on the morrow!”
He felt Arian stiffen in his arms, but she remained silent. For a long moment, Stefan scanned the fearful faces before him. Most of them were field churls who would follow their master to the edge of the earth, their loyalty so deep. ’Twas the kind of man he wanted.
“What you have destroyed today, we will rebuild tomorrow for William.” His eyes scanned the few nobles who stood amongst them. “Cadoc!” Stefan called. “See that these men are retained.” Next Stefan’s eyes settled on the fearsome Danes. “Give a message to your king on behalf of mine: we are aware of his plot to invade England. Olaf will give Sven no support, nor will Sven find support amongst the Welsh kings. William’s hand firmly holds the reins here. And be sure Yorkshire will see more seasoned Normans each day that I am lord here. And I am not going anywhere.”
The Dane closest to Stefan made a short bow and bent to pick up his ax. “Nay,” Stefan warned. “You return as you are, stripped of your fight.”
The man glared at Stefan, but backed away, and was quickly followed by his men, who faded into the darkness.
Once more, Stefan turned to the large group of churls. “Return to your families this night, but at first light return to me here, and together we will rebuild a castle worthy of a king!” Wide-eyed, the churls looked at one another, unable to believe they were free to go home.
As the field emptied, leaving only Stefan and those loyal to him, he tightened his arms around his wife. He flinched at the pain in his forearm, knowing he would need stitches. He was grateful she kept silent. When they spoke, he wanted their words to be private. Slowly, they made their way to the manor that was now no more than a smoking heap of rubble.
“Jane?” Arian asked, fear lacing her words.
“She is safe in the wood behind the manor,” Rohan said from beside them.
Her body loosened in his arms.
As they stopped to gaze upon the wreckage so did everyone behind them, including the Norsemen. “How did you convince the Norse captain to return and fight for you?”
She leaned back into his arms. “I offered him and his men Magnus’s lands in Norway.”
Stefan threw his head back and laughed. “You are a wily princess, milady.”
“I am a determined one.”
As they entered the bailey, there were only a few huts left unscathed. The kitchens, made of stone though scorched, still stood. Thankfully the stable held as well.
“The manor is completely ruined,” Arian said softly.
“We can rebuild,” Stefan said just as softly.
“I never liked this hall or this setting. There is a more protected area down the road a ways, with a river close by. ’Twould be a good place to raise our sons,” Arian said.
She turned in his arms, and her eyes glowed softly in the low embers surrounding them. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her long and deep. When their lips parted Stefan raised her chin with his hand. “ ’Tis a hostile area, Arian. ’Twill be difficult at best to win the hearts of these people. There is no Saxon blood in our veins.”
“You are strong and just, Stefan. The people will see it as I have.”
“Mayhap in time, but there is another option.”
She leaned comfortably against his chest. “I am listening.”
“I am heir to my father’s holdings in Normandy. They are vast, and it is safer there for you.”
“I go where you go, my love,” Arian said, her silvery gaze penetrating Stefan’s soul.
Emotion welled up in his chest with such a velocity he thought he might die from the rush. “What do you wish, Arian?”
For a long minute, their gazes held as she pondered his question. “A new start, here, for us both.”
He grinned and pulled her close to his heart. His gaze scoured the smoldering ruins settling on his brothers, Rohan, Warner, Rorick, and Ioan, as they tended the wounded. With Wulfson, Thorin, and Rhys—whom they would find—still absent, part of him felt incomplete. But he would survive, as would his brothers. Stefan kissed the sunburst-colored hair beneath his chin.
Princess Arianrhod of Dinefwr was not only his wife, but his life force, his heart and soul, and Stefan knew with unshakable truth that so long as she remained beside him, they would thrive in Yorkshire and build a dynasty that would last one thousand years.
Master of Craving
© 2009 Karin Tabke
ISBN: 9781439102572
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