The Red Wolf's Prize

by Regan Walker

  Those who had survived the coming of the Normans would never forget, as she never would. It had changed their lives forever.

  Sighing, she chided herself for dwelling on the past. She took a deep breath and brought herself to the present and focused on the evening meal.

  The mutton stew set before her was hearty and the aroma of the well-seasoned broth made her mouth water. She had not eaten since breaking her fast and that had been only bread and cheese. From their murmurings in Norman French, Serena discerned that Maggie had once again impressed the Red Wolf’s men with her cooking. Having worked all day on the castle, they consumed with relish the stew and hot bread fresh from the oven. More and more the Normans drank the English ale now.

  Sir Niel, her constant shadow, sat at one of the long tables laughing with another knight. Although he appeared unaware of her, she knew if she were to rise, the knight, whose hair failed to cover the jagged scar that marred his handsome face, would do so as well.

  Serena understood the lack of trust between her and the Red Wolf that had led to the guard. How could they know she was resigned to her fate when there were times she doubted it herself? The gesture she had made to greet them in her fine gown and circlet of silver and gold had, even then, seemed a betrayal of her father. It was why she had spoken of him when she addressed the Red Wolf’s men. Why she had insisted the Normans pay the old thegn respect.

  What would he say if he were alive to see her acceptance of the Norman king’s bidding? What would Steinar say if he knew she would soon be the Red Wolf’s wife?

  Of Talisand’s men, tonight the hall was missing Theodric, the captain of her father’s guard, now one of the Red Wolf’s men. Though Theodric was married and lived in one of the manors, he often dined in the hall if he spent the day at the manor. Leppe and Alec, who had guided their small band into the woods the first time she had tried to escape, now served their new lord as archers. Their sworn fealty required them to join the Red Wolf in battle if he had need of them. Mayhap it was for the best. If they were to prosper, they must show loyalty to the new lord.

  And so must she.

  The Red Wolf was a warrior unschooled in all that must be done for the smooth running of Talisand’s lands. For her people’s sake, she must help him and turn her attention to the harvest if they were to eat this coming winter.

  “My lady,” said Maugris, his forehead wrinkled in concern, “you speak little this eve, yet your face tells me you ponder much. Is something amiss?” His ancient eyes, fathomless pools of pale blue, lingered on her, making her wonder what he might see that others did not.

  “Sometimes, I think of how things were.”

  “It is unwise, my child, to look too long behind you, else you will miss the future that lies before you. Though the wounds of the past are deep, let your heart find solace in the knowledge it has loved well.”

  “I know you speak the truth, wise one, and I have told myself the same. But if we are to speak of the future, I must tell you I am worried about all that must be done to bring in the harvest and prepare the cottages for winter now that we have fewer men. Your lord took some of the strongest, while others have been compelled to build his castle.”

  “When the time comes, the Red Wolf’s men will help, my lady. You have only to ask. The lord will withhold naught you require.”

  “The villagers will be relieved to hear it,” she said gratefully, turning to face him. “I thank you.”

  The rest of the evening meal passed with only brief comments about the progress of the castle. On the south side of the manor, where nothing had stood before save shelters for the sheep, there was now a huge mound of earth and, on its flat top, a half constructed tower.

  “Soon the castle will be finished,” said Sir Maurin cheerfully, slipping into Norman French. “When the harvest is ripe, the men of Talisand will be free to work the fields.”

  “That is good for we will need them to bring in the wheat and the other crops. And for the hunting and butchering that must be done before winter.”

  The senior knight the Red Wolf had left in charge was consumed with plans for the castle. “Have you seen the drawings, my lady?” asked Sir Maurin.

  “Nay, but I have heard the hammers and seen the ditch created from the huge mound of earth that supports the new timbered structure.”

  “There will be a keep with a larger hall at its base and a small chapel, as well as the lord’s solar and chambers for others. ’Twill be larger than some built by William’s command but not so fine as the home of the Red Wolf family in Normandy.”

  Serena wondered about the home the Red Wolf had left in order to seek his fortune in distant England. He had yet to speak of it. And she wondered, too, how it would feel to be the lady of the new castle—to be the wife of the unbending knight. Not wishing to dwell on the future rushing toward her, she asked instead, “Why another chapel?”

  “Knowing the Red Wolf,” Sir Maurin said with a smile, “he would want one close for he is a man of faith. But ’twill also serve to satisfy the penance decreed for Norman soldiers who took lives at Hastings.” At her puzzled expression, he explained, “One year’s penance for each man the knight killed or, if he does not know the number, then he must do a penance one day a week for the rest of his life, or he may build a church.”

  “I see.” New churches must be rising all over England. “The Red Wolf does not know how many Saxons he killed, does he?”

  “Nay, my lady,” the knight said with a guilty expression. “Few of us have a count.”

  Serena was not surprised with so many dead at Hastings and all over the south of England. The Norman king had been ruthless. And she expected the Red Wolf was adding to his number even now at Exeter. She shuddered at the thought of what the battlefield must look like.

  Sir Maurin’s gaze followed Cassie as the comely redhead helped to serve in the hall. Serena had observed the two of them walking near the river, so enthralled with each other they appeared ignorant of any who watched. She was happy for Cassie if that is what her handmaiden wanted. Sir Maurin was a good man, even though he was a Norman. And how could she criticize Cassie when she herself would soon be sharing the bed of a Norman knight?

  Aethel approached the high table and began refilling the goblets from the pitcher she carried. Thanking her for the ale, Serena drank her fill, letting out a sigh. Was Aethel still enamored of the Red Wolf? There was no love involved, of that Serena was certain. In fact, since Theodric had wed another, Aethel seemed to care for no one, not even the old thegn whose bed she had shared. But remembering the way she had waved at Sir Alain as he had departed for Exeter, Serena thought one day Aethel might find a man to please her, even a Norman knight.

  Just not the Red Wolf.

  * * *

  The hall was quiet, the tables cleaned and moved against the walls and the knights and men-at-arms asleep on their pallets when Aethel stood in the shadows of the entry, waiting for the next step in her plan. The only noises now were the men’s snoring where they slept. It was unusually warm, so there had been no hearth fire that night, and the torches were long since snuffed. A lone candle stood vigil in the manor’s entry.

  Cassie came from the kitchen and climbed the stairs, carrying a tankard of ale to Sir Niel, the knight who guarded Serena’s door. The long summer days were upon them and, by evening, the air in the manor was still. Aethel had known the drink would be welcomed and made certain each night for a sennight a different serving woman had carried him the drink. But tonight the tankard held more than the amber liquid that would quench the knight’s thirst.

  Aethel’s knowledge of herbs, learned from her grandmother, made adding a sleeping potion a small matter. And she had done so without Cassie being aware. Nor would the knight detect any difference in taste, just as Serena had not in the ale Aethel had served her at the evening meal. The potion would only bring sleep. Neither would be harmed.

  Aethel listened to the conversation between the handmaiden and the young knight.


  “Good eve, Sir Niel,” Cassie said as she handed him the tankard.

  “Good eve to you, Cassandra. ‘Tis the end of a long day.” He accepted the drink. “The ale is appreciated.”

  “It is nay more than we did for the old lord and his men, sir knight.”

  Sir Niel finished the drink and Cassie took the empty tankard and descended the stairs.

  Still in the shadows, Aethel watched expectantly. Since the Mercian seller of cloth had departed, she’d been waiting for his return. He had told her Earl Morcar had sent him, and she doubted it not for she knew well Morcar’s purpose. She had seen the look in the eyes of the tall blond Mercian as he gazed upon Serena when he had last visited the old thegn. And then a few days ago the message had come, telling her to be prepared for this night.

  Aethel told herself she was helping Lady Serena find a better fate than the Red Wolf. After all, there was so little trust between the two of them a guard trailed her every move. And Serena had tried to escape more than once. So Aethel had planned to help her lady escape again.

  She slipped out of the manor, heading toward the postern gate, secure in the belief Serena would be pleased to wed the handsome Mercian earl. Knowing Serena wanted to leave soothed Aethel’s conscience for Sir Alain had been right. She had been jealous. Even as a young girl, her own dark beauty had never drawn the boys’ stares as had Serena’s flaxen hair and unusual violet eyes. Aethel had wanted Theodric, yet his gaze always followed Serena. But the thegn would never give his daughter to Theodric, allowing Aethel’s hopes for a future with him to rise. It had all been for naught.

  Knowing the thegn was lonely and had wanted her for a long while, it seemed the easier path to become his leman than to take a lesser man as husband. And, though there was no love in the coupling, for a while it had been enough. Sigmund had been kind and Aethel came to care for him. But when the thegn was killed, Aethel lost more than a man in her bed; she lost her status among the people and the hope Sigmund would one day marry her. Thinking to regain her position, she had sought the bed of the new Norman lord. But the Red Wolf held himself apart from all the women at Talisand, save for one. One who did not want him. One who hated Normans. One who would be pleased to leave. For Aethel did not believe the grand display Serena had put on for the benefit of her Norman captors.

  Now Aethel would make two people happy, Lady Serena and Morcar, who would claim her as his bride. What did it matter if she angered the Red Wolf? He would never know it had been she who helped to rob him of his bride. Yet even as she told herself all this, a thought rumbled around in her head. Since the night Sir Alain had made his intentions known, she had watched the brawny knight who carried the Red Wolf’s standard. That such a man would want her as his wife gave her new hope.

  But would he understand why she had aided Serena’s attempt to flee his lord?

  * * *

  A short time later, Aethel arrived at the postern gate, gratified to see the guard leaning against the palisade timbers softly snoring. She did not have long to wait. In a matter of moments, a man approached dressed as a knight, his cloak falling over his tunic and mail like a dark shadow. In the dim light of the half-moon she did not recognize him at first but she knew who had sent him for he was expected.

  As the moonlight fell across the face of the saturnine knight with the dark hair and beard, she stepped back, exclaiming in a harsh whisper, “Sir Hugue!”

  “Aye, Aethel. ’Tis I.”

  “What are ye doing here? I was expecting a man from Mercia!” Now she was worried. Why would the mercenary sent away in disgrace return on this night?

  “I have been sent by Earl Morcar. I do his bidding now,” he said shortly. “Is all ready?”

  Aethel had never trusted the mercenary who had tried to rape Eawyn. Yet there was little she could do at this point if Morcar had dispatched him to fetch Serena. “Yea, all is ready. But first I must have yer word that ye will not harm my lady.”

  “Do you think me a fool, woman? Earl Morcar would not pay me the coin he has promised if I harmed his lady. Nay, I will touch her only to carry her to him.”

  “Then ye may take her,” she said, still feeling some trepidation. “But ye must be careful to follow me and do all I say. Should he awake, Sir Maurin would not be pleased to see ye here at Talisand. Sir Niel guards the lady’s door but he is sleeping from a potion just like this guard.” She looked down at the snoring man at her feet. “But others in the hall and in yonder tents have not received the drink and will hear us if we are not careful.”

  Avoiding the hall, they entered the front door of the manor and crept up the stairs illuminated by the single light left burning. Sir Niel was sprawled against the wall next to Serena’s chamber where she slept unaware of what was happening around her. As they were about to enter her chamber, a man stumbled from the hall to the manor’s entry below. Sir Hugue flattened himself against the wall, pulling his dagger from his belt and held it aloft, ready to strike.

  Aethel drew in her breath as her heart raced. Shaking her head at the mercenary, she frowned, silently cautioning him. Sir Hugue sheathed his dagger but kept his eyes on the man in the entry whose unsure steps told Aethel he had indulged in too much ale. Weaving his way to the door, he stumbled from the manor, no doubt heading toward the privy.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Aethel gestured to the mercenary to follow her as she carefully opened Serena’s door and entered. She walked to the bed and held aside the curtain, as Sir Hugue peeled back the cover, revealing Serena asleep in her night tunic.

  “So this is the Lady Serena,” he whispered. “She is a comely woman and looks a mite familiar.”

  “She was disguised as the servant Sarah.”

  “Aye, now I remember. The wench who shot an arrow into my arm.”

  “She is no wench, sir. She is the Lady of Talisand. Ye’d best be respecting her.”

  “Aye, my new lord requires it.” His smile made Aethel cringe. “’Twill be good to see the Red Wolf lose this prize.”

  “Be quick or we will be discovered!” She had no time for this and did not like the way the knight’s eyes roved over the sleeping woman. Aethel had a pang of regret and wondered if she should be doing this.

  Turning his attention to his task, Sir Hugue lifted Serena, and carried her toward the open bedchamber door.

  At the bottom of the stairs Aethel paused, waiting for any sounds that would tell her if someone might still be awake. Hearing nothing, she retrieved the small bundle of clothing she had prepared for Serena, hidden at the base of the stairs. Walking in front of Sir Hugue, she opened the manor door and stepped into the night. The Norman followed with Serena in his arms. Aethel closed the door and carefully draped her lady’s cloak over her.

  A sheep dog barked in the distance and once again Aethel froze, listening. The man who had stumbled out of the manor moments before now ambled his way back. Aethel, followed by Sir Hugue, pressed into the shadows.

  The drunken man noticed nothing.

  They waited for him to enter the manor, and once he did, Aethel motioned the mercenary forward. She saw the guard at the main gate but knew he could not see into the shadows, and his eyes looked outward not behind him.

  Finally, they reached the postern gate, where the guard still snored. Aethel began to worry if Sir Hugue could carry Serena on the long ride ahead. In a whispered voice, she asked him, “Are ye alone?”

  “Nay, Morcar sent two of his men with me. They wait in yon woods.”

  “Then I will see ye to them. I want Lady Serena to have this bundle when she awakes.”

  Aethel followed him into the woods at the edge of the village. Two cloaked men stood, holding the reins of three horses. Their light colored beards and long hair told Aethel the men were Mercians and that brought her comfort. Without a word, she handed the bundle to one of them. Turning to Sir Hugue, she asked in a whisper, “How long will it take ye to reach Morcar?”

  “A bit more than a day if we ride hard.”
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  Aethel bit her lower lip, worried. Serena would wake before then. “Ye must give her more potion when she begins to stir.” Prepared against such a possibility, Aethel reached into her cloak and drew out a small skin containing ale mixed with more potion, and another skin that contained vegetable broth. “Give her this.” She handed the skin with the potion to one of the waiting Mercians. “And then give her this broth if she can be made to take it,” she said, handing him the other skin. “It is a broth to give her sustenance while ye travel. When she awakes in Mercia, she will remember nothing.”

  Chapter 15

  Serena woke to a pounding in her head and a gnawing hunger in her belly. The dim morning light pierced the narrow opening in the bed curtains. Still groggy, she could barely discern with her half opened eyes what seemed strange about her surroundings. After a moment, she sat up and pulled wide the curtains, startled to realize she was not in her bedchamber, nor in her bed. She had never before seen this room with its stone walls, arched window and high timbered roof.

  Where am I, and how did I get here?

  Moments later, a knock sounded at the wooden door. Before she could say aught, it opened to reveal an older woman with graying brown hair wearing a servant’s tunic. The woman entered carrying clothing Serena recognized as hers.

  “My lady, ’tis time ye were up. Earl Morcar has been asking for ye.”

  Relief swept over Serena. Not a Norman then. She dropped her feet over the side of the bed. “Earl Morcar?”

  “Yea, my lady, ye were brought here last night.”