by Regan Walker
“What?” She looked aghast. “You would go to York?”
“Yea, I must. But hopefully the rebellion there will soon be over.”
His wife looked crestfallen.
“What is it, Serena? You know I cannot refuse the king.”
“Aye, I know. But York….” Her voice trailed off and he saw pain in her beautiful eyes.
“What is it about York that concerns you so?”
A shadow crossed her lovely face and this time he saw fear in her violet eyes. “You will fight my countrymen once again,” she said. “Have you and your king not killed enough English? Must there be more dead?”
“As long as the people choose to rebel against their anointed king, William’s knights must deal with them. I serve as William dictates.”
“And I am ever in the middle,” she cried, “torn between my people and my husband. I cannot bear it!”
“You speak of your people, Serena. Is it the rebel Earl Morcar you think of? William tells me he is at York.” Could she still harbor feelings for the earl who abducted her to wed her? The prospect stirred jealousy within him. “The earl and his brother are with Edgar Ætheling, nephew to Edward the Confessor. Now they have a cause they did not have before.”
“Nay, Renaud,” she pleaded. “I do not think of Earl Morcar, or his brother, or of Edgar, though I would not see them harmed. I think of my brother, Steinar.”
“What makes you think Steinar is in York?”
“He was in Scotland where Edgar claimed refuge,” she said. “Would he not travel south with the rightful heir to the throne?”
“We can only hope he does not,” Renaud said with a frown.
Chapter 21
No matter her pleading and her tears, Renaud could not be persuaded to remain at Talisand. It was his duty, he said, and as the wife of a knight, she should understand.
Serena had always known Renaud placed duty above all. It was the reason he had wed her. But the idea that he again rode to war tore at her heart. He might be wounded or killed. When her tears had persisted, he had assured her he would return whole and hearty. That brought her some comfort, believing her powerful warrior would be safe, but what of Steinar? Would it be her brother who would face the awesome sword of the mighty Red Wolf?
She had been teary eyed and tired for the last week and had thought it was because of the Bastard king’s visit. But she was coming to believe it was not merely that, or her husband’s soon departure, but portended more. She had seen enough women with child to believe she carried a babe. Though happy at the possibility, she hated the idea that the father of her unborn child might soon be locked in a battle with the child’s uncle and the men who fought with him for England.
“I am leaving Theodric and Sir Niel here with nearly a score of men to guard you and Talisand,” he assured her. “You need have no fear.” How wrong he was.
He stood before her in the yard, once again the proud Norman knight, the wolf’s pelt riding the shoulder of his hauberk. He had told her that knights in both Normandy and England had come to fear the sight of the beast’s fur, so he never failed to wear it into battle. At his side he carried his sword and a shorter blade on his opposite hip. He was a vision in dark blue, iron mail and silver, fierce in countenance, a knight any would see as dangerous. It did not surprise her men feared him.
Taking her into his arms he kissed her slowly, passionately and the scent of him so familiar to her now, lingered. Tenderly, he brushed the tears from her cheeks. She reached to his forehead to set aside an errant chestnut curl.
“I will come back to you, Serena. I promise.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Then he donned his helm, his eyes the same color as the steel protecting his head, and mounted his gray stallion.
It seemed her fate to always be watching the Red Wolf ride away with his knights and his men, this time following his king, to whom she had bid Godspeed. But unlike before, Serena did not intend to wait for her husband to return to Talisand. No, this time she would follow him to York.
Rhodri must have suspected her plans for as soon as the Normans departed, he approached. “If you are planning to travel to York, Serena, I would go with you. I promised Steinar to see to your welfare, and I shall.”
“You have spoken to Steinar?” she asked, surprised, for it was the first she had heard of it.
“Aye. Who do you think sent me to Talisand? But he bid me say nothing until we were ready to leave.”
“My brother. Of course. I should have known. But how did you—?”
“Find him?” At her nod, he said, “I knew something of his plans before he left. Then, too, I knew King Malcolm was in Dunfermline and I suspected Edgar Ætheling and his followers would find their way there.”
“I would see Steinar, Rhodri. I miss him and I worry for his life.”
“Prepare yourself for his anger, then. I came to help you escape, but you were determined to marry the Norman. I do not think Steinar will be pleased with either of us.”
“Aye, mayhap you are right. I did intend to flee the fate the Norman king decreed for me, but by the time you would have aided me, it was too late. At first, I stayed for Talisand, but now….”
Rhodri let out a sigh. “You care for him, I know. I have not sent word to Steinar of your marriage. I do not think he would believe it was your choice, much less that you could care for a Norman knight.”
* * *
It was the next day before Serena and Rhodri were able to get away without being followed. She had found little sleep in Renaud’s bed, missing him and imagining what he would say when he encountered her in York.
The journey took them nearly two days and, because it rained the first day, the trip was a miserable one. Sodden, weary and sick to her stomach each morning, Serena refused to be deterred.
She was determined to see Steinar, even to help him if she could, though she trembled, knowing it meant she defied her husband. She dreaded the thought of Steinar falling victim to a Norman’s sword. Ever mindful her husband might wield that sword, she feared all the more. And what if Steinar or one of the Northumbrians killed the Red Wolf? She could not bear to lose the knight who owned her heart, the father of her unborn child.
By the time they drew close to York, Serena could smell the acrid smoke. From what they learned from fleeing villagers, the Normans set fires as they approached York. Like locusts, they had swept across the countryside wreaking havoc in their path, intent on forcing the Northumbrians into submission. All that was left behind were the burned out shells of cottages.
On the morning of the third day, as she and Rhodri reached the outskirts of the city, she heard the sounds of clashing swords and shouts of men. In the distance were the River Ouse and the buildings that comprised York.
Urging Serena into the trees, where she found a thick branch to sit upon, Rhodri followed and readied his bow.
“Take care not to be seen!” he whispered.
Serena flipped her plait over her shoulder and nocked an arrow. Before them lay a great open field where the Northumbrians were engaged in a fierce insurrection, the thegns and their warriors locked in a clash of swords with the Normans, the latter having left their warhorses to fight the English on foot. Serena’s ears filled with the sounds of men shouting and metal clanging against metal.
Pressed close together as each side struggled to prevail, it would have been difficult to distinguish the individual warriors, except for the Normans’ longer shields and the Northumbrians’ round shields, longer hair and beards.
She took in the scene, anxiously searching for a glimpse of her brother and the Norman who wore the wolf’s pelt. One Northumbrian fell close to where they hid in the trees as a Norman blade sliced through the flesh of his neck. Blood shot out of the victim, splashing onto his attacker. She could nearly taste it as the metallic odor wafted up to where she hid. Serena clamped down her jaw, refusing to give into the compulsion to spew the contents of her stomach.
“There!
” shouted Rhodri. “Do you see him? ’Tis Steinar.”
Her gaze followed Rhodri’s extended finger, straining to see through the cloud of men moving and shifting as their swords locked as they attempted to block each other’s deadly blows. At last, she sighted his flaxen hair extending beneath his helm. Her heart seized in her chest.
Steinar stood on a slight rise, his sword already covered with blood, as he valiantly tried to fight off three Normans. He was so brave, this brother she loved. And yet so young.
Oh, Steinar, I pray you stay safe. I could not bear to lose you, too.
Quickly, she moved her bow into position. At least she could even the odds.
With a sudden whooshing sound, her arrow flew with lightning speed to strike the shoulder of the man closest to Steinar. The arrow sunk deep into his flesh and the Norman fell to the ground. With her second arrow, she slayed the largest of the two remaining. Her heart soared as Steinar quickly dispatched the last one.
She fixed her gaze on her brother as he turned to face another Norman’s sword. Faster on his feet than larger men, her brother slashed again and again at his enemy while adroitly dodging the blows meant for him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a tall Norman wearing the pelt of the wolf on his shoulder.
Renaud!
He was magnificent in his mail and helm, his shield blocking blows as his strong sword cut a swath through the line of men who attacked him. The set of his jaw told her the undefeated warrior she had heard so much about was here in all his glory.
A superb swordsman, he was ruthless and fast with his blade, powerful and lithe in his movements. As she had witnessed in the practice yard, he fought with panther-like grace slicing through the flesh of the men who opposed him. For a moment she forgot it was Northumbrians he was slaying. She thought only of her husband who wielded the sword.
At Renaud’s back was the bear-like knight Sir Alain, fighting with sword and shield. Men fell away from them at a terrible rate. It was no wonder some warriors avoided the Red Wolf, for his reputation was well earned.
Nearby, Steinar slayed the knight he fought and, without warning, turned and lashed out at Renaud. Seemingly stunned for a moment, the Red Wolf fought back, defending himself.
Serena swallowed, her teeth closing on her knuckles in suspense as fear gripped her, fear for the lives of the two men she loved most in the world now locked in viscous combat. It could not be!
“Rhodri, do you see? Steinar and the Red Wolf!”
“Aye I see them, Serena. What would you have me do?”
Serena’s arrow was nocked and ready, but she was frozen, unable to move. Steinar’s blade sliced through the air, blocked by Renaud’s sword. Her brother…her Norman husband, she could not choose between them! If her love for Renaud had not been sure before, it was now.
“Naught, Rhodri. Do naught.” Serena’s heart shattered as she watched the two men she loved lock swords again and again, Steinar attacking, Renaud defending. Was Renaud holding back? His thrusts seemed less vigorous than before.
She lowered her bow. “I cannot shoot, Rhodri. I must not. I love them both!”
Rhodri sat back against the trunk of the tree, resting his bow on his leg. “Then pray, my lady, and let God decide.”
And pray she did. Her gaze fixed on the battle raging between them, she asked God to save them both.
Suddenly Steinar was drawn away by another Norman’s challenge. Renaud turned as a blow from a Norman knight struck his shield. The Red Wolf stumbled and turned to confront the challenger, pausing as if surprised to see a fellow Norman wielding a blade against him.
Confused, Serena studied the Norman knight who was slashing at her husband. The swarthy complexion, dark beard and swaggering stance were familiar to her as the Norman shouted taunts at Renaud.
Sir Hugue! He fights with Morcar.
The weight of his evil presence settled upon her. His hatred was strong for the Red Wolf. Serena had her own hatred for the mercenary who had tried to rape Eawyn and had sunk a knife in Cassie’s flesh.
The battle raged between the two Norman warriors, the clash of steel rising again and again. Renaud twisted to deflect a blow from Sir Hugue and stumbled over the body of one of the slain. Falling to one knee, he fought to regain his balance, his sword still clutched in his hand.
“Rhodri! The Red Wolf is in peril!”
Taking advantage of Renaud’s vulnerable position, Sir Hugue swept in, raising his sword to inflict a deadly blow. In a flash of speed, Serena focused on the mercenary’s neck and let her arrow fly. Before Sir Hugue’s blow could find its target, her arrow pierced the flesh of his neck. Blood spurted from the wound. A second arrow, shot by Rhodri, hit the mercenary’s chest, the bodkin arrow piercing his mail.
Sir Hugue paused as if suspended in time, the arrows seeming to hold him up. Then with a crash, he fell to his knees and to the ground. Renaud stood looking down at the body.
Serena’s heart raced as she held her hand to her chest and breathed a sigh of relief. She could feel no sorrow for the man guilty of so much treachery.
“Aye, ’tis done,” said Rhodri.
Serena tried to find Steinar in what remained of the battle, but she had lost sight of him. The battle was waning. As she scanned the field, a Northumbrian warrior darted across the field toward the trees where she was hidden. As he neared, he stripped off his helm.
Morcar!
He ran through the trees, passing beneath her, followed by several other Northumbrians.
* * *
Renaud stared down at the body of Sir Hugue and his neck pierced with an arrow.
That arrow fletching.
The fletching bore the same feathers his wife had so carefully fit into her arrows that night by the hearth, distinctive in their style. He looked up to follow the path the arrow had taken, the arrow that had spared him Hugue’s sword. His eyes caught a flicker of flaxen hair amidst the green leaves of the trees. He had known the moment the first arrow hit the mercenary that no ordinary archer had shot it.
Serena!
How was it possible she was here?
Squinting into the distance, he saw Rhodri on another branch, mostly hidden by the color of his clothes, but visible to the discerning eye. Had they come to join the Northumbrian rebels? Surely she would fight for her brother. He had seen his wife’s same violet eyes and flaxen hair on an English warrior who’d attacked him earlier. Somehow he knew it was Steinar whose thrusts he had parried, and so he had not slain the young warrior. And then he had lost him among the other Northumbrians when Sir Hugue attacked him.
“It’s nearly over, Ren,” said Geoff approaching with his sword dripping blood. Looking over Renaud’s blood splattered body, he asked, “Are you wounded?”
“Nay,” he said, still staring into the trees, “an arrow from a friend spared me the insult.”
“An arrow?” Geoff asked incredulous as he spotted the mercenary lying at Renaud’s feet. “’Tis Hugue!”
“Aye, killed by arrows.”
“From where? There are no archers here.”
“The trees, Geoff. Look to the trees. Me thinks they hold a fair English archer and a Welsh bowman.”
Renaud might have laughed had he not been so angry with his wife for putting herself in danger. The thought of Serena being exposed to the sights and sounds of battle, of seeing him slaying her fellow English, covered in their blood, made him clench his teeth. But a worse fear confronted him. He could have lost her, his English wife who had so bewitched him. He did not question the truth that came to him then. Panic took hold of his heart at the thought he might have to live without her. Whether he trusted her or no, one thing was clear: he loved her.
In his frustration, he expelled his next thought. “The damn woman will nay stay put.”
“Aye, but mayhap this time you are glad she did not.” Geoff’s eyes twinkled with mirth.
Shaking his head, Renaud stalked toward the trees as his other knights
joined Geoff to take stock of their wounds and count the dead. The battle was over.
At the base of the tree, Renaud shouted into the branches above him, “Come down wife!”
The Welsh bard, Rhodri dropped to the ground. Renaud threw the Welshman a scowl for his part in Serena’s perfidy. Looking sheepish, the bard bowed his head and slinked off toward the battlefield, now a sea of bodies splayed across the ground. Some of his men slogged through the blood of the slain to reach those who would live. Others rounded up the Northumbrian prisoners.
He turned his attention back to the thick branches above him, watching as his wife slowly climbed down. He was unsurprised to see her wearing a lad’s clothing in the colors of the forest. When she arrived at the lowest branch where he could reach her, he looked into her violet eyes, set his hands on her waist and snatched her off the limb. He had intended to scold her, but without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a fierce hug and a deep, searing kiss.
Thank God you are safe.
Chapter 22
Serena met her husband’s harsh glare as he loosened his embrace. The blood that splattered his hauberk was now smeared across her clothes. His eyes were like shards of steel and his anger a tangible thing. But still she had to know. “You are well, my lord?”
Ignoring her question, he demanded instead, “What were you thinking coming to York, a place you knew would see battle? A place you might have been killed?”
She spoke the truth for she had no other reason to give him. “I thought only of you and Steinar. I would see neither of you harmed.”
“I am a man of war, Serena, and Steinar chose to be here with the rebels, knowing what he would face. But you, a woman, might have been wounded, raped or worse!” His chestnut brows drew together in a frown so severe she shrank back. He grabbed her upper arms and shook her. “Did you not consider my wish that you remain at Talisand where you would be safe?”