by Karin Tabke
Twenty-five
Wulfson’s heart beat like a smith’s hammer against his chest. He could not tear his eyes from Tarian. She looked more regal than any woman, queen or otherwise, that ever he had set eyes on. Her color was high, her back straight and confident, her clothes fit for an empress, and her sword hung proudly from her slender waist. Her pride and confidence made his chest tighten with love for her. He wanted to break a smile and lay claim to her in front of every person in the room! How could William destroy such a woman?
He watched her stare confidently up at William, and just when he thought she would show insolence by not sinking to her knees in a deep curtsy, she did.
But her eyes never wavered from the king’s. Wulfson held his breath; men had died for the same thing. Trepidation played with his pride. If she were not careful—
William stood and stared down at her. He took a step toward her. “So you are the one who has been giving me all this trouble.”
Tarian rose, and answered his challenge clearly. “Aye, I am Tarian Godwinson, daughter of Sweyn, granddaughter of Godwine. Niece to the late King Harold the Second, and widow of Earl Malcor.” She smiled, and added, “And the trouble you accuse me of has come through no fault of my own, sire.”
Wulfson held his breath and looked to William, who cocked a brow at her and took another step closer. Tarian stood proud and calm, but he could see the short, rapid rise and fall of her breasts.
“Do you have an army, Lady Tarian?” William asked, as if an accusation.
Tarian nodded her head. “I do, sire.”
“What are your plans for it?”
“My men are at your disposal, if you but ask.”
“Did you slay your husband in cold blood?”
Tarian smiled. “Aye, I slew him, but in cold blood? ’Twould depend on your definition.”
“I would define it as a slaying without cause to gain something which is not yours to take.”
Tarian’s smile widened. She inclined her head toward William. “Then, sire, I would most defiantly have to answer nay to your question.”
William stood with his hands behind his back and stared at her. “Then what was the cause of Earl Malcor’s death?”
“He became most frustrated when he could not rise to his husbandly duties. He took his frustration out first by beating me. But after he tired of that, he took my own sword and pressed it to my throat. I but returned the favor by taking his dagger from his belt, and slit his throat.”
Another collective gasp went up in the room, most notably, Wulfson saw, from the duchess. ’Twas not a good sign.
William nodded. “I find your candor refreshing, Lady Tarian.” He cocked his head and asked, “Did you sign a contract to wed Rangor of Lerwick and then break it?”
Tarian looked to Rangor, and Wulfson could feel her hate for the man across the room. She turned back to her king and nodded. “Aye, I signed a document. But ’twas the only way I could save your man Wulfson’s life—by promising marriage to that rat!”
“So, are you claiming you were coerced?”
Tarian threw Rangor another glare and turned back to William. “What would you call it, sire, when someone kidnaps your beloved, tortures him, then before your eyes tortures him further, until you are forced to agree to a most disagreeable union?” William glowered Rangor’s way, and Tarian was pleased to see the lord pale a few shades. “’Twas a means to save your man. I would do it again.”
William stood for a long, contemplative moment, then turned to Rangor. “It appears we have more to discuss, Lord Rangor. I do not take kindly the torture of my men. Do not leave the hall until we have spoken.” William narrowed his eyes and added, “In private, of course.”
Rangor swallowed hard, but gave his king a short bow.
William turned back to Tarian, and drew his broadsword from his sheath. Wulfson made to move toward her, but Rohan and Thorin held him back. He watched her sink to her knees. She folded her hands and bowed her head, prepared to meet her fate. Wulfson could not bear it. He tore free from his men, and as he made to stop his liege, he watched in amazement as William placed the flat side of his sword on Tarian’s right shoulder, then on her left. “Tarian Godwinson, do you pledge your fealty to me, King William of England and Duke of Normandy, forfeiting all others and serving me in any capacity I may ask?”
Wulfson’s knees nearly gave when Tarian looked up to his king. From where she knelt, he could see the glitter of tears in her eyes. “I do,” she whispered hoarsely.
William raised his sword, “Then I dub thee, Lady Tarian of Dunloc, a knight of the realm. Arise and pay homage to your king!”
The room was deathly quiet, and slowly Tarian stood. She cast a gaze to Wulfson, and he smiled so broadly he thought his face would split in two. She stepped to William, took his hand, and kissed his signet ring. “I, Tarian Godwinson of Dunloc, pledge my loyalty to you, William, my only sovereign.”
He nodded, and then clasped her hand. “Now, Lady Tarian, I will make my first request of you.”
She cocked her head and nodded. “I am at your command, sire.”
“I wish you to parle with your Welsh in-laws, who I fear are bent on breaching my borders, and entreat them to stay west of it. I do not want to clash with your kin, but if pushed I will strike.”
Tarian smiled and curtsyed. “Aye, my liege, I can oblige, but I have a request of you in return.”
Wulfson rolled his eyes. She knew not what she did!
William’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis not protocol to ask your king for a favor when given a royal order.”
“I understand, but bear with me, sire, I am new to this protocol.”
William stood rigid, and Wulfson knew he would put her in her place. But he did not. “What do you wish in return for negotiating with the Welsh?”
“I want your man, Sir Wulfson of Trevelyn, as my husband.”
Wulfson nearly fainted. But William threw his head back and laughed so loudly the rafters shook. “Lady Tarian, you are a bold wench!” He looked to Wulfson, who had the grace to blush. His men ribbed him, but he stood still, his gaze locked with Tarian’s. “Are you up to the task? Those Blood Swords are not wont to stay put for long.”
Tarian smiled, and gazed at Wulfson. “Aye, sire, I am up to the task, for no other man will do.”
As if on a cloud, Wulfson floated down the steps to his lady, and clasped her in his arms, twirling her around amidst her happy cries and his men’s cheers.
William called for silence, and turned smiling to the couple. “I have but one request before I hand my man over to you, Lady Tarian, and this is but a simple request, from a man who admires and respects your husband-to-be, not a royal order.”
Arm in arm, Tarian and Wulfson turned to their king. “Sire?” Wulfson asked.
“I wish to be godfather to your firstborn.”
Tarian smiled. “We are most honored.”
The hall erupted with more cheers and congratulations. William called for the tables to be set and a feast to celebrate the nuptials.
Tarian was ecstatic, and Wulfson could not stop beaming. William stood to the side, as if he were a proud new father. After Tarian had been swung up into the arms of each of the Blood Swords in turn, and twirled around until she could not see straight, she landed in Gareth’s arms. He beamed down at her and she saw tears in his eyes.
She smiled up to him and hugged him close. “Gareth, be happy for me,” she whispered against his chest. He pulled back and looked at her, his lips trembling in a wide smile.
“Tarian, you are more precious than a daughter to me. I am most happy for you.”
She smiled back, her heart so full she could barely contain her love. “Give me away.”
His blue eyes blurred with tears. “Aye, ’twould be my honor.”
Wulfson swept her from his arms, and as he threw her across his shoulders as if to carry her off to someplace private, William called out to him. “There will be none of that, Trevelyn! The
re are enough of us bastards running around. Show some respect and wait until your wedding night.”
“Then I will marry her here and now!”
The room erupted in laughter, but Tarian pulled at his sleeve. “Nay, Wulfson, I would be married in England. At Draceadon.”
He pulled her off his shoulders, and she slid down the front of him, grinning when she felt his hardness against her belly. “You will have to wait, milord. For there will be no play before I am your lawful wife.”
His eyes searched her face, and he asked, “Why Draceadon? We both suffered so much misery there.”
Tears seemed to come to her easy that day, and once again they burned her eyes. “Aye, but it was also a place where we made a child and fell in love. I would like to build a strong castle there and raise our children.”
He smoothed the tears from her cheeks, and took her face between his hands and kissed her. When he drew away, she saw that his eyes had misted as well. “You are a most amazing woman, Tarian Godwinson.”
“And thou art a most amazing man, Wulfson Trevelyn,” she returned, smiling up at him.
Wulfson’s heart swelled more, and he wondered how he had managed to live and breathe these six-and-twenty years past without her. The urge to keep her close and protect her from the world, so that he would never lose her, nearly toppled him. Any thought of leaving her sent his stomach to somersaults. And leave her he would have to. As a knight of William it would be years before England was settled. He, as had Rohan, would leave his family behind to serve and protect the realm. A calmness settled within him then. ’Twould make him all the more diligent in his dealings with the enemy to come home to her. For she would be like that bright burning star Draco in the sky, the constant beacon home. And home would be wherever this incredible woman was.
He pulled her back into the circle of his arms and guided her from the hall to a private alcove of which he knew. His blood ran hot and thick in his veins and when he pressed his lips to hers, he swelled against her. He groaned. He could not marry her fast enough!
“You are as bad as a rutting stag, milord,” Tarian whispered against his lips.
“Aye, I am worse when you are near.”
Tarian laughed and threw her arms around his neck. His heart thumped with the force of a hammer against his chest. He smiled down into her laughing ocean-blue eyes. As he bent to kiss her again, he saw them widen in surprise, then alarm. She pushed off him and drew her sword. Wulfson turned on his heel, thrusting Tarian behind him, drawing his own sword.
“For Malcor!” Rangor screamed, lunging toward him, his sword poised at Wulfson’s gut.
In unison, Tarian thrust her sword past Wulfson as he thrust his own. Both blades, that of Norman and Saxon, combined to tear into Rangor’s gut, leaving him hanging like a skewered pig.
Wide-eyed, Rangor looked up from the impaling blades, first to Wulfson, then to Tarian. Red, frothy bubbles oozed from his mouth. “I will see you in hell, witch, and there you will scream for eternity,” he hoarsely said before his body went limp.
Wulfson took Tarian’s sword and, with both hilts in hand, he kicked Rangor’s body from the blades. Several servants and bystanders had stopped at the commotion. Gareth, Alewith, and Ioan hurried to them. All stopped to watch the circle of Rangor’s blood spread across the stone floor.
Alewith looked to Wulfson, then Tarian, who calmly watched her guardian, still curious as to his presence there.
“I will see him returned to Lerwick and buried,” Alewith quietly said, then turned on his heels and walked away.
Tarian stood and stared down at the dead man, and try as she might, she could not shed a tear for Rangor. His twisted love for her, then his demonic need for revenge, had nearly killed the man she loved, not once but twice. He had taken the most precious life of her child from her. That, she would never forgive. Aye, she might see him in hell yet, but ’twould be he, along with Malcor, not she, who would burn for eternity.
The feel of Wulfson’s big, warm hand as he took hers settled her more than any soothing balm Edie could concoct. He pulled her out of the door to a small, open courtyard. The sun was high, the skies blue, and the soft fragrant scent of violet wafted through the air. He gathered her into his arms and said softly, “You hold my heart and soul in your hands. Be gentle with me, Tarian, for I could not bear to lose you again.”
Emotion clogged her chest, and she could only nod before she could speak. She raised her lips to his, and said against them, “Have no fear, sir knight. England’s most fearsome knight is here to protect you.”
Epilogue
August 1067
Draceadon
The sound of tankards pounding the trestle tops, combined with the joyous voices and the succulent scents of a great feast, clogged the air in the great hall.
“To Lady Tarian and Lord Wulfson!” Rorick shouted above the din to the gathered throng of Saxon and Norman alike. He raised his cup high and scores followed. “May they have lusty sons and beautiful daughters, and may my brother Wulfson always return from battle with all his swords intact!”
The double meaning was not lost on the merrymakers. Tarian’s smile was so wide it pained her cheeks. She laughed when her husband hoisted her up over his shoulder and twirled with her in the air. Catching her breath, she peered out at the happy crowd from her high perch and bawdily said, “To be sure, so long as the sword between his legs survives, we will remain a happy couple!”
The Blood Swords laughed heartily, as did Tarian, and she was most happy to see many of the sullen villeins who had ventured forth from Dunloc smiling and, for the most part, content. Since their arrival home and immediate nuptials Tarian had sensed a calm resignation to her as lady and Wulfson as lord here. For William had insisted the charters be signed and affixed with the royal seal, giving legal rights of the earldom to his trusted man and his wife.
But despite the happy occasion for this day, there were dark undercurrents blowing in from the West. Alewith had disappeared, and she knew in her gut he plotted with the Welsh. And that fact saddened her. Having spent some time with William in Rouen, Tarian knew him to be a most determined man. He would not give over a hide of the land he had conquered and held in a choke hold without a fight. And fight he was prepared to do.
Aye, there would be bloodshed on both sides, but in her gut Tarian knew William was here to stay.
“Give her over to me, Wulfson,” Lady Isabel, Rohan’s lady, softly commanded of Tarian’s husband.
Tarian grinned and shook her head, still slung over her husband’s shoulders. He would not give her up so easily. His patience was at its end. He had taken great pains these last weeks not to break his oath to her and his king to keep her chaste until they were wed. He would take her there on the trestle if it were not such an impropriety.
Wulfson scowled but gently brought Tarian down to stand beside him. He bowed shortly to Lady Isabel but said, “I give you precious few minutes before I claim my wife, milady. Make all haste with whatever it is you women do, or you will be witness to what I have dreamed of doing every waking moment these last weeks.”
Isabel blushed but she stood up to him. In her own way, the beautiful lady was as much a warrior as Tarian. And on that front alone they had become instant friends. “Nothing you could do, milord, would shock me!” Isabel took Tarian’s hand, and as she led her away Tarian looked for Brighid, whom Alewith had sent to her only days before. There was no missive, just her sister, her maid, and a handful of men. Her gaze caught the girl across the hall, hanging spellbound upon Sir Rhys’s every word and gesture. Tarian scowled and Isabel followed her gaze. “Leave them be, Tarian. I have watched them these last few days; Rhys is an honorable young man. He will not breach your sister.”
Tarian was not so sure. The girl had become too bold. Her infatuation with the handsome knight had grown since they had least seen each other. And it appeared the young knight was as infatuated with the maid. “’Tis not Brighid who should be worried!” Tarian l
aughed, but did not in truth feel so light of heart. Rhys would break Brighid’s tender heart, for there was much trouble brewing, and Alewith would not sanction a union between the two. Why then had he sent her here? For protection, mayhap? But from who?
A commotion stalled the ladies’ ascent to the lord’s chamber. Tarian and Isabel turned to see a royal messenger elbow his way through the throng.
“Lord Wulfson!” he called. “An urgent missive from the king!”
And just as suddenly, the merriment halted. Wulfson inclined his head to the Blood Swords and to Tarian and Isabel, and as one large group they moved to a more private place in the crowded hall.
“I have dour news,” the messenger began. “Our spies tell us that Earl Edric, along with several Mercer lords, has formed an alliance with Rhiwallon and Bleddyn.”
Tarian gasped, unable to believe it. Strategic negotiations were in motion. “But I only just sent a message to both kings for a meeting and they agreed with great haste!” Tarian cried, unable to believe they would renege on their word. ’Twas not only an insult to her, the wife of a powerful earl, but to William, as well.
The messenger slowly shook his head. “The alliance has been forged. ’Twill bode ill for England and Normandy.”
Wulfson nodded. “Edric has been a thorn in William fitz Osborn’s side for months; he has his eyes set on Hereford.” He looked to his Blood Swords, who Tarian could see were champing to stand and deliver. Her own blood had warmed at the thought of battle, but trepidation diluted it. She could not bear to lose Wulfson. Her gaze caressed his tall, handsome form and her chest tightened. Nay, she would stand beside him and fight if only to make sure he came home safe.
“I will muster my men to arms,” Wulfson said. He looked pointedly at his wife. “Call your men to arms, milady; our combined strengths will soon be tested.” He stepped to her and slid an arm around her waist and drew her to him. “And I expect with Dunloc allied with Normandy, we will seize the day!” His lips crushed down on hers, taking the breath from her chest; then he hoisted her up into his arms. As he swept her up the stairway, he called to the throng over his shoulder, “Do not disturb me this night, any of you! For you will pay with your life!”