Wolf's Embrace
Page 3
His harsh laughter echoed in the room. "That, my lady, is so much dog dung. Women are not educated in England to the extent that you would have me believe. Even an Irish nobleman, such as myself, has some little knowledge of that fact."
"Gathered, no doubt, in some noble slut's bed-chamber?"
"A slut is a slut, my lady," he said, his eyes narrowing, "be she high-born or peasant. But enough of this. Here is the proof that you seek."
Sybelle snatched the parchment sheets from his fingers, careful not to touch his outstretched hand. She scanned the precise writing, reading swiftly. It came from the hand of Duvessa O'Neill's own priest, Father Geoffrey Carmody, who was witness to the Earl of Derran's abduction of his lady from her castle. This was accomplished by a ruse, the priest stated.
"The earl rode in with a small hunting party. Lord Derran said that he would ask the Lady Duvessa if he could rest his horse and his men. The Lady Duvessa readily agreed, asking them to share a meal with her and her ladies. Later, the lady Duvessa and the earl were engaged in conversation that appeared to be heated. Within minutes the earl gave a signal to his men. Swords were drawn. Derran announced that he was taking your cousin with him. As there was only a small force at the keep, Lady Duvessa pleaded that no one be hurt. She instructed her retainers to sheathe their weapons. Derran and his men took her and two of her ladies, and fled."
A cold tingle touched Sybelle's spine. She knew Duvessa O'Neill's priest, having met the kindly man several times. He was not given to false statements. His words would be the truth as he saw it.
Yet Sybelle also knew her father. There must be more to the story than what was contained in the old man's letter. Her father had no need to abduct a woman. His name and rank alone would assure his choice of any woman as mistress, or wife.
"My lord," Sybelle said quietly, "there must be another reason that my father acted as he did."
"Your father stole my ward from her own castle and forced her to accompany him to England. Duvessa was a virtuous young woman, soon to be pledged in marriage to a man of my choice. What reason could he have for forcing her to relinquish that which a gently bred woman of her position would give only to her husband? He wanted her, so he took her."
Seizing an opportunity, Sybelle asked, "Do you think Duessa would want you to do to someone else that which you acuse my sire of doing?"
"It matters not to me now. An eye for an eye. An honor for an honor."
Her mind spun with hurried thoughts, seeking a way out of this madness. "Allow me to write to my father, to demand an explanation. Or let us journey to Edward's court and confront him."
"That will not do. I've had enough of English hospitality to last me a lifetime," he stated starkly.
"You will not listen to reason?"
"I have, my lady, my own reasons."
Sybelle knew that whatever suggestions she proferred would be rejected out of hand. Rolf had spoken; he was resolute. As was she. He'd not take her without a fight.
A noise in the hall outside made both turn toward the door. It swung open, revealing Siobhan, accompanied by several large dogs, who joined their master.
Sybelle recognized only one of the breeds that surrounded Rolf. Three of the dogs were mastiffs, two fawn colored, another more silvery. The fourth dog, a bit smaller than the mastiffs, was watching her carefully. The gray fur was short and shaggy, the head cocked towards her, alert.
Rolf instructed the others to stay put while he brought the last dog to Sybelle. "Put out your hand."
Keeping her eyes on the dog, Sybelle did as she was bid. The animal sniffed her hand, then sat on its haunches. Cautiously, Sybelle reached out her hand and stroked the fur, feeling its soft texture.
"'Tis a wolfhound, my lady. An Irish wolfhound. Lest you think that 'tis merely a family pet, he can rip apart a man's throat with no difficulty," Rolf said smoothly, reaching out his hand to touch the tender flesh of Sybelle's pale throat. He could feel the rapid beat of her pulse beneath his hand. "Have no fear. He's for your protection."
Her laughter was strained. "From you, my lord?"
The stroking movement of his large hand stopped; it now lay against her throat, encircling it. His smile was a slash of white against his sundarkened face. "No, my lady. He will protect you for me."
Sybelle read the unspoken words as if he'd set them before her. The dog would ensure that she would not try to escape. If she did, it would react swiftly. "I understand."
"Good," he said simply. "Is the grandchamber ready for her ladyship, Siobhan?"
"Aye, tiarna."
"Then escort her there."
"Come, my lady," the older woman said, holding out the fur pelt for Sybelle.
Drawing the pelt about her shoulders, Sybelle walked proudly from the room, the wolfhound trailing vigilantly behind her.
His parting words slashed against her flesh like a leather whip. "'Twould not do not to show her to a room befitting her position."
Chapter 3
Her position, Sybelle thought bitterly. Her position would soon be that of whore to the master of the castle.
The change of rooms confused her. She would have expected him to keep her in the smaller, damper, darker room. It would have suited his purposes admirably. Instead, she was ushered into a master room that was filled with the richness of his heritage.
Sybelle slowly circled the chamber Siobhan had ushered her into, making a visual inventory. This certainly rivaled any Plantagenet's royal palace for comfort, she thought. It was very different from the first room she had been given. Here tapestries adorned the walls, and sweet-smelling rushes mixed with essence of herbs scented the floor. The bed was enormous, the hangings surrounding it richly woven with velvets and stitched with gold and silver threads.
Sybelle reached out her hand, rubbing the softness of the material. She breathed deeply; the fabric held traces of jasmine.
Against one wall stood a huge wardrobe. Opening the doors, Sybelle saw that it contained clothes befitting a woman of high birth. Hung there were silks, velvets, the softest woolens, lawn gowns trimmed with the best of Flemish lace. Even though the gowns were out of fashion by current standards, Sybelle couldn't help but admire the cut and style.
Another door led to a smaller room, obviously used for the personal needs of the occupants of the larger room. It contained an enamelled chamber-pot and a small stand which held a copper wash bowl. Soaps of various colors and scents shared space with vials of lotions and oils on several shelves built into the wall.
In the corner a copper tub of scented water beckoned her weary bones. Looking carefully around the room, Sybelle shed the fur, dropping it to the floor. Next she abandoned the thin shift, wrapped it into a ball and tossed it into a corner of the room in disdain.
Sybelle had never seen a tub quite this large. Several big men would be needed to move it. It was round and deep, with designs hammered into the copper. Sybelle bent to study the markings more closely. One stood out amongst the others: it was the head of a wolf.
Shivering slightly, Sybelle stepped into the water, giving a sigh as she did so. Lathering a bar of soap across her shoulders and down her arms, she enjoyed the feel of the water soothing her muscles, making her feel slightly drowsy.
The soft bark of the wolfhound made her start.
Sioibhan entered the room, carrying several lengths of white linen to be used for toweling. "Don't be shy, my lady, for 'tis sure I've seen all sizes and shapes of bodies about this place. I thought you'd be liking a bit of help with your long rope of hair."
Siobhan disappeared for a moment, reappearing with two smaller copper pails that contained steaming water in one, cold in the other.
"I noticed you fancied the scent of sandalwood, my lady," Siobhan said as she picked up a vial and poured a measure of the contents into her hands. It was green in color and smelled of wildflowers and herbs. "I think that this will blend to the scent of your soap." Siobhan proceeded to lather the mixture into Sybelle's wet hair.
"Step from the tub, Lady Sybelle."
She stood, doing what she was told. "I can dress myself, Siobhan."
The older woman chuckled. "'Tis no doubt I have of that, my lady. Please." She held up the waiting towel and wrapped it around the long tresses, then folded the younger woman into a longer, soft sheet of linen, wrapping it closely about her body. Siobhan nudged her into a small chair while she proceeded to rub briskly at the thick brown hair. "'Tis a lovely color, my lady, much like the shade of our honey." Sybelle colored at the compliment. To her, her hair was plain, with nothing distinctive about the hue. "I would like a taste of your type of honey, Siobhan. I fear that I have a tooth that favors sweets."
"As does Lord Rolf," Siobhan echoed.
That remark brought about a swift change in Sybelle. She stiffened, her back straight, her features contained.
Siobhan realized that it wasn't the best thing to have brought Rolf's name into the conversation at this point. It was easy to see that the proud daughter of the Earl of Derran wasn't going to come easily to Lord Rolf's bed. A secretive smile touched the old woman's thin lips as she gave a contemplative look at Sybelle, who was drying the rest of her body while Siobhan continued to dry her hair. If anyone could draw the wolf away from his burden of loneliness, it would be this one. As reluctant as Siobhan had been to see her lord commit what she thought to be folly, she now conceded that he might have been fortunate after all. Here was a woman of spirit to match his own. Mayhap some good would come from this tragedy of circumstances.
Sybelle's voice broke into the woman's thoughts. "Where did all these soaps and fragrances come from ?"
"They belonged to the Lady Brianna, mother to my lords."
"From where did she obtain them? Truly, there is a wealth of scents."
"My lords' father, the late earl, was a traveller in his youth. He owned several sailing ships that brought back marvellous spices and fabrics from the places he traded with. No trip did he undertake without bringing something back for his lady wife. There was much sorrow when he and the Lady Brianna were killed."
Sybelle turned to stare at Siobhan. "Killed?"
"They were murdered by an English pig," Siobhan said harshly. "May the good Lord have sent his perfidious soul to hell, there to rot for all eternity."
"Was the murderer brought to the king's justice?"
"No." The woman spat out the word. "He was too highly placed, and there was no real evidence against him, for he did not do the deed personally. He paid hired assassins to do it."
"Surely a case could be brought against him?"
"Lord Rolf sought justice, my lady." Siobhan explained that the family had been attending a wedding feast of a relative of Lady Brianna's in England. After the ceremony, Rolf, accompanied by several male relatives, left for a nearby inn. On his return the following morning, he discovered the carnage.
A slow twist of horror paled Sybelle's face. Bile rose in her throat at the imagined scene. She took a deep, steadying breath. "Did he confront the persons he believed responsible?"
"Aye, my lady, that he did. There was one man Lord Roll knew who wanted his parents dead, a rejected suitor of his mother's. A man who craved power, thinking that if he could wipe out my lord's entire family, he could take not only Killroone, but my lady's property in Wales." Siobhan added that Branduff was also supposed to go, but that a broken leg had prevented him. "The accident saved his life. Had my Lord Rolf not been elsewhere that night, he too would have probably lost his life to the band of hired killers."
"I've little doubt just how he was spending his evening," Sybelle said sharply, fighting the feeling of sympathy for the young man confronted with the murder of his parents.
"That is of little consequence, my lady," Siobhan admonished her. "What happened to my lord when he sought justice was a grave insult," Siobhan said fiercely, beginning to untangle Sybelle's almost dry hair with a comb fashioned out of silver.
"He sought out the man he deemed responsible after having found one of the assassins, who confessed before he died that he was indeed paid by the Baron Boulton to rid him of an enemy."
Sybelle listened as Siobhan explained that Rolf rode with all speed to Edward's court and laid his case before the king. Edward wanted more proof than a dead man's word. Rolf demanded that Edward summon the baron to answer the charges.
"Edward agreed only after some prompting from his brother, Gloucester, and word was sent for the baron to appear. He answered the royal summons, stating that Lord Rolf was a liar. Could he produce the man who spoke against him? My lord admitted that he could not, but that he would swear on the holy book that he told the truth. He was even offered to let the judgment rest in God's hands and challenged the baron to a duel to the death. Then one of the queen's relatives came forth and said that the baron was with him, had been for several weeks, at his hunting lodge near the Scottish border.
"That was the end of the matter for your king."
Siobhan placed her wrinkled hands on Sybelle's shoulders. "My lord was incensed. Edward declared the matter settled to his satisfaction. He suggested that the new Earl of Killroone return to Ireland. Naturally my lord could not do that.''
"No, I do not imagine that he could," Sybelle said thoughtfully.
"Nor, I wager, would you allow it to rest, my lady?" Siobhan asked, giving Sybelle a pointed glance.
Sybelle thought about her father and sisters and nodded her head gently. She would also have tried to bring to justice anyone who'd harmed any member of her family. "What did your lord do?"
"He did what he thought was right," Siobhan said proudly. "He withdrew from the court, waiting for Boulton. Once again he challenged him to mortal combat, which the coward refused. It was then that Boulton's men seized my lord, summoning the king's men. Boulton swore out a complaint against Lord Roll, stating that my lord threatened to murder him in front of witnesses."
Siobhan put down the comb. "Lord Rolf was clapped into the Tower, awaiting sentencing. The only person who spoke for him was Prince Richard of Gloucester, who argued persuasively that the Earl of Killroone should be returned to Ireland. He said that Rolf O'Dalaigh was an honorable man torn by grief. He urged his brother to watch Baron Boulton. After several months in that English hell-hole, my lord was released in the custody of Prince Richard. Gloucester's men delivered Lord Rolf safely to Ireland."
"What happened to the baron?"
"He died from a hunting accident, my lady," said Siobhan simply.
A raised brow was Lady Sybelle's only response to this.
Siobhan reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a velvet robe of the deepest claret red for Sybelle to slip into. Sybelle did that, tying the golden sash about her slim waist. She did not think it strange that Siobhan had not first offered her a nightshift to sleep in, so intent was she on hearing the end of the story.
"You doubt that it was an accident, Lady Sybelle?" said the deep voice of Rolf O'Dalaigh.
Sybelle spun around, wondering how long he'd been listening to the older woman tell her tales, and how much of her he'd been witness to. The challenge in his stormy green eyes gave her the answer.
"The baron had the misfortune to encounter a problem with his mount," he said. "A shoe was loose, forcing his return to the stables. He foolishly went without any of his retainers, and it would appear that he was accosted by a rather large animal which savaged the baron horribly. It was the sort of death he deservedwithout honor, screaming for his miserable life like the craven bastard that he was." Roll paused as the wolfhound nuzzled his hand. "Or so I was told."
"Did you think I had forgotten you, Lugh?" Rolf said, fondling the dog's ears. "Siobhan, see that Lugh is fed below. The lady Sybelle won't be needing
him for the remainder of this night."
Siobhan held onto the words that begged to escape from her throat. She couldn't persuade her lord otherwise, so she silently complied, taking the dog with her and leaving the couple to their fate.
Chapter 4
Sybelle couldn't cry. Instead her brain tortured her with memories that were already digging bitter roots deep into her soul. Shame warred with anger in her mind. She closed her eyes; all that she could see still was Rolf, standing, waiting, after Siobhan and the wolfhound left the room.
He latched the door securely. Turning, Roll approached her, reaching out a hand to caress the unbound waves of her hair.
Sybelle had reacted by trying to pull herself out of reach, to which Rolf responded by securing his hand tightly in the thick, curling tresses.
"'Tis time for debts of honor to be paid, my lady."
"I spit upon your honor, my lord," Sybelle said, trying to free her hair.
"As I spit upon yours," he uttered in a low, soft voice, his mouth quirked in a devilish smile, rife with promise. "Now let's have done with the verbal warfare, Sybelle; I've need of a more intense, personal form of combat." Rolf released her and leaned against one of the posts of the bed, folding his arms across his chest. "Disrobe."
The angry denial he saw in her eyes made him smile all the more deeply. "Disrobe, or I shall rip the gown from your body myself."
It was as if he wanted her to make him lose his temper, Sybelle thought. She who had all the reasons for anger saw it instead reflected in those complex green eyes.
She unbelted the robe, slipping it off her body carelessly. Her hair at least provided minimal covering. Sybelle raised her head, looking Rolf squarely in the eyes. She wouldn't beg or cower. Not in front of this man, she vowed silently. Let him look his fill. It mattered little to her.
"Lying bitch," was the last thing Sybelle expected to hear from Rolf's lips.
"What mean you?" Sybelle asked, startled.