by Leigh Bale
The Silken Cord
by
Leigh Bale
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Copyright 2013 by Leigh Bale
First Edition published 2013 by LAS Publishing at Smashwords.com
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard word of this author.
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She risked everything on a man she should never trust.
Convicted of treason, Wulfgar, Earl of Glyndwr, was once a favored Norman knight of King William the Conqueror. Sold into slavery for his crimes, Wulfgar is determined to have his honor restored and vows revenge on those who conspired for his downfall. But once Wulfgar belongs to Ariana, he finds there is nothing he will not do to protect her. She holds his heart in her hands and this silken cord is stronger than any chains.
Once his betrothed, Princess Ariana of Wales has come to the slave auction to buy Wulfgar, a man she believes betrayed his king. Only Wulfgar knows how to free her young brother from the cruel ruler who has taken Wulfgar's place at Castle Cynan. But Ariana is unprepared for the darkly handsome warrior who kindles a passion within her that threatens the lives of her people and her own soul.
Note to reader: This book is an inspirational historical romance.
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Discover other titles by Leigh Bale at Smashwords.com
Visit Leigh Bale’s website at http://www.LeighBale.com
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This book is dedicated to Lisa Mondello, a generous friend and fellow author.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Dear Reader Letter
Excerpt from The Heart’s Warrior
Excerpt from Healing the Forest Ranger
The Silken Cord
Chapter One
The Slave Market of Hedeby
North of England, A.D. 1076
“Buy the slave.” Ariana squinted her eyes against the afternoon sun and glanced at Jenkin, her father’s most trusted warrior.
Jenkin’s brow furrowed as six guards dragged the slave onto the auction block. Bloody slashes crisscrossed the bondsman’s chest and arms, the fabric of his fine clothing hanging from his torso in shreds. Though trussed in chains, he struggled against his captors, his dark eyes blazing with fury.
Jenkin’s lips thinned. “The man is dangerous, my lady. They have beaten him and still he fights. Perhaps we should keep our silver and find another way to free your brother.”
Ariana lifted her gaze to the platform. An imposing man, the slave stood head and shoulders above his captors, with hammerlike fists and brawny arms that spoke of great strength. The guards struggled to contain him. Six men! If they couldn’t control him, how would she be able to do so? “You know there’s no other way. Only Wulgar de Conteville knows how to gain entrance into Castle Cynan.”
Black shaggy hair fell into the bondsman’s eyes. His lean ribs and hollowed cheeks indicated he was half-starved. The frigid wind beat against his thin clothing and he clenched his jaw. Though his proud carriage marked him as a nobleman, his present circumstances declared him of no consequence. Nothing but a slave. And yet, even bound in chains, he would never bow before any man. Or woman.
Knots of tension tightened Ariana’s stomach. A shiver swept her spine and she pulled the hood of her cloak closer around her face. What had possessed her to think he might help her?
Fear and desperation.
If Wulfgar refused her plea, her brother would be doomed. Surely Wulfgar was a Christian, like her. But in these cruel times, religion didn’t always matter. Many men were Christians and continued to lie, cheat and kill.
“Hold him,” the slave trader ordered as he jumped onto the wooden platform.
Wulfgar planted his bare feet on the splintered planks and tried to throw off his guards. A snarl of rage tore from his throat, his black eyes filled with venom.
“Haven’t I taught you respect, yet?” Wielding a short club, the slaver blew a breath from his nostrils like a charging bull.
Wulfgar spat at the man’s feet and the slaver slammed the club against Wulfgar’s tight abdomen. Wulfgar almost doubled over, but the guards jerked him upright. Ariana winced at Wulfgar’s low groan of pain. She could hardly stand to see him beaten. Her Christian faith had taught her to love all mankind. Only her plans to free him later on justified her buying the slave now.
People crowded close to watch the spectacle. Amidst their morbid cheers, the guards pounded Wulfgar with their fists. Wulfgar tried to fight, but he was bound too tight and there were too many. Within moments, he hung limp in their grasp, coughing, spitting blood.
A blaze of sympathy tore through Ariana and she clenched her hands. She wanted to help this man, yet he deserved his punishment. He was a traitor to his king and she must think first of her young, innocent brother in the hands of a murderer.
She hardened her will, squelching her compassion. Once she owned Wulfgar de Conteville, her offer would be more than generous for him to earn his freedom.
“Have you had enough?” the slaver growled.
Wulfgar jerked against his bindings, still eager to fight. He’d do Ariana no good if they injured or killed him. She took a step, but Jenkin held out a restraining hand. “It isn’t safe for you to intervene.”
“Then, stop it,” she ordered in a low voice. “I need him if we are to save Dafydd.”
The slaver lifted his arm to strike again. Wulfgar locked his jaw, his eyes filled with loathing as he met the threat without flinching. The fool! Was he so eager to die?
“I’ll not buy damaged goods.” A tall merchant called from the crowd.
He stood before the auction block, his tawny hair ruffling as the wind stirred up dust around his feet. The slaver paused, his beady gaze moving to rest on the man.
Competition! Ariana hadn’t considered this. Her hand tightened around the small leather pouch hidden beneath her cloak. Besieged by war and poverty, her people had scraped together what little wealth they had. She prayed it was enough to buy Wulfgar.
The merchant wore a rich ermine cloak. A short sword and leather coin bag hung at his waist. Ariana could not understand why anyone but her would want to buy Wulfgar. He was too violent to make an obedient slave. She wanted him only for the information he might provide, not to work the fields. She couldn’t understand the merchant’s interest.
The slaver lowered his club and grinned with yellowed teeth. “Fair enough. Though he is strong, you can see it’ll take a firm hand to control him. What will you bid?”
“Two marks,” the merchant replied.
Ariana’s throat tightened. Wulfgar fought his captors no more. He stood silent. Waiting. His keen gaze rested on the merchant, a brief flash of recognition in his eyes. Did he know the man?
“A piddling amount for such a fine slave.” The slaver shook his head with shame. “Once a valiant warrior, he’
s strong as an ox. I cannot take less than seven marks.”
Seven marks! Such a high price.
The air filled with excited whispers as people gestured toward the dais.
“From whence did he come? In whose army did he fight?” a red bearded man called.
The slaver showed a cruel smile. “It was William of Normandy he fought for. The slave was once a nobleman and one of the Conqueror’s best Norman knights.”
A gasp rippled amongst the people as they digested this information.
“What are his crimes that he’s sold into slavery?” the bearded man asked.
“I know,” a woman called. “The tinker gave me the news. He spoke of a great lord from the south that plotted treason against King William. No one seems to know why the king let the traitor live instead of beheading him.”
A rumbling murmur spread through the crowd. Ariana took a deep breath. She also had wondered why the English king had been so merciful. William was a Christian and slavery no longer existed in England. So, why had the Conqueror allowed Wulfgar to live in spite of his crimes?
“I would never own such a slave.” The bearded man shook his head and dropped silver coins back into his purse. “Any man who would betray his king would show no loyalty to me. He’d murder my entire household while we sleep.”
Ariana crinkled her brow. If she bought Wulfgar, he could very well slit her throat instead of helping her.
Grim clouds gathered in the heavens and she caught the pungent scent of rain. They must hurry or be caught in a storm on their voyage home.
Buyers gathered around the scaffold as the slaver tugged on his thick beard and grinned. “Come now. Will no one else bid? Surely one of you men can tame this slave.”
Ariana was no man, but she would show the traitor who was master. With a determined lift of her chin, she glanced at Jenkin. "Buy him. Now.”
"I’ll give you seven marks of silver,” the merchant called before Jenkin could speak.
The slaver crowed with glee. "Ah! I have seven marks. He has noble bloodlines. You can work him hard or put him with your slave girls to produce strong babes. Come now, who will give me eight marks?"
"Eight," Jenkin boomed.
The merchant turned to look at Jenkin and the two men measured each other before the merchant’s jaw tensed with annoyance. Ariana’s nails bit into her palms. She wanted no trouble, but neither would she back down. She must buy Wulfgar. She had no other choice.
"Eight-and-a-half marks.” The merchant’s eyes were chilling as he challenged Jenkin.
The slaver laughed and clapped his hands together. "Good. Who will give me nine?"
A titter ran through the crowd. Nine marks for an untrained slave was unheard of.
The merchant consulted two other men standing close beside him, their expressions fierce. A jagged scar ran the length of one man’s face. From their shields and weapons, Ariana knew they were warriors. With their hair cropped short, they could be French or Welsh, from a rival principality to her father. But why would they want to buy Wulfgar?
They glowered at Jenkin, as if that would deter him from bidding again. Ariana snorted. They didn’t know Jenkin very well, nor her for that matter.
"Bid nine.” Ariana mouthed her demand beneath the silken scarf covering her lower face.
She glanced at Wulfgar and saw him standing silent, watching her. His expression darkened, his eyes crinkled in puzzlement.
"Nine marks of silver.” Jenkin’s voice sounded gruff.
The merchant grimaced. Hefting his coin purse with one hand, he cupped the hilt of his sword with the other. Ah, the price had become painful. For Ariana also. But her brother’s life was worth every bit of silver, and more.
"Nine-and-a-half marks.” The merchant’s voice contained a desperate edge.
Jenkin did not hesitate. "Ten."
"Ten-and-a-half."
"Eleven!"
The merchant's shoulders sagged and he threw Wulfgar a despairing scowl. Then he looked straight at Jenkin, his eyes filled with such fury that Ariana braced herself in case the merchant lost his temper and turned the marketplace into a bloodbath. Her men were outnumbered, but they would fight. She reached for the twin daggers she kept sheathed in a girdle beneath her cloak. Her fingers curled around the jeweled hilts.
Without a word, the merchant turned toward the rutted road. Accompanied by his men, he strode away and Ariana relaxed her hold on the daggers.
The slaver gaped at Jenkin, then a smile widened his thick lips. "Sold! Sold for eleven marks of silver."
Ariana breathed with relief. She had won. Wulfgar belonged to her and she could return home and proceed with her plans of rescue.
The wind buffeted her and a drizzling rain began to fall. The tradesmen in the market scurried to bundle up their wares.
Ariana handed Jenkin her leather purse and Jenkin left her side long enough to claim her new possession. Three of Ariana's men followed, in case the slave proved difficult. Once the slave trader had been paid, Jenkin stepped up on the platform and faced Wulfgar. The bondsman towered over him.
"You’ll not be abused if you come willingly.” Jenkin spoke in English. "We will offer you a chance at freedom if you do our bidding."
The two men regarded one another. Did the Norman understand? Ariana knew his native language was French.
Wulfgar shifted his weight and his chains rattled. The slaver and several guards stood a safe distance away, their fists tightened around clubs, their expressions wary.
Ariana tugged her heavy mantle about her, covering the silver daggers and embroidered dress beneath. Her dainty shoes were soiled with mud and her toes felt like frozen sticks. Urgency built within her. She longed to leave this horrible place.
"Today, I will come willingly.” Wulfgar's accent sounded deep and smooth as one of Cook’s creamed sauces.
Jenkin gave a skeptical frown. "Give me your word."
Wulfgar nodded. "I give you my word."
The slave appeared soaked to the skin and Ariana thought they must find him warm clothes before he froze to death. And food. Heaven only knew when he’d eaten last.
Taking the key from the slaver, Jenkin undid the shackles and pulled the heavy bar from Wulfgar's shoulders before he tossed it aside. It thudded on the wooden planks and Ariana heard Wulfgar’s sigh of relief as he relaxed his massive arms and arched his back.
By the time Jenkin had finished, Wulfgar wore only a single loop of chains upon his wrists and a slave collar around his neck. Even Wulfgar stared at Jenkin like he’d gone daft.
"Are you mad? He’ll turn on you," the slave trader cried.
The man picked up the irons and stepped close to put them back on Wulfgar. Before anyone could stop him, Wulfgar’s chained fists slammed into the slaver’s face. Blood sprayed the air as the slaver grunted and dropped the chains. He stumbled back, falling off the dais. Landing in the mud, he lay there in stunned amazement. Then, he sat up slowly, working his jaw, as if to test if it was broken. He stood, his eyes glazed with fury as he grasped his short sword.
“Wait,” Ariana called. “He belongs to me, now. You have no right to harm him.”
The men jerked their heads around to stare at her, their expressions dark with anger. Wulfgar’s intense gaze speared her and heat prickled her face. No doubt these men had never taken orders from a woman.
Jenkin interceded. "Whatever else the slave is, he’s no animal. I’ll not truss him when he has given me his word."
The slaver shrugged and stepped back. “It’s your neck, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Jenkin ignored this and jumped down from the platform. Wulfgar looked after him, his gaze one of sudden respect. As he followed Jenkin, the chains on his hands jingled with each step. When he jumped off the dais, he lost his balance. His bare feet slipped in the mud and he stumbled. He grabbed for the splintered boards to catch himself.
Ariana’s heart lurched. He might be ill. The beating could have addled him. He mu
st not die. Not yet.
Jenkin offered no aid as Wulfgar regained his balance. Strands of wet hair hung into the slave’s eyes and he shook it back as he stood, his powerful body glistening with rain. Ariana stared, mesmerized by the sight. Heavy black brows arched over his angry eyes. His tattered sleeves exposed muscular arms used to wielding a sword. Never had she seen such a large and beautiful man. He appeared untamed and wild and when his chilling gaze rested on her, a fissure of awareness swept her.
She must never trust this man.
Clasping Ariana's elbow, Jenkin led her toward the quay. “A storm is upon us, but we won’t delay returning to Wales. We have enemies here. We must leave with haste.”
Ariana agreed, letting Jenkin lead the way down the narrow trail. She had one month to deliver the ransom or her brother would be killed. Time was precious.
As they passed, people stared after them, giving them wide berth. At the quay, their heels thudded against the dock. Followed by Wulfgar and their other men, they crossed to their ship Wind Song, where several more warriors awaited them.
Ariana stood back while her men lowered the plank and secured the mooring lines. Even with a scarf shielding her face, she felt Wulfgar's curious stare. He tilted his head to one side, his brows quirked upward. His eyes were the color of onyx and she felt captive by their intensity. She looked away, clutching her mantle close to her throat.
Jenkin assisted her onto the ship and sequestered her beneath the forecastle. When her men urged Wulfgar to follow, the slave again lost his balance. With his hands bound, he couldn’t catch himself and he splashed into the shallow water of the North Sea.
Ariana clutched the smooth railing while three of her men pulled out knives and swords and sloshed into the icy water after him. If Wulfgar gave them cause, he’d be hacked to pieces.
Ariana’s mouth went dry. Again she offered a silent prayer that Wulfgar wouldn’t fight them.