The Silken Cord

by Leigh Bale

  “Are you so foolish to try an escape?” Jenkin stood on the dock. His lips curved in a sneer, his fingers curled over the hilt of his sword. If he gave the word, the other warriors would kill the slave.

  Wulfgar must have realized his predicament. Treading water, he didn’t fight as Ariana’s warriors surrounded him. The surf struck Wulfgar in the face and he coughed as the Welshmen escorted him back toward shore. Water dripped from Wulfgar’s beard, washing much of the blood away from his arms and face. Ariana stared, her body rigid as oak. She didn’t believe he’d tried to escape, but was simply half-starved and fighting to stay on his feet. Even in his weakened condition, an unwavering power and fury radiated from him. She could feel it rushing at her. As a nobleman and hardened knight, he was accustomed to giving the orders. No doubt he didn’t take kindly to following Jenkin’s demands.

  With a toss of his head, Wulfgar flung the wet hair back from his face. He clenched his jaw and raised his chained hands, as if to defend himself. His eyes glittered like black pearls, resting with challenge on Jenkin.

  Stubborn, prideful man.

  "I gave you my word,” Wulfgar reminded them, his voice low and harsh.

  Ariana tensed. And what about tomorrow? Would he try to flee? If Wulfgar escaped or died, her plans to free her brother would turn to dust.

  "Bring him on board,” she ordered.

  Jenkin glared at Wulfgar, his tone glacial. "Don’t press me, Norman. You are a traitor. If you try something foolish, I won’t be as lenient as your King William. I will kill you."

  “Of that, I have no doubt.” Wulfgar looked up at Ariana, a wolfish grin curving his lips.

  Again, she questioned her judgment in buying this man. She must restore her brother to her father’s throne, even if it meant her death. And oh how she prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

  Chapter Two

  Salt water stung the open lash wounds on Wulfgar’s back and chest. His ribs and jaw ached from the beating he’d endured. Standing waist-deep in cold water, the surf almost knocked him off his feet. His ears buzzed and his body reeled with hunger and thirst. Even now, he fought off the urge to drink from the salty sea. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his vision, moving his gaze to rest on the woman.

  She gave orders to her men and they did her bidding. Who was she? And why would she buy a convicted traitor? Did she want him to fight for sport, or did she plan to make him work in a mine or fields?

  Ah, he hoped so. Then, he might have a chance to escape.

  Accompanied by her warriors, Wulfgar stepped up on the dock. The man named Jenkin moved back so Wulfgar could mount the plank and board the ship. A small, elegant vessel built for speed, it had a single sail with little room for cargo.

  Another warrior scurried to spread an oiled skin above the forecastle, to protect the woman from the rain. She sat huddled beneath the hood of her fur-lined cloak, holding a scarf across the lower part of her face. Her eyes glimmered like sapphire gems, so deep and entrancing that Wulfgar felt pulled in by their astonishing beauty.

  Where was her husband or father? She seemed to trust her men completely, yet he wondered why they would take orders from a woman. It was a great oddity.

  Shaking his head, he tried to clear his muddled mind. Nothing must distract him from his goal…to return to England and restore his honor. Then he would punish those responsible for his false imprisonment. For now, he would go willingly with these people and bide his time.

  The man named Cwrig raised the sail and each of the other men took up an oar to row away from the dock. Jenkin thrust several furs at Wulfgar and pointed to the quarterdeck. The unmistakable rumble of Wulfgar’s empty stomach sounded above the wind.

  "Sit there.” Jenkin’s order was gruff. "You’ll be of no use rowing until you’ve eaten. The slave trader has nigh starved you to death."

  As Wulfgar hunkered down for protection against the storm, the ship surged away from the dock and the waves chopped at the hull. Hunching his shoulders against the wind, he wrapped the furs about his body, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering.

  As he listened to the oars slap the water, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad to leave this foreign land. Any longer and he might have strangled the cruel slave trader. No doubt they would have put him to death for such a deed, but surely death was a better fate than slavery. Even now, Wulfgar would have refused to go with these Welshmen except for the tantalizing possibility of freedom they offered him. But what must he do to obtain such a cherished desire? Though he must wait for them to tell him, Wulfgar was eager to know.

  Tilting his head back, he opened his mouth to catch the precious rain on his tongue. He couldn’t take in enough to relieve his thirst and finally gave up.

  "It’s an ugly storm we go into, my lady," Jenkin said. "But it’s better to face the tempest than a den of cutthroats in this foreign land."

  "Your wisdom is sound," the woman agreed.

  Again, Wulfgar's stomach rumbled. He was so hungry he could eat an ox by himself.

  "How long since last you ate?" Though the woman spoke in French, her soft accent was Welsh. As a Norman earl stationed along the border between England and Wales, Wulfgar had learned to speak Welsh fluently. Like him, it appeared this woman had learned French…the language of her enemy.

  Wulfgar shrugged. "I don’t remember, my lady. It was several days ago."

  Four days, to be precise. Moldy bread and stagnant water. At the time, he’d considered it a feast. Shaking his head, he fought off the dizzying sickness that consumed him. It’d taken all his mettle to remain on his feet during the lengthy auction and defend himself against the beating the guards had dealt him. He hated this weakness, but he hated being chained even more.

  "It’s no wonder you fell into the sea. I’ll get you some food,” she said.

  "Nay, Lady Ariana,” Jenkin said. "Your father would not approve."

  Wulfgar could barely make out her smiling lips beneath her scarf. He watched with interest, forcing his brain to concentrate. Her name was Ariana and she was a lady, but who was her father?

  "My father would want us safe. There’s no time for you to serve the slave. I don’t trust that merchant who bid against us at the auction. He might decide he was ill-used and try to take the slave from us.”

  Jenkin’s jaw hardened.

  “Don’t argue with me now, Jenkin. Just take us home,” she insisted.

  With a sigh, the man nodded and did as she asked, setting a course due southeast.

  Order reigned on the ship. Small wooden barrels of drinking water, packs of supplies, and coils of rope had been stowed out of the way. Wulfgar watched as Lady Ariana left her shelter and rummaged around in storage baskets tucked beneath the wooden benches. Rain drizzled from the northern sky but the woman seemed not to notice.

  As a pampered lady, Wulfgar thought she would have hidden from the storm. Instead, she stood in the rain as she took out a roast of smoked meat, a loaf of coarse brown bread, and a chunk of yellow cheese. She wrapped the items in a clean cloth, enough food to satisfy many appetites.

  Wulfgar’s mouth watered and he swallowed hard, forcing his hands to remain still at his sides. He wanted that food like he wanted to breathe. It took all his will power to sit still and wait for her to bring it to him.

  Gathering up a water skin, she staggered across the pitching deck and came to serve him. Savage gusts of wind beat against the ship and she stumbled. Before he could think better of it, Wulfgar reached out and clasped her arm to steady her. Their gazes locked. He saw a sweet innocence in the curve of her face and blue eyes, an allure that drew him like a starving man to a banquet. Her graceful movements, her smile as she spoke to her men, the strength in her voice as she gave them orders, was more than Wulfgar could comprehend. Without knowing her, he liked her. Yet, he could not understand why a noblewoman would travel with a band of scraggly warriors to the northern slave auction to buy him.

  Once she found her balance, he stepped back q
uickly. Looking down, he scowled at the grime on his hands and body. He had to remind himself that she was his new mistress and he was bound to her legally. Shaking his head, he glared at his chains with deep, abiding hatred.

  Why? Why had God abandoned him?

  He’d never been a religious man, but he’d shown his people mercy and tried to be a just leader. Perhaps God punished him for the men he’d killed in battle. But that had been war, never murder. God had abandoned him and Wulfgar had never felt more alone.

  She handed him the water skin and his filthy fingers brushed against hers. A cloud of disapproval touched her eyes as she moved away. He tilted the spout of the skin to his mouth and drank deeply. Ah, he was so thirsty, he didn’t even care that the water stung his split lips.

  When he lowered the skin, he couldn’t help asking the questions in his mind. “Who are you, my lady? And why did you buy me?”

  “I’ll answer your questions in time.” She opened the cloth, revealing the food.

  Hunger slammed through Wulfgar, yet he made no move to take her offering.

  "You would rather go hungry?" she questioned above the rising storm.

  He shook his head. "It’s just that your kindness is confusing. What do you want from me?”

  She frowned and he understood her displeasure. Only a man accustomed to ruling others would dare question her or speak with such familiarity.

  She thrust the food at him. "Take it and eat. You’ll do me little good if you drop dead from hunger."

  His interest piqued, he took the food as she sat close by on a plank bench. His hands shook as he stuffed his mouth and chewed with urgency. The manacles on his wrists clanked as he again tilted the skin to his mouth and drank. Water dribbled down his chin and she stared at his throat. He shifted on the bench, feeling her gaze boring into his skin like hot irons. Perhaps she’d never seen a starving man eat before.

  Between gusts of wind, he heard the oars dip into the sea and the grunts of men at their labor. Lady Ariana clutched the side of the rocking ship as salt water sprayed her face. She wiped the moisture away, definitely not a silly girl. She was a mystery, a young and beautiful woman dressed in rich clothing, holding her head regally. Through the tantalizing film of her scarf, he saw that her cheekbones were high, her nose small and pert. She faced the wind and rain as if they were nothing but a nuisance she must endure.

  "What is it you want from me?" he asked between bites. His gaze lifted to where Jenkin stood on the raised partition of the stern, his hand riding the wide paddle of the rudder as he glared at them. "I see you have strong warriors to fight on your behalf. I doubt you need me for war."

  In spite of the rain, she swept off her scarf and tossed back the hood of her cloak to reveal her entire face. A mass of reddish gold curls tumbled down about her shoulders as she raised her chin high and regarded him. His mouth dropped open as he looked upon her beauty.

  “Do you value your freedom?" she asked.

  He nodded. "Aye, my lady. More than I can say."

  The woman pursed her lips. Covering her head again, she lifted her fine brows in an imperious expression. "I will offer you freedom and one of my father's fastest ships in return for a simple task. You would be able to leave England and go wherever you like."

  Freedom! He could find a way to prove his innocence.

  "What do you ask in return?" He had finished his meal, leaving not a single crumb. Now his hunger was sated, he relaxed, hoping he would not become sick after so many days without eating.

  Her eyes crinkled. "A small service only. It wouldn’t be difficult for a man like you."

  He leaned closer until he could see darker specks of light in her blue eyes. "And what is this service?"

  She stared at his mouth, which he purposefully curved into a provocative smile. Many a fair heart had been known to flutter for his attention. At one time, he’d been called handsome. But that had been at the king’s court at Winchester, when he’d been a wealthy lord, groomed and dressed in fine garments. Now he was beaten and filthy, wearing nothing but rags.

  A sense of anticipation clogged his throat and quickened his pulse. If only he could get free and return to England. A sword at Lord Waltheof’s throat, and the truth would surely come out. Wulfgar refused to die a convicted traitor.

  Her hands fluttered in her lap. Fear filled her eyes, her brow crinkled with uncertainty. Something heavy weighed upon her mind.

  A sudden shout from Jenkin drew their attention. Wulfgar looked toward the east, where a larger ship bore down on them. Its square sail showed a standard rampant with a red, snarling wolf.

  Raulf!

  A rush of relief swept Wulfgar as he recognized the merchant who had bid for him at the slave auction. Now dressed in chain mail and helm, Raulf stood at the bow of the ship. Even from this distance, Wulfgar could see his first man’s lips curved in a frosty smile as his other men pulled at the oars, gaining fast.

  "Heave, men," Jenkin roared. "We must outrun them. Don’t forget our precious cargo. Heave!" In an instant, the Wind Song came to life as the Welshmen picked up their pace.

  Cargo? Wulfgar’s eyes scanned the deck in search of some hidden freight he’d missed. His gaze came to rest upon Lady Ariana and he could only surmise Jenkin referred to her. She was the precious cargo they sought to protect.

  Jenkin strode over to them. With deft movements, he chained Wulfgar’s hands to the mast, then returned to the tiller. Wulfgar jerked against the chains. Heaven help him. If the ship sank, he would drown.

  He stared at the sail flapping high overhead, then pressed his shoulders back as he looked at the other ship and smiled with satisfaction. His men were coming for him. Soon, he’d be free.

  Lady Ariana inhaled sharply, as if finally understanding. "The iron wolf is your crest. Those are your men."

  Elation swept him. The loyalty of his knights touched something deep within him. They knew he was innocent, even if his king did not. Soon, now. Soon, he would be free.

  The woman’s eyes widened with panic. When she spoke, her voice quavered. “I’ve heard your men were furious with your king for selling you into bondage. They didn’t believe you were guilty of any crimes and your king branded them all outlaws.”

  He kept his silence. It’d do no good to confirm what she already knew.

  “They will thwart my plans. I can’t allow that,” she said.

  Her plans? A rising sense of foreboding fell over him. Though he longed for his freedom, he couldn’t help wondering what she wanted from him.

  The ship rocked furiously. A wave struck them and water rushed over the sides. One of the Welshmen started bailing water.

  Wulfgar could see the islands of the Hebrides along the eastern coast of Scotland, beckoning through the sheets of rain. It was far too late to land and seek shelter from the storm.

  The Normans swung great grappling hooks at the Wind Song. One glanced off the railing, close to where Lady Ariana sat. With a low cry, she scrambled away as another hook struck the rail of the ship. It pulled taut, clawing the siding. Though it dug great gouges in the wood, the hook remained snug.

  Lady Ariana drew a dagger from beneath her cloak and tried to cut the heavy ropes. Two Welshmen ceased rowing and drew their own knives to help her. Another hook was thrown and another. They caught and held. The ship gave a sudden lurch, then stalled.

  The Welsh would be forced to fight.

  Wulfgar jerked at his chains, eager to join his men. Helpless, he roared with fury.

  The Welsh stowed their oars and took up their swords. While the other warriors placed themselves at the forecastle, Jenkin drew Lady Ariana to the quarterdeck, away from battle.

  As Normans poured over the side, two of them tied the ships together. Swords clashed and taunts filled the air. The ships tossed in the churning sea. Rain sliced over them, the bracing wind rushing all around.

  Dressed in chain mail and helms, the Normans had the advantage. The woman clutched the railing, her knuckles white, her f
ace ashen. Fear creased her brow.

  If she died, Wulfgar would be free, yet he felt the impulse to protect her. In spite of his own desires, her courage had earned his respect.

  A shadowy specter beckoned to them from the east. Wulfgar could make out the ominous black shape of an island.

  Jenkin lifted his sword, hacking and thrusting at the Norman’s. Brandishing a heavy battle-ax, Raulf swung it at Jenkin’s mid-section. The Welshman jumped back in time to evade the slicing blow.

  The ships pitched with each heavy swell. A clap of thunder overhead joined with a loud cracking sound. A blaze of lightning pierced the blackened sky. Wulfgar looked up as the shattered mast and sail crashed toward him. Ducking to the side, he tried to evade the falling timber as it smashed into the deck. His chains jerked taut against the mast and he couldn’t contain a short cry as his wrists were wrenched hard. Another snap and he found himself free of the mast. As he rolled on the pitching deck, his wrists throbbed with pain. Clambering to his feet, he realized his hands were still chained together. He flexed his aching wrists, grateful they weren’t broken, and looked for a weapon so he could join the fight.

  “Hold your hands apart,” Raulf ordered as he raised his battle-ax. Wulfgar obeyed and in one hearty blow Raulf severed the chains binding Wulfgar’s hands.

  Freedom!

  A piercing scream filled Wulfgar’s ears as Lady Ariana launched herself at Raulf’s back. She would have stabbed Raulf with her dagger, but he tossed her aside. She rolled across the deck, striking her head against the broken mast. She blinked, as if to clear her vision. For all her courage, she was no warrior.

  While Raulf fought off the Welsh, Wulfgar pried away the pins on his broken manacles. He tossed them aside before clasping an abandoned sword in time to divert a thrust from Jenkin. The two men battled fiercely, holding their weapons with both hands as they swung them in cutting arcs. A forceful wave struck the ships, spraying water in a giant geyser, slamming them to one side. Wulfgar’s feet tangled in a coil of rope and he stumbled.