The Silken Cord

by Leigh Bale

  She barely glanced his way. “I’ll fight if I have to.”

  He flashed her a smile, seeming amused by her determination. “I have no doubt of that.”

  The men gathered in front of her and she glanced at them, both Welsh and Norman, giving thanks she wasn’t alone.

  “Above all else, we must protect the princess,” Jenkin said. “Austin, take down the lead rider.”

  Austin was their best archer and he lifted his bow and sighted down the shaft, taking careful aim. He let the arrow fly and it pierced the Norman’s throat, knocking him backward over the rump of his galloping steed. The man thudded to the ground as his horse whinnied and swerved to the side.

  “We have one horse, if we can chase the animal down,” Austin crowed with delight.

  Jenkin inclined his head toward the low hills to the east. “Run for that shelter of trees, princess. We’ll fight and give you time to escape.”

  She didn’t move. Her feet seemed frozen. She couldn’t abandon her men and mouthed a silent prayer for help.

  Shouts and screams filled the air as the warriors met in battle. Ariana watched with repulsion as a rider swerved toward Wulfgar. Bracing his spear against the ground, Wulfgar bore down on it, directing the tip. The sharp point impaled the charging animal’s breast. The horse screamed and reared. Its hooves slashed the air, thumping hard against Wulfgar’s chest, knocking him to the ground just as the horse toppled and rolled on its rider. The beast thrashed until it finally lay still.

  “Look out,” Ariana called as another rider stabbed the ground where Wulfgar lay, barely missing Wulfgar’s head. Wulfgar rolled, evading another stab, and another.

  The rider drew back again, urging his horse to trample Wulfgar. The Norman drew back his arm, preparing to stab at Wulfgar once more.

  Sprinting toward the horse, Ariana drew back her club and cracked it against the spear, deflecting the rider’s blow. The rider gave a furious bellow as her stick shattered and the animal reared, jostling the man off balance. Clutching madly to keep his seat, he lost his grip on the spear, giving Wulfgar enough time to gain his feet. Wulfgar grasped the spear, jerking it away from the rider. The man tumbled sideways. His foot caught in the stirrup and his horse panicked, skittering to the side, dragging the Norman through the grassy fields.

  Chaos beat all around with the clash of steel and screams of rage and pain. Ariana watched as her men struggled to block the rider’s lethal thrusts. Jenkin pulled one man from the saddle and he and Arnulf descended on the downed Norman.

  Ariana looked away with disgust. A rider veered toward her. She could feel the vibration of thundering hooves. A shiver of doom swept her as she sprang toward the copse of trees. He was almost upon her! She could hear the grunts of his horse and imagined the beast’s hot breath against her neck. Her skin prickled with fear. She could almost feel the cold bite of steel in her flesh.

  Her long skirts hampered her flight and she stumbled, falling to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and swerved, barely evading the slashing arc of the rider’s sword.

  She willed her legs to move faster.

  On the uneven ground, she fell again and rolled, her hands reaching for her daggers. The rider drew back and her eyes widened with terror as she looked up at his chilling eyes. The reach of her arm was not long enough to fight this foe. He would kill her with little trouble.

  “Wulfgar,” she screamed.

  And there he was. With a sword. Had she conjured him in her mind, or had he raced toward her when he saw she was in danger?

  He must have taken the sword from a fallen man. Relief washed over her as he met the Norman with a clash of steel. The collision rang in her ears as he repelled each thrust. At a disadvantage against the mounted knight, Wulfgar weaved to the side and ducked beneath the horse’s head to the other side. Ariana pressed a clenched fist to her mouth. He could be trampled by the vicious warhorse.

  The animal pranced nervously as its rider wheeled the beast around. Jumping back, Wulfgar evaded the piercing thrust of the knight’s blade. Another blow, and Wulfgar’s sword flew from his hand.

  Clenching his fists, Wulfgar braced his legs and faced the charging horse, unarmed. His face looked like it had been carved from hard granite, his eyes fierce. Was this the same man who had held her gently and made her a hat out of leaves so she wouldn’t be sunburned?

  Prickles of horror tingled over Ariana’s skin. He would be killed.

  Swoop!

  An arrow struck the rider’s arm and he screamed, losing his grip on his sword. Wulfgar flinched, his eyes wide with surprise.

  Thwack!

  Another arrow struck the mercenary and he fell from the saddle, landing at Wulfgar’s feet in a flurry of dust.

  Hardly able to believe her eyes, Ariana gave a hoarse laugh. Wulfgar was safe. Praise God.

  Austin whooped with glee. “Well done, my lord.”

  Ariana turned to see who had saved Wulfgar. Her eyes burned with tears and she wiped at them, blinking at what she saw.

  Jenkin stood not far away, holding Austin’s bow in his fist. Jenkin clenched his jaw. He had fired the arrows. Now the rider was dead, Jenkin’s shoulders relaxed and he lowered the bow, but he didn’t smile.

  He had saved Wulfgar’s life. Why did he not seem happy about it? Surely Wulfgar would be grateful.

  Rubbing his chest where the horse had lashed him with its hooves, Wulfgar strode past her, his eyes blazing with fury.

  Ariana frowned. Wasn’t he grateful to Jenkin?

  She shook her head and sighed. Of course not. Wulfgar was the protector, the defender. Strong. In control at all times. He didn’t like to be indebted to another man. Especially not Jenkin, a Welshman.

  “Don’t let him escape or he’ll take word to Edwin,” Raulf ordered as he and Evan fought to dismount the last rider.

  Turning her head, Ariana saw the mercenary struggling to wheel his horse around to flee. Her men joined Wulfgar’s as they sprinted over to team up and take the man down. They mobbed both man and horse. The rider never had a chance against so many.

  Ariana went to help Cwrig, who still had the shaft of an arrow protruding from his thigh.

  “Lay back and rest,” she urged him.

  “I’ll pull it out,” Arnulf offered as he took hold of the shaft.

  Cwrig grit his teeth and Arnulf gave one swift tug and jerked the barb out. A gush of blood followed and Ariana ripped off the hem of her chemise to staunch the flow.

  Pulling back his leather jerkin, she inspected the wound. “It didn’t go too deep into the muscle, but it could fester. We’ll clean it well before we commence our travels.”

  “Do you think it’s wise to take the time now? There could be more riders near.”

  “You’re right. We’ll pack it to control the bleeding and move into the hills where we can hide. The bleeding will cleanse the poisons and we’ll tend it for you later.”

  Evan rode up on one of the mercenaries’ horses, a wide grin on his face. Pushing back a lock of hair from his forehead, he slid to the ground. “We have two horses, princess. You’ll not have to walk.”

  She beamed at his exuberance.

  “Well done.” Raulf clapped him on the back.

  She turned to look at all the men, both Welsh and Norman. Appreciation filled her heart to overflowing and she could only smile at them. What words could she say to tell them how grateful she felt?

  “Thank you, all of you. God has blessed me with your friendship.” Her gaze rested on each man.

  Raulf’s color heightened and he cleared his voice with obvious pleasure. Austin gave a barking laugh.

  And then the import of what had occurred struck her like a club to the head. They no longer stood segregated, but clustered together, conversing like friends. They had fought together as one. Unified, Welsh and Norman. If she hadn’t witnessed it with her own eyes, she would never have believed it possible.

  Would it last? There was much left to be done before they met their obj
ectives.

  Gaston sat joking with Cwrig over their injuries and indicated the stab wound in his shoulder. “At least a woman didn’t deal you the wound. My shoulder aches unbearably where your princess stabbed me, in spite of what I’ve done to relieve it.”

  Cwrig gave a painful laugh. “But I didn’t even see the arrow coming. You should ride one of the horses. Your wound will heal faster.”

  Gaston nodded and Ariana determined then that the two injured men would ride the horses. She could walk.

  “It was the devil’s own work to bring him down. Who would have thought mercenaries would be so hard to kill?” Austin spoke to Raulf, indicating the fallen rider.

  Raulf grinned. “I’m glad you were there to help.”

  Only Wulfgar and Jenkin stood apart, their eyes brooding, their jaws harsh as they glowered at each other. Ariana frowned at the two. They didn’t look happy with their victory and she knew why.

  They were each leaders over their own men and Jenkin had saved Wulfgar’s life. They didn’t like being challenged, or owing their lives to one another.

  She sighed. Stupid male pride.

  A foreboding shiver moved up Ariana’s spine and she shook it off. They were safe for the time being and had acquired horses to help with their travels. They would soon arrive at Cynan and all would be well. She’d find Dafydd and return him to her people. Wulfgar would take Cynan and find a way to prove his innocence to his king. Then they’d each go their separate ways.

  She looked away from the men and a sinking of despair filled her heart. This was what both she and Wulfgar wanted.

  Then, why did she feel as though she were about to lose her best friend?

  Chapter Eight

  They followed the River Ystwyth and traveled upland, into the rugged Cambrian Mountains. They climbed higher, grateful for the stands of tall oak and mountain ash shielding them from view. Jenkin led the way with unerring confidence. King Rhys had chosen his hiding place carefully.

  Because they knew the terrain well, Cwrig, Evan, and Austin scouted ahead and behind to make certain they weren’t followed. They stopped often and, though they said it was to rest the horses, Ariana knew it was in deference to her. They had placed her on a horse with Cwrig and she confessed only to herself that she was tired. Normally she was strong. Her only explanation was that nearly drowning in the ocean, finding her people killed, and then their recent battle had taken its toll on her. She was so weary she yearned to sleep for a sennight.

  The cool breeze helped invigorate her and also the call of home. Though they had been driven into hiding, Ariana longed to be back with her people.

  That night, they stopped to make camp high up in the mountains. Ariana slid off her mount and sat on a fallen log as she shook a stone from her shoe. It was a warm day and she removed her cloak and set it aside. Smoothing the wrinkles from her dress, she fingered the soft linen.

  “Lord Wulfgar bade me give it to you,” Arnulf had said when he’d presented it to her.

  “Thank you,” she’d whispered, grateful for his consideration. Still, her heart ached when she considered who the previous owner might have been.

  Now, both Wulfgar and Jenkin agreed a small fire would be acceptable since there were thick stands of oak and birch to disperse the smoke. Ariana gathered sticks and twigs, picking her way through the thicket. She turned to return to camp and stopped. Standing in front of her was Wulfgar, his arms also laden with kindling.

  He hesitated and Ariana lifted her chin as she regarded him. “What do you want?”

  His eyes softened as he considered her. “Your trust.”

  She trusted him with her life, but somehow she knew he wanted more. He was an ambitious man, but he had shown honor. She had trouble believing he was a traitor.

  He moved closer until she could feel the warmth of his skin close to her own. Her time with him on the island had taught her not to fear him, but she feared her own emotions.

  “I was betrayed and framed,” he said.

  Her jaw tightened. “You speak of Waltheof, the Earl of Huntingdon and Northumbria?”

  He nodded. “And one other.”

  “A conspiracy? I was told that Lord Huntingdon testified that it was you who conspired with him against your king. You were gathering an army to defeat King William.”

  “He lied.”

  Ariana cocked her head to one side. “But you went to Alnwick and met with him on several occasions.”

  “I went at his request. He asked for the use of my army to fight against the Scottish king to hold his border lands.”

  She frowned. “You didn’t conspire against King William?”

  “No, we conspired against Malcolm Caennmore, the King of Scotland.”

  “But why would Lord Huntingdon testify against you if it wasn’t true?”

  His brow furrowed and his eyes crinkled with doubt. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

  “Who did he conspire with?”

  “I have my suspicions but I need proof.”

  What if Wulfgar had been betrayed and was innocent of the conspiracy to overthrow his king? Oh, how she wished it were true. No longer did she believe him capable of treason. And yet, it didn’t change her plight.

  Emotion clogged Ariana’s throat and she turned away so he wouldn’t see the truth in her eyes.

  She loved him. Since the moment she saw him standing with his brother in her father’s barn, she had loved him. And when her father had betrothed her to him, she had agreed. Seeing him on the auction block as he was beaten by the slave trader, his courage had pierced her heart. When he’d saved her from drowning and had fought off the Vikings, his valor had won her devotion. She could never tell him of her love. She feared placing that weapon in his hands. A princess could never put her own heart above the well being of her people. “I have yet to regain my brother.”

  Dried leaves crunched beneath her feet as she shifted her weight and fought to hold her ground. With every breath she took, she fought her love for him.

  “I’ll keep my word to you, Ariana,” he promised. “You must trust in this.”

  She did trust him, to a point. He’d saved her life twice, after all. But what if his desire to regain his earldom was stronger than his vow to help recover her brother?

  Skirting around him, she walked back to camp. She could hear him following behind, could feel his dark eyes upon her. She breathed with relief when she finally dumped her sticks next to the fire. Jenkin and Austin had gone to hunt fresh meat in the forest. Cwrig sat before the fire as he tended his wound, but Gaston lay upon the hard ground, holding his injured shoulder. Pain drew his features into a grimace. With his head pillowed against his pack, Ariana offered him a sip of water from a shallow cup. He groaned from time to time and the flush of fever was upon his skin.

  “Did you cleanse the wound and wrap it with clean cloth?” she asked.

  He nodded. “It festers in spite of what I do for it.”

  “Perhaps I can help.” She’d seen this before. He would die if she didn’t do something fast. There was grave danger ahead and they needed every able man to fight.

  Returning to the fire, she prepared water to boil cleansing herbs. Minutes later, Gaston gave a shuddering moan. Ariana knelt by his side, peering at his shadowed face. His eyes were closed, his features drawn in agony. If the wound putrefied, he would die.

  Taking a woolen cloth, she drenched it with cool water and placed it against his heated brow.

  “How fare thee?” she asked him.

  He opened his glazed eyes. Lifting his head, he peered at her and gave a trembling sigh. “Poorly, I fear.”

  “I’m sorry for injuring you,” she said.

  He laid his head back and gave a single nod of acknowledgment. “I don’t blame you.”

  If he died, she would blame herself.

  “If you will allow me, I’d like to help.” At his nod, she gave him a soothing pat on the arm and went to lay more wood on the fire to build it up hot
ter. Her healing skills were limited to one or two remedies for fighting poisons, cleansing, stitching, and a few pain-relieving teas. With a house full of brothers, her Aunt Frida had taught her to care for them. Hopefully her knowledge would be enough.

  Jenkin and the other men returned to camp with a clutch of wild pheasant. Borrowing Jenkin’s knife, she dug wild onions. With his aid, she cleaned and chopped them up and set a goodly amount aside for later use. She took the rest to mix and pound into an odorous paste until her eyes watered and she wiped her dripping nose.

  “What is she doing?” Raulf asked as he sat close by, plucking feathers.

  Cwrig shrugged his shoulders and said the obvious. “Making a poultice for your wounded man.”

  “Ah,” Raulf squinted at the noxious mass of onions and his nose crinkled with repugnance. “How does she know it will help?”

  With the back of her hand, Ariana brushed a curl of hair out of her eyes. “It’s a common remedy amongst my people. There are no secrets in its use. It kills the poison in stab wounds.”

  She heated water in an iron pot. All the men stayed close by, throwing feathers aside as they watched her labor. At her command, they moved Gaston to a comfortable bed Wulfgar had made for her inside the tent.

  “Gaston will make better use of it than me,” she commented without looking at Wulfgar.

  Wulfgar smiled. “Your wisdom and generosity are sound.”

  “Bring a light from the fire,” she ordered.

  Wulfgar did as requested and held a burning tree limb close so Ariana could see Gaston well. The forest was dark now and a slight breeze ruffled the treetops. It was getting colder.

  Respect grew within Wulfgar as he watched Ariana gently cleanse Gaston’s wound. Gaston thrashed and moaned, but the other men held him quiet until she finished the chore. She covered the open laceration with the onion paste and wrapped it with a clean woolen bandage. She did likewise for the wound on Cwrig’s leg.

  “Do you think it will work?” Arnulf questioned as he studied the pale faces of his companions.

  She sighed and bit her bottom lip. “I hope so. I’ll also give them something for the pain.”