by McCall, Mary
Bernon crossed the chamber and yanked open the door. Geno hurried inside without waiting for an invitation. He glanced toward the bed then turned toward Bernon and broke into a pleased smile. “I had hoped to be on hand to make the introductions, but you beat me to it, my friend. Is she not exquisite?”
“Who marked her?” Bernon asked.
“Her cousin killed her father and took Strangclyf. The swine planned to give your bride to Orlege of Strathmore, so she fled to you for protection. Was that not an excellent decision on her part?”
“Give me the name,” Bernon demanded.
“Her cousin is Hadwyn,” Geno replied.
Bernon favored Geno with an impatient growl. “I meant hers.”
“You will have to ask her.”
Damn the amusement in Geno’s eyes! His friend better remember there was such a thing as vengeance. Bernon walked back to the bedside and scowled down at her. “By what name are you called?”
“Strangclyf,” she answered, evading his gaze amidst many gulps.
“Before your father died?” he asked through clenched teeth and nudged up her chin, so he could look in her eyes.
“I was called milady or Bernon’s bride.”
Bernon fisted his hands to keep from adding to the bruises around her neck. “You will tell me the name your sire gave you.”
A rosy blush started at her neck and swept upward to her hairline. “I would truly rather not, milord. You may call me any name you wish.”
“’Tis all right, little wolf,” Geno said kindly and gave Bernon his stay-calm look. “Bernon will not laugh or think poorly of you because of your father’s choice. Tell him your name.”
“Barwolf,” she whispered, clearly mortified.
God’s teeth, first she called him the devil and now she deceived him. The muscles corded in Bernon’s neck. “I do not tolerate lies—”
“She tells the truth, my friend. Her father wanted a son and never bothered picking another name when he didn’t get one.” Geno lowered his voice so only Bernon could hear. “He told her he would give her a woman’s name if she ever proved herself worthy.”
“I truly hate when people speak of me as if I am not present when I am,” she muttered. “Here I performed a noble geste by coming here to get you, so you could save Strangclyf from Hadwyn. Well, if you do not want me, then you can have the marriage annulled. I’ll probably not be any better as a wife than I was as a daughter anyway. Now will you let me return to my slumber? I am truly exhausted.”
Bernon looked down at her strained features. All he needed was a pouter. Nay, she appeared genuinely sad and tired, not manipulative. What was he to make of her? “Do not tempt me, Barwolf,” he said gruffly. “If I could get Strangclyf without you, then I would gladly accept your offer.”
“You can.” She looked him directly in the eyes for the first time since learning his identity as if she hoped her answer pleased him and he was struck by the clearness in her emerald eyes.
This should be interesting. He raised an inquisitive brow.
“’Tis my duty to pass Strangclyf on to you, and ‘tis your duty to protect me. To my knowledge there is no requirement that says you must keep me after the title and secret are transferred. I could go live at the abbey and you would not have to worry about my safety there.
Bernon hooded his eyes. What was the little imp up to and just how would King William react to her suggestion? Was it possible? Wait a moment! Why in perdition did she seem so eager to have him refuse her? Both she and Strangclyf were his. And he kept what belonged to him. His tiny bride had better learn right now to accept her lot.
Geno glared at him and turned to Barwolf. “King William would never allow such a thing, little wolf, and Bernon has yet to learn the benefits a wife can provide in running a holding the size of Strangclyf.”
Bernon released an exaggerated sigh and wiped a hand over his face. “Ah, Geno, could you not allow me—”
“Your arm!” Barwolf cried, leaping up on her knees at the edge of the bed.
He glanced at his nuisance injury. “There is no need—”
“Aye, there is. Strangclyf cannot lose you. Do you not know that you are the bear we have been waiting for?” She grabbed his arm and pulled off the makeshift bandage. Gently prodding the sore flesh, she inspected the wound through the rent in his sleeve. “You should have told me as soon as you arrived, so I could tend you. Who did this?”
He pulled his arm away, taken aback by the heated current passing from her fingers into his flesh. To mask his unexpected response, he raised a brow at her angry tone. What was all this talk about a bear? “’Tis a minor wound from a hunting accident.”
“’Twas no accident,” she firmly countered, frowning.
“What makes you think...where were you an hour ago?”
She sat back on her heels, stunned. “You think I would do such a thing?”
“She was here, Bernon,” Geno said, skewering Bernon with his eyes. “She ate and had a bath. Balen and I were both with her—while she ate, that is. Not during the bath. We stood guard then.”
“Then why do you think ‘twas no accident?” he asked, leaning over her in an intimidating manner.
“Even from a distance, ‘twould be easy to see you are no wild beast,” Her arm waved in an airy gesture. “Whoever loosed the arrow must have meant to kill you.”
“And just how would you know ‘twas an arrow?”
“You have splinters in the flesh around the wound that should be removed. Who wants you dead, Bernon?”
“Many people. Should I add you to the list?”
“I would never do such a thing. How could you think so?” Hurt shimmered in her eyes. “I am yours. ‘Tis my duty to give you Strangclyf, to take care of you, and to please you. If you do not trust me to tend this injury, then I beg you, seek out one whom you do trust so you may heal soundly.”
Bernon straightened and folded his arms across his chest. He could almost believe her sincerity. Almost. He knew better though. Women were manipulative mistresses of deception. Had not his mother and Maurella taught him that lesson well? Only Queen Matilda had ever proven different. Aye, his queen he could rely upon. Of course, he truly did not desire to be at odds with his wife. Fate would bring her into his life on a day when his mood was the foulest. He wanted her loyalty and respect, but he didn’t want her fear.
He studied his bride. She appeared gentle and honest enough. Mayhap he could mold her into a trustworthy helpmate. Though he had little experience with women out of bed, he trained raw recruits for William and himself. Aye, he would train Barwolf as he did his young warriors. He would assure she learned her place and stayed there. She would not be allowed to interfere in his daily routine either. He would be married to her till death after all and they might as well begin as they would go on.
First things first. He must remove himself from her presence until his mood improved before her wringing hands shredded the material in her grip.
“Go back to sleep, Barwolf. I’m sure King William has heard of your arrival and will expect you at court this evening, so I’ll return for you later. Have you something appropriate to wear?”
“Aye, milord.” She nodded and blessed him with a timid smile.
“Come, Geno.” The men walked to the door.
“Please wait, milord.”
“Go on, Geno.” After his friend left and closed the door, Bernon faced Barwolf, crossing his arms in front of him and bracing his stance in a relaxed pose. He would start her training now. “Do not disturb me after I have dismissed you.”
“I apologize,” she replied. “I did not know this rule.” Her shoulders slumped as she clutched her thin arms around her waist.
God’s teeth, she was as spiritless as a starving peasant. And damn, he was no cruel ogre, yet he was still taking out his anger on her when he’d already acknowledged to himself that she didn’t deserve his sour mood. Some women were so fragile with their feelings. He sighed and wiped a hand o
ver his face, trying to rid himself of his scowl. “Since I remain, you may tell me what you wished to say.”
She glanced back up at him and hesitantly tilted up the corners of her mouth. “I have something for you.”
Her smile, so artless and genuine, made his heart skip. She scooted to the foot of the bed and climbed down. God’s bones! The top of her head barely reached the center of his chest. He had to think positive. The only positive thought related to her height that came to mind was that at least she was taller than Queen Matilda.
Going down on her knees beside her pouch, she removed a rolled bundle. A frown puckered her brow and she pulled other items from the bag. When it was empty, she turned it upside down and shook it. Then she glanced about, clearly puzzled.
Bernon took a deep breath to nudge aside threatening exasperation and went down on one knee beside her. “Did you misplace something?”
She shook the bundles and tried peering back into the darkness of the pouch. “’Twas here when I went to bed.”
“What was here?” he asked, restraining his impatience. A life of chaos awaited him. He could see himself poking about King William’s court, looking for lost scarves, slippers, and trinkets.
“My dagger. I am always careful with it.” She raised a devastated gaze. “I put it into my pouch before I lay down, but it is gone now.”
She looked like she expected him to strike her and he was surprised at the feeling of affront he felt by her fear. Didn’t she know he was sworn to protect her? “You must have put it elsewhere. It is bound to turn up later.”
“Have you a dagger I may borrow, please?” She raked her fingers through her hair and glanced away. “I will need one to transfer the title to you.”
“Aye. Is that why you wanted me to stay?”
“Nay. There must be people to witness the transfer of title.” She handed him the first bundle that she had removed from the bag and gave him a tentative smile. “Your gift to me was most generous, Bernon. Geno told me your size, so I used some of the cloth and made this for you. ‘Twas difficult to find the right color thread, but if this fits, mayhap you will wear it tonight.”
He glanced down at the package, unwilling to let her see his surprise at her unselfish gesture. “The cloth was for you, not me.”
“But you sent so much.” She raised earnest, clear emerald eyes and placed a small hand on his sleeve. Again heat tingled up his arm from her casual contact. “I made two fine gowns and shifts for me and still had cloth left over. ‘Twould have been frivolous to waste such fine fabric when I knew you could have died earning the coin that paid for it.”
Her gaze fixed on his mouth and her lips parted slightly. She leaned toward him and he heard a distinct sniff. She suddenly yanked back her arm as if burned and a rosy blush stained her cheeks. “I...ah...” She swiftly rose and backed away from him, bumping into the footboard. She jumped, cast him a quizzical expression, and then quickly climbed back onto the bed, as if fleeing a dragon. “Please...um...see to your arm soon, Bernon. I worry over the wound festering.”
He rose with the bundle in his hand, still baffled by the fire tingling through his flesh from her casual touch. He watched her roll onto her side and jerk the covers over her head as if they were some kind of fortress. She didn’t move again.
He opened the bundle in his hand and looked at her gift. She had fashioned a black tunic with black and gold braids bordering the shoulders, cuffs, and hem. An embroidered gold fighting bear like the one on his standard graced the chest of the garment. She had spent many hours laboring over the intricate details of the work.
He ran his fingers over the fine slick stitches and the faint scent of lavender mixed with roses taunted him. Walking closer to the window, he examined the golden threads more closely in the light then stared in disbelief at the sleeping form huddled under the blankets.
His wife had cut her hair for him.
Again.
Two
Barwolf stretched and opened drowsy eyes as dusk stole light from the chamber. Strange surroundings sent blood drubbing through her panicked heart until memory came flooding back. Then she groaned, closed her eyes, and bowed her head into her palms.
What a way to blunder the start of a marriage! Her husband definitely hadn’t appreciated being mistaken for Lucifer, but then what man would? Was it her fault she could never think straight when she first woke after too little sleep? And was it her fault he was so wickedly handsome? He had the most gloriously sinister gray eyes she had ever seen. And heaven help her, he had the muscles of Hercules. And tall—why, he almost bumped his head on the lintel. She probably couldn’t reach the nape of his neck if she stood on her toes. Then there was his smell—like the sunshine and woods after a rainstorm, but with his own spicy, manly scent mixed in the blend. He must think her uncouth. What else could he think after she leaned closer to him so she could get a better whiff?
No wonder he hated women, as her father claimed. They probably drooled and fawned over him constantly. Since he could have any woman he wanted, he doubtless resented a marriage to someone with her plain sparrow appeal. He certainly didn’t trust her. He had practically accused her of wounding him.
Barwolf sighed and opened her eyes. Mayhap she should try to look on the bright side. He could have seemed surly because he was having a bad day. People couldn’t always help their moods, could they? And he was wounded after all. She rubbed her pounding left ear. At least he didn’t knock her upside the head like her father or her cousin. Those two were just plain mean. The thought of them made the steady throb from Hadwyn’s latest strike more painful.
Mayhap Bernon would give her another chance. He was a bear after all. If she did her best, she would prove herself worthy and please him. Then he would surely give her a woman’s name. She was valuable, rare, and precious, was she not?
She would act submissive, do nothing to raise his ire, and stay out of his way, so he would not find her an annoyance. Such behavior hadn’t pleased her father, but it’d certainly cut down on instructions from him. She would remain calm and docile, adjusting her behavior to Bernon’s, so he would have no plaints. She would...
She groaned. Who was she fooling? Bernon was bound to notice her flaws. She never had been able to hide them.
Stretching her sore muscles, she grimaced. Lord, she felt as tired as the moon was old. That boat ride down the coast with Padarn to get to Bernon had just about worn her out and she could use more sleep. Glancing toward the window, she gasped and threw back the covers. The light would soon disappear and there was not a single tallow in sight. She wouldn’t please Bernon by tarrying, so she had best hurry and prepare herself. She had much to do if she was going to make him The Strangclyf tonight.
Barwolf retrieved the bundles from her pouch and pulled the sheath holding the huge, ceremonial sword of Strangclyf from under the bed. She carefully placed the precious weapon upon the bedding. “You will have a new master soon enough, Intrepid. But right now I wish you to lend me courage.”
She quickly dressed in the finest clothes she’d ever worn in her life and sat in the chair by the window, trying not to think about how unsettled she felt as the room grew dark. If Bernon didn’t come soon, her last thread of composure would surely snap.
A rap on the door startled Barwolf, eliciting a short squeal then a groan as she jerked. Bernon would probably barge in, so who could be knocking? She frowned and carefully felt her way along the wall through the darkened chamber over to the door. “Who knocks?” she called through the thin seam of light at the portal.
“’Tis Balen. Bernon sent me to escort you to court.”
Barwolf sighed and leaned her forehead against the rough wood. Her husband obviously thought her too troublesome to bother over. At least Balen seemed nice when she had met him with Geno earlier. She moved her hand over the door until she felt the handle then pulled the portal open. She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering torchlight.
“Why are yo
u in the dark?” Balen asked, his brows stretched with surprise.
“’Twas no tallow.” She stepped into the hall and closed the door.
An appreciative smile raised the corners of Balen’s mouth. “Geno was right. All cleaned up, you are a splendid example of God’s creative abilities.”
Inhaling deeply to calm herself, she rubbed her aching ear and glanced away. “You do not have to flatter me, Balen. I know my flaws, though I do appreciate your efforts to put me at ease.”
“I speak honesty, not flattery. Come.” He held out an arm to her. “The king and queen are anxious to meet you.”
She gripped his forearm with both hands and stalled him. “’Tis important that you take me straight to Bernon. I can meet no one until he is The Strangclyf.”
“That is my intention. ‘Tis Bernon’s duty to present you, and we had best make haste before our dawdling rouses his ire.” He covered her trembling hand with his and smiled. “Fear not, little sister. You are under Bernon’s protection now.”
“Aye, but I wish to please him, not embarrass him. I have never been to a royal court before and I know not how to act. I fear my lack will be scrutinized and reflect on Bernon,” she admitted, as Balen began guiding her through the corridors.
“Act as if everything you do is perfect and everyone else is inferior for not acting the same way,” he advised, waving his hand in an airy gesture, as she followed his footsteps.
“You jest! ‘Twould insult the king and anger Bernon if I behaved thusly.”
“Aye, I jest.” Balen winked at her and patted her hand. “Follow Bernon’s lead. If you are unsure of something, ask him. He will help you through the evening ahead.”
“I am so nervous right now I could toss up my stomach,” she confessed, rubbing a hand over her middle.
“Now that would be an embarrassment.” Balen chuckled then stopped in front of a huge set of double doors. “Just remember everyone here is mortal, whether they think of themselves that way or not. They all have flaws, which they try to hide, and they are just as nervous as you are. Now take a deep breath and smile. We are here.”