by McCall, Mary
“Aye, Medwyn,” Bernon said in a well-honed tone. “Move aside, so she can see how much a mite is.”
Barwolf peeked around Medwyn. Her eyes widened at the sight of his angry scowl, fists on hips, and feet braced apart. At least she had enough sense to be afraid. Ducking behind Medwyn, she grabbed the back of the soldier’s Jaseran, began scrunching the metal material in her hands, and mumbling, “I am valuable, rare, and precious. I am valuable, rare, and precious. I am...”
Medwyn raised placating hands. “Now, Bernon, do not be too angry at your lady. She came to get me, so we could make plans.”
Bernon grunted, not believing his commander’s defense of his bride for a minute. “How are the men?”
“Jerold received the only serious injury. ‘Twas a spear in his thigh. Everyone else is well and angry,” Medwyn replied, taking a nervous glance over his shoulder.
Barwolf’s litany continued and Bernon sighed, wiping a frustrated hand over his face. The gesture let Geno know Bernon intended to keep a harness on his temper. “Come, Medwyn. We will join William and Matilda. Bernon has something he wishes to discuss with his lady.”
Medwyn did not move, indecision masked his face.
Bernon raised a brow at his vassal and his voice sliced like steel. “Is there a reason you do not move?”
Hearing her husband’s razor tone directed at someone attempting to shield her, Barwolf broke off her litany. She let go of Medwyn’s chainmail and stepped around him, wringing her hands. “Please go with Geno, Medwyn. I should not have asked you to stand in the middle. Being deaf will not be so bad. I will never have to hear yelling again, and he did tell me he would not strike me. We need to get my instructions over with, so we can get Strangclyf back before Hadwyn wakes.”
Moving in front of Bernon, she bowed her head and clasped her hands before her. “I am ready for instructions, milord.”
“Leave us,” Bernon ordered. After Geno and Medwyn left, he took a step forward, so they stood almost toe to toe. “Have you nothing to say to me?”
“I apologize for angering you,” she said in a tremulous tone. She braved a peek up at him then quickly bowed her head again.
“Anything else?” he gritted out.
“I brought you Intrepid, so you would have a weapon for the fight.”
Bernon growled. “Is that all?”
She nodded. “What did you expect me to say?”
“Then you ignore the fact that you lied to me.”
Tilting back her head, she raised surprised eyes to his. “I would never lie to you. You are my husband and lord. ‘Tis not permitted.”
The angles in Bernon’s face sharpened with his frown. “Did you not tell me you were going to tend an urgent need?”
“Aye, milord.” She bowed her head.
“Look at me and tell me how this was not a lie.”
“’Twas an urgent need for you to have Intrepid,” she said without raising her chin.
“You are not looking at me,” he clipped out.
She tilted her head back, unable to suppress a grimace as an imaginary knife stabbed her neck.
“Are you hurting?”
Barwolf swallowed convulsively. “I have a crick in my neck from dozing against the side of the boat.”
Bernon glanced about the chamber then took Barwolf by her arm and guided her toward the pelts. He sat down with his back against the wall, and pulled her onto his lap. Intrepid clattered against the wall and floor. He reached down, unclasped the belt from her waist, and set the sword on the floor beside them. “Is that better?”
Now wasn’t that thoughtful? She still had to look up but not as far. “Aye, milord. Thank you.”
“Why did you not tell me where you were going?”
“I was afraid you would not let me go,” she answered, honest eyes staring into his. Then she gulped.
Bernon couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “You were right, so why did you go?”
“I felt ashamed because I lost Strangclyf.” She combed her fingers through her curls then shrugged. “I wanted to make up for my failure by getting the holding back for you, but I should have known better.” She bowed her head in a penitent manner and clasped her hands in her lap. “Medwyn said my plan was not very good and he wanted to talk to you. I am sorry I disappointed you again.”
“I have already told you that I am pleased with you.” He nudged up her chin, glowering enough to make his words laughable. “You will start believing me about this now.”
“Aye, milord,” she said meekly.
“From now on, you will trust me and tell me about whatever you have planned, so I may advise you. I cannot believe you went sneaking around under your cousin’s nose to get the weapon. How did you get the sword without getting caught?”
“Padarn got it for you. He is hiding in the maze by the ale room until ‘tis safe.” She caught her tremulous lower lip in her teeth.
Bernon took a deep calming breath. She deserved to be frightened. Why in perdition could he not stand to see her afraid? “What was your plan?”
“I was going to raise the portcullis and let your men out while you and the king stayed down here where you would be safe. Medwyn said we needed a better plan, but Hadwyn only has about sixty men left and most of them will be napping until mid-afternoon, so we have plenty of time.”
His brows snapped back together. “Do you not realize ‘tis an insult to me for you to think I would allow you to take such a risk?”
“I just wanted to protect you,” she said in a tiny voice.
“Your reasons do not matter.” He kept his tone hard. She had to learn this lesson or she would get herself killed. His frown grew fiercer as his heart skipped a beat at the thought. “’Tis also an insult to think I should not be the one doing the protecting.”
“I am sorry, milord. I just wanted you safe.” She glanced away and sniffed.
He took hold of one of her hands, feeling the delicate bones swallowed by his loose fist. “Are you sure about the numbers?”
She nodded.
“Then you will stay here with Queen Matilda while the men take the keep.”
She raised anxious eyes and placed her other hand on his chest. “The labyrinth is complicated, Bernon. I cannot just give you directions. If any of you get lost, I could spend weeks searching and never find you. And the way to the coffers has lethal traps. If someone stumbles upon them—”
Bernon placed a finger over her lips. “We will figure out the most strategic positions, and you will guide us to them. Then you will stay in the maze until ‘tis finished and safe for you to come out.”
“If you will let me use your dagger again, I could help,” she offered.
“Have you heard a word I said? We do not need your help once we are in position, and the dagger is yours. I gave it to you during that dinner you have forgotten.” Bernon pulled the blade from his belt and held the dagger out to her.
She looked at the pearl-handle then raised troubled eyes. “You would give me this fine weapon to keep for my own?”
“I already did, so take it.”
“I have done nothing to earn it. Have you a task for me, so I may repay you?”
Honest to God, she meant that. “You do not earn a gift. ‘Tis yours because I wish it so.”
He opened her hand and placed the hilt against her palm. Barwolf accepted the dagger and gazed upon it with wonder. “I will take very good care of this even if I did not earn it.”
“Have you never received a gift before?” he asked, unable to keep the disbelief from his tone.
“Aye, the material for the gowns you sent me,” she said, sheathing the blade, then she smiled at him. “Now I have had gifts twice.”
“And you never received others—even on your birthday?”
“I never deserved any. Aurick gave me a ribbon once, but my father took it away, because I should have been a boy. No one else ever tried to give me anything.” She furrowed her brow into an earnest frown. “I promise I will n
ot grow lazy and expect things just because you are nice.”
Now she insulted him again. “I am not nice.”
“Of course you are nice,” she contradicted and patted his cheek. “You do not hit me. You are patient when you instruct me, and you got lower so my neck wouldn’t hurt. ‘Tis part of the reason I decided to like you. But mostly I like you because you said I was yours after I embarrassed you. When King Edward visited my father two years ago, I had to hide for a whole week, so my father wouldn’t have to tell anyone who I was.”
Bernon gazed down at her fragile expression and sensed Geno was right about what Barwolf needed. As much as he didn’t want to, he found himself caring for this young woman who expected so little. He became aware of her sweet feminine scent and recalled the night he almost made love to her. Passion fired through him. She blushed and bowed her head as if suddenly aware of his thoughts. He knew two things for certain at that moment. His wife would soon learn her value and she wasn’t going to sleep tonight until he performed magic. “Stand up, cheri. We will go get the others and finish this.”
Barwolf pressed her hand against his chest, staying him. “Can I ask you a question about something that confuses me first?”
He nodded and took hold of her hand again, trying to control the primal blaze that shot through him from her fingers.
“That night I cannot remember, I had a dream with you in it. You took off all my cloths, and touched me all over, and I...liked it,” she blurted out her admission. “Why do you suppose my body likes yours so much that I dream about you, but it never liked any of the men who used to try to touch me? They gave me nightmares.”
“Your body knows who you belong to.” Bernon let one corner of his mouth raise. His little fairy princess wanted him too.
“Oh.” She blushed scarlet and held his gaze. “Will you kiss me before we go?”
“Nay.”
The color drained from her face and she bowed her head. “I am sorry if I should not have asked.”
Bernon nudged up her chin and caressed a finger over her lower lip. “If I kissed you now, I wouldn’t stop. But I will make you a promise.” He captured her gaze in a possessive hold. “You will not go to sleep tonight until I make your dream come true.”
~ * ~
“Then ‘tis settled,” Bernon stated, reviewing their plan after Barwolf explained the lay-out of the holding. “Medwyn will enter the hall near the stairs to the lord’s tower, William from beside the lesser hearth near the common corridor, and Geno from the ale room. As soon as Geno raises the portcullis, I will lead the men in attack from the gorge.” He looked down at Barwolf, who sat on the top step of the dais at his feet. “Are you certain about how long it will take you to guide Geno from the release mechanism to the ale room?”
Barwolf swallowed the cheese in her mouth and nodded. “Aye, milord, but we will have to run.”
“Then we will all begin counting when we feel the vibrations from the raising of the portcullis. At the count of five hundred, William, Medwyn, and Geno can enter the hall. By that time, I should have made it to the keep with the men.” A muscle flexed in Bernon’s jaw. “Remember, Hadwyn is mine.”
“You are leaving out an important factor, Bernon.” Queen Matilda assumed her most regal pose as she spoke from beside the throne and placed a hand on William’s arm. “I have a particular fondness for our king and wish to keep him around. Though his powers are great, I am fairly certain he cannot keep sharp metal from piercing his flesh. I am afraid I cannot allow him to join you unless he is armed.”
“I can fix that.” Barwolf set aside the cheese, bread, and wineskin then sprang to her feet and grabbed a torch.
Bernon caught her by the arm before she could take off on him again. “Where do you think you are going?”
“To the Roman armory.” She looked up at him through eager eyes. “’Tis just down the corridor. The weapons are old-fashioned, but some are still sound.”
Geno grabbed another torch. “Lead the way, little wolf. I would rather not have sharp metal pierce my flesh either.”
“I will come too,” King William said, rising from the throne. “I would like to pick my own weapon.”
Medwyn joined Geno. “I would like to see a Roman armory myself.”
Barwolf hesitated and her brow puckered.
“What is the matter?”
“I have not yet finished the room, and ‘tis not presentable,” she said in a self-castigating tone. “I got caught up in the task of cleaning the weapons and ‘tis taking longer than I expected.”
“Do not worry over a little dirt, dear,” Matilda said in her motherly manner. “I am sure we have all seen worse.”
Barwolf raised contrite eyes to Bernon. “But I wanted everything to be pleasing...”
“’Tis all right for them to come. I will not be displeased with you even if there is a lot of dirt. I promise.”
Seven
Barwolf finally grinned. The man was surely about to find out what dirt was. She grabbed Bernon’s hand and tugged him along into the corridor. “The armory is one of my favorite chambers. I never went in it until last summer when I decided ‘twas time to set your house in order. My grandfather forbade me entrance when he gave me the secret to pass on.”
“Did you not get the secret from your father?” Bernon asked, a note of surprise in his voice.
“Nay. My grandfather never gave it to him and forbade me to do so either. Grandfather said he was passing on Strangclyf to me and my father could never hold the title, because he knew I had his blood, but he was not so sure about my father. Was that not strange? ‘Twas then he did the ritual on me so I would learn it. He had Father Marcel and Aurick watch, so they could help me remember and he bade me hide Intrepid down here. Then he collapsed one of the tunnels and told my father the whole secret was gone. Grandfather got sick and died a week later. That was strange too, because grandfather never got sick.”
“How old were you?” Bernon asked, tucking away the knowledge. Did she not understand the significance of her words, or did she simply not wish to acknowledge she was a bastard? And God’s bones, her grandfather had passed the title to her and her father had never truly held it.
“Nine. This is the armory.” She stopped beside a large iron door with bronzed casings that gleamed in the torchlight. “I will let you open it if you do not mind, Bernon. ‘Tis a mite hefty.”
He pushed open the heavy door and wondered how his small bride ever managed to gain entrance without help in the past. Taking the torch from her hand, he entered the chamber.
“Be careful where you step, Bernon,” she warned, entering behind him as he placed the torch in a bracket. “The weapons I have not finished are in organized piles all about the chamber.”
Bernon surveyed the filth and rubble, seeing what he would expect to see in ruins, except everything was pushed to one side of the room. Dirt had been scrubbed and chipped from the wall to his right and part of the ceiling. The grime crusted on the other walls and the rest of the ceiling appeared close to a fourth-inch thick. A whetstone, cleaned and oiled, graced the area at the far corner near the clean wall next to a pile of blades waiting for sharpening. The scrubbed wall held ten cleaned, sharpened, and oiled Roman short swords, twelve daggers, an axe, six round shields, and two spears. A decrepit makeshift ladder, with two broken rungs and a dirty cloth hanging over one rung, leaned against the far wall beside a bucket, a pile of cleaning brushes, and rags. Several large piles of assorted weapons spread over the floor on the left side of the room, waiting for restoration. A pile of long straight branches lay beside the door.
“Have you ever seen such filth?” Matilda exclaimed, walking into the chamber. The men appeared speechless.
Barwolf wrung her hands. “I apologize. I decided to do this room last because ‘twas not as bad as the others. I got sidetracked restoring the weapons, because ‘twas more fun than cleaning walls, and then my ladder broke. I got branches to fix it but never did because of my most
special project. After you secure the keep, I’ll come back and finish the chamber toni—”
“Did you say this was the cleanest?” Bernon asked incredulously, cutting off her rambling.
She gave him a forlorn nod. “Except for my room and the bath. I cleaned those when I was ten.”
Geno frowned. “Did you say your room is down here and not in the main keep?”
“I have one above too,” she admitted in a wary tone. “I just do not use it when we have guests or when my father’s men get rambunctious, which seems to be most of the time. I do not like sleeping with a dagger, because I cut myself once. ‘Tis easier to just come down here, and Aurick said ‘twas best for me.”
“Why were you sleeping with a dagger?” Bernon asked in a dangerously calm voice, sure he wasn’t going to like her answer.
She took a defensive step back and her eyes shuttered. “So I could stab the men who came to me when I was trying to sleep.”
“Why did you not bar your door?” he demanded.
Barwolf bowed her head. “My father said I was not old enough for a barred chamber.”
“And he did nothing to protect you?” Bernon asked in a voice that could freeze hell’s flames.
“He was one of the ones I stabbed.” She jerked her finger through her locks. “Can we please hurry? I would like to finish cleaning this before morning. Tomorrow is Tuesday and I have much to do on Tuesdays.”
Bernon knew she was nervous and suppressed his rage against her father. He cupped her chin, forcing her look at him. “You are not cleaning this chamber tonight and I want a straight answer to my next question. What happened after you stabbed your father?”
Unconsciously she raised her hand and rubbed her left ear. “He knocked me upside my head and told me that I was his baggage and ‘twas his right to paw me to death if he wanted. Aurick came into my room and threw my father against the wall and said he would kill the lecher if he ever again so much as looked at me like he wanted to paw me. Then Aurick took me to his chamber and guarded me for the rest of the night. The next morning he asked me if I remembered the secret and I told him aye. He told me ‘twould be safer to sleep down here from now on, so most of the time I do.”