by McCall, Mary
‘Twas a miracle she had come to him for help after receiving such despicable treatment from men—and her own father. “Where?”
“Sometimes on the pelts in the chamber where we talked earlier but mostly in the bath. Can we not talk about this anymore, please? Remembering that night always gives me nightmares and I am very tired. If you are not going to let me clean, then I would like to sleep tonight without my father haunting me.”
“The axe looks interesting,” William said, shifting back to current concerns. He crossed the room and hefted the weapon from the wall. “I cannot believe the wood in the handle did not decay.”
“’Tis petrified,” Barwolf explained, relaxing with the topic change. “So is the wood in the two spears that hang. I have branches to remake the others.”
Geno chose a sword and a spear. “You did a fine job restoring and sharpening these, little wolf. I think I will take a dagger too.”
He reached for the one hanging nearest him.
“Nay! Not that one! ‘Tis for Bernon.” She rushed forward and took the dagger. “Please forgive my rudeness, Geno. This dagger is special.”
Geno looked at the weapon in her hands and smiled. “No need to apologize, little wolf. I can see how special.”
Barwolf procured another dagger with a sapphire set into an ebony and silver handle and offered the weapon to Geno. “Why do you not use this one? The stone matches your lovely blue eyes.”
Bernon scowled at the pair as Geno accepted the blade, flashing his roguish grin that had seduced most of the ladies in William’s court. “Thank you, little wolf. I am sure ‘twill bring me luck because you picked it.”
“But you do not need luck. You are a bastard,” she said, smiling and patting his arm.
“What!” William bellowed, turning red-faced.
She turned a startled expression upon the king then her hands fisted at her sides. “I just said—”
“We heard what you said,” Bernon curtly interrupted, glowering down at her. “Do you seek to insult all four of the men in this room out of ignorance or on purpose?”
“’Twas a compliment I gave, not an insult.” Her brows tugged with confusion. “My father told me that you are a bastard, Bernon, so surely you of all people should know this truth.”
“What truth?” William demanded in a grinding voice.
“Bastards are superior to other men. Aurick explained this to me after my father told me that Aurick was a bastard. ‘Tis because for a bastard to live beyond the age of ten, he must work harder, think sharper, and do everything twice as well as someone who is legitimate. So when my father called Aurick a bastard, ‘twas a great compliment that only a true bastard could appreciate. And for me to say Geno has no need for luck lets him know I recognize his superior abilities.”
Bernon clenched his jaw to keep his chin from dangling. He had spent his entire life plagued by a dark stigma and his little bride considered bastards superior. Had he done some good deed in his past to merit a bride with such a perspective? Surely no other woman in the world had this attitude, except maybe his queen.
Barwolf bowed her head and clasped her hands around the dagger she held. “I am sorry to all of you. I truly meant no offense.”
Matilda burst into laughter. “I cannot wait to meet Aurick. I am growing rather fond of the fellow.”
“Save your fondness for your own bastard,” William gruffly ordered with a twinkle in his eyes. “Though I have to admit, I am looking forward to meeting him myself.”
“Who is this Aurick?” Medwyn asked. “You mentioned him before.”
“He is my uncle and my second favorite person in the world,” Barwolf replied on a relieved sigh. “Merciful heavens, you Normans change moods faster than a boar can charge.”
Bernon raised a brow. “And who is your favorite person?”
“My husband,” she answered without a pause. “’Tis the way of things. If you will finish selecting your weapons, we should go. Hadwyn and his men will wake soon, and ‘twould be best if we surprised them.”
William grinned smugly at Bernon. “Lady Strangclyf, give your favorite person the dagger you want him to have and I will let my favorite person pick one for me.”
As Matilda walked to the wall and selected a dagger for the king, Barwolf slowly crossed over and stood in front of Bernon, offering him the dagger. He accepted the weapon and stared at the black hilt with inlaid gold filigree work detailing a fighting bear. He recognized the pattern as the one she used for his tunic. “You found this here?”
“I found it in another chamber when I was nine. ‘Twas under some dirt and rubble. I knew ‘twas special, so I slept with it and told myself I was safe, because I had a bear to protect me. After I used it on my father, Aurick saw it and told me to hide it, because my father would take the dagger away from me if he saw it. I got one with a plain handle and Aurick carved a lamb on the grip for me. ‘Twas the one I lost in London.”
“Would you like to keep this for yourself?” he asked in a gentle tone.
“Thank you, but I do not need it anymore.” She pat his arm. “I have the fine blade you gave me and a real bear to protect me now, though I may need help remembering.”
He noticed an impish glimmer in her eyes and felt pleased. She was actually jesting with him. A slow smile rolled along his lips. “I will remind you often.”
“Are you ready, Bernon?” the king called, wearing the arrogant grin of a monarch who knew he had arranged an excellent match.
“Aye, William.” Bernon slipped an arm around Barwolf’s shoulders. “Come, my dear, lead the way.”
~ * ~
After Geno entered the hall, Barwolf sneaked into the ale room, leaned around the screen, and watched the fight. William fought his way from the hearth to the adjacent screen, which separated the buttery from the hall, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. Medwyn remained near the stairs, hacking those unlucky enough to come within striking distance of his blade. With a smile and a hum, Geno danced his way into the center of the fray, goading the Saxons then killing all who dared approach. His laughter floated about the hall amid the clang of steel and screams of falling men.
Bernon had not arrived and Barwolf worried. What could have happened to delay him? Then she wondered about the three Norman warriors fighting the near forty Saxons in the hall. The Saxons appeared outmatched. A glint of sunlight from the hall’s upper windows reflected from metal in the gallery above the opposite wall and caught Barwolf’s notice. She saw a dark figure that somehow looked familiar in the shadows. The blackguard took aim at William’s back. Zut! She had to save her king. Without a thought for her welfare, Barwolf left the safety of the ale room. raced over behind William, and caught a dagger before the blade could enter his back.
Then she threw the blade at a man rushing toward her with a raised sword. Without waiting to see if she hit her mark, she slipped back behind the screen into the ale room.
Barwolf almost reached the wall with the lever to the maze and heard a noise behind her. Whirling around, she saw Hadwyn. Oh Lord, she’d never make it to the panel and gain access to the maze. She froze.
“You ruined my plans, you little bitch, but you will taste death before I do!” Hadwyn bellowed as he raced toward her, his sword high in the air. He abruptly stopped with a shocked expression then crumpled face-forward upon the ground. His sword clattered on the stones at her feet, and Intrepid protruded from his back.
She looked up—not quite sure if this were really happening or if she was having a nightmare. She saw Bernon at the other end of the ale room wearing a furious expression that made her think of Last Rites.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his tone as sharp as Intrepid.
She couldn’t get her throat to work and ended up nodding while she looked at him through wide eyes and tried to tighten her slack jaw.
“We will discuss your disobedience later,” he said in a voice that shivered down her spine. “Now get back into the maze until ‘tis safe fo
r you to come out.” Without another glance at her, he pulled Intrepid from Hadwyn’s body and left the ale room.
Blinking back tears, Barwolf opened the panel and pulled the lever. As the wall opened, a resounding cheer filled the hall. Padarn rushed out of the maze into the ale room. “Thank the Almighty that is over. I do not mind telling you, milady, I didn’t like being in there one bit. My tallow burned out. I swear I heard some ‘o them bones reconnectin’ and risin’ up in the dark.”
Barwolf bowed her head, so Padarn wouldn’t see her distress. She entered the maze and reached for the lever.
“Where do you go, milady?” the wiry Saxon asked in jubilant tones.
“To lead our queen out of the maze,” she replied quietly and sniffed. “I will return shortly. Thank you again for your help.”
~ * ~
After the battle, Bernon stood with King Willaim, Geno, and Medwyn near the high table, A thin man of moderate height and pronounced limp entered from the aleroom with a barrel of ale hefted upon his shoulder. He grabbed a spigot and goblet, and began whistling a cheerful tune as he approached Bernon and held out the goblet to his new lord. “Welcome home to Strangclyf, milord, and have a drink to your victory.”
Bernon raised a brow at the Saxon and accepted the goblet. “And who bids me welcome?”
“A lowly farmer beneath your notice, but who will be loyal to you just the same. I am Padarn.” He set the keg on the table, spiked the barrel, then surveyed the hall and shook his head. “I’ll go get some men, so we can clear out the carnage before your bride gets back. Otherwise she’ll try to do it herself. Regular little bee, she is. Going to die young if she doesn’t slow down.”
Bernon hooded his eyes and scrutinized the man. “I have a feeling I am being given a hint, Padarn.”
A cagey grin spread across Padarn’s whiskered face. “Aye, milord, but I’ll take it kindly if you wouldn’t tell her. You’ll learn her plan for you soon enough.”
“What plan?”
“To please you so you will give her a new name. I always thought Angel would suit her.” Padarn began whistling a happy tune, nodded to the fierce Normans standing next to his lord, and then made his way to the front doors where he paused and turned back. “You and your men are covered with blood, milord. She will fret something fierce if you are wearing it when she gets back. The well is outside the rear door.”
What did he mean by when she gets back? He would have a stern lecture ready for her about running off like this. “Where did she go?”
“Into the maze to get another lady who is going to fret with her, I reckon.” Padarn scratched his bearded chin then gave Bernon a nod as if he had made up his mind about something. “You know Sprite has a nice ring to it—not really a name but it might suit her.” Padarn disappeared out the door.
“Medwyn, make sure he gets help and removes all the bodies to a place where the ladies will not have to see them.” Bernon set his goblet on the table next to the cask and walked toward the rear door.
“Where are you going, my friend?” Geno called on a gloating chuckle.
“Same place we are all going,” Bernon gritted out. “To the well to wash off the blood so my bride will not fret the rest of her mind away.”
~ * ~
A huge tear splashed upon Barwolf’s arm as she released the lever, sealing the wall. She brushed a hand over her wet cheeks and walked through the dark passages toward Jupiter’s Hall.
Bernon was furious with her. She hadn’t meant to disobey him. ‘Twas my curiosity and concern for his safety that lured me from the maze. I truly only meant to watch. What else could I do, though? I couldn’t let that man just throw a dagger in the king’s back, could I? How was I supposed to know Hadwyn would come after me? I was terrified when he ran toward me with that sword, and thank you, Lord, for letting Bernon arrive in time to save me. Is Bernon angry enough to send me away? Oh Lord, I don’t want to leave Strangclyf, so please do not let Bernon send me away. I was rather looking forward to having him protect me.
From the expression on his face, he probably wished ‘twas my body and not Hadwyn’s that he pulled Intrepid from. And the blood! Bernon was covered with blood! Oh Lord, please do not let the blood be his. What will I do if anything happens to him? I would be The Strangclyf again and William would probably marry me to some other knight. What if I’m forced to marry someone my body doesn’t like or who hits me? Oh Lord, please let Bernon be all right.
Barwolf entered Jupiter’s hall with puffy red eyes and sniffed back her tears as she approached the queen. “’Tis safe now, Your Grace. I have come to guide you to the keep.”
Matilda’s brows drew together with worry, and she wrapped a maternal arm around Barwolf’s waist. “What happened, dear? Is Bernon injured?”
“I do not know!” Barwolf burst into sobs and wiped frantically at her eyes with her fingers. “He is covered with blood and he is furious with me for disobeying him. I only meant to watch from behind the ale room screen, but I couldn’t let that man throw a dagger in the king’s back, could I? Then Hadwyn came after me and I was so relieved when Bernon killed him. I have never seen such rage in all my life.”
“You mean Hadwyn?” Queen Matilda asked, dabbing at Barwolf’s wet cheeks with a linen cloth.
“Nay, Bernon. He looked like he was ready to kill me too. We are supposed to talk about my disobedience later.” She sighed and ran her fingers through her short locks. “I have ruined everything. I think he was starting to like me a little and now he is displeased with me.”
Matilda raised her eyes to heaven. “You are too easily dejected, dear. You cannot go by his expression in the middle of a battle. You were seeing his war mask. Heaven knows there is nothing meaner looking than a Norman warrior in the midst of battle. Now tell me how William fares, then I will tell you how to offset a man’s temper.”
“The king was fine the last time I saw him.” Barwolf sniffed.
“Good.” Matilda cupped Barwolf’s cheeks and smiled. “Now when you see Bernon, do what you did in the dungeon. Throw your arms around his neck, tell him you are sorry for disobeying him, and tell him how glad you are he is still alive and married to you. Your small size will bring out his protective male instincts and overcome his anger. The most you will get is a stern talking to.”
“You do not think he will send me away?” Barwolf asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice.
“Nay, and remind him of your wedding vows.” Matilda nodded and her cobalt eyes sparkled as she embraced the notion. “You only promised to obey him the best you could and you will try to do better next time. That way you will beat him to the end of the lecture and he will have nothing left to say. Now let us go see our men. We have been through a trying ordeal and ‘tis their duty to comfort us. Sometimes they need a reminder.”
Barwolf extinguished all the torches and lamps in the throne room then led Matilda through the maze to the ale room. They entered the hall just as an agonized scream reverberated from the rafters. She saw five Norman knights holding an injured soldier down on a table. A burly warrior, whose blond hair was cropped so close that he appeared bald, raised a sword over the injured man’s leg.
“Wait!” Barwolf cried. She ran toward the table as Bernon entered the rear door with Geno and the king. The soldier holding the sword halted and glared at her.
“What are you doing?” she shouted.
The husky Norman grunted at her then again prepared to lower the blade. Barwolf pulled her dagger and took aim. “If that sword falls, you will speak with a woman’s voice for the rest of your life. Now answer me.”
Hugo slowly lowered the sword and glowered. “How dare you interfere when ‘twas your people responsible? Jerold’s leg is dying. We are cutting it off so he won’t die with it. Now get away from here. This is not your concern.”
Barwolf glared back. “’Tis my husband’s soldier, so ‘tis my concern.”
“We will be tending our own without interference from someone whose c
ousin tried to kill us all,” Hugo hissed. “Now be gone.”
“I am not my cousin and I will not let you remove his leg until I have decided it cannot be saved. I mean it. I am good with a blade.” The man looked at her as if she were a nasty bug he would like to step on and wipe across the rushes. “If you will not listen to sense then listen to reason. Bernon may be my husband, but who do you think he values more—a strong fighter or an insignificant woman whom he married only because of a king’s order?”
Hugo looked over her shoulder and paled, saying nothing.
“He values the strong fighter. That is who. Do you think me simpleminded enough to harm one of his valued men and risk his wrath?”
Her hand holding the dagger ached with tension. They were not listening to her and she could read the distrust in their eyes. Zut! They probably saw through her bluff too. She wouldn’t harm one of Bernon’s men to save another—especially one as big and fierce as this brute.
“Why not settle this the way you settled the dispute between Aiken and Merton, ma petite?” Bernon asked from behind her.
Barwolf started, not realizing Bernon had entered the hall. She spun around and cast bewildered eyes upon him.
“Ask Jerold what he prefers,” Bernon suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. Hopefully his support of her in this matter would help her learn he placed value on her. He would speak with Hugo later about denying and disrespecting his wife.
Barwolf nodded then turned around and walked to the man lying on the table. “Jerold, open your eyes and look at me.”
Two amber eyes clouded by pain slowly opened and focused upon her. “You have a bad wound in your leg, Jerold. I do not know if I can help you or not. Your friends want to chop it off without letting me look, so you have to make a choice. You can let them cut off your leg with that dirty sword or you can let me see if I can save the leg. You could die either way. If they cut it off and you live, then you will end up a pathetic, worthless beggar dependent upon charity for the rest of your days. My way hurts more, but if you pick me and you live, there is a chance you could keep the leg, be a whole man, and fight another day. What do you want, Jerold?”