The Du Lac Chronicles: Book 1

by Mary Yarde

  “I will kick you, please, no, Alden, stop.” She fought him half-heartedly, trying to break herself free, giggling and crying at the same time. “No, no. Stop it.” She giggled in a breath and kicked her foot free, landing him a small, harmless punch on his arm.

  “Ouch, you little vixen, you will pay for that.” He flipped her on to her back playfully, pinning her beneath him and then he stilled. He could feel every breath leaving her body. His face was so close to hers he could taste her breath on his lips. Amusement changed into something else. Desire — lust, call it what you want, but Alden felt it.

  “Alden.” Annis whispered his name as he ran the tip of his callused thumb gently across her lower lip.

  “You are so beautiful.” He traced the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand. “So, so beautiful,” he whispered.

  “I am not,” she whispered back. “I know I am not.”

  “Yes you are,” Alden contradicted. He looked at her lips and then back to her eyes, before lowering his face even closer to hers.

  He was going to kiss her. Annis could hardly believe it. Her eyes slipped closed and she held her breath.

  There was a rattle from above and the sound of heavy sacks being dragged across the floor. Alden raised his head and cursed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He planted a distracted kiss on her forehead and moved himself slowly off her body and stood.

  6

  He had almost kissed her. Her tongue wet her suddenly very dry lips. There was more rattling from above and she scrambled off the bed and stood beside him, searching for his hand in the gloom and finding it. He clasped her hand in his, giving her courage. She wanted to ask him if he would abandon her, or worse, send her back to her father, but she was too fearful of the answer. He squeezed her fingers gently. Was he trying to reassure? She hoped so.

  They both looked up as the trapdoor lifted and the tantalising torment of the fresh evening air entered the room.

  “Stay behind me,” Alden ordered. “I will keep you safe.” He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and then he let go and watched as one of Arthur’s old knights walked purposefully down the stairs carrying a flaming torch.

  He came to stand at the bottom of the stairs. “Alden du Lac, your father would be disappointed in you if he were alive.”

  Annis gasped, for Bors, Jess’s husband, was a formidable man. Even in old age his body was strong. The muscles in his neck were large and matched by the muscles in his arms. He looked like he could hold the world on his shoulders without breaking into a sweat.

  “It is a good job he is dead then,” Alden answered.

  Bors growled low in his throat before turning his attention to Annis. “Your father is looking for you,” Bors stated in Latin. “He is tearing every village apart looking for you. People are dying. Their properties are being destroyed, because of you. The selfishness of a girl is destroying a nation. Their blood is on your hands, you evil cow.”

  “That is enough.” Alden warned.

  “Believe me, du Lac, I have only just begun. Besides, what are you going to do? Stop me?” He laughed. “I’d love to see you try. And don’t think you can talk me round; I spent time with the master and I know all the tricks. Hand her over. She will appease that bastard she calls a father.” He spat on the ground. “And anyway, mistresses are easy enough to come by. Stick your wick in something else.”

  “Alden.” She whimpered his name, backing towards the wall until she touched it. She knew that if this man wanted her, then he would have her. Alden was unarmed and injured, and for all his talk, there was nothing he could really do to protect her.

  “She isn’t my mistress. She is my wife and she is carrying my child. We have been going behind Cerdic’s back for months. I am not going to give her up.”

  He heard Annis’s gasp of astonishment. The words had came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and it was too late now to take them back. What was the matter with him? He wasn’t like Merton — he never acted impulsively. He always thought through his every word and his every action. It was too late now, the words had been spoken, the damage done, he just had to wait for the repercussions. He would lose support by such a confession, for those who wavered would say he deserved to lose his lands; any father had the right to avenge their daughter if she was dishonoured. They would say that he brought the terror on himself.

  “Is this true?” Bors barked at Annis.

  Annis could not speak; she physically could not form any words. Why had Alden done that? Not once, in her whole life, had anyone put her first, but she was with a man now who did, regardless of the cost to him. She did not know whether to punch him or embrace him.

  “Why else would she have saved me?” Alden answered for her. “Use the intellect God gave you and think, man.”

  “What he says is true?” Bors said, his attention still on Annis.

  She just about managed to nod her head in agreement and then felt utterly ashamed for doing so. She was selfish. She had often wondered, if given the chance, she could be. And she was, choosing to save her own skin and sticking to the story Alden had just pulled out of the air. He had saved her and willingly condemned himself.

  “Then you are a bloody fool,” Bors stated, shaking his head. “The children he took from Cerniw are hanging on the main road into Wessex. The young men are being integrated into his army, and if they refuse, they die. Two are already dead, their bodies decapitated, their heads stuck on pikes outside the army barracks and their bodies thrown to the crows. As for the rest of them, they are on their way, as we speak, to Farmbridge Market, where they will be sold for a profit. And he has issued orders that all the winter stores in Cerniw are to be burnt; and anyone caught poaching or fishing will be immediately executed, and all their family members with them. He will wipe your people out. The wild boar is dying, Alden.” Bors said, making reference to Cerniw’s emblem, which was meant to represent courage and strength. “May he roast in hell — I hope she was worth it?”

  Alden took a step back and then sat down on the edge of the pallet, rubbing his temples with his hands. “He can’t,” he said, looking at Bors.

  “He has,” Bors assured him. “Another good kingdom destroyed because of a woman. I thought you of all people would have learnt your father’s lesson. Give her up, give yourself up and maybe he will be more lenient.”

  “You don’t know him,” Annis said bravely, and then she shrank back under Bors’ hard gaze.

  “And you do?” Bors sneered.

  “I know he doesn’t care about who he kills. He won’t stop just because I go back or Alden gives himself up. He does not know what mercy means; it isn’t in his vocabulary.”

  “She is right.” Alden said. “He is ruthless. I need to get to Brittany, and I will bring Budic’s army back here and I will right all the wrongs.”

  “That’s a pretty promise.”

  “I keep my promises, as my father did before me. And I have promised my wife I will keep her safe.” He stood. “So if you want to take her back to her father, then you will have to kill me.”

  “Don’t think that I won’t,” Bors stated.

  “Just make sure, before you do, that you are not on the wrong side this time.”

  “How dare you.” Bors spoke the words slowly, but full of rage. “You were not there; you know not what it was like. Have you ever had to fight men that you knew and respected and loved? Of course you haven’t. So don’t stand there and preach to me about choosing the wrong side. I chose the wrong side and I am paying for that; my family is paying for that. I lost everything — my wealth, my estate, and my self-respect. Your father lost nothing.”

  “Because he was in the right, and you know that. You hope to regain what you have lost, what Wessex has taken from you, by killing me? How will that help you? I am the only one who can get you back your lands.”

  “You cannot ev
en hold on to your own kingdom.”

  “No, but Budic can, and he rewards all those loyal to the du Lacs. I know he will reward you when I tell him how you helped us. But if you choose to raise your sword against me then know this. Budic will find you. He will track you down to the ends of the earth if need be, and then you will wish that you had never been born.” That wasn’t strictly true, Budic would do not such thing, but Bors did not know that. “Do you remember Badon Hill?”

  “I remember,” Bors said, spitting on the ground to the side of him. “I remember the Saxon cavalry falling to their death in that pit your father made. It was the first time I had ever witnessed such utter defeat of an enemy.”

  “If you want a job done,” Alden said and watched as a flicker of emotions ran over Bors’ warrior face, “send a du Lac.”

  “You argue as well as your father did. There is a shadow of him in you, little good it will do you.”

  “Despite what you think, my father was a good man.”

  “He was a fool,” Bors retorted instantly.

  “He was betrayed.”

  Bors snorted in disagreement. “He was no innocent. He gave as good as he got. ‘He was betrayed.’ ” Bors shook his head in disagreement. “He was not the saint you think he was.”

  “I never said he was a saint, but he was not who you make him out to be either. Maybe my father did do things wrong, maybe he made mistakes. You know as well I do Bors, that there is no such thing as an innocent man, but that does not take away what my father stood for or who he was. I can argue his merits all day if need be, but I don’t have time for that. So tell me, what are you going to do Bors? Kill me? Are you going to take Annis back to her father and explain why you have kept her hidden from him for the past couple of days? I am sure he will be lenient when he hands out your sentence. You are in up to your neck. You helped us. If you want out of this situation then kill us both and leave us down here to rot.”

  “I don’t kill women,” Bors growled.

  “And what do you think is going to happen to her if you take her back to Cerdic? What do you think he is going to do — scold her? There are many ways to kill a man. Just because you do not wield the knife does not mean you are not responsible. You send her back to him and he will kill her, and her blood will be on your hands.”

  Bors stayed silent, his eyes fixed on Alden. “Then I do not have any choice.”

  “There are always choices. You just have to make sure that you choose the right one.” Alden quoted his father, although Bors did not know that.

  Bors narrowed his eyes and fell silent. He took some time to think about what Alden had said. Alden risked a glance at Annis. She was trembling; he could see she was. He gave her an encouraging wink and turned his attention back to Bors.

  “Right,” Bors said gruffly, coming to a decision. “I have something for you.”

  He turned and headed back up the stairs.

  “It will be all right,” Alden said.

  “Will it?” Annis asked.

  There was no time to say anything else, for Bors was heading back down the stairs. In one hand was a sack, in the other something long that was wrapped in hessian. Bors dumped the bag on the table. “Clothes. No good her looking like a lady,” he muttered and then he paused and looked at the long object in his hand. “This is yours, by right.” He laid the object on the table and carefully unwrapped it.

  “Arthur took this off your father just before he banished him. Do not ask me how I came by it and do not ask me why I kept it.” He raised the sword into the light. There was not a speck of rust on the blade. “I have looked after her and she is sharp. Here.” He tossed the sword at Alden. Alden caught it by the pommel and raised it up to look at it. The pommel felt warm in his hand, comforting. He tested the weight of the sword and found it evenly balanced. His father had held this sword, fought with this sword. That thought gave him courage.

  “Thank you.” Alden said, still looking at the blade.

  “I will get you out of here, but it is going to take a few more days, possibly a sennight, maybe longer,” he said as he mentally assessed Alden’s injuries. “I think you probably need the time to recover anyway, because once we start moving you need to be able to keep up. Change into these clothes,” he glared at Annis as he spoke, before tuning his attention back to Alden. “I will try and get you some supplies, a knife, maybe a bow, although I cannot promise much.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Alden asked, balancing the weight of the sword in his palm and then slicing the air with it.

  “Don’t I just, but it is going to take some implementing.” And for the first time in a long time, Bors found himself smiling.

  Annis waited in the shadow of a large oak tree. She pulled her borrowed cloak more tightly around her and readjusted the hood to keep out the cold. For the last hour, it had been snowing hard. Already, drifts were beginning to form.

  Annis’s feet were freezing. She wriggled her toes and shifted her weight from one foot to the next in order to keep the circulation going while she waited. Alden had given her explicit instructions to wait here, not to move; he wouldn’t be long. She had resisted the urge to snap to attention, as she had seen her father’s men do many times to their superiors.

  She looked up at the dark grey sky and wondered how much more time she should give him before she followed his just visible footprints and found out what was keeping him. She was, after all, a woman. Alden should have known better than to think he could tell her what to do.

  She hated the snow. Once, she thought it romantic. But that was when she had a thick cloak made of wool, a warm chamber and hot, fresh food. Now she wondered how anyone outside of the nobility managed to survive the winter. They must be made of strong stuff, she concluded, as she wrapped her arms around her and stamped her feet.

  They had been travelling for two days now, although she had no idea where they were going, as she had been reluctant to ask and Alden had not volunteered the information. Each day she feared that this would be the one where he would leave her and she would never see him again. So she remained quiet, preferring ignorance for a little while longer at least.

  The escape from Hordon village would be forever etched in her mind.

  Alden had made her dirty her face and hands, although after almost two sennights in hiding, it did not take much effort. He had done the same to himself and had also hacked off his hair with a knife. It looked a mess, but the mess suited him. Well, she thought so anyway. She was not so naive as to be unaware that where Alden was concerned her opinion was probably biased. He could shave his head and she would still think him the handsomest man she had ever seen. He had reached towards her, the blade still in his hand and had touched her hair. She saw the indecision on his face. “Cut it,” she had said, reading his mind, “it will grow back.”

  “And how am I going to bury my hands in it when I make love to you if I cut it?”

  She had swayed on her feet at his words, her body reacting instantly, and he reached out to steady her.

  “You want to make love to me?” She stammered over the words, hardly daring to believe what she had just heard. She stared up in wonder at his face.

  “You know I do,” he answered, staring into her eyes and hoping she could see in his face just what she had come to mean to him.

  He was standing close to her. The knife rattled to the floor as he reached for her face, holding it between his palms. “How many times am I not going to do this?”

  “Do what?” She asked, raising her face up to his as she spoke.

  “Kiss you,” Alden replied.

  “I hope you are ready.” Bors’ voice travelled down the steps. “It is time to go.”

  Alden stepped away from her, frustration showing in his face at yet another interruption. One day he would kiss her, he promised himself as Annis picked his knife up from the floor and handed it to him
. One day, he would know what she tasted like, what gave her pleasure, what made her moan his name. One day he would feel her beneath him, would feel what it was like to be inside her, hear her gasp as he encouraged her to let go, reach for the stars. One day soon.

  The blacksmith’s forge in the village of Hordon was one of the largest in the country, up until the moment that Bors got his hands on it. Annis had never seen or heard anything like it in her sheltered experience, and she trembled with genuine fear. The village was shaken by an explosion, which was swiftly followed by another and another. While some of the village men stood amazed at what they saw, most picked up buckets, jugs — anything that could hold water — and ran for the river. The women and children raced to the sanctuary of the castle. They might not like Cerdic, but as the old saying went, it was better the devil you know; and at this moment an unnamed demon was destroying their homes. The explosions and the subsequent fire, as well as the hysterical women and children, meant that Cerdic had to take action. He had sent a detachment of soldiers, wearing full armour, down to the village, and he had ordered the portcullis to be raised. It was always better to be on the safe side, although he did not for one second think that his castle was under siege. He was too wise a warrior to think that. He saw the destruction of Hordon for what it was: a diversion, and by the gods, du Lac and his traitorous daughter would pay for their crimes, as would who ever had helped them. Bloody natives, they could never be trusted. He would make them pay; he would make them all regret the day they dared to cross him.

  The forge was ablaze, as was the fletcher’s and a little farther out of the village, the tanner’s. There was even an explosion by the stream where the mill stood.

  “How the hell are you doing this?” Alden asked in amazement, for like Annis, he had never seen anything like it.

  If you have to ask the question, then you do not deserve an answer,” Bors replied cryptically, before smiling grimly. “I spent the best years of my life as a knight. The one thing I know how to do is fight and besides, I am not the only knight who still resides in Wessex. I have help.”