FEARLESS: Book Two: Age of Conquest

by Tamara Leigh

  He waited.

  “He did not survive Senlac.”

  Though the sorrow rising on his face once more tempted her to depart, she kept her feet planted. “More fortunate were your brothers, Cyr and Theriot, and your cousin. They live.”

  He lowered his lids and breathed so deep her palms longed to measure the breadth of his shoulders.

  Shameful, Wulfrithdotter! she silently berated. If you are not ill of mind, you are weak of character.

  His eyes opened. “Have you word of my brother, Dougray?”

  Another D’Argent? Though tempted to demand how many they numbered, Isa said, “This is the first I have heard that name.”

  His jaw tightened. “Then perhaps he also fell and did not rise.”

  “I…” Stopping herself from offering to make further inquiries, she said, “I am due elsewhere. Before you return to the cave, is there anything you require?”

  He shrugged. “I am as well provided for as a prisoner might hope, and more so now the weather has warmed such that if it did not offend, I would return your mantle.”

  “Offend?”

  “Though long it smelled of you, now it smells of me—not nearly as pleasant.”

  Heat flushed her. Might he be as much a victim of wanting to touch what one should not? Or though he professed to believe her resistant to his charm, did he merely test that belief?

  “Too, it makes an adequate pillow,” he added.

  “I am pleased you made good use of it.”

  “Still a poor trade, albeit held in higher regard than my gift to you.” He looked to where Vitalis stood distant. “I would have to be blind not to recognize my dagger on your lover’s belt. I wonder, is it for fear of your attraction to me he wears it? The hope of discouraging my attentions?”

  She stepped forward. “Never could I be attracted to a Norman. And Vitalis is not my lover. Your dagger on his person symbolizes all the blades our rebels shall remove from Saxon throats and set upon Normans.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Had it come into his possession by way of the warrior, it might inspire. Non, it is but meant to taunt and discourage me.” He glanced between them. “Lady, do you realize how near you are to one you have made your enemy?”

  Only in this moment. If not that she remained just out of reach, she would have leapt backward.

  “My lady,” Vitalis called. “I know not why he gives warning, but you are too near.”

  Holding her gaze to D’Argent, she set a hand on her dagger’s hilt. “Would you seek to harm me if I took another step?” Now she taunted to cover her unease.

  “Harm you, Lady Hawisa?” he drawled. “I believe that answered long ago in a dark, dark wood.”

  So it was, but that was before manacles and chains, beatings, and being forced to train the enemy. “That does not mean you would not use threat to my person to gain your release.”

  “Under the right circumstances, oui. But if you do not yet know how useless such an attempt under these circumstances, soon you shall.”

  “You speak in riddles.”

  “I speak of Jaxon, and very little riddle is he. Though Vitalis would yield to my demands to preserve your life, not the balding one whose front is hardly different from his back.”

  He referred to Jaxon’s hair bound at the nape, which was as long as her own, and a beard nearly the same length bound beneath his chin.

  “If ever you had that man’s loyalty, it is lost, Lady. When he determines the time is right, he will turn on you.”

  What he said was not entirely unbelievable.

  “Did I take hold of you and threaten your life in the absence of my demands being met,” he continued, “Jaxon would sacrifice you. For the good of the rebels, he would say, to protect the camp’s location. Thus, a dead Saxon at my feet, I would be set upon and slain, and no longer would he answer to a woman.” He shifted his stance, and she tensed lest he thought his chain long enough to reach her. “Be assured, as long as I am bound, the anger pushed deep shall remain below.”

  His choice of words chilled for their honesty, yet soothed for the compliment of not thinking her so gullible she was unaware that deadly emotion crouched in him.

  “Even were you standing on my feet, Lady, you would be safe. Unlike Rosa, I wish to live—and well, all limbs and senses intact.”

  She felt a pang for the Saxon woman who had lost all—husband, infant son, friends, and home. To her village in Nottinghamshire, drunken Normans had come pillaging. Upon meeting resistance, they set all afire. The only survivor, Rosa now regarded death as but a thing delayed until she gathered about her a great number of the enemy to accompany her from this world.

  “She lost even more than I,” Isa said. “Still I have my home—rather, what remains of it. Le Bâtard has awarded nearly half to Normans.” As soon as she said it, his brothers came to mind, both of whom she had yet to meet—the one returned to Normandy and the younger who served him by raising a castle upon Stern.

  “I am sorry, my lady.” Despite the anger Guarin D’Argent professed to have pushed down, he sounded sincere.

  Feeling wearier than when she had departed the training field a half hour past, she said, “We shall send all of you back to Normandy or die trying.”

  “My lady!”

  She startled, looked across her shoulder to Vitalis.

  “Come away,” he said. “We have matters to discuss ere your departure.”

  An excuse to end her audience with the Norman, but not without merit. “Collect my escort and horses,” she ordered.

  He glowered. “Surely you would not have me leave you alone with him?”

  “I am safe. And armed.”

  He shifted his regard to D’Argent. “Does any harm befall her, I will be the one to kill you. And slowly.” He strode opposite.

  Guessing he would return within ten minutes, Isa faced her captive again.

  “How long has he been in love with you?” D’Argent asked.

  Denial rose to her lips, but it would make her sound foolish. “Far longer than I deserve,” she said, then asked, “What makes you certain Jaxon will betray me?”

  “I see and sense the same as you, but I am not loath to accept it. I know his kind. He does not like women beyond those eager to do his will. My uncle is—was—the same. If not that my sire esteems women, his brother who trained me into a warrior might have bent my character, making me of a like mind.”

  Did he think piquing her curiosity would draw her nearer? Likely, but his hope was rewarded only insofar as he claimed all her regard. “Why did your father not train you at arms?” she asked. “Was he not a warrior?”

  “Very much a warrior, and a great one, but ere I was of an age to set mind and body to wielding blades, all changed.”

  “What happened?”

  A corner of his mouth rose. “Why so curious, my lady? Do you truly wish to know me better? Here proof you are attracted to me as I am to you?”

  Her eyes felt as if they might fly from their sockets. “I am not… You are not…”

  “Indeed we are, and quite the problem that, Hawisa Wulfrithdotter. Though both of us unwed”—he raised his manacled wrist as if she needed reminding they were enemies—“what are we to do?”

  He was not wed. Until that moment, she had not considered whether a wife awaited his return, and that one did not—

  Appalled by such thoughts, she snapped, “You are arrogant! Mayhap not at all different from your uncle.”

  “Is it arrogant to speak in truth? Ever I have been told it is honesty and, as such, worthy of good regard.”

  Isa swung away and did not realize it was as he meant her to do until her head snapped back and body followed past the stone between safety and Guarin D’Argent. He had snatched hold of the end of her braid when it arced. As she stumbled back against him and her head struck his chest, he wound his manacled arm around her arms and waist.

  Though her hand was on her dagger and nearly had it clear of its scabbard, Hawisa Wulfrithdotter w
as pinned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  You lied!” Isa gasped though it was a scream upon which she ought to expel her breath.

  Feeling his head lower down the side of hers, she was prepared for breath in her ear—or so she thought. “Though this wolf has sharp teeth, Lady Hawisa, he did not lie.”

  No surprise he liked being named a wolf by his enemies. No surprise he liked it offended the daughter of Wulfrith.

  “As told,” he continued, “under these circumstances you are safe with me.”

  “Then loose me!”

  “And deny you a further kindness? Non, I shall impart your second lesson of the day.”

  She breathed in, more deeply smelled his perspiration that brought to mind taut muscles straining beneath glistening flesh. “Second lesson? What was the first?” Not that she did not know it had all to do with not drawing near the enemy without a blade going before her.

  “The same lesson Jaxon has yet to learn though many a Saxon at Senlac did.” His breath traveled down the side of her neck into the hollow of her throat, what remained of it swirling beneath the collar of her man’s tunic.

  “The first lesson?” she choked.

  “The folly of long hair. Flying out behind one, it shortens the distance between your pursuer and you. But whereas unbound it might snap or slip through fingers, when it is braided or gathered into a great mass, it is as hard to tear from the head as an arm from the body. If not shorn, during battle or other times of danger it must be fastened close to the scalp.”

  Feeling the damp of the front of his tunic through the damp of the back of hers, she said, “The second lesson?”

  “Another your sire did not well enough teach you, Hawisa.”

  It was disturbing enough he spoke her name with title, but without it… “Oui?”

  “Never turn your back on your enemy until you are well out of reach. If then.”

  She swallowed. “I shall reflect well on your lessons to ensure I do not repeat my mistakes. Now are you done instructing me?”

  He lowered his head further, and she startled when he lightly set his chin on her shoulder and his whiskers pricked her skin through her tunic—a reminder of the rough jaw that had scraped her cheek when her assailant on Senlac said he would use her up, leaving but a husk for his men. But she had stopped him, had she not? Aye, he was a husk, not she.

  “Nearly done,” this Norman said.

  This one, not that one, she told herself lest fear quake her body. “Vitalis will return soon, D’Argent, and he will—”

  “Look, Hawisa. Look down.”

  She lowered her chin, saw it was not the ground beneath her boots but his boots. And remembered he had said even were she standing on his feet she would be safe.

  “Am I truly safe?” she said. “Trapped in the arms of the enemy, I am to believe you? Trust you?”

  “I know my mind, Lady, that I speak true in telling under these circumstances you are safe with me. But were you my Norman sister and I her Saxon captive, I would advise against belief and trust, warn that until a man proves himself and his word, you exercise much doubt and caution.”

  “Is that your final lesson?”

  The breath of his sigh traveled farther than the last. “For now.” He raised his head.

  She looked over her shoulder, marveled how attractive his face and wondered if he thought the same of her when his eyes moved to her mouth. “For now?” she whispered.

  “You will come again. We will speak again. And perhaps like Rosa, I will instruct you in how a Norman wields a sword. Now, my lady, I shall loosen my arm. When your dagger returns to the bottom of its scabbard, I shall release you and you will step off my boots. Then you and your man may resume plotting against my people.”

  She looked forward again. “Loosen your hold.”

  He did, and though she had thought she believed him, it surprised when he released her after she seated her blade.

  Feet returned to the ground, she pivoted.

  He glanced at the hilt of her dagger. “I am pleased Hawisa Wulfrithdotter trusts me, though I would be disappointed were you Nicola.”

  His dagger and bow-wielding sister.

  He could recapture her, but she did not retreat. “You are not much of an enemy,” she said, then asked the question she hoped would not raise his suspicions, the answer to which might better prepare her for what lay ahead. “Are your brothers and cousin the same?”

  Though she had met Maël D’Argent when he came for the tribute and much about him disturbed, further insight into the son of the man who killed Wulf was warranted. With kin upon Wulfenshire, eventually the cousin would return.

  “I think very well of my brothers and cousin, but we are not the same—of different temperaments and passions. After Senlac, who can say how changed they are? I am, and the longer held captive, the more I shall be.”

  She averted her gaze. “Could I release you, I would. But Norman that you are, it is the duke who has your loyalty. Even did you give your word you would not lead the enemy to us, I will not risk lives beyond my own.” She peered at him from beneath her lashes so he would not see how moist her eyes. “Would that the wolf amongst us were Saxon.”

  Did his green eyes soften? “Then what, Hawisa?”

  What made her speak those words?

  Before she could back her way out of it, he said, “You wish me born Saxon so, like Vitalis, I might fall in love with you—and far longer than you deserve? That I be yours to command?”

  Had she made it sound a boast? It was not. It was… What? Guilt?

  Forcing a laugh, she drew her braid over her shoulder. “I thank you for the lessons.” She turned her back on him.

  The timing was good, Vitalis reappearing as she distanced herself from the one who had done more than lay hands on her.

  Her man commanded the three following him to return her captive to the cave, told Isa her escort were saddling the horses, and drew her away.

  “That was a fool thing to do,” he rebuked.

  Blessedly, he knew not how foolish. “As told, I am armed. As you see, I am unharmed. And of a different mind with regard to the Norman.”

  His lids narrowed.

  “He knows who I am. He knows where he is held.”

  “All the more dangerous, my lady, and still you will not grant him a merciful death?”

  “Nay.”

  Vitalis inclined his head. “Of what different mind are you?”

  “D’Argent is no animal. Dangerous, aye, but he does not sink his teeth into his prey’s neck.”

  “You have not seen him fight the worthiest of our rebels.”

  “I have heard and ’tis surely a sight, yet he has slain none, though many an opportunity he must have to yield to vengeance.”

  “He does, and even to the worthiest he imparts lessons, though of course it is to taunt them—more, Jaxon and me.”

  “To prove his superiority,” she acknowledged his Norman pride. “But I believe it goes beyond that. He is a wolf—strong, fearless, and cunning, as you say. And yet he is something more. My sire demanded those he trained into warriors learn to control their emotions. Set the good example, he commanded, and men will follow you.”

  “I remember, my lady.”

  “Just as you remember though he himself had great self-control, he could be roused to a temper, railing against all—including God—whilst left and right he dropped those who offended even were they friends.”

  Vitalis smiled wryly. “Blessedly, only on rare occasion.”

  “True, but in circumstances similar to those of our captive, I believe he would have lost control long ere now and might even be dead for it. Guarin D’Argent is understandably angry, and yet he remains in control. Though no man or woman is perfect, all capable of being pushed or pushing themselves over a line they know not to cross, thus far his feet remain firm.”

  Even when one who numbers amongst his enemy stands on them, she silently added.

  “Despite all, hi
s cunning is intact,” she continued. “Though forced to exhibit his skill against Saxons, he does not merely defend himself. He instructs the enemy, surely reasoning since eventually they will learn how best to fight him, it is to his advantage to sooner create worthy opponents against whom he can strengthen himself for the day he finds an opportunity to escape. Hence, I am of a different mind. To ensure he does not continue to move in a direction that betters his chance of escape, his circumstances must change.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I believe Jaxon did hope to rid himself of an undesirable Saxon and Norman warrior. Thus, I shall make something better of Guarin D’Argent’s instruction. Henceforth, only new recruits and the most unseasoned will train with him, of great benefit to women and others who struggle to become warriors—even our captive though he will be offended. Their skills will increase and less chance Jaxon will have to end D’Argent’s life since you will choose his opponents.”

  “You know Jaxon will not approve.”

  “I do, just as I believe it is possible he will move against me.” She tapped her teeth against her bottom lip. “I want a guard placed at D’Argent’s cave at all times. Choose the worthiest of those you trust.”

  “As you command, my lady, but I must ask why you expend so much effort to keep the Norman alive.”

  Feeling herself move toward defensiveness, she shrugged. “You were in Andredeswald. You saw what he did. I hate it, but I am indebted.”

  “Only indebted?” Behind the question was the dagger she had kept on her bedside table and Guarin’s claim she was attracted to its owner.

  I am not, she told herself though still she felt his front against her back, his arm around her waist, his breath venturing down her neck. “Indebted,” she repeated. “That is all.”

  He nodded. “How goes the underground passage?”

  Grateful to leave Guarin D’Argent behind, she said, “Good progress since the ground is mostly soil, but that makes it dangerous, requiring the support of numerous timbers to prevent collapse.”

  “Still you anticipate a year before it reaches the wood?”