FEARLESS: Book Two: Age of Conquest

by Tamara Leigh

  “Lady Hawisa?” Wulfrith—rather, Eberhard—said. “Are you afeared?”

  She was, almost as much for what she had wrought as what Jaxon wreaked. Hearing the curtain drop closed behind his sister, she said, “I am, but though some would name it weakness, methinks this fear God-given.”

  He nodded. “Fear built the passage, did it not? And it will save us.”

  She nearly embraced him. “It will. Now come. There is wealth to be hidden and wealth to be taken to sustain us until our return.”

  And we will return, she silently affirmed. Wulfen Castle is of Wulfrith—is Saxon, will never be Norman. I will reclaim it.

  Chapter Thirty

  Nearly there, Isa assured herself as she peered past the housecarles leading the way. Though the one at the fore carried a torch whose flame lit the section hastily stabilized with timbers, there was no light beyond. But there would be little in the wood at night even were the moon full.

  As she drew another breath that carried the waterfall’s scent and moisture, she heard its sound. At this distance, it could be mistaken for a mother shushing her babe to sleep. Not so the creak of timbers, evidencing one of the castle folk had jostled a support. Not so the shower of dirt loosed on their heads. Not so the murmurs, whimpers, and muffled coughing.

  Isa looked across her shoulder past Aelfled, Wulfrith, and Em to those no longer two abreast but single file, the soldiers amongst them ensuring an orderly progression and calming the ones who succumbed to panic.

  At the center of the column, Ordric held a torch aloft, as did one of two housecarles bringing up the rear.

  “Not much farther,” Isa murmured and looked to the rope wrapped around the base of one timber and stretched to the base of the next. And so it went post to post, nearly all the way to the outlet ahead.

  It was a sorry thing to undo so much work, but this farthest section must be collapsed lest too quickly their pursuers gained entrance to the donjon.

  Jaxon was aware of what Wulfen’s walls hid, and before Isa feared trusting him, she had revealed her plan to extend the passage to the wood. Since then, she had bemoaned the lack of progress, rued the collapse that cost lives, and agreed it was a waste of time, effort, and coin. But he would know where to begin his search for those who had disappeared, none of whom had been born with wings.

  Lord, delay him long enough to see us aboveground, she silently prayed. And was punched by His answer—a shout from the bend in the passage they had minutes earlier come around, the voice frighteningly familiar, then another shower of dirt as the castle folk surged forward.

  “Calm!” Ordric commanded. “Though pursued, we must consider each step. Move quickly, but remain center. And do not touch the timbers. As soon as all are clear, we shall collapse the passage atop those who follow. Go!”

  How many did Jaxon bring against her housecarles? Isa wondered. How many would die?

  Touching the hilt of her sword, she determined she would join those at the rear, but a moment later discovered it was too dangerous when she was shoved against the man in front of her.

  “Fear not!” bellowed one of the housecarles. “The warriors at our backs will keep us from their blades.”

  A moment later, another shout from the opposite end. Though not of Jaxon, it made Aelfled bump her lady as she whipped around.

  Isa turned. Seeing Eberhard had steadied the young woman and those behind pressed so hard they threatened to knock the two into a support, Isa pulled Aelfled close. “For what do you endanger all? Come!”

  Aelfled resisted. “Pray, do not collapse the passage. My—”

  Isa slapped her as she had never done, dropping Aelfled to her knees. “Get up!” She tried to drag her to her feet lest those pressing forward trample her, but the young woman broke free and lunged to the wall opposite the one whose lower posts were roped together. Pressing herself flat between the supports, she stared wide-eyed at Isa.

  Regardless of what made her behave recklessly—likely panic—she was beyond Isa’s reach, the castle folk carrying their lady forward.

  “Dear Lord, keep her from Jaxon,” Isa breathed.

  Then from the rear came the sound of steel on steel and the shouts of Jaxon and her housecarles. And more distant, other shouts and the beating of blades.

  Following her men up out of the passage, Isa heard Ordric command, “Collapse the passage!”

  Then he deemed the castle folk clear of that section. But what of her housecarles at the rear? Were they to be sacrificed to hold back Jaxon and his men? Or had they prevailed against one who had been their instructor longer than their adversary?

  Aided by a grip on her arm, Isa sprang into cool night air and heard Ordric again, this time Aelfled’s name on his lips.

  Guessing he sought to save her, fearing the attempt would take his life as well, Isa swung around to face the gaping hole out of which the castle folk hastened like ants from a flooded nest.

  There her boy, Em, the physician, the cook, the porter—all yanked onto moist dirt excavated from the passage.

  As Isa lurched forward to aid in assisting others from the underground, beyond their gasps and praise of the Lord, she heard Aelfled’s name called again. But it did not sound of Ordric. Nor Jaxon. Then that same voice commanded the young woman to run and…

  Collapse the passage? Surely not. Aelfled had not the strength.

  Isa caught her breath at the loud creak of timbers, more shouts from those below, the groaning of supports.

  “Please, Lord,” she entreated as she pulled a chambermaid up out of the hole. Then she herself was yanked away. “Aelfled! Ordric!” she cried. A moment later, she was face down, the sound of crashing timbers paining her ears, dirt and rocks falling like cruel rain, the passage’s foul, dusty breath billowing all around.

  Aelfled lived, Ordric having carried her from the passage once sufficient debris was removed.

  Thanking the Lord for answered prayer—mostly answered, the housecarles at the rear having been slain by Jaxon—Isa touched her former maid’s shoulder.

  A hand raised to shield her eyes against the light of torches, Aelfled looked from those gathered around to where Isa had dropped to her haunches. “Cyr?” she croaked, then coughed. “H-he made it out?”

  Staring into the abraded, dirt-streaked face below hers, Isa wondered if the young woman was delirious. “What say you, Aelf?”

  It was Ordric who answered. “D’Argent was in the passage, my lady.”

  She swept her gaze up him. “You say it was not Jaxon down there?”

  “The traitor was there, my lady, but giving chase was the Norman who stole your lands.”

  Isa did not know how it was possible Cyr D’Argent had gained the underground—would have expected Vitalis long before the Baron of Stern—but here the cause of Aelfled’s reckless behavior. She had heard her husband among their pursuers, knew he came for her.

  “And it was the throw of his sword that slowed Jaxon enough for us to collapse the tunnel on both,” Ordric added.

  “Both!” Aelfled gasped and began to wail.

  Aching for her loss, Isa pressed a hand over her mouth lest the enemy stalked the wood. “Aelfled aided in collapsing the passage?” she demanded of Ordric.

  “Though I commanded her to it, she did not until D’Argent ordered the same. When I reached her to give aid, she…”

  He shook his head, and she imagined Aelfled had grieved then for the sacrifice to be made as she did now for the sacrifice made.

  She loved, Isa acknowledged. Still, she did the bidding of one who may have returned her love, losing him to save the many.

  Catching sobs against her palm, Isa raised her other hand and brushed the hair from the new widow’s eyes. “Brave Aelfled.”

  The young woman’s chest convulsed.

  “It seems we are not all the fools of men,” Isa said. “You did what had to be done, Aelfled. I know there is pain in that, but there is joy in having saved so many—and of your own.” She eased her h
and from the young woman’s mouth. “It is much to ask, but you must be strong again. Can you?”

  Aelfled stared at her out of eyes so wet it was as if all the stars had come down out of the heavens to mourn her loss.

  Isa looked at those gathered near. “We dare not return to Wulfen. Though Jaxon is dead, some—perhaps many—of his followers live. And of greater threat is the usurper. After what was wrought this eve, he will question my allegiance and if he does not remove me from Wulfen, shall take steps to better control me, forcing me to wed one of his own. And I will not…” She cleared her throat. “Never will I, the daughter of Wulfrith, be the prize of a Norman, valued only for bedding and making children to bear his name. Thus, elsewhere we shall gather our strength and prepare for the day we take back what belongs to us.”

  A foolish hope as Guarin believed? she questioned amid the still across which the sound of the waterfall traveled. Likely, especially as it was not only Normans they must guard against. But what else was there for them?

  She straightened. “It is time to depart, Aelf.”

  Ordric raised the young woman. “I feared that,” he said when she stumbled against him. “Your foot was pinned beneath a timber.”

  Guessing Aelfled’s ankle was injured, Isa said, “You shall have to carry her through the wood, Ordric.”

  “Nay, I do not go with you,” the young woman protested.

  Isa ordered the others to prepare for departure, then said, “There is naught for you here, Aelfled.”

  “If Cyr is alive, there is much for me.”

  Isa grunted. “Tell her, Ordric.”

  When the young woman looked to him, he said, “You must know there is little chance he survived.”

  “Little, meaning not impossible.”

  “The passage is down, so filled with rubble that were there light on the other side one could not see it.”

  “That does not mean he is buried the same as Jaxon.”

  “Jaxon is not buried—not entirely. He was near us when the passage came down.”

  Aelfled caught her breath.

  “Dead,” Ordric assured her, “but as D’Argent was not far behind, I wager the Norman is well enough buried he could remain there were it consecrated ground.”

  “I wager against you!” Teeth chattering, Aelfled returned her gaze to Isa. “Even did I wish to go with you, I would slow you. Pray, leave me.”

  “Here?” Isa swept a hand around the wood sliced in two by the stream fed by the waterfall. “There is no time to deliver you nearer the castle, and I will risk no life for so distant a hope it will be safe for you there. Come with us.”

  “Nay. Find me a sturdy stick, and I can make my own way out of here.”

  Isa loathed leaving her, but furthering the argument would delay distancing the castle folk from any who pursued them. “Your path is your own. I will not stand in the middle of it nor force you onto mine. I…”

  Was this farewell? Would they not see each other again? Would what had been broken by Wulf’s death remain so? “It is hard to forgive, Aelf,” Isa whispered, “but I try. I do.”

  Tears spilled onto the young woman’s cheeks. “I thank you, my lady.”

  “See her sheltered upstream near the falls lest any venture here in search of us.” Isa ordered Ordric, then glanced at the great veil falling from on high, the ridge of which many a warrior in training had negotiated since first Wulfen began supplying England’s worthiest defenders.

  Turning aside memories of time spent at the waterfall with her young son, often accompanied by her maid, she said, “Provide her a good stick and provisions, then we leave.” She looked to Aelfled. “Do not risk the journey ere dawn. After all you have endured, you must rest, and regardless of the outcome of the attack on Wulfen, it will be better seen in daylight and aid in determining the way forward.”

  “I shall journey forth at dawn,” Aelfled said as the housecarle lifted her into his arms. “Godspeed, my lady.”

  “My lady,” Isa mused. “If you are still Lady Aelfled, and my fate lies beyond Wulfen’s walls, I am no longer that to you.”

  More tears fell. “Ever you shall be my lady.”

  “Godspeed, Aelf.” Isa pivoted. Head lightening, she firmed her footing and continued forward.

  Though she wished to believe the sudden movement was responsible for nearly losing her balance, her people could not afford the lie. To lead them through and around whatever lay in wait, she would move only as fast as necessary to stay ahead of immediate danger. And God-willing, they would find their place in Norman-occupied England.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Wulfenshire, England

  Late November, 1068

  The D’Argents were a hardy lot, else much loved by God. Likely both. And where these Normans were concerned, it was difficult to begrudge the Almighty His favorites.

  He had answered Isa’s prayers Guarin live and reclaim the warrior Jaxon sought to destroy. He had answered Aelfled’s prayers Cyr survive the passage’s collapse and reclaim his wife. And surely He had answered prayers the third brother recover from the loss of an arm at Hastings and the fourth depart that blood-soaked battlefield unscathed.

  Aye, difficult to begrudge Him—even though what was hers was now theirs.

  Cyr D’Argent first made Baron of Stern, next Balduc.

  Theriot D’Argent made castellan of Balduc the day Em fled Campagnon, unaware her master would be arrested for acting against his liege.

  And now Guarin D’Argent in possession of Wulfen which had been declared forfeit following the rebel-on-rebel clash that proved too notable to escape Le Bâtard’s notice and too great an excuse to relieve its heir of her property. In their entirety, the Wulfrith lands were now in Norman hands.

  For the time being, Isa assured herself despite little evidence William’s rule would be overturned.

  Four months had passed since she and her faithful carved out a place for themselves in Nottinghamshire. Though Saxon uprisings were without cease across England, the few that gained footholds were not long in being unbalanced or toppled. Hence, the greatest hope for English rule seemed King Harold’s former housecarle, Edwin Harwolfson—unless he was mostly rumor and, rather than patiently awaiting the right opportunity, had insufficient numbers and strength.

  And inadequate funds, Isa considered, next the wealth she had been forced to leave behind. Were it possible to get it in Harwolfson’s hands, allowing him to better equip his forces and attract worthier rebels, would it aid in dethroning William? Or would it become another foothold lost?

  Isa tipped her face to the autumn sun, closed her eyes, and drifted.

  Would Guarin come this day? If he did, would she dare as she had set out to do? Or would she falter?

  She shivered and was more ashamed she did so out of anticipation than fear.

  Her scouts sent out this past month reported there was little discernible pattern to his solitary outings other than he departed the castle on horseback, tethered his mount on the outskirts of his chosen hunting grounds, and stalked his prey on foot. She had hoped they would discover more of a pattern, but the warrior surely guarded against rendering himself inescapably vulnerable. Hence, this was Isa’s fourth foray upon Wulfen’s most distant hunting ground where he was not averse to venturing though it was that same portion of wood where she had taken an arrow.

  Anglicus shifted beneath her, turning his head and stretching his neck toward another patch of grass.

  “But an hour longer, and we shall start back,” she murmured. Then rubbing her shoulder that often ached, she returned her gaze to what she should not have distanced it from.

  Movement among the trees. Hooded and cloaked in a dark blue mantle, here was a pattern. Every scout had reported him attired thus, only the bow at his side and quiver of arrows on his back visible, other weapons concealed beneath that which she had given him. Rather, she assumed it was the same mantle. Perhaps she just wished it.

  “Guarin,” she whispered, and t
hose sounds in her mouth, next her ear, nearly made her retreat.

  Stay the course, she told herself. Lead, and he will follow.

  She dropped her hood to her shoulders to expose unbound hair she had taken particular care to wash and brush to a shine the day before each of her forays. The one who kept Wulfen for William would recognize her mount, but here proof she had not been deprived of so fine a destrier.

  She turned Anglicus’s head and tapped him forward.

  Counting on Guarin making her the quarry he was not to know she made him, she moved through the wood at a leisurely pace to accommodate his stride and stealth, occasionally peering around as expected of one who risked much returning to the place from which she had exiled herself.

  Catching no further glimpse of Guarin, she paused at the stream to allow him to make up for ground lost to stealth. And remembered not far from this stretch he had kissed her as asked of him. And she—

  A sound that might only be the patter of paws on fallen leaves warning he could be nearer than thought, she listened for further movement. Though she caught none, her senses told he was very near. As it was not the plan they face each other here and to ensure her return to Nottinghamshire, they must continue on.

  Upon emerging from the wood onto the meadow, Isa set Anglicus to a gallop. Though she left Guarin behind, he would know where to find her. But would he come?

  And so I walk into her trap, Guarin mused as her blade pricked the center of his back. As she walks into mine.

  Like a hound with its nose to the ground, he had followed Hawisa across the meadow and into the ravine. And at the outskirts of the camp found her yet astride as if torn by the sight of what was abandoned the night Jaxon besieged Wulfen Castle.

  As he had spied on the lady who had so thoroughly disappeared some believed her dead, he confirmed she appeared well.

  She was fuller of face beyond lush golden hair he had never before seen completely unbound, fuller of figure as evidenced by curves above and below the sword-and-dagger weighted belt. And when she dismounted, it was no heedful endeavor but thoughtlessness born of confidence and vigor, the same as her stride. She had faltered as she neared the posts, either due to the missing rings and chains or remembrance of what was done there.