by Tamara Leigh
Guarin tensed at imaginings of her as Cyr’s wife and the mother of his children.
“But not seriously. A pity he should be punished for not wedding one who would have refused him.”
Relief he should not feel eased the breath from him. “It sounds as though you would be well with Cyr possessing Wulfen.”
“Again, as well as I could. Though he is not the D’Argent I would choose, thus far his dealings with the people of Stern and Balduc provide much to recommend him.”
Wishing he was not so affected by her further admission she would choose him over another, he said, “Cyr is a good man, when I am gone he will do all he can for those of Wulfen should their new lord prove oppressive.”
She looked away. Though when last they met she professed to have feelings for him, he had believed her sincere but questioned the depth of what she sought to convince him. Once more he questioned it—and wondered if it was possible she felt for him as Aelfled felt for Cyr.
She could not, he told himself. Nor could he feel for her what Cyr felt for his Saxon wife. Still, this was not mere attraction nor desire. What had been Christian duty, compassion, and impulse upon Senlac had become something more during captivity. He had said first, in between, and in the end, he and his family were D’Argents, but just as Aelfled was now covered by that unity, Guarin sought to cover Hawisa, risking not only his standing with William but that of his brothers.
Do I come to love her? he pondered.
“Guarin?”
Wondering what his face revealed, he moved his thoughts to what he awakened to every morn and struggled to cast off each night. “You heard Jaxon may have survived the passage’s collapse?”
Once more, surprise. “My housecarle, Ordric, told he was dead!”
“Cyr believed it as well, but when the debris was removed, Jaxon’s body was not found. Either someone removed it, else your man was mistaken.”
“Nay.”
“You must not be blind to the possibility he may be near, Hawisa. Though oft I go to the wood to hunt, it is not only to put meat on the table but to search for signs of him and his followers.”
She thought on it, said, “If he survived, I believe he would seek vengeance against the usurper ahead of me and the D’Argents, that just as many of the surviving rebels loyal to him have joined Edwin Harwolfson, so would he.”
Guarin recalled recent tidings from the South, then asked what she would not likely answer, “Where do you go when you ride north, Hawisa? And how many are you?”
As if pulled from a dream of Andredeswald where he had conveyed the senseless lady who searched a bloody battlefield—that same wood the Saxons’ greatest hope now prowled—she blinked. “Dougray did not follow me from Wulfen?”
“He wished to, but I told him nay.”
“You do not trust him to know where I go?”
“Though he struggles to find his way back to who he was before losing an arm to a Saxon, I trust him. What I guard against is drawing attention to you.”
“Yet you would know where I go and how well defended I am.”
“To warn you of danger, whether of Jaxon or the king.”
She stared, then rose, closed the distance between them, and lowered beside him.
Though there was no contact between them, Guarin stiffened in anticipation her men would come out of hiding, but more for how much he wanted contact with her.
Almighty, he lamented, I ought not have answered her siren’s call.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Isa delved Guarin’s face. Seeing no cunning there, she said, “Still you protect me when restitution is your due. Why?”
Unease rose in his green eyes. Because this was not a conversation to be had before an audience? Or did he guess at what even she was not certain she asked of him—and recoil?
“I need not know where you make camp,” he left her question unanswered, “but will you tell if it is upon Lincolnshire or Nottinghamshire?”
Fool, she rebuked. What did you think? He welcomed what you professed when you thought you would not meet again? He would profess feelings for you beyond empathy, pity, and attraction—all of which are miracles in themselves? And look at you flying to his side, all hope now disappointment. Could you be more pitiful, daughter of Wulfrith?
She shifted, increasing the distance between them. And decided there was no harm in answering him as he wished. Indeed, better it would sow the ground for what she had come to do.
“We are upon Nottinghamshire. As we are cautious in adding to our numbers lest we find ourselves betrayed again, nearly half consist of the castle folk who fled Wulfen with us. ’Tis for them I—”
“What of Vitalis?”
He probed again. Her man being of note not only in size but for the red of his hair and beard, his absence from those who thrice departed the camp to return north with her had been noted.
“Zedekiah brought him out of Wulfen, along with the able and injured loyal to him. Though we feared he would not recover, one would hardly know my physician wrested him from death.”
“I am pleased.”
His sincerity made her wish there were more like him and Vitalis on both sides so there would be no sides. Yet another wish bereft of sunlight. Was forgiveness bereft as well?
She glanced at the cave where she had meant to speak words yet unspoken, but had been too wary of the bitterness Guarin exuded.
“I interrupted you,” he said. “You wish to speak of the castle folk?”
Likely, he knew what she sought, though not all. “Aye, and as you say, charm a favor from one who owes me none.”
His mouth curved. “As I am no longer under threat of your blade, mayhap I can be charmed. Continue.”
Certes, she was charmed, not only by what was nearly a smile, but his Norman accent running its tongue over Saxon words—drawing them out, giving them depth she had not known they lacked before she met him.
“The castle folk weary of exile, of being parted from family and friends,” she said. “And now winter comes.” She saw no reason to mention most of her fighting men and women pushed to journey south and join Harwolfson. Though thus far the castle folk gave her cause to resist, if Guarin granted her favor, still she would resist until it was verified Jaxon had not joined those rebels. She prayed for Harwolfson’s success and knew his chances greater had his followers the benefit of Jaxon’s training, but her sire’s man had become to her and hers as dangerous as Le Bâtard.
“You wish them to return to their villages upon Wulfen the same as the injured to whom Cyr gave sanctuary,” Guarin said.
“I do, and to regain their positions at the castle.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I am aware many have been filled these months, but if there are yet places, I ask you to consider ones who served me well. ’Tis how they earn their living and of great support to those with spouses and children.”
Now he glanced at the cave. “You had to know in this I would have reservations.”
“I did. Hence, I sought to give my word face-to-face that in no way will I enlist their aid in recovering Wulfen. They will not report anything that goes within its walls, and they will do the work given them the same as done ere William invaded. All they want is to resume their lives without fear of prejudice or reprisal.”
“I will allow it. But hear me, Hawisa, if any give cause to suspect they act for you—with or without your consent—it would be best they leave Wulfenshire altogether.”
“Be assured they will serve you alone.”
“When should I expect them?”
“Two days hence I shall begin sending them in threes and fours.”
He inclined his head. “Those who can be put to work shall be—and watched closely.”
She nearly smiled. “Once more, I am in your debt.”
“Once more.” He lowered his gaze to her mouth.
Attraction only, she told herself and wondered if he was remembering their kiss—and forgot they were watched.
Lest she forget, she pushed upright. “I believe we are done.”
He straightened and stepped in front of her. “Do you forget there is something I would have from you? Or do you hope to take without giving?”
She looked up. “What does this dispossessed lady have you could possibly want?”
“Assurance.”
“I gave my word the castle folk will not aid me.”
“Other assurance. For that, I would know what is to become of your rebels.”
Fearing he would set conditions on the castle folk returning home, she said, “You ask if we will lie down, the bones of our submission paving the way for William to more easily roll his war machine across our country? We will not.”
His nostrils flared. “What do you intend?”
“’Tis not decided.”
Now he delved her face. “Though I accept your rebels will continue to bedevil those who oppress your people, I seek assurance you will not join Harwolfson.”
“Joining him is desired by most, but now it is known Jaxon may live and has gone south…” She shrugged. “As we can be of no aid to the Saxon cause do our own slay us, I shall advise against it.”
“And if your advice is not taken or it is learned Jaxon is dead?”
The censure in his tone scraping her emotions, she said, “If those who relentlessly train to defend their country are determined to stand with Harwolfson, I will not oppose them.”
“That I do not contest. What I am against is you leading them.”
Then he would have her cower, letting others bleed so she not bleed? “In Norman-ruled England, I may no longer be a lady, but I am a leader—theirs.”
A muscle at his jaw spasmed. “The day I escaped and once more gave myself over to save you, you told your husband sent you and your son to the Penderys when the North was invaded.”
Had she? She remembered him holding her, the pain of the arrow piercing her, their kiss… “Aye, Roger sent us to his Norman friends.”
“Then you know the heir, Maxen Pendery, who earned the title Bloodlust Warrior of Hastings.”
She nearly shuddered as when first she heard him called that. “Better I knew his father who, with my men, set out to retrieve me from Senlac and found me in Andredeswald.” Where Jaxon, unbeknownst to Pendery the elder, made it appear he had killed the baron’s fellow Norman.
“Weeks past,” Guarin said, “I received tidings Maxen left the monastery where he had gone to atone for the numerous Saxons he slew in battle, and that he cast off his monk’s robes to avenge the murder of his brother, possibly by Harwolfson. More recent tidings are he captured a great number of rebels in Andredeswald.”
Isa had to remind herself to breathe. “And Harwolfson?”
“He eludes, but though his ranks were dealt a blow, the loss has caused pockets of resistance across England to flock to him.”
Then still her people had hope.
“You think it a good thing, Hawisa, but more firmly it casts the king’s eye on the threat of Harwolfson. And with one such as Maxen Pendery to do William’s bidding, it portends slaughter. Even if Jaxon is not at Harwolfson’s side, the danger is great if you go south. And I do not care to see you across a battlefield.”
Was that last as it sounded? “You will fight for William again?”
With regret, he said, “Whether I reside in England or Normandy, he is my liege. When he decides to bring Harwolfson to ground, he may call on me. As I would not see you on the opposite side, I wish your assurance that if your rebels join Harwolfson, you will not.”
Mere imaginings of looking past blades to his side stirred the contents of her belly—as did imaginings of not being alongside her warriors. “Nor would I wish to see you across a battlefield, but what you ask of me…” She shook her head. “You would have me abandon those who have suffered much to remain true to their lady?”
“I would have you live, Hawisa.”
“For what?” Her voice rose. “I have lost all but my tattered name and what remains of my followers. Do I refuse to lead my people south, I have not even the tattered—naught for which to live.”
Warning in his eyes, he said, “You tempt your men to leave cover, which will incite mine to prevent them from gaining your side. Though I told all may depart here unbound, I cannot guarantee they will do so uninjured—and alive.”
Becoming aware of the rise and fall of her chest and the heat in her face, she said, “Is that a requirement? You will take back the castle folk only if I abandon my followers?”
His gaze wavered, then he sighed. “Much I am tempted to require that, but I will not.”
Her tension eased, and further at the possibility of why he was so insistent she remain behind. If she did not matter beyond empathy, pity, and attraction, surely he would not have met with her nor sought assurance she would not go where Jaxon could have gone and where the usurper might soon take his forces.
Hope moved through her, and yet its coursing caused something inside to crack. Not a great shattering as when Wulf died, but sorrow in the same vicinity. Sorrow of the sort for what one could not have though it was yet of this earth. Or could one?
Nay, not Hawisa Wulfrithdotter who had provided the usurper cause to take Wulfen. Not she who could offer this heir to distant lands naught beyond yielding to attraction that would dishonor both. And apology that would never be adequate.
That last reminding her though she had sought advantage over Guarin lest restitution deliver him to her, for a greater reason she had led him to the cave, she said, “I would be alone with you.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I do not believe we will meet again.” She moistened her lips. “Will you go again to the cave with me?”
His face hardened. “That is best consigned to the past.”
“Not yet. Pray, grant me one more favor, Guarin.”
Clearly he wanted to refuse, but he said, “Your men will not like it.”
“They will not, but if I lead again, they ought to give your men no reason to act against them.”
“Then I will follow.”
The sun having gone aslant, there was more light in the cave when she entered. It lit the rocky walls and path among boulders and scattered rocks to where Guarin had spent every hour save those whilst chained to a post and when they sat and talked.
Halting before the wall, so aware of him she could almost feel his muscled chest against her back, she ran a hand down the rough stone, over ridges, and into smooth depressions until her fingers found a hole where there had been a ring.
“Dougray reported never did you enter the cave,” Guarin said, “and yet you knew.”
She did—that nearly all evidence of his captivity had been removed, not only from the posts outside but here, doubtless by Guarin though the night of his release she had said never again would he set eye nor foot here.
“My man Ordric told.” She turned. “Did it quiet your demons?”
“Some. Do you think to quiet the others?”
She peered into his shadowed face. “I have apologized, but I know it is not enough. Thus, I thought if I did so here where—”
“I know what happened here. Now tell what you want.”
“Forgiveness. If not now, then I shall try to be content knowing this is a good beginning.”
The caress of his breath on her face ceased, and when it resumed, it did so across her name. “Hawisa,” he said and pulled her to him and cupped her jaw. “Do you not understand what I have been saying? You wronged me, but I understand why it was necessary, just as I understand my suffering compares little to that of your people. The night we parted, anger made me threaten you, but I knew then as I know now there was some good in the beatings dealt me those first months—that to understand how great the injustice done your people, I needed to feel some of the pain of those like Rosa.” His hand on her tensed. “You know it was for fear of endangering others she took her life?”
All of her straining toward him, s
he said, “I know, and that you were fond of her.”
“She ought not have died,” he growled, then cleared his throat. “Be assured, you and I are beyond good beginnings. When my anger rises, it is wont to look your direction, but ever it moves past in search of Jaxon. Once I am assured he is dead, methinks these other demons will be quieted, perhaps even slain.”
“I want that for you, Guarin, for it to be as if you were never here.”
He bent his head nearer. “You would have me ignorant of the suffering of Saxons—ignorant of you?”
Longing for his embrace, she said, “William is your liege. Thus, like Maxen Pendery, you must do his bidding.”
“Not like Pendery. I shall defend what belongs to me—my life and the lives of those entrusted to me—be it by sword, negotiation, even trickery, but God be with me that never do I injure innocents.”
Dear Lord, this truly is love I feel for him, Isa sent heavenward. Swift and hard it beats inside me, tempting me to forsake my own though he is bound for Normandy. And I make it worse standing so near his every breath matches mine, the meeting and parting of our chests an intimacy I can bear now but not the memory of it when he is gone from me.
When she stepped back and came up against the rock, he moved his hand to her shoulder. “Do you believe me, Hawisa?”
“That you are not and will not become the same as Maxen Pendery? I do.”
“And that the forgiveness you seek is given?”
“That is hardest to believe.”
“Believe it, and be at peace knowing I seek no revenge.”
“What of restitution?”
His smile was sorrowful. “Do you not go south, that will be restitution enough.”
She pressed her palms to the rock, thought how wonderfully cool it would be in summer, how terribly chill in winter. As well he knew. “Those men and women are all I have. Where they go, I go.”
“They are all you have now, but you could have more. You could wed again, become a mother again.”
To a man she did not want. To children she might fail as she had failed Wulf—and Eberhard who had reverted to his birth name when the future she had begun to think she could give him was stolen by Jaxon and William.