by Tamara Leigh
Chest tight, Guarin assured himself there was good in William’s consideration of impassioned words that provided more to think on than rage against—hopefully, they would benefit Hawisa.
Not imprisonment, Lord, Guarin entreated. A hostage, even an exile.
Finally, William spoke. “Stand back, Lady. You offend.” When she complied, he said, “You did not have permission to be on the battlefield. Why? Because warriors so soon out of the fray need time to cool their bloodlust lest it spill onto innocents. As a Wulfrith, you had to know that—and what you risked.”
“A risk only a mother unworthy of the child God gifted her would not take. Of course I knew! But that does not excuse a man, especially one esteemed enough to be your companion, for being unable to control the animal within.”
The king fell silent again, then with grudging, inclined his head. “You are fortunate the one slain was the least beloved of my companions and on occasion gave cause to question his integrity. For that and compassion for the loss of your son, I forgive you his death. But as for the rest…” He turned to the guard. “Go.”
The man hastened from the tent, leaving Guarin, Maël, and Hawisa alone with the King of England.
“Still there is a price for your faithlessness, Lady.”
“Which I have agreed to pay. For as long as required, an obedient hostage I shall be.”
“As expected if I required that of you. I do not.”
Her eyes widened. “Then what?”
“You know what I want.”
“I will not better your troops with Wulfrith training so they may slaughter even more of my people!” she exclaimed. “If that means I am imprisoned the remainder of my life or this day marks the whole of my life, God will give me what is my due as He shall give you what is yours.”
He chuckled. “How you thwart, Lady. And yet I cannot dislike you when you call to mind my beloved wife who, though I succeeded in wooing her where Guarin D’Argent failed with you, still thinks herself better than the son of a duke and a tanner’s daughter.”
He sounded genuine rather than mocking, and Guarin wondered if, like a handful of the many men who defied him, Hawisa had earned respect enough to be truly forgiven. Even so, there would be punishment. God willing, not so great it would break her.
“So how do I gain what I want?” William said. “Since you appear indifferent to Sir Guarin, threats against him for behavior nearly as treasonous as yours will not move you.” He returned to the table and pushed back the map, sat sideways on the edge with one booted foot on the floor, the other hitched. “Even if your indifference is feigned, I believe you would choose your people over him. A sacrifice for the greater good, hmm?”
She kept her lips sealed.
“Tell, Lady, how do I move you from the rebel side to your king’s side?” No sooner asked than he said, “Ah, already answered—the greater good.” He looked around. “Sir Guarin, stand beside the lady who so detests you she will not even acknowledge you.”
I am drowning, Isa thought as she watched William who held the rope that, were he to toss it to her, would be slippery as if slathered in pig’s fat.
Out of the corner of her eye seeing Guarin pass before his cousin, she commanded herself to maintain the pretense and to breathe when he drew alongside.
“I like this,” Le Bâtard said. “One of Hugh D’Argent’s most accomplished pupils and the last Wulfrith.” He smiled. “Be assured, Lady, just as I know the son lost to you is the only one you bore your first Norman husband, I do not believe the slur you are ill-gotten. Had the reputation of your Rebels of the Pale upon Nottinghamshire not convinced me, your facility with weapons would. You are Wulfrith’s daughter, and in your womb more Wulfriths.”
Suppressing the impulse to cross her arms over her abdomen, she said, “You accuse others of games, but mayhap the feared conqueror is more a master of play than the sword.”
He smiled. “The master of both, though I confess a fondness for play, it being among the best strategies of war whether the battle is between two men or too many to number. And then there are the battles between one man and one woman.” He wagged a finger between Guarin and her. “If the contest can be won by neither side, one must play at a cessation of hostilities. Continuing one’s line demands it.”
Isa gasped.
“And now you understand my rules of play, Lady.”
Dear Lord, he seeks to bind Guarin to me, to require of him greater sacrifice that, were I more selfish, I would wrap my arms around.
She ventured a look at Sir Maël, and seeing his indignation, silently entreated him to do something.
William stood from the table. “What I require of you is your mind, eyes, hands, and feet. Thus, your punishment is marriage to a Norman of my choosing.”
She could no longer avoid looking at Guarin, but he kept his profile to her, a muscle in his jaw convulsing.
“And your punishment, Sir Guarin…” William thought on that. “Hardly punishment to give my liegeman the woman he desires, even if he did not want her for a wife, but there is his inheritance. As Lady Hawisa is of greatest use to me in England, your family’s lands in Normandy shall pass to your brother, Cyr.”
Pain gripped Isa. More sacrifice Guarin must make.
“Hence, Lady Hawisa, your Norman husband will be Baron of Wulfen, Stern, and…” He shook his head. “I think Balduc best awarded another—mayhap my slain companion’s son, Estienne Lavonne.”
Isa snapped her hands into fists. Who better to keep watch over those who had defied the usurper than one eager to avenge his sire’s death?
William shrugged. “Until I decide, Theriot D’Argent shall continue to administer that barony. And you will have two of the three pieces of your demesne put back together. In return, warriors to defend my kingdom will once more receive training at Wulfen.”
She shook her head and was ashamed she refused William more for Guarin’s sake than her people’s. “I will not give the benefit of Wulfrith training to men who would kill my people. Nor will I wed a man I do not want.”
“For the greater good you shall.”
“Were it for the greater good of my people, but you speak of yours.”
“Non, I speak of the people of Wulfen. You have not forgotten Raymond Campagnon, have you?”
Surely he did not mean…
He did. If she did not yield, he would award her home to that villain. For a moment, fear for those of Wulfen moved her toward acceptance, but there was a greater good beyond those who named her their lady—that of England. Campagnon might make the people of Wulfen groan and hurt, but what of Normans who, their superior training bolstered by that of Wulfrith, did William’s bidding? How many more Saxons would die?
“I do not see you have a choice,” William said. “Accept my terms and once more don the mantle of Lady of Wulfen.”
“Save hundreds of lives at the cost of what could be thousands? Non. Do you place the people of Wulfen under Campagnon, a man you ought to be ashamed to be associated with, I shall ache for their suffering but find comfort in knowing greater numbers do not suffer.”
William’s face began to darken, lips to thin.
Would he strike her? Worse, would the man to whom she had been cruel upon Darfield defend her again?
“Your Majesty.”
She shivered as the breath of Guarin’s voice made the fine hairs escaped from her plait dance against her cheek.
“An alteration to the terms might satisfy you as well as the lady.”
“You assume I am open to alteration, D’Argent.”
“More, I know you wish Wulfrith training to benefit those absent the unshakable hand of him who conquered this country and will himself stamp out the last of the rebellion.”
Though what Guarin spoke was likely the truth, Isa’s stomach turned at his flattery.
“I speak of your sons, grandsons, and all who carry your name across the ages,” Guarin added.
“Though you have not my approval,” Wi
lliam said, “you have my interest.”
Guarin inclined his head. “I was not so isolated during my captivity among the rebels of Wulfenshire I was oblivious to their ways and training.”
Isa prayed never would Le Bâtard learn he had aided in that training.
“Of my observations and tales overheard, I learned the greatest of those come out of Wulfen began their training at an early age—as few as five years.”
Vitalis and Ordric beneath her sire and Jaxon beneath her grandsire, Isa recalled a conversation with Guarin when he asked what made those housecarles excel beyond others trained at Wulfen.
“As my Uncle Hugh knew the same as those who trained you at arms, the earlier the master places a sword in the hand of one destined to fight, the greater the warrior.”
“I do not see where you go with this, D’Argent. Get there quickly so I may be done with Hawisa Wulfrithdotter.”
Guarin looked to her, and there was something in his eyes that should have fled after she disparaged him before all. “I am thinking the lady would suffer marriage to me and aid in training up warriors were she assured they did so only after our two peoples become one.”
Isa’s knees nearly gave. She knew he had more than desired her, but it sounded even after this day he wanted her—enough to accept the loss of his inheritance.
William laughed. “Be it lust or love, you are a hound, the same as I in pursuing the King of France’s niece. Neither did Matilda want me—and then she did.” He shifted his regard to Isa. “If it is not a game you play, beware, Lady. The man you do not want may become the only one you desire. And a Norman at that.” He nodded. “I understand what you propose, Sir Guarin. Rather than train men at Wulfen, it should be exclusive to those distant from earning sword and spurs.”
“Boys, Your Majesty. By the time they are ready to fight for you and your heirs, the rebellion will be in the past.”
Isa felt a fool for not sooner grasping that. Was it the solution? If Wulfen accepted none older than ten or twelve, it would be eight years or more before warriors were made of them. But would there truly be no sides to choose then?
“Do I send the young sons of my nobles to you, Lady Hawisa,” William said, “will you give them the benefit of your family’s training?”
Acceptance crept onto her tongue but was swallowed by the realization he excluded those who had more right to that training. “I have conditions.”
“For what do you believe you are in a position to set conditions?” he demanded.
“Now Jaxon is dead, more than any I know the ways of Wulfrith.” Not true, she silently amended. Vitalis excelled beyond her abilities, but she would not have the warrior who had escaped the usurper’s notice become one of his conditions. Her man must be free to decide whether to continue opposing Norman rule or accept it. “Thus, I require equal numbers of Normans and Saxons receive training.” Seeing refusal in his eyes, she added, “As my father told, no greater bonds are there between men than those forged in defense of one another’s lives. If you truly intend us to become one, you cannot object.”
“As your sovereign, I can object to anything. But continue.”
“I shall have final…” She glanced at Guarin. “My husband and I shall have final approval of who is accepted at Wulfen.”
His jaw shifted. “Continue.”
“And women—”
“No women!”
“But many are capable of learning arms.”
“Non, Lady! Wulfen is not a rebel camp. You will not be training desperate women and men. You will be training those dedicated to doing my will. Oui, some of your sex are skilled at wielding arms. You have proven that, but the benefit does not outweigh the danger of women in battle. Recall that of which you accuse my companion. Whatever his purpose in venturing to that hill, it was not ravishment.” He stepped nearer. “Women are distraction, temptation, stirrers of bloodlust even hours after the battle—during a battle, chaos.”
Nearly trembling with the strength of his words, her confidence wavered.
“Do I concede anything, it will not be that. If you require it, too highly you regard your worth and on the morrow your exile begins with transport to the coast where you will cross to Normandy and be imprisoned for as long as your king wills. Longer does he forget you as is often best with troublesome subjects.”
Feeling her confidence creak and begin to crack, she was tempted to appeal to Guarin to assure her whatever he felt for her was worth the sacrifice of his inheritance. But any concessions to be gained would be forfeited if Le Bâtard knew the only hardship of wedding this man was guilt over his loss and that ever he might resent her for it.
“Decide, Lady Hawisa!”
“No women,” she said and silently added, Except those I instruct privately.
“Very good,” William said as if he had taught his pet a new trick.
She swallowed hard. “And my other conditions?”
“Whatever they were, I reject them.”
As breath rushed from her, she felt a hand on her arm and knew Guarin sought to prevent her from giving his liege cause to do worse than imprison her.
Seeing William note the protection once more afforded her, she nearly pulled free, but she needed Guarin’s strength—especially as it was the last time she would feel his touch now negotiation that had not been negotiation had failed. Hoping she would bear the greater blame, allowing Guarin to remain his sire’s heir, she said, “Then it appears we—”
“But I have some thought on how best to utilize Wulfrith and D’Argent training,” William spoke over her. “Boys only, none of an age greater than twelve, and drawn from Norman and Saxon families in equal measure.”
He had resumed the game. Or perhaps he had not. Perhaps he saw great merit in Guarin’s proposal and her conditions and but determined to make them his own. That was it, this usurpation as conscious an act as that of bringing war to England.
Spoiled child, she silently scorned and said, “Acceptable terms. But who is to determine which boys receive training?”
“I will send those I deem worthy. The others I shall trust your husband to cull from the best families of England.”
An insult to her, and yet she felt as if she had won, especially as he did not stipulate the families be noble. As her sire and grandsire had known, a commoner with little to his name had greater incentive to excel than many a noble with much to his name.
“If Guarin D’Argent agrees,” Isa said, “I agree.”
“Agreed,” Guarin said.
She had not realized her heart so clenched until she felt it begin to open. They were to be man and wife, would lie down every night together and awaken every morn to the face and arms of the other.
“I am pleased, though there is another matter,” William said.
“Your Majesty?” Guarin said tautly.
Le Bâtard turned and once more dropped his muscular frame on the tabletop. “The name of Wulfrith is esteemed across England—less so on the continent though well enough regarded.” He looked to Isa. “Hawisa Wulfrithdotter, next Hawisa Fortier, soon Hawisa D’Argent.” His gaze shifted to Guarin. “Better Hawisa Wulfrith.”
As Isa struggled to make sense of that, he continued, “You would not be the first of my nobles to wed a Saxon lady and take her sire’s name.”
Dear Lord, Isa entreated as Guarin’s hand on her tightened, surely this time to hold himself back.
She looked to his cousin. His dark expression making his scars more sinister, she thought it possible he would soonest fail at containing his anger.
“Guarin Wulfrith.” William nodded. “Your fellow Normans may think it humiliation, but it is good strategy that will sooner see you accepted by your wife’s people. And since already you look the part, having shunned shears and razor, easier it shall be.”
Though preservation of Isa’s family name was desirable—indeed, she had scorned bearing children known by their Norman sire’s name—already Guarin was accepted by Wulfen’s people
. This was further punishment of the warrior who had served his liege well that bloody day. But though she longed for Guarin to reject this term, not only would he be denied her lands but his inheritance. The one who had stolen England was too powerful. However, if she…
Nay, even if she claimed Guarin was unworthy of her name, she would not be believed. And whatever doubt William harbored about her indifference could move him to certainty it was no punishment she wed this man.
“Sir Guarin is displeased, Lady Hawisa,” the usurper said. “Mayhap he is himself tempted to lock you away?”
“I will take the name of Wulfrith,” Guarin said and released her.
William straightened from the table. “Then we shall see it done ere nightfall. Sir Maël, fetch the priest who accompanied your cousin.”
He had to see the chevalier’s anger, but he appeared unconcerned.
“A wedding ring,” he said as Guarin’s cousin exited, then eyed the one upon Isa’s hand. “That of your departed husband?”
She touched the band worn to discourage Norman suitors. “It is.”
“An ill wind to use it to bind you to my liegeman.” William thrust a hand forward. “Remove it.”
Quickly, she worked it off and dropped it in his palm.
“Methinks your Saxon bride more eager to wed you than thought, Guarin Wulfrith,” he said and strode to a chest.
As he rummaged inside, Isa peered up at Guarin. “I am sorry.”
He looked sidelong at her, returned his regard to his king—soon her king through marriage.
“I intended this for my Matilda.” William strode forward. “I am told it belonged to King Edward’s mother—my great aunt Emma—and was confiscated with many of her treasures when her political maneuverings displeased her son.” He lifted the ring before Isa. “The metal is silver and plain, but the ruby is no small thing, and have you ever seen one so red?” He feigned a frown. “The color of Wulfrith, is it not?”