Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment (19 page)

He turned to the three women who hovered like barn flies around the bed. “Go to the hall; I wish a private word with the lady.” All three jaws dropped. “I intend her no harm. Now go, and close the door behind you!”

They jumped at his tone, and when he heard the door thunk closed, he turned back to Tarian. She had moved to the other side of the bed. “Why were you screaming?”

She closed her eyes, then slowly opened them. “A nightmare.”

He exhaled a long breath. He fought with wanting to comfort her but knowing he could offer her no promises. William’s word would be final, and unless Wulfson was to defy his king and have a price upon his own head he could do naught but obey. The thought of it made him sick. He was not a murderer. He was a soldier; he met his foes face to face on the field of battle. He did not sneak about and
hide in shadows only to plunge a dagger into a noblewoman’s heart. ’Twas a coward’s way, not his.

He swiped his hand across his mouth and chin. “Tarian—”

She shook her head. “Nay, do not make promises you cannot keep. Leave me.”

He nodded and withdrew from her. When he opened the chamber door all three women tumbled in upon him. Brighid squeaked as her hand brushed his hard belly, and the two maids twittered like schoolgirls. He ignored them and walked slowly down the hall to his own chamber. And with each step his anger grew. His frustration, and his sense of right and wrong: in his gut he knew what his king asked of him was wrong.

He spent the next several days away from Draceadon. He and his men, with a handful of Gareth’s, patrolled the outlying lands. He had not lied when he told Tarian the landscape pleased him. The weather had become much more agreeable, and he found that he enjoyed the sunny, mild weather infused with occasional rain. The hills were lush and green, the resources abundant; and though the people were sullen and on occasion adversarial, they were quickly handled.

When they returned on the fourth day, Wulfson was surprised to see Tarian working the gray, and Thorin, whom he had left in charge, schooling her in the ancient art of Greek cavalry maneuvers. He frowned, feeling a short stab of jealousy that his friend should be the one to teach the lady what she had asked of him. He watched her, still amazed at her audacious dress. She wore leather boots, woolen chauses, an
undertunic, and a soft leather gambeson. When she drew her sword and, with her legs, commanded the gray to stop, she parried and thrust first to one side, then another.

The stallion worried at his bit and pranced crabwise, side to side. Thorin called to her, “Nay, nay, nay! You cannot instruct him to halt with your hands then with your gyrations of the sword give him another command with your legs.”

“I did not!”

“Aye, you did. Your bottom was up and back in the saddle while your legs pressed and your spurs dug into him. You confused him. He must trust your commands, Tarian, or he will bolt time after time when you need his calmness the most.”

Wulfson scowled at the familiarity with which Thorin spoke to her. He urged the black forward, and Tarian looked up from Thorin, who had placed her legs in the proper position to halt and stay a horse.

Thorin turned and followed her gaze. “Aye, you return!” He called to all the men. “Did you find any Welsh lurking about in the bushes?”

Wulfson dismounted. Rolf quickly took the reins, along with Wulfson’s helm and gauntlets. Wulfson pushed back his cowl and ran his hands through his damp hair. “A few, but they ran like the cowards they are.” He looked past Thorin to Tarian, who sat silent upon her horse. “Are you well?”

She nodded.

Wulfson could think of no pithy remark, so instead he asked Thorin, “Has Warner returned?”

“Nay, but the bastard Ednoth has come here twice to seek a word with you.”

He could see Tarian’s body stiffen. She dismounted and
walked toward Wulfson, leading her horse with her. “He claims the earldom. I would not produce the will until such time as you returned. I assure you it is valid. Not only did Edith and that cur Ruin witness it with their marks, but Father Dudley as well. They can all be brought forth as witnesses in person.”

“First you must produce the document.”

“I have it here, and will gladly present it to you, but if you do not mind I would have the matter done in private.”

Wulfson nodded. “I can see no harm in that. I have a need for a good soak in the tub first.” He grinned wide and winked at Thorin. “As the lady of the manor, ’tis it not your chore to see to the baths of all guests?”

He watched the color flood her cheeks. He grinned wider. She bent her head just enough to acknowledge him. “I will see to my horse, then to your bath.” She turned on her heels and strode to the stable, her back as rigid as his sword.

Thorin laughed and slapped him on the back. “You are a better man than I, Wulf, to tangle with that wildcat. I swear she is a most intense student, but a most distracting one as well.”

Wulfson could only nod in agreement, for he was not sure, if he spoke, that his words would not be construed as a challenge to his friend. And one thing the men had never done was quarrel over a woman. Share? Aplenty, but never quarrel over one, and Wulfson found he most definitely would quarrel over this one. He’d spent the last four days in the saddle, with nothing but thoughts of a different kind of ride altogether, and the only face that came to him in his daydreams and dreams late at night was that of the blue-eyed witch Tarian Godwinson.

As he lowered his aching body into the wooden tub of hot, soapy water, Wulfson could not help a deep sigh. “Ah, ’tis heaven.” For long moments he reclined in the large tub, eyes closed, his head against the backrest, allowing the heat of the water to seep into his tired muscles. His wounds were healing, and he would have Tarian snip the stitches from his back and leg. He smiled. If he were slow and careful, he just might cajole the lady into shedding her clothes and joining him in the tub. When he opened his eyes and found her frowning down at him, his hopes were dashed.

“Sir, I have many chores that need my attention. So please sit forward so that I can bathe you and be done with it.”

He did the opposite: he continued to recline, and scathed her with his gaze. “You look well.”

She approached and dunked a thick sponge into the water near his feet, then put a bar of soap to it and vigorously rubbed up a lather. “I am quite well.”

“Well enough, I see, to take lessons from Thorin.”

“He has the patience of a saint.” She cocked a dark brow at him. “’Tis more than I can say for some other Normans I know.”

He was not put aside by her quip. “You have not given me a chance. I am a tutor of considerable skill.”

“I
have
given you a chance. You have proven you have only a single focus, and that is for your king. I accept that. Now accept that I want no further dalliances with you.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him as he sat up in the tub. “Do you dally with Thorin, then?”

Her eyes widened in genuine surprise. She yanked her arm from his grasp and sat back on her heels. “’Tis what you think of me? A camp whore who will lie with any man for a trinket or a morsel?”

Wulfson could feel the thump of his heart against his chest wall. Jealousy knotted up in his gut. He could not get out of his head the vision of Tarian arching beneath Thorin. He stared at her unblinking, wanting to believe her, but he knew women too well.

“That you classify me as of the same ilk as your other women only solidifies my decision.” She lathered up the sponge some more and moved around to his back. He felt her touch the wound she had tended. “The threads have done their job. I will cut these out before they grow into your skin.”

“There are shears in the chest there,” he said softly, pointing toward it. He flinched when she ran her fingertips over the scar again; not from pain, but from her touch. He was a fool, he told himself, a fool to classify her among any other women. ’Twas impossible to do, for she was unlike any he had met or would ever meet.

“The stitches are brittle; I will dampen them so they will be easier to cut.”

Wulfson set his jaw, knowing all hope of a tender moment between them was gone. She had abandoned him, and while he understood her reasons for doing so, it did not cut any less deep. Once the bath was complete, she told him to stand, and reluctantly he did. He could not help his engorged member, for while she might not want him, his yearning for her had not quelled. He heard her soft gasp, and had his mood not soured so much he would have made light of it.

“You are safe from me, Tarian, ignore it.”

She hurried to pat him dry, and once done, she pointed to the chair nearest them. He wrapped the linen around his waist and sat.

When she approached him with the shears he locked gazes with her, and he saw fear in her eyes. His gut twisted as if he had some illness. He cursed softly and stood. “I will not harm you this night!
Jesu
! Do not look at me that way!”

She nodded, and motioned for him to sit. Grudgingly, he did so. Her hand was gentle with the shears; he did not feel even a prick as she snipped and removed the threads from his shoulder. He watched her face pinken as she pulled a stool up and pressed open his thighs. His hardness had subsided, but with her touch on his thigh so close to what made him a man, it thickened. “Ignore it,” he said.

She looked up into his face, and he was relieved to see a twinkle in her eye. “’Twill be difficult—it is so intrusive.” But she settled between his thighs as she had done nearly a fortnight ago, and as he’d done then, he now rose against her side. Wulfson gritted his teeth and endured the living hell of having her so close but being unable to touch her.

She pushed back the linen and looked at the neat scar, then turned her face up to him. “’Tis healed.”

He nodded. “Aye.”

“But—?” Her eyes narrowed and he watched his ruse dawn on her face. “It never festered!”

He grinned in embarrassment. “So you found me out. ’Twas a ploy to get you alone.”

“You have no honor!”

“I never claimed any.”

She shook her head and quickly saw to the threads. Once she was done she made to move away from him, but Wulfson stayed her with a gentle hand. When she turned, wide-eyed, he shook his head. “I will not harm you, nor will I attempt to seduce you.” His cock flexed as he said the words, and they both caught their breaths. “My pardon, I cannot seem to control that whilst you are near.”

She trembled in his arms, and he wanted to believe it was because he made her feel the same heat she made him feel. “I have a query of you,” he softly said.

Nodding slowly, Tarian said, “Ask me.”

“When last we were thus, did I displeasure you?”

Color flooded her cheeks and she looked down, then away. She shook her head, not looking at him.

“You pleased me greatly,” he whispered, pushing her hair from her face and turning her to face him. “As no other before you. So do not think I compare you to other women. You are above them all.”

Her eyes moistened. “Why do you say these things to me?”

“Because they are true.”

“Nay, how can you say them when one night I will find you standing over my bed with your dagger in hand?”

He stiffened, and very carefully he spoke. “I told you once that my king was not a fool. I trust him to make the
correct decision based on all the information presented to him.”

“But how could you? Your man left here a month ago!”

“I sent another messenger, Tarian.”

Her body stiffened, but he saw a softening in her eyes. “You did? Why?”

Her long hair had come forward; he brushed it away. “Because I believe to destroy you would be an injustice to us all.”

Her bright eyes glittered in the candlelight. “You truly believe that?” she softly queried.

He nodded, set her from his lap, and stood. “Aye, I do. Now, get thee gone from here before I prove how violent a man I can be.”

She did not hesitate to remove herself from the room. And he was glad of it. His mettle was once more pushed to the brink of no return. He did not know how much longer he could tolerate her so close at hand and him unable to lose himself in her.

Tarian was almost done with her change of clothes when there was a knock on her door. Edith opened it, and Gareth stood at the threshold. The minute she saw his face she knew that Warner had been detained and that the news was not in her favor. “Come in, Gareth. Close the door and bolt it behind you.”

He did so, and as he approached she said the words. “The order stands.” It was not a question but a statement of truth. Her guard paled and nodded. “What have you done with the Norman?”

“Our men have detained him just beyond Wycliffe. He has not been harmed, which is not what I can say for your
guard. Two men were lost, one severely wounded, and three left to subdue the knight and his squire. They have a few lumps but will survive.”

“Wulfson has sent another messenger to William. With more information as well as a stronger plea. I fear his king will be angered he did not carry out his order in the first place and Wulfson will lose favor, and in so doing I have no chance.”

“Milady,” Edith pleaded, “you must flee to Wales where you will be welcomed, or north to Scotland where no Normans abide.”

Tarian nodded, and it was not an easy decision she made. Though she must, to survive. God willing, she would return. Her heart longed to stay here. A tight lump formed in her belly. Slowly and painfully it rose to her throat. “Gareth, prepare to leave this place. We begin tonight. Have the men leave quietly two by two so that no suspicions are raised. Edie, see that they are provisioned but not enough to draw question. It will take a few days and then we will muster who is left and flee under the cloak of night.” She chewed her bottom lip. “My lord Alewith should be appraised of the situation. He will announce this eve that he and Brighid will return to Turnsly the day after the morrow. I will ask him for men to meet us just beyond the crossroads to Shrewsbury. From there we will move west, and hope we have enough of a lead on the Normans.”

“Where will we go?” Edith asked wringing her hands.

“To Wales; but Edie, you must stay here. The journey is too dangerous for you, and the Normans will follow. Once I am settled I will send for you.”

“Nay, I go with you!”

Tarian took her by the shoulders and shook her. “You
will stay here! I will not have your death on my hands.” Tarian hugged the old woman to her, emotion running high. “Please, Edie, do not make this more difficult for me.”

The old woman sobbed in her arms, but nodded her head. “And not a word to anyone, most especially Brighid or Noelth.”

When Wulfson descended to the hall he found it to be boisterous and hot. Many people crowded inside, most looking for the evening meal. The lady of the manor was too generous with the stores, but after the display in Dunloc several days previous, he could not blame her. The quickest way to buy a man’s loyalty was to fill his belly.

When the lookout shouted that riders approached, Wulfson’s gut dropped to his feet and dread filled him. ’Twas Warner, and he knew the word would not be good. His men filed out behind him. A smile cracked Wulfson’s face. “Rohan!” he shouted and started for the knight, who, when he spied Wulfson and the other Blood Swords, urged his mount into a canter. The hulking African, Manhku, was at his side.

When Rohan and Manhku dismounted, the knights laughed and slapped each other on the back. For the first time since December they were as they had been for years together—a most formidable force to be reckoned with.

“I have a son!” Rohan shouted. “A healthy, lusty son!”

The men cheered, and more backslapping and congratulating followed. As one they moved into the great hall. “Break open the wine barrels, for tonight we celebrate!” Wulfson called to the servants.

“How does your lady fare?” Thorin asked, his face nearly split in half with his grin.

“She is well. The babe came early, but he gave her no trouble. He is a fighter.”

Stefan slapped him on the back and chortled, “Like his mother!”

“I have no doubt this time next year you will have another!” Wulfson chuckled, “What did you name the lad?”

“Geoffrey William Stephen du Luc.”

“’Tis a most worthy name, my friend,” Wulfson said, more than happy for his comrade.

Rohan grinned and took off his helm, and tossed it to his redheaded squire.

Wulfson’s eyes widened. “Russell, you are nearly a man.”

The lad grinned. “In two years’ time I will have my spurs.”

“I think not, boy,” Manhku said in his thickly accented French.

“Manhku, the leg works?” Rorick asked, thrusting goblets of wine into their hands.

With their goblets full and one in each man’s hand, Wulfson raised his high over his head. “To Rohan du Luc, his new son, and his lady, Isabel!”

The men cheered and drank.

Once they were seated together and calmed a bit, Wulfson asked, “What keeps Warner?”

Rohan scowled. “He is not here? He rode out two days ahead of us.”

The men looked at each other, perplexed. Then Wulfson spoke, “’Tis not like him to dally, most especially with the message he bears from William.”

“Aye, he seemed in a hurry to return to you. He lost much time waiting for the tides in Normandy to turn in his favor. He said he had a most urgent message for you.”

“Did he say what it was?” Rhys asked.

Rohan shook his head and finished his wine. A servant quickly replenished it. “Nay, he did not, but he did not seem pleased.”

Rhys caught Wulfson’s scowl. Rohan looked at the men, then back to Wulfson. “What have I ridden into, Wulf?”

“Drink and eat; then we will apprise you of what is afoot here.”

Rohan looked to the men, and they all shook their heads.

“I brought a half score of men with me. All knights, plus four squires, who, while they think they are ready for battle, I would use only as a last resort. What foes do we face?”

“The Welsh, to name one; the lady of the manor’s uncle, to name another.” Rorick looked about the hall. Several of Lady Tarian’s men looked on, none to happy with the new arrivals. “And the lady’s guard, to name three.”

“
Jesu
! You are surrounded by the enemy, and yet you all seem to move comfortably about.”

“’Tis an uncomfortable truce.”

“Come tell me of the intrigue of this interesting place. I have been lax these last months. I thirst for a good fight.”

Wulfson shooed away the servants, and the men drew into a tight circle. “The lady of Dunloc is none other than Sweyn Godwinson’s byblow by a Welsh abbess.”

“How is that?” Rohan asked, shocked.

“Some twenty-one years ago, the savage abducted the abbess from her abbey and for a year kept her hostage. Lady Tarian is the result.”

Rohan shook his head. “’Tis unfortunate.”

“Aye, so she is the niece of Harold; her dead husband, Earl Malcor, is connected to every damn Welsh king there
is; and she may be with child, and that child will be as related to the Welsh as the sire was.”

Rohan nodded. And as he did, his face stiffened. “William?”

“Wants all traces of all Godwinsons eliminated.”

“
Jesu
! Murder a noblewoman?”

All the men nodded. “Is she with child?” Rohan asked.

“Time will tell. But things have become more complicated, and I think William acted in haste. I sent Warner with a message asking for reconsideration when I learned of her Welsh connections. Rhiwallon of Powys has already sent a train for her. She refused to go.”