Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment (20 page)

“Does she know why you are here?”

Wulfson slowly nodded. “When we arrived, she was at death’s door in the dungeon; I was bent then and there to see the deed done, but—”

“When you meet the lady, you will understand,” Thorin offered.

Wulfson shook his head. “Nay, it was more than that. Her uncle by marriage, Rangor of Lerwick, extolled her pedigree. He made it sound as if she were with child, and if we harmed it, we would feel the wrath of the Welsh upon us.”

“Do you believe it?”

“Aye, I believed it then. I believe it more now. I have every reason to suspect the Welsh are mustering a force to take her from here. They have allied themselves with that devil Edric. They want her for all the reasons William does not. And while we all thirst to war, I did not think it prudent to throw William into an all-out war with the Welsh at this time.”

“Where is she now?” Rohan asked, obviously intrigued.

Wulfson inclined his head over his shoulder toward the
stairway. “Up there, no doubt plotting the easiest way to separate my head from my shoulders.”

“So Warner carried William’s response?”

They all nodded. Rohan whistled and shook his head. Then he looked up and his jaw dropped. They all turned as one as Tarian descended into the hall in all her glory, the broadsword strapped to her leather belt.

Ioan nudged Rohan. “She wields the sword like a man.”

“And shoots an arrow with more accuracy than all of us combined,” Rhys said.

“She fought beside Harold at Stamford Bridge and Senlac Hill,” Stefan added.

“Wulfson,” Rohan said solemnly, “you have my deepest sympathy.”

Tarian nearly lost her balance when she descended into the hall and saw the new influx of knights. Could the nightmare her life had become darken even more? She continued into the hot, humid area, and forced a smile when Wulfson and his men, along with the new faces, stood for her.

Wulfson made to step forward, as if he were to offer his arm, but he hesitated. Instead, Thorin did the honor. Placing her hand upon his brawny forearm, Tarian smiled gracefully up into his handsome face. His long blond hair was as glorious as any woman’s, and his one deep hazel eye saw more than the two eyes of most men. Like his brothers-in-arms, he sported the same crescent-shaped scar on his chin, and as they approached a most handsome knight and a huge ebony giant, she noticed immediately that they too sported the same scar on their chins. More Blood Swords? What bound these men so tightly?

“Lady Tarian, I present Lord Rohan of Alethorpe, Dunleavy, and Wilshire, and his man, Sir Manhku,” Thorin introduced.

Tarian extended her hand, and Rohan took it in his. His strength and warmth flooded her senses. He was as enigmatic as the others: there was something different, something special, something dark and unearthly about them all. Collectively they reminded her of demons on horseback. He pressed his lips to her hand as he made a short bow. “I am honored to meet you, Lady Tarian.”

She returned his gesture with a brief curtsy. “As I you.”

Manhku cleared his throat and looked to her as if he expected her to rend her hair and run away screaming. Instead she smiled and extended her hand to him, “Sir Manhku? An interesting name.” Awkwardly, he took her hand and pressed his lips to her skin, then dropped her hand and hastily stepped back.

He nodded and rumbled, “My lady.”

Tarian laughed, amused by his skittish behavior. “I assure you, sir knight, I do not bite, though I have been known to chop off a head or two.”

She turned to Wulfson. “Are you such a bore you cannot make the proper introductions?” Before she would allow him to answer, Tarian turned back to Thorin. “Sir Thorin, your noble breeding shows. Would you escort me to the table? I am famished.”

Her glib flirting was rewarded with a heavy scowl from Wulfson. But she would play the game, so as not to bring any undue attention to herself or her men.

When Lord Alewith approached with his daughter, Wulfson stood and made the round of introductions. Brighid stared, fascinated by the markings on the African’s face. “’Tis rude to stare, Brighid,” Tarian whispered.

Brighid shook herself and hastened to beg his pardon. She sat across from him next to her father. The platters
were set, and when Wulfson called for a blessing, Alewith spoke up, “Father Dudley was called away to Silsby.”

“Silsby? But that is a border town, a day and a half ride away. I need him here,” Tarian complained. Of all the witnesses to the will, he was the most important.

Alewith shook his head. “There was an outbreak; he was called to bless the graves.”

Tarian looked to Wulfson, who had insisted she keep her seat to his left. “Father Dudley was witness to Malcor’s will. He is not here to give testimony.”

“There is Edith and the other you mentioned?”

Tarian’s eyes narrowed as she caught the glare of Ruin as he placed a platter of mutton on one of the lesser tables. She did not trust him. But he would not lie. Not with Father Dudley as witness. “Ruin, Malcor’s manservant, whom I do not trust. He is thick with Rangor. I should have sent him off with him. ’Twas always my intention.”

“After the meal we will see to the document.”

Tarian nodded and bent her head to sustenance. She was famished, and worried and fearful her flight would be found out. She caught Gareth’s gaze several times throughout the meal. She ignored the revelry of the knights. She was not interested in their past conquests. She was bent on survival. She wanted the meal over, the will validated, and to return to her chamber to prepare for her escape. But that was not to be.

The lookout called that someone approached.

Tarian pushed the trencher from her, surprised at the late visitor. She stood; the men did as well, and they waited.

A thick thatch of red hair gave the visitor away. At first she thought Rangor had returned, but the shabby clothing said otherwise. ’Twas Malcor’s bastard half brother,
Ednoth. For a man who had nothing, he strode into the manor as if he were the rightful lord. On most days his arrogance would not have bothered her, but today, when she felt more vulnerable the she ever had, he got to her. Her hand moved to the hilt of Thyra. Wulfson’s big warm hand covered hers.

“Easy, my lady, do not show your hand so quickly,” Wulfson softly cautioned.

She looked up at him, surprised, and found his eyes bright and full of mischief. He nodded his head, so subtly she was not sure that he had. He presented his arm and led her to the lord’s great chair and sat her upon it, then stood to her right and awaited the man who, once he spied her seated in the lord’s chair surrounded by Norman knights, slowed his gait considerably.

Ednoth stopped before Tarian and made the proper bow to her. “Lady Tarian.”

For someone whose stomach was a churning mill full of tension, Tarian smiled serenely and nodded her head. “Ednoth. What brings you to Draceadon?”

He glanced up at Wulfson, who stood casually beside her; then his gaze traveled around the circle of knights behind them. “I have come to stake my claim as rightful heir to all that was Earl Malcor’s.”

Tarian’s heart pounded against her chest, but in a slow, even voice she asked, “What gives you the right to make the claim?”

“I am the son of Earl Llewellyn. His sole surviving male heir. All that was his is now mine, by our laws.”

Tarian nodded. “I hear you, Ednoth, but you forget three vital facts. First and foremost, with some inquiry it has been established that Llewellyn never officially recognized
you.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she held her hand up, palm open toward him. “Allow me to finish.”

He stepped back and nodded, but his pale skin had reddened considerably. “Secondly, it has yet to be confirmed that I carry the heir. But should I not, I have a valid will, signed by Earl Malcor, Father Dudley, my woman Edith, and Earl Malcor’s manservant, Ruin. The document states that all that belonged to Earl Malcor would revert to me, his lawful wife, upon his death.”

“But you murdered him!” Ednoth shouted.

The hall gasped as one, and Wulfson stepped forward. “It has been established, Ednoth, that the lady’s life was in peril. She did as any person would do. She defended herself. I will hear no more accusations of murder!”

Ednoth blanched. “I insist the witnesses be brought forward and speak, and as blood brother to Malcor, I demand to see the document!”

“Ednoth,” Tarian said patiently, “you do not understand. I am under no obligation by law to bring forth any witness or present the document. You have no claim.”

“’Tis a forgery!” Ruin shouted from the crowd.

Tarian gasped, and Wulfson inclined his head to Rhys to nab the upstart.

He dragged Ruin kicking and screeching toward them. Tarian stood. “What lies do you spew now?”

Ruin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He looked from Tarian to Gareth, who stood to her left. “She did not murder milord.” He pointed a long bony finger at Gareth. “’Twas him, her guard. He was jealous and could not stand my lord touching her!”

Gareth stood silent, furious at the outrageous accusation, but Tarian whirled around and stepped down to face
Ruin. “You are a liar of the highest order, Ruin. Malcor was as twisted as you, and when he could not rise to the occasion he beat me for it. When he took my own sword and laid it across my throat, I drew his dagger from his belt and slit
his
throat. Do not put the blame where it does not belong.”

Tarian turned to Wulfson, then back to the crowd. “Hear the truth. Malcor was perverted, he was twisted to his soul. He gained pleasure by inflicting pain. ’Twas Ruin who made promises to the village boys that if they came to the hall and sat with the earl, they would be handsomely rewarded.”

She looked up to Wulfson. “Edith will bear witness that Malcor was for once of sound mind when he had the monks draw up the document. Father Dudley will back the claim.” She turned to Gareth. “Take him to the place he enjoyed so well with his master. And let him rethink the truth.”

Gareth seized Ruin, who shrieked like a woman as he was led away. Tarian turned her attention back to Ednoth. “You have no claim. If you persist, I will take my claim to the king. Do not darken my doorstep again, unless you are willing to accept your lot here.”

His fury was visible, but for the sake of his life, Ednoth gave her a shallow bow and retreated.

Tarian turned to Wulfson. “If you please, come to my chamber, and I will produce the document.” She looked past him to his men. “Bring them with you.”

The great chamber was greatly reduced in size, so full of hulking knights. Tarian went to her great chest and lifted the lid, then slid a secret panel to the side. There, rolled up with the earl’s seal unbroken, was a scroll, and she handed
it to Wulfson. He took it and moved to a small table where a candelabrum lit the room.

He glanced to her. “Break the seal and see for yourself,” she said.

He did so, and as he read, his men gathered round. It was there in Latin, witnessed and marked by Father Dudley, Edith, and Ruin.

“Where is your maid?” Wulfson asked.

“I am here, milord,” Edie said, bobbing her head and coming forward. Wulfson pointed to the document and asked, “Which mark is yours?”

She pointed to the one with a crudely written E. “I learned as a girl the letter my name began with. I have used it only a handful of times in my life. But that is my mark. Father Dudley drew up the document and Father Michael read it to us.” She looked up to Wulfson and continued, “’Twas Earl Malcor’s wish that my lady have it all.”

“Why? When he was forced to marry her at swordpoint?”

Edith smiled a sly smile. “Milady reminded him that he would burn in hell for his sins on this earth. He was not all black of heart. He saw the righteousness in doing right by her when he had done so much wrong in such a short time. He begged her for her promise to pay for alms should he die before her.”

Wulfson raised a brow. “And did she?”

Edith cackled. “Nay, she never promised him, and none were bought. He was the devil’s spawn, that one. The fires of hell are too good for the damage he’s done.”

Wulfson turned and looked hard at Tarian. “Why would his manservant lie?”

She scoffed. “’Tis what he does. He resented me the day I came here. He no longer had control over Malcor. I would not allow the boys to be brought here. Ruin is as twisted as my dead husband.”

“Are you sure Ednoth was never recognized by Llewellyn?”

“Malcor never mentioned Ednoth to me. All of the documents pertaining to the earldom are at Briarhurst. ’Tis two days’ hard ride from here.” And as she mentioned the earldom’s seat she formulated her plans. They would go there first and seize the documents, then head west to Wales.

She looked up to Wulfson. “With your permission, I would dispatch a handful of my men immediately to secure the manor. I fear Rangor may have his own designs on the documents. I should have seen to this earlier.”

She watched Wulfson contemplate the request. He nodded. “I will send several of my men along for support.”

Tarian did not dare argue. Not only would this be the perfect excuse to rid Draceadon of her men and have them build up, but it would put several of Wulfson’s men out of the way. She would instruct her men that as soon as the opportunity presented itself, they should disarm the knights and consider them hostages. And the fewer men Wulfson had here, the fewer he would have to come after her.

“Thank you.”

Wulfson rolled the parchment up and handed it back to her. “Reseal this.”

She took it from him. “I shall, but there are two other copies should this one mysteriously disappear.”

He quirked a brow, not sure if she meant that as a barb. She gifted him with a smile.

And so the next day as the sun broke the eastern horizon, ten of Tarian’s men rode off with two of the knights Sir Rohan had brought with him. Her men had been instructed to disarm and unseat them, then hold them until she met up with them. By the time she let them go and they returned to Draceadon, she would be long gone.

Lord Alewith also left Draceadon, much to Brighid’s and, she could tell, Rhys’s unhappiness. But it was for the girl’s best interest. Alewith would meet them in four days’ time at Briarhurst.

Tarian was as jumpy as a mouse, and found difficulty in acting as if all was normal. Wulfson’s eyes always seemed to be upon her, but when she turned to confront him he was otherwise occupied. She found his patient tutelage in horsemanship disturbing. Too many times when he touched her to show her the proper leg movement or the proper way to rein, his skin touched hers and burned.

Each time he helped her mount Silversmith, his hands lingered too long on her waist. On the last day before her flight, as she rubbed down the stallion, Wulfson came into the stall and pressed her back into the thick mounds of fresh straw, and begged her.

“You make me think of nothing but your skin against mine, Tarian. I cannot sleep because you haunt my dreams. Ease this ache I have for you.”

Her body ached for him as much, but she would not give into her passion for this man. She fought the thing that was between them as viciously as she did her foe on the battlefield. Because she knew that if she gave in to it, it would destroy her.

He was relentless. On what was to be her last night at Draceadon, Tarian called for a hot bath. As she slid into the
velvety water and leaned her head back, closing her eyes, there was a commotion at the door.

“My lord, my lady is indisposed at the moment!” Edith said sharply.

“Leave us,” Wulfson said. Tarian gasped, and turned with her arms crossed over her chest to see Wulfson’s predatory eyes piercing her from the threshold. He stepped in, and despite Edith’s cries for him to leave, he pushed her out the door, closed it, then threw the bolt.