Lady of the Lake (4 page)

Amused, Edon and his men let the conversation drift along those lines while they ate their fill. When asked where she had come by her jewelry, Tala ap Griffin became quite animated in her speech, praising the talents of her craftsmen. Her goldsmiths were all Celts trained in Erin who traveled the ancient trade route from Dublin to Anglesey. They, like every goldsmith in the land, congregated in the great trade center of Chester, which used to be Tala’s home.

It wasn’t all that long before amber eyes turned fully to Edon, catching him in his most thorough inspection. A soft auburn brow rose in an arch. “Am I to be devoured, sir? Like the mutton on your platter?”

Edon moved his shoulder closer to hers and lowered his voice so that she alone could hear his words. “You are not the sprite I spied in the tree.”

“What makes you think so?” Tala asked.

Edon considered his answer with care, because it was not his way to give in to an instant attraction. Women surrendered at his beck and call, not vice versa. This woman had a seductive, enchanting power about her that spoke volumes to the barbarian inside him. He wanted to
conquer her, take her to his bed in the next chamber and pull her beneath him.

It was a strong and powerful urge, fueled by the fact that he had the consent of two kings to compel her into marriage. Both kings knew of the ancient taboo prohibiting the marriage of the princess of Leam, the Celtic equivalent of Rome’s Vestal Virgins. Edon acknowledged only that she was lovely and highly desirable, not the untouchable woman he’d been led to expect, a woman whose allure would be somehow both sacred and profane.

“The sprite in the oak tree was all impulse and curiosity, while tonight you are a mysterious princess deliberately choosing each word and action. You are the kind of woman to be tasted again and again, one delicious bite at a time.”

Tala inhaled sharply and drew back enough that the flambeaux illuminated his dark face fully. The jarl was overpowering this close. Her heart racketed in her chest, making it difficult to draw a full breath. He was a wickedly attractive man, handsome and earthy. His black hair spread back from his head like a lion’s mane, full of curls and waves.

His brow was wide but his jaw wider, and unlike many of his peers, his cheeks were sleekly shaved. He did not allow even a mustache to grow upon his upper lip, to spoil the deep curves of his expressive mouth. Her gaze fled from them to the brilliant blue of his eyes, so dark they almost seemed as black as his hair. The Romans had a word for a man like him:
satyr.

“I see that you are a man of vast appetites,” she said carefully, with a telling glance at the table before them. “Many ladies grace your table, one suckling a newly born son. Do not look at me with such hungry eyes. I am not your next conquest, I promise you, Lord Viking. I am here because it suits my purpose to meet and address you.”

Edon smiled and took the pitcher of wine from the trembling
hands of the young thrall so that he could have the pleasure of refilling the princess’s goblet himself. “And what purpose is that, princess?”

Tala moistened her lips and told herself to be bold. No timid heart would secure Venn’s future.

“Petitions have been sent and recorded by the king of the Danelaw and the king of Wessex. Twenty of my thanes and more than a hundred freeholders and their families and thralls have been maimed, enslaved or murdered by your agent, Embla Silver Throat, since the kings signed the Treaty of Wedmore.”

“Is that so?” Edon set the pitcher aside. He knew the facts and was here to set the record straight. Like any woman, the princess exaggerated to prove her point.

“Aye, it is,” Tala continued, gaining confidence by the moment. He was not as intimidating as she’d first believed. She lifted the gold goblet full of wine, drank its delicious contents and said clearly, “I was sent word from Winchester that Jarl Harald would be replaced by another.”

“Were you?” Edon smiled.

He would choke on that smile in a moment, Tala thought, smiling in tandem. “My cousin, King Alfred, assures me the wergild due me is to be paid in full.”

“Did he?” Edon remarked, casting not a single glance at any of the gold on his table. The silly fool mistakenly thought a wergild was paid to her. She was wrong. It was a penalty tax—paid to the king.

“Yes, it is so. I am happy to see this evidence of your wealth spread so generously on your board. Suffice it to say the wergild for hundreds of slain and captured Leamurians will beggar Warwick to redeem it. At long last Guthrum and Alfred’s treaty brings justice to my people.”

Undaunted, Edon smiled for the bold lady’s enjoyment. “I, too, am glad that you so willingly and openly expose your trump hand, Tala ap Griffin. You are not the only
flea in the ear of kings. I come fresh from court with orders of my own to enforce on the land called Warwick.”

“My land,”
Tala declared forcefully. “Viking land ends at Watling Street, well above the Avon. Every scrap of earth between the Severn and the river Trent belongs to the kingdom of Learn, from Weedon Bec to Loytcoyt. The rivers, the forests of Arden and Cannock and all the creatures in them are mine to harvest, not yours.

“Furthermore, I want this fortress razed and the bridge cleared of obstruction. I order my thanes and thralls released from the enslavement imposed upon them by King Guthrum’s agent, Embla Silver Throat.

“Secondly, I want your freeholders to take their cattle and their wives and concubines and children to the other side of Watling Street, where you belong. Do that and I will rescind the death warrant sworn against Embla Silver Throat by Alfred of Wessex. He is my kinsman and will listen to me.”

Edon sighed. His raised his palm, commanded her to silence. “I am here to end the bickering and enforce the peace of two kings. The disputed land known as Warwick has become a troublesome shire. Both kings wish to see their realms well peopled by men of war, men of God and men of work. They tire of women who squabble like children behind their backs.”

“Squabble like children?” Tala took exception to that odious description. “I squabble with no one. Your king claims it is a matter of law, not heredity, that proves title and ownership. To that end we Leamurians have put our efforts into drafting laws of ownership sanctioned by our king, Alfred. I do not engage in useless bickering.”

“Are you saying Embla Silver Throat does?” Edon asked.

“Embla Silver Throat engages in murder and mayhem, slaughtering any who oppose her or stand in her way.”

“How is it then that she has not slaughtered you, Tala ap Griffin?”

“Because I am never so foolish as to try to face her alone. I choose to call her to task before the court of kings.”

“But you came here to my hall—alone,” Edon reminded her.

“You assume that.”

“Very well.” Edon gave her that point. She was crafty and smart, adept in using the arts of the diplomat. Her endless petitions to Guthrum proved those facts. “May I tell you that my duty is to enforce all the terms of the Treaty of Wedmore, to which you have already referred?”

“You cannot enforce what you will not respect.” Tala’s eyes narrowed cautiously. “I will not listen to arguments that put my people at fault, when they are the victims of Embla’s vast greed and ungoverned cruelty. Every day she burns more of my forest.”

“There will be no more burning of the woodlands,” Edon said with quiet authority. “Such fires put us all at risk in times of drought. I have ordered them stopped.”

“Will you also move your people behind the agreed boundary of Watling Street?”

“That I cannot do,” Edon replied.

“Well, you shall, else there will be no end to—”

“Hear me out, Princess.” Edon stopped her tirade. “This is not an eyre. This is my supper table. Here we dine pleasantly and converse upon ideas to stimulate thought and creativity. You will save your complaints for the judgment of my court when it is convened.”

“How convenient Viking law is,” Tala replied, without holding back her scorn. “I have not risked my life coming here merely for the civility of your board.”

“You came because I commanded you to come.”

“No.” Tala assured him. “I came to state my terms and
demand reparations. The sooner made, the sooner we’ll have done with one another.”

Edon very deliberately shook his head. He cast a look across the table to Rig, who had quietly returned to his seat after searching outside for the boy Edon had told him to go and look for. A jerk of Rig’s head told Edon the boy had not been found.

“Very well, lady.” Edon sighed and leaned back against the cushions of his high-backed chair. “You have given me your terms. Now I must give you the terms of two kings. Tala ap Griffin, I present to you Nels of Athelney, King Guthrum’s confessor.”

A man directly across the table from Tala rose to his feet and bowed deeply from the waist. Tala blinked at him, not certain if she had seen him before. He seemed rather familiar, dressed in a brown woolen tunic with a broadsword belted to his hips. As strong as any man at the jarl’s table, he befitted the sword.

“Princess Tala, it has been a very long time coming, but I am most pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Nels of Athelney. She was nearly a legend in King Alfred’s court—a reminder of the days of Camelot and Arthurian epic, closely tied in the minds of Alfred’s subjects to the Lady of the Lake and mystical Avalon.

“Tell the princess your purpose for being here, Bishop Nels,” Edon prompted.

“Simply put, my lord Wolf, I am charged with the duty of seeing that all persons residing in Warwickshire are baptized Christians…with a sword at their throat if necessary.”

“You may have noticed, Tala ap Griffin, that I came with soldiers enough to see that joint edict of King Guthrum and King Alfred fulfilled within the month granted us to accomplish it. My general, Rig, has already accepted the teachings of the Christ and proudly wears the cross King Guthrum has given him.”

Tala looked from the soldiers to the dangerous man seated beside her. Edon of Warwick continued speaking horrifying words.

“Once the conversions are done, I am to staunch the wounds that cut so bitterly between neighbors on the same land. As palatine of this shire, I will hold a monthly eyre to judge and settle grievances. The morning after the new moon rises, you may bring to me your petitions, which have harried two kings. I shall deal with each charge as it is proved.”

“What?” Tala gasped. “You could not possibly sit in fair judgment over my people. You jest, Viking!”

“Nay, I do not,” Edon growled, not liking her reaction one bit. She glared at him as though he was something vile and unspeakable, not a polished, educated man of the world. “Make use of your days of grace as you will, Princess. Once you find yourself charged with treason before this Viking, there will be no more skulking in trees, spying upon the unwary and conducting mischief with the waters that fuel this land.”

“What now?” Tala demanded scornfully. “Do you accuse me of witholding the rain and drying up the rivers?”

“Not I, Princess.” Edon held back a laugh at her preposterous words. Her humor was not the issue. “It is time you learned you are not the only person capable of delivering ultimatums to kings. As you have harried Alfred, Guthrum’s niece has pleaded with him for redress.”

“So?” Tala replied hotly.

Edon smiled wickedly, taking a small taste of satisfaction in her discomfort over that news. She was truly naive, a mere innocent in the ways of wielding power. He leaned deliberately closer to her, inhaling her sweet fragrance as he allowed his fingertips to stroke soothingly across the satiny skin of her bare arm.

“Nor did you deny being a witch when the question was put to you at the beginning of this meal,” he said huskily. “So tell me, Tala ap Griffin. How does that slipper fit now?”

T
ala’s answer came as a resounding slap on the jarl’s face. Refusing to stay and be insulted further, she bolted from his table.

Halfway to the bottom of the steps, Edon caught up with her, jerked her off her feet and flung her over his shoulder.

“You bastard, put me down! How dare you touch me! Selwyn! Stafford! I need you!” Tala screamed. She pounded her fists into the jarl’s massive back, aiming for the soft flesh at his kidneys.

“Bar the gates!” Edon commanded the astonished soldiers standing in the keep’s lower chamber. “Arrest any man who draws a weapon in her defense. Detain him for questioning.”

Without further words, Edon spun around and marched back up the stairs and through the hall, bearing the screaming, struggling woman on his shoulder. She was not easy to contain, fighting him with all her might. What she lacked in muscle and weight she made up for in sheer determination.

The moment Edon entered his chamber and dropped her on his box bed, he caught hold of her hands and flattened her to the feather mattress. In spite of the great difference between their weights, she continued to whip about, as
slippery as eels in a bowl of oil, twisting and bucking beneath him, screaming her throat raw, piercing his eardrums with her shrieks.

Her terror increased tenfold as her struggles caused her simple gown to tear from the brooches at her shoulders.

Still angered by her effrontery, by the insult she’d delivered him in slapping him publicly, Edon let her wear herself out. His grip upon her hands remained firm, keeping her spread beneath him.

Sarina bounded into the chamber and jumped on the bed. The wolfhound stuck her wet nose in the howling princess’s face, whining and wiggling, distressed by the woman’s ear-piercing shrieks.

“You are only making it worse for yourself,” Edon said at last. He felt no sympathy whatsoever for the headstrong woman. Did she think he had no pride? Had she not given a single thought to the fact that he, too, was an atheling, the son of a king? Striking him in the face was an unforgivable insult. “Get down, Sarina!”

The wolfhound whined and nuzzled his cheek. Then, concluding that Edon would not play, she bounded off the bed and sat, thumping her tail on the floor.

Tala commanded, “Release me at once, Viking!”

“Lady,” Edon warned her, his patience dwindling fast, “speak to me again in that tone of voice and I will have no choice but to teach you to respect the man you see before you.”

“Strike me and I will kill you with my bare hands, Viking!” Tala gulped, struggling for her breath.

“And how will you do that, hmm?” Edon taunted. “With what weapon will you slay me, woman? Your viper’s tongue? These hands that you cannot remove from my grip?”

Edon nodded to her bared breasts, exposed in the beam of moonlight that spilled into the chamber from the open window. “The only success you have had thus far is in
baring your bosom. Continue the show. I shall enjoy seeing what other charms your struggles reveal.”

“Barbarian!” Tala screamed. “You tricked me. I will not be mocked.”

“You do not dictate terms to me, woman,” he responded with terrifying severity.

“Selwyn!” Tala gave her all to one last scream, knowing full well it did her no good. In her arrogance, she had come alone. There was no valiant warrior lurking in the shadows to take down this Viking. Alone, she would defeat him or surrender to him.

She bucked in a futile attempt to unman him, thinking she would leap out the window if she got the chance. Raising her right knee only increased the intimacy of their position, centering his hips more firmly on hers.

“You are crushing me, Viking. I will be bruised from head to foot.”

“The damage is of your own doing. Cease your struggling and it will go better for you.”

“I would rather die now and be done with you, cur.”

Edon shifted her wrists, forcing her hands into the bedding beside her head. “I think you will not die tonight, Tala ap Griffin. That would add injury to insult. I have a much different plan for you. You are to be used to heal the breach between Wessex and the Danelaw.”

She clawed at his forearms, scratching at the golden bands he wore for protection. “You will not use me!” she declared vehemently, revealing the pride inherent in her soul. She needed to be taught a lesson, that much Edon saw quite clearly.

He wanted to kiss her fury from her mouth, taste her lips and slip his tongue inside. Astutely, he knew conquering her by force would not satisfy him. There was no pleasure in having his tongue or his lips bitten. So he tipped his head to the vulnerable column of her throat and tasted her heated flesh. His teeth nipped at her ear. The
sharp sound of her breath whistling against her dry lips pleased him.

“Please get off me.” Tala swallowed enough of her pride to make a request out of necessity. He had her pinned to the edge of his crude bed. “The wood of your bed is cutting me in two. I do not lie.”

“Open your legs and the pain will cease,” Edon drawled, preoccupied with the soft exposed flesh of her pebbled breasts. A shiver skittered down her spine as he deliberately stroked his chin across her nipple. Then his hot, wet mouth closed upon her breast.

“No!” Tala jerked her head back violently. She tried to twist out from between the wood and his hips.

The intimacy of the cradle she made for him was not lost upon her. Nor did her altered position give her anywhere near enough relief. It made matters worse.

“Viking, you come dangerously close to violating me,” Tala hissed, her words strained. “All of Mercia will rise in revolt to avenge the dishonor you do me.”

Edon took his own time answering. He enjoyed toying with her breast, which was as responsive and sweet as any he’d ever fondled. He left it a wet and quivering pebbled peak when he raised his head at last and gazed into her narrowed, angry eyes.

“All of what
once was Mercia
has sued for peace, Tala ap Griffin. You are the talisman King Alfred offers to pacify the Danes. There will be no man standing forward, challenging my rights over you. The pacts have been sealed and accepted by two kings. You will surrender to their will…and to mine.”

“I will kill you with my bare hands if need be, Viking,” she promised.

Edon dropped his head to her breast again. She was powerless, but her pride was such that she would not admit it. As he nibbled a sensitive trail across her chest and began to lave and kiss her other breast, she called down a
rain of insults upon his head, imploring her gods to avenge her and strike him dead. But no thunderbolt fell. No keening spirit took shape and form and stirred the wind.

In due time his ministrations began to have their effect. She squirmed deliciously against him, moaning involuntarily against the pleasure of his intimate touch. Through the thin linen of his tunic, Edon felt her belly tighten exquisitely and her loins begin to dampen, readying itself for the conquest that was still to come.

That she could not control her desire satisfied Edon for the moment. It was important to him to know that the woman he must marry was not immune to him physically. She would be the mother of his heirs…the sons who would inherit Warwick in the years to come. He could not bed her without pleasure there for the both of them.

“Tell me when you exhaust your font of threats.”

His caustic words made Tala look sharply at his face, seeking his eyes in the shadows. Moonlight allowed her to see his tempting mouth and straight nose and the wickedly superior arch of his black eyebrows. He took liberties no man had ever dared to from her and preened like a peacock because of it.

Her heart pounded inside her chest like a drum. She could barely moisten her mouth enough to speak above her fear. “You are not going to ravish me?”

“Is that what you want? Proof that I am a barbarian?” Edon asked plainly.

“You take pleasure in mocking me.”

“As I am taking my pleasure in ravishing you this very moment. What next, Princess? Shall I carry you to the cliff and chain you to the rocks above my quarry? Sue your king for a ransom? Await the brave knights of Wessex, come to slay the dragons in the caves and free you?”

“This is preposterous. We have nothing to discuss. Let me go, I implore you.”

“Not until you give me assurances that you will behave
as a lady, contain yourself and sit at peace within my manse.”

“I will mouth no empty promises to a Viking.” She spat out the words with a full measure of scorn.

Edon straightened his arms and raised his shoulders. His movement increased the pressure of his hands upon her wrists. “Rig!”

In an instant his man appeared in the gap of the open door. “Lord, how may I serve you?”

“Bring me two strips of braided leather and a cloth suitable for gagging this woman. I tire of her vapid conversation.”

“You oaf! We are not conversing.” Tala jerked her right hand off the bedding, trying to slap him again.

“Your powers of deduction astonish me,” Edon growled, and he slammed her arm back onto the feather bed. He gave her wrist a punishing twist to teach her the futility of her struggles. Then he grew serious, ending the game between them. “Why did the boy not come with you?” he demanded.

“Because I sent him home,” Tala snapped.

“Where is your home?”

“You built a damned fortress on top of it!”

Edon dropped his elbows onto the bed beside her. Her swollen breasts were very fetching now, displayed so prettily by her uneven breathing and the dishabille of her gaping gown. Rig returned and tossed long strips of cloth and two rawhide laces onto the bed at Edon’s right hand.

Tala looked to her left as the objects landed. She quickly looked back at the Viking, too aware that her heart had begun a new cadence inside her chest. His mood had changed. A moment ago his threat had contained a playful edge to it. Now the air between them throbbed with true danger.

“You wouldn’t dare tie me up.”

“Lady, I dare anything.”

“Release me and we will begin anew.”

“Nay.” His eyes fixed firmly upon hers, granting no quarter. She had foolishly walked into his trap.

“You can’t be allowed to wander in and out at will. My niece wants to cut you into seven pieces and store your soul in a jar. My king wants you baptized and made into a Christian. Your king wants you married with unseemly haste. And I, lady, wish to relieve my bladder. This position is becoming more untenable by the moment.”

“By Anu’s shrouds, you are an ass. Go and piss into the wind and leave me be, Viking.”

“Shortly.” Edon released her hands all at once and took up the bindings.

Tala didn’t bother to resist being gagged and bound. The Viking had already won the struggle. Her hands were too numb to do any harm to him. He stuffed the cloth in her mouth and bound the gag around her face, flipped her onto her belly and tied her hands securely at the small of her back.

Smugly satisfied with his work, he slapped her bottom soundly as he removed his weight. Edon of Warwick gave the wolf a command to guard her, and departed. Tala choked on her own fury.

As uncomfortable and miserable as she was, Tala still dozed as the night lengthened. Where the Viking had taken himself to, she couldn’t guess. The manse quieted quickly. Voices in the hall became muffled, their owners respecting the mewling cries of the newborn infant. The wolf fretted between spells of whining and turning round and round in a circle, her claws clicking on the floor.

Tala felt just as anxious as the beast. She had to get home. Venn would be worried sick. Stafford would be ready to call out the guard and storm the hill if Venn dared to admit where Tala had gone.

An eon later, Edon of Warwick returned. He unfastened
his breeks, stripped them from his lean hips and dropped onto the bed beside her. Tala flipped her head to the other side, glaring at him in mute entreaty.

He slid his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, pretending he couldn’t hear her muffled groveling.

“Lady, ‘tis late. Do not start your bellyaching. I do not intend to listen.”

To prove that he closed his eyes and ignored her for a good long while. Tala lay absolutely still, impotently raging against the urge to kick him into the otherworld. After a long, long while he opened one eye, peeking at her. She blinked. She heard larks singing and was certain the sun would rise any moment.

The mattress shifted as he turned to his side, facing her. He lifted her diadem from the back of her head. With surprisingly gentle hands, he removed the sheer net that had held back her hair.

Edon let his fingers spread through the tangle of fiery curls gathered at the back of her head. He marveled at the soft texture of the strands and the vibrant color that moonlight could not diminish. The knot of the gag tangled in the curls.

He dismissed the churlish feeling that hounded him for having left her bound so long. Gruffly, he said, “Are you going to cooperate with me now, woman?”

Tala nodded mute agreement. Her downcast eyes did not impress him. Rebellion clearly simmered under the surface of her submission.

Edon grasped her shoulders and sat her up. Her gown fell to her waist. His breath caught in his throat at her shocking beauty and he made a vain effort to hide the effect the sight had upon him. The gods had not known what they were doing when they made women so beautiful that strong men fell weak in the knee before them. Steeling his resolve to ignore her abundantly pleasing attributes,
Edon took his knife from the table next to the bed and unsheathed the blade.

“Do not move!” he commanded in a surly voice. He cut the bonds from her wrists, then slid the blade inside the knot at the back of her head. The binding fell apart. He tossed the blade onto the bedding beside his right knee and pulled her back against his naked chest. He removed the wad of cloth from between her teeth, tossing it to the floor.

She wagged her jaw back and forth and swallowed hard several times. Edon grasped her hands, holding them before her. They were cold and stiff, her fingers swollen. Her head fell back against his shoulder as he rubbed her fingers and palms, massaging firmly.