Forbidden Love (6 page)

Curiosity aroused, Roanna wondered if he had been at Hastings. She knew that despite the English defeat and the death of King Harold, some of the force had survived. Finding no acceptable way to raise the question, she thought she would have to be content with speculation. But that did not prove to be the case.

When the last dishes were cleared away, the hall grew quiet A white-bearded old man who had shared the high table moved a stool to the center of the room. A little boy approached with a lute, which he carried reverently in his small hands.

Accepting the instrument, the bard sat down. In the flickering glow of the torches, he appeared to throw off the weight of his years. Vitality emanated from him as his fingers lovingly caressed the strings.

A ripple of liquid light sang through the hall as the last whispered conversations died away.

Satisfied with the sound, the bard began a traditional ballad extolling the virtues of fallen heroes. The final verses honored those who had perished at Hastings. As was usual, he had tailored the song to his audience. Men of the Algerson forces who had perished in the fray were praised in words which brought tears to the eyes of the women and caused the men to swallow hastily.

Nor were those who fought and lived forgotten. Roanna learned that at the height of the battle Colin had led his men into the thick of fighting in a last, desperate effort to save their king. Grievously wounded by a Norman ax blow across the chest, he had fallen to the ground unconscious and near death.

So severe was his injury mat the advancing Normans presumed him killed and left him alone. In the final moments of the battle, as the slaughter of the English reached its peak, several of his retainers managed to carry their lord from the field. Their loyalty and courage were praised, but so was the immense strength and fortitude Colin showed. Against all odds he had managed to regain consciousness and lead his men on a forced march home to secure their lands against the advancing enemy.

Roanna was no more immune to such painful memories than anyone else in the hall. Her eyes were damp as the song faded away. More than ever, she felt a stranger among those who had suffered so greatly at the hands of her people.

B
ut by the next day much of the unease she had felt in the hall had passed. Colin invited her to go hunting with him. Moreover, he paid her the compliment of asking her along not on a genteel hunt with falcons or a romp after deer but on a serious search for a wild boar. The animal, an oversized male with razor-sharp tusks, had killed several of the peasants' sheep and injured a child. Even for armed men on horseback, he was a formidable quarry.

Roanna agreed eagerly. Besides the sheer pleasure of being with Colin, she looked forward to the hunt itself. Several times she had asked her brother to take her along on such an expedition, but he had always refused, citing the dangers. Since he did not often place restrictions on her, she could not resent his concern too much. But she was glad Colin seemed to have greater faith in her strength and ability.

Still, he did feel constrained to caution her as they left the stronghold. "Stay in the center of the riders and let your horse have her head. She's a good distance runner with sound wind."

Roanna nodded, patting the mare's neck affectionately. She had expected a good mount, if only so she would not hold the hunt back. But the sleek chestnut was something special She had great spirit, yet was well behaved. Only the slightest touch was needed to guide her.

It occurred to Roanna that on such a horse she could make a bid for freedom, but she dismissed the thought at once. Besides the sense of reluctance that filled her at the idea of leaving Colin, she knew full well that he would be able to ride her down without effort

Past the fields surrounding the Algerson stronghold, the land was thickly forested. So dense were the trees and so thick the foliage that little sunlight penetrated. The damp, murky darkness made Roanna apprehensive. She did not really believe that spirits dwelt in such places, but one could never be sure.

Far into the forest, they were surrounded by the fecund scents of burgeoning life. Birds fluttered overhead as small ground animals darted through the underbrush. On every fallen log, moss and lichens grew in rich abundance.

Where the trees briefly thinned, patches of wildflowers and berries welcomed the sun. The steady plop-plop of water silvering down the hillsides to collect in lily-padded ponds was one of the few sounds to punctuate the muffled stillness.

Riding beside Colin, she took comfort from his nearness. He wore only the usual trousers and a leather jerkin that left his powerful arms and much of his massive chest bare. So tall was he that several times he had to stoop to clear branches the other men passed under easily.

The stallion moved beneath him with agile grace. They were so perfectly suited to each other as to seem a single being, the epitome of strength and virility. Yet the forelock of coppery hair that fell across his brow gave him an oddly endearing quality Roanna could not resist. It was fortunate that her mount was so well trained and did not need her guidance, for her attention was firmly occupied elsewhere.

An hour into the hunt, a series of low grunts from just ahead brought them up short. Peering through the forest gloom, they could make out the shape of an immense boar rooting around a fallen log

Catching their scent, the animal raised its head. Small, yellowish eyes glared at them. Snorting, it shook itself hard as cloven feet pawed the ground.

The horses shied nervously. Few wild animals would stand and fight mounted men, but the boar was an exception. Its lethal tusks could rip out the throat of a stallion, sending its rider crashing to the ground to be similarly dispatched. Even when confronted by several hunters, such contests did not always end with the boar's death.

Roanna held her breath as Colin signaled his men to keep back Dropping the stallion's reins, he slid easily from the saddle. The boar, surprised by this tactic, backed up slightly. Fangs glowed in the pale light

Keeping a careful eye on the animal, Colin drew a spear from his saddle. It was the only weapon capable of killing with a single blow. Arrows or even a war sword had difficulty penetrating the hide that was tougher than any leather. But the lance also required extreme agility and perfect aim. Few men would attempt to use it in such a deadly confrontation.

Roanna had to bite her lip to keep from crying out a warning that would have been as distracting as it was useless. Her knuckles were white against the reins as Colin and the boar began warily to circle each other.

The animal was cannier than most of its species. It did not charge at once but waited patiently, sniffing out its opponent's weaknesses. Several times he lurched forward in mock attack that could have caught Colin off balance and left him open to the ripping tusks. But he was not fooled. When the boar at last launched itself into the air, he was ready.

Colin held his ground through a heart-stopping eternity, up to the very instant when the immense animal was almost upon him. Only then did he twist lithely to the side, the spear held rock-steady and his large body braced to take the boar's full weight

The animal's front paws were lifted to grip and tear, its underbelly exposed. Colin moved forward on one foot Just enough to drive the lance home. A hideous shriek rent the forest air, shaking the very branches of the trees. Blood spurted over his arms and chest Ignoring it, he held on grimly. Before it hit the ground, the boar was dead.

The men roared their approval. Few things pleased them more than such evidence of their Lord's prowess. It reaffirmed the wisdom of their service to him and reassured them that whatever strange changes might be stalking their land, they were still right to follow him.

Only Roanna remained mounted as the rest of the company surged around the fallen beast, exclaiming on its fierce size and praising Colin's courage and skill.

He accepted their approbation patiently until his gaze focused on the white-faced girl. Leaving his men, he stepped quickly to her side. Gently, he pried her cold fingers loose from the reins and held her small hands in his own.

"Are you all right?"

Roanna nodded tautly. Her voice was little more than a whisper. "I thought you would be hurt . . ."

Something flickered in the silvery depths of Colin's eyes. His hold on her hands tightened. One calloused finger stroked the inside of her smooth palm.

"There are those, my lady," he murmured, "who would say you should wish to see an enemy hurt"

A quiver of warmth coursed through Roanna. Helpless to tear her gaze from him, she could only whisper, "Are we enemies?"

Colin had no answer, or at least none he cared to give. He was silent as they began the trip home. The boar was tied to the back of an extra horse brought along for that purpose. Dead it appeared every bit as huge and impressive as it had alive. There would be great rejoicing when the peasants learned they no longer had to fear its attacks.

No part of it would be wasted. After it had been bled and scalded, the bristles would be scraped away for use as brushes. The hide would find service in the leather and chain mail armor that protected all the men-at-arms. From the sinew would come lashings and bindings for arrows. The tusks and hooves would be carved into ornaments. Sausages would be made from the intestines, hams and roasts from the meat

But above all the memory of its killing would remain to be told and retold whenever the people felt the urge to acclaim their lord. Colin was still a young man, but there were already a multitude of such stories about him, which his clan was pleased to relate.

About to top the last rise before the stronghold, his keen eyes caught the faint movement in the brush ahead of them. Reining in, the men-at-arms kept their hands on their weapons as their lord called an order to whoever it was to come out at once. There was a moment's hesitation, then a low rustling as a small, fearful group of men, women, and children crept from their hiding places.

There were perhaps a dozen of them, all dirty, ragged, and clearly showing the effects of long hunger. Some clutched pitiful bundles, others seemed to have nothing but what was on their backs.

One of the men moved forward hesitantly, his eyes fearfully downcast "Your pardon, my lord, we do not mean to come on your land uninvited. But we have fled the Normans since early spring when they burned our homes and killed most of those in our village. Our food is gone, our women and children cry out for shelter. We have nowhere to go."

"What was your village?" Colin demanded, his face hard.

The man named a hamlet near the coast As he did so, a small sound of recognition escaped Roanna. She had heard her brother speak of the place, complaining bitterly that the Norman warlord to whom it was given had no care for the people and loved killing above all eke. The mute evidence of children almost skeletal in their thinness, women so weak as to hardly be able to stand, and men on the last precipice of desperation left no doubt in her mind as to the horrors they had endured.

"That was a holding of the Cormac clan," Colin said. "What happened to them?"

"The lord and his sons died at Hastings, sir. His lady and the daughters fell into the hands of the Normans. I know not their fate."

Perhaps not, but it was all to easy to imagine. Roanna could not escape the obvious comparison with her own treatment as Colin's captive. Her face was ashen as she listened to him quietly instruct the man to lead his people to the stronghold.

"You will find rest and food there." Cutting short their heartfelt expressions of gratitude, he added, "If you prove willing, you may swear loyalty to me and join my people. The Normans do not come here, but if they do be assured their greeting will be different from what they have met elsewhere. You will be expected to fight"

Determination flared in eyes that a moment before were flat and dull. "Only give us the chance, my lord! We will serve you well."

Colin nodded, waiting until the refugees felt in behind them. He set a slow pace the rest of the way to the stronghold, but even so the bedraggled group would not have managed to keep up had not the women and children been allowed to ride. Roanna nestled a tiny girl in her arms, vividly aware of the child's fragility. Though the day was warm, she took the precaution of wrapping her cloak around her and was rewarded by a tiny sigh of contentment as the small survivor nestled closer.

The people who rushed out to meet them as they passed through the gate seemed little surprised by the refugees. Others of their kind had come before and been taken in. Their lord turned no one away in this time of need. They were quickly absorbed into the milling crowd rejoicing at the successful hunt

Lifted from her saddle by Colin, Roanna would have preferred to seek the privacy of her bower. Once again she felt the burden of her race acutely. But his firm arm forced her to stand with him as he shared his people's pleasure.

She was unaware of the longing that lit her face as she looked up at the tall, powerful man beside her. But her absorption did not go unnoticed by some in the crowd, who glanced at each other knowingly.

After the celebration of the kill, matters turned more serious. Roanna was caught up in the household preparations for winter. While she did not push herself forward, she did make it clear she wanted to help. After some initial hesitation, most of the women accepted her.

Despite all the sorrow of the last year, they were a fundamentally kind and generous people. If their lord wished to treat her as an honored guest rather than a hostage, they were willing to do the same. The skill she showed and her capacity for hard, steady work quickly won over most of those who were at all reluctant to accept her.

Before long, she was busy with a multitude of tasks. At mid-week, Colin found her inspecting a vat before pouring in the mix of water and hops that would produce the heady ale everyone favored. He stood for a moment staring at her before she was aware of his presence. When she straightened at last, her face slightly flushed and her hair in disarray, he had to force himself to remember what he had come to tell her.

"I have heard from your brother. I thought you would want to know what he said."

Roanna nodded stiffly. It was bad enough suddenly to find Colin looking at her with a very intent gleam in his eye without also being reminded of her status in his household. The thought that Guyon might have agreed to release the hapless cousin filled her with dread.

Her breath left her in a rush as Colin said, "There is no possibility yet of an exchange. We have merely agreed to talk."

Did she detect a note of relief in his voice? If so, it was swiftly concealed. Critically, he observed, "Your brother seems unconcerned about any fear you may feel. Otherwise, he surely would not have left you here."

Bristling at this criticism of he who had always been dearest to her in all the world, Roanna snapped, "My brother knows he can count on me to be strong." She did not add that she understood why he was seizing the chance for negotiations. Unlike many of his fellow Normans, Guyon did not consider the surviving Anglo-Saxon nobility to be enemies. Rather he hoped for an accord that would allow both groups to live together in peace and when necessary, even defend each other from common foes.

Grudgingly, Colin admitted, "Your letter must have reassured him."

"As it was meant to. You have said I am safe so long as your cousin remains unharmed, and I see no reason not to believe you."

He could not quite suppress his pleasure at this evidence of her trust. His harsh features relaxed somewhat as a different kind of tension grew within his hard, lean body. Almost without his being aware of it, he took a step toward her.

"Roanna. . ."

This was the time to make some lightly jesting comment that would break the mood. But she was helpless to do so. Instead, she could only stare up at him, her entire being caught by the silvery depths of his eyes and the heady promise of his nearness.