His Captive Lady (4 page)

Guthlac Stigandson swept the woman a mocking bow. 'Greetings, Lady Erica.'

She dipped her head in acknowledgement. 'Thane Guthlac?' Her voice was low and even.

'At your service,' murmured Guthlac.

Wulf took stock of her. Yes, she was tall, and she had a stately air, and when she flung back the russet hood of her cloak, he bit back a gasp. Close to, with her dark hair gleaming in the growing daylight and with her startling green eyes, Erica of Whitecliffe was beautiful--breathtakingly, radiantly beautiful.

Lady Erica glanced swiftly round the compound, tipping her head back to take in the tower perched on its mound. Her quick eyes ran over the sentry points, the palisade, the outbuildings, and, finally, lingered on the chapel.

While she nodded briefly, unsmiling but polite, at each man in the compound, Wulf was disconcertingly aware that his heartbeat was less than steady. She was his very image of beauty. Not that that signified anything. Although when her eyes met his--they were a particular shade of green, which brought to mind the woods near Honfleur on a sunny spring day--Wulf felt a distinct jolt in his belly. She nodded at him and her gaze moved on, to Hrothgar, Beorn, Maldred. He could see by the sudden stillness that gripped Guthlac and his housecarls that they, too, had been struck by her beauty. And who would not be?

The Lady Erica had pale skin, which was clear and unblemished; her brows and eyelashes were dark; she had a straight nose with a scattering of freckles across it; her lips were red and full and tempting and there was not a wrinkle anywhere, not even around those remarkable eyes. Wulf caught the gleam of gold--her cloak fastening was patterned with interlocking snakes. Two thick dark plaits trailed down to her waist, their ends caught in finely wrought golden fillets.

Thane Eric's daughter must be about his age, perhaps a little older. If pushed, Wulf would say she had been born at about the same time as his half-sister. Those glossy plaits were black as a crow's wing. Her carriage was proud and straight, and though that cloak hid her bosom, it could not entirely disguise the full curve of her breasts. Briefly Wulf shut his eyes. Thane Eric's daughter was beautiful enough to steal any man's breath. He remembered what had happened to Thane Guthlac's mother, and he feared, he very much feared, that this woman's beauty was about to be her downfall.
Merde.
It was not his business. Particularly since De Warenne was awaiting his report.

The rebel leader was giving her another of his mocking bows. 'You will take refreshment, my lady?'

Regal as a queen, she inclined her head. 'My thanks.'

Wulf had scarcely set eyes on the woman, yet even as she picked up her purple skirts and made to precede Guthlac into his hall, he knew, without shadow of a doubt, that she understood that Guthlac Stigandson's courtesy was false. Oh, yes, she knew. Those bright eyes ran swiftly, searchingly, over Guthlac's features, those white teeth worried her lower lip for an instant, then she straightened, turned her gaze ahead and calmly continued towards the wooden stairway that led up the mound and into the tower.

'Saewulf?'

Wulf started. 'My lord?'

'See to it her men rest here.'

'My lord, I...' Wulf thought quickly. He did not want to be stationed down here by the chapel, not if she was going to face Guthlac on her own--the force of his feelings, akin to desperation, confounded him.

Luckily Thane Eric's daughter had other ideas. Pausing at a landing halfway up the mound stairway, she rested a slender white hand on the handrail. Bracelets to rival Guthlac's chinked at her wrist, emphasising her high status. Finger-rings glinted. 'My men, too,' she said, voice clear as a bell and every inch her father's daughter. 'Ailric and Hereward are more in need of refreshment than I; it was they who sat at the oars.'

Wulf glanced questioningly at Guthlac. 'My lord?'

Impatiently, Guthlac waved them on. 'Let them come, Saewulf, they are unarmed.'

Pleasantly surprised at Guthlac's malleability in the face of his enemy's request, Wulf motioned for the two housecarls to follow their lady.

T
he rebels were eating their evening meal, and Wulf was--much against his better judgement for he should be at the rendezvous with Lucien--still in Guthlac's hall. He peered through the stinking haze of tallow candles towards the head of the trestle and wished he had been party to the negotiations between Thane Guthlac and the Lady Erica. They had talked from dawn to dusk and it was impossible to tell from their manner how they were progressing. Wulf could hear nothing of note over the clatter of knives and the guffaws and the general babble of conversation. He had to get closer...

Meals in this fenland castle were taken very differently to meals in King William's barrack-hall at Westminster. Here, no weapon stacks bristled with arms by the walls; instead, men wore their arms to table. They sat with their swords jutting out behind them, an ever-present hazard for servers approaching the benches with dishes and ale jugs. The continual bearing of arms by every able-bodied man in the camp reminded Wulf, if reminder were needed, that he was breaking bread with outlaws. To a man they were poised to jump to arms at a moment's notice. If they suspected that he served another master, a
Norman
master, a dozen swords would be at his throat.

'More ale, Saewulf?'

The lad Maldred was at his elbow, jug in hand. Smiling, Wulf nodded and held out his cup, but his attention never wavered from the top of the table. A sense of unease had sat with him since the morning--and it irked him, because he knew it was not connected with the Saxon outlaws and his commission for De Warenne. Rather, it was centred on Lady Erica.

Wulf should have met De Warenne's man this afternoon. With every moment he lingered here, the risk of discovery grew. But he could not leave, not yet, because the lady...
Merde!
Thank God he had thought to arrange a second, fallback meeting a few days hence. That one he would not miss.

Lady Erica was hemmed in on the one hand by the rebel Guthlac and on the other by Hrothgar. Guthlac's wife Lady Hilda sat close by, but Wulf had yet to see the two women exchange words with each other. Like the other men, Guthlac and Hrothgar were wearing their arms; indeed, Hrothgar sat so close to Lady Erica that Wulf wouldn't be surprised to learn that the scabbard of his dagger was digging into her side.

The only men
not
wearing arms were the lady's housecarls. They were glowering from a side-table, under guard but uncowed. Their eyes barely left their mistress for a moment, as if by watching her they could protect her. Wulf followed their gaze, even though looking at her made him uneasy. So startling was Lady Erica's beauty that he found her hard to look on, and he did not wish her to think that he was ogling. Not that any of the outlaws seemed to hold with such scruples; both Hrothgar and Beorn had been openly drooling ever since she had stepped into the bailey.

Her gown was an unusual shade of violet, with silver embroidery at the neck and hem. The silken side lacings were designed to emphasise a figure that was as fine as her features. Lady Erica had a high bosom, a narrow waist, and gently curving hips. That gown, Wulf thought, with that hint of purple, could have been the gown of an empress. Her white silk veil must have been imported from some exotic land in the east, Byzantium most likely. Wulf frowned as he looked at the gold bracelets winking on those slender wrists, at her finger-rings. Purple was worn by royalty; the bracelets and rings were worth a fortune--following Saxon custom, she was wearing her status the same way a man wore armour when he went into battle. In her finery, she looked like a queen.

Just then, the man next to Hrothgar rose and headed for the door that led to the privies. A moment later Wulf had taken his place, nodding to Hrothgar as he eased onto the bench. Better, he thought,
much
better; at last he might hear something of interest.

The bloodfeud was none of his business, yet Wulf feared for the lady's well-being. She and Guthlac had been dancing round each other since she had arrived, so why had no conclusion been reached? Guthlac Stigandson did not strike Wulf as a patient man, quite the opposite, in fact. Why, the day before yesterday, Guthlac had had a body-servant beaten to within an inch of his life for laying out the wrong tunic; a serving wench had seen the flat of his hand for accidentally spilling some wine in Lady Hilda's lap. What was the key point in these drawn-out negotiations?

The rebel leader hated Lady Erica. Wulf could see it in his eyes; he could see it in the over-polite way Guthlac handed her a piece of fish on the end of his knife, apeing the fine manners of a courtier in King William's palace at Westminster, when all the while his face was set like stone.

So, Wulf thought, swallowing down some ale, why the delay? Why spend hours dancing around the lady and her demands? She wanted her men--outlaws like these, Wulf reminded himself--to enter into an alliance with Thane Guthlac. It made sense in military terms, but Wulf did not think that Guthlac had the first intention of forging an alliance with Erica of Whitecliffe. Guthlac's eyes glittered with loathing; they were hard as glass in the flare of the torches. He was toying with her and she knew it.

The fish was settling uncomfortably in Wulf's stomach. Guthlac's eyes were warning him that the feud between his housecarls and Lady Erica's was far from dead; the man was biding his time.

And Hrothgar? Eyeing the lady's bosom. Lord, the entire warband was eyeing her body.

Erica of Whitecliffe leaned forwards and murmured at Guthlac's wife. Lady Hilda gave a weak smile of acknowledgement, but a sharp look from her husband had her ducking her head to pick at the fish on her trencher.

Wulf's sense of frustration grew. Thane Guthlac sat like a king at the head of his hall, downing measure after measure of ale, offering the lady yet another portion of fish, of eel. And all the while, Wulf's indigestion got worse. What the hell was Guthlac waiting for?

Tired of waiting for Guthlac to end the game, tired of wishing his stomach was not in knots and of wishing that William de Warenne had sent him anywhere but to this bleak corner of England, Wulf was glowering into a candle flame when a scraping of stools and benches told him the meal was over.

His stomach cramped. Lady Erica's face was white as snow and she was staring at Guthlac as though he had sprouted horns. Into the sudden hush, her voice came clear. 'You cannot mean it.'

Guthlac's smile was empty. 'I assure you, I do.'

'No, my lord, this feuding must
end
!'

Guthlac thrust his face into hers. 'Easy for you to say, my dear, since you have been foolish enough to put yourself in this position. But would you have spoken up, I wonder, before my mother was...disparaged?'

Never had Wulf sat through a silence so profound in a hall full of men who had just eaten and drunk their fill. He was not sure he understood what Guthlac was talking about but, dimly recalling the mutterings of rape, he had his suspicions. No one so much as breathed.

One of the lady's men lurched towards her, desperation in his eyes as his hand went to the hilt of his sword--the sword that was not there because he had been disarmed.

The lady held him back with a calm, 'Ailric,
no
.'

'But, my lady,' her housecarl protested as, at Guthlac's nod, two men leaped to restrain him, 'he means you harm!'

'Ailric, be still.'

'Ailric?' Guthlac Stigandson looked with calculating curiosity at the lady. 'This man means something to you?'

Ailric strained against his captors. 'I should hope that I do, Thane Eric said I was to marry Lady Erica before...before...'

'Before the Norman bastard came and killed him?'

'Aye!'

A slender, beringed hand came to rest on the outlaw's sleeve. 'Thane Guthlac, the feud
must
end.'

Guthlac ground his teeth, and got heavily to his feet. 'No, my lady, not yet. The bloodfeud is a matter of
honour
. Its continuance is as vital to me as the duty a thane owes to his liege lord. Know this: your father was my sworn enemy in the matter of the feud between our families. But he and I fought shoulder to shoulder for Harold at Hastings. And though Thane Eric was my enemy, I honour him. He died an honourable death, fighting for his king.'

'Then surely, my lord--' Lady Erica's steady voice carried clearly to every corner of the hall, a hall that to Wulf's mind was filled with an increasingly ugly air of expectancy '--you could find it in your heart to end this bloodfeud? You honour my father as a warrior, and I know he honoured you in the same way, but--'

'Silence!' Guthlac's fists clenched. He turned to face his wife. 'And you, woman...'

Lady Hilda's lips tightened, but she answered meekly, 'My lord?'

Guthlac jerked his head in the direction of the door. 'Out! I will see you later, when this business is concluded. Wait for me in our chamber.'

'Yes, my lord.'

The atmosphere was thick with tension, and was almost suffocating. Wulf's skin crawled. Whatever Guthlac had planned for this Saxon lady, he doubted she was ready for it. At the edge of his vision, Hrothgar wound his fingers round his swordhilt, bracelets flashing in the candlelight.

Lady Hilda pushed back her stool, dropped a quick curtsy at her lord, and sent Erica of Whitecliffe a pitying look. Waving for her ladies, she scurried with them from the hall.

Guthlac stared coldly at Erica of Whitecliffe, now the only woman present. Gripping her by the arm, he hauled her to her feet. His words were slightly slurred from all the ale. 'So, daughter of Eric,
you
are to make reparation for the slight your family did to mine.'

Lady Erica stood, slim and straight as a wand next to Guthlac's solid bulk. She tossed her white veil out of the way, a veil of so fine a weave that her dark braids were visible beneath the fluttering silk. Her cheeks were pale, her expression composed, but the hem of that veil was trembling. Her composure was a mask; she knew what was likely to happen to her. The bile rose in Wulf's throat.

'I will do it,' Hrothgar said, getting up to seize the lady's other arm. His mouth twisted. 'Seeing as you are a married man, my lord.'

One man made a lewd remark. Another spluttered into his ale.

'My lord!' Wulf scrambled to his feet. He was not certain, but he feared that the Lady Erica was about to face the same fate as his sister. With his commission, the last thing he needed to do was to draw attention to himself, but he could not stand by and let this happen. 'You cannot sanction this...it...it would be rape!'

Great green eyes fixed on him, wide and startled--Wulf felt their impact in his core. Then Lady Erica seemed to draw calmness about her person like a cloak and her features went blank. It was as though she had somehow absented herself from the hall.

'Rape?' Guthlac Stigandson was shaking his head and several around the board murmured their agreement. 'Not rape, but reparation, Brader,
reparation
. Since you have not been long of our number and are unfamiliar with this feud, I will explain. If one of my men disparages Thane Eric's daughter, then our honour will be satisfied. In view of what was done to my beloved mother, such an act is not rape, it is merely reparation.'

Wulf edged his sword free of its sheath. Hrothgar was watching him like a hawk. 'No, my lord.' For his part, Wulf did not take his eyes from Guthlac. Wulf did not want a fight, not here, not over this woman, but in memory of his poor sister, he could not see her hurt. 'Call it what you like, but if a woman is bedded against her will, it is rape.'

Lady Erica's bosom heaved. 'I think, sir, I would be willing--' her tone was distant, her sang-froid astonishing '--if I knew
for certain
it would finally put an end to the bloodfeud. That is why I am here, to end the bloodfeud.'

Appalled, Wulf stared. She was obviously personally innocent of any wrongdoing and yet she could
accept
such barbarism? The man she had called Ailric could not; on the other side of the trestle, the veins were bulging in his temples as he struggled vainly to wrench free of his guards. The lady looked directly at Wulf, but her green eyes had lost their luster; they were dull as they had not been when she had first walked, head high, through that portcullis. The Lady Erica's body might be here in this hall, but her mind and her soul had fled. It came to Wulf that already, though hardly a finger had been laid upon her, this woman was being scarred by what was happening.

But surprised?

Wulf gritted his teeth. No, the lady had definitely not been ignorant of the revenge that the Saxon leader might demand, she had
known
. Oh, she could not have been certain of the revenge Guthlac would exact on her, but she had recognised that her ravishment was a distinct possibility.

She had hoped, perhaps, that Guthlac Stigandson would relent, but she had known the possibilities and--with stunning bravery--she had walked into this stronghold fully prepared to offer herself up so that the bloodfeud might end. She was desperate, so trapped she was prepared to be the sacrificial lamb.

Stepping carefully round her, Wulf looked directly at Guthlac. The man's gaze was as cold as fenwater. 'My lord, I realise I am but a newcomer here, but I am bound to say that, however you dress it, this is not an honourable act.'

Hrothgar's lips curled. 'Woman.'

Wulf was not about to be distracted by such a crude attempt to draw his fire. 'My lord?'

Guthlac sighed. Now that his wife and her ladies had left the hall, some of the tension seemed to have left him. Perhaps all was not lost. Was it possible that the man possessed a shred of decency? Had he been ashamed to sanction such an act before his wife? Guthlac wanted his revenge, to be sure, but perhaps on one level he did not have the stomach for it. He had openly admitted to a grudging respect for the lady's father...and yet, as leader, he could not back down without impugning his honour.

The leader of a warband would not want to lose face before his men. And Wulf recalled that it had been Guthlac's
mother
who had apparently been--what was the term they had used?--disparaged. Had she really been raped? Dear God, did two wrongs make a right?