Juliana Garnett (37 page)

“The words, Ceara.”

“I swear I will not abandon Wulfridge.”

“No, swear you will not leave the castle.”

“My lord, I must be allowed to go to the stables, or to the storehouse to—”

His grip tightened on her arm. “You must know my meaning. All that is encompassed here within these walls is safe. It is outside the walls that is dangerous. I cannot be distracted with worry for you when I am pursuing rebel barons on their own ground, so you had best swear to me now before I am tempted to leave you in chains.”

Her gaze lowered and he tried not to notice the slight quiver of her lips. A pulse beat madly in her throat, and her skin was ashen. After a moment she looked up at him again.

“I vow to remain here, my lord, as you command.”

He studied her. She did not look away, but gazed at him steadily, pale but defiant. Uncertain, he tried to judge her temper. Did he dare trust her?
Jésu
, he wasn’t even certain she was honest with him about her lack of French—would she keep her sworn word? Reluctantly, he released her arm and nodded.

“It is for the best, Ceara.”

“Yea, lord, if you say it, it must be true.”

Irritated, he started to turn and walk away, but halted and reached for her. Jerking her into his arms, he held her hard against him and kissed her fiercely. He kissed her until her lips parted, and he felt her stiffened spine relax beneath his hands. Releasing her, he cupped her face in his palms to gaze down at her.

“I will keep you safe if you allow it,
chérie
.”

Bright tears spangled her curved lashes, and she curled her fingers around his wrist and sighed. “Keep yourself safe, Luc. For me.”

“Yea, fair lady, for you I will return.” The smile on her lips was a little wobbly, and he brushed away a dewy tear from her cheek with his thumb. It was enough that she knew he wanted only to protect her from those who may cause her harm. He kissed her again, gently this time, a light brush of his lips against her mouth, then left her there in the grove of young trees that guarded the burial cairn.

Remy and the mounted soldiers were waiting. Paul held Drago on a tight rein, as the destrier had already worked into a lather, with steam rising from his heated hide. Frost clouds blew from scarlet nostrils, and tack chains rattled as the animal shook its massive head.

Luc mounted, and they rode from Wulfridge with his banner raised, the standard-bearer riding close by. The weak April
sun glinted on frosted grass at the roadside. Wind blew sea waves into frothy lace caps on the surface of the inlet and bent long supple reeds as they headed for Rothbury.

It was a grim business, and not one he liked, but it must be done. Oswald must yield.

They followed the Coquet River until they reached the priory at Brinkburn, and rested there before moving on. The weather held, though it shifted to a slight drizzle that wet the roads. Night was cold, but not freezing, and did not disturb the sleep of soldiers used to harsh marching conditions.

On the second day they arrived at the edge of Rothbury Forest. It was a thick wood, studded with crags and streams swollen by the runoff of spring thaw. The river was too swift to ford under cover of darkness, but no doubt Oswald had already heard of their approach.

Luc was right in that assumption, and when they reached the fortress high atop an earthen mound, it was shut up tight against them, gates locked and manned with archers and spearmen posted along the walls. Luc sent a messenger with an offer of clemency for all save Oswald if the stronghold was yielded to him. The reply was a volley of arrows and defiant yells, as he had anticipated.

Luc settled in to besiege Oswald, instructing his men to build cats to shelter their assault on the wooden walls and ordering arrows to be dipped in pitch. He did not expect a long siege, for Oswald’s palisades were of wooden construction, and vulnerable to fire. While his men were obeying these commands, Luc sent out forces to ravage villages and fields, to take what plunder they willed, to destroy Oswald’s resources and bring his people to their knees. It was not a part of war that he relished, but he knew well that to allow the rebel baron any support would only lengthen the conflict.

Along with his command to ravage, he had also given the stern edict to Remy that women and children were to be spared, that rape would be viewed in the harshest light, and any
man who disobeyed would be put to the sword. Captain Remy, reminded of Luc’s wrath when unarmed servants were slain in the taking of Wulfridge, relayed these orders in the bluntest of terms.

Luc expected these people to bend the knee to him, and while he intended to instill respect and fear, he did not wish to earn unyielding hatred as a cruel Norman overlord. Mercy would be given to those who surrendered, so Oswald would be viewed as the cause of their losses. It was a tactic he had seen stand William in good stead, earning him loyalty from those he conquered. Whether from fear or respect, it did not matter.

What did matter to Luc was Ceara’s regard. She would not forgive the rampant slaughter of Saxons. Even had he not desired to avoid shedding the blood of those who owed him service, he desired even less the enmity of the Saxon maid who had become his wife. It was she he thought about in odd moments, watching as his men built the portable wooden shelters with which to storm Oswald’s walls, thinking instead of Ceara’s soft skin. He had stormed her citadel with passion and determination, and the spirited surrenders he had won left him aching for even more. Yet she guarded her heart so well that he was still uncertain of her. When he thought perhaps she felt more than a passing fondness for him, she turned, eyes flashing and head lifted with defiance, her tongue sharp enough to flay him to the bone.

War was more certain than a woman’s mind, he thought with annoyance. In battle, he knew what to do. With his wife, he was too often at a loss. She turned from yielding sweetness to hissing defiance in the blink of an eye. It was enough to unnerve a man at times.

R
OBERT DE
B
RIONNE
was uneasy. Their acceptance by King Malcolm’s vassal was cordial, his hospitality abundant, but as of yet, there was no sign of the king’s seal on the terms of marriage for
Amélie. He fretted at the delay, but his requests for explanation were deftly turned aside by Lord Niall, who bent smiles and wiles on him that were intended to soothe his misgivings.

When the second fortnight passed with no word from the king of the Scots, nor sign of nuptials, Robert announced his intention to depart with the lady unless he was shown proof of their good intentions.

Niall, stroking his chin thoughtfully, regarded Robert with a lifted brow and slight smile. “I would not do that, were I you, Sir Robert. It might be misunderstood.”

“There is no misunderstanding.” Robert eyed the men who quietly came to flank Niall with a sudden qualm. “You have not kept your bargain. The Lady Amélie was to be wed with the king’s sanction, yet I see no envoy from Malcolm, nor yet a bridegroom.”

“He is unaccountably delayed, Sir Robert, as you have been told more than once.” Niall’s eyes narrowed with sly hostility. “Do you think us reluctant to wed our vassal with a lady of William’s choosing?”

Robert drew in a deep breath. “Yea, I do. The negotiations were said to be complete, yet there is now too much delay, to my mind.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Perhaps the lady and I should depart, and when the king wishes to secure the pact, we will return.”

“Ah, that would not be wise, Sir Robert. You are our honored guests here, and we would take it amiss were you to attempt to leave our hospitality. Do you not care for the food? Or our diversions? Not a Norman court, perhaps, with a surfeit of silk and comfits, but we are more civilized in our way. And we know how to honor guests.”

“I feel more prisoner than guest,” Robert said quite bluntly, and knew from Niall’s casual shrug that he was right. His muscles tightened. It was a trick, as he had begun to suspect. “What is expected from us, Lord Niall?”

“Nothing more than your cooperation, my friend.” Niall smiled. “We know that the new earl of Wulfridge has mounted an assault on our ally, Oswald of Paxton. We would have you send word to him that if he wishes to keep his own, he will withdraw from Northumbria.”

It was a cryptic suggestion that had grave import. Robert paused before replying. If Oswald were allied with Malcolm, that left Wulfridge in grave danger, for Luc’s forces would be divided, the castle vulnerable.

“And if he does not withdraw, Lord Niall?”

Shrugging, the old lord sat back in his chair and put his hands together, fingertips against fingertips. “Then his lady wife will not be returned to him.”

Robert stared at Niall with mounting anxiety. “Where is his lady now?”

Niall smiled. “She is now, or soon will be, in Oswald’s custody. But do not fear for her. I have agreed to accept her as my guest until we are assured that Northumbria is secure in our hands. It is your part in this, Lord Robert, to persuade Luc Louvat that he must accept our demands.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You will not. Your own life you might risk, but not that of fair Amélie. It would hardly be chivalrous of you, and it is well known how you Normans pride yourselves on feats of chivalry.”

Scorn underscored his words, and Robert stiffened. If Malcolm supported this insurrection, then nothing could avert war, for William would not suffer it. He looked at Niall. “Does King Malcolm involve himself in this?”

Niall shrugged. “The king has other concerns at the moment, but if we succeed, he will support us.”

“You fool. Malcolm is not in a position to defy William. Why would he?”

“Why, for the rewards, of course. As do I. By the by, Sir Robert, have you met my lady wife?”

Robert stared at him warily. “Nay, I have not.”

“She is known to you, I think. And most certainly known to Lord Luc.”

Once, Robert would have been astonished, but now it was only further proof of the suspected treachery when Lady Adela entered the chamber, her expression triumphant.

“Robert of Brionne, it has been a long time since I have seen you. Tell me, how is my son?”

“If you mean Jean-Paul, he was well when last I saw him.”

“No, I meant my
other
son—my bastard stepson, Luc. Does he fare well also?”

“Madam, I have a feeling you know the answer to that far better than I do.” Robert fought his rising frustration. “Did you send Jean-Paul to Wulfridge? Bones of God, you have a lot to answer for, madam!”

Laughter greeted his furious demand, and Lady Adela exchanged a long glance with her husband before Niall turned back to Robert. “Well, Sir Robert? What have you decided?”

After a moment Robert nodded, his heart heavy and his voice gruff. “I will send a man to Lord Luc with your damned message.”

Niall nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. And since you are staying with us awhile longer, Sir Robert, you and the lady may continue to enjoy our pleasant pastimes.”

“I do not enjoy being hostage,” Robert snapped.

“Hostage? No, you mistake me. You are merely our guests for a time, until Lord Luc is convinced that to wage war on Northumbria is most unwise.”

“You have chosen a wolf to make into a lapdog, I fear, Lord Niall. I do not think you will like its bite.”

“I do not fear the bite of a mongrel. Our borders are besieged, and we will do what must be done to secure them.”

“Then take care you do not earn the wrath of the lion as well as the wolf, for William will not swallow this insult without retaliation.”

Niall smiled blandly. “William is far away, and must concern
himself with unrest in other areas. Here, where Saxon earls align with Scots, lies much land that we have long considered our own. We do not yield it gladly.”

“It is not yours to yield. There will be bitter battle done for this, Lord Niall, mistake it not.”

“I do not think so. Luc of Wulfridge is one man.”

“You forget Leofric and Eadwine.”

“Pah! Eadwine is old and Leofric wavering. If Oswald triumphs, Leofric will sway his forces to our side and the wolf will be overrun. We might have had the lands already if not for Luc Louvat. Had we known they were held by only a maid and her grizzled commander, we would have taken them long before he arrived.

“Yet the maid held them against you successfully, I hear.”

Niall rose abruptly. “It is of no matter now. You are here, and when Lord Luc receives our offer, he will make his decision. Pray you that it is in our favor, or you will rue this day, Sir Robert.”

Outraged but outnumbered, Robert could only keep his own counsel as he was shown to the chamber he had occupied since arriving. The old fox had maneuvered slyly and now Luc must make the next move. Did he risk his childhood friend, or his wife and lands? Robert’s heart was heavy, and as he summoned to him a man from the retinue he had traveled here with, he knew with grim certainty what he would do were he Luc. Therefore, it would behoove him to think of a way to extract himself and Lady Amélie from what was certain to be a dangerous position—and thus free Luc from having to decide.

The messenger arrived, nervous but alert. “Yes, Sir Robert, you summoned me.”

Robert nodded. “Giles, though I know there was strife between you and Lord Luc, you must put that behind you. He will recognize you and my seal. Deliver to him this message and my ring.…”

•    •    •

I
T WAS NEAR
dusk. Purple and crimson shadows stained the horizon, reflected in the shimmering waves of the inlet cradling Wulfridge castle. Ceara stood atop the wall clutching her arms to her body, gazing across the water. The wind tugged at the hem of her blue kirtle and blew her loose hair about her face. Luc had been gone over a week, long days and nights had passed since he set out to lay siege to Oswald. Only one message had come, and that soon after Luc’s departure, the weary courier covered with mud and flecks of lather from his horse as he relayed the news that Luc had laid siege and sent his assurances that he was well.

There had also been a personal note from him, and she had read his neat penned words with a little difficulty, as her training was scant. Still, she knew enough to make out his message to her, and had tucked the wrinkled parchment with his seal beneath her pillow that night.