Master of Craving (20 page)

Arian yanked her hands from his grasp. “Do not touch my person again.”

 

His eyes had darkened to the color of a moonless sky. His nostrils flared, and she could see the muscles work in his jaw. “So, as a Norman I am completely beneath you?”

“As a common bastard you are beneath me. As a Norman you are not fit to breathe the same air I breathe!” Arian whirled and faced the lady of the manor. “What of your husband? Does he play the same despicable games as his brethren?”

Lady Tarian smiled tolerantly.

“Do not ask questions that do not concern you, princess,” Stefan bit off. He turned to Lady Tarian and said, “Milady, once I have bathed and Edith has seen to this face of mine, we will talk more.”

“I never should have allowed Wulfson to insist I stay here to defend Draceadon! I should have been by his side!” Lady Tarian burst out. Her fingers played with the hilt of the broadsword that hung from her leather belt.

Stefan placed a hand upon her shoulder. “ ’Twas a slaughter, Tarian, you would be buzzard food. ’Twas the right choice to make. Those craven Welsh and that crazed Edric have been scourging all of Herefordshire. You are safer here, and ’tis what Wulf would want above all else.”

Lady Tarian choked back a sob, and turned from them to what looked to be the lord’s chair by the great hearth, leaving Stefan and Arian alone. He cast a glance down at her and scowled. Arian scowled back. “I do not appreciate being lied to, Sir Stefan. Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

“Nay,” he said, and strode from her to Tarian, where they shared a few words before he moved past her and through an archway, then disappeared.

Lady Tarian rose slowly from the chair, her eyes misty and far off. Arian knew that look; she had seen it a hundred times on her father’s face. ’Twas the haunted look of one who had lost their beloved. Trancelike she turned to Arian, and softly said, “Forgive me my manners. I worry for my husband and his brothers.” She motioned toward the wide stone stairway. “Come, allow me to show you to the lady’s solar, where you may bathe and rest. I will send fresh clothes and a tray for you.”

Stubbornly, Arian hesitated not wanting to accept this woman’s hospitality. She was a hostage. Was she expected to walk behind her like a leashed lamb? Happy for a morsel? Arian cast a furtive glance over her shoulder to the far door to the hall. It swung open wide, and Norman and Saxon knights filled the great hall like locusts on the wheat fields.

Arian spun around. A hot bath, fresh food, and clean clothes did not seem such a bad thing after all. The chamber was open and airy, and the bed large. “Here is Annis; she will tend you until your own maid arrives,” Lady Tarian said as a girl of no more than fourteen entered the chamber.

When the lady turned to leave, Arian called out to her, “A word, please.”

 

Slowly she turned.

 

“I would know the true character of Sir Stefan.”

 

Fine dark brows knitted in confusion. “ ’Tis above reproach.”

 

“I would not know it by his actions.”

 

“Nor have you walked in his boots. He has seen horrors we could never imagine.”

 

“He is a liar and a knave!”

 

Lady Tarian shook her head. “You will come to understand Stefan in time, should he allow you to. There are few men such as he. You are fortunate he was close by.”

Arian nodded, and for the moment, her fears were allayed. But she would be wary of this beautiful half-Welsh lady married to a vicious Norman lord, and all whom she called friend.

“Did Cadoc say which direction they traveled?” Arian asked, stepping closer to the lady. “I implore you, send word to him on my behalf. I will reward you with gold! My sire and my betrothed will also reward you.”

Lady Tarian shook her head and moved toward the door. “Your fate is not in my hands.” And soundly she closed it behind her.
THIRTEEN

“What have you done, Stefan?” Tarian demanded, barging into the small chamber down the hall from her own. He winced as Edith bit off the last stitch she had resewn. He did not know what balms she concocted, but the right side of his face had gone completely numb before she began her repair. A much-welcomed respite from the last week of pain.

He looked tiredly up at Wulfson’s lady. “What
have
I done?”

 

“Aye, what have you done indeed? She is a princess, for God’s sake! A royal Dinefwr!”

 

He scowled.

 

“Ah! Do not look at me so, I did not mean you are not worthy of her, but she is betrothed!”

 

Stefan laughed, and dragged his fingers through his hair. “I asked Wulfson the same thing about you.”

 

Her face crumbled at the mention of his name. She grabbed his hands and sat down beside him on the short bench. “Tell me of my husband. Tell me all.”

 

Edith moved from them, giving them privacy. Stefan took a long, deep breath, then exhaled. “We were outnumbered. The battle was lost before it began.”

 

“Why then did you engage?”

 

Stefan’s head snapped back and looked hard at her. “Normans do not turn tail!”

 

“Aye, God forbid your pride should suffer!”

“ ’Twas not like that, Tarian. We had the cavalry, we had the castle, we had the archers. Once we had engaged, we had to send more men onto the field, or it would have been a complete slaughter.”

“Where are the Blood Swords?”

 

“All but myself and Rhys, whom I have not yet found, reside in the dungeons of your dear ex-uncle Rhiwallon.”

 

“He would slay Wulfson!”

 

“He may wish to, but he has grander plans.”

 

“Tell me!”

 

“I overheard a Welshman speak of your uncle’s glee in capturing six of the Blood Swords. He means to taunt William with their lives.”

 

“He will only bring the wrath of Normandy upon his head!”

 

“Aye, but he does not seem to care. Methinks he will use them as leverage to keep us from his borders and, I suspect, to make a treaty on behalf of Edric.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Herefordshire.”

 

“William will not give it up!”

 

Stefan smiled slowly. “Rhiwallon is wily, to be sure, but I have a golden snare.”

 

Tarian sat silent for a long moment as his words penetrated her mind. “How came you by the princess?”

 

Stefan grinned and told her, leaving out the more intimate details of their encounter.

 

Tarian smiled knowingly. She knew him too well.

 

“What do you plan to do with her, Stefan?”

 

He grinned wider. “Fate delivered her into my arms. We must use her wisely.”

 

“I understand your fascination with the lady, but my concern is how to restore my husband and your brothers.”

 

“The answer lies abed just down the hall. A princess for the Blood Swords.”

 

Tarian gasped. “ ’Tis brilliant!” Just as quickly, her brows knitted together in thought. “How do you know they will trade for the princess?”

“She is to meet and marry Magnus, a great jarl of Norway Olaf’s cousin in Yorkshire. Olaf, milady, is Thorin’s half-brother. The Norse desire allies to the west. ’Twill put William in the middle. Give Olaf his brother, Magnus his bride, and William the Blood Swords.”

“And what for my loving uncles?”

 

Stefan laughed low, “A king’s ransom, and a most gracious alliance with the Norse that they so desperately desire, and William’s gratitude.”

 

“And you think the princess is the answer?”

He nodded. “I am sure of it. As you heard, she is the daughter of Prince Hylcon of Carmarthenshire, and her mother Branwen is blood aunt to Rhiwallon. Arian is his cousin. For his blood, he will make the trade, for if he does not, he will not only find an enemy in Hylcon and Magnus but we both know how vindictive William can be. ’Tis a combined fight Rhiwallon does not want, and one he cannot win.”

“How will you orchestrate this?”

“Dispatch your swiftest messenger now. Instruct him to find the captain Cadoc and give word of his lady here, but give no other information. He will come running. When they arrive, offer the hospitality of Draceadon. Once inside the gates they will be disarmed, and guards set to watch that they do not make trouble. We allow the princess to see her man, but not speak privately. Once he is assured she is safe and no harm has come to her, he, along with Gareth, will go to Rhiwallon and offer our terms.”

“And you will give her up?”

 

Stefan’s head snapped back and his eyes narrowed. “Of course. Why would I not?”

Tarian smiled a knowing smile. He shook his head. “Nay, ’tis not like that. Besides, even if I desired the maid, you saw her dislike for my station. I would see her gone from here and married to her Viking as soon as possible.”

“There is more, Stefan,” she said quietly.

 

“There can never be any more, and not with my brothers’ lives at stake!”

 

Tarian pushed. “Would you see her to her betrothed?”

 

Stefan’s heart lurched against his chest. “Nay.”

 

“A Norman escort would not be a bad thing.”

 

“Nay, when the trade is made I will return to Normandy.”

Stefan stood and moved past Tarian. Turmoil swirled in his belly. The thought of never seeing the princess again roiled with his emotions. He did not like the feelings. “We must send word immediately to Hylcon,” he said, moving past the subject of the princess.

“He will bring an army here!”

 

“Nay, he will send it to his dead wife’s cousin, who holds the key to his daughter’s safety.”

She grabbed his hands. “Think of what I just proposed, Stefan. Promise the Welsh a full Norman garrison, take Ralph and his men with you, as well as the Blood Swords, to see the princess safely to her betrothed. Allow her men and those of my uncle to accompany you. Do you think for one moment they will attempt another crossing in this war-torn land? With such a show of power, promise her safely delivered as part of the bargain.”

“Do you think the Welsh so foolish to think she will be safe in Norman hands? What would prevent them from thinking we would demand another ransom?”

 

“A guarantee. A hostage. A person the Blood Swords value highly, and because of that would be sure the exchange was made.”

 

Stefan scowled. “Who?”

 

“I would give myself to Rhiwallon as hostage.”

 

“Nay! ’Tis too risky. He would keep you! Wulfson would never permit it!”

“ ’Tis logical. Strike the deal, and when the Blood Swords cross the border into England I will pass to their right into Wales. My uncle will not harm me, of this I am sure. If the men are able to ride to Yorkshire with you, so be it. Upon your return and that of the lady’s captain bearing Magnus’s seal that he is delivered of his bride and wed, I will be released.”

“I do not like it.”

“Nor do I, but there is no other way.” She turned to look up at him. “Stefan, what if they act as if they are in agreement, but choose to attack us here and take the lady back by force?”

Stefan’s face tightened, the memories of the bloody battlefield erupting in his mind’s eye. “Many Welsh and Saxon were lost at Hereford, my lady; the rest scourge north. With Ralph’s men and your garrison, we have a sufficient army to repel them. I will send William a message immediately, and if the tides are in our favor he will know soon enough. He will be sending more men to fortify Herefordshire as it is. And if we are attacked? With the fortifications you and Wulf have made, and full stores, we will be able to wait them out.”

Tarian nodded, the deal struck.

Arian woke with a start, sitting up in the darkened room. Where was she? Immediate realization hit her. Draceadon. A hostage. She glanced across the wide expanse of the bed. Soft snores from the other side filled the room. Squinting in the low light, she could barely make out the soft silhouette of the lady Brighid curled up in a ball, slumbering soundly beside her maid. More snores filtered up from the foot of the bed, no doubt the girl Annis on the pallet there on the floor.

And with that recognition more realization crashed in her head. Stefan! For a long moment Arian sat there in the bed, the only light the soft glow of the candle on the table beside her. Her stomach made low roaring sounds. She swallowed and winced. Her throat was dry and despite the small meal she had eaten earlier, she was now famished. Hunger drove her to move from the bed, but more than that, her desire to extract from the Norman knight her fate. He as well as the lady of the manor had been tight-lipped. Fear gnawed at her. Had Stefan lied to her? Had his plans changed? Would she ever see her betrothed?

Arian slipped from the bed, and quickly pulled a borrowed tunic over her soft chemise. As she carefully opened the heavy door she stopped all movement. A large guard snored at the threshold. Peeking up and down the well-lit hall, she lifted one leg then the other over him, and hurried down to the hall.

As she moved silently down the wide stairway, Arian could see the hall slept. At the far end gray shadows outlined scores of men, sprawled out on pallets. At the base of the stone stairway, she stood silent for a long moment, debating whether to return to her chamber or brave the kitchen for food. Her hunger held sway. The warmth of the low-burning hearth drew her like a moth to a flame. Silently she walked to it. There was an alcove just beyond that led to a hall that most likely led to the outer kitchens, and, she realized, to escape!

“ ’Tis not wise to be about the hall at this late hour, milady,” a deep male voice said from behind her.

Slowly Arian turned, and though the tall Norman was several paces from her, his blue eyes glittered with a predatory gleam. Fear coiled tightly in her belly. He bowed, sweeping his arm across his chest, then stood. When he smiled, the hair on the back of her nape spiked. “I am Ralph du Forney, heir to the great lordship of de Lyon. I am at your service.”

Regally, Arian nodded her head, acknowledging him. “You speak English well, sir.”

 

He smiled again, and stepped closer. “I am well traveled and spent much time in Edward’s court.”

 

Arian moved a step back for each step he took toward her. “You have nothing to fear from me, milady. I can assure you I am not the savage my cousin is.”