Master of Craving (27 page)

“Sleep, poppet. Tomorrow the sun will shine and you will see the world in a brighter light.”

 

Arian nodded, knowing that as long as she could draw breath her world would remain dark without Stefan at her side.

Two days later found them on the fringes of Yorkshire and two days out of Moorwood to the southeast. Along the well-worn roads, they repeatedly met with sullen Saxons, and on three separate occasions found themselves recipients of rotten fruit and vegetables launched from the thick forests. The Normans did nothing to avoid altercations; indeed they seemed to live for them. They arrogantly flew their black skull and bloody sword standard below that of the Conqueror’s double lion standard.

Word of the massacre at Worthington had preceded them, and for once, Arian was glad of the protection of the Normans. But with each step east, her heart crumbled more. The thought of never seeing Stefan again ate at her with each stride of her horse. Since she had so insulted him, Stefan had not even looked her way. The tension amongst the men was palpable, and no one, not even his brothers, engaged his black mood. He rode point from sunrise to sunset, daring anyone to challenge him.

On what was their final day, an outrider with an armed escort was dispatched to Moorwood. As Arian watched the riders crest then disappear behind a hill, trepidation scurried sharply along her back. What should have been a day greeted with excited anticipation was instead mourned with terrifying foreboding. Would Magnus know of her change of heart? Could she conceal her love for another man? She looked ahead to Stefan’s straight back and the proud set of his shoulders. Rorick’s words came back to haunt her, and she knew in her heart she had done the right thing, forcing Stefan from her with her lies. What could they have together? A few stolen moments? Nay, she would not belittle her love for him that way, nor would she shame her husband.

Resigned to her lot in this life, Arian squared her shoulders and looked ahead, beyond Stefan, to Magnus, where her life would be.

As the sun began to sink behind them, Stefan shouted that riders approached. Arian breathed a long sigh of relief when Magnus’s blue and white stag standard crested the hill. Just as the elation of no attack rose, it subsided. Was Magnus in residence already? He was not expected for at least another week.

Stefan, flanked by his Norman brothers, rode forward to meet Magnus’s contingent. With Rhodri at her side they urged their horses forward to the sound of angry French words.

 

“I will not release the lady from my care until she is wife to Lord Magnus,” Stefan bit out.

The man he spoke to looked past Stefan and caught Arian’s gaze. ’Twas not the noble who coolly regarded her that held her interest, nor was it Stefan for once. Nay, Arian’s gaze traveled to the beautiful woman ahorse beside the indignant Saxon lord. Her thick, intricately braided golden hair shone, and her bejeweled clothes were rich in color and fabric. And she had eyes only for Stefan. Arian stiffened in the saddle.

“Sir Stefan,” the woman purred. “Surely you trust us to see to the princess’s welfare? My Lord Overly is cousin to Lord Magnus, and has been given the honor of entertaining her until he arrives three days hence.”

Stefan removed his helm, his long thick hair falling around his shoulders. The lady gasped. “Stefan! Dear Lord, what happened to you?”

Jealousy ripped though Arian at the lady’s familiarity. Stefan’s jaw tightened and she saw a small tic of the muscle along his cheek. “Since when, Lady Lisette, has my health mattered to you?”

Overly looked from his wife to the Norman, his brows drawn. “My lady, you are acquainted with this man?”

 

“She was once betrothed to him,” Ralph offered.

Arian gasped, and all eyes turned to her. Quickly she recovered from the shock. So this was the woman who had broken his heart? Anger swelled, followed by the undeniable urge to protect Stefan. Arian spurred her horse closer and inclined her head.

“Princess Arianrhod, daughter of Prince Hylcon of Dinefwr,” Stefan introduced. Arian sat straight in her saddle as the lesser nobles bowed their heads. She nodded to her brother, who came slowly up behind her. “My brother, Prince Rhodri.”

“Princess Arianrhod, Lord Overly and Lady Lisette of Scarborough,” Stefan said in a clipped voice.

 

Lady Lisette smiled, but her eyes glowed molten, and with a shattering realization, Arian knew the woman knew her secret, and in that, she would be never be an ally.

 

“I can see, Sir Stefan, why you are loath to let her go,” Lady Lisette said, looking Arian up and down, as if she were a mare to be purchased at market.

“I gave my oath to her father and King Rhiwallon that I would see her wed before returning to Wales. Lives are at stake.” He turned to Lord Overly. “Do not question my intentions again, sir, or you will find yourself
and
your lady removed from Moorwood.”

Overly, a man in his early fifties, nodded, but Arian detected anger there. His lady, however, smiled and nodded at Stefan. “I shall do my best to see to, your, er, Lord Magnus’s lady to be.” She fluttered her long black lashes.

Arian smiled sweetly. “My thanks for the offer, Lady Lisette, but I have a most capable staff. But I would ask that you make haste to have the lord’s chamber readied for me upon my arrival. I fear I am travel-weary, and would like to bathe and rest before the evening meal.”

The Norman beauty’s eyes iced and her lovely jaw set into a hard line. “Of course.” As their train progressed toward the manor, numerous Saxon and Norse lined the wellworn road. Their contempt was painted plainly on their faces.

Arian took comfort in two things: one, she was not Norman, and thus innocent of the events of last year; and two, she was marrying a great jarl whose relatives were settled not only here in Essex but Norway as well. Nervous apprehension swirled in her belly as they came closer to the town and more people lined the road.

As the great wooden and stone manor that was Moorwood rose beyond a great meadow on a small dirt motte ahead, the villagers pressed closer. The Blood Swords drew in around her and Cadoc in a precise square formation, their shields raised, their lances lowered. They were a most fearsome sight in their black helms and black mail, astride fierce black destriers as well-armored as their masters.

She had serious misgivings about allowing the Normans to provide escort to Moorwood, but now she was glad for their protection. Looking ahead, she saw Lisette cast several furtive glances over her shoulder, not at Arian but in concern for the knight who rode behind her. Hostility laced with jealousy grappled in her chest. Arian breathed in slow and exhaled slower. She had no claim to the knight. Each time her longing for the Norman became unbearable, she remembered Jane’s words of wisdom, and told herself duty and honor came before love, even at the expense of a broken heart.

NINETEEN

The next two days passed in relative calm, yet Arian found a Norman guard at her elbow at every turn. The only time she caught sight of Stefan was at the late meal. He and his men took up the lord’s table, making it plain that they were in charge, not the Saxon lord and his lady. Indeed, Moorwood was Magnus’s home by way of his late mother, and Overly and Lisette only his host and hostess to see to his betrothed’s needs until his arrival.

Arian found her appetite waning each time she sat down to take a meal, and though she knew she should, she had no interest in the running of the manor or viewing the surrounding countryside. There was no warmth in the cold stone and wood manor, nor amongst the villagers. The heavy pall of doom hovered above them all.

The Saxons’ thinly veiled civility toward the Normans she could understand, but they were equally reticent with her. They followed her with their scornful eyes, believing the rumors that swirled about her and the Norman leader, Stefan de Valrey.

Arian could thank Sir Philip and Lady Lisette for stoking that fire. The assembled nobles waited, like a stable cat for the mouse to stick his nose out of his nest. The uneasy feeling that treachery brewed amongst those abiding in the hall gnawed at her. So she kept to herself, refusing to make even a feigned attempt to befriend these sullen people. ’Twas better that way. Until she was rightful lady here, she would keep silent and not rock the cart.

Philip and his sister Lisette, who had a most unnatural relationship, were the brunt of many caustic stares, not only from the servants but from the gathered Saxon nobles. The way they fawned over each other, one would think they were long-lost lovers. Overly didn’t seem to mind, but on several occasions when Stefan was in the hall Arian caught his scowl as the two prattled on.

On the third morning, Arian slipped from her chamber earlier than normal and stopped at the soft laughter of a woman. Lisette. Pressing into the small alcove outside her chamber, Arian listened.

“Philip, surely you jest?”

 

“Do you think me so unworthy?” he asked, his voice low and petulant.

 

“Ah, my sweet, you are a most worthy catch for any lady, even a princess, but do not think for one moment you have a chance with that frigid Welsh bitch.”

 

“I swear upon our mother’s grave your lover has breached her. Magnus will annul the marriage and I will step forward! Think of the dowry and the power she will bring us!”

 

“Darling, you know not of what you speak. Stefan de Valrey is many things, but he has an indomitable honor that is most annoying. If he says he did not breach her, then he speaks the truth. The man will not lie even to save his own skin.” Arian held her breath as long minutes drew out.

 

“Then all is lost,” Philip sighed.

“Nay, brother, there is still time. Magnus’s outrider arrived just a short time ago; the Jarl will not arrive until later this eve. The marriage will commence in two days’ time from his arrival.”

“De Valrey no longer has interest in her. He refuses to allow her name spoken in his presence. She will see the Jarl a virgin bride,” Philip whined.

 

More laughter infiltrated the hallway, sending the hair on Arian’s neck spiking. “Come to my chamber, Philip, I have a plan that will guarantee no blood upon the marriage sheets.”

 

Arian released a long breath. When the voices trailed off down the long hall, she bolted the opposite way, to the hall and to her brother.

She found him speaking with Gareth and Cadoc by the great hearth. She looked past him to Stefan, who strode into the hall, his men falling in behind him. Her heart leapt high in her throat and beat with such an intensity she felt she might choke on it. Stopping in her tracks, Arian fought the urge to run to him and express her fears. Rhodri was strong, but he was young and inexperienced. Her chest rose and fell hard when Stefan refused to release her gaze. His face tightened and his hands fisted at his sides, but he made no move to break the stare.

She moved a step toward him. His dark brows drew down over his brilliant eyes. Breaking his gaze, he turned away from her until the door slammed shut behind him. Her chest clogged with emotion. What did she expect from him? That he would come crawling on his hands and knees just so that she would throw him a bone? She had done her job too well. Stefan de Valrey held nothing but hatred for her.

Slowly she turned and walked back toward the lord’s table, and caught Sir Rorick’s eyes. She swallowed hard. He nodded, and indicated she sit beside him at the table. Not wanting to, but wanting to be close to Stefan through his fellow knights, she did so. She would speak to her brother after the meal. When Arian sat, the rest of the men present did so as well.

The priest said a hasty prayer, and in a sudden eruption, voices swirled around her as the men ate heartily and spoke of the coming of the Jarl. Arian nibbled at a crust of bread.

“I have noticed, milady, that you have not eaten more than a sparrow these past days,” Sir Rorick said softly from beside her. She raised her eyes to his deep blue ones, so different from Stefan’s but just as compelling.

“I have no appetite, sir.” “What you did in Worthington was for the greater good. In time Stefan will forget.”

 

His words stung, but Arian nodded her head. “Indeed, if he does forget, then I suppose I am the one who loses all.”

Rorick scowled in confusion. Arian smiled sadly. “I will never forget him, Sir Rorick. My feelings run too deep for him, but if he does, as you say, forget me, then his feelings were not as true.”

“Mayhap that is best then.”

 

“Mayhap,” she said softly.

The meal concluded without further exchange. Toward the end of it, a beaming Lady Lisette, hanging on her brother’s arm, descended into the hall. Grudgingly the men stood. As she sat across from her, Arian nodded, then stood and said to her brother who sat to her right, “Rhodri, a word please.”

As they meandered down to the other end of the hall, he looked at her, concern tugging at the crease near his eyes. “You do not look well, Arian. The Jarl will be most displeased to discover his bride so forlorn.”

She let out a long breath. “Is it that obvious, Rhod?”

“Aye, it is. You wear your love for the Norman on your sleeve for all the world to see. Rumors run rampant of you and he in the village and the household here. Pray they do not reach Magnus’s ear. I know you pine for the knight, but I beg you to stop. Nothing good can ever come of it. You are a princess, Arian, a royal; he is a bastard mercenary.”

“But I have done nothing—”

“It matters not. The circumstances of your meeting have been painted and repainted until there is no resemblance to the original picture. As it is, I have defended your honor twice amongst the lesser lords who have traveled to witness the marriage. I will be glad when the bloody sheets are hung for all of Yorkshire to witness!”

Arian set her jaw, angry that her virtue was questioned, and, in so doing, Stefan’s honor also. Only an eyewitness and the bloody sheets would prove her chastity, and though the Norman might be a bloodthirsty killer, he was not a rapist.

“Rhod, I overheard Lady Lisette and her brother Philip talking in the hall. They concoct some type of plan before my nuptials to discredit me in front of Magnus. ’Twould appear, from what I hear, Lord Philip has his eye on my dowry.”