Master of Craving (33 page)

“ ’Tis not my desire to punish them but to bring them to heel. As my trusted man, I give you overlordship of York and all surrounding areas, including Moorwood to the south and Scarborough to the north, to see to the interests of not only Normandy but England. Soon enough those stubborn English will understand they are beaten, and that I am rightful king. Keep the Blood Swords with you, and the garrison I send with Robert. Offer firm and fair terms to the lords whom you now oversee, and should they refuse to kneel to you, then they do not kneel to me, their king.

“Whilst I grow weary of war, do not hesitate to draw your sword in the name of your king. ’Tis my understanding although I have no proof as of yet, that Magnus Tryggvason plots with the cur Murchad of Dublin, who coddles Harold’s two eldest sons. Even more of a threat, he sleeps with the wolf Sven of Denmark, who claims the throne by right of blood through his great-uncle Canute. Keep him close, my friend, and watch his every move. As I write this, my spies inform me that his men assemble on the north coast of Scotland, aided by the Scottish kings who, as you know, harbor that milksop of a boy Edgar. Secure the shire, Stefan. Do not spare a life if it threatens the throne I sit upon.

“Treachery abounds. Trust no one but Robert and your brothers.

 

“By my command, William.”

Shocked by the sudden turn of events, Stefan looked to Rohan, Wulfson, Rorick, Warner, and Ioan, who looked equally shocked, then to Robert, who pulled another scroll from his pouch and handed it to Stefan. “ ’Tis the charter giving you lordship of the shire.”

TWENTY-ONE

As the morning meal commenced, Magnus held up his hand and stood. When he opened his mouth to speak, Arian’s heart dropped to the floor. Stefan burst into the hall, flanked by his brothers, and behind him a swarm of mailed knights.

She felt Magnus stiffen beside her. His own guard rose from the lower trestles, and those who stood along the hall came to attention also. Tension gripped every heart in the hall.

 

At that moment, Father John bustled into the hall, grasping the soiled linens in his hands. He stopped short and looked about.

 

Stefan strode arrogantly toward the lord’s table, his eyes locked on Magnus’s.

 

“Your business here is concluded, Norman,” Magnus boomed. “You have caused enough damage. I order you to leave at once.”

A slow smile twisted Stefan’s lips. Arian held her breath, knowing it did not bode well for Magnus. But she remembered Stefan’s oath to her, and her fear for her husband’s safety was allayed.

“I beg your pardon, milord, but my men and I came only to feast before we turn our horses upon the road. Do not let our presence prevent you from your speech.”

 

Arian’s eyes narrowed. What game did he play? And where did the influx of soldiers come from?

“My lords!” Father John cried, stepping between the two men. He made a short bow to both Arian and Magnus, then held the soiled sheets up for all to see. “ ’Tis your oath, Lady Arian, this is your virgin blood?”

She nodded. “On my unborn children’s lives, I swear it.”

 

“My lord Magnus, is it sufficient evidence to appease the marriage contract? Or do you contest the validity without witness?”

 

For a long-drawn-out moment, Magnus did not respond. Arian stood still and stiff beside him, holding her breath. “Aye, I accept it,” he said at last.

 

“Then I pronounce—”

 

“I repudiate her claim!” Philip cried out over the priest’s voice.

Shocked at the accusation, Arian gasped, as did everyone around her. She turned to the man. Lisette stood beside him, and together they looked like twin foxes with fat partridges in their mouths.
“What is the meaning of this?” Magnus erupted, on top of Father John’s same demand.

Arian felt Stefan’s anger behind her. “You lie!” he challenged.

 

Lisette flung off her husband’s cautionary hand on her arm. “We have proof you were lovers before her marriage!” she spat at Stefan.

 

“Show it,” Stefan said menacingly.

Lisette nodded to a woman standing in the corner, and when all eyes turned to her Arian held her breath, knowing she would have to defend their lies. ’Twas Miriam, the maid who slept in her chamber the night before the wedding, the night Jane was gone. In her arms was a folded sheet. Confused, Arian looked up to Stefan, then to Lisette, to Philip, then finally to her husband, whose face had flushed scarlet with rage.

Skittishly, Miriam approached them and handed Philip the sheet. He thrust it beneath Arian’s nose. “Are these not the linens found only upon the lord’s bed?”

Arian looked at them, noting the gold embroidery of a succession of leaping stags along the border. She nodded, as did Magnus. With great flourish, Philip flung the sheet wide, and there in the middle were several drops of dried blood.

“Where did you get this?” Magnus demanded.

 

“From your lady’s bed yesterday morn, the night after she lay with the Norman!” Philip spat.

 

“Nay, we did not!” Arian cried, turning to Magnus.

“There are witnesses, including the Norman’s own men who watched him go into the chamber only to come out later,” Lisette hissed. Arian glared at the arrogance of the woman. Her venom was so clearly marked across her comely features that it distorted them into something very ugly. ’Twas her jealousy that drove her to the lies. So, this was how the brother and sister sought to bring her low? Arian’s resolve stiffened. She had the truth on her side.

“Did the Norman come to your chamber unchaperoned?” Magnus demanded, his face twisted in contempt.

 

“Aye, he came to my room, true, we did but talk. Nothing more. I swear it!”

 

Stefan grabbed the sheets from Philip. “Your treachery is surpassed only by your foolishness.” He flung the sheets to the floor and stamped upon them.

 

Lisette laughed, thoroughly enjoying the dramatic charade, playing out for every magnate in Yorkshire to witness. “Ask the chambermaid how she found your wife when she came into the room?” Magnus turned to the cowering maid. “Speak!”

Miriam looked from Lisette to Arian, then to Magnus. “I—I came into the room just after the Norman left. When I stripped the linens the next morn I found the lady’s clothes were ripped from her body.”

“You lie!” Arian shouted.

Before anyone could move, Magnus drew his sword and turned on Stefan. “Draw your sword, you lying cur, I will kill you here and now. You will never come between my wife and me again!”

“Nay, Stefan, do not!” Arian cried, knowing though Magnus was big and strong, he was no match for the seasoned Norman.

 

To her great shock and relief, Stefan did not draw his sword. Nay, he did not need to: his men had tightened in a half-circle around him, their own weapons drawn.

“If you were any other man, under any other circumstances, Magnus, your guts would be on the floor.” Stefan made a short bow and withdrew a step. “But, as a man who has watched his promised run to another and the pain that such entails, I will not take up a sword against you.”

Magnus laughed, the sound low and menacing. He pressed closer to Stefan, the point of his sword only a hand’s-breadth from Stefan’s heart. Rorick growled a warning, his sword aimed high at Magnus’s heart.

Stefan reached out, and with the flat of his hand, he pushed Magnus’s sword away. “Should you slay me, you will lose what little chance of happiness you have with your wife.”

“My wife?” Magnus roared. He turned his pale eyes upon Arian. “Choose between us now, Arianrhod of Dinefwr, and settle the matter. I will not live with you when your heart cries out for another!”

“We are wed in the eyes of God. The choice has already been made,” she firmly said.

 

“If you will not make the choice, I will make it for you.” Magnus leveled his sword. “Raise your sword, Norman.”

 

“Do not do it!” Arian screamed.

 

Slowly Stefan drew his weapon.

She leapt toward Magnus and grasped his arm. “Nay! Do not do this!” she cried. “Annul the marriage, Magnus. I will give you my entire dowry, but do not do this! He will kill you.”

He shoved her from him, the force of his push sending her tumbling backward into the rushes. Rhodri grabbed her up from the floor and pulled her from the fray.

For Arian, Stefan had exacted supreme self-control when the Viking first challenged him, but now, for his own reasons, he would kill him. The Viking was tall and he was strong, but Stefan was battle-seasoned. But more than that, this was not about justice or honor, or anything but that with the death of this man, Stefan would finally have the only woman who would ever matter to him.

Magnus’s captain tossed him a deadly ax. Rorick growled and tossed Stefan his own sword. Both men, double-weaponed, faced each other. Stefan was a student of close handto-hand combat. Though it ran the risk of much damage, it also afforded him a greater chance of a fatal strike.

Magnus struck first, his long arms far-reaching. He jabbed with his sword, and with his right hand brought the ax up and around in a great slicing swath, then bringing it down in a vicious blow. Stefan crossed swords just above his shoulders, taking the brunt of the blows. He pushed upward, his arms swinging wide, forcing the steel edges away from him and sending Magnus backward. Keeping low, Stefan jabbed his swords, catching the Viking’s thigh. Magnus roared in fury, and as Stefan anticipated, Magnus’s rage propelled him forward in a wild reckless attack.

Stefan dropped to one knee and thrust up with one sword, crossing the other over his head, warding off the ax blow. Stefan continued his irregular attack and retreat, slowly wearing his opponent down. At one point, Stefan caught Arian’s horrified gaze. He caught himself, and that momentary hesitation cost him. Magnus thrust, catching Stefan off guard, slicing open his forearm, then fell back, preparing for another blow. A hush fell upon the hall.

Stefan looked up from the wound, and smiled, “Touché, Magnus.” He made a short bow and lifted his swords. “Now that I have played with you, before I kill you, confess who else amongst you plots with Sven of Denmark.”

“I know not of what you speak.” Magnus was suddenly not nearly as zealous in his attempt to defend himself.

 

“Sven’s ships sail for the shores of Scotland. ’Twas it not in Scotland that you spent this last month, not in Norway as you told your wife?”

 

“You lie!”

“Do I?” Stefan rotated the tips of his swords in the air, then lunged, slicing Magnus’s forearm as he had Stefan’s. Blood dripped to the floor. “Was not your visit to Murchad in Dublin this spring past a guise to meet with Sven’s captains and plan your invasion of England?”

Magnus slowly circled Stefan, who only turned and followed his movements. “Nay, ’twas a peace accord, nothing else.”

 

“Why did you bring one hundred men with you here?”

 

“To rid my land of Normans!”

 

“Tell me all, now, and save lives. Mayhap then God will not judge you so harshly.”

 

“William has no blood right to the throne of England! He will fall!” Magnus roared and thrust.

Stefan smiled grimly, parrying the strike. “Mayhap not blood right, but he has a dead king’s promise.” He circled the Viking. “Does the young Olaf plot with his kin to the north?”

“He is weak! That boy will not survive the winter!”

 

“Ah, so he has refused aid. ’Tis well for him. William will be most appreciative.”

While Magnus would not give up his conspirators, Stefan had a good idea who amongst them plotted against his liege. And he was most certain now the Viking was sleeping with the Danish king. It would make what he was about to do easier.

’Twas time to end this charade. In a practiced, complex set of steps, thrusts and half-turns, Stefan moved into the tight space of Magnus’s reach, so close the Viking could not effectively defend himself. Stefan dropped one sword and grabbed the hilt of the Viking’s dagger, pulled it from the belt, then plunged it into his throat, just as he had done to his traitorous nephew.

Arian screamed behind him, as did every other woman in the hall. Magnus dropped his sword then ax, grasping his throat. Blood oozed from between his fingers. He dropped to his knees, his pale-blue eyes staring up in shock. He turned to Arian. He reached out to her. When he removed his hand, blood spewed out in a high arc.

Arian came to him, kneeling beside him, pressing her fingers to the wound. He opened his mouth to speak but only a gurgling sound came forth. He fell forward across her lap, his blood soaking her blue and yellow kirtle.

Stefan stood staring down at the grisly sight, and marveled that Arian did not scream or cry out in hysterics with the dying Viking in her lap. When she turned cold eyes up at him, he felt as if ’twere he who had been sliced in the heart. He dropped to a knee beside her. “Do not condemn me for his death, Arian.”

“Who else is to blame?” she demanded, her voice as cold as her eyes. “He would have annulled the marriage, he did not have to die.”

Stefan stood, and motioned to Robert. “The charter.” With the document in his hand, Stefan stood atop the nearest trestle top and held it high over his head. “This royal charter gives me lordship of Scarborough to the north and to Moorwood in the south. As lord here I claim the lady of the manor as my own. Any man or woman who interferes will be hanged for treason!”

Father John scurried up to where he stood, wringing his hands. “ ’Tis not good, Sir Stefan. Nay, ’tis bad, very bad.”

 

“Go the chapel and prepare for a wedding,” Stefan commanded.

 

“ ’Tis immoral!” Rhodri challenged.

 

“Nay! ’Tis not decent! I will not do it,” Father John protested.

 

“ ’Twill be done!” Stefan roared.

He looked down at Arian, who still sat with Magnus in her lap. Stefan scowled. “The widow will be no more. I will take her to wife this day.” Stefan grabbed the good father’s robe and pulled him close. “You will do it, or you will find yourself lying beside Magnus!”

“Sir, surely your king—”

 

“My king gives me title here. I am lord and I will have her as my lady.”

 

“But—but you will set the shire aflame with outrage.” “So be it.”
TWENTY-TWO

When Stefan returned to Arian, she stared up at him, her eyes showing no emotion. He extended his hand to her, as several of Magnus’s men, oddly quiet, carried his body from the hall. Where to, Stefan did not care.