Master Of Surrender (30 page)

“It had the opposite effect. For Rohan pulled them together and protected them.” She spat at her former betrothed. “You are no man in my eyes. You are a coward and a traitor to your own people, your country, and me, your former betrothed. Did you think to gain my lands by doing away with my sire and my brother?”

His silence once again confirmed her allegations. As she spoke, she did not notice how the branded churls closed in around Henri and Arlys’s men. The man who had grabbed her from Arlys pushed her aside. “Milady, move far from here. We have unfinished business to conduct with several of these men.”

Isabel turned and ran to where Rohan stood with the help of Thorin and Manhku and in silent horror watched as the branded people of Dunsworth hacked down Henri’s men and Arlys.

No Norman made a move to save them, and while Isabel would not have wished the feeding frenzy on any person, she understood the value of not interfering. The mob had turned ugly, and as soon as she and the good people were gone from it, the sooner it would subside. She waved to Russell and several of the village elders, signaling them to do just that, and with the help of his men, Rohan was taken back to the manor. Isabel hurried to clear the lord’s table near the hearth.

“Lay him down here. Enid, stoke the fires and boil water. Wulfson, go to my chamber and fetch my basket. Manhku, help me remove his clothing.”

Rohan had passed out from blood loss by the time he was stripped. But clutched in his hand were the colored ribbons. Tears rose in Isabel’s eyes, but she fought them back.
He will not die!

Once the wound was cleaned and she had a better look, Isabel’s concern rose. While it did not seem to go directly into his gut, as it was off more to the left side, it went clean through. As she pondered her approach, the doors opened, and a sudden hush fell over the hall. Isabel turned to see Wilma scurry into the great hall. Her hair rose on her neck, but she welcomed the woman. Isabel hurried to her and dragged her back to Rohan. “Milady, the wound is thorough. I know not if it pierces any vital organs. My skill in sewing is only for superficial cuts. I fear for his life.”

Wilma cackled and patted Isabel’s hand. “He will survive, lass. I will see to it.”

And so Isabel stood back and watched as Wilma expertly sewed what she assumed was more than just skin and muscle. Isabel did not question the seer’s methods. But when she was done, blood no longer seeped from the wound. Indeed, Rohan’s death pallor had pinkened up. She pressed her hand to his brow. It was cool.

“The healing has begun.” Wilma smiled her snaggletoothed smile and took Isabel’s hand into hers and patted it. “The prophecy has only just taken root. It is too soon for any of you to perish.”

Wilma looked past Isabel’s shoulder to the assembled Blood Swords. She threw her head back and cackled. “’Tis to Mercia one of you will go, and ’tis there you will meet a warrior to match you in skill and spirit!”

She skittered off, leaving them all looking at one another in question.

February 15, 1067
Rossmoor

R
iders approach!” the lookout called from the tower. Isabel hastened from her chair by the hearth and motioned to Manhku, who rarely walked with the aid of his stick now. She hurried to the door, flung it open, and squealed in happiness. Ignoring the bite of the February wind, she ran across the courtyard to the knight who dismounted from his great warhorse and ran equally swiftly toward her. He grabbed her up in his arms, twirling her around, hugging her close, showering her with kisses.

Breathless, Isabel pulled slightly back from him, her eyes scanning his body. She threw her arms around him. “You came back!”

Rohan laughed and carried her toward the hall. “Did you doubt it?”

“It has been two months, Rohan.”

He nodded but smiled down at her. “Aye, two of the longest months of my life. But the king required much of me.”

“We heard the news last month. I am glad for you. Mayhap now this isle can return to order.”

Rohan scowled and shook his head. “’Tis not likely. Many plot to take what is William’s. There is much treachery afoot.”

Isabel’s heart sank. “Will you be joining William?”

“Nay, he returns to Normandy with Edgar and other prisoners of war. I have been given the title here as well as overlordship of Dunsworth and Worster. You will tire of seeing this scarred face of mine.”

Isabel happily circled him, making doubly sure no wound afflicted him. She looked past him and did not see the rest of his men.

“Where are your Blood Swords?”

“They see to the king’s business.”

A sudden jolt of sadness hit Isabel. Their absence would be felt by many.

Manhku clasped Rohan’s arm in friendship.

“Manhku, you will be my right arm now that Thorin is off scouring the north lands for subterfuge. Are you up to it?” Rohan asked.

The giant nodded and smiled. “Aye, ’tis my honor.”

Rohan pulled Isabel into the warmth of the hall. Those now familiar to him raised a cup in welcome, and Rohan felt for the first time in his life as if he truly belonged. He looked down at the woman by his side. He still could not believe his good fortune.

She moved the lord’s chair from the hearth and held it for him to sit upon. His eyes caught her soft gaze. She nodded. “You are more than worthy to sit upon it, Rohan.” She took his hand and pressed it to her belly. “As one day your son will as well.”

Joy erupted in his chest, filling it. Taking Isabel into his arms, he hugged her close, and for the first time in his life, the hot sting of moisture in his eyes made him blink. “’Tis glad I am I made an honest woman of you before my departure. There are too many bastards in this world as it is. Our son will be born with no blight on his good name.”

Isabel looked up into his eyes, her own moist with tears, and smiled.

As two hearts, two souls, two bodies became one, the prophecy was realized at that moment. And with it a legacy that would live for more than a thousand years.