Mathis, Jolie (17 page)

Upon passing through the perimeter Isabel sensed an excitement in the settlement. Smiles lit upon the faces of Kol's men. Warriors dragged large planks piled with trunks and bundles from the harbor, toward the burh.

A Danish officer called to Kol. "My lord! The rear boats arrived this morn."

Kol nodded. '"Tis good. All are safe?"

"Aye, my lord."

Rear boats?
Isabel turned to scan the distant harbor. Indeed, a small cluster of Norse vessels dotted the coastline.

"What of the others for whom we await?"

"We have neither seen nor heard word of their approach."

Isabel followed close behind Kol, through the throng of men, until the keep's shadow darkened the ground.

A small multitude clustered upon the stairs. There were so many, their faces unfamiliar to her. Norse women, children, and booming-voiced, ecstatic men. She needed no scholar to advise she witnessed a reunion of warriors with their families. If she understood Kol's mention of "others," there would be more to come.

Many turned to smile and greet their lord as she and Kol drew near. Without a word, Kol handed Morke's reins away, and walked toward the keep. Isabel hovered at the side of the large beast, ankle deep in the mud of the churned-up road. A soldier led Morke away in the direction of the stables.

Truly, she knew not where to go. She felt even more like a stranger to Calldarington than before. What did the appearance of the Norse families mean? Would they depart once their leader's quest for vengeance had been satisfied? Or did they seek to settle here?

She felt betrayed. First, by Kol's attack of words on the hillside, and now this. An influx of foreigners would affect her Saxon people in many ways, great and small.

A male voice spoke from behind. "My lady."

Recognizing the voice of a friend, Isabel turned. Father Janus stood beside the road, on a high, flat piece of earth.

He smiled with relief. "I had hoped to find you well. When you did not return last eventide with the others—" He smiled again, but tightly, and lines etched his forehead,

Isabel walked toward him, arms extended. "I am well, Father. Despite everything. And you?" He grasped her hands.

"As well as the situation allows." He nodded. "The Danes have left our church intact. Fortunately their leader is a believer of our faith."

"Aye. That alone is a blessing." Just the thought of Kol made her chest grow heavy. She glanced toward the hall.

"Last eventide, the Danes summoned me to the pit to minister to Aiken of Leswick."

Isabel clasped her eyes shut and prayed Father Janus would not inform her of the Saxon warrior's death. With unsteady emotions, she asked, "And how doth he fare?"

"When I arrived, the Danish physician had already cleansed and dressed his wounds. God willing, he will live."

" 'Tis good," Isabel sighed with relief.

Father Janus tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "I heard dear Godric hath been taken to the abbey?"

"I do not wish to think of it. I believe him to be safe and well tended by the sisters, but what of his future? He is still but a babe, and if Ranulf does not return, who will be his protector?"

"We cannot purge the uncertainty from our lives." Father Janus shook his head. "Perhaps a return to your everyday habit would bring peace to your days. I will say Mass for you now, if only you will come with me to the church?"

Though in the past, Isabel had taken her Mass in the keep's private chapel, she could not bring herself to go there now. Not when she might cross paths with Kol.

"Aye, I will go with you."

Together, she and Father Janus walked the short distance to the church. She nodded at each passerby, thankful for Father Janus's escort, for she still remembered—too vividly—the attack upon her in the streets of Calldarington. Even so, she savored the scents of normalcy about her, for they represented the survival and good health of her people. Roasting meat and baking bread. Evidence that despite the violence and unrest of their times, life continued on.

Father Janus led her up the stairs and pushed open the door. Once inside, he carefully closed and secured the portal behind them.

Isabel looked toward the altar. The last time she had come here, Kol had knelt there. Now the nave was deserted. A sense of peace settled over her, as if the turmoil of the previous days had not touched the protected space between these walls.

Father Janus led her down the center aisle. Though she expected him to don his chasuble, to drape his stole around his shoulders so they could begin, he did not. Instead he drew her to the side of the altar.

At once, Isabel detected a change in the air, as if an unseen force possessed the room about her. One glance at the priest's face told her he felt the presence too. Fear deepened the lines of his brow.

"Wait here," he whispered, as if the words stole his breath.

"What is it?"

"Silence, child. Forgive my impertinence, but please simply wait as I have instructed."

He disappeared into the shadows, but returned almost immediately. But no, Isabel realized. The figure emerging from the darkness was not Father Janus at all.

Chapter 16

"Ranulf," she whispered.

For a moment he simply stood, appearing just as astounded by her appearance as she was by his. He wore the same garments he'd worn when she last saw him, on the field of battle. From beneath his shirt of mail, his linen cuff hung, torn and soiled. His cheekbones protruded, and his hair and beard had grown unkempt.

'Twas almost as if a stranger stood before her. But the man who hastened toward her wore the eyes of her brother—aye,
her brother,
for Ranulf was nothing less, even though they shared no blood. His broad-palmed hands touched her cheeks.

Tears glazed his eyes. "I feared you slain. Do they not know you are my sister?"

She took his hand. "Yea. They guard me closely, but I have not been harmed."

"But dishonored?" Emotion roughened his voice. "Isabel, I could not bear knowing I had again failed to protect you."

"I have not been dishonored." Her face flushed hot, remembering, in a flash, the passion she had shared with Kol.

"You lie to spare me a brother's anguish." He searched her face, attempting to deduce that which she would not confess. "I vow it, Isabel, I shall avenge thine honor with my sword."

"Nay, Ranulf." She shook her head. "'Tis the truth I speak."

"Then why do you weep so bitterly?"

Only then did Isabel become aware of the dampness of her cheeks. "Because I am so gladdened to see you alive."
But in my heart I betrayed you, at least in part, for the Dane.

Relief softened his features. When he pulled her to him, she rested her forehead against his chest. She
was
glad to see him alive. But if she truly honored her brother and king, how could she have forsaken him? She had revealed Ranulf's darkest secret to his most dangerous enemy.

She had loved Kol in the cavern, and along with love there had been trust. Had her trust been wrongfully bestowed? Elsewhere in the church, incense burned. Heavy and florid, the scent sickened Isabel. Only a full confession would relieve her afflicted conscience. "Ranulf, I must—"

"And what of Rowena? Is she also well?" He held her by the shoulders and peered into her eyes. "I would have the truth from you, sister, in all things."

Isabel clasped his hands. "All too quickly the Dane tired of her tears and banished her to the abbey to pass her days with the sisters."

Despite the tension of the moment, Ranulf barked out a short laugh. Since childhood, their sister's rampant emotions had made her a trying sibling.

The smile fell from Ranulf's lips. "I had thought never to see you again. No matter what happens in the days to come, knowing you are well is my life's greatest reward. I hope you would not keep the truth from me. Once before, not so long ago, I reacted badly, and without understanding. Now I strive to be a better man."

His earnestness pained her.
Confess to him.

"Ranulf." She held his forearm. "You must hear what I have to say."

"There will be time to talk later. Now we must go."

Another voice joined their whispered exchange. "Aye, for we are in danger each moment we remain." A man stepped forth from the shadows, his face partly shielded by a cowl.

Isabel's pulse bounded. "Stancliff. Hermione said you fell during the battle. That you were dead."

Stancliff reached to take her hand. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He kissed her palm. "Do not tell Rowena. Not yet. I prefer to reveal myself when the time is right and our future is secured."

"But you
must
allow me to tell her." Isabel had known no greater joy in the previous days. Rowena's betrothed had survived! Perhaps in some way, her half sister could now forgive her.

Ranulf warned softly, "Nay, sister. Our incursion must remain secret, and as you well know, our sister suffers from the most careless of tongues."

He was right. Rowena held secrets like a sieve held water. Ranulf's gaze shifted to his man-at-arms, as if he dared him to dissent.

Stancliff merely shrugged. A sly smile spread across his lips. " 'Tis a sad pity, but a weakness I shall readily forgive when all this is past and I can hold her in my arms once more."

"When all this is past?" For the first time, Isabel realized several more Saxon warriors hovered in dark crevices of the chancel. Doubtless, more waited outside to escort their king to safety. No matter how great their collective strength and cunning, her brother and his men must have had help from the citizens of the burh, to secure this meeting with her. "Have you some strategy to bring our oppression to an end?"

Ranulf nodded, his eyes sharp. "Aye, Isabel, we mount an offensive." At Stancliff's signal, he led her toward the rear of the church. " 'Tis only a matter of time before Norsex is regained from the barbarian."

A sphere of fire formed in her belly.
The barbarian.
The barbarian with whom she had lain the night before. Ach! No matter how badly he had hurt her this morning, she knew Kol was no barbarian, but a man noble and proud, who had suffered a horrible injustice. But while Kol had been wronged, when she looked into Ranulf's eyes she could perceive none of the depravity which Kol accused. She felt such confusion. While she supported her brother's claim to the throne, she would feel no satisfaction if Kol were defeated.

The warriors emerged, weapons held at the ready, to disappear, one by one, through the rear doorway. Stancliff followed them, but paused to hover beneath the bent timber archway.

Though she knew this was not the time nor the place to question her king, she could not remain silent. "Will the Northumbrians lend their forces? I witnessed with my own eyes how they offered Thorleksson payment in exchange for peace. Would they dare break their agreement with him?"

Ranulf's nostrils flared. "I have no need of the Northumbrians, nor their treacherous king. For an age they have coveted Norsex. They hover at the border to watch our destruction, like vultures, ready to tear apart our carcass once the Northmen have had their fill."

She clenched the cuff of his tunic. "Then how do you foresee victory? Our surviving forces are few."

"Such details have not escaped my notice." His voice sharpened. "But as I have said, we will discuss all of this further, once we have returned to a safer place."

Stancliff signaled to his king that it was time for them to depart. Isabel felt her skin go cold. They intended to take her with them.

"Where dost thou take me?" Isabel asked in a low voice, watching as Ranulf accepted a dark bundle from Stancliff. 'Twas a rough peasant's tunic. This he draped over her more finely woven cloak.

"You shall return with us to Caervon. 'Tis there we mount our defense."

Isabel stood like a child, allowing the hood to be fastened, but inside her a battle raged. "What of Rowena? And Godric? He too is held at the abbey."

Without offering any sort of answer, Ranulf led her beneath the archway. He no longer met her eyes.

Isabel pushed his hand from her arm. "Nay."

She retreated from him, pushing the cloak from her shoulders. "I cannot leave as long as my son remains imprisoned. I shall not risk his life by making my own escape."

"Isabel." His tone reprimanded her. "You prick my patience. Come with me. I command you to do so. When the attack is made, I cannot guarantee your safety."

" 'Tis not my safety for which I am concerned, but that of my son. Any escape I would make would endanger not only Godric, but Rowena as well." Her gaze veered pleadingly to Stancliff. "Dost thou not see?"

Stancliff spoke softly. "Trust your king, Isabel."

Isabel's heart grew hard. Too many men demanded her trust, when she had so little left to give. Oh, she
trusted
that their intentions were good. But someone was wrong in this entangled conflict. Was it Kol or Ranulf?

In her desire to know, she blurted, "He claims our father summoned him to Norsex."

Ranulf's face grew stark. "Summoned him? Obvious lies. Why would our father invite a mercenary force into our midst when none was necessary? Our
fyrd
performed sufficiently, and well, in our border disputes."

"Thorleksson says the threat came from within."

He snapped, "And I see you have chosen to believe him." Amidst the anger, she also saw hurt, as if he sensed some part of her had already betrayed him.

"My liege, we must go," Stancliff urged.

'Twas as if Ranulf did not hear Stancliff. His eyes continued to hold Isabel's. "We both know what he did to you."

No.
The denial flew to Isabel's lips, but from behind them came a hard rattle of the doors at the entrance to the church.

Ranulf snared her arm in a painful grip. "If I am defeated and slain, your son will not live to become a man. Our enemies will come from all sides, to purge our blood from the earth. Do you truly believe you alone can protect him from that fate? Come with me now, and we will see to Godric's deliverance in the days to come."

Male voices sounded from the nave.

"Go now, brother," Isabel implored. She twisted her arm free. "Before you are taken."

"Damn you, Isabel." Ranulf's hand flexed upon the hilt of his sword, and for a moment she feared he would remain to engage the Dane in battle, here upon the tiled floor of the altar. He retreated into the darkness. "We will encamp in the northern forest until morning. Remember your noble line. Your duty to your kinsman."

Kol stood in the alley beside the church, waiting for Isabel. He did not intend to interrupt her private Mass with Father Janus. Yet she had spent the past two days in the wilds. She required fresh, warm garments and food. Despite the emotional distance he had cleaved between them, he would see her well tended. 'Twas essential for the princess to remain strong and healthy for herself, and for her child, in the coming days.

A short distance away, Vekell and Ragi bartered over some bit of goods with a Saxon merchant. Vekell shook his head, and shifted stance, clearly on the losing end of the bargain. Kol smiled, dimly. Was he wrong to believe his people might eventually be accepted here?

This morning it had pained him to hurt Isabel. He sorely regretted his words and actions, for they had cut her deeply. But their inevitable parting would be easier if she harbored no gentle feelings for him. He would rather she feel the sting of betrayal now, than when Ranulf was slain.

Kol looked to the sky. The noonday was near past. At this moment, Svartkell and thirty Danish warriors waited in the forest near Leswick for the traitor to appear with Ranulf. Would that he were with them, but his unanticipated night with Isabel had precluded his involvement. Despite all that had passed this morning—he could not say he was sorry.

A peasant, draped in a colorless cloak, walked past the alleyway. The man glanced in Kol's direction, his face framed by a hood, before continuing on.
Familiar.
Kol straightened, and gripped his sword pommel. He'd seen the man before. Perhaps amidst the rage of battle.

Kol took the corner and searched the muddied road, yet Calldarington's winter shadows seemed to have swallowed the man.

The hairs along Kol's neck stood in awareness. Instinct compelled him up the steps of the church. Only to find the doors barred against entrance.

"Vekell," he called. "Ragi."

Within moments, Father Janus stumbled alongside him, his voice raised in clear warning to whomever might hide in the chancel.

"My lord. I am not prepared to offer the sacrament at present, as I am required posthaste at the bedside of an ailing citizen."

Vekell blocked the priest's path. Kol advanced toward the nave. His sword sang a whisper when he pulled it from its berth.

Father Janus pled, shrilly. "Would it please you if I came to the keep's chapel this eventide, before vespers?"

At the altar, Isabel whirled, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. Instantly,
Kol knew.

Fury lent calm to his voice and his thoughts. "My lady."

Ragi strode past. "There are footprints. A good many of them."

The old warrior pushed open the rear door, and searched the muddied lane behind the church.

Kol approached Isabel, circled her. "You have seen him."

Vekell cursed softly.

Isabel shook her head. "Nay, I came to the church to—"

In that moment, the flame he'd jealously guarded, hidden deep inside his heart, flickered and died.

"Do not
lie to me,"
he shouted. Isabel flinched, as if his words struck a physical blow.

His voice barely rose above a hiss. "Come."

He led her past the moist-eyed Father Janus, down the aisle and out of the church doors. To his consternation, countless Saxons hovered silent and watchful along the edges of the muddy road.

"To the keep, Isabel."

She took one step down.

A man's voice called from the crowd, "Thou art our lady, Princess Isabel!"

Isabel stopped her decent. Kol's gaze swept out to see what Saxon might have offered such an encouragement. Did they not all despise her for setting him free, and for allegedly bearing his son? He did not think it his imagination she now stood taller and prouder beneath her winter cloak.

"Continue," he growled.

Isabel's cloak fanned behind her as she finished the stairs, and took the road toward the keep. Vekell and Ragi provided escort, their swords still drawn.

"Free our lady, Danish scourge!"

"Norse poison!"

Kol felt a strike against his chest, and with it a chink of metal. Someone had cast a stone at him! At learning of Isabel's meeting with Ranulf, he had felt a numbing anger. At this act of Saxon defiance, his temper erupted.

He bellowed,
"Do not test my benevolence."

Before his eyes, the crowd disbursed, granting him some level of satisfaction. Nostrils flared, he drew to Isabel's side and chided, "It seems your fickle subjects seek to embrace you into their fold."

She kept her eyes on the keep, yet her lips formed a pleased—
nei,
smug—little smile. "They can be no more fickle than you, Dane."