Mathis, Jolie (24 page)

Father Janus traversed the far side of the clearing. He met Kol's eyes and nodded, before disappearing down a darkened trail.

Perched on a branch of an oak, a single raven cawed and lifted its wings. Kol narrowed his gaze. "Cursed bird."

The animal tilted its head and regarded Kol with dispassionate black eyes. The same raven had flitted alongside the trail, alighting upon trees, and swooping overhead, as Kol and his assembled forces had traveled to Caervon. He had heard the whispers of his warriors.

He would die on the morrow.

Kol lowered into a crouch before Isabel. She looked up. Tears glazed her eyes, as if she knew their time together grew short.

"Come with me."

In silence, Isabel folded his tunic, and accepted his hand. He led her from the clearing, down a narrow trail which ended against a cluster of oaks.

Father Janus awaited them there, cloaked in his vestments. "Your husband hath reminded me of the untimely interruption of your wedding."

Emotion tightened his chest. "Father Janus assures me we are married, but still, I wanted—"

"Yes," Isabel whispered. "I want the same."

Father Janus lifted his hands. "Then please, cross the threshold into God's church." He indicated the bowed arches overhead. Kol and Isabel followed the priest to where he had spread a cloth on the grass. Together they knelt upon it. The warmth in Isabel's eyes almost made Kol forget the blood and soot on her wedding garments, and the raven, which even now, perched in the tree above.

Father Janus led them in Mass and Communion. When they finished, the first stars glimmered in the heavens.

"Now you may bestow upon your bride the Kiss of Peace."

Kol bent and pressed his lips to Isabel's. Against his mouth, he felt her smile. "Husband."

"Wife."

To Father Janus, Kol said, "You will forgive us for not lingering?"

Father Janus appeared only mildly shocked. "Of course."

Kol rested her hand on the crook of his arm, and led her toward the encampment, to a tent which stood larger, and apart from the rest. Dragon heads perched at the crossed timbers, their lips drawn to reveal their fangs.

His men kept their distance. Some smiled. Others shouted encouragements. Kol pushed open the flap, and Isabel went inside. Warmth curled around him in teasing, seductive coils. A light haze filled the room, a product of the small fire in the center of the earthen floor.

A bed stood partially hidden behind a heavy curtain, its beams carved into flourishes and ravens. His armor hung nearby. His weaponry glinted in the firelight, polished and laid out in an orderly row.

Bliss and despair washed over him, all at once. He had but one night to impart to Isabel a love which would last beyond death.

She drew him to the chair beside the fire, and lowered to her knees. Upward, over the leather of his boots, she ran her palms. With a gentle tug, she loosened the laces, and the boots, and slid them off.

"What a fine wife you are," he whispered. When she looked up, he saw her anguish.

'Twas clear she, too, believed tonight would be their last together.

"Only for you, my lord."

He reached for, and touched her hair. Her eyes glowed. "Do you see the small case, there beside the bed? Bring it to me."

Isabel stood, and retrieved the narrow box. When she returned to him, he pulled her into his lap. He pulled her close against his shoulder, never wanting to forget her softness, the smell of her skin. He would take those memories with him to Caervon at daybreak, and they would be his strength. Even in death.

From the case he produced an ivory comb. "Your hair hath always intrigued me."

"Truly?"

"Aye." He lifted a silken lock and drew the comb through. "Your hair, and your scarlet slippers."

Isabel rested her head against him, and lifted her feet. She still wore his wedding gift. "Do you know what intrigued me about you?"

"I am afraid to know."

"Everything." She laughed, not without sadness.

He pressed a finger alongside her chin, and brought her around for a kiss. A brief, chaste sort of kiss, yet inside he smoldered.

"Let us go to bed. I will hold you."

She sat up straight. "You wish to
sleep?"

He let out a low breath. "No, I do not wish to sleep." He set the comb aside. "But I know your heart is with your son, as it should be. I would not wish to—"

She pressed her fingertips to his mouth.

From his lap she stood, and turned, her back to the fire.

"My heart is also here, with you." Her voice wavered on the last word. "I became a bride yesterday, and I choose to make love to my husband this night, so that he will face tomorrow with my love as his shield and strength." Slowly she unfastened the closure of her gunna, and allowed it to fall to the floor.

He stood, but did not move toward her.

Isabel dropped her kirtle and tunic, and stood naked before him. Her eyes gleamed so darkly he no longer saw the color in them.

She reached. "Come, husband."

"Isabel—" His voice caught.

She whispered, "You asked that I trust you. Now I ask you do the same."

Chapter 23

Isabel awoke to darkness, and a frantic realization. Blessed Lord, she had fallen asleep. Had she missed her chance to slip away?

Nearby, the fire turned to ash. She turned toward Kol, but found only an empty pillow. Voices came from outside the tent. Naked, she crept from the bed to listen.

A voice, Vekell's, said, "You will best him. I have no doubt
you will prevail."

For a long time, there was only silence. Kol finally said, "If I die—"

Vekell laughed, an uneasy sound. "The Norse have abandoned Ranulf. His forces dwindle to nothing."

"My destiny awaits me, there on that field. You sense that truth as well as I. We must discuss settlements for the men and their families."

Vekell laughed no more. In a quiet voice, he answered, "What would you have me do?"

Isabel backed away. She would hear no more talk of what would occur when Kol was dead. The time for her departure had come.

In haste, she donned Kol's woolen tunic. After pulling on his too large boots, Isabel shuffled to where Kol's mail shirt and helm perched on their stand.

Neither Kol nor his men would allow her to leave the camp, yet no one would question the movements of their lord. Even if her ploy gave her only a moment's lead, she could outrun them and surrender herself to Ranulf, and by doing so, spare the lives of everyone she loved.

She paused only long enough to kiss her scarlet slippers and place them side by side upon Kol's pillow.

Though she struggled beneath the weight, she donned his armor. From his weaponry, she selected a sharp, long-bladed knife. Into the rear panel of the tent, she thrust its tip, and dragged it down through the sturdy fabric. Heart pounding, she entered the shelter where Morke stood awaiting his master's command.

Kol strode through the camp with Vekell at his side. "—and you will return her safely to Calldarington. From this day on, your duty is to Isabel, and to her child."

Vekell grimly agreed. "Aye, my liege."

Kol gauged the time by the paling hue of the morning sky. "I suppose I should prepare."

"I will wait for you here, my lord."

Kol walked toward the tent. The fragrance of spring scented the air and the earth about him felt new. How he yearned to remain in this life with Isabel.

He stared at the tent. How would he say goodbye to her?

He had no time to ponder the question, for, from behind the tent appeared a rider in mail and helm. A warrior? The rider grew close.

He saw himself.

An unsteady, suspiciously smaller version of himself.
Atop his horse.
The rider snapped the reins and thrust Morke into a full-out run. Kol's hair whipped about his face as the rider sped past.

The air carried her scent.

"Isabel," he roared. Dirt thrown up from the horse's hooves showered all around him.

"Stop her," he shouted. But already she had flown past his men, who stood looking perplexed at the rider. They turned confused looks upon him as he shouted again.

Isabel rode Morke at high speed down the narrow path. She knew the way to Caervon. She had been there before, years ago, with her father. 'Twas an ancient stronghold, abandoned long ago. Leaves whipped around her, branches snagged in Kol's mail shirt.

She grasped the pommel of Kol's saddle. It was a struggle to remain upright beneath the weight of his helm and mail.

They would follow her. She just had to make the clearing.

She could waste no time. She must allow Ranulf to see her immediately, to realize her willingness to be taken prisoner. She grasped the chin piece of the helm and lifted—

"Oh—" Pain speared her shoulder.

She plummeted, amidst the scrape and clash of mail, to the ground. Overhead the sky shone a radiant blue, through the narrow aisle of trees. Breath escaped her.

She twisted, rolled. The scent of earth covered her. She faded in and out of awareness.

"Don't touch her," a man's voice commanded. Isabel did not want to awaken to see who spoke. The darkness protected her from the pain. Someone lifted her. A sharp jolt shot through her left side.

Someone rolled a huge boulder onto Isabel's chest. Isabel's eyes flew open to find no boulder, only a balding, berobed man, who sat on the floor beside the pallet where she lay. He held a length of linen and leaned over her.

"Greetings, lady princess." Gently he lifted her into a near-sitting position, and deftly secured the linen beneath her arm and shoulder. "I am the medicus. You will survive the wound, but you must rest."

"Wh—who—" she croaked. Her mouth had no moisture.

The man lifted a crude wooden goblet to her lips.

"Drink."

As soon as the liquid soothed her parched tongue, she asked, "Who brought me here?"

The man seemed not to have heard. Calmly he turned from her, placed several small tools into a leather case. That done, he stood and left the room, closing the door.

The room around Isabel slowly became clear. She lay in a partially ruined tower. That she knew from the circular shape of the chamber, and its high, pointed rafters. Through great, sagging holes in the roof, she heard birds call to one another. Tree branches and leaves littered the floor, as well as the trestle at the center of the room.

Men's voices came from outside. 'Tis the only way to ensure your victory, my king."

Moist lips pressed against her cheek. "... my love... thought you were he..."

Isabel tried to open her eyes, but her lids were so very heavy.

"... should not have interfered..." So familiar. Even his scent called to mind hazy, vague recollections.

"Soon we shall be together."

The door burst open. She saw the back of Ranulf's head as he turned to argue with the other man.

"I do not like it. I will fight by my own skill, my own strength. If God deems me worthy, he will see that I prevail."

"God would not wish that Danish bastard to have your kingdom. 'Tis yours by right." Stancliff pursued Ranulf into the room. "Take it." In his hands he held a sword. The weapon glinted in the sunlight.

At that moment Ranulf realized she did not simply occupy the pallet on the far side of the room, but watched, fully aware.

He rushed forward and fell onto his knees beside her. "God, Isabel." He took up her hand. "At least God has seen fit to answer one of my prayers."

Isabel stared down at the crown of Ranulf's head.

When he looked up, she saw the tears that brightened his eyes. She saw his plea.
Forgive me.

Aloud, he said, "Can you believe that Danish pig had you shot in the back?" His hand shook as he extended it toward a trencher at the side of the pallet. From it he lifted a shattered arrow shaft. "Today I will kill him for it."

Dreamlike memories sprouted from within...
should not have interfered... my love.

Realization flowed over her like a wave of scalding water. She forced herself to take slow, even breaths. She knew full well no Danish arrow had pierced her shoulder.

Stancliff had led the ambush against her,
believing she was Kol.

But why would Stancliff seek Kol's death when he had sworn him fealty? By his interaction with Ranulf now, it became clear to Isabel he played each man against the other.

"Why did you escape the Dane?" Ranulf leaned to adjust the pillow beneath her head, giving her a direct view of Stancliff.

"Because I realized I wish for the same outcome as you," Isabel lied, staring hard into Stancliff s eyes. "I wished to prove my loyalties before the contest."

Stancliff stood rigid and silent. He still held the sword crosswise in his hands. After a moment, a smile crept to his lips.

She turned her cheek to the pillow, unable to look at either man. "I am so tired. May I see Godric now?"

"Godric?" There was a short pause, and somehow Isabel knew what Ranulf would say before he said it.

"He remains at the abbey. I shall send for him posthaste, once the contest has been won."

Isabel knew she could no longer avoid Stancliff. Lord, his eyes bored holes into her very skull. She knew he watched, waited for her reaction to Ranulf's ignorance of Godric's whereabouts. All along he had plotted against her brother, and desired her for himself.

Godric's life could depend upon her reaction.

As Ranulf stood, Isabel smiled at Stancliff, a small, secretive smile.
Let him believe they were co-conspirators.
'Twould buy her time to decide what she must do.

Relief broke across Stancliff's face. His skin, which had been pallid, flushed with warmth.

When Ranulf turned back to them, she purged the smile from her face.

"I must go now and prepare." He straightened proudly. "Isabel, if you should wish to watch, this window overlooks the field where I shall defeat the Dane."

"My lord," Stancliff interrupted with clear urgency. "The sword."

Ranulf glanced at Stancliff as if he were a bothersome, but necessary, fly.

"All right," he muttered tightly. "I shall carry the sword."

Stancliff held it out, his eyes aglow. "Careful. Touch only the hilt, and here, the midsection of the blade."

Isabel's stomach roiled with the understanding that the blade had been poisoned to give Ranulf an unfair advantage in the contest.

Ranulf did not take the sword. "Friend, if you would take the sword belowstairs and wait for me. I would like a moment with Isabel."

Isabel's skin crawled. Surrounded by murderers and liars, she wanted only to scream. But what if Stancliff held Godric elsewhere? That is, if the child were not already murdered by his hand.

Surely not, she calmed her fears. Certainly Stancliff knew if he hurt her child 'twould only engender her hatred. She prayed Godric remained safe at the abbey.

Stancliff's lips tightened. 'Twas clear he did not wish to leave the two of them alone. "Of course, my lord. As you wish." He glanced out the window. "But make haste. Already the Danes line the field."

"Let them wait," Ranulf snapped. "I will be there anon."

"Yes, my lord." Stancliff held the sword carefully, and pushed backward through the door, leaving them alone. Isabel sat up from the pallet. "Lie back, sister."

"Ranulf, you must listen to me. Stancliff has betrayed you."

Ranulf's brows creased downward and a half smile quirked his lips. "What is this you say?" Suspicion edged his tone.

"Stancliff told me you held Godric hostage and would kill the boy if I didst not surrender to you."

"No." Ranulf pulled away. "That is impossible. Stancliff has been my closest ally since boyhood."

"I would not lie to you, Ranulf, I—"

"Yes, you would." Ranulf shoved his fingers through his hair. "You despise me for... for what I did to Father."

He peered at her with shadowed eyes. Suddenly he strode forward and pulled her from the pallet. She cried out as pain scored her shoulder in jagged rows.

He forced her to look out the window. Instantly she saw Kol emerge from beneath a large tree on the south side of the field. He wore no mail, or jerkin. Only a linen shirt. A leather strap held his hair back, and his face appeared angular and fierce.

His eyes fixed upon the window, where Ranulf held her. To her surprise, Aiken stood amidst Kol's gathered legion. Was the Saxon prisoner or friend?

Beside Isabel, Ranulf hissed, "Watch me kill your lover. When he is gone, you will have no choice but to turn to me." He thrust her onto a stool beside the window.

"Ranulf!" Stancliff's voice, sharp and disapproving, called from the door. He strode forward and looked at Isabel.

"Isabel, you should not be out of your bed."

Ranulf's eyes flashed. "She will remain at the window, and she will watch me kill the Dane. Only then will she begin to forget." He backed away from them both. "I won't be back until he is dead."

He whirled and departed. The sound of his boots faded down the narrow stair.

Stancliff drew closer to her side. '"Twill all be over soon, Isabel."

"Aye, it will." Isabel cautioned herself against hysterics, but she had to ask, "Stancliff, my son—"

"He is safe. Well guarded and well fed. You will see him before nightfall." He smiled with utter arrogance.

She had need to
see
Godric, to know Stancliff spoke the truth. "At the abbey or—"

"I must go." He smiled hopefully. "Ranulf will want me there when the contest begins."

"Of course." She forced her own smile, one that could have been nothing more than wan. "I will wait here. For you."

Isabel turned toward the window, her heart racing. Kol still stood at the edge of the field, staring at her window. She must warn him of the poisoned blade. Could he see her? The sun moved high overhead, and surely she was lost in shadows.

Ranulf rode out from beneath the wall. He glanced up at the window, his lips turned down in a grimace. If only he would believe her, that he had been manipulated by Stancliff.

How long had Stancliff played his wicked game? At the north edge of the field Ranulf dismounted. He stopped and rested his face against the side of his saddle, as if praying for strength.

He turned to a Saxon beside him and extended his hand for the sword. With a swish of chain mail, Ranulf lifted the blade, examined it. The metal glinted in the sun.

Isabel remembered Ranulf's strength, his prowess. Even if Kol managed to inflict a fatal wound, in all likelihood, Ranulf would achieve his goal.

Just a scratch of the poisoned tip could kill Kol.

On the far side of the field, Kol took up his own sword, and turned to meet his challenger. She saw his eyes search for, and find, the window where she stood.

He thrust his sword into the air and shouted, "Remember me!"

Isabel opened her lips to scream a cry of warning.

A large hand clamped down on her mouth. "I knew it. I knew you would try to warn him." Stancliff's breath blew hot and fetid against her neck. "Faithless bitch."

She grew faint from pain as he applied pressure to her wounded shoulder.

"Watch. Watch as your Danish lover dies."