The Red Wolf's Prize (6 page)

“I am not an archer.”

“Yea, but neither is Sir Maurin, and the two of you could
best any of them.”

“I suppose I could use the practice. But I plan to watch,
too. I am interested to see how the shorter bows the Welshman fashioned for the
women fare against the longer ones. It will also allow us to judge how many of
the Englishmen can be considered candidates to join my archers.”

“’Tis a grand idea, Ren. It will be a welcome diversion and
may serve to provide some entertainment for the people.”

* * *

The next day, Serena stood with Cassie at the gate watching
as the Red Wolf’s men posted three targets outside the palisade and marked out
a line with flags, indicating the place from which the archers would shoot.
Normally such a sight would cause her to feel great excitement, but instead she
was wary. The Red Wolf had invited all at Talisand to participate, giving
notice there would be rewards for those scoring the highest points.
What was
his purpose?

“Will ye join in the contest?” Cassie asked, holding her
hand over her eyes to shelter her gaze from the midday sun. “Ye could best any
of the Red Wolf’s men. Ye know ye could. Ye are even better than Leppe and he
is the best.”

“Lady Serena may shoot well, but she is not here, Cassie.
Remember? I will encourage Leppe to compete, but I am thinking Sarah is only a
fair shot. After all, Sir Geoffroi thought I missed my target when I sent that
arrow into the mercenary’s arm. No, the servant Sarah will pose no threat to
the Red Wolf’s men or their display of skill. Yea, I will participate.”

A grin spread across Cassie’s face, a younger version of her
mother’s with the same green eyes save they were framed by her father’s red
hair. “Ye’re a devious one, Sarah.”

“Mayhap I am,” Serena said with a faint smile. “But in this
case I must act consistent with my disguise, else I be discovered.”

Cassie told Serena that a score and one had entered their
names in the archery tournament: fifteen of the Red Wolf’s men, including the
Norman lord himself, and six from Talisand: Leppe, Theodric, Alec and three
women. Rhodri had taught many more but, regrettably, only the six had the
skills necessary to compete.

As the match began, Serena felt a slight wind stirring wisps
of her hair, but it was naught a skilled archer would fail to consider.

The first round included Cassie, Theodric, and Sir Maurin,
who Cassie had bragged was a skilled archer.

Theodric went first, his shot hitting at the edge of the red
center. Serena smiled, pleased to see him do well. Cassie went next. Her arrow,
though close, fell short of the target’s center. Serena thought her
handmaiden’s anxious looks at Sir Maurin might have thrown off her aim.
Finally, Sir Maurin stepped to the line, his weathered face void of emotion as
he studied the wind moving in the trees. Then, with a confident look, he let
his arrow fly, the shot piercing the red center. Many “Ahs” were heard from the
crowd, but the people of Talisand who crowded around did not smile as they had
for Theodric.

The next round matched Alec and a woman from Talisand
against the Red Wolf. Serena’s eyes fixed on the proud Norman knight as he
sauntered to the line. Pulling back on the arrow as if ’twere nothing, he sent
the shaft soaring. It hit dead center with a loud thwack. The crowd let out a
sigh. Unfortunately, the Talisand archers, who followed the Red Wolf, were
unable to sink their arrows into the center of the target.

Other rounds followed. In his round, Leppe’s arrow found
dead center, and Serena silently cheered. He had always been the best of
Talisand’s archers taught by Rhodri, save possibly for herself, but she had
practiced much.

The Norman archers who followed did well, some consistently
hitting the target.

When it came time for her to shoot, Serena stepped to the
line. She nocked the arrow and focused her eyes on the target, her stance sure.
The crowd grew quiet as the villagers waited to see what their lady would do.
She worried over their reaction and what it might reveal. She had not taken into
account their anticipation.

Serena stood, legs apart, and pulled back the arrow,
changing her line of sight at the last minute to focus on the edge of the
target, not its center. When she let the arrow fly, a whooshing sound filled
the silence. The thwack of the arrow as it hit the wide edge of the target
echoed through the air. The stunned crowd looked on.

A clear miss.

She stepped back into the crowd, smiling to herself—until
she saw Maugris nearby, his blue eyes staring intently at her.

Wiping the smile from her face, she scurried away. The old
Norman’s gaze haunted her. It was as if he could see right through her.
Dismissing her worries, she hurried to find Cassie so they could watch the last
rounds together when the best archers of the day faced off.

Two more rounds eliminated all but four: Leppe, Sir Maurin,
the Red Wolf and another of the Norman archers. Each took a shot at the target.
Each hit the center.

“Move the target back twenty paces!” shouted Sir Geoffroi
from the sidelines.

The target was moved back and each man took up his stance.
The shots that followed were fired in rapid succession. The small wind picked
up to rustle the leaves of the trees nearby. Serena was disappointed to see
Leppe’s arrow hit off center this time, but was mollified when the Norman
archer’s shot also fell short of the center circle. Only the Red Wolf and Sir
Maurin remained. Their shots again hit the center of the target. This time,
even the faces of the villagers bore smiles.

Upon the order of the Red Wolf, the target was moved back
another twenty paces. The tension grew palpable as all eyes fixed on the two
men standing next to each other, their eyes focused on the distant target.

Cassie bit her lower lip and her hand gripped Serena’s
forearm. “’Tis exciting, no?” whispered her handmaiden.

“Yea, it is. I only wish Leppe was still in the competition.
I’d like to see him beat the Normans.”

Sir Maurin shot first. With a whoosh, his arrow flew to hit
the center. The crowd sighed in unison, “Ah….”

“See if you can split the shaft,” urged Sir Geoffroi from
behind the Red Wolf loud enough for Serena to hear.

The Norman lord took a deep breath. For a long moment he
watched the leaves of the trees, moved by the rising wind. Then, he narrowed
his eyes on the target like a beast focusing on its prey. “Aye, I shall.”

With a whoosh, his arrow flew and a cracking sound echoed
through the open meadow as the Red Wolf’s arrowhead split the shaft of Sir
Maurin’s arrow. The crowd gasped.

With a small smile, the Red Wolf turned to Sir Maurin.
“Would you try again?”

“Nay, my lord.” Sir Maurin bowed in grand gesture. “I
concede and congratulate you.”

* * *

Renaud walked toward the place where he was to give out the
prizes, his pace slower than usual as he pondered the servant girl Sarah. She
had been quick to hurry away from the shooting line when her arrow failed to
achieve the target’s center. But something about the whole scene bothered him.

As if reading his thoughts, Geoff leaned in to whisper.
“Ren, why do I have the feeling Sarah is better with the bow than her
performance today would suggest?”

Renaud remembered the faces of the crowd gathered to watch
the match. “Mayhap it is because the English held their breath as she stepped
to the line, as if they expected something unusual.”

Geoff’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What is your meaning?”

Renaud paused in his stride and looked at the blond knight.
“When she first began to shoot, they held their breath. I think they expected a
show. With her shot, their faces bore stunned disappointment. You had only to
look at them.”

Geoff turned toward the mingling crowd of villagers,
servants and children who had come to witness the competition. “Ah…I remember
now. They walked away with downcast eyes. But Ren, though I did not doubt her
intent to kill Sir Hugue, even rising to defend another woman’s honor, she
missed, hitting only his arm.”

“You may be right. Still, it is curious. Mayhap she refused
to do her best in front of her Norman conquerors.” Renaud rubbed his chin in
contemplation. He was certain the girl could do better than she had. And if
that were so, why had she held back?

They resumed their stride toward the place where the prizes
were to be given.

Geoff wondered aloud. “If the girl has a talent with the
bow, why would she hide it when there was a chance to make us Normans look the
fools? She has no fondness for us.”

“Why indeed? I know not, but I intend to find out. This will
not be the last shooting match at Talisand.”

Just then, a lad with golden hair streaked across Renaud’s
path. He called out to the boy. “Say there, lad, come here.”

The boy looked up at the two knights, his smile telling
Renaud he was eager to please. “Yea, sir?”

“What is your name, boy?”

“I am called Jamie.”

“Jamie, can you tell me, of those the Welshman trained to
the bow, who is the best?”

“Oh, that would be Lady Serena, sir. Rhodri said her arm is
so fast ’tis as if the bow is part of her, as if they are one. She is both fast
and sure. Serena never misses.” Pride gleamed in the young boy’s eyes as he
spoke of his lady.

Renaud frowned. The lad’s mention of Lady Serena only
reminded Renaud the woman who was to be his bride had defied William’s order, a
lady of many talents it seems, including escape. He remembered Maugris had also
said Lady Serena was good with a bow.

One of the mercenaries Renaud had dispatched was already
winding his way through Scotland in search of the lady, a man who spoke both
English and Gaelic. Yet it would be some time before he could expect a message.

He thanked the boy and watched him walk away, relieved there
were some among his new villeins who did not hate Normans. He and Geoff
approached the table set with the awards to be given, and Renaud shoved
thoughts of Lady Serena to the recesses of his mind. “How many of the
Englishmen could stand with our archers?” he asked Geoff.

“Based on today’s performance, I would venture at least two,
and possibly with more time and training, the other one who competed.”

“See that those you consider candidates are invited to train
with my archers. When William next calls upon us, we shall take the proficient
ones with us. Now I must see to the prizes. I will pass my own to Sir Maurin.”

The rider approached the gate as Serena watched from the roof
walk. She had gone to the roof that morning to think, as she often did when the
knights engaged in their swordplay outside the palisade, and had spotted the
familiar head of dark curls, the Welsh pony and the small harp and bow dangling
from the saddle. Her heart leapt in her chest.

Rhodri!

Lifting her tunic, she ran down the stairs leading from the
roof to a small landing on the outside of the manor and then down another set
of stairs to the ground. She raced across the yard and out the gate guarded by
the Red Wolf’s men.

When she reached the rider on the pony, she whispered,
“Rhodri, I will see you through the gate. Say nothing until you hear me out.”

“What are you up to, my lady? And why are you dressed in
such manner and your hair that awful color?”

“Shssh!” she hissed, as she led his horse forward. To the
Norman guard she smiled sweetly and said, “Sir, ‘tis an old friend of Talisand,
a bard to entertain us.”

The guard’s harsh eyes examined the Welshman, pausing on the
harp. He nodded and waved them on. By now the Red Wolf’s men knew her, unaware
her recent pleasantries were only an act.

Serena walked alongside Rhodri’s horse leading him to the
far side of the yard where they could talk without being overheard.

He reined in his pony, and she looked up at him. “I am in
disguise, Rhodri, as you can plainly see. The Normans have come to Talisand at
the Bastard’s command, and I am hiding among them. Do not give me away. I am
the servant Sarah.”

“Fine,” he said casting his gaze over the yard at the
Normans who had not been there before and then back to Serena. “But welcome me.
I have traveled far to come to Talisand and I have missed you sorely,
Ser…Sarah.” He dropped from the saddle to stand next to her, looking directly
into her eyes for they were the same height. She gave him a warm embrace. He
grinned and his dark curls tossed about his handsome face. A well-trimmed
mustache and clipped beard only made him more attractive. “I have heard your
father was slain at Hastings. I am sorry.”

Serena’s eyes filled with tears and her arms dropped to her
side. “Aye, Rhodri, the old thegn you loved was slain at Senlac Hill with King
Harold. Steinar has fled from yet another encounter with the Normans to find
refuge with some of his men in Scotland. I intended to join him but I left too
late. Alas, the Normans found us as we traveled north and brought us back. That
is why I am here now.”

“They do not know who you are?”

“Nay.”

“Steinar will be worried you are not safely in Scotland.”

“I had planned to follow after him,” she added hopefully.

“Then why do you remain?”

“I have stayed to be certain the people of Talisand are
being treated well.” Even as she said it, Serena wondered if there was not
another reason. She was curious about the Red Wolf.

“Have any of the Normans touched you?” he asked with a look
of concern.

“Nay, thank God. They leave the women alone by the command
of their lord, the one they call the Red Wolf.”

“Ah, I have heard of the knight who wears the wolf’s pelt.
He is a favorite of their king. So…the Red Wolf is
here
? That I must
see.”

“He has been given Talisand, Rhodri.”

The bard frowned. “Steinar will not be pleased to hear of
it.”

He spoke the truth but Serena could not linger on the loss
of their lands when what she wanted was to gain them back. Taking his arm, she
said, “Come, I will see your horse is tended and then I will see you fed.” A
sudden happiness rose within her at having Rhodri back at Talisand. For the
first time in a long while there was a smile on her face. “It is so good to
have you with us again!”

* * *

Renaud looked up as Sarah entered his room, a stack of fresh
linens in her arms and a smile on her face. He had not seen her smile before
and wondered at the source of her mirth. He had been going over the final
changes to the plans for the new stable and, though he would have denied it had
Geoff asked, he was waiting for her.

“Good day to you, Sarah.”

She started, clearly surprised to see him. Mayhap she had
thought to sneak into his chamber while he was gone. He often sparred with his
knights at this hour. “My lord, shall I return at a later time?” She turned
toward the door.

“No!” Then in a softer voice lest he betray his interest, he
added, “I would have you stay. Will you join me in some wine?” He poured the
red liquid into a goblet and extended it toward her.

The girl’s eyes immediately focused on the floor. “Nay, my
lord, but thank you. It would nay be proper.”

He considered making it an order but relented. She was
always polite, this one. Too polite for one who clearly disliked Normans. He
had allowed her to be distant for the last few days. Now it was time to court
the kitten, to see if she would keep her claws sheathed as the warrior
advanced.

She carried the linens to the bed and began to take off the
old bedding. Her movements were innocently seductive, her shape barely hidden
in the loose tunic that did not even cover her ankles. He rose and walked to
stand behind her, trailing a finger down the soft skin of her nape under her
plait. She quavered. His groin swelled in anticipation.

“Did you enjoy the archery contest, Sarah?”

Slowly she turned to face him. He stepped closer. He knew
she would back away if she could, but the bed was behind her leaving her
nowhere to go, which had been his intention.

She looked up at him. “I did, my lord.”

He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and brought her
closer still. Her full lips opened as if in protest, and he saw alarm in her
eyes. “Sarah, why did I have the feeling it was not your best performance?”

She tried to wriggle out of his grip. “My lord, I ask you to
unhand me.”

“Not just yet. Answer me.” His grip was firm but he was
careful not to hurt her. He began to run his hands up and down her arms from
shoulder to elbow in a slow sensuous movement. He could feel her body relax
despite what he assumed was her intention to remain rigid as he gazed into her
eyes. They had changed to the purple of the night sky.

“I do not always hit the target, my lord. But I do enjoy the
sport,” she replied breathlessly.

“And you shall have your reward.” He pulled her into his
chest and his lips quickly descended to hers. Her mouth was soft and as sweet
as he’d expected. He was careful to make the kiss tender so as not to frighten
her. He could afford time for a slow seduction. But he had not considered that
her lips would be so inviting or so warm. It nearly undid him. “Ah…Sarah,” he
breathed into her luscious mouth and then let his tongue slide over her full
bottom lip. “Your taste is sweet nectar to this starving man.”

When she opened her mouth to speak, he slid his tongue
inside, using all his self-control not to plunder but to slowly kiss her into
mindless submission. He was pleased when she softened beneath his touch,
responding despite what he surmised had been her determination to resist. He
wanted to take her then, to lay her back on the bed and find their pleasure,
but he was certain that would draw from her a vehement objection. He could be
patient. At least for a while.

When he ended the kiss, Sarah blinked twice and then pushed
at his chest with her hand. “My lord! I am not a wench to be trifled with. Is
not Aethel enough for you?”

He had expected her comment about the dark-haired serving
woman. He delighted in what appeared to be her woman’s jealousy. “I am not
trifling, woman. I told you from the first that I want you in my bed. Your body
tells me you want me as well. Do you not feel it?”

“I feel nothing!” she protested, though from her passion
glazed eyes and kiss-swollen lips he knew she lied.

“I think you do. I like the feel of you in my arms, Sarah.
Why do you resist so?”

“I am an English maiden, my lord. There can be nothing
between me and a Norman, unless you would take me by force, which you have
vowed not to do.”

Growing irritated with her continued refusal and her
reminder of his promise to the women, he stepped back. Never before had his
resolve to protect the virtue of women been so sorely tested. Studying her
angry violet eyes, he controlled his voice. “We shall see.”

Tamping down his desire and forcing his body to calm, he
returned to the trestle table. When he did not hear her footsteps, he looked up
to see her still standing by the bed, staring at nothing as if she did not know
what to do. He flicked his fingers in dismissal.

“You may go about your work, Sarah. I shall not pursue you
again this day.”

* * *

Several days later, Renaud sat in the hall, his eyes fixed on
Geoff’s mouth as the knight engulfed a thick slice of bread dripping with
butter and honey. “You keep eating like that, Geoff, and you will be as round
as our cook.”

“I need my strength for the ride to the west manor.”

Renaud rolled his eyes. “So soon you would return?”

“With your permission, I intend to call upon the widow Eawyn
this day to see how she fares.”

Renaud chuckled. “She is a lovely woman. You could do worse
than that one. And fortunate it is for you she comes with a manor house.”

A surprised expression crossed Geoff’s face. “You would give
me the lady
and
the manor?”

“I might.” Renaud could feel the corners of his mouth turn
up. He slapped his fellow knight on the back. “You seem bewitched by the
woman’s beauty—and her cooking. I am of a mind to reward you for all those
years you have ridden at my side.”

Geoff paused, holding the bread in front of his open mouth.
A drop of honey fell to his trencher. “I hardly know what to say, Ren. ’Tis a
great boon.”

“It carries a condition, of course. I would expect you to
come at my call if ever I have need of your sword. Mayhap when the castle is
completed, you might finish your courtship and we could celebrate both the
castle and a wedding. Does the timing appeal?”

“Yea, Ren, it does.” Geoff fairly glowed with his fervent
ardor for the young widow. “If the lady could be made willing, I would make her
mine. Her husband was nay killed by Normans, so it is possible I do not offend
with my interest.”

“In time I’m certain you can charm her from her widow’s
state, but before you leave to see Eawyn, I have a few tasks for you, my
well-fed friend. And, mind your sudden taste for bread spread with honey.
Maggie tells me someone has been sneaking into the kitchen at night depleting
her supply.”

Geoff looked down at the bread, thick with honey, still in
his hand. Renaud detected a look of guilt. Neither said a word, for no words
were necessary.

Renaud finished his meal and with Geoff trailing behind,
stepped into the yard. The day promised to be fair after the night’s rain.
Renaud spotted the boy with the pale blond hair and ruddy cheeks he had spoken
with at the archery contest. The lad was sitting on a cask next to the manor
poking a stick into the soft dirt.

“Jamie.”

The boy looked up at the sound of his name then leapt to his
feet, dropping his stick.

“Is not that your name, lad?” Renaud asked, stopping in
front of him.

“Aye, m’lord. May I be of service to ye?”

Renaud smiled at the boy’s eager desire to please and
reached down to muss his curly blond hair. “Jamie, I might be in need of a
page. Would you like the position?”

“Yea, m’lord! I would!” The boy was nearly dancing he was so
excited. The look on his face told Renaud he had offered the lad a much-desired
prize.

“Can you point out your parents so I may speak to them?”

“I have no parents, m’lord,” the boy said with downcast
eyes. “Sarah watches out for me and sees I am fed and have clothes.”

It was as he’d suspected. He had seen the boy with the
servant girl but no mother or father. So, Sarah had a young charge whose needs
she met. She might hate Normans but she could be kind to young English lads.

“Well then, I will speak to Sarah, but I am certain she will
approve. Being a page is the first step to becoming a knight. Go see Mathieu,
my squire, and tell him of your new position. He will assign you tasks and see
you have proper clothing. Unless you are in work clothes, you will wear the
wolf on your tunic.”

“Thank ye, sir!” The boy’s eyes shone as he turned and ran
toward the armory.

“Do you know where you are going lad?” Renaud called after
him.

The boy stopped and turned. “Aye, sir. I watch yer squire
clean yer armor each day.”

“Well, then, be off with you.” Renaud’s eyes followed the
boy as he hurried off.

“That was kind of you, Ren,” said Geoff. “You bestow an
honor on the lad far above his station. Better take care or the people will
think the Red Wolf has a soft heart.”

“I have watched him each day with nothing to do but a few
chores, and no one to care for him except Sarah, who walks with him to the
stables. If he can be groomed to become a squire, one day he might be a loyal
knight. I like the lad. And he seems intelligent enough.”

* * *

Serena looked into the yard from the roof walk where she
observed the knights talking to Jamie. She could not hear their words but she
noted the Red Wolf run his hands through the boy’s sun bleached locks as if
teasing him. The Norman was proving to be different than the cold, cruel knight
she had envisioned. Often arrogant, and at times short with his words, he held
to a code of honor she grudgingly admired. Though his coming had stripped her
people of their freedom and their rights under Anglo-Saxon laws, he had not
taxed them overmuch. At least not yet. She knew when the work on the castle
began he would compel Talisand’s men to build it. Such a task would not go down
well with her people.