Elaine Barbieri (23 page)

The charge that followed was unexpected. It sent
Edythe scurrying to the corner of the kitchen as Dagan dodged and feinted, swinging his sword without fear. Holding off his attackers, he isolated them from each other with his superior skill until he cut each of them down, one by one. Then Dagan turned to fix his gaze on other of de Silva’s men who emerged into the kitchen. Edythe saw the men fall back in disbelief at the carnage that met their gaze while Dagan stood motionless and undaunted. They remained frozen when Dagan raced to the staircase and, within moments, had climbed out of sight.

“Why do you hesitate to eat the repast I brought for you, Rosamund?”

“A better question is, why are you here so early in the morn?” Rosamund’s response was tight. She had not expected to be shaken awake by the baron. Nor had she been expecting that he would come bearing a full tray so early in the day, accustomed as she was to waiting for her food. Her suspicions raised, she asked bluntly, “What do you have in mind, my lord?”

De Silva responded with an attempt to lighten his response. “I have considered your reply to my offer yesterday and have come to the conclusion that the promises I first made to you were given under duress and should not be considered binding. Since we are now betrothed, I have also come to the conclusion that I should be allowed certain liberties.”

“Promises…betrothed…
liberties
? Say what you mean, my lord.”

Stepping closer, until he stood only a hairsbreadth from her, the baron said softly, “I am saying that you
are a beautiful, desirable woman presently under my protection. I will soon take you to wife, but I intend to sample all you have to offer beforehand to ensure that you meet my expectations.”

“Expectations?” Rosamund laughed aloud. “You gain the good will of William and of my people with this marriage, while I have only your word that Dagan will be allowed to live. If there is one who might be cheated by this marriage, it is I.”

“You will not be cheated, Rosamund,” the baron replied confidently. “You will be bound to a man who will exceed the one you protect in every way…
every way
.”

Tensing, Rosamund replied, “I do not wish to discuss the merits of the agreement we have struck. I wish only—”

“You do not understand, Rosamund.” Growing more aggressive, the baron clasped her close as he continued, “It is not a matter of what you wish any longer. I have been too easy with you. I will now show you the kind of man I am—and you will come begging!”

“Begging!” Enraged, Rosamund managed to free her arms. She scratched and clawed, fighting wildly as the baron attempted to subdue her. Aware that she was weakening, she was near panic when the sounds of struggle in the outer hallway caught the baron’s attention. Releasing her, he grasped the sword at his waist and turned in time to see the door open. She saw the shock that rocked him when Dagan stepped into the opening.

Glaring, his bared chest heaving, and his sword dripping blood, Dagan said, “You made a mistake in
challenging William’s rule, de Silva, and you made a mistake in challenging me. Recant now and save your life.”

“Recant?” Laughing aloud, the baron did not bother to say more as he charged forward, swinging his blade.

The clash of weapons rocked the room as Rosamund stood still, mesmerized by the heat of the deadly encounter. Sounds of heavy breathing, grunts, and crashing swords echoed in the silent space as the opponents bobbed and weaved, each avoiding his opponent’s thrusts with practiced skill. Their bodies grew slick with perspiration and the blood that dripped freely from their wounds as the conflict raged on.

With a spontaneous intake of breath, Rosamund noted the exact moment when the baron appeared to weaken under Dagan’s relentless assault. His expression grew frenzied and his breathing became labored as he lunged more wildly and less accurately, until the tide of battle began turning in Dagan’s favor.

Unrelenting, Dagan allowed no quarter until with a deft, almost indiscernible thrust, he knocked the baron backward onto the floor and the man’s sword went flying.

Rosamund swallowed as Dagan paused over his defenseless opponent, his chest heaving and his sword at the baron’s throat. She saw blood trail from the tip of Dagan’s sword and paused, realizing that the man she saw standing there with bloodlust in his eyes, with hatred in his heart, and without a trace of mercy in his expression, was a man she did not know. She recognized him as one of the many who had invaded their
small shire and cut down those who had stood up in its defense.

He was a stranger.

Rosamund stepped back, ready to turn away. She was startled by the sound of Dagan’s voice when he rasped, “Despite your many attempts to kill me, de Silva, I hesitate to take the life of a man who has served William well. I give you one last chance to relent, to renounce—”

Rosamund jumped with a start when Franchot Champlain appeared at Dagan’s back and struck a blow that glanced off the side of his head, knocking him to the floor. Watching in horror as Champlain raised his sword again to deliver a fatal blow, she reacted instinctively by grasping a heavy poker lying nearby and swinging it heartily at Champlain.

Rosamund did not wait for the man to fall before moving to Dagan’s side and crouching over him with her heart pounding. Blood streamed from the wound on his head, but she saw his eyelids flutter. He was alive, but still dazed, when the baron drew himself to his feet.

Swearing under his breath at the sight of Champlain lying unconscious nearby, de Silva looked at Dagan and gasped, “I will not kill you here. Instead, I will have my men return you to the dungeon, where I will see to it that you die slowly at the hands of the jailor who awaits you there.”

Rosamund screamed, “Nay, you will not!”

She stood up as the baron raced toward the door. She followed him, fighting him every step of the way as he started to descend the stairs. Furious, he turned
toward her, about to shout a command, when he lost his footing and tumbled head over heels onto the lower landing—where he hit with a crack.

All movement within the keep halted at the sound.

Rosamund turned as Dagan drew himself to his feet, still partially dazed as he walked to the top of the stairs. He glanced at Champlain, where the knight lay motionless on the floor behind him, then at de Silva, where he lay at the bottom of the stairs. When Rosamund moved into his embrace, he held her close.

Sobbing with joy, Rosamund reveled in the feel of Dagan’s mouth on hers. Then she drew back, remaining at his side when he picked up his sword and descended the staircase.

She watched as Dagan looked up at William’s knights, who had taken over the kitchen under Martin Venoir’s command. It took only a moment for him to assess the situation as Martin saluted him soberly then awaited his orders. Raising his voice so it might be clearly heard, Dagan said, “All those who would stand in William’s defense, say aye!”

Ayes echoed loudly, with no man among de Silva’s soldiers abstaining, and Dagan nodded. Speaking for the first time to Martin, he ordered, “Take the baron’s body away. Have him prepared for a soldier’s burial— for what ever he eventually became, he was once one of William’s finest.”

Turning his back as the men moved to his command, Dagan drew Rosamund into the hallway. Unseen, he held her close against him as he looked down at her and whispered earnestly, “I love you, Rosamund. You are my life, my dreams for the future, my hope. I
willingly risk my life for you, and if it takes the rest of that time, I will prove that our futures lie together.”

“You have already proven to me what you are, Dagan.” Her eyes filled with the love she could no longer deny, Rosamund whispered, “Norman though you are, and Saxon that I will always remain, I can make only one reply…that I am yours.”

Rosamund closed her eyes when Dagan’s lips met hers, and the beauty of their love overwhelmed her. The simple words she had spoken trailed through the back of her mind in solemn litany as Dagan’s kiss deepened.

Norman though you are, and Saxon that I will always remain…I am yours
.

Yea, she was his…forever.

I
thought you had returned to Normandy. I had not believed I would ever see you again.”

Hyacinthe smiled uncertainly at Martin Venoir where he stood opposite her in the castle yard. Weeks had passed since the final clash between Dagan and de Silva when Martin had returned heading a contingent of knights sent directly from William to rescue Dagan. In the time since, Martin had stood steadfastly at Dagan’s side while he buried de Silva, emptied the dungeons of prisoners, and saw to it that the construction of the cathedral resumed with proper recompense for all.

Uncertain and unwilling to broach the silence between Martin and herself, Hyacinthe had watched approvingly, yet with a deadening ache inside when she thought of her own, vague future. The wedding between Rosamund and Dagan was only a day away when Martin surprised her by appearing behind her in the yard.

Her heart pounding, Hyacinthe waited for him to speak.

Obviously as uncertain as she, Martin responded cautiously to her greeting. “I want you to know that it was never my intention to abandon my post here and return to Normandy as you assumed, Hyacinthe.
Instead, I felt my only recourse was to go to William as one of his knights and inform him of Dagan’s imprisonment, as well as of the baron’s true activities in this area.”

Hyacinthe’s eyes filled unexpectedly as she replied, “You and your men arrived in time to help Dagan and aid in the changes here. I thank you for that.”

“You do realize that none of it might have been accomplished, if not for you.”

“Because of my vengeful acts…”

“Was it vengeance, Hyacinthe?” Martin took a step toward her, his brown-eyed gaze intent. “Or was it instead an instinctive sense of decency that welled up inside you once you were no longer beholden to the monster de Silva had become?”

“
Sense of decency
…me?” Hyacinthe short laugh was devoid of mirth as she added, “You know what I am. You know how I became that person, and you know what I have done.”

“What have you done, Hyacinthe? You have merely followed the man you loved…the man you believed de Silva to be…the man to whom you wished to dedicate the rest of your life. When you found that he was not worthy of your love, you attempted to gain recompense.”

“Yea, I did that in the only way open to me.” Silently aware that Martin understood her like no other, Hyacinthe said, “Yet here I am, still a servant in a strange country…still uncertain…still alone despite the many admirers who have offered to ease my way.”

Taking another step, Martin gripped Hyacinthe’s arms tightly as he whispered, “You need not be alone.
You need not be uncertain, and you need not remain in a country where you feel an outsider.”

Noting that Martin’s gaze had dropped briefly to her lips, Hyacinthe swallowed tightly. Her heart began pounding. “I do not feel that Hendsmille is my home, yet I cannot leave here. The truth is that I have no place to go and no one to take me in.”

“That is not true,” Martin whispered. “I have always seen the good in you, Hyacinthe. I have always known that you were innocent in de Silva’s exploitation of you.”

“I was not innocent.”

“Yea, you were. You believed in him until the end, while I became aware of the duplicity he practiced much earlier.”

“Yet you stayed with him.” Hyacinthe shook her head. “Why?”

Martin replied, “Do you truly not know that I stayed because of you…because you turned to me when in doubt, because you depended on me to be there and felt the loss when I was not, and because I was bound by my feelings for you?”

“You have always been a beloved friend.”

Martin’s dark brows knitted at her statement. He replied, “I went to William when I knew I could no longer be of use to you here. I returned with his men, ready to fight de Silva to the death if necessary, but found only a lost shire where chaos had been settled by fate when de Silva tumbled down the stairs and broke his neck. I knew you would be affected by his death, no matter his attitude toward you before he died. For that reason, I forced myself to allow you time to
grieve, but I need to speak to you now because it is time for me to leave.”

“Leave!”

Her spirits plummeting, Hyacinthe remained silent as Martin continued, “I have already informed Dagan that I intend to go back to Normandy after his wedding to Rosamund, that I have decided it is the best place for me to start my life over, with the past behind me.”

Her sense of loss was acute when Hyacinthe asked quietly, “You intend to leave here…never to return?”

“Yea, I do. William has already made a place for me there.”

Hyacinthe attempted a smile. “I will miss you, Martin.”

“That is not my intention.” Taking a breath, Martin continued, “It is my heartfelt hope that you will return to Normandy with me.”

Stunned, Hyacinthe could not miss Martin’s earnest fervor when he rasped, “I have always loved you, Hyacinthe. I can think of no future without you, and no woman I would feel prouder to call my wife.”

“Your
wife
?”

“You will learn to love me, Hyacinthe.” Martin drew her close against the length of his hard-muscled body and whispered, “I will be good to you. I will make a decent home for you, one like you have never known, and I will love you all my life.”

“Martin…”

“Do not refuse me, Hyacinthe,” Martin said hoarsely, “Do not crush the dream I have cherished longer than you realize.”

Tears overflowing her dark eyes, Hyacinthe whispered
in return, “I have no desire to crush your dreams as mine were crushed, Martin. Yet I have always considered you a friend. The emotion that I feel for you bears no resemblance to that which I bore for Guilbert, even though I feel more honored by your love than I was ever honored by his, though I feel safer with you than I ever felt with him, and though I feel a sense of peace when I look into your eyes, when his gaze never set me at rest.”

“That is something to build on, is it not?”

“I do not know, Martin. Is it?”

“Yea, it is.”

Hyacinthe paused at Martin’s response. Cupping his cheek with her hand, she replied, “Another truth I did not dare mention is that I have found my life surprisingly empty without you.”

Martin asked with hope bright in his eyes, “So you are saying…”

“I am saying that I do not deserve you, Martin; but, in truth, I cannot see a future for me without you as a part of it.”

“Which means…”

“Which means I find that I have no choice in what I must do, since I cannot bear to be separated from you. Yea, whether worthy or not, I will be your wife if you would have me, Martin. And I will be honored and thankful—”

Martin cut short Hyacinthe’s reply with his kiss. She felt his love, and her heart swelled. It was a love that she had not expected. It was a love that she did not feel she truly deserved. Yet more important to her than the heartfelt words Martin had spoken was the
simple moment when he drew back from his kiss and raised her hand reverently to his lips before clasping it tight in a gesture more binding than a vow.

Her throat thick with unshed tears, Hyacinthe knew that together, Martin and she would share a future filled with love, and that through him, hers would be the future of which she had always dreamed.

The day was brilliantly lit with sunshine. A fresh cover of green blanketed the ground as Dagan and Rosamund stood in the newly constructed altar of the cathedral being built in Hendsmille. Her eyes glowed pure silver with joy, and her delicate features were flushed with emotion as she clutched Dagan’s hand tightly. Radiant in the same sumptuous gown that had once brought her to tears, she looked lovingly at Dagan. She saw only him, her bridegroom, resplendent in a luxurious garment of pale gray fitted expertly to his massive proportions. His piercing amber gaze raked over her hungrily, and his raven-black hair was swept back from strong features still bearing the marks of battle in her defense. She swallowed at the realization that the words they would soon speak would bind this handsome man to her for the rest of their lives—lives filled with truth and honor…and with love.

So enraptured was Rosamund that she was as unconscious of William’s presence in the gallery as she was of the assembly of Saxons who had come to witness the ceremony that would bind them forever to William as their sire. She was grateful that peace had come to the shire with William’s decision to award to Dagan all of de Silva’s holdings as a wedding present, thereby blending
the old with the new, and she was happy, knowing that the children she would bear Dagan would be the first in a long line that would eventually bring an end to the harsh feelings stirred by William’s invasion.

Most of all, Rosamund was happy because she loved Dagan. She loved him for his strength, for his honesty, and for the inborn decency that made her certain that in marrying him, she had truly fulfilled her reason for being.

Dagan looked down at Rosamund as she repeated her vows. He saw the beautiful woman she had become and was filled with wonder. He felt her happiness and sensed tentative acceptance and approval from her people…from men and women who would soon become
their
people.

Taking her hand as the friar pronounced them man and wife, Dagan took Rosamund into his arms, knowing that fate had somehow destined her for him. He kissed her deeply and cherished the moment, aware that in the blending of their hearts and bodies, there would be peace in Hendsmille at last.