Master of Craving (25 page)

“Come, let us go to Draceadon. I will explain all on the way.”

 

“Explain now why my wife is in the hands of that cur Rhiwallon!”

 

Stefan waved his brothers over, and as they circled around him he could not help a smile. “I cannot explain my joy. I have worried like a milkmaid over you these past weeks.”

 

“Aye, we thought you dead upon the field, Stefan,” Rorick said grimly.

“Where is the lad Rhys?” Rohan demanded. “And why do you ride his horse?” “I fear he is mulch at Hereford. His horse found me as I lay wounded myself, and I searched the field for him. ’Twas there I heard a Welshman speak of your capture. Once I was able to ride I came upon Prince Hylcon of Dinefwr’s daughter on her way to marry a Norse jarl.” Stefan grinned. “I saw an opportunity and seized it. Her for you six, but before Rhiwallon will release Tarian, we must deliver the princess to Moorwood, south of York, to

her betrothed.”

 

“Tarian, the girl, and now Thorin, are the guarantee the princess is safely delivered and no other ransom demanded?” Wulfson asked.

“Aye, Wulf, ’twas your lady’s idea. Though I argued with her, it made the most sense. That Rhiwallon sent for Lady Brighid as well was a surprise but understandable. Alewith no doubt cavorts with the Welsh and that blackguard Edric.”

Wulfson seemed to lose some of his anger, though he looked as if he had not had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. “Then let us get this princess of yours to York! I have a yearning for my wife!”

The Blood Swords, united save for two, thundered from the thick forest toward Draceadon.

Wulfson refused to wait one day for Yorkshire. Stefan understood his urgency, though he himself did not feel it. The sooner they reached the eastern part of the island, the sooner he would turn away from Arian and not look over his shoulder. The reality of never seeing her again began to gnaw at his gut.

But Wulf was adamant, and Stefan could not argue. The men, though tired and hungry, were fit for the journey.

As they entered the hall, Stefan hurried straight for the dungeon. The dank smell of urine and feces that would forever permeate the hellhole assaulted his nostrils, as it had months before, when Wulfson had rescued Lady Tarian from the same place. But this time, though a princess was held in the bowels of the fortress, ’twas not to keep her prisoner but to keep her safe. Safe from his own kind.

He grabbed a torch from the wall sconce and shoved the key into the lock, then hurried down the slick steps. When he approached the cell that held Arian, he was met with a fierce glare. He challenged it and quickly unlocked the door, and swung it open.

“My lady?”

She stalked past him without so much as one word, and regally crossed the cistern center and walked slowly up the stairs. He cursed and followed her, giving her light lest she fall and break her neck.

Her maid Jane met them atop the stairs, her hands a ball of nervous flittering. “My lady? How farest thou?”

“I am well, Jane; please see to my bath.” Arian said staunchly, as she made her way past her and into the hall. Stefan caught the nurse’s eyes. He did not expect the softening in them.

She bobbed her head and said, “ ’Tis well you kept her under lock and key as you did, sir, Sir Philip has tried everything but burrowing under the castle to get to her.”

 

Stefan nodded. “I entrusted the other key to Father Dudley for her release, should I not have returned today.”

 

Again, the maid bobbed her head. “My thanks, sir.” She hastened from him then.

 

Slowly Stefan made his way to the hall, to find his brothers seated at the lord’s table, eating and making plans.

 

“Stefan!” Ioan boomed, raising a skin of wine. “Our thanks!”

 

The others joined in, even Wulfson, raising their cups, bellowing their thanks to him.

 

Stefan scowled, but drew closer. When their voices died down Warner asked, “What eats at you other than the obvious, brother?”

 

Stefan poured himself a full goblet of wine. “ ’Twas my mistakes that caused your capture and Rhys’s death. What is there to thank me for?”

“How can one man be responsible for that slaughter?” Rorick solemnly demanded. “We were outnumbered eight to one, and while the Blood Swords are the mightiest warriors in the realm, even we have our limitations. That we survived is the true testament to our skill!”

Warner took a long pull of his wine, and said, “Had you not devised such a wily plan with the archers in the field we would all be burning in hell at this very moment!”

Rohan slapped Stefan on the back. “We shall find Rhys. My instinct tells me the lad is lying in some nubile maid’s bed as she lavishes attention upon him. He will milk it as long as he can, then return to us. Have no doubt!”

Despite their dark mood, Stefan smiled at the image of the young knight lying abed as a beautiful maid clucked over him like a mother hen over her chicks. Aye, he would accept her ministrations until he was well enough to travel. He looked to Wulfson, who stared at his feet. Emotion he could not put a name to clogged his throat. He cleared it, and softly said, “Wulf, if it is the last thing I do, I will see your lady returned to you.”

His brother’s deep green eyes lifted to his. Slowly he nodded. “I have no doubt, but her safety is my responsibility. I will not have her taken from me.”

“We will ride hard each day, Wulf,” Stefan said. “With the large contingent of men and show of arms no one will dare accost us along the way. Upon the Jarl’s arrival the vows will be said. Accompanied by the young prince Rhodri to bear witness to the nuptials, you will ride to Rhiwallon. I have sent word to William; he will send more men to accompany you.”

“I do not trust Rhiwallon,” Wulfson gritted. “He smiles like the fox after swallowing the hen.”

 

“He is not daft,” Ioan said. “He will not stand to lose everything just to smite William.”

Warner stood and raised his cup. “To finding Rhys alive and well in the arms of a nubile maid! To Lady Tarian returning to soothe the savage wolf, and the safe return of our brother, Thorin, who were it not for his sage guidance we would all be mulch!”

Grimly the Blood Swords raised their cups, and drank.

Arian was roused before the break of dawn to ready herself and her train. They would depart for Yorkshire after the breaking of the fast. A short time later, when she descended into the hall, dressed for travel, she found it a wild blur of activity. Taking advantage of the chaos, she slipped from the hall to the stable, where she found Cadoc’s squire readying her mare Fahadda.

“I will see to her, squire. Find another chore to busy yourself,” Arian commanded. The boy bowed and hurried from the stall. She looked to the next stall and recognized Stefan’s black beast. He shook his great black head and snorted at her, as if laughing. “You will not think it so funny should I geld you!” she hissed.

“Pray do not geld him, milady,” Stefan said from behind her. “He will lose his fire for battle.”

 

And though she fought it, her body instantly warmed and her hands shook.

Slowly she turned and faced him. He was close. So close she could see the silver spokes in his brilliant blue eyes. So close she could smell him. So close she could feel his warm breath upon her cheeks.

“Is the thirst for battle all that drives him? Does he not look forward to green pastures with a mare and foals and to live out his days in harmony?”

 

Stefan snorted. “He is a horse!”

Arian turned from Stefan to Fahadda. Smoothing her hand down the mare’s sleek neck she said, “He is a horse, true, but when he is old and broken down from too many battles, what will become of him? Will he be slain and used as dog meat?”

Stefan pressed close to her back. “He is a fine stallion, with a long noble lineage; he will sire many like him.” Stefan reached past her and placed his hand upon hers that lingered on the mare’s neck. The contact was warm, and cracked like lightning between them. “He will mate with mares such as your Fahadda, to be sure. She is noble, mighty, and strong. They would produce a great line for generations to come.”

Arian stood perfectly still as her emotions ran rampant with thoughts of a child of Stefan’s. He too would be noble, mighty, and strong.

Slowly, she turned to face him, holding her breath fearful he might press her, but more fearful that she would allow him. “When your warring days are behind you, Stefan, will you see a green pasture and begin your legacy?”

He brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “Nay. I will be too old and broken to offer comfort to any woman. My life is in the saddle.”

 

“But there is land to be had!”

 

“Aye, there is, but I have no name, no family.”

 

“But Stefan! You could build your line. A proud, mighty line. Why would you choose not to?”

He scowled, and dropped his hand, moving away from her. “I would be no comfort to a wife or child. I am a solitary man. Even amongst the Blood Swords I find myself on the outside looking in. ’Tis no life to share with any woman.”

Deep sadness for this man, this good man who risked all to save his brothers, gripped Arian’s heart. “You do yourself a grave dishonor, sir. You are more worthy than you know.”

His eyes narrowed and his head snapped back. “You misunderstand, princess. I am worthy of many things, but I am not so arrogant to think that what I have to offer a woman would be enough to keep her content. Women want a noble husband, riches, land, and status. Not a mere soldier who would lay down his life for his own true love. Even you, dear princess, have made it clear that as a royal you would marry only one of your own station, and you scorn all others.”

“Nay! ’Tis not true!”

 

“It is, and I do not hold it against you. You are who you are, just as I am who I am. Long ago I accepted my lot in life. You should do the same.”

He turned from her and went into the stall beside hers and led his horse from it, leaving Arian standing in stunned silence. With each passing moment, she realized he spoke the truth. And it was ugly. Were she free to marry any man, she would never look lower than her station. And that made her very sad, for she thought she was more worthy than that. She had never thought herself like the other noble ladies at court, who walked the halls with their noses so high in the air one could not see their faces.

But in the last weeks she had realized there was more to a man’s character than his bloodline. And though Stefan de Valrey was bastard-born and bastard-raised, he was a man who stood above all others in her eyes. She wished to tell him her feelings, but she could not. She turned to the mare and readied her for the journey ahead.

EIGHTEEN

As they turned their horses to the road, Arian felt a nervousness she could not define. ’Twas not fear of the impressive accompaniment of knights and soldiers, nor fear of what lay ahead. She had no cause to fear her betrothed. Magnus was a good man who had the respect of his king and vassals. He was a man she could proudly stand beside. But ’twas the other, Stefan de Valrey, who caused her such torment. His presence made her belly flutter wildly, her heart tighten, and her blood warm.

She looked ahead to the man who had changed so much about her. Gone was a silly girl who thought life was but trivia and feasts. Gone was the girl who did not consider the responsibility she was born to. And gone was the girl who vowed to never open her heart to have it broken. If she were honest with herself, she felt more than admiration for the proud knight.

Arian was acutely aware of the special bond Stefan shared with his men, and though he may have felt an outsider amongst them, he was not. Their bond was complete. Unwavering as the earth was solid. He was relaxed and easy in their presence. ’Twas only when Ralph or Philip interfered in a conversation that his reticence returned. She understood his love for his brothers, and moreover, his determination to free them.

On the first night on the road, beneath the lavish tent from Dinefwr, Arian watched Stefan relax against his saddle and lift a goblet to his lips. Lord Wulfson said something and Stefan threw his head back and laughed. Her longing grew deeper. While he had made every effort to see that her train was protected, and that she was comfortable, he did nothing more. He kept his distance. And while she understood, she did not like it.

When they broke camp the next day, Arian made several attempts to steer her mare toward Stefan, but he was always just out of her reach. As the day drew to a close, the knights ahead came to an abrupt halt. She spurred her mount to the front, despite Cadoc and Rhodri’s calls to return. Her blood curdled at the sight before her. The outrider who had left that morn to scout a manor for them to spend the night lay dead on his back in the road, a sword with the gold and red dragon standard of the house of Godwinson whipping in the harsh wind, taunting all who stood witness.

Stefan dismounted beside the dead Norman and drew the sword. He ripped off the standard and threw it to the ground. Turning to his men, he said softly, “I have had my fill of unruly Saxons. From this moment forward, any man, woman, or child who stands in our way shall be cut down at the knees.”

His hard gaze caught Arian’s before moving past her to her brother and Cadoc. As he mounted his horse, he said to his squire, “See that he is buried.”

 

The young man hurried to the task.

 

“Tighten the flanks,” he called back to Ralph and Philip, then to his men, “We will stop at the first manor we come upon, and God help them if they refuse us.”

Just as the sun sank behind them, an impressive wooden and stone structure rose ahead. Arian sighed in relief. Until several moments later, after Stefan and several of his men stormed into the place and the inhabitants ran shrieking from the structure. Stefan strode up to Arian and gave her a short bow. “ ’Tis called Worthington. Your lodgings for the night, princess.” He clicked his heels, then turned from her.

His surliness irritated her already drawn nerves. But she allowed her brother to help her dismount and accompany her into the structure. In a sharp wave of revelation, she stopped on the threshold. In all but size, it was an exact replica of the hunting lodge they had spent such intimate time in. Her skin warmed as she remembered the moments spent there. Heat spread across her cheeks down to her chest. She could well understand Stefan’s mood.