Master of Craving (34 page)

“Come with me, Arian,” Stefan softly said, squatting down beside her.

 

She shook her head. “Nay, I cannot, Stefan.”

“Leave her,” Rhodri said, stepping beside his sister. “You have brought her nothing but pain and shame.” He reached down and scooped Arian into his arms. “I am taking her home to Dinefwr.”

Stefan stood, his heart torn between setting her free and forcing her to stay here with him. Blood covered her kirtle and the floor. His arm still bled. When Rhodri turned with her and took a step that would be the first of many to separate them forever, something inside Stefan snapped. “Halt!” he commanded.

Rhodri continued toward the stairway.

 

Stefan drew his sword. In several long strides, he reached the prince and pressed it to his back. “I will skewer you where you stand. Release her to me.”

 

Slowly Rhodri turned to face him. Stefan did not look at Arian, afraid of what he would see. “Would you slay her brother as well to have her?”

 

“ ’Tis not my wish.”

 

“But you would?”

 

Stefan did not answer, but dropped his gaze to his beloved. His blood chilled in his bones. Hatred filled her eyes. “Put me down, Rhod,” she said.

 

“Nay, Arian.”

 

She pushed out of his grasp, putting herself between her brother and the man who had caused her nothing but heartache.

 

Stefan sheathed his sword and extended his bloody hand. “Come with me, Arian. I will not hurt you.”

 

“I have nothing left for you to destroy.” She placed her own bloodied hand into his.

 

Stefan looked past her to Rhodri. “Come with us to the chapel.”

 

“I will not wed you!” she cried.

 

“You will.”

 

She tugged her hand, but his fingers tightened around them, the blood, sticky, binding them. “Your time as a widow will be short-lived.”

 

“ ’Tis sacrilege!” Rhodri charged.

“ ’Tis my will. It will be done!” Stefan stormed. He yanked Arian after him. She stumbled, and when she could not keep up he swept her up into his arms, her angry brother following close on their heels. He called for Ioan and Warner, who stood close, to follow.

Dazed, covered in her dead husband’s blood, Arian knelt before Father John. Stefan knelt beside her, her brother, and two of Stefan’s knights standing as witness to the macabre ceremony. She did not fight; she did not have the strength, nor she knew, could she win. Like his king, Stefan de Valrey took what he wanted by force. That he forced her in the shadow of Magnus’s death, she would never forgive. He had given her his oath he would not take her husband’s life, and before her eyes, those of Yorkshire and God, he broke his oath.

Father John’s voice droned on, and with each word her heart closed another inch. When finally he pronounced them man and wife, Arian looked stonily to Stefan. “I am your wife in name only.” She stood and slapped him. He stood silent, unmoving, accepting her scorn. But at least now she belonged to him.

She turned and strode from the chapel into the bailey, for all to see her bloodstained clothes. The nobles who had assembled for her first marriage parted as she strode through them and into the hall. Bile rose in her belly as she watched the maids clean the blood from the floor. She ran past them up the stairway to her chamber, to find Jane awaiting her with a hot bath.

Arian cried out, ripping the bloody clothes from her body, as hysteria finally claimed her. Jane took her trembling body into her arms, calming her before she gently set her in the tub. Drawing the screen close around them, Arian sat back in the warm suds and closed her eyes, wanting to erase her life.

She stiffened when she heard Stefan’s deep commanding voice booming below. She exhaled a long breath and laid her head back against the high rest. Had he commanded the nobles to gather? How would they react? Magnus was well loved in this shire, his subjects loyal, for he had been a fair lord. She caught back a sob, unable to believe him dead. ’Twas not because she held love for him, but she did respect him. And despite all that had transpired, up until the very end he had been willing to set his pride aside and accept her as his wife.

Her fist hit the water. Not so Stefan! His pride had caused irreparable damage! How could she live here amongst these people when they knew her first husband had been slain by her second husband? How could she expect them to respect her when Magnus’s blood was still warm when she wed his murderer?

“My lady,” Jane soothed, “do not be so hard on yourself.”

Arian looked to her maid. “How can I not be? I marry the man who slew my husband whilst his blood is still on my hands! ’Tis because of my lust for the Norman that Magnus is dead!”

Jane shook her head and sat upon the stool beside the tub, and began to wash Arian’s hair. “You shared more than lust with the Norman. Do not deny it.”

 

“I do not, Jane, but I allowed it to show. Magnus’s pride could not bear any more. I am as responsible for his death as Stefan is.”

 

“Then do not give him the entire burden to carry.”

Arian shook her head. “Jane, he gave me his oath he would not harm, Magnus. In front of us all he slew him, just as he did Dag, just as he does any man who stands in the way of what he craves!” Arian squeezed her eyes shut. “He would have slain Rhod had I not agreed to wed him.”

Jane rubbed in the thick lather, her fingers digging into Arian’s scalp. “He would not have slain the prince.”

 

Arian opened her eyes, blinking back the sting of the soap. “You are too addled to see him for the barbarian he is.”

“A barbarian I might be, but I am also your husband,” Stefan said, from the other side of the screen. “Hurry your bath, I would have you by my side when I address the gathered lords and their ladies.”

A short time later, Stefan collected her. He had cleaned up as well—no vestiges of blood upon him. But Arian did not have to see it to know their hands were covered in Magnus’s blood. “I would speak with Rhod.”

“He rides with Wulfson for Wales.”

 

“He did not say goodbye!” And suddenly she felt all alone.

 

“Wulf is anxious to have his lady, and Rhod anxious to announce that your marriage to the Viking took place.”

 

“But no word of my forced marriage to the man who slew him?”

 

“Not until it benefits me.” “Am I just a pawn in your war games?”

 

Stefan shook his head as he fought for words to console her, but there were none. “Arian, my heart is yours. That has not changed.”

“If what you say is true, then you would have considered my feelings. You would not have threatened to slay my brother and you would not have forced me to wed you by hanging my brother’s life over my head.” He opened his mouth to defend himself.

“How can I trust you with my heart, when on every turn you use force to have your way?”

 

“I did not force you last eve.”

“You stormed into my chamber and my marriage bed demanding first-night rights! And after you threatened everyone in the room, your words to me were sly, and you were patient, but had I not succumbed to your honeyed words you would have stolen from me what you stole from Magnus.”

“You lie to yourself, my lady. Do not say you did not want me as I wanted you.”

 

“I will admit your words convinced me.”

 

“Do you regret it?”

 

“I regret that I was not stronger in the eyes of my betrothed. Had I been, he would still live.”

 

“He was a traitor!”

 

“To your king, not to mine!”

 

Stefan’s cheek twitched. “Did you love him?”

“Nay! You know I did not. But I did not hate him either.” Angry tears stung her eyes. “His blood is on my hands. I will never be able to look upon you, Stefan, and know it is not on yours as well.”

“We will discuss this further, but first there are the assembled lords to address. I bid you stand beside me and at least pretend we are united. For divided we will fall.”

The tension was so thick when they descended the wide stairway into the hall that Arian feared for their safety. Fury, outrage, and contempt reigned supreme. While Stefan seemed unaffected by it, guilt washed through her. ’Twas because of her Magnus was dead.

Norman knights stood on one side of the hall, swords drawn, Magnus’s guard on the other, Saxons between. The nobles were quiet, but on their faces, their hatred was plainly painted.

Stefan guided Arian upon the dais, seeing her to her seat beside the great lord’s chair. Stefan remained standing. Sitting stiffly in the chair, chin high, Arian gazed about the crowded hall. Smoke swirled high in the rafters; the stale smell of ale and wine mixed with that of blood and body odor assaulted her senses. The air was thick and warm. Her gaze trailed down to the place on the floor where Magnus had fallen. The servants had done an admirable job cleaning the area: fresh rushes covered the stains, but still his blood cried out.

“I am Stefan de Valrey, knight of William and overlord of this shire. Magnus Tryggvason was a traitor to the Crown.” Cries of denial erupted but Stefan continued undaunted, “A traitor who challenged William by challenging me.”

“What proof do you have?” a voice called out.

Stefan looked over the crowd to the hall entry, where a gantlet of Norman knights stood at the ready. The doors burst open, and Ioan and Warner dragged in a most defiant and bedraggled Sir Sar. Arian moved to the edge of her chair, and peered questioningly up at Stefan, but he kept focused on the struggling man.

Ioan thrust him at the base of the dais. “The traitorous Jarl’s messenger.”

Stefan pointed to the odd little man, who, divested of his noble garb, looked more like a jester. “For those of you who are not familiar with this man, he is known as Sar, steward of Magnus, a most trusted position. And as steward he was privy to all of the Jarl’s interests, including his interest in seeing the Danish king claim the English throne!”

Arian gasped, shocked at such evidence. She did not believe Magnus to be a traitor, she thought … Sar glared up at Stefan, who continued to scan the gathered crowd. “I share this information for several reasons. First and foremost, as a warning to any of you who may have the same thoughts: let it be known, William will not tolerate treason. Punishment is death.” The crowd thrummed with tension. “Had not Magnus challenged me and paid for the challenge with his life, understand, he would have been hanged.”

Arian sat stunned, unable to digest Magnus’s hand in any kind of treason.

 

“Proof!” another voice shouted.

Stefan nodded. “Sir Sar was captured just this morn sneaking into his dead master’s chamber.” Stefan reached into his tunic and pulled out a scroll with a broken seal. “ ’Tis the seal of Trygg—a missive Magnus wrote last eve for Sar, his messenger to the Scots.” Stefan unrolled it and held it out for all to see. “ ’Tis word to the Scottish kings and to Sven of Denmark that Lord Magnus, upon his marriage to the Welsh princess, was dispatching his fleet of one hundred ships to Whitby on the Yorkshire coast, with five hundred men to fight, as well as the one hundred he brought here with him.”

Incredulous gasps echoed through the hall. Arian sat perfectly still. “As I speak to you, what is left of Magnus the Tall is on its way to Whitby. His head upon a pike will be their welcome to England!”
“ ’Tis barbaric!” Arian hissed.

Stefan turned cold eyes upon her, but said nothing.

He looked back to the crowd. “William’s justice is swift and it is mighty. Pledge your fealty to me this day and you pledge it to him. You will see, in time, that William is a fair man to those who are loyal to him.” He looked down at Arian. “As am I fair to those who are loyal to me.” He turned back to the hall. “But also know that I am a man who puts king first, country second.”

A nervous twitter erupted in the hall. Stefan smiled bitterly. “Should you choose not to pledge your fealty this day, you will not leave here.”

 

Outrage erupted, but quickly died down. They may not want to accept William, but they were not complete fools. They valued their lives and their holdings.

He looked over the sea of faces. Arian followed his gaze. Though they had quieted, she knew they only waited. They would pledge fealty this day because if they did not they would die as traitors. But on the morrow, out of earshot, they would conspire, and one day soon they would take up arms against Stefan. One hundred Normans were no match for the entire shire.

She nodded as each person, down to the servants, pledged their fealty, first to William, then to Stefan, and finally to her. When each man, woman, and child in the hall and surrounding area had promised to be loyal to the king, Stefan called for a feast of celebration.

Despite her fatigue, Arian sat quietly amazed. Loud celebrating voices shook the rafters, while music and dance filled the hall. How could they, after the events of the last two days, celebrate? But when she looked closer she noticed ’twas the Normans who celebrated, not the Saxons, though they made a good attempt to pretend. Nay, there were whispers and looks and new alliances being born—none, she would wager, to the Norman’s advantage.

She leaned to Stefan and said, “Do you really believe they will remain loyal to you?”

 

He smiled down at her, and she could see it was forced for appearances. “Not for one heartbeat of time.”

Arian sat back, thoughtful and weary. Never had she felt such hostility and scorn. She was glad Rhod had ridden out. Trouble brewed, and she did not want her brother caught up in a war that was not his to fight. She looked askance to her husband. Despite her heartache, Arian knew not what to do. So much had changed in the last few days. Yet beneath all of her guilt, frustration, anger, and denial, there in her heart her love for Stefan lurked.

“My lord,” she softly said, “I am fatigued. I seek my chamber.” Stefan stood, extending his arm. The hall rose with her. As he escorted her up the stairway, she felt every eye in the place burning holes in her back. Stefan pushed open the door. As she walked through, he followed her into the chamber. Jane rose from the chair where she

stitched a piece of clothing. “Leave us,” Stefan commanded softly.

 

“I have need of her,” Arian said.

 

“Your husband will tend you,” Stefan countered.