Mathis, Jolie (20 page)

"Hope," he repeated softly. "Be patient with me, for I have lived a lifetime without it."

She had to ask. "What will you do about Ranulf?"

Again Kol rolled to his back, to stare at the rafters. He pressed his lips together as if the words did not come easily. "I would hear his reasons for submitting me to such torture... and attempt to judge him with open mind."

She lifted to her elbow and looked down into his face. The blue intensity she saw there left her disarmed, yet at the same time, reassured of his feelings for her. That he would attempt to set aside such deep-seated hatred to give her peace touched her deeply. "'Tis all I have hoped for."

Kol took her shoulders and pressed her back to the floor. He rolled to crouch above her in an display of male prowess which thrilled her even in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Against her neck, he whispered simply, "Trust me."

Tears beaded the corner of her eyes. "I do. I will not sway again."

He did not speak again, other than to smile almost sheepishly and say, "Your garments are ruined."

"I have few left, thanks to you."

"I cannot claim to feel remorse." He planted a kiss on her lips, and, with leonine grace, drew back into a crouch to fasten his braies. Dye stained his elbows and knees. Isabel confirmed, when she sat up, the back of her gunna dripped with the stuff. Kol stood and went to inspect the drying racks, and returned with a yellow tunic.

"The fit might not be the best." He tugged her garments over her head. Calloused hands grazed her hips, the sides of her breasts. She shivered.

Bending low, he kissed her. Arousal lit his eyes. She gripped his shoulders, her response instant, as if their recent coupling had only partially satisfied a need.

A low sound came from his throat. He took up the yellow tunic. "Put this on, and let us find a more satisfactory place to continue this night."

When she had dressed, he took her hand and pushed open the wooden door. Isabel followed. He halted suddenly, and she bumped flat into his back.

All around, men clamored accusations and curses. Moonlight reflected off raised clubs and spears. Isabel clenched Kol's tunic.

"Stand back," Kol ordered them. His arm snaked back to shield her. Her heart thumped.

Isabel gained a partial view of her foes by peering around Kol's side. Vekell stepped forward, his skin ashen, his eyes glassy. Stains marred the front of his tunic.

At Isabel, he pointed a long, shaking finger. "This plight is your own, Princess. Wrought by your own hand when you made those wicked tarts. Curse you, wom—" He pressed a hand to his lips, and gave a hearty belch. After a moment he bellowed, "Woman! Were we not patient and kind in our dealings with you?"

Isabel cringed inwardly.

Vekell continued his diatribe. "Like fools, these men worshiped you for saving the life of their lord, when all along you plotted foul miseries, such as this, against them?"

Kol lifted a hand to his captain. "No good will come of this."

Isabel clutched his arm. "No. Let Vekell speak."

Silence fell over the hoard.

Vekell cleared his throat. " 'Tis our right to demand she be punished for her crime." His scowl swept from Isabel to Kol again. "And we don't mean whatever method of punishment you sought to employ in that little hut, Thorleksson."

Isabel's cheeks went to flames.

"Aye!" shouted the men.

"Just punishment is what we seek."

Kol responded, "I see you hold your weapons ready. She killed no one. I shall agree to no execution."

Vekell wiped a hand across his mouth, and swallowed hard, as if he battled a resurgence of the sickness. His voice cracked as he said, " 'Tis no execution we demand."

Ragi appeared at Vekell's side. He, too, appeared unsteady on his feet. Berry seeds dotted his gray beard. "We had a goodly bit of time to discuss the matter as we waited here for the two of you."

"Aye, our decision is made," Vekell agreed.

Ragi waggled his club at Isabel. "Three days in the keep's prison!"

"Three days?" scoffed Kol, amidst the raucous cheer of the crowd. "The princess is of noble birth, and is unaccustomed to—"

"I consent to the sentence." Isabel broke free of his protection to stand before the warriors. "Three days in the keep's prison. I deserve at least that, for what I have done."

"Isabel," Kol warned.

"Make no attempt to dissuade me." She considered the faces of the men who gathered there, and met their eyes, one by one. "Prithee, accept this as my offering of peace to you. By giving myself over to your punishment, I announce to all my desire for a lasting accord between our peoples."

Ranulf would be horrified to hear her say such things, but she could no longer claim the sins of his past as her own. She would strive to bring peace to this land.

Isabel extended her wrists to Vekell and Ragi, prepared to be bound, but all the fury seemed to have left them. They stared at her upturned palms, bafflement upon their faces. They looked to Kol.

Chapter 19

"Tis what you wanted, is it not? She hath agreed," he muttered low, through clenched teeth. He refused to meet Isabel's eyes.

His manner unsure, Vekell took Isabel's wrists and led her toward the hall. Behind them the crowd lurched and swayed in pursuit. Once inside, only Vekell and Kol descended the carved stone steps with Isabel, past a guard, into the pit. Torchlight wavered against the walls. "This way." Vekell tugged her toward a small cell. "No," Isabel said. She peered into the darkness of the central corridor. "Prithee, take me there, to the furthest room."

"Isabel?" came a voice from the pitch, Aiken's.

"As always, I seek to please." Vekell guided her over the uneven earth, past the other cells.

"What do you do with her?" shouted Aiken through the small opening in his door.

As they passed, Isabel said, "I am well, Aiken. Fear not for my well-being."

She glanced to Kol to be sure he still followed, and found his eyes dark, his lips twisted into a frown.

When they reached the end of the corridor, Isabel stared into the darkness of the cell, the same cell where she had found Kol two winters before. Kol stood back several paces, the memories of that night, and the pain he had suffered, etched on his face. Isabel forced down her fear and moved inside.

Vekell did not slam the door, he simply closed it with a gentle push. Though she waited for the metallic turn of the lock, it did not come. Isabel saw only Vekell's jaw through the slat. She sat in absolute pitch.

His lips moved. "Be well, Princess."

The crunch of his boots signaled his departure. For a long moment she sat, wondering when Kol had slipped away. Perhaps the memories had been too vivid.

She heard his breath and knew he still stood there. She leapt up, and pressed herself to the door. "Kol?"

He stood there, his face shadowed. "Why did you agree to such terms? I could have stopped them."

"No." She shook her head, and slipped her hands through the narrow slat, where he grasped them. Warm and strong, his hands soothed her fears.

"Do you doubt their fealty to me?"

"This is not about your leadership of your men. 'Tis about the future of our people. I made a mistake tonight. I must acknowledge that, and be held accountable."

She read the anguish in the taut frame of his jaw, the press of his lips.

"We both have scars, Kol. You healed mine a great deal, last night in the cave." She squeezed his fingers. "Perhaps my imprisonment in this cell, and what it symbolizes, will heal some of yours."

"Isabel—"

She pressed her fingertips to his lips. "You shall bring me a blanket and a lantern, and swear Godric will be returned to me as soon as I am released."

He closed his eyes. "Aye, he shall. I promise you."

"These three days shall pass quickly."

Suddenly he reached through. Cupping her jaw, he pulled her face toward his and kissed her ardently. Sweetly. Then he tore away and strode down the corridor.

Isabel sank to crouch against the door.

A moment later, Aiken's voice emanated from the shadows. "Oh, Isabel. What have you done?"

"You do not sleep, my lord?" Vekell appeared from the recesses of the night-darkened hall.

Kol sat against the wall beside the entrance to the pit. "I cannot, knowing she is there."

Vekell lowered himself to sit on the stones beside his lord. "Nor can I."

"Hath your sickness passed?"

"Aye. And so hath my anger." The warrior's wiry brow arched with devilment. "After much thought, I have decided 'tis you who are to blame for all that occurred this eventide."

Kol's eyes widened. "Me? How am I to blame?"

"If you would have come to your senses earlier, none of this would have occurred." Vekell grinned. After a pause, he softly added, "Isabel hath owned your heart from the start."

Kol nodded. Denial no longer held comfort for him. "What you said in the stable was true. I want to do more than breathe. I want to live. Somehow she understands me, and makes that possible."

It felt good to make the admission. To be capable of love. He felt stronger for it, and at peace with whatever the future would bring. The acknowledgment of his love for

Isabel—and her son—defied his mother's hateful curses in some way.

"'Tis a lesson for us all." Vekell leaned close. "As for Isabel's lesson, I have conferred with our hearth companions and all agree one night in the pit is sufficient punishment."

Kol's breath caught in his throat. "Truly?"

"Nei,
not truly." Vekell chuckled. "But the Saxon maid who owns
my
heart is furious with me for imprisoning her mistress, and so, with my own selfish interests at stake, I have convinced the others to be lenient in their judgment."

Kol could not believe his ears. In all their time together, Vekell had never shown a preference for one woman over any other. "What maid is this?"

"Her name is Berthilde, and she makes me believe I could spend the rest of my days in this place."

Beneath the surface of Vekell's gentle admission, something momentous had occurred. Destiny closed thickly around them both. It felt like goodbye. Yet a new and exciting world opened before them. He knew not how long he would be allowed to spend there, but a single day with Isabel would be enough.

He squeezed Vekell's shoulder. "Go to your Berthilde, then."

"And you... claim your princess from her cell."

Light flooded Isabel's slumber. Berthilde's face beamed between the bed curtains.

"Awaken, Princess. There is not much time."

"Not much time?" Perplexed, Isabel lifted herself to one elbow. After several hours in the pit, sleep had finally claimed her. Why did she awaken in the comfort of her own bed? "Who brought me here?"

"Thorleksson."

"That cannot be." Isabel frowned her displeasure. "I agreed to two more days in the pit. I thought he understood. 'Tis wrong of him to spare me my just punishment."

Berthilde held up one of Isabel's gunnas to the light, and examined it for flaws. She smiled over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. "Your freedom hath been negotiated—"

Her voice trailed off, but Isabel thought she heard her say
in a most enjoyable manner.

"Negotiated how?"

Berthilde blushed. "Much in the same way you got those big blue handprints all over your body."

"Berthilde!" Isabel shrieked. A quick peek confirmed she lay naked beneath the bedcovers. Kol's hand prints still covered her skin.

"Now, hurry. I hath allowed you to sleep far too long." Berthilde bustled about, glowing with joy. "You must wash and dress quickly, for he hath requested your attendance at the noonday meal."

"What doth he intend?" Isabel wondered allowed. She had interrupted whatever announcement he'd intended the evening before.

"I cannot say. He told me only to keep you out of the kitchen."

Vekell seated Isabel at her cousin's side. Devon barely spared her a glance, so intent was he on demolishing a leg of mutton. Or perhaps he ignored her in anger. After all, he, too, had been a victim of her berry tarts.

"More food," he shouted over his shoulder, spraying Isabel with particle-laden spittle. She retrieved a square of linen from the table and wiped herself clean. It took every bit of strength she bad to keep the disgust from her face.

She glanced at Kol, unable to prevent herself from drawing comparisons. Kol was infinitely superior to Devon in masculine grace and manners. Her heart swelled with pride. How had she ever thought to call him a barbarian when there were men such as Devon in the world?

A serving maid brought Devon another trencher of meat. Isabel heard the girl's gasp, saw her try to pull away. Isabel realized her cousin had thrust his hand beneath the girl's tunic skirt. He boldly clasped her buttocks in full view of anyone who cared to see. Before the girl could escape, Devon pulled her into his lap, and bestowed upon her a greasy, open-mouthed kiss.

"Stop that," Isabel hissed.

Devon froze and, fixing his bulbous eyes upon her, growled, "You have no say in what I do. No say in
anything."

Kol's voice cut between them. "Not now, Saxon. You and I have much to discuss." Just as quickly as the girl had been captured, she was freed and held behind Kol's protective arm. The Norseman's icy gaze was riveted upon Devon, but Devon continued to glare his fury at Isabel.

After a long, tense moment, Devon shrugged, lifted his goblet, and gulped the mead; it streamed over his cheeks and into his beard. Slamming the goblet to the table, he exclaimed, "Of course. Of course."

He beckoned to one of his men, and in moments, a large chest was presented in front of the dais. When opened, a mountain of gold coins glimmered within. Devon ripped another mouthful of mutton with his teeth. "The twelve horses we discussed, they are also yours to keep."

Anxiety turned Isabel's stomach. Just the thought of living beneath Devon's cruel hand rent her internal peace into a thousand fragments. She looked to Kol.

Trust him,
she counseled herself.

Kol spoke not a word. He merely stared at Devon, his eyes fathomless and cold. For the first time, Devon seemed to sense discord in the air.

"A glorious undertaking, Thorleksson. Just as my father instructed." He smiled hopefully. "Please use my men freely to assist in preparation of your departure. I'm sure you will want to leave posthaste now that I have arrived."

"My task here is not done."

Kol nodded to Vekell, who stood at the bottom of the dais. Vekell strode toward the hoard of gold, aglow in the firelight. With his foot, he kicked the lid shut. The metallic clank echoed throughout the now-silent hall.

Kol announced softly. "I and my men have decided it is within our interests to remain in Calldarington."

"There is no need. I will find Ranulf, and finish him myself."

" 'Tis you who are finished, Saxon."

Beside Isabel, Devon's face drained of blood.

"What did you say?"

For the first time he seemed to remember Isabel sat beside him, for he swung his head in her direction. "What did he say?"

She took joy in leveling her gaze to his and speaking words she knew struck fear into his heart.

"Apparently the Dane intends to remain. Dost that not fit well with your plans for Norsex, cousin?"

Over Devon's shoulder she met Kol's eyes. Warmth flowed through her.

Devon sat as if paralyzed, clutching the glistening haunch in one hand. His lips, shiny with grease and spittle, worked but produced no translatable objection to Kol's announcement.

Kol eased back into his chair, but his lips held their hard line.

"I demand—" Devon began, but his demand transformed into a croak. He cleared his throat. "I demand you speak your intentions."

Vekell stepped forward from beside the trunk. "Dost though not understand your own spoken tongue, little man? My lord dost speak it well and clearly."

"Aye, I understand," Devon spat acidly, his gaze swinging between the two giants. Petulantly, he threw the bone to the floor of the hall. The portion landed at Vekell's feet with a meaty thud. Instantly, the Norse giant's eyes smoldered golden and hot.

Devon stood from the bench, but turned to Kol. "I understand all too clearly. Thou dost seek to void our pact. What I wish to know is whether this voidance is undertaken in the name of continued vengeance against my noble cousin Ranulf, or rather in aggression against myself and my father's authority."

Devon's corpulent form partially obscured Kol from Isabel's view, but she heard his response. "Perhaps all of these things."

Devon stamped his foot. "I should have known you could not be trusted. Cursed mercenaries! Thieves and barbarians, the lot of you, as faithless as a common whore."

"Ah." Kol's laughter held no warmth. "Then you are amongst equal company, Devon of Wyfordon."

Devon remained standing, while all others on the dais continued to sit. The stance gave him no authority. Rather he seemed the fool at a feast. A drunkard who'd drawn attention to himself with boorish jokes and inappropriate stories.

His chest rose and fell. His face twisted into a grimace, and he announced, "I demand a gesture of good faith from you, Norseman. One which will convince me of your benevolent intentions toward myself and this kingdom."

"I believe 'tis not so much this kingdom or any benevolence which concerns you," Kol said. "But rather your longevity in a place where you seek to assert yourself as regent."

"You knew that from the start and had no qualms before." Her cousin's meaty fist slammed down upon the trestle. Several Norse warriors edged toward the dais. Devon eyed them warily. "Thou shalt guarantee your good will toward myself and my father. I demand this."

"You make demands of me, a barbarian ruled by animal instinct and lust for blood and treasure?"

Isabel's hair stood on end, watching the two men quarrel over the leadership and future of a kingdom whose monarch still lived. Slowly she surveyed the great hall. 'Twas filled with Kol's fiercest warriors. The newly arrived Saxons appeared dwarfish in comparison.

Devon shook his head. "With me arrived a legion of men, sworn to protect their lord and the kingdom of Norsex with their lives. I will assert my claim."

"You shall?" Kol questioned lightly, examining his goblet. "There is another with stronger claim."

Isabel sat uneasily in her chair. She knew he did not speak of Ranulf, and could think of only one other legitimate contender for the throne.

Devon stiffened, his fist clenched. "Another? I demand to know his name. Have you taken up with this usurper against me?"

Kol's voice lowered. "He was here all along."

"Name him."

"Godric of Norsex. Named heir to Ranulf, according to the remaining members of Ranulf's witan."

"A bastard child!"

Kol answered easily, "Lesser kinship hath secured greater thrones."

Isabel exhaled sharply.

Kol shifted his gaze to her. As rigid as a tree on a windless day, Devon stood. Only the pulse in the side of his neck evidenced the life coursing through his veins.