Strangclyf Secret (3 page)

He pulled his arm away,
taken aback by the heated current passing from her fingers into his
flesh. To mask his unexpected response, he raised a brow at her
angry tone. What was all this talk about a bear? “’Tis a minor
wound from a hunting accident.”

“’
Twas no accident,” she
firmly countered, frowning.

“
What makes you
think...where were you an hour ago?”

She sat back on her heels,
stunned. “You think I would do such a thing?”

“
She was here, Bernon,”
Geno said, skewering Bernon with his eyes. “She ate and had a bath.
Balen and I were both with her—while she ate, that is. Not during
the bath. We stood guard then.”

“
Then why do you think
‘twas no accident?” he asked, leaning over her in an intimidating
manner.

“
Even from a distance,
‘twould be easy to see you are no wild beast,” Her arm waved in an
airy gesture. “Whoever loosed the arrow must have meant to kill
you.”

“
And just how would you
know ‘twas an arrow?”

“
You have splinters in the
flesh around the wound that should be removed. Who wants you dead,
Bernon?”

“
Many people. Should I add
you to the list?”

“
I would never do such a
thing. How could you think so?” Hurt shimmered in her eyes. “I am
yours. ‘Tis my duty to give you Strangclyf, to take care of you,
and to please you. If you do not trust me to tend this injury, then
I beg you, seek out one whom you do trust so you may heal
soundly.”

Bernon straightened and
folded his arms across his chest. He could almost believe her
sincerity. Almost. He knew better though. Women were manipulative
mistresses of deception. Had not his mother and Maurella taught him
that lesson well? Only Queen Matilda had ever proven different.
Aye, his queen he could rely upon. Of course, he truly did not
desire to be at odds with his wife. Fate would bring her into his
life on a day when his mood was the foulest. He wanted her loyalty
and respect, but he didn’t want her fear.

He studied his bride. She
appeared gentle and honest enough. Mayhap he could mold her into a
trustworthy helpmate. Though he had little experience with women
out of bed, he trained raw recruits for William and himself. Aye,
he would train Barwolf as he did his young warriors. He would
assure she learned her place and stayed there. She would not be
allowed to interfere in his daily routine either. He would be
married to her till death after all and they might as well begin as
they would go on.

First things first. He
must remove himself from her presence until his mood improved
before her wringing hands shredded the material in her
grip.

“
Go back to sleep, Barwolf.
I’m sure King William has heard of your arrival and will expect you
at court this evening, so I’ll return for you later. Have you
something appropriate to wear?”

“
Aye, milord.” She nodded
and blessed him with a timid smile.

“
Come, Geno.” The men
walked to the door.

“
Please wait,
milord.”

“
Go on, Geno.” After his
friend left and closed the door, Bernon faced Barwolf, crossing his
arms in front of him and bracing his stance in a relaxed pose. He
would start her training now. “Do not disturb me after I have
dismissed you.”

“
I apologize,” she replied.
“I did not know this rule.” Her shoulders slumped as she clutched
her thin arms around her waist.

God’s teeth, she was as
spiritless as a starving peasant. And damn, he was no cruel ogre,
yet he was still taking out his anger on her when he’d already
acknowledged to himself that she didn’t deserve his sour mood. Some
women were so fragile with their feelings. He sighed and wiped a
hand over his face, trying to rid himself of his scowl. “Since I
remain, you may tell me what you wished to say.”

She glanced back up at him
and hesitantly tilted up the corners of her mouth. “I have
something for you.”

Her smile, so artless and
genuine, made his heart skip. She scooted to the foot of the bed
and climbed down. God’s bones! The top of her head barely reached
the center of his chest. He had to think positive. The only
positive thought related to her height that came to mind was that
at least she was taller than Queen Matilda.

Going down on her knees
beside her pouch, she removed a rolled bundle. A frown puckered her
brow and she pulled other items from the bag. When it was empty,
she turned it upside down and shook it. Then she glanced about,
clearly puzzled.

Bernon took a deep breath
to nudge aside threatening exasperation and went down on one knee
beside her. “Did you misplace something?”

She shook the bundles and
tried peering back into the darkness of the pouch. “’Twas here when
I went to bed.”

“
What was here?” he asked,
restraining his impatience. A life of chaos awaited him. He could
see himself poking about King William’s court, looking for lost
scarves, slippers, and trinkets.

“
My dagger. I am always
careful with it.” She raised a devastated gaze. “I put it into my
pouch before I lay down, but it is gone now.”

She looked like she
expected him to strike her and he was surprised at the feeling of
affront he felt by her fear. Didn’t she know he was sworn to
protect her? “You must have put it elsewhere. It is bound to turn
up later.”

“
Have you a dagger I may
borrow, please?” She raked her fingers through her hair and glanced
away. “I will need one to transfer the title to you.”

“
Aye. Is that why you
wanted me to stay?”

“
Nay. There must be people
to witness the transfer of title.” She handed him the first bundle
that she had removed from the bag and gave him a tentative smile.
“Your gift to me was most generous, Bernon. Geno told me your size,
so I used some of the cloth and made this for you. ‘Twas difficult
to find the right color thread, but if this fits, mayhap you will
wear it tonight.”

He glanced down at the
package, unwilling to let her see his surprise at her unselfish
gesture. “The cloth was for you, not me.”

“
But you sent so much.” She
raised earnest, clear emerald eyes and placed a small hand on his
sleeve. Again heat tingled up his arm from her casual contact. “I
made two fine gowns and shifts for me and still had cloth left
over. ‘Twould have been frivolous to waste such fine fabric when I
knew you could have died earning the coin that paid for
it.”

Her gaze fixed on his
mouth and her lips parted slightly. She leaned toward him and he
heard a distinct
sniff
. She suddenly yanked back her arm as if burned and a rosy
blush stained her cheeks. “I...ah...” She swiftly rose and backed
away from him, bumping into the footboard. She jumped, cast him a
quizzical expression, and then quickly climbed back onto the bed,
as if fleeing a dragon. “Please...um...see to your arm soon,
Bernon. I worry over the wound festering.”

He rose with the bundle in
his hand, still baffled by the fire tingling through his flesh from
her casual touch. He watched her roll onto her side and jerk the
covers over her head as if they were some kind of fortress. She
didn’t move again.

He opened the bundle in
his hand and looked at her gift. She had fashioned a black tunic
with black and gold braids bordering the shoulders, cuffs, and hem.
An embroidered gold fighting bear like the one on his standard
graced the chest of the garment. She had spent many hours laboring
over the intricate details of the work.

He ran his fingers over
the fine slick stitches and the faint scent of lavender mixed with
roses taunted him. Walking closer to the window, he examined the
golden threads more closely in the light then stared in disbelief
at the sleeping form huddled under the blankets.

His wife had cut her hair
for him.

Again.

Barwolf stretched and
opened drowsy eyes as dusk stole light from the chamber. Strange
surroundings sent blood drubbing through her panicked heart until
memory came flooding back. Then she groaned, closed her eyes, and
bowed her head into her palms.

What a way to blunder the
start of a marriage! Her husband definitely hadn’t appreciated
being mistaken for Lucifer, but then what man would? Was it her
fault she could never think straight when she first woke after too
little sleep? And was it her fault he was so wickedly handsome? He
had the most gloriously sinister gray eyes she had ever seen. And
heaven help her, he had the muscles of Hercules. And tall—why, he
almost bumped his head on the lintel. She probably couldn’t reach
the nape of his neck if she stood on her toes. Then there was his
smell—like the sunshine and woods after a rainstorm, but with his
own spicy, manly scent mixed in the blend. He must think her
uncouth. What else could he think after she leaned closer to him so
she could get a better whiff?

No wonder he hated women,
as her father claimed. They probably drooled and fawned over him
constantly. Since he could have any woman he wanted, he doubtless
resented a marriage to someone with her plain sparrow appeal. He
certainly didn’t trust her. He had practically accused her of
wounding him.

Barwolf sighed and opened
her eyes. Mayhap she should try to look on the bright side. He
could have seemed surly because he was having a bad day. People
couldn’t always help their moods, could they? And he was wounded
after all. She rubbed her pounding left ear. At least he didn’t
knock her upside the head like her father or her cousin. Those two
were just plain mean. The thought of them made the steady throb
from Hadwyn’s latest strike more painful.

Mayhap Bernon would give
her another chance. He was a bear after all. If she did her best,
she would prove herself worthy and please him. Then he would surely
give her a woman’s name. She was valuable, rare, and precious, was
she not?

She would act submissive,
do nothing to raise his ire, and stay out of his way, so he would
not find her an annoyance. Such behavior hadn’t pleased her father,
but it’d certainly cut down on instructions from him. She would
remain calm and docile, adjusting her behavior to Bernon’s, so he
would have no plaints. She would...

She groaned. Who was she
fooling? Bernon was bound to notice her flaws. She never had been
able to hide them.

Stretching her sore
muscles, she grimaced. Lord, she felt as tired as the moon was old.
That boat ride down the coast with Padarn to get to Bernon had just
about worn her out and she could use more sleep. Glancing toward
the window, she gasped and threw back the covers. The light would
soon disappear and there was not a single tallow in sight. She
wouldn’t please Bernon by tarrying, so she had best hurry and
prepare herself. She had much to do if she was going to make him
The Strangclyf tonight.

Barwolf retrieved the
bundles from her pouch and pulled the sheath holding the huge,
ceremonial sword of Strangclyf from under the bed. She carefully
placed the precious weapon upon the bedding. “You will have a new
master soon enough, Intrepid. But right now I wish you to lend me
courage.”

She quickly dressed in the
finest clothes she’d ever worn in her life and sat in the chair by
the window, trying not to think about how unsettled she felt as the
room grew dark. If Bernon didn’t come soon, her last thread of
composure would surely snap.

A rap on the door startled
Barwolf, eliciting a short squeal then a groan as she jerked.
Bernon would probably barge in, so who could be knocking? She
frowned and carefully felt her way along the wall through the
darkened chamber over to the door. “Who knocks?” she called through
the thin seam of light at the portal.

“’
Tis Balen. Bernon sent me
to escort you to court.”

Barwolf sighed and leaned
her forehead against the rough wood. Her husband obviously thought
her too troublesome to bother over. At least Balen seemed nice when
she had met him with Geno earlier. She moved her hand over the door
until she felt the handle then pulled the portal open. She blinked
a few times as her eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering
torchlight.

“
Why are you in the dark?”
Balen asked, his brows stretched with surprise.

“’
Twas no tallow.” She
stepped into the hall and closed the door.

An appreciative smile
raised the corners of Balen’s mouth. “Geno was right. All cleaned
up, you are a splendid example of God’s creative
abilities.”

Inhaling deeply to calm
herself, she rubbed her aching ear and glanced away. “You do not
have to flatter me, Balen. I know my flaws, though I do appreciate
your efforts to put me at ease.”

“
I speak honesty, not
flattery. Come.” He held out an arm to her. “The king and queen are
anxious to meet you.”

She gripped his forearm
with both hands and stalled him. “’Tis important that you take me
straight to Bernon. I can meet no one until he is The
Strangclyf.”

“
That is my intention. ‘Tis
Bernon’s duty to present you, and we had best make haste before our
dawdling rouses his ire.” He covered her trembling hand with his
and smiled. “Fear not, little sister. You are under Bernon’s
protection now.”