The Silken Cord (12 page)

He must have taken the sword from a fallen
man. Relief washed over her as he met the Norman with a clash of
steel. The collision rang in her ears as he repelled each thrust.
At a disadvantage against the mounted knight, Wulfgar weaved to the
side and ducked beneath the horse’s head to the other side. Ariana
pressed a clenched fist to her mouth. He could be trampled by the
vicious warhorse.

The animal pranced nervously as its rider
wheeled the beast around. Jumping back, Wulfgar evaded the piercing
thrust of the knight’s blade. Another blow, and Wulfgar’s sword
flew from his hand.

Clenching his fists, Wulfgar braced his legs
and faced the charging horse, unarmed. His face looked like it had
been carved from hard granite, his eyes fierce. Was this the same
man who had held her gently and made her a hat out of leaves so she
wouldn’t be sunburned?

Prickles of horror tingled over Ariana’s
skin. He would be killed.

Swoop!

An arrow struck the rider’s arm and he
screamed, losing his grip on his sword. Wulfgar flinched, his eyes
wide with surprise.

Thwack!

Another arrow struck the mercenary and he
fell from the saddle, landing at Wulfgar’s feet in a flurry of
dust.

Hardly able to believe her eyes, Ariana gave
a hoarse laugh. Wulfgar was safe. Praise God.

Austin whooped with glee. “Well done, my
lord.”

Ariana turned to see who had saved Wulfgar.
Her eyes burned with tears and she wiped at them, blinking at what
she saw.

Jenkin stood not far away, holding Austin’s
bow in his fist. Jenkin clenched his jaw. He had fired the arrows.
Now the rider was dead, Jenkin’s shoulders relaxed and he lowered
the bow, but he didn’t smile.

He had saved Wulfgar’s life. Why did he not
seem happy about it? Surely Wulfgar would be grateful.

Rubbing his chest where the horse had lashed
him with its hooves, Wulfgar strode past her, his eyes blazing with
fury.

Ariana frowned. Wasn’t he grateful to
Jenkin?

She shook her head and sighed. Of course
not. Wulfgar was the protector, the defender. Strong. In control at
all times. He didn’t like to be indebted to another man. Especially
not Jenkin, a Welshman.

“Don’t let him escape or he’ll take word to
Edwin,” Raulf ordered as he and Evan fought to dismount the last
rider.

Turning her head, Ariana saw the mercenary
struggling to wheel his horse around to flee. Her men joined
Wulfgar’s as they sprinted over to team up and take the man down.
They mobbed both man and horse. The rider never had a chance
against so many.

Ariana went to help Cwrig, who still had the
shaft of an arrow protruding from his thigh.

“Lay back and rest,” she urged him.

“I’ll pull it out,” Arnulf offered as he
took hold of the shaft.

Cwrig grit his teeth and Arnulf gave one
swift tug and jerked the barb out. A gush of blood followed and
Ariana ripped off the hem of her chemise to staunch the flow.

Pulling back his leather jerkin, she
inspected the wound. “It didn’t go too deep into the muscle, but it
could fester. We’ll clean it well before we commence our
travels.”

“Do you think it’s wise to take the time
now? There could be more riders near.”

“You’re right. We’ll pack it to control the
bleeding and move into the hills where we can hide. The bleeding
will cleanse the poisons and we’ll tend it for you later.”

Evan rode up on one of the mercenaries’
horses, a wide grin on his face. Pushing back a lock of hair from
his forehead, he slid to the ground. “We have two horses, princess.
You’ll not have to walk.”

She beamed at his exuberance.

“Well done.” Raulf clapped him on the
back.

She turned to look at all the men, both
Welsh and Norman. Appreciation filled her heart to overflowing and
she could only smile at them. What words could she say to tell them
how grateful she felt?

“Thank you, all of you. God has blessed me
with your friendship.” Her gaze rested on each man.

Raulf’s color heightened and he cleared his
voice with obvious pleasure. Austin gave a barking laugh.

And then the import of what had occurred
struck her like a club to the head. They no longer stood
segregated, but clustered together, conversing like friends. They
had fought together as one. Unified, Welsh and Norman. If she
hadn’t witnessed it with her own eyes, she would never have
believed it possible.

Would it last? There was much left to be
done before they met their objectives.

Gaston sat joking with Cwrig over their
injuries and indicated the stab wound in his shoulder. “At least a
woman didn’t deal you the wound. My shoulder aches unbearably where
your princess stabbed me, in spite of what I’ve done to relieve
it.”

Cwrig gave a painful laugh. “But I didn’t
even see the arrow coming. You should ride one of the horses. Your
wound will heal faster.”

Gaston nodded and Ariana determined then
that the two injured men would ride the horses. She could walk.

“It was the devil’s own work to bring him
down. Who would have thought mercenaries would be so hard to kill?”
Austin spoke to Raulf, indicating the fallen rider.

Raulf grinned. “I’m glad you were there to
help.”

Only Wulfgar and Jenkin stood apart, their
eyes brooding, their jaws harsh as they glowered at each other.
Ariana frowned at the two. They didn’t look happy with their
victory and she knew why.

They were each leaders over their own men
and Jenkin had saved Wulfgar’s life. They didn’t like being
challenged, or owing their lives to one another.

She sighed. Stupid male pride.

A foreboding shiver moved up Ariana’s spine
and she shook it off. They were safe for the time being and had
acquired horses to help with their travels. They would soon arrive
at Cynan and all would be well. She’d find Dafydd and return him to
her people. Wulfgar would take Cynan and find a way to prove his
innocence to his king. Then they’d each go their separate ways.

She looked away from the men and a sinking
of despair filled her heart. This was what both she and Wulfgar
wanted.

Then, why did she feel as though she were
about to lose her best friend?

They followed the River Ystwyth and traveled
upland, into the rugged Cambrian Mountains. They climbed higher,
grateful for the stands of tall oak and mountain ash shielding them
from view. Jenkin led the way with unerring confidence. King Rhys
had chosen his hiding place carefully.

Because they knew the terrain well, Cwrig,
Evan, and Austin scouted ahead and behind to make certain they
weren’t followed. They stopped often and, though they said it was
to rest the horses, Ariana knew it was in deference to her. They
had placed her on a horse with Cwrig and she confessed only to
herself that she was tired. Normally she was strong. Her only
explanation was that nearly drowning in the ocean, finding her
people killed, and then their recent battle had taken its toll on
her. She was so weary she yearned to sleep for a sennight.

The cool breeze helped invigorate her and
also the call of home. Though they had been driven into hiding,
Ariana longed to be back with her people.

That night, they stopped to make camp high
up in the mountains. Ariana slid off her mount and sat on a fallen
log as she shook a stone from her shoe. It was a warm day and she
removed her cloak and set it aside. Smoothing the wrinkles from her
dress, she fingered the soft linen.

“Lord Wulfgar bade me give it to you,”
Arnulf had said when he’d presented it to her.

“Thank you,” she’d whispered, grateful for
his consideration. Still, her heart ached when she considered who
the previous owner might have been.

Now, both Wulfgar and Jenkin agreed a small
fire would be acceptable since there were thick stands of oak and
birch to disperse the smoke. Ariana gathered sticks and twigs,
picking her way through the thicket. She turned to return to camp
and stopped. Standing in front of her was Wulfgar, his arms also
laden with kindling.

He hesitated and Ariana lifted her chin as
she regarded him. “What do you want?”

His eyes softened as he considered her.
“Your trust.”

She trusted him with her life, but somehow
she knew he wanted more. He was an ambitious man, but he had shown
honor. She had trouble believing he was a traitor.

He moved closer until she could feel the
warmth of his skin close to her own. Her time with him on the
island had taught her not to fear him, but she feared her own
emotions.

“I was betrayed and framed,” he said.

Her jaw tightened. “You speak of Waltheof,
the Earl of Huntingdon and Northumbria?”

He nodded. “And one other.”

“A conspiracy? I was told that Lord
Huntingdon testified that it was you who conspired with him against
your king. You were gathering an army to defeat King William.”

“He lied.”

Ariana cocked her head to one side. “But you
went to Alnwick and met with him on several occasions.”

“I went at his request. He asked for the use
of my army to fight against the Scottish king to hold his border
lands.”

She frowned. “You didn’t conspire against
King William?”

“No, we conspired against Malcolm Caennmore,
the King of Scotland.”

“But why would Lord Huntingdon testify
against you if it wasn’t true?”

His brow furrowed and his eyes crinkled with
doubt. “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

“Who did he conspire with?”

“I have my suspicions but I need proof.”

What if Wulfgar had been betrayed and was
innocent of the conspiracy to overthrow his king? Oh, how she
wished it were true. No longer did she believe him capable of
treason. And yet, it didn’t change her plight.

Emotion clogged Ariana’s throat and she
turned away so he wouldn’t see the truth in her eyes.

She loved him. Since the moment she saw him
standing with his brother in her father’s barn, she had loved him.
And when her father had betrothed her to him, she had agreed.
Seeing him on the auction block as he was beaten by the slave
trader, his courage had pierced her heart. When he’d saved her from
drowning and had fought off the Vikings, his valor had won her
devotion. She could never tell him of her love. She feared placing
that weapon in his hands. A princess could never put her own heart
above the well being of her people. “I have yet to regain my
brother.”

Dried leaves crunched beneath her feet as
she shifted her weight and fought to hold her ground. With every
breath she took, she fought her love for him.

“I’ll keep my word to you, Ariana,” he
promised. “You must trust in this.”

She did trust him, to a point. He’d saved
her life twice, after all. But what if his desire to regain his
earldom was stronger than his vow to help recover her brother?

Skirting around him, she walked back to
camp. She could hear him following behind, could feel his dark eyes
upon her. She breathed with relief when she finally dumped her
sticks next to the fire. Jenkin and Austin had gone to hunt fresh
meat in the forest. Cwrig sat before the fire as he tended his
wound, but Gaston lay upon the hard ground, holding his injured
shoulder. Pain drew his features into a grimace. With his head
pillowed against his pack, Ariana offered him a sip of water from a
shallow cup. He groaned from time to time and the flush of fever
was upon his skin.

“Did you cleanse the wound and wrap it with
clean cloth?” she asked.

He nodded. “It festers in spite of what I do
for it.”

“Perhaps I can help.” She’d seen this
before. He would die if she didn’t do something fast. There was
grave danger ahead and they needed every able man to fight.

Returning to the fire, she prepared water to
boil cleansing herbs. Minutes later, Gaston gave a shuddering moan.
Ariana knelt by his side, peering at his shadowed face. His eyes
were closed, his features drawn in agony. If the wound putrefied,
he would die.

Taking a woolen cloth, she drenched it with
cool water and placed it against his heated brow.

“How fare thee?” she asked him.

He opened his glazed eyes. Lifting his head,
he peered at her and gave a trembling sigh. “Poorly, I fear.”

“I’m sorry for injuring you,” she said.

He laid his head back and gave a single nod
of acknowledgment. “I don’t blame you.”

If he died, she would blame herself.

“If you will allow me, I’d like to help.” At
his nod, she gave him a soothing pat on the arm and went to lay
more wood on the fire to build it up hotter. Her healing skills
were limited to one or two remedies for fighting poisons,
cleansing, stitching, and a few pain-relieving teas. With a house
full of brothers, her Aunt Frida had taught her to care for them.
Hopefully her knowledge would be enough.

Jenkin and the other men returned to camp
with a clutch of wild pheasant. Borrowing Jenkin’s knife, she dug
wild onions. With his aid, she cleaned and chopped them up and set
a goodly amount aside for later use. She took the rest to mix and
pound into an odorous paste until her eyes watered and she wiped
her dripping nose.

“What is she doing?” Raulf asked as he sat
close by, plucking feathers.

Cwrig shrugged his shoulders and said the
obvious. “Making a poultice for your wounded man.”

“Ah,” Raulf squinted at the noxious mass of
onions and his nose crinkled with repugnance. “How does she know it
will help?”

With the back of her hand, Ariana brushed a
curl of hair out of her eyes. “It’s a common remedy amongst my
people. There are no secrets in its use. It kills the poison in
stab wounds.”

She heated water in an iron pot. All the men
stayed close by, throwing feathers aside as they watched her labor.
At her command, they moved Gaston to a comfortable bed Wulfgar had
made for her inside the tent.