The Silken Cord (3 page)

Once she found her balance, he stepped back
quickly. Looking down, he scowled at the grime on his hands and
body. He had to remind himself that she was his new mistress and he
was bound to her legally. Shaking his head, he glared at his chains
with deep, abiding hatred.

Why? Why had God abandoned him?

He’d never been a religious man, but he’d
shown his people mercy and tried to be a just leader. Perhaps God
punished him for the men he’d killed in battle. But that had been
war, never murder. God had abandoned him and Wulfgar had never felt
more alone.

She handed him the water skin and his filthy
fingers brushed against hers. A cloud of disapproval touched her
eyes as she moved away. He tilted the spout of the skin to his
mouth and drank deeply. Ah, he was so thirsty, he didn’t even care
that the water stung his split lips.

When he lowered the skin, he couldn’t help
asking the questions in his mind. “Who are you, my lady? And why
did you buy me?”

“I’ll answer your questions in time.” She
opened the cloth, revealing the food.

Hunger slammed through Wulfgar, yet he made
no move to take her offering.

"You would rather go hungry?" she questioned
above the rising storm.

He shook his head. "It’s just that your
kindness is confusing. What do you want from me?”

She frowned and he understood her
displeasure. Only a man accustomed to ruling others would dare
question her or speak with such familiarity.

She thrust the food at him. "Take it and
eat. You’ll do me little good if you drop dead from hunger."

His interest piqued, he took the food as she
sat close by on a plank bench. His hands shook as he stuffed his
mouth and chewed with urgency. The manacles on his wrists clanked
as he again tilted the skin to his mouth and drank. Water dribbled
down his chin and she stared at his throat. He shifted on the
bench, feeling her gaze boring into his skin like hot irons.
Perhaps she’d never seen a starving man eat before.

Between gusts of wind, he heard the oars dip
into the sea and the grunts of men at their labor. Lady Ariana
clutched the side of the rocking ship as salt water sprayed her
face. She wiped the moisture away, definitely not a silly girl. She
was a mystery, a young and beautiful woman dressed in rich
clothing, holding her head regally. Through the tantalizing film of
her scarf, he saw that her cheekbones were high, her nose small and
pert. She faced the wind and rain as if they were nothing but a
nuisance she must endure.

"What is it you want from me?" he asked
between bites. His gaze lifted to where Jenkin stood on the raised
partition of the stern, his hand riding the wide paddle of the
rudder as he glared at them. "I see you have strong warriors to
fight on your behalf. I doubt you need me for war."

In spite of the rain, she swept off her
scarf and tossed back the hood of her cloak to reveal her entire
face. A mass of reddish gold curls tumbled down about her shoulders
as she raised her chin high and regarded him. His mouth dropped
open as he looked upon her beauty.

“Do you value your freedom?" she asked.

He nodded. "Aye, my lady. More than I can
say."

The woman pursed her lips. Covering her head
again, she lifted her fine brows in an imperious expression. "I
will offer you freedom and one of my father's fastest ships in
return for a simple task. You would be able to leave England and go
wherever you like."

Freedom! He could find a way to prove his
innocence.

"What do you ask in return?" He had finished
his meal, leaving not a single crumb. Now his hunger was sated, he
relaxed, hoping he would not become sick after so many days without
eating.

Her eyes crinkled. "A small service only. It
wouldn’t be difficult for a man like you."

He leaned closer until he could see darker
specks of light in her blue eyes. "And what is this service?"

She stared at his mouth, which he
purposefully curved into a provocative smile. Many a fair heart had
been known to flutter for his attention. At one time, he’d been
called handsome. But that had been at the king’s court at
Winchester, when he’d been a wealthy lord, groomed and dressed in
fine garments. Now he was beaten and filthy, wearing nothing but
rags.

A sense of anticipation clogged his throat
and quickened his pulse. If only he could get free and return to
England. A sword at Lord Waltheof’s throat, and the truth would
surely come out. Wulfgar refused to die a convicted traitor.

Her hands fluttered in her lap. Fear filled
her eyes, her brow crinkled with uncertainty. Something heavy
weighed upon her mind.

A sudden shout from Jenkin drew their
attention. Wulfgar looked toward the east, where a larger ship bore
down on them. Its square sail showed a standard rampant with a red,
snarling wolf.

Raulf!

A rush of relief swept Wulfgar as he
recognized the merchant who had bid for him at the slave auction.
Now dressed in chain mail and helm, Raulf stood at the bow of the
ship. Even from this distance, Wulfgar could see his first man’s
lips curved in a frosty smile as his other men pulled at the oars,
gaining fast.

"Heave, men," Jenkin roared. "We must outrun
them. Don’t forget our precious cargo. Heave!" In an instant, the
Wind Song came to life as the Welshmen picked up their pace.

Cargo? Wulfgar’s eyes scanned the deck in
search of some hidden freight he’d missed. His gaze came to rest
upon Lady Ariana and he could only surmise Jenkin referred to her.
She was the precious cargo they sought to protect.

Jenkin strode over to them. With deft
movements, he chained Wulfgar’s hands to the mast, then returned to
the tiller. Wulfgar jerked against the chains. Heaven help him. If
the ship sank, he would drown.

He stared at the sail flapping high
overhead, then pressed his shoulders back as he looked at the other
ship and smiled with satisfaction. His men were coming for him.
Soon, he’d be free.

Lady Ariana inhaled sharply, as if finally
understanding. "The iron wolf is your crest. Those are your
men."

Elation swept him. The loyalty of his
knights touched something deep within him. They knew he was
innocent, even if his king did not. Soon, now. Soon, he would be
free.

The woman’s eyes widened with panic. When
she spoke, her voice quavered. “I’ve heard your men were furious
with your king for selling you into bondage. They didn’t believe
you were guilty of any crimes and your king branded them all
outlaws.”

He kept his silence. It’d do no good to
confirm what she already knew.

“They will thwart my plans. I can’t allow
that,” she said.

Her plans? A rising sense of foreboding fell
over him. Though he longed for his freedom, he couldn’t help
wondering what she wanted from him.

The ship rocked furiously. A wave struck
them and water rushed over the sides. One of the Welshmen started
bailing water.

Wulfgar could see the islands of the
Hebrides along the eastern coast of Scotland, beckoning through the
sheets of rain. It was far too late to land and seek shelter from
the storm.

The Normans swung great grappling hooks at
the Wind Song. One glanced off the railing, close to where Lady
Ariana sat. With a low cry, she scrambled away as another hook
struck the rail of the ship. It pulled taut, clawing the siding.
Though it dug great gouges in the wood, the hook remained snug.

Lady Ariana drew a dagger from beneath her
cloak and tried to cut the heavy ropes. Two Welshmen ceased rowing
and drew their own knives to help her. Another hook was thrown and
another. They caught and held. The ship gave a sudden lurch, then
stalled.

The Welsh would be forced to fight.

Wulfgar jerked at his chains, eager to join
his men. Helpless, he roared with fury.

The Welsh stowed their oars and took up
their swords. While the other warriors placed themselves at the
forecastle, Jenkin drew Lady Ariana to the quarterdeck, away from
battle.

As Normans poured over the side, two of them
tied the ships together. Swords clashed and taunts filled the air.
The ships tossed in the churning sea. Rain sliced over them, the
bracing wind rushing all around.

Dressed in chain mail and helms, the Normans
had the advantage. The woman clutched the railing, her knuckles
white, her face ashen. Fear creased her brow.

If she died, Wulfgar would be free, yet he
felt the impulse to protect her. In spite of his own desires, her
courage had earned his respect.

A shadowy specter beckoned to them from the
east. Wulfgar could make out the ominous black shape of an
island.

Jenkin lifted his sword, hacking and
thrusting at the Norman’s. Brandishing a heavy battle-ax, Raulf
swung it at Jenkin’s mid-section. The Welshman jumped back in time
to evade the slicing blow.

The ships pitched with each heavy swell. A
clap of thunder overhead joined with a loud cracking sound. A blaze
of lightning pierced the blackened sky. Wulfgar looked up as the
shattered mast and sail crashed toward him. Ducking to the side, he
tried to evade the falling timber as it smashed into the deck. His
chains jerked taut against the mast and he couldn’t contain a short
cry as his wrists were wrenched hard. Another snap and he found
himself free of the mast. As he rolled on the pitching deck, his
wrists throbbed with pain. Clambering to his feet, he realized his
hands were still chained together. He flexed his aching wrists,
grateful they weren’t broken, and looked for a weapon so he could
join the fight.

“Hold your hands apart,” Raulf ordered as he
raised his battle-ax. Wulfgar obeyed and in one hearty blow Raulf
severed the chains binding Wulfgar’s hands.

Freedom!

A piercing scream filled Wulfgar’s ears as
Lady Ariana launched herself at Raulf’s back. She would have
stabbed Raulf with her dagger, but he tossed her aside. She rolled
across the deck, striking her head against the broken mast. She
blinked, as if to clear her vision. For all her courage, she was no
warrior.

While Raulf fought off the Welsh, Wulfgar
pried away the pins on his broken manacles. He tossed them aside
before clasping an abandoned sword in time to divert a thrust from
Jenkin. The two men battled fiercely, holding their weapons with
both hands as they swung them in cutting arcs. A forceful wave
struck the ships, spraying water in a giant geyser, slamming them
to one side. Wulfgar’s feet tangled in a coil of rope and he
stumbled.

"Wulfgar, have a care," Raulf shouted.

Jenkin prepared for a final lunge, but Raulf
interceded, saving Wulfgar from certain death. Wulfgar deflected
another blow, knocking Jenkin back. Raulf rounded on the
Welshman.

“Jenkin, look out," the woman warned.

Jenkin recovered and Wulfgar admired the
Welshman’s skill. Jenkin blocked a lethal stab, then met Raulf’s
advance with a mighty heave that sent Raulf sprawling.

The woman bit her lower lip. She watched the
battle, her eyes filled with terror. Wulfgar pivoted as he swung
his sword. Dodging a vicious thrust from one of her men, his feet
slipped on the icy deck. Where was the woman? Too late, Wulfgar
spied her standing beside him. She placed the steel point of a
heavy sword against his throat.

"If you value your life, drop the sword.”
Her voice trembled, betraying her courage.

To be vanquished by a female! Wulfgar knew
of many ways to disarm her, but he’d never harmed a woman. He
should take the advantage and kill her, but neither his mother nor
God would approve of such cruelty and he lowered his sword,
dropping it to the deck.

A low boom shook the heavens and lightning
flashed across the sky. The bitter wind molded the woman’s mantle
about her. She quaked with wet and cold. Though fear glimmered in
her eyes, he admired her tenacity. She intrigued him and he vowed
to take her with him when he left with his men.

“Stop fighting, or I’ll kill him,” she
called to Raulf.

Her voice vibrated with fear. Wulfgar
watched the point of her sword shaking all too close to his throat.
The sword was not much threat, for she could barely lift it. In one
deft movement, he knocked it from her grasp.

With a sharp cry, she rubbed her hand from
the stinging blow, then reached for her dagger. Raulf showed a
nasty grin and stalked closer, forcing her to step back.

Shaking her head, her eyes flashed with
determination. “I won’t let you take him from me.”

Courageous but foolish. Gaston, one of
Wulfgar’s knights, came up behind her. She turned and screamed as
the Norman lifted his blade, a feral grin on his face.

“Hold!” Wulfgar commanded, fearing Gaston
might cut her down.

Startled by Wulfgar's cry, Gaston hesitated
and the woman plunged her dagger deep into his shoulder. Gaston
grunted with pain and shoved her away. She cried out as she
stumbled back against the railing. The dagger fell from her hand
and clattered to the deck. At that moment, the sea heaved and she
fell backward over the side of the ship into the raging sea.

“Nay!” Wulfgar threw himself against the
side of the ship to catch her.

"My lady," Jenkin shouted.

Aghast, Wulfgar watched as she thrashed
about in the rippling black depths. Her head broke from the icy
water and she fought for air. Again, she sank beneath the cresting
waves. The frigid ocean would steal her warmth and life.

The hood of her cloak fell back, her hair
blinding her as she fought to free herself from the mantle. The
heavy cloth clung to her, binding her arms, forcing her down. She
would drown.

Wulfgar watched with horror as she
disappeared from view. Taking a deep breath, he dove over the side
of the ship. The sea crashed over him as he plunged into the icy
water and began to swim with firm strokes.