The Silken Cord (5 page)

Wulfgar’s gaze swept her, resting on the
jeweled dagger peeking out from beneath the folds of her dress.
Though curious, he told himself he didn’t care about anything more
than gaining his freedom. Let her keep her secrets. He didn’t
care.

She stepped back and looked about, but her
gaze didn’t leave him for long. She moved cautiously and he
realized his presence frightened her. He doubted it would do any
good to reassure her that he meant her no harm.

He took a step toward her and she lifted the
dagger, wielding it like a warrior. "Come no closer.”

Ah, a tigress at heart. No doubt the red hue
of her hair was the cause. Over the years, he’d noticed that
red-headed women were often spirited.

Her blue eyes flared. She was braced to run,
her lips parted as her breathing came faster. He admired her
courage, considering the fact he outweighed her over double and
knew at least a hundred ways to disarm her. She reminded him of a
little spitting cat and he couldn’t suppress a wide smile.

Her fine brows lowered in a disapproving
frown. "What do you intend?"

Lifting one hand, he beckoned to her.
"There’s no need to fear me,
demoiselle
. Surely I’ve proven
I won’t harm you."

She didn’t move, staring at him like a
viper. He took two steps toward her and she took five steps
back.

"Leave me be," she ordered with a wave of
the dagger. "I don’t wish to harm you."

She would do him harm? An engaging notion.
He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. In return, her eyes flared
with indignation.

"I find nothing amusing,” she said.

Considering the situation, he thought her
quite endearing. Had he met her under different circumstances, he
might have sought her father to discuss a marriage arrangement. But
she was Welsh, and he had no love for her people, who had caused
him nothing but trouble along the English border. Besides, he had
other matters to think about now, like how to get out of here and
return to England.

He looked toward a low hill that edged past
the sea. Once they had eaten, he planned to gain higher ground to
get his bearings on the island. Hopefully his men would find them
soon. If not, he would make arrangements to borrow Callum’s dinghy
and take the chance of reaching the mainland. He would see that the
little boat was returned to Callum later on.

Lifting his arm, Wulfgar pointed to the
east. “We will travel to yonder hill so we might see where we are.
Perhaps we will find our people over there.”

"I do not take orders from you," she
reminded him in a bristling tone.

He shrugged. "Gara has gone to milk the
goat. Are you hungry?"

An eager light filled her eyes and she
looked where he pointed. He took advantage of the distraction,
whisking the dagger from her hand before she could even whirl on
him. She promptly brought her foot down hard and stamped her heel
against his bare instep.

Wulfgar dropped her dagger. Scooping up the
blade, she raced down the pebbled beach and disappeared over a low
hill.

Squinting his eyes against the sun, Wulfgar
groaned and cursed her agility. She was intelligent and quick and
he wouldn’t underestimate her abilities again.

Unable to ignore his aching foot, he grabbed
up Callum’s spear, and hobbled after her. Heaven only knew what
trouble she might get herself into. There was no telling who else
might have taken refuge from the storm here on the island.

Her piercing scream split the stillness of
the beach. Wulfgar jerked his head up and took off after her at a
dead run.

* * *

Fear gripped Ariana’s heart as she raced
over the hill, clammy and breathing hard. The cold air bit into her
skin and she was almost tempted to return to the warm hut. But she
was desperate to get home and must signal her men if their ship
came near the island.

Perhaps she should not have stomped
Wulfgar’s foot. It was a trick her brothers had taught her,
guaranteed to stop a man if done right…and she had learned to do it
just right. But Wulfgar had saved her life and look how she thanked
him. Still, she couldn’t trust him. He was a Norman after all and a
convicted felon. He might try to hold her for ransom.

As she ran, her feet sank deep in the sand,
filling her shoes, and she felt it wriggling between her toes. She
must find a place to think, until she could decide what to do. Her
gaze scanned the water, looking for a ship. Had her men perished at
sea? Her heart pounded with the horrible thought. She must reach
the mainland before all was lost. What if she wasn’t in time for
the ransom exchange and Edwin of Carlinham killed her brother
before she could reach Cynan?

Her stomach cramped with terror as she left
the beach and headed inland. She mustn’t consider such a terrible
thing, but remain strong, or she would lose what little control she
had over her emotions. What good would she be to Dafydd and their
people then?

Cresting a hill, she plunged downward and
her long hair blinded her. Before she knew what had happened, she
ran straight into the solid back of a man.

As he turned upon her, he grunted, his face
drawn with surprise. He yelled at her in a foreign tongue she
didn’t recognize.

Tripping over the man’s feet, Ariana
screamed before she could stop herself. She fell, landing hard in
the prickly heather covering the ground. Twisting about, she stared
up at him. No, three men. Heaven help her.

They were tall and thin, wearing woolen
trousers cross-strapped to the knees with strips of red cloth.

Vikings!

Gasping, she shoved herself up out of the
heather and stepped away. She had almost fallen into their
campfire.

The three men stared at her, their eyes wide
with shock. Their packs had been gathered together, as if they
prepared for departure. Close by, Ariana saw the remains of a large
wooden building. The charred remnants of a wooden cross lay beside
the rock foundation of an abandoned church.

The men spoke excitedly together, but she
didn’t understand their words. From their clothing, she guessed
they must be Danes, heathens from the north. She had heard horrible
stories about brutal Vikings and cautiously held her ground.

“Can you help me?” she asked, hoping they
spoke English.

They came closer, showing wicked grins.

She tried French. “I need help. Do you have
a ship?”

Their puzzled expressions told her they
didn’t understand her. She spoke several languages. Why hadn’t she
also learned Danish?

Their gazes skimmed the length of her. She
held the dagger in her fist and glared at them. They laughed,
speaking in their strange tongue, their voices sounding like they
were chewing rocks.

Ariana looked behind her at the steep
incline of the hill. Could she reach Wulfgar before…?

The Vikings circled her, blocking escape. A
tall, redheaded man lunged at Ariana and she dodged to the side,
evading his grasping hands. As she whirled about, she sliced her
dagger across his forearm, opening a long gash in his arm.

Stunned, the man stared at the crimson
wound, then shouted something at Ariana. The other men silently
eyed her, no longer grinning, their eyes narrowed with vengeance.
Fear coiled around her like a damp blanket.

The injured man growled like a wounded bear.
He beckoned to her as he pulled an ax from the waistband of his
breeches. Though she didn’t understand his words, Ariana understood
his intent. He’d learned his lesson and would be ready for her the
next time.

He lunged at her. Ariana tried to dart to
the side but he anticipated her and caught her with one arm around
her waist, yanking her off her feet. Panic climbed up her throat
and she tried to stab him. He struck a stinging blow to her wrist
and she dropped her weapon.

The man threw her to the ground, his
menacing laughter filling her ears. She landed on her knees in
front of the other two men. A sharp stone bruised her calf, her
knees and hands scraped in the dirt. Pushing hair out of her eyes,
she turned to face them.

The Vikings reached for her and she darted
for her dagger, but one of them kicked it away. They yanked at her
hair. No longer could she contain herself and she screamed long and
shrill, fighting fiercely.

A roar of rage filled the morning air as
Wulfgar appeared over the hilltop. Ariana found herself freed from
her attackers. She hurried to her feet and clutched a piece of
driftwood. Lifting it high, she prepared to defend herself.

The men shouted in their foreign tongue as
Wulfgar descended on them like a rabid wolf. They no longer laughed
as they found themselves thrown aside in the sand.

Her protector had come for her. Why did
Wulfgar not leave her to them? They would kill her and he would be
free.

Gratitude swept her as Wulfgar placed
himself in front of her, waiting for the Vikings to rise. His
profile seemed hard as chiseled granite, his massive arm holding
Callum’s spear like a javelin.

The Vikings sized up the large giant.
Undoubtedly they could tell Wulfgar’s status, for he still wore the
slave collar. Towering over them, he appeared to outweigh them each
by at least forty pounds. From their wary expressions, they knew it
would require much effort to take him down.

Ariana edged away as Wulfgar’s face
contorted with fury. The cool wind blew the long, dark hair back
from his muscled shoulders. His biceps flexed as he crouched low in
a fighting position.

No wonder King William feared him.

“Come on, you cowards,” Wulfgar said. “I’m
not a defenseless woman. Let’s see how you fight a grown man.”

The redheaded Viking charged. Wulfgar
wielded the spear with ease and when he finished, the three Danes
lay in a groaning heap at his feet. No doubt they each would have a
vile headache.

Ariana stared with amazement. How had one
half-starved slave defeated so many men? Wulfgar could have killed
them all, yet he didn’t. Why had his knights not shown such mercy
to the Welsh over the past years, instead of the murder and mayhem
the Normans had caused her people?

Each of the Vikings groaned and crawled to
their feet, their faces and clothing covered with sand. They backed
away, clutching their wounds, making soothing gestures toward
Wulfgar.

“Fools,” Ariana muttered.

Their small fishing vessel was moored nearby
on the shore. The waters tugged at the ship, eager to take it
away.

“Just leave.” Urgency built inside her and
she thrust out her arm.

Wulfgar’s muscles bulged as he crouched low,
prepared to fight again if they pushed the issue. It mattered not
that he was a slave. He was in control.

The Danes didn’t dally as they stumbled
toward their ship. Perhaps they would deliver her and Wulfgar to
Wales. Ariana thought about calling them back, but closed her
mouth, unwilling to tempt fate. If Jenkin and her other men didn’t
find them soon, she shuddered to think what might happen.

Her knees weakened and she dropped the stick
of wood and fell to the ground at Wulfgar’s feet. She watched as
the Vikings took in the mooring lines, waded into the sea, and
climbed into their boat. They raised the single sail and began to
row. As the wind breathed upon it, the ship shot away from the
island, leaving her alone with Wulfgar. A Norman slave who had
saved her life twice.

“Thank you.” Ariana couldn’t help feeling
grateful to Wulfgar.

His head dipped in acknowledgement. Tilting
her head, she looked at him, her gaze caught by his gleaming black
eyes. The silence lengthened between them, with only cries of sea
birds to fill the void.

Looking around, she searched for her dagger.
It lay a short distance away on the ground.

His gaze followed hers. With two fluid
steps, he scooped up the blade and presented it to her in a gallant
flourish. “If it gives you comfort, then I wish you to have
it.”

Taking the weapon, she clutched it with
chilled fingers. As if she could ever use it against him. If he
decided to take it from her, he could do so with little effort. But
the weapon had sentimental value and she didn’t want to lose
it.

“Thank you.”

His expression softened. “You’re
welcome.”

“Wulfgar. My lady. Are you all right?”
Callum came running over the hill, carrying a long spear.

“Now he comes to our aid.” Wulfgar mumbled
with an amused chuckle.

Turning, Ariana walked to the Viking’s camp
in the rubble of the deserted monastery. She pointed toward the
campfire. “They left us some food.”

Three large salmon lay across a wide, flat
stone. Her stomach rumbled ravenously.

With both hands, she picked up a heavy fish
by the tail and waved it at Wulfgar and Callum. “Should we invite
them back to break the fast with us?”

Shaking his head, Wulfgar’s mouth quirked
upward as he stabbed his spear into the ground. “I think it best if
we dine alone.”

Callum grinned and took the fish from her.
“Gara should be pleased. We’ll have a feast.”

He turned and jogged off toward the hut.

In their haste to leave the island, the
Vikings had also left two leather packs behind. Ariana rummaged
through them and discovered a skin filled with water, small packets
of dried meat and berries, a cooking knife, and some bronze cups
and plates. She would give the provisions to Callum and Gara, for
their kind hospitality.

“Here.” She called to Wulfgar.

When he looked up, she tossed him a chunk of
dried meat. He caught it deftly in mid-air and grinned as he popped
the morsel into his mouth and chewed. Ariana tilted the spout of
the water container to her mouth and drank deeply. Ah, fresh water.
Truly one of the joys in life.