Warrior's Song (2 page)

    He was nearly on her, his horse black as night, blowing. Graelam dismounted and walked toward her. He was big, she realized, taller than her father, thicker, much younger. He looked intently at her, saying nothing, just kept walking to her.

    She held her sword in one hand, ready, ready, moving it slightly back and forth so he couldn't be certain of her point of attack. She couldn't just let him take her— she wouldn't. That was something she couldn't bear.

    She took several steps back, keeping herself between him and Ellis, who was still now, lying on his back. She heard him moaning, but doubted he was conscious. He still hadn't moved. She said, "I won't be your wife. I won't be any man's wife, ever. Do you hear me? I will never wed. I am my father's daughter, and I belong here with him. Leave now and I won't fight you."

    "You truly wish to fight me?" he said the words slowly, no disbelief in his dark voice, but rather a sort of pleased joy.

    "I would like to stick my sword through your belly. Ah, but you are wearing armor so that leaves me your throat. A good target."

    He drew his own sword and held it easily in his right hand, his left hand empty. He had tossed his shield to the ground beside his destrier. It was obvious he didn't believe her to be any sort of threat. Indeed, how could she be? She was half his size. Very well, he had to be slow; his size and the weight of his armor would make it so.

    "It is between us, Graelam de Moreton. You have no choice but to fight me. Tell your men to stay back. If I beat you, you will tell them to leave here."

    He cocked his head to one side, and still there was that amazed look on his face that mirrored both pleasure and anticipation. He didn't look away from her as he shouted back toward her own men, "All of you remain where you are."

    She said again, "Tell them that they will leave if I beat you."

    "Oh, no, I will not tell them that. It would make them fall off their horses with laughter. You can't beat me, Chandra. Give it up." He had the gall to hold out his hand to her.

    It was too much. She gave an animal growl deep in her throat and lunged forward toward his left side. Her sword struck his. She nearly dropped like a stone. There had been no give, no weakening at all. It was as if she had slammed her sword against a rock. She remembered her father's words, spoken over and over during the years, "Keep your damned head, girl. Don't panic, ever, for if you do, you're dead. If you're alive, then there's hope, but you must keep your head. If you fail with your first attempt to bring your man down, then keep seeking until you find his weakness. Every man has a weakness."

    "You have no weaknesses," she'd said to him, but she knew that every other man did. Lord Richard had grinned at her and cuffed her shoulder just as he would a boy's.

    And so she stepped quickly aside and hammered her sword against Graelam's, high, near his hand. He leaped back, releasing. She'd made him retreat. Just a step, but it was a beginning. Then she heard his laugh. He was laughing at her.

    He thought she was amazing, a girl who aped a man's ways, a girl who dared to raise a sword at him, and her anger nearly sent her straight at him. No, she had to be calm or it would be all over. She slipped her right hand into her cloak and slowly pulled her knife from its sheath at her belt. She looked steadily at her own sword, distracting him, readying herself. Ellis was yelling behind her, quite conscious now. She could see him from the corner of her eye struggling to get his sword, clutching at his right leg.

    Graelam engaged her this time. He slammed his sword against hers, slicing downward, dragging her sword with his. He didn't pause, just hammered again and again, giving her no respite. She knew he would crush her soon; his strength and his skill were simply too great. She fell back, slowly, slowly, her eyes on his face, hoping to see his strategy mirrored in his eyes. Soon now. Soon she would make her move. His blows were rhythmic, unending, and it seemed to her that each new blow was harder than the last. She wondered if he ever tired. Soon now. She danced to the side. When he turned slightly to come after her, she knew it was the moment she'd waited for. She leapt toward him, her knife out and raised. She struck her knife with all her strength at his naked throat.

CHAPTER 2

She saw her knife driving forward, straight and strong toward his unprotected neck, felt her own power behind that driving blow, limitless, focused, and then, suddenly, he had twisted about, and his hand in its leather gauntlet had somehow closed around her wrist and he was only inches from her face.

    "A trick your father taught you, I assume," he said, and she saw that he wasn't breathing hard at all. She was nothing to him, nothing at all. The pain of knowing that was nearly as great as the pain in her wrist.

    He squeezed slowly until she felt she would die from the pain. "Stop this. I have no wish to break your wrist. Drop the damned knife." And in the next moment, her knife dropped from her numb fingers. She tried to bring up her sword, but he grabbed her and pulled her back against his chest. Both of their swords clattered to the rocky ground. He held one arm around her, and with his other hand, he pulled off her cap.

    He was silent for a moment; then he said, very close to her ear, "You smell like sweat and fury and boar's blood, but now it is over. I have won."

    So very easy for him, she thought, wanting to grab her wrist and rub it, the pain was so great, but she didn't. She saw Ellis lying there, just staring at them, and there was defeat on his face.

    She had lost. She wanted to curse him, but she said nothing.

    Graelam called out to her men, "It is over, as I just told your mistress. There will be no looting, no killing, if you will drop your weapons and come with us into the castle."

    She heard her men speaking in low, angry voices.

    Then they were riding slowly forward, toward that long line of Graelam's men. The man who had ridden behind Graelam sat tall on his horse's back, calling out calmly, "My name is Abaric. Attend me. No one will be hurt. Just keep riding." He looked toward Graelam. "You will bring her, my lord?"

    "Aye," Graelam said, "I will bring her." She heard the possession in his voice, his triumph and pleasure, and she wanted to slink away in shame. She had failed.

    "Have her men collect the old man, but don't let him near a weapon. He would gullet me if he could."

    She felt his arm hard beneath her breasts and said, "My men will never lower the drawbridge, never."

    He said nothing.

    "You will see."

    He merely shook his head. His man handed him his helmet and he put it back on. He was faceless again, and that was more terrifying because he was no longer just a man.

    It seemed that such a short time had passed when Graelam, Chandra seated in front of him on his powerful destrier, one arm holding her against him, rode forward to take position in front of his men. He came to a stop twenty feet from the castle walls. He yelled up to the battlements, where all her father's remaining soldiers stood poised, his voice reaching every part of Croyland castle, "I have Lady Chandra. You will lower the drawbridge or I will cut her throat."

    She felt a knife edge against the naked flesh of her neck.

    "He won't," she yelled. "He doesn't want me dead. Don't lower the drawbridge!"

    The knife nicked her flesh and she felt a sharp sting, felt her blood, hot and heavy, seep out.

    She heard their voices from atop the ramparts, but there was no hesitation at all.

    "It is a fine holding," Graelam said as they rode into the inner courtyard. There were horses and cows and chickens, at least a half-dozen dogs and a good dozen children, most of them quiet now, staring at the enemy who had just come into their world. Even the Croyland rooster, King Henry, he was called, had backed up, comb high, and was staring at them. Chandra watched as his men rounded up all the Croyland soldiers, watched the man Abaric lead them toward the dungeons.

    Once in the huge Great Hall, Graelam looked at the black-beamed ceiling high above his head, the fresh-scented reeds that covered the floor, the well-scrubbed tables, the rich tapestries that hung on the walls to keep the sea's dampness from seeping into the castle. There were few servants in evidence, however, and not more than a half-dozen men, their heads down, and Graelam said as he nodded, "This will do. You and I will be wed here, this evening, by your priest, Father Tolbert."

    "I will never wed you," Chandra said. "There is no way you can force me."

    He looked at her a moment, then nodded again, as if he'd known she would say that. He said, "Tell me, where is Lady Dorothy and Lord Richard's heir, John?"

    "You will not find them," Chandra said.

    "You think not?" Graelam said. She was held loosely now by two of his men. "I will find them and then we will see how long your stubbornness lasts."

    She knew he wouldn't find her young brother and her mother, and he saw that knowledge in her eyes. She lowered her head, a bitter smile on her mouth. They were in the small hidden room beneath the granary that lay just above the dungeons. It was a standing order from Lord Richard. Trouble of any kind, and they were to remain hidden there until he came for them. They were safe. But at what cost? She didn't yet know.

    But she did know that Graelam de Moreton would gain no leverage. Whatever the cost, she would bear it.

    "Find them, Abaric," he said to his man. "Also, bring me the priest."

    Never had a keep been taken so easily, so very effortlessly, she thought as she watched Lord Graelam sit in her father's chair at the head of one of the long tables, one of the serving girls, her hands shaking, giving him bread and cheese and a goblet of the fine Croyland ale. She stood silently between his men.

    "I will not marry you, my lord. All this is for naught. You will not find my brother to use to gain my compliance. You will leave soon, and I will see the back of you."

    "You thought never to wed?"

    "No."

    "That is very strange."

    "Not at all. My father needs me."

    "Your father has his heir— a boy, who will someday be a man, something you will never achieve, Chandra, no matter how much skill you have with weaponry. You are meant to be a wife and the mother of warrior sons."

    "No," she said again.

    He said, looking at her now, "There is much you do not know, Chandra, much your father has not told you. Speak to the dwarf, Crecy. He will tell you that I have sought an honorable marriage alliance with Lord Richard for two years. I was at first refused, your father's reason being that you were too young for a husband, which I accepted even though you were sixteen and surely old enough. Since that time he has sent Crecy to me with empty promises to keep me at bay. I grew tired of waiting, tired of all the lies, and now I have come to take what is mine. Your father will not come after you, Chandra, for I will wed you this evening in the Great Hall of Croyland, by your priest, with all honor that is due you. And this night, you will share your bedchamber with me and your virgin's bed will become our marriage bed."

    Of all he had said, she heard only that her father had kept him away from her. She felt warmth in her heart. He wanted her to remain here with him. She smiled as she said, "From what you say, it is obvious that my father didn't want an alliance with you. It is as I told you. He wants me here at his side. He would never sell me to another man."

    He drank deeply from his goblet, his eyes never leaving her face. He said slowly, "You speak of your father as if he were your lover."

    Graelam saw the shock on her face, her sudden pallor. "Does that notion distress you? It should. You are a woman, meant to serve a husband honorably and bear his children. You are not meant to remain with your father, despite any feelings you may have for him and he for you. Now, enough."

    When he had drunk his fill of the Croyland ale, he led her through the great hall, eerily silent now, for the servants had hidden themselves. She heard his men, some of them yelling, some giving orders, one of them even singing. Crecy, the dwarf, stood in the open door.

    "Well, Crecy," Graelam said. "I have come for what is mine."

    The dwarf bowed low. "It would appear so, my lord. It is a pity that you would not wait. Lord Richard will not be pleased."

    "He should not have played me false. Now he will lose his precious daughter anyway. Tell her that I have dealt honorably with her damned father."

    Crecy said, "What he says is true, mistress."

    "It matters not. I will not wed him, Crecy. My father was right not to want an alliance with him. He has shown what he is— a thief who must needs steal what he wants."

    Graelam didn't say anything to that, just continued to Crecy, "Tell me where the boy and Lady Dorothy are hidden."

    She yelled at him, "Even if you find them, I will not wed you."

    He turned to smile at her then. "Of course you will. If you do not, then I will take both you and the boy back to Cornwall with me. Do you think that your father would want you returned more than his son, his only heir? Surely he must prize his son more than you."

    The pain sliced deep. It always did because she knew he was right. "You will not find him, so it won't matter," she said.

    "I cannot tell you, my lord," Crecy said, and he drew himself up to his full four and a half feet. "I cannot, or Lord Richard will kill me. If you kill me for not telling you, why then, I have only lost perhaps three days of life."

    Graelam dismissed him, then said to Chandra, "I wish to see the rest of the keep." He said to the two men with him, "Keep an eye out."

    "There are no soldiers hidden about to come out and slit your throat. More's the pity."

    "Come."

    But where he wanted to go was her bedchamber. They went up the winding stone staircase. He knew where she slept, she realized, watching him stride toward the door at the landing of the second level. He opened the door and walked in, motioning his two men to bring her. The shutters were drawn over the narrow windows. The room was dim and chill.

    Mary stood in the center of the room, a pale hand pressed against her breast. Chandra heard one of the men draw in his breath behind her.

    "One of your servants, Chandra?"

    "No, she is one of my ladies. Mary is the daughter of Sir Stephen of Yarmouth, a vassal to my father. She has lived with me since we were children. She is too young to understand what is going on here. Have your men leave her be."

    "How old are you, Mary?" Graelam said to her.

    "I am seventeen, my lord."

    He smiled at Chandra. "Not a child at all." He walked to Mary. He took her chin in the palm of his hand and forced her face up. "Tell me where the boy is hidden, Mary."

    She stared up at the man, dark as a moonless night, his voice deep and calm as the waters in the Edze River she had fished in just the previous day. She shook her head. She wasn't a fool. She understood exactly what he would do if she did not tell him. He would kill her. But she wasn't a coward and she said, "I cannot tell you, my lord."

    Graelam said over his shoulder, "Hold Lady Chandra."

    Her arms were grabbed and pulled behind her.

    "You really must tell me, Mary," Graelam said.

    She was terrified; he knew that, as did Chandra, but Mary just looked at him, mute, and shook her head.

    "You are a lovely maid," he said, and Mary realized then that he wouldn't kill her. No, he would rape her.

    His men were looking at Mary. Chandra could taste their lust; it weighed down the very air. They were focused on what their lord was doing and so it took but an instant for Chandra to free herself. She lunged at Graelam, trying to grab his knife from its sheath. He whirled about as she yelled at him, "Damn you, leave her alone!" He grabbed her, again slamming her back against his chest to take away her leverage, his arms wrapped around her. He had great respect for her fists and her knee. He said against her cheek, "You fight me like a madwoman. What is this? Is this why you do not wish a husband? This girl is your lover?"

    She twisted her head to look up at him, and he saw the utter bewilderment in her eyes. "You will not touch her, Graelam. She is my friend."

    "Then tell me, where is your brother hidden?"

    Chandra said nothing.

    Graelam turned to Mary. "Where is the boy?"

    Mary shook her head. She knew this man was the enemy. She had no idea how he had managed to take Croyland. He wanted Croyland's heir. John had to be kept safe, kept hidden until all threat was gone. His safety was paramount— at least it was paramount in her world.

    Graelam said to his men, "Take Lady Chandra and hold her this time."

    He lightly shoved her toward his men. Chandra kicked out at him, but her foot struck his armored leg. It was hard not to cry out because it felt as if she'd broken her toes. Then the men jerked her backward, twisting her arms, and she breathed hard through her mouth to control the sudden pain.