Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: C429; Extratorrents; Kat; Historical; Romance; castles; william the conqueror; christian; slave; inspirational; england; wales; medieval
Description: Convicted of treason, Wulfgar was once a favored knight of King William the Conqueror. Sold into slavery for his crimes, Wulfgar is determined to have his honor restored and vows revenge on those who conspired for his downfall. Once his betrothed, Princess Ariana of Wales seeks only to free her young brother from the cruel ruler who has taken Wulfgar’s place at Castle Cynan. ~Inspirational romance

The Silken Cord
by

Leigh Bale

*****

Copyright 2013 by Leigh Bale

First Edition published 2013 by LAS Publishing at Smashwords.com

*****

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard word of this author.

*****

She risked everything on a man she should never trust.

Convicted of treason, Wulfgar, Earl of Glyndwr, was once a favored Norman knight of King William the Conqueror. Sold into slavery for his crimes, Wulfgar is determined to have his honor restored and vows revenge on those who conspired for his downfall. But once Wulfgar belongs to Ariana, he finds there is nothing he will not do to protect her. She holds his heart in her hands and this silken cord is stronger than any chains.

Once his betrothed, Princess Ariana of Wales has come to the slave auction to buy Wulfgar, a man she believes betrayed his king. Only Wulfgar knows how to free her young brother from the cruel ruler who has taken Wulfgar's place at Castle Cynan. But Ariana is unprepared for the darkly handsome warrior who kindles a passion within her that threatens the lives of her people and her own soul.

Note to reader: This book is an inspirational historical romance.

*****

Discover other titles by Leigh Bale at Smashwords.com

Visit Leigh Bale’s website at http://www.LeighBale.com

*****

This book is dedicated to Lisa Mondello, a generous friend and fellow author.

*****

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Dear Reader Letter

Excerpt from The Heart’s Warrior

Excerpt from Healing the Forest Ranger

The Silken Cord

Chapter One

The Slave Market of Hedeby

North of England, A.D. 1076

“Buy the slave.” Ariana squinted her eyes against the afternoon sun and glanced at Jenkin, her father’s most trusted warrior.

Jenkin’s brow furrowed as six guards dragged the slave onto the auction block. Bloody slashes crisscrossed the bondsman’s chest and arms, the fabric of his fine clothing hanging from his torso in shreds. Though trussed in chains, he struggled against his captors, his dark eyes blazing with fury.

Jenkin’s lips thinned. “The man is dangerous, my lady. They have beaten him and still he fights. Perhaps we should keep our silver and find another way to free your brother.”

Ariana lifted her gaze to the platform. An imposing man, the slave stood head and shoulders above his captors, with hammerlike fists and brawny arms that spoke of great strength. The guards struggled to contain him. Six men! If they couldn’t control him, how would she be able to do so? “You know there’s no other way. Only Wulgar de Conteville knows how to gain entrance into Castle Cynan.”

Black shaggy hair fell into the bondsman’s eyes. His lean ribs and hollowed cheeks indicated he was half-starved. The frigid wind beat against his thin clothing and he clenched his jaw. Though his proud carriage marked him as a nobleman, his present circumstances declared him of no consequence. Nothing but a slave. And yet, even bound in chains, he would never bow before any man. Or woman.

Knots of tension tightened Ariana’s stomach. A shiver swept her spine and she pulled the hood of her cloak closer around her face. What had possessed her to think he might help her?

Fear and desperation.

If Wulfgar refused her plea, her brother would be doomed. Surely Wulfgar was a Christian, like her. But in these cruel times, religion didn’t always matter. Many men were Christians and continued to lie, cheat and kill.

“Hold him,” the slave trader ordered as he jumped onto the wooden platform.

Wulfgar planted his bare feet on the splintered planks and tried to throw off his guards. A snarl of rage tore from his throat, his black eyes filled with venom.

“Haven’t I taught you respect, yet?” Wielding a short club, the slaver blew a breath from his nostrils like a charging bull.

Wulfgar spat at the man’s feet and the slaver slammed the club against Wulfgar’s tight abdomen. Wulfgar almost doubled over, but the guards jerked him upright. Ariana winced at Wulfgar’s low groan of pain. She could hardly stand to see him beaten. Her Christian faith had taught her to love all mankind. Only her plans to free him later on justified her buying the slave now.

People crowded close to watch the spectacle. Amidst their morbid cheers, the guards pounded Wulfgar with their fists. Wulfgar tried to fight, but he was bound too tight and there were too many. Within moments, he hung limp in their grasp, coughing, spitting blood.

A blaze of sympathy tore through Ariana and she clenched her hands. She wanted to help this man, yet he deserved his punishment. He was a traitor to his king and she must think first of her young, innocent brother in the hands of a murderer.

She hardened her will, squelching her compassion. Once she owned Wulfgar de Conteville, her offer would be more than generous for him to earn his freedom.

“Have you had enough?” the slaver growled.

Wulfgar jerked against his bindings, still eager to fight. He’d do Ariana no good if they injured or killed him. She took a step, but Jenkin held out a restraining hand. “It isn’t safe for you to intervene.”

“Then, stop it,” she ordered in a low voice. “I need him if we are to save Dafydd.”

The slaver lifted his arm to strike again. Wulfgar locked his jaw, his eyes filled with loathing as he met the threat without flinching. The fool! Was he so eager to die?

“I’ll not buy damaged goods.” A tall merchant called from the crowd.

He stood before the auction block, his tawny hair ruffling as the wind stirred up dust around his feet. The slaver paused, his beady gaze moving to rest on the man.

Competition! Ariana hadn’t considered this. Her hand tightened around the small leather pouch hidden beneath her cloak. Besieged by war and poverty, her people had scraped together what little wealth they had. She prayed it was enough to buy Wulfgar.

The merchant wore a rich ermine cloak. A short sword and leather coin bag hung at his waist. Ariana could not understand why anyone but her would want to buy Wulfgar. He was too violent to make an obedient slave. She wanted him only for the information he might provide, not to work the fields. She couldn’t understand the merchant’s interest.

The slaver lowered his club and grinned with yellowed teeth. “Fair enough. Though he is strong, you can see it’ll take a firm hand to control him. What will you bid?”

“Two marks,” the merchant replied.

Ariana’s throat tightened. Wulfgar fought his captors no more. He stood silent. Waiting. His keen gaze rested on the merchant, a brief flash of recognition in his eyes. Did he know the man?

“A piddling amount for such a fine slave.” The slaver shook his head with shame. “Once a valiant warrior, he’s strong as an ox. I cannot take less than seven marks.”

Seven marks! Such a high price.

The air filled with excited whispers as people gestured toward the dais.

“From whence did he come? In whose army did he fight?” a red bearded man called.

The slaver showed a cruel smile. “It was William of Normandy he fought for. The slave was once a nobleman and one of the Conqueror’s best Norman knights.”

A gasp rippled amongst the people as they digested this information.

“What are his crimes that he’s sold into slavery?” the bearded man asked.

“I know,” a woman called. “The tinker gave me the news. He spoke of a great lord from the south that plotted treason against King William. No one seems to know why the king let the traitor live instead of beheading him.”

A rumbling murmur spread through the crowd. Ariana took a deep breath. She also had wondered why the English king had been so merciful. William was a Christian and slavery no longer existed in England. So, why had the Conqueror allowed Wulfgar to live in spite of his crimes?

“I would never own such a slave.” The bearded man shook his head and dropped silver coins back into his purse. “Any man who would betray his king would show no loyalty to me. He’d murder my entire household while we sleep.”

Ariana crinkled her brow. If she bought Wulfgar, he could very well slit her throat instead of helping her.

Grim clouds gathered in the heavens and she caught the pungent scent of rain. They must hurry or be caught in a storm on their voyage home.

Buyers gathered around the scaffold as the slaver tugged on his thick beard and grinned. “Come now. Will no one else bid? Surely one of you men can tame this slave.”

Ariana was no man, but she would show the traitor who was master. With a determined lift of her chin, she glanced at Jenkin. "Buy him. Now.”

"I’ll give you seven marks of silver,” the merchant called before Jenkin could speak.

The slaver crowed with glee. "Ah! I have seven marks. He has noble bloodlines. You can work him hard or put him with your slave girls to produce strong babes. Come now, who will give me eight marks?"

"Eight," Jenkin boomed.

The merchant turned to look at Jenkin and the two men measured each other before the merchant’s jaw tensed with annoyance. Ariana’s nails bit into her palms. She wanted no trouble, but neither would she back down. She must buy Wulfgar. She had no other choice.

"Eight-and-a-half marks.” The merchant’s eyes were chilling as he challenged Jenkin.

The slaver laughed and clapped his hands together. "Good. Who will give me nine?"

A titter ran through the crowd. Nine marks for an untrained slave was unheard of.

The merchant consulted two other men standing close beside him, their expressions fierce. A jagged scar ran the length of one man’s face. From their shields and weapons, Ariana knew they were warriors. With their hair cropped short, they could be French or Welsh, from a rival principality to her father. But why would they want to buy Wulfgar?

They glowered at Jenkin, as if that would deter him from bidding again. Ariana snorted. They didn’t know Jenkin very well, nor her for that matter.

"Bid nine.” Ariana mouthed her demand beneath the silken scarf covering her lower face.

She glanced at Wulfgar and saw him standing silent, watching her. His expression darkened, his eyes crinkled in puzzlement.

"Nine marks of silver.” Jenkin’s voice sounded gruff.

The merchant grimaced. Hefting his coin purse with one hand, he cupped the hilt of his sword with the other. Ah, the price had become painful. For Ariana also. But her brother’s life was worth every bit of silver, and more.

"Nine-and-a-half marks.” The merchant’s voice contained a desperate edge.

Jenkin did not hesitate. "Ten."

"Ten-and-a-half."

"Eleven!"

The merchant's shoulders sagged and he threw Wulfgar a despairing scowl. Then he looked straight at Jenkin, his eyes filled with such fury that Ariana braced herself in case the merchant lost his temper and turned the marketplace into a bloodbath. Her men were outnumbered, but they would fight. She reached for the twin daggers she kept sheathed in a girdle beneath her cloak. Her fingers curled around the jeweled hilts.

Without a word, the merchant turned toward the rutted road. Accompanied by his men, he strode away and Ariana relaxed her hold on the daggers.

The slaver gaped at Jenkin, then a smile widened his thick lips. "Sold! Sold for eleven marks of silver."

Ariana breathed with relief. She had won. Wulfgar belonged to her and she could return home and proceed with her plans of rescue.

The wind buffeted her and a drizzling rain began to fall. The tradesmen in the market scurried to bundle up their wares.

Ariana handed Jenkin her leather purse and Jenkin left her side long enough to claim her new possession. Three of Ariana's men followed, in case the slave proved difficult. Once the slave trader had been paid, Jenkin stepped up on the platform and faced Wulfgar. The bondsman towered over him.

"You’ll not be abused if you come willingly.” Jenkin spoke in English. "We will offer you a chance at freedom if you do our bidding."

The two men regarded one another. Did the Norman understand? Ariana knew his native language was French.

Wulfgar shifted his weight and his chains rattled. The slaver and several guards stood a safe distance away, their fists tightened around clubs, their expressions wary.

Ariana tugged her heavy mantle about her, covering the silver daggers and embroidered dress beneath. Her dainty shoes were soiled with mud and her toes felt like frozen sticks. Urgency built within her. She longed to leave this horrible place.

"Today, I will come willingly.” Wulfgar's accent sounded deep and smooth as one of Cook’s creamed sauces.

Jenkin gave a skeptical frown. "Give me your word."

Wulfgar nodded. "I give you my word."

The slave appeared soaked to the skin and Ariana thought they must find him warm clothes before he froze to death. And food. Heaven only knew when he’d eaten last.

Taking the key from the slaver, Jenkin undid the shackles and pulled the heavy bar from Wulfgar's shoulders before he tossed it aside. It thudded on the wooden planks and Ariana heard Wulfgar’s sigh of relief as he relaxed his massive arms and arched his back.

By the time Jenkin had finished, Wulfgar wore only a single loop of chains upon his wrists and a slave collar around his neck. Even Wulfgar stared at Jenkin like he’d gone daft.

"Are you mad? He’ll turn on you," the slave trader cried.

The man picked up the irons and stepped close to put them back on Wulfgar. Before anyone could stop him, Wulfgar’s chained fists slammed into the slaver’s face. Blood sprayed the air as the slaver grunted and dropped the chains. He stumbled back, falling off the dais. Landing in the mud, he lay there in stunned amazement. Then, he sat up slowly, working his jaw, as if to test if it was broken. He stood, his eyes glazed with fury as he grasped his short sword.

“Wait,” Ariana called. “He belongs to me, now. You have no right to harm him.”

The men jerked their heads around to stare at her, their expressions dark with anger. Wulfgar’s intense gaze speared her and heat prickled her face. No doubt these men had never taken orders from a woman.

Jenkin interceded. "Whatever else the slave is, he’s no animal. I’ll not truss him when he has given me his word."

The slaver shrugged and stepped back. “It’s your neck, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Jenkin ignored this and jumped down from the platform. Wulfgar looked after him, his gaze one of sudden respect. As he followed Jenkin, the chains on his hands jingled with each step. When he jumped off the dais, he lost his balance. His bare feet slipped in the mud and he stumbled. He grabbed for the splintered boards to catch himself.

Ariana’s heart lurched. He might be ill. The beating could have addled him. He must not die. Not yet.

Jenkin offered no aid as Wulfgar regained his balance. Strands of wet hair hung into the slave’s eyes and he shook it back as he stood, his powerful body glistening with rain. Ariana stared, mesmerized by the sight. Heavy black brows arched over his angry eyes. His tattered sleeves exposed muscular arms used to wielding a sword. Never had she seen such a large and beautiful man. He appeared untamed and wild and when his chilling gaze rested on her, a fissure of awareness swept her.

She must never trust this man.

Clasping Ariana's elbow, Jenkin led her toward the quay. “A storm is upon us, but we won’t delay returning to Wales. We have enemies here. We must leave with haste.”

Ariana agreed, letting Jenkin lead the way down the narrow trail. She had one month to deliver the ransom or her brother would be killed. Time was precious.

As they passed, people stared after them, giving them wide berth. At the quay, their heels thudded against the dock. Followed by Wulfgar and their other men, they crossed to their ship Wind Song, where several more warriors awaited them.

Ariana stood back while her men lowered the plank and secured the mooring lines. Even with a scarf shielding her face, she felt Wulfgar's curious stare. He tilted his head to one side, his brows quirked upward. His eyes were the color of onyx and she felt captive by their intensity. She looked away, clutching her mantle close to her throat.

Jenkin assisted her onto the ship and sequestered her beneath the forecastle. When her men urged Wulfgar to follow, the slave again lost his balance. With his hands bound, he couldn’t catch himself and he splashed into the shallow water of the North Sea.

Ariana clutched the smooth railing while three of her men pulled out knives and swords and sloshed into the icy water after him. If Wulfgar gave them cause, he’d be hacked to pieces.

Ariana’s mouth went dry. Again she offered a silent prayer that Wulfgar wouldn’t fight them.

“Are you so foolish to try an escape?” Jenkin stood on the dock. His lips curved in a sneer, his fingers curled over the hilt of his sword. If he gave the word, the other warriors would kill the slave.

Wulfgar must have realized his predicament. Treading water, he didn’t fight as Ariana’s warriors surrounded him. The surf struck Wulfgar in the face and he coughed as the Welshmen escorted him back toward shore. Water dripped from Wulfgar’s beard, washing much of the blood away from his arms and face. Ariana stared, her body rigid as oak. She didn’t believe he’d tried to escape, but was simply half-starved and fighting to stay on his feet. Even in his weakened condition, an unwavering power and fury radiated from him. She could feel it rushing at her. As a nobleman and hardened knight, he was accustomed to giving the orders. No doubt he didn’t take kindly to following Jenkin’s demands.

With a toss of his head, Wulfgar flung the wet hair back from his face. He clenched his jaw and raised his chained hands, as if to defend himself. His eyes glittered like black pearls, resting with challenge on Jenkin.

Stubborn, prideful man.

"I gave you my word,” Wulfgar reminded them, his voice low and harsh.

Ariana tensed. And what about tomorrow? Would he try to flee? If Wulfgar escaped or died, her plans to free her brother would turn to dust.

"Bring him on board,” she ordered.

Jenkin glared at Wulfgar, his tone glacial. "Don’t press me, Norman. You are a traitor. If you try something foolish, I won’t be as lenient as your King William. I will kill you."

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Wulfgar looked up at Ariana, a wolfish grin curving his lips.

Again, she questioned her judgment in buying this man. She must restore her brother to her father’s throne, even if it meant her death. And oh how she prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

Chapter Two

Salt water stung the open lash wounds on Wulfgar’s back and chest. His ribs and jaw ached from the beating he’d endured. Standing waist-deep in cold water, the surf almost knocked him off his feet. His ears buzzed and his body reeled with hunger and thirst. Even now, he fought off the urge to drink from the salty sea. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his vision, moving his gaze to rest on the woman.

She gave orders to her men and they did her bidding. Who was she? And why would she buy a convicted traitor? Did she want him to fight for sport, or did she plan to make him work in a mine or fields?

Ah, he hoped so. Then, he might have a chance to escape.

Accompanied by her warriors, Wulfgar stepped up on the dock. The man named Jenkin moved back so Wulfgar could mount the plank and board the ship. A small, elegant vessel built for speed, it had a single sail with little room for cargo.

Another warrior scurried to spread an oiled skin above the forecastle, to protect the woman from the rain. She sat huddled beneath the hood of her fur-lined cloak, holding a scarf across the lower part of her face. Her eyes glimmered like sapphire gems, so deep and entrancing that Wulfgar felt pulled in by their astonishing beauty.

Where was her husband or father? She seemed to trust her men completely, yet he wondered why they would take orders from a woman. It was a great oddity.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his muddled mind. Nothing must distract him from his goal…to return to England and restore his honor. Then he would punish those responsible for his false imprisonment. For now, he would go willingly with these people and bide his time.

The man named Cwrig raised the sail and each of the other men took up an oar to row away from the dock. Jenkin thrust several furs at Wulfgar and pointed to the quarterdeck. The unmistakable rumble of Wulfgar’s empty stomach sounded above the wind.

"Sit there.” Jenkin’s order was gruff. "You’ll be of no use rowing until you’ve eaten. The slave trader has nigh starved you to death."

As Wulfgar hunkered down for protection against the storm, the ship surged away from the dock and the waves chopped at the hull. Hunching his shoulders against the wind, he wrapped the furs about his body, clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering.

As he listened to the oars slap the water, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad to leave this foreign land. Any longer and he might have strangled the cruel slave trader. No doubt they would have put him to death for such a deed, but surely death was a better fate than slavery. Even now, Wulfgar would have refused to go with these Welshmen except for the tantalizing possibility of freedom they offered him. But what must he do to obtain such a cherished desire? Though he must wait for them to tell him, Wulfgar was eager to know.

Tilting his head back, he opened his mouth to catch the precious rain on his tongue. He couldn’t take in enough to relieve his thirst and finally gave up.

"It’s an ugly storm we go into, my lady," Jenkin said. "But it’s better to face the tempest than a den of cutthroats in this foreign land."

"Your wisdom is sound," the woman agreed.

Again, Wulfgar's stomach rumbled. He was so hungry he could eat an ox by himself.

"How long since last you ate?" Though the woman spoke in French, her soft accent was Welsh. As a Norman earl stationed along the border between England and Wales, Wulfgar had learned to speak Welsh fluently. Like him, it appeared this woman had learned French…the language of her enemy.

Wulfgar shrugged. "I don’t remember, my lady. It was several days ago."

Four days, to be precise. Moldy bread and stagnant water. At the time, he’d considered it a feast. Shaking his head, he fought off the dizzying sickness that consumed him. It’d taken all his mettle to remain on his feet during the lengthy auction and defend himself against the beating the guards had dealt him. He hated this weakness, but he hated being chained even more.

"It’s no wonder you fell into the sea. I’ll get you some food,” she said.

"Nay, Lady Ariana,” Jenkin said. "Your father would not approve."

Wulfgar could barely make out her smiling lips beneath her scarf. He watched with interest, forcing his brain to concentrate. Her name was Ariana and she was a lady, but who was her father?

"My father would want us safe. There’s no time for you to serve the slave. I don’t trust that merchant who bid against us at the auction. He might decide he was ill-used and try to take the slave from us.”

Jenkin’s jaw hardened.

“Don’t argue with me now, Jenkin. Just take us home,” she insisted.

With a sigh, the man nodded and did as she asked, setting a course due southeast.

Order reigned on the ship. Small wooden barrels of drinking water, packs of supplies, and coils of rope had been stowed out of the way. Wulfgar watched as Lady Ariana left her shelter and rummaged around in storage baskets tucked beneath the wooden benches. Rain drizzled from the northern sky but the woman seemed not to notice.

As a pampered lady, Wulfgar thought she would have hidden from the storm. Instead, she stood in the rain as she took out a roast of smoked meat, a loaf of coarse brown bread, and a chunk of yellow cheese. She wrapped the items in a clean cloth, enough food to satisfy many appetites.

Wulfgar’s mouth watered and he swallowed hard, forcing his hands to remain still at his sides. He wanted that food like he wanted to breathe. It took all his will power to sit still and wait for her to bring it to him.

Gathering up a water skin, she staggered across the pitching deck and came to serve him. Savage gusts of wind beat against the ship and she stumbled. Before he could think better of it, Wulfgar reached out and clasped her arm to steady her. Their gazes locked. He saw a sweet innocence in the curve of her face and blue eyes, an allure that drew him like a starving man to a banquet. Her graceful movements, her smile as she spoke to her men, the strength in her voice as she gave them orders, was more than Wulfgar could comprehend. Without knowing her, he liked her. Yet, he could not understand why a noblewoman would travel with a band of scraggly warriors to the northern slave auction to buy him.

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.

Chapter Three

Ariana quaked with cold as Wulfgar dragged her to shore. Her arms were numb and her fingers felt encased with ice. She collapsed upon the sand, shuddering. Wulfgar dropped down beside her, gasping for air. The wind pierced through her and she sucked in a harsh breath. When she tried to speak, her voice emerged as a hoarse croak. The ocean was often a watery grave. Those who didn’t drown died of cold and exposure.

They must get warm.

The slave rolled to her and sat up. His large hands brushed her face and coursed down her arms, sieving water off her skin. He kissed her brow, then her lips. Quick, gentle kisses meant to soothe her.

Instead, panic climbed her throat. What if he decided to kill her? Alone and defenseless, she was too weak to fight him. Surely he also needed warmth.

He trembled beside her and she clenched her jaw against the blustery winds combing the beach. His big body acted as a shield to protect her.

"Must…find shelter," he mumbled.

He stumbled to his feet and Ariana cried out as the sharp breeze cut through her wet clothes.

Come back!

The words screamed inside her mind, but she couldn’t speak. Her tongue felt like a leaden weight inside her mouth.

He bent down and pulled her up. Ariana struggled to stand but her legs refused to support her weight. She threw one arm about his neck and the feel of his faint warmth tingled up her frozen flesh.

“We must…get warm.” Wulfgar half-dragged, half-carried her as they sought protection from the frosty winds.

He staggered and she pushed against him, helping him stay upright. Together, they trudged inland, picking their way through the darkness. If only they could find a cave or tree to shelter them. The wind buffeted her, spitting rain as they picked their way over the scratchy heather. Farther inland, thick peat moss covered the shadowed ground. If they could get a spark.

“A fire. We have fuel,” she said.

He grunted a reply.

Her teeth chattered. Her common sense told her she didn’t have long before she died of exposure. Without her, Dafydd’s fate would be sealed. She must live.

Please, God. Please help us.

She prayed silently as they plodded on. And then, she caught the faint scent of smoke. A large, dark shape unfolded ahead of them, showing a faint light. A hut. Hopefully the inhabitants would help them.

She tried to point in that direction, but her arm dropped against her side, too heavy to lift. Wulfgar headed toward the shadowed darkness, then pounded on the door.

“Open!” His voice sounded gruff and strained.

The door creaked and opened just a bit. They found themselves staring at the point of a spear. A fire backlit a tall man’s thin shape as he faced them.

“What do you want?” he asked in Gaelic.

“Sh…shelter, please,” Ariana responded through chattering teeth.

The man eyed them both before backing away and admitting them into his humble home.

The door closed behind them, shutting out the wind. Ariana tried to smile at a plump woman who stood beside the fire holding a sharp knife. The woman’s eyes widened with fear and Ariana couldn’t blame her. If they lived alone on this island, they must be wary of strangers.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

“We…we are castaways, thrown overboard during the storm,” Ariana said.

The man’s gaze swept their wet clothing and soggy hair. Her explanation must have satisfied him, for he lowered the spear and stood back, giving them access to the fire.

“Warm yourselves,” the woman said.

Made of what looked to be drift wood, the one room hut offered only the barest protection from the storm. The glittering fire made it snug and warm.

A small babe lay nestled in a cradle beside a pile of sleeping furs. The woman stayed close by, watching over her child.

“Very…sweet,” Ariana murmured as she gazed at the sleeping child, so innocent of the chaos outside.

The mother smiled shyly. “He’s a good babe. He hardly ever cries.”

“What are your names?” the man asked.

“I am Ariana and this is Wulfgar.”

Ariana purposefully omitted their titles. Until Jenkin found her, she didn’t want these people to get any ideas about ransom or other evil intentions. The man stared at the slave collar around Wulfgar’s neck and undoubtedly guessed his status.

“I’m Callum and this is Gara, my wife.”

“You’re Scottish. Thank you for taking us in.” Ariana shivered.

Wulfgar stood close beside her, never turning his back on Callum. Ariana realized it was a defensive gesture.

“You say you are castaways?” Callum said.

“Yes. My…er, our men should find us by morning.”

“I have no change of dry clothing to offer you,” Gara said.

“That’s all right. I feel warmer already. We should be able to leave as soon as the storm passes.” Ariana hoped Jenkin and the others found them by then. But Wulfgar’s men would fight to take him back.

Unless she could first convince Wulfgar to help her.

Wulfgar crouched before the fire, his entire body trembling. She felt the same. He’d saved her life when he could have left her to the sea. She didn’t understand, but now she owed him a great debt.

Wulfgar looked at her from over his shoulder, his long hair plastered to his head. His lashes were spiked with rain; lashes any woman would envy. She saw the glitter of his eyes and the flash of his white teeth as he smiled. They were safe for the time being. How different would their lives have been had he not committed treason and they had met at court?

Ah, but she would never willingly go to King William’s court. She hated all Normans. They had successfully wiped out most of her family. Four elder brothers, her father, and numerous other family members and friends. Except for Dafydd, Aunt Frida, and Rhodri, her small cousin, all her family had been killed. She must save Dafydd or she would have no one left.

In silence, Ariana watched as Callum placed more peat moss upon the fire. When it appeared it would burn long and hot, they all rested for a time.

Wulfgar had saved her life, but what about later tomorrow? Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes and decided not to think about that now.

* * *

Ariana awoke slowly, blinking her eyes. The glaring sun blinded her and she quickly closed them again. The cry of a babe awoke her, followed by the opening of the door. The squawk of sea birds and the roar of the ocean filtered inside the drab hut. The sharp aroma of brine stung her nose and the grit of sand on the dirt floor dug against her cheek.

Turning her head, she found herself staring at Wulfgar’s profile. He sat on the floor beside Callum, talking quietly as the two men shared a piece of cheese. Gara and the baby were gone and Ariana assumed the mother had taken her child outside.

Wulfgar’s eye was black and swollen from the beating he’d suffered yesterday. An ugly welt creased his left brow and his soft beard hid other cuts and scratches. Their swim in the ocean had cleansed the wounds around his eyes and jaw. His split lips were full and her gaze centered on his mouth. His dark hair fell in unkempt lengths to his shoulders. The Normans from the auction had worn their hair cut short. Wulfgar's shaggy appearance must be from his enforced servitude rather than his personal preference.

With him so close by, she felt strangely safe. An odd notion, surely.

Resting her head back, she closed her eyes, her body still weak from their ordeal at sea. Opening her eyes again, she sighed, reconciled to dealing with her predicament.

She looked about the hut, finding no furniture and no ornaments of any kind. A few weapons leaned against the wall and one cooking pot rested over the fire. The aroma of mutton stew made her mouth water. These people seemed destitute, yet well fed.

What might Wulfgar be saying to Callum? What if he promised a reward if Callum helped him escape? Though they weren’t starving, Callum and Gara looked in great need. If they decided to help Wulfgar, Ariana could do nothing to stop them.

She sat up and stared at the two men, her mind filled with suspicion.

“Good morning, lady,” Callum greeted her with a smile, looking anything but villainous.

She peered at him with doubt. “How do you know I’m a lady?”

Callum glanced at her sodden cloak lying beside the fire. “Your clothes. They’re too fine to belong to a serf.”

Although Ariana’s dress was almost dry, the colorful embroidery at the neck and cuffs was soiled and torn. What a shame. Aunt Frida had crafted the gown for Ariana’s last birthday. She reached for the gold filigree girdle around her waist and discovered one jeweled dagger still remained. She mourned the loss of the second dagger, for the pair had been a gift from her father only months before his death.

A moment of panic flooded her. She must find a way home as soon as possible. Dafydd needed her.

She licked her dry lips. “How far are we from the mainland?”

“Two islands over,” Callum said.

“And have you a ship to get there?”

He shook his head. “Only a small dinghy. I herd sheep here on the island for Lord Dunbar. He sends a ship from time to time to check on us, but otherwise we keep to ourselves.”

Her hopes soared. “But could you take us to the mainland in your dinghy?”

Callum hesitated. “The seas are too rough right now. It would be dangerous to try a crossing.”

She gripped her coin purse beneath her robes. Buying Wulfgar had nearly emptied it, but there should be enough to get them to the mainland and then home to Wales. She must be careful, though. If these people knew she had silver, they might try to rob her. Years of war had taught her to be careful. “I can pay you once we arrive.”

Callum’s eyes widened at the prospect. “I’d need to discuss it with my wife first. I don’t like leaving her here alone. Too many Vikings pass by the island and she and our babe would be defenseless.”

Ariana looked away, thinking this over. She didn’t want to be responsible for any harm to Gara and her babe. “You’re right. You should keep Gara and your child safe. May we buy your dinghy instead?”

He shook his head. “Without the boat, we’d be stranded here. On calm days, I use the dinghy to catch fish.”

At least the man was honest. A greedy man would have tried to make a deal and think about the safety of his wife and child second. The only other alternative was to wait for Jenkin to find them. In the dark of the storm, he may not have been able to recognize this island amongst so many. It could take time for him to search and find her here.

Ariana stood and brushed a hand across her wrinkled dress. Walking to the doorway, she stepped outside. Gara was nowhere to be seen. She assumed the woman had gone behind the hut where a makeshift fence surrounded an enclosure filled with bleating goats and sheep. Ariana headed toward the beach, scanning the sea for some sign of her father’s ship. The mast had been destroyed and she wondered how Jenkin could steer the boat without being able to catch the wind. They would be forced to unite with the Norman’s on their ship.

“My men will find us soon.”

She jerked, realizing Wulfgar had followed her out and stood behind her. For some insane reason, she longed to confide her troubles to him. Then she remembered who she was, and who he was, and why they were here.

She stepped away and looked at him. "Your men have no right to take you from me. You’re no longer a knight.”

His jaw hardened. "True, but I’ll rectify that soon."

She wanted to ask him what he meant by that. She truly did. But not now. Not when she found herself in a highly vulnerable position. "I’m alive, thanks to you. But I must get home with haste."

“Why?”

She hesitated. Should she tell him about Dafydd now, or wait until her men arrived? “I will tell you when I’m ready. You are still my slave.”

“You enjoy reminding me of that, yet I wish to warn you it won’t always be so.” He stepped near.

She backed away and tossed her tangled hair away from her face. "Don’t think saving my life has won you any special favors."

His brows quirked together and he shrugged one shoulder. “I would never harm you. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

A laugh burst from her mouth. “Other than my men, I trust only God.”

He snorted. “God has no place in battle.”

“But you are a Christian, aren’t you?” She knew even his King William was a Christian, despite the many people he had killed.

“Yes, but I have little use for religion.”

She gasped at his blasphemy. “Surely you rely on the arm of God to help you.”

He lifted a pointed spear he had accommodated from Callum. “I rely on my own arm. This I know. This I trust. God is too fickle. He lets too many bad things happen to good people.”

“No, you’re wrong. God loves all His children. But he lets each of us choose how we will live, both good and bad. We must rely on Him so we can fight against evil. The power of prayer is strong.”

“You are very naïve.” He chuckled.

Ariana tensed. Perhaps she was naïve, but she couldn’t deny God’s influence in her life. In spite of all the horror she’d witnessed in the past, she still felt the Lord’s presence each day. “If I am naïve, then you are cynical and lost.”

A sarcastic smile spread across his handsome mouth. “Perhaps you’re right, my lady. Perhaps you’re right.”

* * *

Wulfgar stared at Ariana. Her snarled hair fell about her shoulders like rays of sunshine when the first golden hues strike the land. Her small, delicate features showed smooth, fair skin that would quickly sunburn. Ah, she was lovely. But he had no time to think about this woman now. He had yet to discover who Lady Ariana was and what she wanted with him, yet he had discerned she was in trouble of some kind.

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.

Chapter Four

“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.

Having quenched her thirst, she felt much better. She offered the water to Wulfgar and watched as he took the container, tilting the brim to his lips.

“Why did you betray your king?” The question came from her mouth so fast that she couldn’t stop it. Whatever had made her ask such a thing?

His eyes clouded over. “I never betrayed William.”

“But everyone knows you were convicted of treason.”

“I did not betray my king.”

He turned away and she let her questions die. Surely his king would not have sentenced him so harshly without ample proof.

She tamped down her feelings of friendship, trying to remember not to trust this man. Wulfgar was a traitor, his Norman people the lowest scum on earth.

“Tell me why you bought me,” he said.

Ah, he’d turned the tide on her. If he knew what she wanted, he might refuse. She wasn’t yet ready for him to know the truth. Not until her men were here to lend her aid should he refuse.

“Who are your people? Which clan are you from?” he persisted.

Like him, she didn’t respond. She blinked, feeling some semblance of control returning to her trembling limbs. Wulfgar might guess who her father was if she told him who her people were.

The sounds of wind and sea beat all around. The warmth of the sun glimmered on the sandy beach, the brightness intense enough to make her blink.

Returning to the hut, the tantalizing aroma of cooking fish filled the air. Callum crouched before a large rock where he sliced long filets for Gara to skewer with sticks and place before a fire they’d built outside. To distract herself, Ariana tried to comb her tangled hair with her fingers. The sun rose higher and covered the island. Indeed, it was a pleasant day and Ariana almost forgot she was stranded with a man who was her enemy.

She watched as Wulfgar stepped into the sea and washed his face and other injuries. Perhaps she should offer to tend his wounds, but she had no bandages or ointments to use and didn’t think Gara’s meager possessions consisted of such luxuries. No doubt the salt water would help heal his injuries.

“Your man watches over you well,” Gara said.

Ariana jerked, surprised to find Gara standing close by holding a bronze plate of cooked fish. Indeed, between scanning the sea for their two ships and washing, Wulfgar rarely took his gaze off her.

“He’s not my man. He’s my slave,” she spoke rather harshly.

Gara glanced at Wulfgar and smiled. “Perhaps he doesn’t know that.”

Gara handed the plate to Ariana, then moved away to serve Callum. Ariana fumed silently. No, Wulfgar would never be anyone’s slave. They could chain him, starve and even beat him, but his spirit belonged to himself.

When he returned, water dripped from his bearded face. Ariana’s cloak lay nearby on a rock and she inclined her chin toward it. “Use it to dry off.”

He smiled his thanks before wiping his face and arms. She couldn’t help laughing at the sight of this large man all but wearing her woman’s cloak.

He chuckled and waggled his eyebrows at her. “What? You don’t think me stylish in this pretty piece of clothing?”

Shaking her long hair back from her shoulders, she wrinkled her nose. “I think you look like a court jester.”

He narrowed his eyes in a shaming frown and drew one hand dramatically to his chest. “I am injured, demoiselle. I sought only to please you and here you make fun at my expense.”

Ariana smiled as she slid a large piece of fish onto a bronze plate and handed it to him.

“Be quiet and eat,” she admonished in a lighthearted voice. “The fish is delicious. I’m so famished, I would eat a leather shoe.”

She didn’t want to jest with this man. If he hadn’t been convicted of treason, Dafydd might not be in the hands of Edwin of Carlinham and her father would still be alive. The thought was sobering. Wulfgar had no idea his own treachery had played such a dramatic role in Ariana’s life and she mustn’t forget what he was capable of.

Although Wulfgar didn’t recognize her, she had met him as a child. Before his conviction, he had been Earl of Glyndwr, a Norman stronghold at Castle Cynan. A truce had been called and he had met with her father on several occasions, to talk of peace along the border. They had reached an agreement, but Wulfgar was convicted of treason and Edwin of Carlinham had taken his place at Castle Cynan.

With Edwin as their leader, the Normans began brutal raids on the Welsh. Edwin’s men harried Ariana’s people night and day, murdering, kidnapping their women, burning their fields and homes, slaughtering livestock to eliminate their food supply.

The ploy had worked. During the harsh winter, Ariana’s people had starved. Then, while she had been away seeking help elsewhere, Edwin’s men had raided her father’s camp. During the fight, Ariana’s father had been mortally wounded and Dafydd, a seven-year old boy and the last remaining heir to her father’s throne, had been captured.

Edwin’s ransom demand was too high. Lands and wealth her poor people could not pay. So, Edwin had tried a different ploy. If Ariana agreed to wed him, he would release the boy. But Ariana knew Edwin would kill her brother anyway and use her to steal her people’s lands. It was an impossible situation. Of course, Edwin didn’t know her father was dead.

Yet.

It was the only reason Edwin hadn’t killed Dafydd already. With Dafydd dead, there would be no heir to her father’s throne. Ariana shuddered at the thought.

With his last breath, Ariana’s father had begged her to get Dafydd back and see the boy placed upon the throne. If it meant her life, she would see her brother safely returned.

Now, she lost her appetite. Her brother’s life was in jeopardy, her people were dying and there was no peace.

Tears burned her eyes and she turned away so Wulfgar wouldn’t see. She stared down at her plate of food, unable to touch the tasty meat.

“You should eat.” Wulfgar’s voice reached her ears. “You’ve had a difficult ordeal and must keep your strength.”

He was right. Drying her eyes, she forced herself to take a bite and chewed without thinking.

Her stomach cramped with tension and fear.

I must get off this island. Please help me, Lord.

A calming peace enveloped her. She mustn’t panic, for she would be of no use to Dafydd then.

After the conquest of England, she could understand why King William had made Wulfgar an earl over one of the most powerful marches along the Welsh border. She could also understand why he had sent Wulfgar into slavery the moment he became a threat.

But why had the king spared Wulfgar’s life?

He set his empty plate aside and took a long drink of water. Then, he came to his feet and picked up the spear.

“Will you be all right if I leave you for a short time?” he asked.

Since they were on an island, she knew he couldn’t flee without help. But what if his men found him before Jenkin arrived? She mustn’t lose Wulfgar now.

“Where are you going?” She asked too sharply.

“Up that hill to see if I can see a ship.” He pointed to the west. “You’ll be safe here with Callum and Gara and I’ll hear if you cry out.”

There was conviction in his tone, and Ariana didn’t doubt his words. It seemed her slave had become her protector, which confused her even more.

He turned to go.

“Wulfgar?”

He stopped and turned around, waiting patiently for her to continue.

“Why did you jump in to save me?”

His dark eyes filled with emotions she didn’t understand. “I knew you would drown if I didn’t.”

“But you would be free if I were dead.”

Both of them understood her question. If their men found him later, he could simply say she had died, her body lost at sea. No one would know the truth. He would be free. Yet, he had done nothing but defend her. If he were truly a traitor, why didn’t he kill her?

His face darkened. “Despite what you have heard, I am no murderer. Nor am I a traitor.”

He turned and walked away. A shiver of foreboding washed over Ariana and she wrapped her arms about herself, staring after him. She wished she could believe him, but didn’t dare. Too much was at stake. And once she told him what she wanted from him, he might change his mind.

Chapter Five

Wulfgar returned to the hut a short time later, disappointed to see no sign of his men. He’d discovered a small lake where ducks nested along the shore and understood how Callum got fresh drinking water.

Gara stood upon one of the low hills, using a long staff to help Callum herd the sheep. Wulfgar’s temper had cooled. It did little good to tell Ariana he was no murderer of women. His stomach sickened when he thought of pleading his cause before the king. If his actions didn’t speak for him, he certainly wouldn’t explain himself to Ariana. She would have to trust him or not. It made little difference to him.

Ah, that wasn’t true. For some reason, what she thought meant a great deal to him. Why? He didn’t know, only that he was tied to this woman by more than chains.

Where was Ariana? Turning his head, he spied her, standing beside the hut, bouncing Gara’s baby on her hip. The little boy chortled as Ariana leaned her face close and kissed his sweet face. Though Wulfgar couldn’t hear her words, he caught the gentle tone of her voice and thought she’d make a lovely mother.

A bolt of yearning tore through his chest and he licked his dry lips. So much had been taken from him. All his holdings. His freedom. His future.

He had no time to care about this woman now. He must get off this island. Soon.

As he approached Ariana, he noticed her cheeks, nose, and arms were rosy with sunburn. Startled, she turned her head, then relaxed when she saw him.

His lips twitched with laughter. “I made this for you.”

He handed her a hat he’d constructed out of long grass. With the baby balanced in one arm, Ariana took the hat, pinching it between two fingers as she held it away from her. Her nose crinkled with repugnance and she stared at it like it was a dead rat.

“What is it?”

“A hat. Put it on your head, demoiselle. It’ll protect your pretty nose from the sun.”

From the frown creasing her forehead, he could tell she didn’t like his offering, nor the way he spoke to her. He supposed he didn’t speak like a slave should address his mistress.

She settled the hat on her head and breathed a sigh of relief as the rim shaded her eyes from the bright sun. “Thank you. Though I fear it wouldn’t be stylish at court, it does serve a purpose on this island.”

She was sensible and also kind with her praise. The more he knew her, the more he liked her. And he didn’t want to like this woman. He wanted to be free of her. She would only hinder his plans. If his life weren’t in such a shambles, things might be different between them. On the ship, he’d heard her men speak of her father.

“Where is your husband?” he asked.

“I…I’m not married.” She pursed her lips after speaking and he realized she wished she hadn’t responded so quickly.

Her news pleased him and he didn’t understand why. He was already betrothed, but thought she might be worth angering King Rhys by breaking their agreement. It didn’t matter now. He had nothing to offer her. No home or title.

No honor.

Doubt filled his mind. What if he failed to clear his name? The rest of his life’s happiness and his mother’s wellbeing depended on his success. He must succeed.

She took a deep breath and let it out with exasperation. “I’m from a small, inconsequential clan.”

Definitely Welsh. Because they were his enemy, he had made it his business to know most of the clans and who their rulers were. Why had she traveled all the way to Hedeby to buy him? He sensed desperation in her, some specific reason she needed him. Jenkin had offered him freedom if he would comply. So many questions swirled around Wulfgar’s mind. Could he get her talking and hope she’d let down her guard and speak freely to give him clues?

“You didn’t buy me to work in the fields, nor to fight for you.”

Her gaze met his. In her eyes, he saw anxiety and fear.

He answered for her. “You need me.”

She turned away, but didn’t deny his words.

“Why is it a secret?” he persisted.

She bit her bottom lip. “There’s much at stake. I want my men here before I disclose my plan to you.”

“So they can force me to do your bidding?”

Her head jerked up and a guilty blush spread across her face, mottling her sunburned cheeks.

He snorted. “Is the chore so detestable that your men must force me to submit?”

They could try. He would never do something unless he wanted to.

She paced in front of him, rocking the baby. “There is great danger.”

“Then, tell me what you want and have done with it.”

She shrugged one slender shoulder. “It doesn’t matter until my men find us. We’re stuck here.”

Wulfgar sat down and began to pluck feathers from two ducks Callum had snared earlier. To fight off boredom, he regaled Ariana with light, amusing stories. As he thought of his family, the topic soon turned serious.

“My mother was a gentle woman, but I knew better than to disobey her,” he said. “Even my father’s booming voice didn’t impact me as much as my mother’s quiet disapproval. I was first born and many responsibilities come with a title. I didn’t take them lightly.”

“Were you a protector even then?” Ariana asked.

“Yes.” He brushed feathers from his lap. “After my father died, it was my duty to care for my mother and younger brother.”

Wulfgar talked of his childhood and the mischief he’d gotten into. He spoke of daring deeds and battles he embellished on purpose for her benefit. Soon, she laughed with delight.

“And what of you?” he asked. “Did you have a happy childhood?”

She looked away. “It’s been a hard life, but I have many wonderful people whom I love. My mother died when I was young, so I don’t remember much about her. My Aunt Frida raised me to be a lady, but I fear my brothers undid much of her teaching. They taught me to ride and to defend myself if we were attacked. Father didn’t approve of the things they showed me, but he was so busy leading our people and defending against the Normans that he could do nothing to stop it.”

“So your father is a ruler?”

She glanced at him, her smile fading. She’d let down her guard and said too much. “A ruler of sorts.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

She tensed, her mouth going dry. “I had five. All of them died fighting the Normans, except the youngest.”

Sadness settled over her, and her stomach fluttered. She didn’t want to tell Wulfgar personal things about her life. He was a Norman, a minion of William the Conqueror, who sought to rule all within his grasp. Vengeful, conniving, and ambitious. The Conqueror destroyed all who defied him, scorching the land so nothing would grow. If people would not bow to his sword, he would humble them with starvation. She could never trust Wulfgar and she must not forget it.

“And where is your youngest brother?” he asked.

She stiffened and looked toward the sea. “He’s in danger. I fear for him. Oh, how I wish my men would find us soon. I must get home.”

“Where is your brother?” he persisted.

“He’s being held for ransom.”

“Then your family must have wealth and prestige.” He nodded and looked down at the plucked duck dangling from his fingers. “Is that why you bought me? To fight to free your brother?”

Shrewd man. “I don’t want you for battle.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Who holds your brother? Perhaps I can help.”

The only help he could offer would be to disclose the location to the secret entrance into Castle Cynan. Then, Ariana would sneak inside and steal her brother out from beneath the nose of Edwin of Carlinham. Edwin was an evil man if ever one lived. She clenched her hands, fighting the hatred she felt for the man. As a Christian, she knew the Lord was a God of peace, not of hate.

“Do you think I’d ask the help of a Norman if I had any other option?” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “I feel much the same toward the Welsh.”

The hostility between their people had withstood time. Looking at Wulfgar, she tried to tell herself she hated him. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to think about this man she could neither accept nor shun. Where Edwin of Carlinham had been cruel and treacherous, Wulfgar had been kind and merciful.

She crinkled her forehead. “You sought to control the Welsh and place yourself as a ruler over them. My people fought back to defend their lands.”

Wulfgar’s chilling gaze swept her. “I defended our border at request of my king. I sought peace with your people and at every turn they refused.”

She sucked in a harsh breath and gave a bitter laugh. “Peace as long as we agreed to your terms. While you were lord of Glyndwr, you would accept no less than our total submission. For your King William, of course.”

His jaw clenched, but his icy stare softened with emotion. Compassion? Surely not. It’d be easier to hate him if he hadn’t been so kind to her.

Regaining her composure, she reminded herself that she still needed Wulfgar’s help. For Dafydd, she would curb her tongue. “I don’t wish to fight with you, Wulfgar. We both have many grievances that cannot be resolved here and now. Let’s speak of more pleasant topics. Tell me how you earned your spurs to become a knight.”

He frowned, but complied with her request. “I was sixteen years old, quite young to be knighted. I was only seventeen when we crossed the English Channel and William won his crown. I watched my father die proudly upon the Hill of Senlac. For my family’s loyal service, I was rewarded with the Earldom of Glyndwr.”

Ariana stilled as she watched him. He stared at the feathers strewn around his feet, his voice raw with emotion, his thoughts obviously absorbed by memories. Like her, he had lost his father to war, but he had also won much through battle. It was more than sad that there could be no peace between their people.

She cleared her throat. “Tell me, is it true to become a knight you must run and mount your war horse over its rump while you are dressed in full battle gear?”

Wulfgar’s deep laughter filled the air. “Yes, but I’ve never heard it described in such a way.”

The spark of anger seemed to have vanished. Sudden warmth blanketed her as she stared at his hands. While her delicate skin was now red with sunburn, his arms, face and feet had turned a deep, rich bronze. With his long hair and flexing muscles, he looked like an invincible warrior.

“Why did you buy me?” he asked again.

“Tell me instead why you were sold as a slave.”

He gave an impatient scoff. “You already know why.”

“But I wish to hear your side of the matter.”

A troubled frown tugged at his brows. “Do you wish to hear the truth or merely amuse yourself at my expense?”

“I wish to understand why you betrayed your king.”

Wulfgar’s eyes darkened. “If you doubt my honor, I would simply make myself a fool by telling you of the injustices done to me.”

Her mouth tightened. “Your own king didn’t believe you were innocent. Why should I?”

He sighed and crossed his arms. “I misjudged you, I see.”

Ariana stared. “What do you mean?”

Unfolding his arms, he stood and leaned near, his eyes glittering. “I thought you had a mind of your own, my lady. Until this moment, I believed you were different from the rest, and that you thought for yourself. Otherwise, why would a woman such as you come to the slave market to purchase a man such as me? I still don’t know who you are and why you bought me. I don’t believe it was on a whim. What do you want? What service do you require of me? Speak it and I’ll comply if it is within my power. I yearn for my freedom.”

She wished it were so easy. Edwin would be more than happy to hand Dafydd over in exchange for her. If her men had died at sea, she didn’t want to take the chance that Wulfgar would try to gain advantage for himself by giving her to Edwin.

She must wait for her men.

Wulfgar sighed. “Once you know me better, you’ll regret not trusting me.”

She drew herself up indignantly. “I don’t wish to know you at all.”

“Is it because I’m a Norman that you don’t trust me?”

Of course. Norman. Barbarian. They were the same to her. “And also your past crimes. Words mean very little, but actions speak the truth.”

“Given time, you’ll come to see my actions are honorable where you’re concerned.”

Her brows rose in question and her voice laced with sarcasm. “Only where I’m concerned? What about your king, Wulfgar? You should be grateful he spared your life. Slavery is the least you deserve. Do you think I can be persuaded to free you because you say you are innocent?”

“No, I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to walk away from you so easily.”

She swiveled toward the sea and let out a shriek of delight. “Look!”

Wulfgar jerked his head around.

“Jenkin,” Ariana cried.

The tall frame of Raulf stood at the tiller of Wulfgar’s ship with Jenkin nearby. Ariana’s men accompanied the Normans. They must have been forced to abandon her father’s damaged ship.

Ariana ran to the beach. Wulfgar picked up his spear and followed more slowly. It appeared that God had answered her prayers after all.

The men waded through the splashing sea to the shell beach. Evan reached Ariana first, followed by Jenkin. Raulf and Arnulf secured the moorings of the ship to large rocks, then joined them. The Welsh shouted joyous greetings, but each man carried a sword or battle-ax, ready to fight.

Jenkin wasted no time with niceties. He stormed over to Wulfgar, a snarl on his lips. “Did you touch her?”

Raulf drew his blade. Both the Welsh and Norman warriors faced off against one another. They would fight again! After all that had happened, after all they’d been through, they would still fight.

Ariana inhaled a sharp breath. If they killed each other, it could jeopardize her brother’s life. More and more, she saw her plans vanishing with the tide.

She stood between them, tired of dealing with this nonsense. How she hated death and killing. “Stop this bickering, you fools.”

Clutching her jeweled dagger, she pushed herself in front of Wulfgar and faced them all like a mother bear protecting her cub. In her tattered clothing, she waved her weapon in front of them. The men’s eyes rounded as they caught the gleam of her bare ankles. Fury covered Jenkin’s face as he glared at Wulfgar. Austin flushed and gripped his sword with hardened knuckles.

“Did you touch her?” Jenkin bellowed.

Callum stood near his hut with Gara and their baby behind him. With these angry voices, he’d picked up his spear, looking confused. No wonder why. The strangers were both friend and foe. The child cried and Gara comforted him.

Wulfgar’s dark eyes blazed. “Why don’t you ask her?”

Everyone stared at Ariana. She grit her teeth and pulled the ragged skirt of her hem over her bare feet. “No, he hasn’t harmed me. Some Viking fishermen ripped my dress, but they fled after Wulfgar taught them a lesson. He defended me. He saved my life.”

No one moved. No one said a word. They gaped at her in astonishment.

Jenkin’s frown eased slightly. “Have you told the Norman slave what we want from him?”

Dear Jenkin. He was as delicate as a bull trapped in the kitchen.

“He knows some of it, but I’ve waited for your arrival to tell him everything.” Ariana rounded on Wulfgar. “You and I must speak privately.”

“My lady?” Jenkin called in a pleading tone.

She looked at her trusted friend, her body tense, her mind resolved to what must be done. “Jenkin, he saved my life twice when it would have served him better to let me die. He has seen to my welfare and I’m unharmed. The plan hasn’t changed. Please don’t fight me on this.”

Jenkin sighed deeply and kept his silence. It was obvious from the disgusted expression on his face that he wasn’t happy about the situation.

Ariana licked her dry lips, fighting off the knots of tension in her stomach.

Wulfgar inclined his head. “What do you want from me?”

“Come.” She indicated he should follow as she moved away from their men.

The others appeared reluctant to let the two of them move off alone together. It was almost amusing the way they fought one another. If it weren’t so serious, Ariana would have laughed. They were like little children fighting over the attention of a choice playmate.

As Wulfgar followed her, Ariana lowered her dagger and sighed with resignation. If Wulfgar refused to do her bidding, she was in a dangerous predicament. Their men would fight. All her plans could be destroyed.

Her brother would die.

Ariana’s hands trembled as she stared out to sea. The fragrant heather surrounded her along with the tangy scent of brine. She breathed deep, cognizant of Wulfgar standing beside her, waiting, completely aware of her every movement.

“You have told me you value your freedom.” She began in a quiet voice, choosing her words carefully.

“Yes, more than anything.” He nodded his head, the wind lifting the long hair away from his shoulders.

“You were Lord of Glyndwr, once a great earl. You ruled with an iron fist along the English border. Before your fall from grace, your men and king respected you. It is said that you built Cynan Castle. You know every brick and every stone placed in its making. You took great care with its building so that other great men came to you for plans to construct their own castles.”

She waited for his acknowledgement, but he didn’t speak. His silence was unnerving. He still clutched the ancient spear, his broad shoulders looming before her, solid and strong. But now, as she spoke of his home, Ariana could see the sadness in his eyes and how it pained him to hear her speak of what had once been his. And she was sad for him. Sad for all that he had lost.

“How do you know so much about me when I know so little about you?” His voice was a monotone.

She shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. “I just know.”

He lifted his head higher as he looked down at her. “You planned to buy me at the auction before you had even met me. It wasn’t by chance.”

“Correct. I went there to purchase you.”

He looked perplexed. “Why?”

“I want you to tell me how to get inside Cynan Castle without being detected. In return, I’ll grant your freedom.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he inhaled deeply and let his breath out slowly. The light of understanding flickered in his eyes. “Your brother is inside Cynan.”

A statement, not a question.

“Yes.” Ariana nodded. It was imminent that he find out where Dafydd was being held, and by whom. All she wanted was to know how to get inside, then she wanted Wulfgar to disappear from her life.

Or did she? Somehow, the thought of never seeing him again brought a sinking of despair to her heart. A princess of Wales had no right to feel sentimental toward a convicted traitor. She wished Wulfgar no harm, but she mustn’t forget her priorities.

“Who holds your brother there?” he asked.

“Edwin of Carlinham is now Earl of Glyndwr. A loathsome man who murders my people without cause. They say the people of Glyndwr hate him for his cruelties as much as the Welsh.”

The color drained from Wulfgar’s face and he grit his teeth, so tight she saw a nerve ticking in his lean cheek. He clenched his hands and the muscles along his arms and chest tightened. Turning his head, he stared out to sea, his eyes filled with anger. As he let his breath out slowly, she was reminded of a charging bull. His fury was palpable.

“I thought you knew,” she said.

He glanced at her, his features so harsh she thought his face had been chiseled from stone. “No, I’ve been preoccupied lately. Until now, no one has told me who King William gave my holdings to or that Carlinham was abusing my people.”

“Do you know Edwin and what he’s capable of?”

His head dipped and his eyes narrowed. “I know Carlinham very well. One day, I will kill him.”

“Why? What has he done to you?”

When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper. “More than I can say.”

A hollow laugh slipped from her throat. “Surely you knew your king would hand your earldom over to another Norman.”

“Aye, I knew.”

But not Edwin. Wulfgar didn’t need to say the words. Ariana could see it in his eyes. There was undoubtedly enmity between the two men, but that wasn’t Ariana’s concern. “Not that I blame you, but why do you hate Edwin so much?”

He looked through her, his gaze focused beyond her on the distant horizon. Hollow and cold. “It’s none of your concern, demoiselle.”

True. They both had their secrets. Unless it impacted Dafydd, it was none of her affair.

“Will you help me? Is there a secret passage into Cynan?” She tried to hide the urgency in her voice.

Wulfgar’s mouth quirked and he pinned her with his stare. He stepped closer, stopping a mere hand’s reach away. Ariana felt dwarfed by his size. His chest filled her view, rippling with strength. She looked up at his face and saw his fierce expression as he gazed into her eyes.

“A secret passage is not something that would be spoken of freely. Only two men know for certain if it exists. I’m one and the other is dead. But even in life, my brother would never have spoken of it to you. How did you come to hear of a passage?”

Ariana’s gaze wavered. He had her, now. How could she explain her certain knowledge? Although he had practically acknowledged there was indeed a passage, she wished not to give him her true identity. Amidst her uncertainty, her spirits soared. There was a way inside. Now, she just needed to make him tell her where the entrance was.

Chapter Six

The pulse of the tide upon the beach washed close to Ariana’s feet and she stepped back to evade the cold water. Her bare toes sank deep in the sand and she shivered as the wind embraced her. Squinting her eyes against the beating sun, she lifted her head and stared at Wulfgar. “I know there is a secret way inside Cynan. Tell me where it is.”

Tossing a glance over his shoulder at their waiting men, Wulfgar backed away from her and gave a deep laugh. “You’re wrong. There is no passage.”

Ariana’s temples pounded with frustration. Had she heard incorrectly all those years ago when she’d overheard Wulfgar’s private conversation with his younger brother? Could she be wrong? If there was no passage, she wouldn’t be able to sneak inside and free Dafydd. The boy was doomed.

Wulfgar had to be lying. But why?

“You’re lying,” she said.

He gave her a chilling smile. “Who are you, demoiselle? Why would Edwin of Carlinham want to hold your brother hostage?”

Ariana frowned. She wasn’t good at deception. It went against her belief in God. Her father and brothers had always known what she was up to. They’d said it showed on her face. They could see the truth in her eyes. “As you say, my family has some land and wealth.”

His eyes crinkled with thought. “Then pay the ransom and free the boy.”

The burn of tears made her blink and she bit her lip, hoping the pain would squelch her desire to give in to fear. “Unfortunately, the ransom is too high.”

He shook his head, his long hair brushing against his tanned shoulders. “What is the price?”

Me! She wanted to scream at him. Her heart squeezed and her stomach gave a sickening flutter. She would gladly hand herself over to Edwin, but she wasn’t stupid. If Edwin had her, he would kill Dafydd anyway and subject her people to his tyranny. Though she loved Dafydd more than her own life, she was a princess and must put the wellbeing of her people above her own desires.

Tears burned her eyes. “Don’t you see? This isn’t just about freeing my brother. I’m fighting for the very life of my people. Edwin wants our land. He wants to control my people. He will stop at nothing to gain his desires.”

Anger boiled within her. How dare Wulfgar defy her? She shifted her feet, outraged by his arrogance. “You are my slave. You must tell me what I need to know.”

“I’ve answered your question. Except for the sally port, there is no secret entrance into Cynan. It doesn’t exist.” His shoulders were set stubbornly, his expression unreadable.

Was this the same man who had laughed with her over a nest of speckled eggs? Gone was the gentle man who’d saved her life. Standing before her now was a stubborn warlord. A Norman.

Her enemy.

Folding her arms, Ariana’s eyes narrowed. “If you refuse to tell me, you’ll never have your freedom.”

She didn’t mean it, but he mustn’t know that now.

He shrugged. “There are worse things than being a slave, but our men will fight. We all might die, and you’ll not be able to free your brother. What is to be gained by that?”

Ariana tightened her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms. Her mind raced and she tried to calm the flutter of anxiety in her stomach. What he said was true. If they couldn’t reach an agreement, all would be lost. The Normans were fierce warriors, but so were the Welsh. It would achieve nothing to kill each other. Her brother would be dead and her people thrown into chaos.

Her only hope was Wulfgar.

“Do you have a conscience?” she asked.

“If you tell me who your father is, we’ll discuss the existence of a secret entrance.”

Her father’s name would be all too familiar and give him an advantage. So long as her men held Wulfgar, he couldn’t use the information to plot with Edwin against her. Having his outlaw Normans here posed a threat. What if they freed Wulfgar and he decided to conspire against her?

“How arrogant you are.” Fingering the hilt of her dagger, she took a step toward him.

“Have a care, cherie.” He inclined his head in the direction of their men. “If you attack me, our men will join in the fight. Blood will be shed. I don’t want you hurt.”

“How kind of you to consider my welfare,” she cried. “You plotted against your king and have no honor.”

His expression became grim, his eyes glittered dangerously. When he spoke, his voice sounded deep and low, like the rushing of many waters. “Hear me well, Ariana. I would lay down my life for my king. I’ve done nothing but fight for his cause. Never at any time did I plot against William. Don’t believe the lies you’ve heard. They are all false.”

“You deny it?” Did he really expect her to believe him?

“I do. I’m innocent and I intend to prove it. I will find justice. The ones responsible for my misfortune will pay for their crimes. I will be avenged.”

Ariana gave an exasperated huff. “Vengeance is for the Lord alone.”

He flashed a cruel smile. “Let’s just say I’d like to help God out.”

“And how do you intend to do that? You’re only a slave. An outlaw. If you’re found on English soil, you’ll be killed.”

“I challenge any man to try and kill me.”

“Your king had the power to kill you.”

“If William wanted me dead, he would have chopped off my head and been done with it. Yet, he let me live.”

“Yes. Why would he do that? Doesn’t he fear you might return and try to destroy him?”

Wulfgar lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “I’ve wondered the same myself. Perhaps deep inside, he knows I’m innocent, yet I was condemned by my accusers and he couldn’t overlook that. William was always quite fond of me. Perhaps he feels loyal to me for my past service to him, so he spared my life.”

His guilt or innocence didn’t matter to her. She must think only of Dafydd.

Ariana shook her head and turned away. She had failed. Wulfgar wouldn’t help her. “If you don’t help me, my brother will die along with many more of my people.”

“Why is there so much at stake simply because a child is held for ransom?”

She bit her tongue to keep from replying. He was a Norman after all. No doubt he would be reluctant to help get Dafydd free.

She felt the brush of his hand on her shoulder and his voice sounded almost gentle. Soothing and kind. “I’ve not refused to lend you aid. If you want to enter Cynan Castle, I’ll agree to tell you the location of the passage. But first, you must answer a few questions in return.”

She peered at him with suspicion. “I thought you said there was no passage.”

He didn’t respond, but she could see the truth in his eyes. There was a secret entrance.

“What do you want to know?” She couldn’t hide her urgency this time.

“First, tell me how you came to know there is a passage.”

Ariana cringed, but he left her no choice. “When I was a young child, I was often naughty. I hid in the soft hay of the barn so my father couldn’t find and punish me. I was there one day when you and your brother came in to check your horses. I overheard you speaking of your plans to build a fine, strong castle. On that day, you spoke of the secret passage, but you didn’t say where its entrance would be.”

Ariana could well remember the day. Wulfgar had been young. Barely eighteen years old, handsome and fearless. He had come to her father’s home at Powys for peace talks. She was so small, only a girl. But her heart had sped up every time she saw him and she’d dreamed of having such a man for her own one day.

Even then, Wulfgar’s men had followed him willingly to war. He was a leader. Would they be so loyal if Wulfgar were really a traitor? Of course not. But what if they didn’t know for certain? Perhaps they were misguided fools. She couldn’t allow herself to be tricked by him.

Of course, Wulfgar had denied the accusations. His mother had pleaded with the king on behalf of her son. William had sentenced Wulfgar to be sold as a slave to foreigners.

Now, Ariana looked at Wulfgar, remembering that day years ago when she’d watched the fearsome knight speak of plans for his castle. After all that time, he was still lean, still strong. But he was no longer naïve. He was a mature man, and she was a woman. It wouldn’t be easy to get him to do her bidding.

His brows lowered in a thoughtful frown and his gaze rested on her face. Tilting his head to one side, he considered her carefully, studying her features. Then his mouth dropped open and his eyes narrowed.

She groaned. He knew. He’d figured it out. Why should she be surprised? He was keenly intelligent. Of course, he had guessed who she was.

“Ariana, Princess of Wales.” He whispered her name. “I should have known. How could I have been so stupid?”

Holding her head high, she met his gaze with boldness.

“You’ve changed from when I saw you last when your father agreed to our marriage. You were a child then, all gangly arms and wild hair. I wasn’t interested in wedding you, then.”

And what about now?

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, but there was a sharp edge to his features. Like a feline who had just trapped a mouse.

Ariana felt her chin quiver as she tried to scowl at him. In truth, she felt the burn of tears. But she would die before letting him see her cry.

“Why did you come to buy me? Why didn’t your father come instead?” he asked. “I find it difficult to believe King Rhys would send his daughter on such a dangerous errand.”

“My father is…he had to stay with our people, to fight against Edwin’s mercenaries.” She jutted her chin. “Besides, I’m no child.”

“Aye, you’re a beautiful, deceiving woman.” His hot gaze devoured her.

His words seemed so final. A deathblow to her senses. She loved God and hated that Wulfgar thought her deceitful. Bitter remorse coiled in the pit of her stomach. Regret for all she’d lost rested on her heart like a load of rocks. “Will you help me?”

Her plea was a frantic whisper. She’d beg him if she had to.

The silence lengthened between them, except for the constant roar of the ocean and the twittering of birds pecking at a dead fish lying on the beach.

She opened her hands in supplication. “Edwin is a slovenly man who loves food and strong drink. His people call him The Barbarian. Even his own men fear him and he hires mercenaries to slaughter my people. He is given to brutality and overindulgence, a crude man whose manners and habits keep him far from William’s Court. When a grievance is brought before him, he often tortures those who dare complain. People say that’s why your king gave him your earldom. Though he doesn’t have your political acumen, Edwin is barbaric enough to hold the march against my people.”

The thought of Dafydd in the hands of such a man made Ariana’s stomach churn.

Wulfgar frowned. “Why not have your people attack Cynan and besiege the castle?”

She snorted. “You built the fortress. Do you really need to ask why? My father’s army is no match against the strength of Cynan. We don’t have horses, weapons and armor like your knights wear. The only way to regain Dafydd is to sneak inside and steal him back.”

“No doubt Carlinham also wants you for himself.”

How intuitive. Her people were nostalgic and loyal, but Dafydd was only a child. The Welsh would follow Ariana until the boy became a man and could lead them.

“I will belong to no man.”

Wulfgar’s mouth quirked up on one side. “Your men believe you now belong to me. We are betrothed.”

The heat of a blush stained her cheeks. “I will never be yours, now. Your men don’t know who I am.”

“They’ll learn soon enough.”

“You will tell them?”

“They aren’t stupid louts and will figure it out as soon as we explain our mission.”

She was crestfallen. What he said was true. Even now, she could see the doubt in their eyes. The anger.

“Will you help me, or will you die?” she demanded.

Standing on a barren island of the Hebrides, wearing nothing more than a slave collar and the tattered remnants of his clothing, Wulfgar raised his arm and gave her the courtly bow of a Norman knight. “I’ll help you, of course.”

Praise the Lord. She breathed with relief.

“Upon one condition.”

She froze.

“I will help you in return for the use of your warriors to help me regain Cynan.”

She pursed her lips. “Surely you don’t believe King William will restore your holdings to you.”

Blowing out a breath, he met her eyes. “I dare say he will, once I’m proven to be no traitor.”

“Please tell me how you plan to prove such a thing, slave?”

A thoughtful frown pulled at his brows. “I don’t know, but Cynan will be returned to me.”

The fool. Did he really think his king would allow this?

Aye, he did. His harsh demeanor showed his determination. She could almost believe he was innocent. That he had been accused falsely and merely needed to find the proof.

No! She must harden herself to this man. Lifting her head, she thought it would be easy enough to agree to his proposition. Once inside the castle, they could take the guards unaware and open the castle gates to admit Wulfgar’s knights and her father’s men. Wulfgar would be given his freedom and regain Cynan and they’d go their separate ways. If Wulfgar wished to prove his innocence to William and take back his holdings, that was his affair. It had nothing to do with her. She only needed Dafydd and then she would be done with Wulfgar and his band of rabble warriors.

“I agree to what you ask. My men will fight to help you take Cynan,” she said.

He sighed with disbelief, or resolution. Ariana wasn’t certain which. “Take heed, ma cherie. Do not play me false. If you make this pact, I promise it will take more than your men to protect you should you decide not to keep your word.”

Ariana shivered. Her common sense warned her not to dally with this man. He’d earned his reputation as a fierce warrior. Cunning in war and in the ways of William’s Court. He’d proven himself enough times to be richly rewarded by his king. Traitor or not, he was shrewd. He would tolerate no deception.

“You’ll have the use of my men to retake Cynan.” And she meant it. She would keep her word. God expected nothing less.

He studied her and she saw suspicion in his eyes, but he’d have to trust her just as she must trust him.

“Swear it.” He spoke softly but it could have been a shout.

“I won’t swear, but I’ll give you my word,” she whispered.

“Done.” He smiled and lifted an arm toward their men. “I await your pleasure.”

Turning toward the beach, he seemed more relaxed now he had her promise. “Come. The tide is right for an easy departure.”

He stood back to let her pass. She walked to where their men anxiously awaited them. Neither Welsh nor Norman had put away their weapons. They stared at Ariana and Wulfgar with expectation.

“I’ve agreed to help Princess Ariana,” Wulfgar announced in a loud voice. “We will join with the Welsh to enter Cynan Castle and take her brother from Edwin of Carlinham, who holds the boy hostage there.”

The Normans looked surprised, their eyes wide. Ariana heard a sharp intake of breath as dawning covered their faces. They stared at her, exchanging questioning glances amongst themselves.

The Normans were not stupid. They knew exactly who she was and what her presence meant to Wulfgar.

“Ariana, Princess of Powys.” Gaston reached to finger the bandage tied around his shoulder where Ariana had stabbed him during their battle at sea.

Was he the type of man to hold a grudge? She made a mental note to stay away from him.

Jenkin watched Ariana with guarded skepticism, but he held his tongue. Raulf was not so careful. His heavy gaze rested on her. “And what does she offer you in return? You can’t trust the Welsh, Lord Wulfgar.”

Ariana’s spine stiffened at the slur.

“He’s no lord, but only a slave,” Cwrig snarled. “He’s not good enough to lick the mud from Princess Ariana’s shoes. I’ll kill the first man that dares say he is.”

Cwrig clutched his sword in his hand, his eyes savage as he faced the Normans. Ifor and Evan joined him. Ariana realized their hatred ran deep. They would never unite, unless they heard it from her lips.

“Be at ease,” she cautioned them all. “We’ll join forces to free Prince Dafydd and gain control of Cynan. Then, I’ll honor my promise to Wulfgar and he will be freed.”

She trembled with unease. What if something went wrong and they didn’t succeed? She mustn’t think of that. She must have faith and be positive of the outcome.

Jenkin walked to Ariana and handed her the dagger she thought she’d lost. With a joyous cry, she hugged Jenkin. “I thought it was gone for good.”

“You dropped it on the ship before you were washed overboard.”

“Thank you for returning it to me.” She placed it in her girdle, the twin blades and jewels gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“Once we’re inside Cynan, the Norman will have his freedom,” Jenkin told them all. “And we’ll do what we can to drive Edwin of Carlinham from our lands.”

“And what if King William hears you’ve returned to Cynan?” Arnulf asked. “He’ll come for you, my lord.”

“Aye,” Wulfgar responded grimly.

Raulf lifted his double-headed battle-ax. “Then we’ll fight by your side and we will die.”

Wulfgar looked at Raulf, his eyes glittering with emotion. His brows lowered in a troubled frown. Lifting one hand, he clasped Raulf’s shoulder with fondness. Though his voice sounded soft and beseeching, it also bore a stern edge. Ariana could not deny Wulfgar’s conviction. “I would kill Carlinham if I could, but I’m no traitor to our king, Raulf. Your allegiance will first be to King William, second to me. If ever you must choose between us, you will die for William before you die for me. If he comes to take Cynan, we will open the gates and yield to him. Never forget your oath to our king. Never.”

All was quiet as the other men stared at Wulfgar. Did he mean what he said or was it just an act? He spoke with such conviction. He insisted he was innocent of treason, but Ariana had her doubts.

Finally, Raulf nodded. “I would never yield Cynan to any man but you, but it will be as you say.”

Wulfgar smiled before he gently buffeted Raulf’s chin with his fist and walked away. Raulf stared after him, silent and thoughtful. The other men didn’t speak and Ariana hardened her heart. Without another word, she gathered her cloak about her and headed for the ship.

The Normans followed, their faces glowing with delight.

“We have only to complete our mission and Lord Wulfgar will be freed,” crowed Gaston.

“Yes, soon now,” Raulf agreed.

The Welshmen were silent, their mouths pursed tight, their faces grim. Ariana just hoped they could work together to take Cynan without fighting amongst themselves.

Chapter Seven

Ariana couldn’t suppress a smile of relief as they sailed from the Irish Sea into Cardigan Bay. The sun rose high and beat down upon them, warm enough that she shed her cloak and rolled up the ragged sleeves of her dress. They had eaten and she placed the remnants of dried meat and bread into leather packs.

Home!

A feeling of joy swept her as she caught the familiar scent of land. She could hardly wait to tell Aunt Frida all that had happened. Perhaps there had been news of Dafydd. She prayed Edwin of Carlinham waited for the ransom. He could always change his mind and kill her brother.

Dread lodged in her heart, but she couldn’t think about that now.

Looking up, she found Wulfgar watching her intently, his brows quirked in a puzzled frown. He nodded once and looked back out to sea.

He must be worried. If her men were successful in helping take Cynan, he would then need to prove his innocence to his king.

She admitted only to herself that she didn’t want him to stay in England. She thought about inviting him to live with her people in Wales, but doubted he’d give up his plans for revenge.

Warmth filled her, a softening of her heart that brought her near tears. In the short time she had known him, he had changed her somehow. Against her desire not to, she cared about him and wished she could help him. He would never agree to stay in Wales. Not without proving his innocence first. A man such as Wulfgar would never be able to live with dishonor. Yet, if he continued with his plan, he would most likely be killed. For that reason alone, he had won her respect.

Lifting her head, she allowed the breeze to cool her heated cheeks. The men had given up some of their own clothing for Wulfgar, a coarse woolen tunic, braies, and leather shoes. Arnulf offered him a lethal knife, much to the argument of Ifor and Cwrig.

“A slave must not have weapons,” Ifor had said.

As if Wulfgar needed any. From what Ariana had observed, he was skilled and resourceful enough that he seemed to do well even without a sword.

“Where we go, there is danger,” the Norman Cedric exclaimed. “He must be able to defend himself and fight for our cause. We’ll need every able man to fight.”

“Your cause? You’re nothing but outlaws. Prince Dafydd’s life is in danger and we must save him. That is our only cause.”

The men’s jaws locked, their eyes spitting fire. Ariana sighed, wishing they could get along for even one day. She prayed she wouldn’t have to thrust herself between them to stop another fight.

Jenkin shrugged as he directed the tiller of Wulfgar’s ship. “Let him keep the knife. He may need it before we finish our journey. He’ll fare better with us than his own people. Though he’s a slave, he may live with us. If he returns to England, he’ll be put to death. He knows this very well.”

It was a good point. If only Wulfgar would heed Jenkin’s wisdom. Ariana took a step forward to ask Wulfgar to stay in Wales, but didn’t get the chance.

“I would face any danger to regain my honor. My place is at Cynan, and I’ll regain my holdings.” Wulfgar’s stormy glare centered on Jenkin, as if he dared the Welshman to challenge him.

“These bloody Normans will slit our throats yet,” Cwrig grumbled as he stowed away his oar.

A hot gush of disappointment rose in Ariana’s heart. Wulfgar wanted only his lands and titles, nothing more. Certainly not a bedraggled princess of Wales.

They beached their ship in Aberystwyth harbor. Jenkin jumped over the side into the slapping water. Turning, he reached up for Ariana. She had no chance to respond before Wulfgar swept her into his arms. Fearing she might fall into the sea, she wrapped her arms about his neck as he stepped over the side. Wading through the water, he carried her to shore. She stared into his dark eyes. No words were spoken as he splashed through the sea, but his look spoke volumes. He’d made his ownership plain to all and the Welsh watched with narrowed eyes and grim mouths.

Ariana was conscious of the heavy cords of muscle along Wulfgar’s throat and shoulders. She felt his hard arms around her, filled with strength and warmth, and was reminded of how he’d protected her on the island. It had been an almost idyllic time and she wished they could forget their troubles and return. But dark times called for action and she would never shirk her duty.

Suddenly Ariana couldn’t stand his nearness.

“Put me down,” she demanded.

A few more steps to dry land and Wulfgar did as asked, placing her on her feet. Ariana glanced at Jenkin, who had watched them with open fury. Normally, Jenkin was a calm man, noted for his patience, wisdom, and loyalty. Right now, his face looked white with rage.

“Jenkin,” she called in a sweet voice.

Looking her way, his tensed shoulders relaxed as he nodded with respect. “Aye, princess?”

“You’ll direct the way and take us to our people. We’ll find rest here. On the morrow, we’ll continue our journey to Cynan.”

“As you wish.”

Ariana stood back while Jenkin passed between her and Wulfgar to take the lead. In so many words, Ariana had expressed her confidence in Jenkin. She couldn’t help pursing her lips with disapproval as she turned to look at the Norman slave. In the next moment, her mouth dropped open with surprise. Wulfgar wore an amused expression, his mouth spread wide in a smile. He didn’t appear the least bit upset by her dismissal.

He turned to follow after the other men. Shifting her feet upon the pebbled beach, Ariana stared after him. She fumed as she watched his broad back.

Slowly she followed after them, with Ifor and Cwrig bringing up the rear. They climbed the steep incline to the hilltop Pen Dinas, where a massive fortified hillfort had been built by another clan of her people. As they approached, Ariana was surprised no one came out to greet them. But no welcoming horns blared their arrival.

Where were the watchmen?

The wind shifted and she caught a horrid whiff of burned flesh. Her gaze darted up the hill and she saw the blackened remnants of the fort.

She froze.

The tall palisade gates had been burned and torn down on the south side. Where the outbuildings had once stood, now there was nothing but burnt rubble. She stared with wide, disbelieving eyes at the charred form of a body lying on the ground by the rock wall. More bodies littered the ditches and terraced defenses. The great hall inside the compound was now a gaping maw. Clasping a hand to her mouth, Ariana silenced a scream. Her imagination ran wild. Her heart stopped beating and she gave a half-whimper.

Aunt Frida and little Rhodri. Were they inside?

“No!”

She ran toward the fort, all reason lost except finding her loved ones. Her aunt and cousin. Her friends.

Her people.

Wulfgar grabbed her around the waist, swinging her about as he pulled her back down the hill. She kicked and screamed all the way. “Let me go. Let me go.”

“Hush, woman. You’ll not go up there.”

She pounded his chest with her fists and tried to pull away. She must go to them. She must.

Wulfgar stood, holding her to him, muttering words of condolence. “Shh, sweeting. Not now. I’ll not let your eyes view what is there until we know it’s safe.”

She clung to his arms, sobbing like a babe. Tears ran down her cheeks blinding her, her mind a riot of fear. “Let me go. I must help them.”

“You can’t help them now. What is done is done.” He reasoned with her but she didn’t hear as she thrashed against him.

Still he would not release her. He held her with shear strength, his arms like bands of steel. Ah, why couldn’t she have been born with the physical strength of a man? Struggling, she almost won her freedom. He lifted her off her feet and held her tight. She kicked and screeched, but he wouldn’t release her.

“Shh,” he soothed again and again. “Wait and let us make certain it’s safe. We’ll find your father.”

Her movements lessened. Out of complete exhaustion, she quieted, her pitiful sobs filling the air. She’d lost control and was ashamed. What must her men think of her?

Peering over Wulfgar’s shoulder, she saw their warriors staring at her, their faces ashen, both Norman and Welsh. They stood on the alert, crouched and ready, holding their weapons, prepared for attack. From their glances her way, it was obvious her distress upset them all. Her father would have chided her for showing such weakness. Then he would have forgiven her. How she missed his gentle gruffness. How she missed her strong, handsome brothers.

As she squalled against his shoulder like a little child, Wulfgar embraced her. No longer was she dignified. She felt wretched, her heart broken. She knew without going inside the hillfort what they would find.

Death. Destruction.

The bloody Normans had done this. No rival clan had the strength to breach the outer walls of the fort. Only the Normans with their superior horses and weapons of war could have burned the fort.

Edwin of Carlinham. Oh, how she hated the man. Though it wasn’t Christian, she hated him like nothing else.

“One day, I will kill Carlinham,” she whispered in a pitiful tone. “God help me, I want to see him dead.”

Wulfgar kissed her forehead and caressed her face. “I plan to save you the trouble.”

His gentleness touched her deeply. Against her common sense, he’d become her ally. But it seemed unfair for Wulfgar to want to kill Edwin simply because King William had made him Earl of Glyndwr. Ariana sensed something more in Wulfgar’s words. Something must have happened between Wulfgar and Edwin. Something bad.

With a gentle hand, Wulfgar brushed tangles of hair away from her eyes. He’d pressed his face against hers, his cheek moist with her tears.

Lifting her head, she caught sight of Jenkin’s expression. His locked jaw as he glared at the Norman. He glanced her way and never had she seen such hurt in his eyes. Was it anger over the destruction of the hillfort, or because Wulfgar comforted her? How odd.

* * *

“Are you all right, now?” Wulfgar asked when she’d quieted.

Ariana nodded, her eyes red, her nose dripping.

Assured that she wouldn’t make a mad dash for the fort, he placed her on her feet again. She sniffed and looked at him with wide, accusing eyes. Compassion filled him as he reached out to wipe a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Her sadness tore at his heart and he longed to protect her.

“It’ll be all right, ma cherie.” He tried to soothe her so she wouldn’t run up the hill again. Only the heavens knew what they would find there.

As he looked at the burned corpses lying along the ramparts at the base of the hill, he was outraged. Then, he wondered why he cared about these people. The Welsh meant nothing to him. They were his enemy. And yet this senseless killing twisted inside of him. If he had the power, he would punish the ones responsible. He did care, he couldn’t deny it.

Ariana had good reason to hate the Normans. Wulfgar couldn’t condone this slaughter. Never would he have had his army attack the Welsh without reason and certainly not without inviting them to surrender first. And even then, the women and children would have been spared.

Ariana hiccupped and continued to stare at him as he turned her over to Cwrig. Her eyes were filled with accusation. Did she blame him for this, because he was a Norman?

“Keep her here. We’ll check to see if there is any danger,” he said.

With a solemn nod, Cwrig wrapped a stiff arm around her shoulders. He was a big, rawboned man and, though he tried, it was obvious he didn’t know how to show tenderness to a woman.

Drawing his knife, Wulfgar turned to lead the way up the hill. What he really needed now was a sword.

Jenkin stood to the side, his face stony with fury. Wulfgar brushed past him. He had no patience for the Welshman, now. If Jenkin wanted to challenge him, Wulfgar would oblige.

The other men followed close behind Wulfgar, their swords and axes drawn, their gazes wary and alert for danger. Jenkin looked at Ariana a moment longer and his clenched jaw relaxed. Turning, he also ascended the hill.

They found nothing but the burnt remnants of the fort, and the gory remains of the dead. A senseless massacre. Men, women, and little children lay slain upon the ground. Not one had been spared. The lifeless eyes of the dead were a testimony to the cruelty. Wulfgar was sickened by it. And furious. He’d seen his fair share of battle but had never condoned this kind of butchery.

“This is Edwin of Carlinham’s work.” Evan hefted a discarded shield bearing the black dragon of Edwin’s crest. “The Lady Frida and her son Rhodri are among the dead. The boy was no more than six years of age. The princess will take the news hard, for she loved them both. Except for Prince Dafydd, they were the last of her family and Lady Frida was like a mother to her.”

Wulfgar’s gut tightened. An old ache filled his heart. He remembered the last time he’d seen his own mother, her eyes dripping with tears as she cried for the king’s men to free him. He didn’t know if she still lived or if William had banished her to exile. Perhaps she’d been able to return to France where she might find sanctuary with her brother.

Not knowing what had happened to his mother tore at Wulfgar. It had been his father’s dying wish that Wulfgar protect her and keep her safe. It was his duty and he had failed.

No doubt Ariana would be bereft when she discovered the woman who raised her was now dead. For some reason, Wulfgar wished he could spare Ariana the news. He wanted to protect her. To keep her safe and never see her sad again.

Fool! He mustn’t let his feelings for Ariana interfere with his plans. And yet, somehow the importance of his own desires lessened when faced with her misery. He wanted her to be happy. He wished to see her smile and laugh.

“The bloody devils didn’t even spare the little children.” The Norman Cedric spat with disgust. “What manner of man is Edwin of Carlinham?”

“An evil one.” Jenkin spoke with loathing. “They don’t call him Barbarian for nothing. He’s earned the title.”

For once, the Normans agreed with the Welshmen. Wulfgar looked at Ariana’s men and saw raw despair in their eyes. They were grown men, hardened by war and strife, but grief drew their faces into grim harshness.

“The Princess will have to be told about Lady Frida.” Evan looked toward the burnt gate, reticence filling his gaze. Obviously none of the men wanted the horrible task.

Jenkin sighed with resignation. “I’ll tell her.”

Wulfgar breathed a deep sigh, for once grateful Jenkin was here. Jenkin had known Frida and it’d be best for him to take Ariana the news. But still, Wulfgar wished it were him Ariana would cling to when she cried. He wanted to be everything to her. Her hope and strength. They had been betrothed once. But now, he had no right to hold and comfort her.

“Spread out and search for survivors,” Wulfgar ordered tersely.

The men did as asked but no living beings were found.

“How long ago do you think they were attacked?” Arnulf asked.

Jenkin stared at the smoldering timbers. “No more than a day. Had the storm not delayed us, we might have been here to help them fight.”

“It must have been a large army to have attacked the summit,” Gaston remarked as he rubbed his injured shoulder where Ariana had stabbed him. “The western slopes are too steep for an assault. The raiders must have come from the east.”

“Has King Rhys been found?” Wulfgar called.

The Welshmen who would have recognized their king glanced at Jenkin. They shifted uncomfortably and shook their heads. Perhaps Edwin had taken the king captive.

Jenkin cleared his throat. “I believe King Rhys is at Powys Castle in Trallwm.”

“Has it not yet been destroyed?” Wulfgar asked with amazement. “It was made of wood. Surely Carlinham’s army has burned the stronghold to the ground by now. Why would the king be there when his son is held hostage at Cynan?”

Evan shot a meaningful look at Jenkin. What was wrong with them? Why were they acting so strange? Something was not right. Wulfgar got the impression they were hiding something from him. But what could it be?

Jenkin shook his head. “We’ll go on to Cynan. That’s our objective.”

Wulfgar didn’t question this. Simultaneously, he and Jenkin looked down the hill to where Ariana awaited word of her people. Sitting at the base of the hill, she stared up at them, her face ashen and stoic.

Wulfgar hated to cause her more grief and he frowned as he called to the men. “Gather what supplies you can find. We’ll meet again at the bottom of the hill. Arnulf?”

Arnulf came near. “Aye, my lord.”

Wulfgar spoke in a quiet whisper. “See if you can find the princess another clean gown to wear, and a warmer cloak. Her clothes are bedraggled and badly torn.”

“Aye, my lord.” Arnulf took off to search the ruins.

“We must bury the dead,” Cwrig said.

“With haste,” Jenkin said. “The Normans could return. It’s dangerous for the princess to stay here longer than necessary.”

“Bloody Sais,” Evan said. “The Normans didn’t even leave us a horse for the princess to ride on our journey.”

Wulfgar’s men flushed deeply with shame. They didn’t condone this massacre and knowing it was Normans that had done the deed angered and embarrassed them all.

Wulfgar drew Jenkin aside and the two men walked off alone together to speak. The wind blew past, bringing with it the putrid stench of burned flesh and charred lumber. They looked at each other with distrust.

“I don’t excuse what happened here.” Wulfgar’s tone sounded cold. “Never have I been a party to such deeds.”

“I know. Though you fought against warriors, you and your army never slaughtered my people while you were Lord of Glyndwr. It’s since you were sent away and your king placed Edwin of Carlinham at Cynan that this kind of terror has been unleashed upon the Welsh. Edwin makes treaties with us one day and breaks them the next. If I have the opportunity, I’ll kill him.”

Wulfgar agreed. “As will I.”

The two men were joined in this single purpose.

“Your king isn’t among the dead,” Wulfgar said. “Carlinham would have taken him alive if he could. Perhaps the king was away when the fort was attacked. Where would the survivors have taken refuge?”

Jenkin shifted his feet in the dirt and didn’t meet Wulfgar’s eyes.

“Come now,” Wulfgar urged him to speak. “It wouldn’t be wise for your people to return to Powys. Surely Carlinham’s army watches for their return and would take delight in cutting them down. Where would King Rhys have gone to recover his forces?”

Jenkin shrugged with resignation. “I understand I have little choice but to lead you to his stronghold. Ariana will insist on going to her people. I don’t like what the princess plans and I want nothing to do with you. You gave your word to me and I have trusted you, albeit you are a convicted traitor. Now, I ask you to swear to me you’ll not harm the princess, or cause our people injury in any way. Will you give me your oath?”

Wulfgar studied the man intensely. Jenkin was large for a Welshman but he was not nearly as big as Wulfgar. Regardless, Wulfgar had seen Jenkin fight, and knew the man was a formidable warrior. Only when he looked at Ariana did Jenkin’s countenance soften.

“You love her,” Wulfgar observed. It wasn’t a question.

Jenkin didn’t reply, but Wulfgar saw the truth in the man’s eyes.

Wulfgar smiled with sadness. “It’s a pity, Welshman, for I like you. It’s been less than year ago that her father betrothed her to me. Our marriage will unite the border. You must know that.”

Jenkin’s dark eyes gleamed and he flushed red with anger. “Your betrothal is broken. You’re a traitor and unworthy of the princess. You walk around and give orders when you’re no more than a lowly slave. I’ve allowed it because we need your help, but don’t push me too far.”

By this point, Jenkin stood toe-to-toe with Wulfgar. Both men clutched their weapons with whitened knuckles.

They wanted the same woman.

Once Wulfgar had taken Ariana inside Cynan, he knew he would be forced to deal with Jenkin. First, Wulfgar must speak with King Rhys, to seal the alliance. No doubt Rhys would demand Wulfgar regain his lands and titles before he’d agree to renew the betrothal, but Wulfgar was determined to do just that.

“I’ll speak with King Rhys about this, not his underling.” Wulfgar’s tone sounded chilling.

“He won’t hear your pleas. Because of you, his people are being slaughtered.”

“That’ll change once I’m Lord of Glyndwr again,” Wulfgar vowed. “There’ll be peace along our border.”

Jenkin’s eyes widened and he gave a harsh laugh. “Have you gone daft? You’re an outlaw, now. A slave.”

Wulfgar couldn’t respond, but rage twisted inside his gut.

“Will you give me your oath not to do anything to harm the princes or her people?” Jenkin’s biting tone was unforgiving.

Wulfgar regretted he must be an enemy with this man. Under different circumstances, they would have been great friends. Although Wulfgar didn’t like Jenkin, he respected him. But there would be no friendship as long as Ariana stood between them. “I’ve already given my oath to the princess. I’ll not make promises to you.”

Seeming satisfied with this, Jenkin backed away. Turning, he walked down the hill where Ariana met him in a flurry. Wulfgar followed, watching as Jenkin leaned his head down and told her the fate of her aunt and cousin. Her step faltered and she threw herself against the Welshman. A thin wail of grief tore from her throat and Jenkin clutched her to his chest, his arms wrapped around her shaking shoulders.

Jealousy pierced Wulfgar and he took a shuddering breath. Wild fury made him clench his hands. The urge to tear them apart and deal Jenkin a deathblow overwhelmed him. Ariana’s sobs filled the air and his gut tightened. He could hardly stand her tears. It should be him offering her solace, not Jenkin. Wulfgar longed to take her into his arms and wipe away her sadness and keep her safe.

No doubt she’d refuse him if he tried. Jenkin was her friend and she trusted the Welshman.

Were they also lovers?

Wulfgar’s blood boiled at the thought. He no longer had a right to feel possessive, but he did. So strong he could taste it on his tongue and had to look away.

Then, he remembered what Ariana had said to him about faith in God. If ever Wulfgar needed help, it was now. Yet he felt abandoned by the Lord. Was it possible God merely wished to humble him? To bring him to depend on Him for help?

It was a thought Wulfgar didn’t wish to contemplate, yet he couldn’t help himself.

The men gathered what provisions they could find. Food, water, and weapons. Arnulf found the gown and cloak Wulfgar had requested and tried to hand him the blue linen.

“You give them to her,” Wulfgar said.

Fearing what he might say, Wulfgar didn’t dare go near Ariana right now. He was a Norman, and look what his people had done. How she must hate him now.

Keeping to himself, he helped the other men bury the dead in shallow graves. Hammering at the hard ground with a pick, Wulfgar took out his anger on the earth. He stopped only long enough to take a drink of water or wipe the sweat from his brow. Each time he stopped his labors, his gaze searched for Ariana. He watched as she waded through the fields, picking armfuls of blue and yellow flowers to put on the graves.

Later that afternoon, Ariana stood beside her Aunt Frida and little Rhodri’s graves, and stared out to sea. What was she thinking? Wulfgar wondered.

Her eyes remained dry while Jenkin spoke of a greater place where all might find peace. Ariana’s back stiffened as she clenched her hands, her face pale, her eyes hollow. When Jenkin finished, she knelt beside the burial mounds, her head tilted to the side as she spoke in Gaelic, her voice soft and soothing. Her long hair spilled past her face, hiding her profile. She placed her hands on top of the mounds and smoothed the dirt, her fingers moving in a loving caress. The scene was so poignant that Wulfgar closed his eyes for several moments, barely able to watch.

He would kill Carlinham for this.

With the dead buried, Jenkin took the lead with Ariana and their men following behind as they traveled over the thin road leading down the steep hill. Wulfgar and his warriors brought up the rear, moving in silence, somber and cold. Wulfgar’s gaze followed Ariana as she plodded along, staring at the ground, her face ashen, her cheeks tear-stained. She looked small and forlorn, her hands clutching the clean dress and cloak Arnulf had found for her against her breast, as if they were a small child.

Wulfgar’s throat tightened. What could he say to ease her suffering?

Moving to walk beside her, he held out a windblown field flower and tried to find words to lessen her sorrow. “Ariana, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her gaze swept past the flower but she didn’t take it. Though her eyes filled with sizzling fury, her voice was smooth and soft. “You Normans have brought my people nothing but death and sorrow. If I didn’t need your help to free my brother, I would want nothing to do with you.”

His throat closed. She hated him.

Brushing past him, she went to join Jenkin, who had paused to watch this exchange with a dubious frown.

Staring after her, Wulfgar dropped the flower and hardened his jaw. He looked away and blinked his eyes, to keep his men from seeing how her words cut him to the core. Although he couldn’t blame Ariana for being angry, his men had become outlaws to support his cause. He wouldn’t swoon over a Welsh princess and have them think he didn’t appreciate their great sacrifice on his behalf.

Nor could he keep himself from caring about her.

Nonsense! He did not, would not, care for this woman. Just as she didn’t care for him.

Hardening his will, he shook his head to clear such thoughts from his mind, and took a step to follow the others into the hills.

Whoosh! Thump!

An arrow whizzed past Wulfgar’s head and struck Cwrig in the thigh, knocking him to the ground. With a cry of pain, Cwrig rolled, his hand reaching to grasp the shaft of the arrow, his eyes wide with amazement.

Wulfgar whirled about. A chilling wind brought the distant sound of many riders and Ariana called a warning.

“Normans. Edwin’s mercenaries.”

Six men on horseback appeared to the east and raced toward them. Although there were only six riders, Wulfgar’s group was outnumbered. The destriers gave the enemy a strong advantage. The riders wore dark armor and shields emblazoned with a black dragon. Carlinham’s crest. Armed with swords, spears, and crossbows, they were no doubt confident of the kill as they leaned low over their saddles and charged across the fields.

Her eyes wide, Ariana stared with horror at the riders. They’d dallied too long in burying the dead and now faced a formidable foe.

“But we are Norman,” Arnulf exclaimed. “Our own kind wouldn’t attack us.”

Lifting his arms, he walked forward to speak with the mercenary knights, but Wulfgar called him back. “Nay, Arnulf. Carlinham’s men won’t care who we are. We’re outlaws and a threat to Edwin. He would want us all dead.”

Arnulf’s mouth turned grim and he reached for his sword. “Then, let them come. We’ll have to do something about that, eh?”

* * *

Ariana noticed Wulfgar fingering the hilt of his knife, looking at the puny blade with disgust. It would be of little use in fighting the Normans. Jerking her head toward him, she spoke to Jenkin. “Give him a decent weapon. We cannot outrun the riders and must stand and fight.”

Jenkin scowled but tossed Wulfgar a long pike. Wulfgar caught it with both hands, his fingers tightening over the smooth shaft.

“If we can’t dismount the riders, we must kill their horses to bring them down,” Raulf advised as he hefted his double-headed battle-ax with two hands.

“I sure would like a few of those horses for us to ride,” Arnulf said. “Let’s see how many men we can kill while saving the horses.”

The men grinned, silently accepting this challenge. Ariana couldn’t believe they were enjoying this sport. The thunder of hooves filled the air and the wind picked up, cold and biting. Ariana felt a tremor of dread, but pushed it aside, letting anger replace her fear.

Wulfgar took his position beside the other men and crouched low in a fighting position. Watching him, Ariana shivered, remembering his calm violence when he had dispatched the Vikings on the island. He knew how to handle himself in battle and she was grateful for the presence of him and his men.

She fingered her daggers. A sword or spear would be more useful against armed knights on horseback, but she wasn’t strong enough to heft them. Her gaze scanned the ground for a stouter weapon. Spying a dead tree branch, she picked it up, holding it like a club. Glaring at the riders, she locked her jaw and hardened her will.

Let them come.

“What are you doing?” Wulfgar asked her. “Get behind us where it’s safe.”

She barely glanced his way. “I’ll fight if I have to.”

He flashed her a smile, seeming amused by her determination. “I have no doubt of that.”

The men gathered in front of her and she glanced at them, both Welsh and Norman, giving thanks she wasn’t alone.

“Above all else, we must protect the princess,” Jenkin said. “Austin, take down the lead rider.”

Austin was their best archer and he lifted his bow and sighted down the shaft, taking careful aim. He let the arrow fly and it pierced the Norman’s throat, knocking him backward over the rump of his galloping steed. The man thudded to the ground as his horse whinnied and swerved to the side.

“We have one horse, if we can chase the animal down,” Austin crowed with delight.

Jenkin inclined his head toward the low hills to the east. “Run for that shelter of trees, princess. We’ll fight and give you time to escape.”

She didn’t move. Her feet seemed frozen. She couldn’t abandon her men and mouthed a silent prayer for help.

Shouts and screams filled the air as the warriors met in battle. Ariana watched with repulsion as a rider swerved toward Wulfgar. Bracing his spear against the ground, Wulfgar bore down on it, directing the tip. The sharp point impaled the charging animal’s breast. The horse screamed and reared. Its hooves slashed the air, thumping hard against Wulfgar’s chest, knocking him to the ground just as the horse toppled and rolled on its rider. The beast thrashed until it finally lay still.

“Look out,” Ariana called as another rider stabbed the ground where Wulfgar lay, barely missing Wulfgar’s head. Wulfgar rolled, evading another stab, and another.

The rider drew back again, urging his horse to trample Wulfgar. The Norman drew back his arm, preparing to stab at Wulfgar once more.

Sprinting toward the horse, Ariana drew back her club and cracked it against the spear, deflecting the rider’s blow. The rider gave a furious bellow as her stick shattered and the animal reared, jostling the man off balance. Clutching madly to keep his seat, he lost his grip on the spear, giving Wulfgar enough time to gain his feet. Wulfgar grasped the spear, jerking it away from the rider. The man tumbled sideways. His foot caught in the stirrup and his horse panicked, skittering to the side, dragging the Norman through the grassy fields.

Chaos beat all around with the clash of steel and screams of rage and pain. Ariana watched as her men struggled to block the rider’s lethal thrusts. Jenkin pulled one man from the saddle and he and Arnulf descended on the downed Norman.

Ariana looked away with disgust. A rider veered toward her. She could feel the vibration of thundering hooves. A shiver of doom swept her as she sprang toward the copse of trees. He was almost upon her! She could hear the grunts of his horse and imagined the beast’s hot breath against her neck. Her skin prickled with fear. She could almost feel the cold bite of steel in her flesh.

Her long skirts hampered her flight and she stumbled, falling to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and swerved, barely evading the slashing arc of the rider’s sword.

She willed her legs to move faster.

On the uneven ground, she fell again and rolled, her hands reaching for her daggers. The rider drew back and her eyes widened with terror as she looked up at his chilling eyes. The reach of her arm was not long enough to fight this foe. He would kill her with little trouble.

“Wulfgar,” she screamed.

And there he was. With a sword. Had she conjured him in her mind, or had he raced toward her when he saw she was in danger?

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?

Chapter Eight

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.

“Gaston will make better use of it than me,” she commented without looking at Wulfgar.

Wulfgar smiled. “Your wisdom and generosity are sound.”

“Bring a light from the fire,” she ordered.

Wulfgar did as requested and held a burning tree limb close so Ariana could see Gaston well. The forest was dark now and a slight breeze ruffled the treetops. It was getting colder.

Respect grew within Wulfgar as he watched Ariana gently cleanse Gaston’s wound. Gaston thrashed and moaned, but the other men held him quiet until she finished the chore. She covered the open laceration with the onion paste and wrapped it with a clean woolen bandage. She did likewise for the wound on Cwrig’s leg.

“Do you think it will work?” Arnulf questioned as he studied the pale faces of his companions.

She sighed and bit her bottom lip. “I hope so. I’ll also give them something for the pain.”

“Why do you help our man? He’s a Norman.”

Because she was generous and kind. Wulfgar wanted to answer Arnulf’s question, but waited for Ariana’s response.

“God doesn’t care whether you’re Norman or Welsh,” she said. “It’s not a bad wound but he’ll die without care. I’ll not have his death on my conscience.”

Wulfgar didn’t question what she did. Her men watched her with complete trust. He’d learned in the short time he’d been with these people that they were fair and honest. After seeing the destruction at the hill fort, Wulfgar couldn’t blame the Welsh for distrusting the Normans. Even though they considered him a slave, they’d treated him fairly. They had fought side-by-side, something he never thought he’d do. If he could regain Cynan, there would be peace along the border.

Wulfgar spitted the fowl and set them over the fire to roast. He watched quietly as Ariana sprinkled chamomile leaves into a small pot of hot water and left it to steep. Her faith in God impressed him. His own mother trusted the Lord, but look how that had turned out. She was now penniless, her husband and son’s taken from her. If there was a God, Wulfgar prayed He was looking after his mother.

“What will you do with those?” Raulf queried as Ariana reached for the rest of the onions.

A breathtaking smile curved her soft lips. “We’ll eat them, of course.”

She proceeded to lance the onions with a long, sharp stick, and braced it over the fire to roast with the meat. Soon, the air was filled with tantalizing aromas. Ariana was adaptable and courageous. A true princess in every way.

After a time, she dipped a cup of chamomile out for Cwrig, who was well enough to eat on his own. Then she wrapped the hem of her dress around her hand and pulled a hot cup of the brew away from the fire to let it cool. Wulfgar aided her as she brought the tea to Gaston and slowly worked to get every drop down his throat. The man mumbled incoherently. Twice, his eyes fluttered and he opened them to give her a weak smile.

“Thank you, my lady.” His voice was a dry whisper.

She smoothed the hair away from his forehead and placed a cooling rag on his brow.

Wulfgar sighed with regret. Gaston was a good friend and Wulfgar didn’t wish to lose him. Wulfgar hoped Ariana’s remedies worked. He followed her back to the fire, away from Gaston’s hearing. “Will he die?”

As she mixed a rich broth with some of the pheasant and onions, she shook her head and lifted one hand, her gaze moving to the tent where Gaston lay. “I believe we have caught the poisons soon enough to stop them from taking his life. Within a day or two, he should feel better.”

She fed Gaston the broth and he seemed to rest more easily. Ariana nodded her head with satisfaction.

Relief clogged Wulfgar’s throat as he crouched before the fire, turning the meat, his gaze fixed on her.

He wished to speak with King Rhys and ask him to renew his betrothal to Ariana. When he’d told Jenkin this, it had been false bravado. Wulfgar had nothing to offer her. Nor would she accept him.

Would she wed Jenkin?

The thought brought a heavy weight to Wulfgar’s heart. He’d never felt this way about a woman and wondered why he did so now.

The night shadows gathered around the camp, the bright glow of the fire inviting and warm. The air was filled with the scent of wood smoke and roasting meat. Ariana’s stomach rumbled hungrily as she came to stand beside Wulfgar just as Austin and Evan returned to camp.

“We’ll set up a night watch,” Jenkin advised the group. “The meat isn’t done, yet. We can eat as our shifts end.”

“Do you fear an attack?” Wulfgar queried.

Jenkin’s jaw hardened and he barely glanced at the Norman as he spoke in a gruff tone. “Not from your Normans. But I know of other clans who range these mountains and they would be pleased to catch us unaware. I don’t want to endanger the princess. I think it’s wise to have some of my men on watch throughout the night. We know these mountains well while you Normans do not.”

Wulfgar tensed but nodded his head. “Your reasoning is sound.”

The Normans watched Jenkin sketch a crude map in the dirt and explain their surroundings. As long as Wulfgar agreed, they would follow Jenkin without question. Likewise, the Welsh would answer to Jenkin. Wulfgar didn’t like this. Multiple leaders posed a danger that could make the situation volatile. That wouldn’t achieve any of their desires. For the time being, it’d be best for him to cooperate with Jenkin.

“I’ll take the first watch. You can take the second.” Jenkin met Wulfgar’s eyes with steely disdain.

“Agreed.”

With rapid succession, Jenkin pointed to the men, pairing each Norman with a Welshman so the Normans wouldn’t become lost in the mountains. All but Cwrig, Evan, Wulfgar, and Raulf departed into the trees. They would guard the camp, eat and rest for now. Later in the night, they would take their turn at watch as the other men came in to eat and sleep.

Wulfgar turned the meat as it sizzled over the open fire. Ariana tended Gaston, mopping his brow with a damp rag, until Raulf came to relieve her.

“I can do that,” he offered.

“Thank you,” she murmured, handing him the cloth.

She stood watching him for a moment as he bathed Gaston’s face and neck.

“You do that well,” she observed.

Raulf smiled. “I learned from my wife. She was a healer of sorts, though not as skilled as you.”

She snorted. “I’m no healer. What happened to your wife?”

Pain filled Raulf’s eyes and he frowned. “She died a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Ariana offered. “You must miss her a great deal.”

He nodded. “I do. She was a good woman.”

Gathering up her antler comb, Ariana went to sit before the fire. She undid her heavy braid and combed the mass until it glimmered like golden threads. Wulfgar’s fingers itched to touch her hair, to twine his fingers at the back of her head and pull her to him for a kiss. He remembered her scent, her warmth.

“Is the meat done, yet?” he asked Evan, trying to distract his wayward mind.

“To perfection.” The Welshman ripped off a succulent drumstick and placed it on a wooden plate before presenting it to Ariana. He then did likewise and handed the meat to Wulfgar.

Turning away, Wulfgar ate ravenously, chewing so furiously his jaw ached. The discomfort didn’t take his mind off Ariana.

Two men returned from their watch and Wulfgar breathed with relief. Anything to get away from her, to get away from his own thoughts.

It was futile. He couldn’t run away from himself. His mind tormented him as he took his sword and left the camp with Evan to take their turn on watch.

* * *

Staring after Wulfgar, Ariana frowned, hoping there was no danger. Worry nibbled at the edges of her mind. What if Wulfgar were injured or killed? It was a danger they faced every day.

Wrapped in her warm cloak, she curled up on the ground near Gaston. She wanted to be close should he stir in the night.

Her eyelids drooped wearily and she finally slept. In the wee hours of the morning, she jerked awake. She looked about and saw Cwrig, Arnulf and Ifor bedded down before the fire. The rest of the men must be out taking their turn on watch.

Ifor raised his head and looked at her. “Is anything wrong, princess?”

“No, where is Jenkin?”

Ifor shrugged. “He hasn’t returned to camp but has taken a double shift.”

Ariana frowned. Jenkin hadn’t eaten. How odd. Something must be bothering him.

Rising, she dusted off her cloak and pulled it snugly about her. Ifor made as if to stand but she motioned him back down. “Stay and seek your rest.”

Making her way to the fire where the remains of their meal sat warming, she picked up a wooden plate and placed a goodly portion of food on it.

Glancing briefly at the few occupants of the camp, she quickly slipped behind a bush. She peered into the shadowed trees, seeking Jenkin. She found him quickly enough, knowing he wouldn’t go far from camp. He’d given his word to her father that he’d die to protect her and he’d always been loyal.

His eyes glowed in the darkness as she approached, his long body shrouded in shadow. His sword lay close beside him, but he didn’t pick it up as he would have done if she were an enemy. No doubt he’d heard her coming and had known it was her.

Sitting on a large rock overlooking the valley below, his voice sounded harsh when he spoke. “You should be resting.”

He had braced his left foot against the boulder, his hand dangling over his bent knee.

“I came to bring you food.” She handed him the plate and climbed up to sit beside him.

Taking the food, he set it aside, not touching it. Nor did he look at her. His gaze centered on the dark valley, awash in moonlight. A breeze teased the tops of the trees and they swayed like hulking beasts. Shivering, Ariana pulled her cloak tighter around her and breathed deeply of the fresh, chill air. Except for the hum of insects, silence reigned.

Ariana peered at his face. “You seem troubled.”

“Aye.”

“Will you tell me your thoughts?” she prodded.

He spoke without looking at her. “I don’t like this plan of yours. It’s too dangerous.”

Ariana heaved a weary sigh. “We have no choice. It’s the only way to free Dafydd. Our people will only follow me for so long. They need their king.”

Jenkin looked at her, his dark eyes filled with turmoil she didn’t understand. She flinched when he covered her hand with his. “Don’t worry. We’ll have him back soon. We can besiege the castle if necessary. We don’t need these filthy Normans.”

Ariana snorted and withdrew her hand. “We’ve been over this many times, Jenkin. You know as well as I that our army is no match against Edwin’s. A siege would take months and Edwin would most certainly kill Dafydd. In the meantime, King William would send reinforcements. Our people would be slaughtered.”

Jenkin’s brow knitted in a frown. “The Norman slave thinks to make you his own.”

She went very still. “Has he told you that?”

“I can see it in his eyes. He wants you.”

But wanting did none of them any good. Not right now. “You worry needlessly.”

“You must not trust him.”

“We have too much at stake not to trust him a little.”

Jenkin clasped her arms. His intense gaze locked with hers, his voice trembling as he spoke. “Don’t give him your heart, princess. He’ll only hurt you. Beware of his smooth tongue. He’ll betray you in the end.”

Jenkin’s passion startled her, his touch uncomfortable. There was such vehemence in his tone. His grip on her arms tightened painfully and she twisted to be free. His hold lessened, but he didn’t release her. She placed her hand against his chest and tried to smile kindly. He’d never acted this way before. What was wrong with him?

“Be at ease, Jenkin. I’m aware of the Norman’s weaknesses and strengths.”

In the dark shadows, his forehead deepened in a scowl. His eyes glittered with warmth. Again, that unnamed emotion filled his eyes as he looked at her. A longing for something he could not have. Surely she was mistaken.

“I must return to camp, now.” Even as she spoke, she knew it was too late. She’d always loved Wulfgar. But she wouldn’t jeopardize her brother or her people. No matter what her heart’s desire, she would never sacrifice her duty.

Jenkin became very quiet, but he didn’t let her go. Even in the darkness, his face flushed with color. She inhaled sharply when he pulled her to him and held her tightly against his chest, her cheek squashed against his leather jerkin. She could feel the beating of his heart and hear his breathing become harsher. She stiffened.

“Let me go. Please.” She squirmed to be free.

He bent his head and gave her a stilted kiss. His damp mouth landed halfway on her chin and slid up to her lips. A bumbling, embarrassing kiss.

She resisted a shudder.

He released her and she scurried away, lifting a hand to wipe her mouth.

“I love you, Ariana. I wish for you to wed me. Say you’ll be mine.”

He loved her. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

She squelched a repulsive shiver. Angling her shoulders, she wondered what she should say. Glancing at him, she found her fears realized. Sincerity filled his eyes. He was dead serious.

How had this happened? No wonder he’d acted strangely with Wulfgar. He was jealous. Of the Norman.

“Jenkin, I…I can’t. You know we can never wed.” She chose her words carefully, trying not to injure his pride any more than necessary.

“Why?” he asked fiercely. “I’ve been loyal to your father since I was no more than a puling lad. I would gladly lay down my life for you.”

She wiped her chin and gave him an affectionate smile. “I’m touched by your loyalty. Truly I am. But you don’t love me, Jenkin. Not as a man should love a woman.”

A frown creased his features. “I do love you, Ariana. More than I can say.”

And she would break his heart. A knife thrust to her own heart would have been less painful. She hated hurting this good man. He’d always been beside her since they were children. Protecting, defending her. Seeing to her needs before his own. But she could never give him false hope. She didn’t love him. Not romantically. Not the way she loved Wulfgar. And her cheeks burned with regret.

Jenkin’s eyes crinkled with misery. It had taken a lot for him to bare his heart to her. She could only imagine the damage she would do his pride by refusing him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jenkin. But what you ask is impossible. I’m a Christian. Our fathers were brothers and we are first cousins. Already you stand to inherit my father’s kingdom should Dafydd die or fail to provide an heir. You…you’re like a brother to me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “A brother?”

His long body unfolded and he hopped down to stand beside her. She stepped back, hoping he didn’t try to kiss her again. This was Jenkin. Kind, dependable Jenkin. She could never think of him as her husband. He was a friend, her cousin only.

“Wed me and our son will rule Powys,” he said. “Together we’ll beat the Normans back and regain the lands they’ve stolen from our people.”

A blaze of anger flashed through her. “No, it’s Dafydd’s right to rule, not yours or mine.”

His expression changed to contrition. “I’m sorry, Ariana. Truly I meant no offense. But we must plan for the worst. If Edwin kills Dafydd, we must go on living.”

“Stop. I won’t hear such talk. You speak of treason toward our king.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I mean no harm to Dafydd.”

His voice sounded adamant, his gaze intense. Always, he had been devoted to her. Always, he had seen to her welfare. For these reasons, she wouldn’t lie to him.

“I can’t love you the way you want me to. My father’s throne belongs to Dafydd. And I’ll do everything within my power to keep it for him until he can take his rightful place at Powys. Neither you nor I have the right to take that from him. I’ve already lost four brothers, Jenkin. Dafydd is the last and I’ll see that he lives to rule our people.”

Jenkin’s jaw tensed and she heard the grinding of his teeth. “I also am determined to see Dafydd placed on the throne. But what if we fail, Ariana? Our people must have someone to lead them.”

Ariana flinched. For the first time she doubted him. Would he conspire to kill Dafydd and take the throne for himself? She couldn’t contemplate such a cruel fate for her brother. “Don’t say such things. We must trust in God. Dafydd will live. We’ll get him back.”

She backed away, shaking her head, her eyes burning with tears.

Jenkin’s gaze softened. “You’re right. We’ll find the boy. But what of us? What of our future?”

An invisible knife sliced her heart. “I love you as a brother, Jenkin. My father loved and raised you as his son when your own father died in his prime. But I will never wed you. Don’t ask it of me, I beseech you.”

“Who will you wed, then?” he asked, a sneer curling his lips. “The Norman?”

Yes! Her mind screamed. Wulfgar was her betrothed, but she knew it could never be. Not now. Not ever.

“Wulfgar is our enemy. We can never marry, now.”

With one hand raised in supplication, Jenkin took a step toward her, and Ariana took two steps back. She wanted to scream with misery. To shriek her pain from the highest hilltop. Why, oh, why had he said these things to her? Now, she would always be on guard with Jenkin. They could never go back to being just friends.

“It isn’t important that you love me.” His tone sounded ragged with pain. “If you wed me, I will need no love.”

A large tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it away. “Oh, you’re so wrong, Jenkin. Love is the most important thing. Without it, nothing else matters. You deserve that kind of love from the woman you marry. One day, you’ll find someone who deserves your devotion.”

Grief clouded his eyes. His mouth softened and his shoulders slumped in dejection. He’d always been so strong, so determined. Now he was weakened.

Because of her.

Turning her back on him, she wiped her own eyes. “I’ll return to camp and rest, now.”

He let her go. As she moved off into the night, she ran, grateful he didn’t stop her. Through the trees, the bright glow of their campfire winked at her. Heading in that direction, she lifted her skirts and hurried faster.

Fate could be so cruel. Jenkin loved her, and she could never return his affection. Instead, she loved a man she could never have. Their situation was impossible.

Life could be so cruel.

Chapter Nine

They resumed their journey early in the morning. Moving at a slow pace, very few words were shared. Each of them were subdued and quiet, lost in their own thoughts.

Climbing through the mountains, Jenkin had them stay within the stands of trees, to shelter them from prying eyes. They wished not to reveal themselves to enemies.

The sun gleamed bright in the eastern sky. Drafts of golden light filtered through the forest. The cloying heat of Ariana’s cloak weighted her down and she removed it, draping it in front of her over the saddle. She didn’t begrudge the warmth. It could be raining instead, which would make their travels more miserable.

Neither Jenkin nor Wulfgar spoke to her. Both men kept their distance, avoiding company. When she looked up, Ariana always found one of them watching her. Their heavy stares felt like leaden weights. Gnawing on her lower lip, she tried to ignore them both.

The men constructed a litter made of tree limbs and animal hides to move Gaston. The litter had been strapped to Ariana’s horse, and she looked back to see that he was well. As she predicted, Gaston had a fever but he was lucid and Ariana thought him out of danger. The flesh of his wound was red and hot to the touch but she thought it would heal well enough. Likewise, Cwrig’s wound was also healing.

By the time they arrived at their destination, Ariana was ready to collapse with exhaustion. From her high vantage point, she looked down on Elan Valley. Rugged mountains surrounded the gorge. In the center rested Lake Elan, a lovely centerpiece for the lavish beauty of the moors, oakwoods, and abundant wildlife.

When she heard the shout of welcome from the lookouts, she almost cried with joy. They could rest now and eat a hot meal. She could find solace away from the penetrating looks of Wulfgar and Jenkin. Being with her people would restore her spirits.

Wood smoke rose from the dense foliage of the forest where campfires burned. They were not visible from this vantage point, but Ariana knew tents and shelters were secluded back within the privacy of the trees where her people rested and waited.

“Your father chose his hiding place wisely,” Wulfgar spoke beside her. “We’re close to Radnor Forest and no more than a day’s ride from Glyndwr.”

Elation filled his voice. His eyes sparkled with delight and she could tell from the satisfied smile on his handsome face that he was excited by the prospect. She couldn’t blame him. It’d been some time since last he’d seen his home and he must miss it terribly.

Turning, she descended into the valley. The air filled with the low thrum of bullhorns being blown to herald their arrival. People came out of the forest to see who the newcomers were. The Welsh called happy greetings and came running toward her.

“Princess,” one woman cried. “We thought you dead and came here to join those who had fled Trallwm.”

“Oh, princess,” another said. “I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

Some of them sobbed, with relief or joy, Ariana couldn’t tell. They bowed before her, then rose to pat and caress her lovingly. Several embraced her openly as they told her in tearful tones about the raid at Aberystwyth. Ariana couldn’t stop the flow of tears as she listened to their sad story. They’d suffered so much.

* * *

Wulfgar watched Ariana’s reunion with detached interest. He noted how her people clung to their princess, recounting for her all the horror of Edwin’s army as they walked with her to the main camp. Trust filled their eyes as they looked to her for wisdom and guidance. Such an awesome responsibility for such a small woman.

The people stared at Wulfgar and the other Normans with curiosity. They noticed the slave collar around Wulfgar’s neck. Little children stared at him with open mouths and gave him wide berth. Since the Normans had come in with Princess Ariana, the people didn’t question their presence. Obviously they didn’t realize who he was. Wulgar stilled his nerves, not knowing what his reception might be once the Welsh discovered they were Normans.

At the main camp, a large fire burned cheerily. People sat around it. Lean from hunger, their shattered looks told the misery they had endured.

Sympathy melted Wulfgar’s heart. He vowed silently to do something for them once he was again Lord of Glyndwr.

“Where is King Rhys?” Wulfgar asked Evan, who stood close beside him. “Why hasn’t he come to greet his daughter?”

Evan shifted his feet and ignored the question. Instead, he took that moment to greet his kinfolk.

Raulf came to stand beside Wulfgar and asked the same question. “Have you seen the king, yet?”

“No,” Wulfgar replied.

“Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Wulfgar’s gaze remained on Ariana and he thought her quite lovely as she spoke to her people. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you intend to do about it?” Raulf asked.

Wulfgar folded his arms. “As soon as I’m able, I’ll ask Ariana where her father is. I think it’s time we met.”

As the throng cheered their princess, she was carried away and he didn’t have a chance to speak with her. Wulfgar and his men were swept up in a joyous celebration. Though the portions were small, there was a feast and they dined on wild boar, venison, and roast rabbit.

Wulfgar ate only enough to slake his hunger. There were others who were worse off than him and he wouldn’t take food from a child.

Setting his ale aside, he clapped his hands in rhythm to the beat of the drum and flutes. He was watching a particularly comely Welsh girl dance when Jenkin approached. Accompanied by a broad-shouldered man with burly biceps, Jenkin carried a pile of clean clothing and a cake of lye soap. With barely a nod, Jenkin thrust the bundle at Wulfgar. “The princess sent these for you. They belonged to her father and, since he was tall and large, she thought they’d fit your frame. John is a smithy and will remove the slave collar from your neck. The princess has ordered it.”

“Where is King Rhys? I wish to speak with him,” Wulfgar said.

Without response, Jenkin turned and walked away. Wulfgar stared after him, feeling angry by his rude silence.

Wulfgar held perfectly still while John removed the pins from the collar and tossed it aside. Breathing with relief, Wulfgar rubbed his neck where the metal had chafed his skin. With his sharp knife in hand, he headed for the lake, intent upon shaving his beard. His questions would have to wait.

* * *

Ariana dipped her bare toes into the water of Lake Elan. Sitting on the embankment, she closed her eyes and relaxed. It was dark and she was sheltered from view by the thick willows and sedges growing around the pool of water. She had scrubbed her hair earlier and fanned it out about her shoulders, threading the damp curls through her fingers.

Memories haunted her. She’d learned to swim here when she was no more than four years old. John, her eldest brother, had taught her. Now he was dead, and also her other brothers. How she missed Hugh’s boisterous laugh, Llwyd’s teasing smile, and Edmund’s shrewd outlook on life.

Thinking of her brothers stole her moment of solace and she opened her eyes, looking up at the twinkling stars above. The singing and laughter of her people reached her ears. How she loved them all. The burden she carried for their welfare rested heavily on her shoulders. They’d been through so much. No longer could they return to their homes without fear of being hunted and killed by the Normans. Nor did they dare retaliate for fear Edwin might harm Dafydd. Until the boy was returned, the Welsh were in a precarious predicament. They must return home soon or there would be no crops to harvest for the cold winter ahead. They’d starve. Ariana couldn’t bear the thought of hearing the hungry cries of their little children.

Loath to leave her private world before she must, she stood, planning to seek out Jenkin to make plans for the morrow. Her toes dug into the soft mud of the lake bottom. She rinsed each foot, dried it with a linen towel, then pulled on her socks and shoes. Standing, she stopped short.

Wulfgar! He stood before her in the shadows, his hair cut short in the Norman style, his beard shaved from his lean cheeks.

An aura of danger surrounded him. He looked beguiling and terrifying at the same time. He stared at her and she was mesmerized, unable to move. He walked to her, dressed in her father’s clothes. They fit his muscular shoulders to perfection.

“You shaved your beard and cut your hair.” She reached up and touched his smooth face, then threaded her fingers through his shorn hair.

“I shaved it for you, cherie,” he cajoled in his soft accent.

He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. Warmth tingled up her arm and she shuddered. His strong fingers curled around hers, pulling her near. She stared up at him, thinking him more handsome than any man she’d ever seen. But he was also dangerous and could be her destruction. She should leave. Right now.

She moved closer. “I should return to camp.”

“There’s no hurry. You know I would never hurt you.” He lowered his head and kissed her. Softly at first, then becoming more insistent.

Ariana gasped for breath, her arms wrapped tightly around his back. Heaven help her, she hungered for him. And that knowledge was like a splash of cold water to her face.

She jerked back and held out a hand to keep some distance between them. “My father would not approve.”

The brief flash of his smile seemed overly bright in the dark night as he spoke in a husky whisper. “Nor would mine. But seeing you here in the moonlight, it’s difficult to resist your beauty.”

His compliment pleased Ariana. She felt a strange stirring within her to know what manner of man had sired Wulfgar. How horrible Wulfgar’s punishment must have been for his family. His poor mother. The woman must be half-crazed with worry.

“Did your men give you news of your mother?” she asked.

She crossed her arms, to keep from reaching out and touching him again.

“They don’t know anything. I only hope she’s alive and someone has seen to her care. My father is dead. Otherwise, it would have killed him when William sentenced me to slavery.” He shrugged and his gaze lowered to her lips.

How sad. Ariana almost cried for him. Having known Wulfgar only a short time, she’d learned enough to believe his concern for his mother was genuine.

“You have no one else?”

His gaze swept her as he lifted a hand and caressed her cheek. “Just you.”

Ariana’s heart lurched. What could she say? She didn’t want to love him. Yet, he depended on her. He needed her as she needed him.

She stepped away, feeling shy. A shiver trembled over her. “You once had a brother.”

“And he was my great friend.” Wulfgar’s mouth quirked up in a boyish grin, then dropped away to be replaced by a studious frown. “He died some years ago, fighting in Normandy against the French. Always my family has fought for William’s cause. Always we have been loyal to him. Never would I betray him.”

There was such vehemence in his voice that Ariana found herself believing what he said. But if he hadn’t betrayed his king, why had William sent him away? Surely King William would have been able to discover the truth.

“I’m sorry.” Her love blinded her. She mustn’t let her heart rule her mind. She ran an idle finger over the soft linen of her sleeve, thinking she should leave, yet wanting to stay.

Inclining his head, Wulfgar breathed a great sigh. “There’s also Raulf and my other men. Raulf is loyal to me in every way and we are as close as brothers. No matter what others might say or what evidence there is against me, he has always stood beside me.”

Her heart squeezed. Despite her better judgment, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for Wulfgar’s plight. How lonely and forlorn he must have been to lose everything and be sent into bondage. He had no one now, except Raulf and his rag-tag band of Norman outlaws. But her own people had their own plight and she must serve them first.

“I wish to return to camp, now.” Her gaze shifted to the lights of the fire.

He stepped aside to let her pass. He wore soft leather shoes and had his long knife sheathed at his waist. Though he was dressed as a peasant, the way he carried himself gave no doubt he was a man to be reckoned with.

He accompanied her as she lingered along the narrow path.

“Lake Elan reminds me of the lake on Callum’s island,” she told him with a smile.

He chuckled. “Yes, it was an adventure.”

She laughed, remembering their island with fondness. “Someday, I’d like to return with gifts for Callum, Gara and their babe.”

“And I’d like to accompany you. I haven’t seen your father, yet. Where is he?” Wulfgar asked.

Ariana’s breath caught in her throat. Without a word, she continued toward camp. Wulfgar clasped her arm, turning her to face him.

Tremors of pain tore at her heart. The thrum of crickets and croaking frogs sounded in her ears along with the pounding of blood at her temples.

“Let me go.” She jerked her arm from his grasp.

His head tilted to one side and his brows lowered in a thoughtful frown. His gaze never wavered from hers and Ariana blinked at the intense candor in his eyes.

“Where is King Rhys? Why can’t I speak with him?”

Ariana’s jaw clenched and she tried to move away.

“Ariana!”

She halted, her back to him. Her shoulders trembled as tears clogged her throat. “My father is dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, my entire family has been killed at the hands of Normans.” She grit the words out in a harsh tone.

“Did he die at Aberystwyth? Your men said the king wasn’t there.”

Shaking her head, Ariana choked back an anguished sob. Her soul was wracked with sorrow as she began to speak in a hollow whisper. “It was a hard winter for my people. Edwin burned our crops and killed our sheep. He ordered that our homes be burned. My father’s manor house at Trallwm was destroyed. Powys Castle was burned to the ground. We were driven to and fro by Edwin’s mercenaries, never knowing when the Normans might descend upon us. Cruel barbarians, bent on destruction and horror. They delight in killing and think nothing of mercy.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath and wrapped her arms about herself. “My people were starving. They were wracked with sickness. The children were freezing. They cried with hunger and I could hardly stand to watch them suffer. My father was hunting for meat with Jenkin and the others in Radnor Forest when Edwin’s men attacked. My father was cut down and died later that night in my arms. Shortly afterward, I was away, seeking help for my people, when Edwin raided our camp and took Dafydd hostage. It was me Edwin was after, but since I was gone, he took my small brother instead. Now he demands a ransom we can never pay.”

She finished speaking and quaked with the horrid memories.

Wulfgar stood silent for several moments, his eyes piercing as he mulled this information over in his mind. “Edwin doesn’t know King Rhys is dead?”

With a shake of her head, Ariana clenched her eyes closed. “And he mustn’t find out. So far, we’ve kept the secret from him. But I fear one of my people may go to Edwin and speak the tale in exchange for food.”

Wulfgar tensed, breathing slowly. “If Edwin knows Rhys is dead, he’ll kill Dafydd immediately.”

Tears squeezed from beneath her lashes. “Yes.”

Her voice cracked and so did his heart. Wulfgar understood now. With the king and his sons all dead, it’d be easy for Edwin to take Powys. The Welsh were too weak to stop him.

“Can’t you pay the ransom?” he asked.

She shook her head and sniffed. “We’re a poor people. We don’t have enough wealth and we cannot give up more of our land. He has asked for me in exchange for Dafydd. I would gladly take my brother’s place, but I’m not stupid. If I give myself to him, Edwin will murder my brother anyway. With the royal family destroyed, Edwin will make my people his slaves. I can’t watch that happen.”

Wulfgar tensed, hating Edwin of Carlinham. The man didn’t care about the innocent lives he slaughtered. He cared only for his own gain. Because the border was so difficult to hold, King William had chosen his fiercest men to rule along the Welsh Marches. In return, the king left these barons alone, as long as they didn’t openly defy him. The earls along the border were far away from William’s rule. Their word was law, their dominion often unchecked by William. Their armies gave them the strength to do as they pleased. And Edwin had abused that power. It was only when King William felt threatened that he challenged his marcher lords.

And Wulfgar had paid dearly for it.

When it became apparent Wulfgar was gathering a large army, William had felt vulnerable. Waltheof, the Earl of Northumberland and Huntingdon, was to wed the king’s niece. Waltheof felt guilty for his part in the plot. He went to Normandy and told the king that Wulfgar was conspiring with him and the Scottish king to take England by force. King William had invaded Glyndwr with haste. Because he was loyal to William, Wulfgar hadn’t raised a single hand to stop the king. Wulfgar was taken to William’s stronghold at Winchester and cast into the dungeon. There Wulfgar was condemned by Waltheof’s testimony.

It was a lie, but Wulfgar had been unable to prove his innocence. Waltheof had been condemned to death and now awaited execution. Edwin of Carlinham had been named Earl of Glyndwr and Wulfgar was sold into slavery. In a matter of days, Wulfgar’s world had shattered.

Wulfgar had known Carlinham would be a cruel ruler. Even before Edwin had been given Glyndwr, Wulfgar had heard stories of his tyranny. The man had a penchant for gambling and had lost his own estates years earlier. Though he’d been heir to an old title, Edwin no longer had wealth to back his name. Somehow he had gotten into King William’s graces and had been rewarded with Wulfgar’s rich earldom.

And Wulfgar would take Glyndwr back.

No wonder Ariana was desperate to free Dafydd. It wouldn’t be long before Edwin of Carlinham discovered that King Rhys was dead. Then the Welsh would be at Carlinham’s mercy. Ariana’s people had little time. Indeed, Wulfgar was surprised the secret had been kept so well.

“It speaks well of your father that his people are so loyal to him and to you,” Wulfgar said. “It wouldn’t be unusual for another man to rise up to lead your people. I’m sure Jenkin could do it easily enough.”

Ariana’s jaw dropped open, her eyes filled with doubt. Wulfgar wondered just how much she trusted Jenkin.

“Dafydd is my brother. I’ll do anything to help him,” she said.

“I believe you’re as loyal to your people as they are to you.”

“My people fear Edwin.” Ariana shivered with repulsion. “He tortures even those who would serve him. If one of my people betrayed us by going to Edwin, he could very well be killed by Edwin afterward. So far, we’ve hidden the truth. But we’re out of time. Soon, all will be lost.”

She stepped back and wiped her face with the backs of her hands. She was shaking and Wulfgar wrapped his arms around her. She leaned against him for several moments, relying on his strength to comfort her.

Trusting him.

“You see why we must make haste?” she spoke low. “There are many warriors here who will join with us to fight.”

He understood her precarious situation and wanted to help, if he could. If they could get inside the castle walls, they had enough men to take the keep. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

Ariana drew away. “I only hope we’re in time.”

Chapter Ten

Wulfgar stood in the dark, watching Ariana flee through the bushes. The lights of the campfire winked at him through the trees. The air was filled with hushed whispers as people settled for the night and the smell of wood smoke.

From behind him, Wulfgar heard the snap of a twig. Clutching his knife, he whirled about to face the intruder.

Jenkin came through the trees, gripping an ax and carrying a lighted torch. The flames from the torch scattered light and shadows around them, making Jenkin’s eyes appear deep and hollow.

“Fear not, Welshman,” Wulfgar reassured the man. “Your princess has just returned to the safety of the camp.”

Jenkin met Wulfgar’s eyes with an angry glare. “That’s good for you. Had you put your hands on her, I would have buried this ax in your skull. When the lookouts reported you were alone with her, I came in haste.”

Wulfgar gave a caustic laugh. “Do you really think she needs a watch dog?”

Jenkin hardened his jaw. Wulfgar wasn’t surprised he’d been seen with Ariana. Numerous scouts ranged the mountain day and night, watching for intruders.

“You’ve no need to fear for her safety when she’s with me. I would never harm her,” Wulfgar said.

Jenkin snorted, his grip on the ax tightening. “No doubt you cared for her on the island so you might use her to your advantage later on.”

“That’s not true.” Angry heat crept over Wulfgar’s face. He was tempted to hit Jenkin for his insults, but Ariana wouldn’t approve.

He took a step, but Jenkin’s next words stopped him. “Where do you think the princess sought help when Dafydd was taken by Edwin?”

Wulfgar froze. Turning, he lifted his brows as he stared at the other man through the dark.

“She went to find you,” Jenkin’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Her father was dead, her brother taken, and she went to seek your aid. You were her betrothed and she thought you would help. That was before she knew what kind of man you are.”

Wulfgar’s throat tightened. He found no words to reply.

A look of triumph registered on Jenkin’s face. “Imagine her dismay when she discovered you’d been sentenced to be sold into slavery for conspiring with Waltheof against your own king. All your holdings had been given to Edwin of Carlinham. You couldn’t save yourself much less Prince Dafydd.”

Shifting his feet against the damp embankment, Wulfgar frowned. “Ariana was at William’s Court?”

Jenkin nodded, his tone biting. “Aye, after you were sentenced, with me by her side. She was dressed in all the finery of an English noblewoman, but she wore a scarf to hide her face. No one knew her true identity for we kept her away from all the men who admired her beauty. She was there the day after you were convicted. It took some doing, but I discovered you were to be taken and sold as a slave. That’s when the princess decided to buy you so she might find out how to enter Cynan.”

“I would have helped her if I could,” Wulfgar said.

A sneer twisted Jenkin’s face as he raised the ax and stepped closer to Wulfgar. “It was because of you that she needed help. If you hadn’t been convicted, Lord Carlinham would never have come to rule Glyndwr. Peace would have continued along our border.”

And Wulfgar would have married Ariana at her father’s bidding. No one needed to die. Peace and trade could have reigned between their people.

Although Jenkin’s reasoning seemed a bit warped, Wulfgar felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. He’d failed Ariana. Now, he was determined to make things right.

Several anxious moments slipped by as the two men glared at one another. Wulfgar was tensed and ready to fight.

Finally, Jenkin backed away, turned and disappeared into the forest. Wulfgar relaxed his shoulders and stared toward the main campfire.

Doubt filled his mind. Who was he? A slave only. He could do little to help his betrothed. Yet, he must find a way.

* * *

Cynan Castle stood upon a rocky promontory overlooking the River Teme. The river flowed from mid-Wales, south of Newtown in Powys, and flowed through Knighton where it crossed the border into England. Ships could bring supplies up the river to the castle or provide defense should there be a siege. The river also provided an ideal escape route. Further downstream, rapids frothed white over large rocks and sunlight glanced off the murky waters. Grassy hills surrounded the mote where sheep grazed peacefully.

Overlooking the area for miles around, Cynan was an imposing site. It controlled the surrounding lands and commerce in the area, a haven to the local farmers and townsfolk. At one time, there’d been safety within the castle walls. Now Edwin ruled Glyndwr and there was only treachery and fear.

Made of gray stone quarried and brought by ship up the river, the castle was a magnificent site. The tall keep rose high to stand guard over the land.

The town was surrounded by a stone palisade. Looking at it from the shelter of the forest, Ariana could believe the castle impervious to attack. The outer curtain wall stood more than fifteen feet high, the inner curtain wall easily double that. It would be more than difficult for her men to breach the walls.

Surrounded by rocky cliffs on the north and east, a moat had been built on the south and west. The towers of the keep rose to well over fifty feet. This day, the drawbridge was lowered and a lone wagon and driver plodded along the dirt road toward the portcullis. The wheels of the wagon rattled noisily as it crossed the drawbridge and entered the keep.

“There’re three entrances to the town,” Wulfgar spoke low as he and the other men gathered around to plan their strategy. “Soon it will be night, and they’ll raise the drawbridge. That’s when we’ll make our move.”

Fifty-three men, mostly Welsh, had joined their cause. Recruited from Ariana’s people during their stay at Lake Elan. They’d traveled at night, praying no one saw their large party and warned Edwin. If they could get inside, they had enough men to take the castle.

Huddled within the darkness at the forest’s edge, they listened to Wulfgar’s instructions. Austin stood back, deep in the shadows, keeping their horses quiet.

Staring over a fallen tree trunk, Ariana lay upon her stomach on the soft leaves littering the ground. The scent of rich, loamy soil reached her nose. The dampness of the ground felt cold against her body and she shivered.

Jenkin lay on his stomach to her right and Wulfgar joined her, lying on her left. Raulf and the other captains crouched nearby, listening as Wulfgar explained the terrain.

Each man had been armed with swords and battle-axes. They planned to move quickly under cover of night. Not wanting to be hampered by heavy chain mail, they instead wore woolen tunics and hose.

“We will avoid the town.” Wulfgar spoke in a loud whisper so all the men might hear. “Raulf tells me the townsfolk are yet loyal to me, but I fear many of the people have now sworn fealty to Edwin.”

“They’ll not support him,” Raulf vowed. “Carlinham takes their wealth and abuses their daughters. They hate him and have sworn fealty at the point of his sword. It was a hollow vow to appease Edwin and save their skin, nothing more. They’ll fight for you, my lord.”

Wulfgar inclined his head. “There’ll come a time when we’ll need their help if we’re to regain Cynan.”

“See there are no guards on the towers,” Raulf observed.

“Edwin is a fool.” Wulfgar smiled with relish. “He’s harried the Welsh so much that he doesn’t believe they would dare attack. He’s let down his guard.”

Ariana’s mouth tightened and she brushed a small stone away from her elbow. “And he’ll now pay dearly for it.”

“I’d love to have Carlinham at my mercy.” Jenkin sneered.

Wulfgar snorted. “You’ll have to fight me for that joy.”

“The people of the town gathered together the coins so I could buy you at the slave market.” Raulf cast a sheepish glance at Ariana. “Still it was not enough. I’ll go speak with them and we’ll be ready when you open the sally port to let us inside.”

The sally port was a small back door, which enemies often overlooked and commonly used during siege so that troops could sally forth in secret. It was a good plan.

If it worked.

Ariana shook her head. “I’ll not jeopardize Dafydd’s life. We have enough men to take the castle without warning the townsfolk, yet.”

Raulf’s eyes widened with amazement. “But I must give them a warning so they can prepare.”

Ariana shook her head, her jaw set stubbornly. “No, one of them might warn Edwin. Then, all will be lost.”

Jenkin tensed beside her. The other men shifted nervously.

“We mustn’t fight amongst ourselves,” Wulfgar interceded. “It’ll be as the princess says. You’ll wait until we open the door, then send a messenger to the town’s people.”

Jenkin relaxed but Raulf continued to fume, his ears red with anger.

“We’ll secure Prince Dafydd first,” Wulfgar informed the men. “Then, we’ll take the castle.”

“And if something goes wrong?” Raulf asked.

Wulfgar clenched his teeth, his expression solemn. “Nothing will go wrong. I hope we are undiscovered, but we could bring company for you to greet with your swords. I’ll open the sally port and lower the ladder so you can get inside and take the guards unaware. Be ready.”

Raulf hefted his ax and skimmed his thumb across the razor-sharp edge. “We’ll wait along the cliff. If you don’t open the sally port by dawn, I’ll go to the town and seek help there.”

Ariana ignored his threat as she looked at Wulfgar. “I will accompany you into the castle.”

Each man stared at her with surprise. Raulf rolled his eyes and snorted.

“It’s too dangerous,” Jenkin objected. “Think what Edwin would do if he caught you.”

“You and Wulfgar will protect me.”

Wulfgar sighed, his brows lowered in a troubled frown. “Jenkin is right. It’s too dangerous and you’ll only slow us down. You should remain here.”

Ariana sat back and jutted her chin. “I’m quite swift and will not slow you down one bit. I’m going, so don’t try to stop me.”

Wulfgar saw the stubborn set of her shoulders and the thin line of her lips. He knew she would follow unless he bound her hand and foot. “Jenkin, speak some reason to her.”

“Princess, please.”

“That’s enough.” She held up a hand to silence them.

Wulfgar ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “It’s clear you’ve been spoiled and are used to having your way.”

Her jaw hardened. Wulfgar almost laughed, but refrained from doing so. She was a beautiful woman with her long hair braided down her back and her nose crinkled up. He wanted more than anything to kiss her. Instead, he tugged on her arm. “We must speak in private.”

Ariana crouched low as they moved back into the sheltering trees. When they stood in the deep shadows, she whispered for his ears alone. “I’m going, Wulfgar. My men won’t bind me. I’m their princess and they’ll obey me. Nor will they allow your men to do the deed, so don’t suggest it.”

Wulfgar winced. Could she not do as he asked just once? “I’ll not be able to fight freely on your brother’s behalf if I have to defend you also.”

She smiled and her eyes sparkled like blue sapphires. “I’ve seen you in battle and have every faith you’ll protect both my brother and me from harm.”

Her words of confidence warmed his heart. But what if he failed her again?

The treetops shivered as a breeze whispered past. Wulfgar shifted his weight, snapping twigs beneath his feet. Glancing over his shoulder at their waiting men, he leaned his head down close to her. “We will travel through water, Ariana. We must swim and your long skirts will pull you under. Even now, the secret passage may have been discovered by Edwin and covered over. I don’t know if we can even get inside. If we find the passage closed off and you can’t hold your breath long enough, you might drown.”

Fear lurched through him when he thought of her gasping for breath while he tried to get her to the surface. He’d never forgive himself if she died.

Ariana lowered her hands to her knees and lifted her skirts to pull them over her head. Wulfgar’s eyes widened as he watched her remove her dress. Beneath her chemise, she wore a man’s woolen shirt and britches. The coarse material looked scratchy and uncomfortable but he realized she would have little trouble becoming tangled in her clothes.

He eyed her shapely form. “I see you came prepared.”

“I won’t be left behind. I know how to swim quite well. My brothers taught me.”

Wulfgar glowered, hoping his angry look might deter her where wisdom did not.

She shook her head and met his gaze with boldness. “I’m going and that’s final.”

She reached to her waist where she wore a man’s thick belt. Inside a leather sheath were her slim daggers. He had no doubt she would use them if need be.

Turning, she returned to the edge of the forest. Jenkin frowned at her mannish garb, his lips thin as he tossed a look of anger in Wulfgar’s direction.

Wulfgar lifted his hands. “Don’t blame me. You know she has a mind of her own.”

Jenkin growled. “More of our men should accompany us, princess. What if the Norman slave betrays you? He could hand you over to Edwin, thinking to gain clemency for himself.”

True, but Jenkin could as easily betray her. If Dafydd were dead, Jenkin could become king. Her people believed in him and would follow him with little trouble.

Ariana touched her hand to his sleeve. “I trust both of you and God to see us safely through this day. I’ll be safe, Jenkin. Wulfgar knows you’ll hunt him down and kill him should he betray me.”

Her words were spoken loud enough so all could hear. Jenkin’s gaze rested on Wulfgar, incinerated by hate.

“I vow it.” Jenkin’s voice was low.

Wulfgar met Jenkin’s gaze and the two men regarded each other.

An abrasive laugh slipped from Jenkin’s throat. “Perhaps today you will be killed and we’ll be done with you for good.”

Wulfgar shook his head. “Not likely.”

“We shall see.” Jenkin responded in a light tone. “The day is still young.”

Wulfgar gave him a chilling glare. “We leave when the moon is full.”

Chapter Eleven

Under cover of night, Wulfgar, Ariana and Jenkin swept across the clearing to the palisade. With Wulfgar leading the way, the trio followed the deep ditch surrounding the foot of the wall.

Ariana stumbled and Wulfgar reached for her, his strong hands clasping her arm, lending support.

“Are you all right?” His warm breath brushed her cheek.

She shivered in the dark. “I’m fine.”

His strong fingers curled around hers and he squeezed her hand once, then let her go. She would have held tight to his hand, but Jenkin’s disapproving gaze made her draw away.

They circled the town and stole their way to the castle. Not a single watchman stood upon the towers of the town. Ariana smiled to herself. It’d be so easy to attack and take control. Edwin was a fool, a cruel brute hated by many. In a matter of time, his own people would turn on him. Men like Edwin were often found dead in the forest, an arrow through their hearts, killed by an unknown assassin.

The moon gleamed brightly above with little cloud cover. Stars winked down at them and they had no trouble seeing their way to the castle moat. They crouched amidst the shadows on the south side, where the gatehouse entrance towered overhead. The castle inhabitants had raised the bridge and lowered the portcullis. As Ariana inched along the cold stonewall, she could see no way inside.

Panic climbed up her throat. What if Wulfgar had lied about the passage? Perhaps he had tricked her and would now try to use her to gain advantage for himself. Jenkin was close by her side, but he was little defense against Edwin’s army should Wulfgar betray them.

Wulfgar touched her shoulder and Ariana jumped.

“We must swim through the moat,” Wulfgar whispered to both her and Jenkin. “It’ll be difficult to see. Take one end of this rope and tie it around one of your hands so you don’t become disoriented and lose your way in the dark water. I’ll take the lead and pull you to safety should you become lost.”

“Where is the entrance?” Ariana asked quietly.

Wulfgar’s eyes glittered in the night. He blinked and spoke low. “You’ll see soon enough. But be warned. The passage is small and we will be cramped. You’ll need to stay close until we’re inside. Though I planned for a passage, I didn’t make it easy to enter or leave. Otherwise, it would not be a secret for long.”

His reasoning seemed logical. He indicated the moat and Ariana stared at the stagnant water, deep enough to swim. More than likely, it was over her head and she would not be able to wade through the murky mass.

She thought about Dafydd alone inside the castle. A child, all alone and undoubtedly frightened. Locking her jaw, she was determined to go on. A little swim would not stop her.

Wulfgar stepped into the dormant waters and reached out a hand to assist Ariana. Securing one end of the rope around her wrist, she took his offering as she too waded into the cold depths.

Jenkin brought up the rear, also holding tight to the rope. Ariana noticed his other hand rested on the hilt of his knife and she knew he would use it to sever the line if Wulfgar gave him cause.

“When I give you the signal, you’ll need to take a deep breath. We’ll be under for a couple of minutes,” Wulfgar warned.

Ariana nodded and he led them along the foundation. She inched her way, gasping as the cold wetness soaked through her woolen clothes. Within moments, they had to tread water. Wulfgar was tall enough to touch bottom and he guided her along, his touch comforting.

She kept her mouth closed as the water slapped her in the face. The cold chilled her to the bone, numbing her arms and legs. Wulfgar steadied her and she felt secure for the moment.

Dafydd slept somewhere within the keep. Ariana’s heart fluttered when she thought of holding him in her arms again. She would take him home and thwart Edwin’s evil plan.

Wulfgar paused just below the drawbridge. Looking up, Ariana saw the small wicket gate, which the garrison used at night so they would not need to raise the portcullis. The dark shadows of the castle loomed overhead like hulking beasts and Ariana trembled with anticipation. There was great danger ahead.

Wulfgar waved a hand, indicating they should take a deep breath. Ariana filled her lungs and clenched her teeth. They went under the water. She kicked her feet as she felt Wulfgar tug on the rope. She followed him, unable to see anything in the darkness of the moat. It seemed they were going deeper and deeper until Ariana touched the muddy bottom with one hand. Then, she felt a tug on her lifeline and followed Wulfgar under a rocky ledge.

She shivered. Someone’s hand brushed her leg. Jenkin, close behind her. His presence gave her the courage to go on.

She needed air and hurried. Her lungs would burst.

Breathe! Breathe!

Ariana pushed harder, desperate to take a breath. Still they did not come up for air and panic struck her with ugly force. She kicked her legs. She must go back.

Pulling on the rope, she tried to turn. Wulfgar must have sensed her desperation for he jerked her forward. On they went until Ariana felt lightheaded and filled with doom. And then, they broke from the water and Ariana gasped and spewed as she clutched for something to steady her.

She felt Wulfgar’s arms around her, holding her, pressing her cheek to his chest. She was aware of Jenkin beside her, breathing deeply as he also filled his lungs with air. Ariana could hear the echo of their gasps against the walls, but she could see nothing. Not even her hand in front of her face.

Where were they?

“There, cherie. You did well.” Wulfgar’s billowy whisper soothed her as he pressed his hands to her head and brushed the plastered hair back from her dripping face.

“I thought…” she coughed, “I thought you would….”

“I would never let you drown. I gave you my word,” Wulfgar admonished, his deep voice soothing her frayed nerves.

“Yes, I know.”

She felt him kiss her forehead, then her lips. She clung to him, relieved they were safe for the time being. His tenderness softened her toward him. The thought struck her that she should pull away from him, but she was suddenly elated to be past the water. She clutched his strong arms, taking solace in his confidence and strength.

Now they must get inside the castle.

“Lead on,” Jenkin ordered gruffly and Ariana was grateful he couldn’t see how she held on to the Norman.

Wulfgar took her hands and pressed them against a ledge. She hung on to it, supporting herself.

“Hold here for a moment,” he cautioned her.

Then, he released her and she heard him scratching against the wall with his hands. Searching for something.

His heavy breathing met her ears as he banged into the wall. She thought he must have kicked against an obstruction.

Thump!

She winced, fearing detection if the castle guards heard them.

A sliver of light pierced their cavern. Layers of slate had been laid over a thin piece of plastered wood overhead.

“Come.” Wulfgar beckoned to her, then pushed the slate aside with his hands. He pulled Ariana up with him. Dim light filtered down from above. He lifted the slate aside and raised himself so his torso was in a small cell, his long legs dangling down toward the moat. With the slate in place, the space was only big enough for a single man to lie down. A small iron grill was set above them and dim firelight flickered above.

A fetid stench met them and Ariana pinched her nose, reluctant to take a breath. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering with cold. “Where are we?”

Wulfgar clapped his hand over her mouth and shook his head, his eyes filled with warning.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “A woman’s high voice carries while pounding would be taken for a distraught prisoner beating against the stone walls.”

Ah, now she understood.

Ariana tensed, prepared to be surrounded by guards. The grill gave way and Wulfgar slid it aside as he hefted himself out of the small hole and into a larger chamber. He pulled Ariana up beside him and Jenkin followed.

It was then that Ariana realized where they were. They had come through an oubliette, a cramped cell-within-a-cell where unwanted prisoners were kept and often forgotten, left to die of starvation. It was only big enough for a man to lie down, but not big enough to sit up or stand. Cruel punishment, indeed. Ariana shuddered when she noticed a skull and bones lying inside the small enclosure. Wulfgar had knocked them askew when he’d broken through the false panel.

Repugnance filled her and she looked at him, her mouth dropping open with outrage.

“I never used it. It is a decoy. I built it with my own hands and placed the skull and dried bones there to deter prisoners from opening the grate and discovering the secret passage.”

Ariana accepted this with some relief. She squeezed water from her long braid and looked about.

“We are in the dungeon?” Jenkin queried with interest.

Wulfgar nodded his dripping head.

A cold, dank, and smelly place, the dungeon was made entirely of stone. A bucket sat in one corner with filthy straw spread across the cold floor. A single window no bigger than a man’s face was set high in the far wall. Dim starlight invaded the darkness. A torch in the hallway glimmered through the bars of the heavy iron door. As Wulfgar replaced the plastered wood and iron grill so the secret passageway would not be discovered, Ariana tried the door.

Locked.

Turning, she quirked her brows at him, unable to contain an expression of disgust as she whispered harshly. “This is your secret passageway? We are now precisely where Edwin wants us, deep in his stronghold, held prisoner in his dungeon.”

Wulfgar hardened his jaw. “You mean my dungeon. Cynan will never be Edwin’s as long as I live.”

“Lord Wulfgar?”

They whirled about and stared into a dark corner of the cell. Ariana gasped when she saw a scrawny man huddled in a pile of straw, wearing a gray beard, his long hair filthy and shaggy. Slowly, he stood and braced himself against the stonewall. He tottered and Ariana thought he might fall over. His naked arms and torso were emaciated, his cheeks and eyes hollowed by hunger and privation. Wearing only a covering over his loins, his legs and feet were bare. Seeing Wulfgar, his sunken eyes stared at them with a slight twinkle. Strands of straw clung to his hair and he shivered with the cold.

“Is it really you, my lord?” the man spoke in a voice that sounded rusty from lack of use.

“Vachel? What have they done to you?” Wulfgar peered at the wizened old man with disbelief.

“It is you.” The man laughed and promptly began to cough. “My lord, it’s good to see you alive and well. I would come nearer, but I fear I’m not well. For a moment, I thought I must have died. I heard voices and thought I’d lost my mind. I should’ve known it was you.”

He laughed again, a cackling sound that grated in Ariana’s ears. Then he shook his head, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I had hoped we would meet again, but not under these circumstances, locked in the dungeon of your own keep.”

Wulfgar pulled the rope off his wrist and approached the prisoner. “Why has Edwin put you in the dungeon? What offense are you guilty of?”

Shrugging his thin shoulders, Vachel gave an affectionate smile. “I’m guilty of loving you, my lord. Edwin offered me freedom if I would forsake you.” Vachel hardened his jaw, his eyes narrowed with loathing as he clenched his hands. “But I refused. I’ve served as your steward these many years, and your father before. I refused to swear fealty to Edwin and he locked me up. He feeds me only enough to keep me alive. But now I’m ill and will soon be free of his torment.”

Ariana watched Wulfgar’s expression change. His eyes crinkled with sadness and his mouth softened as his face drained of color. Then he clenched his jaw with fury. He looked around the barren cell, at all the depravation Vachel had suffered. Stepping nearer, Wulfgar pulled the old man into his arms and embraced him as gently as a mother would her child. No words were spoken as Wulfgar closed his eyes, his brow furrowed. Emotion tightened his features with despair.

Her heart squeezed. Surely Wulfgar could not be guilty of treason. He was innocent. A traitor would never care what others suffered out of loyalty to him.

Wulfgar released Vachel and stepped back. “There’re no other prisoners? I thought Edwin locked up many men for as many offences.”

Vachel shook his craggy head. “He uses the dungeon very little, my lord. When someone offends him, he just has them tortured and killed.”

Ariana shuddered. So many of her people had suffered such a fate.

“You should not forfeit your life for me, Vachel,” Wulfgar’s voice sounded hoarse.

Vachel scoffed and smiled at the large man who towered over him. “My wife brought you into this world. I loved you every bit as much as your own father. That was the only reason Edwin didn’t kill me and be done with it. He found it amusing to lock me in here and starve me. He feared killing me would create a martyr and the townsfolk would rebel against him. As long as I live, they do his bidding, but they hate him. Whenever Edwin is bored, he comes down to taunt me now and then.”

Wulfgar’s head tilted to one side. “Taunt you?”

The old man did not have time to answer. Footsteps sounded along the stone corridor outside the door.

“Mind the squint,” Vachel cautioned as he nodded at the tiny peephole set high up toward the ceiling in the wall by the door.

Vachel plopped down on his bed of straw and hung his head in a submissive gesture. Dragging Ariana with him, Wulfgar flattened against the wall, directly below the squint. Jenkin also hugged the wall. They all held their breath.

A faint light and shadowy movement crossed the squint and Ariana knew someone above was peeking inside the cell, checking on the prisoner. Hopefully, the angle of the squint wouldn’t allow detection directly beneath where Ariana stood with Wulfgar and Jenkin.

After several moments, the shadow passed by as the guard left. Ariana let her breath out with relief.

“How many guards are above?” Wulfgar asked as he stood over Vachel.

“Perhaps twenty, although there’s only one lazy guard that keeps watch at night. I can hear his snores all the way down here. Your pounding may have awakened him. They’re mercenaries loyal only to coins. Edwin lives well off the fruits of your labors, my Lord. He squanders much of your wealth, I fear. The servants in the castle are yet loyal to you. Edwin is cruel and they hate him. I overhear the guards speaking about it. They await news that Raulf could find you at the slave auction and bring you home. You’re their last hope, my Lord. I believe it’s only fear of King William that keeps Edwin safe. Eventually, someone will murder him in his sleep.”

“How do you intend to get us out of the dungeon?” Jenkin asked Wulfgar.

Without response, Wulfgar went to stand before the solid door. Taking out his knife, he lifted his hands high above his head where a normal man would not be able to reach, and methodically began to dig the mortar out from around one smooth stone in the wall. The mortar turned to powder and dusted over his hands. It sifted to the floor as he worked, finally freeing the stone. Wulfgar pulled it free of the wall and reached his long fingers inside a hidden compartment. When he drew back his hand and opened it, Ariana caught the glint of a key resting on his palm.

How shrewd. Wulfgar had planned this so well and she was amazed at his foresight. Who would ever guess there was a secret passageway hidden inside the dungeon?

“So close,” Vachel gave a disbelieving laugh. “Had I known it was there, I would have made good use of it.”

Wulfgar frowned. “The dungeon was never meant for such as you, my friend. We’ve come to take control of the castle and free Prince Dafydd. Do you know where Edwin is keeping him?”

“Nay, my Lord. I heard one of the guard’s say King Rhys’s son was here, but I know not where the lad is kept. I suppose the upper tower would be the most likely place.”

Wulfgar nodded in agreement. Then he went to stand before the old man who now leaned weakly against the wall. Placing his hand upon Vachel’s shoulder, Wulfgar looked down at him with fond regret. “I must leave you here for the time being. If the guards discover you missing, they’ll sound the alarm and set up a search. But rest assured, I’ll return for you as soon as I can.”

Vachel’s gray eyes glimmered with hope, his expression one of complete trust. When he spoke, his voice was filled with conviction. “I’ll wait for you here.”

Nodding his head, Wulfgar turned to Jenkin. “I don’t know what we’ll find above. If we’re outnumbered, take the princess back the way we came and help Vachel get free also. I’ll keep the guards busy while you see to her safety. It’d take time for Edwin’s mercenaries to discover what happened and you would be able to escape.”

Jenkin nodded.

Ariana stepped between the two men and raised her hands to place one against each of their powerful shoulders. Crinkling her eyes, she looked between them and gave them as stern a look as possible. “I’ll not leave without Dafydd. So while the two of you plan how to keep me safe, don’t forget my primary mission is to free my brother.”

She walked to the threshold and stared at it, tapping her toe impatiently as she waited for Wulfgar to open the door.

Shaking his head, Wulfgar placed the key in the lock and turned it with an audible click. He pulled gently and the door swung inward. Then he put the key back in its hiding place and set the stone back in the wall. A person would have to look carefully to notice the mortar had been chiseled away. If Vachel were strong enough to hold his breath, he could swim his way to freedom.

“Once we’ve taken the castle, I’ll return and fill in the mortar, in case we need to use the passage again,” Wulfgar said. “Vachel, if for some reason I’m unable to return for you, you can use the key to escape.”

Vachel nodded and Wulfgar cast a glance over his shoulder at Ariana. He raised his eyebrows as he gave a warning. “You go last, Ariana. If there’s trouble, you’ll return here with Vachel until it’s safe. Don’t be foolish. All of our lives depend upon our good judgment.”

Ariana recognized the wisdom in what he said, but she had come here to find her brother. They were so close and she wasn’t about to leave without Dafydd.

Her heart pounded and her hands became clammy with excitement. She shivered in her wet clothes, waiting for Wulfgar to go first.

He stepped from the dungeon and mounted the stone stairs leading upward. There was little light and their dark shadows billowed across the walls like ghoulish specters. Wulfgar moved silently, followed by Jenkin and Ariana. Vachel watched them go, then slid the door closed and peered at them through the iron bars.

The three moved silently up the stairs. Ariana clutched a stiff rope railing, which had been strung along the wall for support. They reached the first landing and Ariana could see the squint where Vachel’s jailor had peeked down at them. They turned the corner of the dark passageway and proceeded up the next flight of stairs. As they drew near the second landing, Ariana could see more light coming from above. She swallowed heavily, wondering what they would find there. She heard no voices and thought for a moment the guardroom must be empty.

Wulfgar slowed as he approached the chamber. Holding out a hand to caution them, he drew his sword quietly. Jenkin did likewise, and Ariana pulled one of her daggers from its sheath.

Cautiously, Wulfgar slipped into the room, followed by Jenkin. Ariana peeked around the corner, prepared to fight alongside the men. Her ears were greeted by the soft snores of the jailor, who lay slouched on a bench along the far wall. Sound asleep, he had his mouth wide open, his hands folded over his rotund belly where an iron ring containing several keys was hooked to his belt.

A candle perched in a tall candleholder sat upon a trestle table beside him. It cast flickering shadows upon the stonewalls of the room. Beside the jailor on the floor was an empty cup and discarded crust of bread. Ariana jumped and almost squealed when a plump rat raced across the floor, snatched the bread and scurried to safety through a hole in the wall.

Lowering his eyebrows, Wulfgar shook his head and frowned at Ariana. She felt the color in her face heighten with embarrassment.

Stupid girl.

She chastised herself. She must be careful not to make a sound.

To exit, they would need to cross the room. Wulfgar pointed toward the portal, which stood wide open, beckoning them with freedom. He then held a single finger up to his lips to warn them to be quiet.

Stealthily, he walked across the chamber. Both Jenkin and Ariana followed. As she was about to slip through the open door, the jailor gave a loud snort and jerked. Ariana froze. Her pulse raced and she stared wide-eyed as the man rubbed his nose and readjusted his position. He smacked his thick lips but didn’t open his eyes.

Praise the heavens.

Her temples pounded as she waited for him to settle himself again. Then she took the last two steps through the door and into the hallway. Her heart beat madly in her chest and she could hardly believe they’d come this far without detection. Surely they’d be discovered at any moment. But they had the advantage of night. Most of the castlefolk were asleep and the guards obviously didn’t expect intruders.

Moving further down the hall, Wulfgar directed them outside into the dark once more. Cool night air embraced them and Ariana crossed her arms, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering. Wulfgar led the way through the bailey, which was lit with several torches set along the walls. It became apparent to Ariana that he knew his castle well. She would have gotten lost in all the twists and turns they took. He looked about, as if noticing what had occurred at his home during his absence.

They passed by piles of rubbish and he grimaced with disgust. His nose wrinkled with repugnance when they caught the stench of decaying garbage and he frowned at the disrepair of fences and buildings. From his expression, Ariana thought this lack of care greatly bothered Wulfgar, as it did her.

Edwin was not only cruel, but also lazy. The lord of this keep needed a strong hand to direct the people in their labors.

“See there are very few guards. Some are sleeping against the wall over there.” As Jenkin pointed to several men lying slumped against the stone keep. A soft snore filled the air.

Without him saying so, Ariana knew Wulfgar would have punished his men for such sloth while on duty.

“Aye,” Wulfgar whispered. “It’ll be easy to take control.”

A dog began to bark and Wulfgar ducked behind a stockpile of barrels. Jenkin and Ariana bustled after him and they huddled there, listening.

“Shut up, you mongrel.” A man’s angry voice came from the kennels. A thud and yelp were followed by loud curses.

All was still again, with only the lowing of contented cattle coming from the milk barn. Ariana shifted nervously beside Jenkin. What was their next move?

Crouched upon his knees, Wulfgar nodded toward the far side of the yard and whispered. “I believe Edwin has locked Dafydd in a small chamber at the top of that tower. It’s where I would put the boy. We’ll have to cross through the main hall and climb the stairs to get there. Once we reach the stairs, we might encounter a guard. If not, we should be able to reach him easily.”

“And will there be people sleeping inside the hall?” Ariana queried softly.

“Yes,” Wulfgar nodded his head as he peered over the barrels. “I fear it won’t be as easy to slip through the hall without detection as it was to get by the jailor.”

“What will we do?”

Reaching out, he grabbed a woolen rag someone had thrown over the barrels. He folded it in half, then draped it over his head and pulled it forward so it covered his lower face. If a servant noticed him, they wouldn’t recognize him.

Hopefully.

Taking hold of Ariana’s braid, he proceeded to stuff it down the back of her shirt, hiding the long strand from view. Ariana didn’t think to struggle. To the casual eye of a sleepy person, she would appear to be no more than a boy passing through the hall.

Wulfgar’s teeth flashed white as he smiled. “Hopefully, if anyone awakens and sees us in the hall, they’ll think we belong there and pay us no heed.”

“They’ll know we’re strangers. Don’t you think they’ll suspect something amiss?”

Wulfgar frowned. “That’s the chance we’ll have to take. Perhaps they’ll not care. The mercenaries have met with success in subduing your people and have become lazy in their victory.”

Ariana prayed their trickery worked. Jenkin grunted as he stepped back into the yard.

They crept into the main hall. Sitting in the center of the large room, a bright fire burned in a round fire pit made of stone. Long tables were set on either side of the fire pit with a raised dais at the head of the room and another table set there for the lord of the castle. Beautiful gold tapestries emblazoned with red snarling wolves hung from the shadowed walls, which were painted a vivid blue. It was too dark to make out the details but Ariana could see armaments and shields bearing Wulfgar’s crest hanging above the lord’s table.

Wulfgar’s jaw tensed when he noticed this and Ariana knew it was an affront for Edwin to keep them there when he had no claim to Wulfgar’s heritage. Wulfgar had told her that the Conteville name was an old one associated with wealth and power in Normandy. Long had his family been close confidents and allies with King William. When Edwin had taken control of the castle, the wolves should have been removed and replaced with Edwin’s crest.

Again Wulfgar looked about at the food encrusted dishes strewn across the sturdy tables. Ariana was surprised the servants had not cleared the mess away after the last meal. Bones and decaying garbage littered the floor from many a meal. She pinched her nose at the great stench. From across the room, a dog growled, then lowered its head back to the floor.

“I will drive this vermin from my home,” Wulfgar muttered.

Watching him, Ariana could see his anger. His brows lowered in a dark frown and his jaw flexed as if he ground his teeth together.

“Don’t forget our mission,” she admonished.

People slept on the floor and on benches along the walls. One man snored noisily from where he lay sprawled across the lord’s table. At first, Ariana thought it might be Edwin in a drunken stupor, for she had seen the man on several occasions. As they drew near, she realized it wasn’t him.

They were halfway across the hall when a young woman rolled over and opened her eyes. Ariana tensed as the woman stared blankly at them for several moments, then pushed auburn hair back from her cheeks. Jenkin nodded at her but they kept moving, acting casual, as if they had a right to be there. The woman glanced at Wulfgar, looking curiously at his head covering. She seemed to size him up and then her eyes widened, but she made no sound.

Slowly, the woman pushed the fur coverings away and scooted back from the heavy arm of the man lying beside her. She yawned and stretched casually, then stumbled to her feet and made her way toward the door. It appeared that she needed to relieve herself, and no one stopped her from leaving the hall. Ariana breathed a sigh of relief.

Reaching the landing of the stairs, Wulfgar started up, moving quiet and fast as they wound round in a steep, upward circle. At each floor, there was a hallway branching off into unknown chambers, and Ariana realized the magnitude of this great castle Wulfgar had built.

What would it have been like to live here with him as his wife and raise their children?

She shook her head, clearing her mind. She must not let herself think such foolish thoughts.

Finally Wulfgar stopped and stood aside to let her and Jenkin pass. He removed the cloth from his head and let it dangle loose around his neck.

He inclined his chin upward. “The tower room is above. It’s the only chamber at the top, so you’ll not become lost. Go and seek your brother. I have business on this floor.”

Ariana drew back with dismay. “What do you plan?”

Wulfgar’s dark eyes glinted with resolve as he stared down the dark passageway.

“He seeks Edwin,” Jenkin remarked in a knowing tone.

Ariana shifted her weight. “Not yet. If you create a disturbance, the guards will hear and come running. So far, we’ve gone undetected. We must find Dafydd and free him before you take the castle.”

“You have what you want. Go and retrieve your brother,” Wulfgar growled. “Leave me to my own troubles.”

“The princess is right,” Jenkin objected. “You’ll bring the guards down upon us if you seek Edwin now. We must first open the sally port and let our men inside.”

Wulfgar turned his head so he looked at Ariana. In his eyes, she saw cold fury. She drew back against the wall of the stairway and pressed her hands against the rough stone. She’d never seen him look so resolute.

“You gave me your word,” she reminded him.

Wulfgar looked torn. He bit his bottom lip, his manner hesitant. She knew he wanted to go to the lord’s chamber and drag Edwin out of bed and deal him a quick and brutal death.

Jenkin tensed beside her as his fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. His eyes hardened and his nostrils flared. The last thing they needed now was to fight among themselves.

“You’re right.” Wulfgar relented. “Revenge clouds my mind. It’ll be as you say.”

Ariana caught the anguish in Wulfgar’s eyes. She thought of all he’d built with his own hands, only to have it taken away. He’d been shamed and banished, stripped of his titles and lands, then sold into slavery. If he were innocent as she believed, it would be much too harsh a punishment.

Wulfgar’s eyes blazed with fury. “First, we will free Dafydd. Then, I will find Carlinham and kill him.”

Chapter Twelve

Turning, Wulfgar led the way up the stairwell. Ariana followed, with Jenkin bringing up the rear. As they reached the top, she trembled with anticipation.

Please, God. Let Dafydd be inside. Please.

They met a door. Though it was dark on the landing, Wulfgar seemed to know the way. He reached out a hand and tried the handle. A hollow click sounded. Wulfgar gave a gentle push and the sturdy panel swung inward.

Ariana tried to brush past, but Wulfgar held out a solid arm to stop her. Shaking his head, he proceeded first, followed by Jenkin. It was dark inside, with a slitted window sitting high in the far wall where light from the moon streamed down onto the stone floor. Thick carpets were spread on the floor beside a canopied bed.

A sleeping form lay curled beneath the warm covers.

“Dafydd!” Ariana rushed to push the heavy canopy aside and embrace her brother.

The form rolled and sat up. Ariana stopped, stunned to her very toes. It was not Dafydd, but a boy of approximately fourteen years. His blond hair was cropped short in the Norman fashion, so golden white it glimmered in the darkened room. Dressed in a long nightshirt, his ashen face was smooth as marble and gleamed in the shadows. Pale eyes stared back at her, shining bright as they widened when he saw intruders in his room.

The boy threw back the covers and bolted toward the other side of the room. He grabbed for a knife lying on a table top. Wulfgar moved with a flash of speed, placing the point of his sword at the boy’s throat. The boy froze, his eyes wide. Jenkin stood before the door, blocking escape.

The lad’s mouth dropped open and he raised his hands, stepping back.

“D…don’t kill me,” he stuttered. “What do you w…want?”

Ariana’s heart clenched. He was so frightened he could hardly speak.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “We mean you no harm.”

“Wh…who are you?” he asked, his gaze uncertain as it slid over her.

Jenkin pushed the door so it was barely open and peered out onto the landing, listening for intruders. While he kept watch, Wulfgar approached the young man. “We seek Prince Dafydd. Where is he?”

The boy’s bare feet peeked out from beneath his sleeping gown, his toes curling against the cold stone floor. “H…he’s not here. I think they’re keeping him in the d…dungeon.”

The dungeon? But they had just been there. Perhaps he was kept in another cell.

A lance of fear speared Ariana’s heart. She remembered Vachel and the dismal conditions he’d suffered. An image of Dafydd filled her mind. Starved, freezing, half naked and tortured. Would Edwin do such a thing to a young royal?

“Wulfgar, he’s not here. Where would Edwin be keeping him?” she asked.

Wulfgar stepped near, lifting an arm as if he wished to comfort her. “He must be in a chamber above the guardroom. I doubt Edwin would keep the boy in a dungeon cell where he might sicken and die.”

“Aye, he’s in a r…room above the gatehouse,” the young man supplied.

The boy had an obvious stutter, but was it because he was scared or was his stammer a normal thing?

Hope filled Ariana’s heart. “He’s not in a cell?”

“I d…don’t think so,” the young man said. “Your brother should be quite comfortable, unless….”

“Unless?” Horrifying images filled her mind of Dafydd suffering ghastly depravities. They’d been so close, having just left the gatehouse. Now, they must go back and Ariana turned toward the door, eager to find Dafydd with haste.

“Are you his sister? He s…said you’d come for him.” The boy squinted his eyes with suspicion.

Ariana stopped and looked at him hard. “Who are you?”

Casting a nervous glance at Wulfgar, the young man licked his lips. “I’m M…Markus, son of Edwin of Carlinham, the Earl of Glyndwr.”

“Oh.” Ariana’s mouth rounded and she placed a hand against her cheek.

Edwin’s son.

A sinister smile curved Wulfgar’s lips and he peered at the lad. “You’re Carlinham’s son? I can see the resemblance, but you have your mother’s eyes and hair.”

“My mother is d…dead,” the boy stuttered.

Wulfgar frowned. “Is she? I’m sorry to hear it. She was the only good thing about your father.”

Markus narrowed his eyes and his gaze rested on Wulfgar’s face. “You seem f…familiar to me. How do you know my m…mother?”

Wulfgar showed a tolerant smile. “My name isn’t important.”

Turning to Ariana, Wulfgar grinned with pleasure. The flash of his smile looked white in the dark room. “Princess, we have just secured your brother.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Edwin will no doubt exchange Dafydd for his own son.” Stepping toward Markus, Wulfgar hardened his jaw. “You’ll come with us. Once your father returns Prince Dafydd, you’ll go free.”

Markus stared at Wulfgar with fear. Though his thin body trembled, he lifted his chin. As he spoke, his mouth moved slowly while he tried to speak clearly. “My father will not exchange Prince Dafydd for me. I s…stutter and he doesn’t care if I live or d…die.”

Ariana’s stomach tightened. No doubt Edwin had little tolerance for a son who stammered when he spoke. With patience and encouragement, she thought Markus could overcome his problem. Somehow, she couldn’t envision Edwin providing that kind of support to anyone.

Wulfgar clenched his jaw. “Do you expect me to believe Edwin would forfeit his only heir?”

“He plans to have another s…son, once he remarries.” Markus shrugged, holding his head high. Though he met Wulfgar’s gaze and answered in a matter-of-fact tone, Ariana sensed deep pain and resentment in the boy. No doubt Edwin’s careless neglect was the cause.

“You’ll come with us anyway. Get dressed.” Wulfgar jerked his head toward a large chest sitting at the foot of the bed and spoke to Ariana. “Will you find him something to wear? Make sure there are no weapons.”

She padded across the floor to the large chest and lifted the heavy lid. Rummaging around, she pulled out clothing and tossed it to Markus. Then she turned her back while he dressed.

“Let’s go,” Wulfgar said after a few moments.

Ariana turned and saw Markus now dressed in plain woolen hose, a tunic, and leather shoes. She went to stand beside Wulfgar. “What do you think we should do?”

His expression was grim. “We’ll search for your brother in the gatehouse and open the sally port so our men can enter the castle. Then, I will fight while you and Dafydd flee.”

But what if Dafydd wasn’t in the gatehouse? Stepping back, she refused to panic.

Wulfgar lifted his sword and placed the steel point against Markus’s throat. The boy’s breath froze and his eyes bulged.

“If you make a sound, I’ll kill you,” Wulfgar warned.

Markus nodded, his eyes round as moons. He didn’t speak as they stepped out onto the dark landing, with Jenkin leading the way.

Quietly, they stole down the stairs and regained the main hall. Ariana moved close to Wulfgar as they crossed the spacious room, silently praying no one noticed them. A loud snore came from the back room and Markus turned his head. His eyes crinkled and he held still when Wulfgar placed the point of his sword against his throat.

A dog lifted its head and growled but remained curled by the fire.

Jenkin brought up the rear, prodding the young man with his sword. Markus threw him a sullen glare as they crossed the bailey.

They entered the stairway leading to the guardroom. Jenkin glanced at Markus. “Which way?”

The lad pointed up but Wulfgar had already moved to mount the stairs. He knew where to go.

A guard came out of a side chamber and entered the stairway. Ariana sucked back a startled breath.

The guard’s head was bent down. As he took a step, he stumbled and reached out a hand to catch himself, seeming groggy with sleep.

In that moment, Jenkin covered Markus with his sword and Wulfgar stepped in front of Ariana, a protective gesture. The guard looked up and saw them. Then he reached for a sword that wasn’t there.

“To arms. To arms,” he shouted.

Wulfgar sprang at him, clouting the unarmed man over the head with the hilt of his sword. The man dropped like a stone, his body thumping on the steps.

Ariana froze, listening. Had the other guards heard the man’s call?

“Fulcher? What’s amiss?” Another guard called from below.

Ariana’s heart plummeted.

“They’re warned,” Jenkin spoke in a hissing whisper.

Within moments, the dungeon would be swarming with guards and they’d be discovered.

“Go up.” Wulfgar jerked his head toward more stairs. “Find the prince. I’ll draw their attention away from you and open the sally port to admit our men.”

Jenkin nodded and pushed Markus ahead of him as he and Ariana scurried up the stairs. Wulfgar disappeared through the door outside. It happened so fast, she couldn’t even call him back.

What if he were killed? She might never see him again. Her heart clenched, but there was no time to say farewell. As her feet hurried up the stairs, knots of anxiety tightened in her stomach.

Jenkin pulled Ariana and Markus back into the shadows at the top of the stairs. They huddled there for several moments, listening, waiting. Her body went cold and she wriggled her toes to get the blood flowing again.

She heard a loud cry and then sounds of running feet. The fallen guard had been discovered.

Jenkin’s eyes narrowed on Markus, his expression harsh. Markus looked away and Ariana prayed the boy remained calm and silent. She feared Jenkin would kill the boy if Markus gave him cause.

Shouts and a loud clatter filled the air as guards pounded up the stairs and ran outside.

“Search the hall and stables,” one of them ordered. “Alert Lord Carlinham of the intrusion.”

Wulfgar had no one to defend his back. What if he couldn’t reach the sally port and their men didn’t arrive in time?

“I think they’re gone,” Jenkin said.

Moving out of the shadows, he paused before a solid door on the landing. Taking the key from a peg on the wall, he inserted it in the lock and swung the door wide.

Despite Jenkin’s efforts to hold her back, Ariana crowded past, her gaze taking in the pleasant surroundings, the warm tapestries of red and green, the comfortable pallet to sleep upon, and the table laden with meat, bread, and a basket of red apples. A cheery fire burned in a brazier, warming the room. Candles flickered in holders on the table. She cried out with joy when she saw Dafydd sitting up on a thick sleeping pallet. Rubbing his eyes, he peered at them, blinking.

“Ariana!” Throwing back the covers, he raced into her open arms.

“Dafydd! Oh, Dafydd!” she held him tight as tears filled her eyes.

She relished his warmth and the familiar smell of him. Elation radiated throughout her body. How grateful she was to find him.

She had Wulfgar to thank. But they weren’t safe, yet.

After a few moments, she drew back and glanced at Jenkin, who had pushed the door so it stood slightly ajar. He had pressed Markus into a chair by the bed and now watched her with a satisfied gaze. In his eyes, she saw such devotion she could hardly fathom his loyalty.

How could she have ever doubted him?

“Do you think we should remain here?” she asked Jenkin.

“For the time being. We’re not yet discovered. If need be, I’ll take you to the dungeon and we’ll escape through the secret passage.”

Ariana didn’t like that option. She’d had trouble holding her breath and didn’t want to endanger Dafydd’s life.

“Ariana, why are you here?” Dafydd asked.

“To take you home, silly.” Her voice trembled and she ruffled his hair.

“But it’s dangerous. Lord Edwin wants you, not me. If he finds you here….” His brows lowered in a troubled frown.

“We’ll just have to make certain he doesn’t find me, then. I’m relieved he’s treated you so well.”

She looked about the comfortable chamber.

Dafydd pursed his lips with disgust. “My comfort wasn’t Lord Edwin’s doing. He wanted to give me very little food. John, my guard, felt sorry for me.”

“Then I’m grateful to John. Hurry and get dressed. We must be ready to leave the moment we have the chance.” She pulled his nightshirt over his head and replaced it with a tunic. In a matter of moments, the boy was clothed and she pressed the hilt of one of her daggers into his hand. “If anyone tries to harm you, use this. Remember, there’re times when a king must be fierce.”

Dafydd’s eyes rounded but he nodded obediently. Even a boy of seven years could defend himself, if he used his wits. Dafydd had always been a thoughtful, intelligent boy. But now, he must fight for his life.

Oh, please let him remember the lessons father taught him.

Gripping Dafydd’s hand firmly in her own, Ariana pulled him toward the door. Jenkin moved back, his gaze centered on her. He had little time to react when Ariana screamed a warning.

“Jenkin, look out.”

A guard rushed the door, throwing it open and stabbing Jenkin’s back with a slim knife.

“John, nay,” Dafydd shouted, but too late.

Jenkin whirled about and slashed the man’s middle with his sword. John screamed and fell back onto the landing.

Jenkin pushed the door closed, but he couldn’t lock it. Markus stumbled to his feet.

“Don’t move,” Jenkin growled and the boy froze.

“You killed him,” Dafydd cried, sniffling. “He was good to me and you killed him.”

“I’m…sorry. I didn’t know.” Jenkin staggered, reaching out a hand to brace against the wall.

“Jenkin, are you all right?” Ariana pushed Dafydd behind her and clutched her dagger in her fist. Her heart pounded as she waited to see if other guards tried to storm the room.

“He struck my shoulder, nothing more.” Nodding his head, Jenkin eyed the door. No one came. All was quiet, except for an occasional shout in the bailey below and the subtle sound of steel clashing against steel.

The battle had begun.

Their men must have gained entry to the castle. The desire to go and help Wulfgar was strong, but Ariana knew she couldn’t leave Dafydd.

“Ariana.” Jenkin stumbled again, the color draining from his face. His right hand gripped his sword, his left hand raised to her in supplication.

He coughed and bloody spittle stained the corner of his mouth. His legs buckled and he slumped on the floor.

“Jenkin.” She ran to him.

This was no shoulder wound. He was wounded worse than she’d thought. Blood pooled around him, soaking into the thick carpet. Markus shifted on the chair, his face white with horror. Ariana knelt beside Jenkin.

“Jenkin, let me check the damage.” Tears blinded her and she brushed them away.

He grasped her hand, pulling it to his chest, just over his heart. “Nay, princess. Let me look at you one last time.”

A lump formed in her throat. She could hardly breathe. “Jenkin, please.”

“I’ve loved you all my life.”

How could he say such a thing now, after she’d spurned him? She felt unworthy of his devotion.

Wretched.

Dafydd knelt beside Jenkin and cupped his hands around the fallen man’s arm. “Jenkin? Are you gonna be all right?”

Ariana gave a shaky laugh. “Of course he is.”

But she knew better. He was dying. She could hear it in the way his breath rattled through his lungs.

Jenkin. Her loyal protector.

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers and showed a faint smile. Then he relaxed his hold and exhaled slowly. His eyes stared at her, glazed in death.

Ariana felt the color drain from her face. Jenkin was dead. It had happened so fast, she could hardly believe it.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she closed her throat around a sob. She’d never get the chance to thank him. Never be able to make amends for breaking his heart.

Dear Jenkin. She had wronged him, but she couldn’t promise him her heart when it belonged to another.

Ariana reached to close his eyelids and then lowered her cheek to press against his, shuddering as sobs tore from her throat. “Rest well, my dear friend.”

Dafydd sat beside Jenkin, his young face etched with grief as tears poured down his cheeks. He threw himself into her arms, sobbing. She smoothed his hair and held his trembling body, taking comfort that he was all right.

“It’s my fault he died. If he hadn’t come to save me, he’d still be alive,” the boy cried in a mournful whisper.

Markus coughed and Ariana looked up, seeing his eyes crinkled with compassion. She hadn’t thought Edwin’s son would be tender-hearted. Yet, it seemed to be true.

“Hush, now. It’s not your fault.” Ariana soothed Dafydd. “He died defending us. Never forget the sacrifice others have made to keep you safe.”

With their father and brothers gone, Ariana felt it her duty to teach Dafydd to be a king. And she was determined to teach him mercy as well as duty.

“Now, you must be strong,” she urged. “A good king must be resolute, but also have compassion for his people. You’ve learned a valuable lesson today. Never take your people for granted.”

Nodding his head, Dafydd let go of her and stood, his gaze trained on Jenkin’s ashen face. Dafydd blinked his eyes and hardened his small jaw, but didn’t look at all convinced as he sniffed noisily.

Markus. How could she protect Dafydd and keep Markus from running away?

She couldn’t. Not if he was determined to escape.

The sounds of battle increased. Screams and shouts filled the air, accompanied by loud thuds and clash of arms.

It wasn’t safe to remain here. More guards could discover them at any moment.

Ariana was alone, the only protection her brother had. She hated to leave Jenkin, but she must get Dafydd outside the castle.

The secret passageway!

“Come on.” She pulled Dafydd to his feet.

Markus stood against the wall and she wondered what to do about him. Never could she harm him. But she might need some bargaining power before they escaped the castle.

“You’ll come with us,” she told Markus.

He clenched his jaw and nodded. “All right. I don’t a…agree with how my father has t…treated your people.”

His tone was laced with disdain and it was obvious the boy bore his father no affection. He might yet try to escape. So be it. Her first priority must be to Dafydd.

Grasping her dagger, she led the way and hurried down the stairs. She stopped at the bottom when she heard guards searching below in the dungeon.

“Er, do you think they was trying to free the prisoner?”

“Aye, but Fulcher must have surprised ‘em. The prisoner is still locked in his cell.”

Poor Vachel. They couldn’t reach the secret passageway.

Turning in the opposite direction, Ariana led the two boys out into the bailey. It was dark and the chill air embraced them. Confusion filled the yard as people ran about in the darkness. Men were screaming, slashing at one another with swords, axes, and any other weapon they could find.

Evan! He stood with many other Welshmen, fighting to gain entry into the winch room so they could raise the portcullis.

Other Welshmen were rounding up Edwin’s mercenaries at sword point. As evidenced by their bare feet, lack of clothing, and sparse weapons, most of them had been taken by surprise.

Where was Wulfgar?

Torches flickered along the ramparts. It would be morning soon. The sky had lightened, a flush of orange to chase away the dark.

Inhaling the chill air, Ariana saw puffs of breath as she exhaled. She skimmed the wall of the gatehouse, holding tight to Dafydd’s hand. Markus followed behind, but she expected him to bolt at any moment.

Where should they go?

Chapter Thirteen

The sally port! Wulfgar had told Ariana it sat on the east side of the gatehouse. An outcropping of rock on the outside of the castle wall shielded it from casual view. Perhaps she could find it in all the confusion of fighting men.

She peered at the buildings, trying to get her bearings. She stood with Markus and Dafydd on the west side of the gatehouse. Men fought in the bailey, blocking their way. If she could skirt around to the other side of the castle, they might be safe.

Pulling Dafydd with her, she raced along the inner wall, aware of someone high upon the ramparts shouting at them. Booming voices could be heard and Ariana knew they’d been seen.

Something whizzed past her face and thunked into the ground at her feet. An arrow!

On she ran, dodging slashing swords and axes as men battled against each other. Dark shapes unfolded at the top of the wall. Dogs barked, snapping at her heels.

She jumped over a dead man lying sprawled across their path. The scent of death filled the air.

One of Edwin’s mercenaries whirled on her so fast she almost charged into his burly chest. Inhaling a sharp breath, she sucked in her stomach to evade the slicing arc of his sword. The sharp point clipped her left hand, drawing blood. She bit back a cry at the stinging pain.

The giant man loomed over her, his angular face cast in shadow.

Merciless.

“Look out,” she shouted, trying to push Dafydd back. Her ankle twisted beneath her and she groaned.

Sensing easy prey, the giant’s eyes filled with venom, his mouth curved into a cruel grin.

Oh, where was Wulfgar when she needed him?

“Stay back,” she warned the giant as she brandished her dagger. She stabbed the air in a threatening gesture, but the man laughed at her puny effort, his great chest shaking with mirth.

“Oww,” he yelped when Dafydd snuck up on his side and drew back his foot to kick him in the shin with his pointed shoes.

“You leave my sister alone.” The boy kicked him again hard.

The giant’s hollow eyes widened then gleamed deadly. Ariana saw the flash of his teeth as his lips curled in a sneer. “You’ll pay for that, little whelp.”

The mercenary never saw the club of wood being aimed at his head. Climbing on the woodpile, Markus smacked the man just above his left ear with a stick of firewood. The giant tilted to the side and grunted.

Markus had helped them.

Ariana had no time to consider why. The hulking brute turned on Markus, drawing back his arm to thrust with his sword. Markus’s eyes widened but he sprang off the woodpile and dodged the blow. The giant roared with rage.

Now was her chance!

Ariana stabbed toward the man’s chest, but he shifted his weight and she clipped his shoulder instead. Blood spattered across her tunic and his angry bellow filled her ears.

Smack!

With a powerful swipe of his hand, he knocked her back and she rolled across the ground, her ears ringing. She blinked her eyes, trying to focus. The giant drew back his sword and faced Markus.

A blaze of panic tore up her throat. He would kill the boy.

The mercenary paused, jutting his chin, his brow furrowed. “You! What are you about, boy? Where’s your father?”

Thank goodness he recognized Markus.

“Leave him alone.” Dafydd battered the man with his small fists. The boy wasn’t strong enough to do any damage. Instead, Dafydd’s weight buckled the giant’s legs and the man fell to his knees.

Thud!

Lashing out with his fist, the warrior knocked Dafydd back in the dirt. Dafydd landed on his hands and knees and shook his head, his eyes dazed.

Ariana regained her feet and blocked Dafydd with her own body, trying to protect him, her fingers numb as they clutched her dagger. Tendrils of hair fell into her eyes, damp with sweat, blinding her. How could she fight this man?

A deafening roar filled her ears. The mercenary squawked as he was flipped over and landed with a thud.

Wulfgar!

The mercenary’s mouth dropped open. No longer did he face a woman and children. Now he faced a full-grown, battle-hardened warrior. And Wulfgar was every bit as large as the giant.

“Run,” Wulfgar ordered, pointing toward a doorway a short distance away.

The mercenary’s gaze centered on Wulfgar as he came to his feet cautiously, his sword gripped in his fist. Facing each other, the two men braced themselves for battle. With a loud cry, the mercenary aimed a lashing blow at Wulfgar’s middle. Stepping to the side, Wulfgar deflected the blow and the clash of steel rang in Ariana’s ears.

“Come on.” Pulling Dafydd with her, she ran toward the castle wall. Markus followed. Fighting raged all around. He obviously preferred her to the danger of battle.

They ducked inside and Ariana slammed the wooden door, engulfing them in gloomy shadows. There was no bolt to lock the door. The musty scent of grain met her nose. In the shadows, she saw the bodies of two guards lying sprawled across bags of grain stacked to the side. Mice skittered past her feet and she gasped.

The fighting had obviously made it to this room. Perhaps the guards had chased Wulfgar here when he came to open the sally port.

At the other end of the room, another smaller door stood wide open. Cold night air struck her face and moonlight sprayed across the floor, glinting off dust motes floating in the air.

“The sally port. We’ve found it.”

Running to the door, she braced her hands against the jam and peered over the edge. The door was situated halfway up the outer wall of the gatehouse. A ladder had been lowered on the outside, resting against the wall. No doubt it had admitted Wulfgar’s men into the keep. High above, clouds scudded across the sky. Soon, it would be morning.

“The darkness will cover our escape.”

Dafydd smiled as he crouched in front of the door, still holding her dagger in his hand. He was visibly trembling.

Markus shook his head and bolted for the door. It wasn’t safe for him in the bailey.

“Wait,” she shouted.

Too late! He threw open the door…and ran into a man’s chest.

The dark shape of the man moved forward, tall and threatening, clearing the way. Markus screamed and staggered back.

With a high pitched squeal, Dafydd tried to scurry over to Ariana. The man grabbed Dafydd by the scruff of the neck and jerked him back, shaking him hard. Dafydd dropped his dagger and shrieked and clawed, but the man held tight.

“Oh,” Ariana cried, recognizing the man.

Edwin of Carlinham.

How had he found them? Had he seen them come in here?

Her blood chilled. So close. A few more moments and she and Dafydd would have slid down the ladder and run into the forest to hide until Evan could come for them. Just a few more moments and they would have been free.

Edwin kicked Dafydd’s dagger aside and closed the door behind him. He brushed back his cloak to reveal a sword and long, thin knife sheathed at his side. He pulled the blade free. A nasty smile spread across his hawkish face. Wrapping his arm around Dafydd’s throat, he twisted the boy’s arm behind his back and Dafydd grimaced with pain.

“Let him go. You cannot win.” Ariana’s voice wobbled.

Edwin gave a chilling laugh, his face and eyes hollow in the shadows. His gaze skimmed her body and he wrinkled his nose with disgust when he saw her mannish garb. “This boy will make me a wealthy man. Your people will obey my every whim, as long as I have you or him in my control. Do you think I’m daft?”

A laugh burst from her throat. “Do you really want me to answer that? I think you’re a selfish blackguard who cares about nothing but himself.”

His upper lip curled in a snarl and he moved to the middle of the room, pushing Dafydd with him. Markus cowered by the door, next to the sacks of grain.

“You should be very careful what you say to me, princess. I can make your life a living hell,” Edwin said.

She snorted. “Why, sir, you’ve already done that.”

His face darkened with rage and he tightened his grip on Dafydd’s arm. The boy whimpered.

She shouldn’t bait Edwin. Not now. Not when he could punish Dafydd for her sharp words.

Markus shifted next to his father, his forehead furrowed, his eyes crinkled in a frown. “Father, let him g…go. He’s a little boy. This isn’t r…right.”

Edwin spared his son no more than a disgusted glance. Without warning, he lashed out at Markus, striking the boy across the face.

Markus gasped and staggered back, clasping a hand to his cheek where a red welt now appeared. His eyes stared with incredulity.

“Shut up, you half-wit. I’ll deal with you later.” Edwin’s tone sounded low and threatening, his eyes filled with pure loathing.

Poor Markus. He’d shown valor, yet his father didn’t appreciate his courage.

Brutally handsome, Edwin’s hair fell across his brow, the color of a raven’s wing, his eyes dark as deepest night. Aye, he was pleasant to look upon but it was an illusion. His wide shoulders and strong arms were something to admire, but Ariana recognized the coldness in his eyes, the harsh lines of his jaw, and the fiendish smile.

Edwin of Carlinham was an evil man.

“If you want your brother to live, you’ll cooperate with me.” Edwin’s icy gaze swept her.

Pulling Dafydd with him, he took a step closer, and Ariana took two steps back. Shivers tingled up her spine. She must free Dafydd, but how?

He spoke softly, his voice slaying and cruel. “You’ve been very devious, my dear. I don’t know how you and Wulfgar de Conteville brought your men into Cynan, but it won’t save you.”

“You would kill me?”

“No, I will wed you.”

“I will never agree.”

“Even to save your brother’s life?”

Ariana jutted her chin. “Wulfgar has all but taken control of the castle. It’s only a matter of time before he comes for you.”

His cackling laughter filled the room. “How long do you think he’ll hold Cynan before King William arrives and beheads him alongside Lord Huntingdon? There will be no one to challenge my ownership of Cynan. I’m the Earl of Glyndwr. It’d be in your best interest to make an alliance with me, princess. If you make it worth my while, I can be very generous.”

Ariana stared in horror. Think, think. Maybe she could buy some time.

“My people would never accept you as my husband,” she said.

He chuckled. “They would to protect you. Give yourself to me and I’ll no longer trouble your people. I’ll let your brother go unharmed.”

The liar. She didn’t believe him.

“Once you’re my wife, you’ll provide me with an heir to rule over the Welsh. With such an army, I’d be able to defeat William and rule all of England.”

Was he mad? In order for her child to rule, it would mean Dafydd was…

Dead.

The thought almost suffocated her. Cold fear clutched at her heart. Edwin would kill Dafydd and force her into marriage, to produce a puppet king for him to rule.

Heat rose in her cheeks when she considered how this despicable man planned to use her. “You’re already married. That’s one of the many reasons my father refused your proposals. Where is your wife?”

Dafydd struggled to be free and Edwin squeezed the boy harder with his arm. “Sybil died over a month ago. A very unfortunate accident, I’m sorry to say. I’m free to take another wife.”

Markus moaned, his eyes filled with misery. Something in Edwin’s demeanor and the wintry tone of his voice made her believe he’d had something to do with his wife’s death. Ariana had no doubt he would have murdered the poor woman to obtain his own selfish desires.

Her fingers tightened and the cold hilt of her dagger bit into her palm.

He stepped nearer, crunching wheat berries beneath his feet. “Your father’s warriors will be no threat against William’s army.”

Ariana didn’t speak for fear she’d scream with rage. She looked at his muscled body, his lean torso and full mouth, and felt revulsion so strong it almost made her sick. She’d kill herself before giving him a child.

She shuddered. “Wulfgar will hold Cynan and you’ll be dead.”

His eyes narrowed with contempt. “You are wrong, my dear. If I thought Wulfgar cared for you, I’d offer you in exchange for Cynan. But he’ll try to hold his castle. It’s all he cares about.”

His words twisted her heart. She resisted the urge to panic. Edwin took another step, squeezing her brother’s neck in a vice. The boy gasped, his face turning red.

“Stop.” Ariana’s voice shook as she lifted the dagger and stabbed the air.

His grip tightened and Dafydd’s eyes bulged, his face turning blue.

“All right. If you release Dafydd, I’ll go with you.”

He released the pressure on Dafydd’s neck and his brows lifted. “I knew you would listen to reason.”

She held her breath.

A wicked smile spread its way across Edwin’s face and a feral gleam filled his eyes. He chuckled, seeming pleased with himself. “Good. I knew you’d listen to reason.”

Releasing Dafydd, he thrust the boy toward the door leading out to the bailey. Ariana breathed with relief as Dafydd leaned against the door and coughed, rubbing his throat. Markus tried to help the boy, but Edwin drew back his hand to strike his son again.

“Stay where you are,” Edwin snarled.

Markus met his father’s gaze without flinching, but he stood very still. He was young and didn’t have the strength to stand up to a cruel man like his father.

“Run, Dafydd,” Ariana urged. “Find Evan. He’ll know what to do.”

Dafydd lifted the latch and fled. Edwin closed the door, locking her in. Tendrils of fear coiled in Ariana’s stomach. There was danger outside in the bailey. If Evan was dead, would Wulfgar and his men help the boy return to his people?

Could she trust Wulfgar? Oh, she prayed so.

The sounds of battle were more subdued. A shrill call filled the night air, deep and chilling. The cry of a wolf.

Wulfgar’s war cry.

So he had won his castle. Could she stall Edwin until Wulfgar came for her?

Doubt filled her mind. Wulfgar might not come. He might be too preoccupied with his victory. Doubt assailed her mind. They both had met their desires. There were no more agreements between them and Wulfgar owed her no loyalty.

Somehow she wanted more between them. Much, much more.

Edwin stepped near and she lifted her dagger, intending to stab him. Now that Dafydd was free, she’d fight Edwin tooth and nail.

With lightning speed, he knocked the weapon from her hand. She fell against the bags of grain, no match for his strength and reflexes.

He picked up her dagger and gave a guttural laugh. “You’re a fool, Ariana. Now that your father is dead, there’s no one to come to your aid.”

She stilled. How did he know King Rhys was dead? Someone must have told him. Perhaps no more than a slip of the tongue. It was inevitable.

He paused, but she didn’t answer and he taunted her further. “Come, you’re so quiet. Have you nothing to say?”

“I loathe you.” Her heart constricted with hatred and she feared God would never forgive her for it.

“You’ll bow before me,” he roared so suddenly that Ariana flinched.

A spray of spit came from his mouth and she drew away with disgust. She felt the blood drain from her face, but was determined not to show him any weakness. Jutting her chin, she met his gaze.

“Never,” she whispered vehemently.

“Beware of insolence, Ariana. I can easily find and kill your brother. Don’t give me cause. If only my previous wife were still alive, she could warn you about me. Alas, she lost her usefulness and no longer pleased me. I was forced to wring her neck before I threw her down the stairs.”

Markus inhaled a sharp breath, his eyes filled with loathing as he stared at his father. He breathed in deep, harsh breaths, his hands clenched.

How cruel. Did Edwin have no mercy?

Nay! Not one bit. Ariana could expect none from him either.

She gaped at him with horror. She had heard Edwin’s wife was a gentlewoman, soft spoken and pleasant to look upon. But the fact that Edwin had murdered the woman, and freely confessed it to her now in front of his own son, sickened Ariana.

Bracing her feet, she stood her ground. Horror crowded into her heart but she refused to show this vile man just how much his words affected her. Instead, she laughed, as if she found him hilarious.

“What a horrid man you are, Edwin,” she exclaimed in a delighted tone. “Surely you must have many enemies. It’s you who should beware lest you find a slim knife pressed between your ribs. Do you really think the townsfolk of Cynan will have you back? They gladly fight below to take the castle so they can be rid of you. They hate you and are sworn to kill you if they can.”

His face reddened. “Enough. It’s time to go.”

Jerking on her hands, he tied them together with a coarse piece of rope, then dragged her over to the sally port. She fought him, trying to claw his face, but his strength overcame her.

Looking at Markus, Edwin jutted his chin toward the ladder. “You go down first.”

Markus slid down the ladder, but his eyes were filled with loathing for his father. Surely the boy had cared for his mother. He must be deeply upset by what his father had done.

Edwin nudged Ariana toward the top rung, winding one end of the rope around his own hand so she couldn’t flee. “Don’t try anything stupid or you’ll fall and break your neck. I’ll be right above you.”

With her hands tied, she could do little damage and struggled to keep her footing on the rungs. Mid-way, she lost her balance and slid down several steps before regaining her balance. Markus waited at the bottom, standing in the tall grass at the base of the stonewall only a few feet from the moat.

Edwin was almost on top of her, following close at her head. When his feet touched the ground, he gave a hard shove and knocked the ladder down so Wulfgar wouldn’t be able to follow this way.

Ariana’s heart toppled with it.

Edwin wasted no time sneaking along the edge of the town wall. Tugging on her tied hands, he pulled her along as he raced across the clearing toward the town. Markus trotted to keep up.

A terrible screech filled the air as the portcullis began to rise.

Watching carefully, Edwin dragged Ariana behind as he stole his way along the castle walls to the palisade surrounding the town. He showed a wicked smile when they cleared the gate and made their way down a deserted alley. The first corral they passed contained two shaggy horses munching hay.

“Saddle those nags,” Edwin ordered Markus while he stood watch over Ariana.

Markus hurried to do his father’s bidding but he was young and small and took too long to suit Edwin.

“Worthless whelp,” Edwin growled as he knocked the boy aside and took the saddle from his hands. He tossed it onto the animal’s back.

As he pushed the railings off the gate so they could depart, Markus threw a furious glower at Edwin.

“Your father isn’t kind to you,” Ariana observed.

“I hate him.” The boy didn’t stutter this time.

She wasn’t surprised Markus hated Edwin. “Many people detest your father.”

“I would leave him if I could,” Markus confided.

“Why don’t you go?”

“Father would kill me if I tried.”

What kind of man would kill his own son?

She remembered her own father, a fierce and powerful ruler who also knew how to show mercy and gratitude. She had hated angering him, but he was quick to forgive, hugging her to him as he kissed her forehead. Never would she forget his kind smile.

“Sometimes to be a man, you have to conquer your greatest fears,” she told Markus.

The boy’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as he stared at her. She had no opportunity to say more before Edwin came to take her by the arm. Because her hands were still tied, Edwin lifted her into the saddle. Hoping to escape, she kicked her heels against the horse.

Run! Run!

The animal reared, throwing her to the ground. She lay in the straw, stunned, gasping for breath, her body aching.

Edwin leaned over her and pressed the point of his knife against her throat. “Do that again, and I’ll kill you. There are other ways for me to bring the Welsh to heel besides wedding you.”

She swallowed as he yanked her to her feet. Again, he placed her in the saddle, holding the reins taut as he followed her up, sitting directly behind her.

He wrapped an arm around her. Her skin crawled and she hunched away from him. Without waiting to see if Markus was ready, Edwin kicked his mount into a run across the flowered fields.

Giving the gelding full rein, Edwin dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. They bounded away as the rising sun blazed red and gold across the land. Riding over the crest of a hill, they came up short at the site that greeted their eyes.

Ariana’s mouth dropped open and her breath froze in her throat.

At least four hundred men stood before them, dressed in full battle gear, sitting astride large warhorses. Another five hundred archers stood on foot behind the mounted knights. Their colored banners flapped in the breeze, their weapons gleaming brightly in the morning sunlight, their faces hard and fierce.

Who were they?

As Edwin drew in rein, Ariana couldn’t contain a cry of fear. Never had she seen such a terrorizing sight.

Riders closed in on them from behind. Armed knights rode on either side, closing them in.

Edwin wisely let the knights reach gauntleted hands out to grasp the reins at their horse’s muzzles, securing control over their mounts.

The coward. Wulfgar would have fought a thousand men rather than submit.

Their horse slowed and came to a walk, blowing hard. Ariana caught a glimpse of Markus sitting his horse, just to the side of them, his face pale.

Ariana pulled at the tight bindings on her wrists. She would try to break away if she could, but Edwin sat behind her and held her securely. Instead, she clutched the pommel of the saddle with whitened knuckles and began to pray. All seemed hopeless, but she must not forget her faith in God. Surely He had their fate in the hollow of his hand. Her faith was all she could depend upon now.

Sitting at the fore on a gray charger, a giant man of notable distinction rested one hand against the cantle of his saddle. His war horse was the largest she’d ever seen, pawing the earth with its powerful hooves. Power radiated from the man and the other warriors trained their attention on him, waiting for his command.

No doubt another Norman earl, come to war against Cynan.

Ariana could only guess his identity. Fine woolen clothing peeked out from beneath his chain mail. The embellished trappings on his horse spoke of great wealth. She didn’t need to be told that he was their leader.

Ariana sat silent and waited, careful not to let her fear show. She was a princess of Wales and would show courage to the end. Dafydd and Wulfgar were safe, nothing else mattered.

“Ah, Lord Carlinham. So nice of you to join us. What word do you bring me from Cynan?” the giant asked in a gruff, bass voice.

The giant man knew Edwin. He spoke in French and Ariana thought this logical. He was Norman, after all.

The horse shifted restlessly beneath her and she could feel the stares of numerous men upon her. Warriors, prepared for battle.

She resisted a shudder. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades and she wished to remove the still-damp and scratchy woolen tunic. Tendrils of hair tickled her cheeks and she brushed them back with her bound hands.

Edwin bowed his head with respect. “Your Majesty. It is with regret that I must report Wulfgar de Conteville and his band of outlawed knights have snuck inside Cynan during the night and taken control. I’ve just fled the keep so I might come and bring you word.”

Ariana stiffened and her gaze flew to the giant’s ruddy cheeks and narrowed eyes. She felt the blood drain from her face. His Majesty?

“King William,” she whispered, widening her eyes with shock.

How had he come to be here so soon? Wulfgar needed time to gather supplies and prepare the castle for siege. He needed time to prove his innocence. If the king were here now, she could only imagine what might happen next.

“Who are you, woman? And why are you dressed as a boy?” the king asked, his eyes crinkled with intelligence.

A multitude of thoughts burst through Ariana’s head. Would William listen if she pleaded for Wulfgar’s cause?

Raising her chin higher, Ariana regarded the long line of savage warriors.

“I am Ariana, Princess of Powys, daughter of King Rhys of Wales. I wish to flee the tyranny of Edwin of Carlinham.”

Praise the heavens, her voice didn’t falter.

Edwin tightened his grip on her shoulders and she jerked against him.

The king’s gaze narrowed, catching every movement. “I can understand your animosity toward Carlinham. He’s an enemy to the Welsh.”

“Enemy?” She gave a caustic laugh. “I would choose a different word to describe Edwin of Carlinham. Evil is a better choice.”

King William chuckled. “I see she holds no love for you, Carlinham.”

“I need no love to get an heir from her. I will take her as my wife,” Edwin growled.

Ariana shuddered as his grip tightened on her arm. If her hands weren’t bound and she had her dagger, she’d teach him a painful lesson. And then pray that God would forgive her hateful heart.

Instead, she reared her head back, clipping his nose. He grunted and drew back to strike her, but she sprung off of the horse, rolling as she fell onto the soft grass. Edwin’s horse sidestepped her and pranced away. Edwin dismounted and came after her, drawing back an arm to strike. She stiffened and braced herself to receive the blow.

“Carlinham.” The king’s brows had lowered in warning. “The princess is a royal and will bring us great bargaining power. I don’t want her damaged. Remember that.”

Edwin lowered his fist and Ariana breathed with relief as she came to her feet. Though he wouldn’t brutalize her, she knew the king would use her to his advantage just the same. William would offer her no kindness for her cause. He was The Conqueror, scorching the earth to win his way. He had earned his title.

“So, Wulfgar has gained control of Cynan.” The king’s brows knit together in thought as his horse stamped and swished its tail at flies. “Do you know how he gained entrance into the keep?”

He looked at Ariana, his eyes glittering dangerously. Edwin shifted behind her and she sensed his heavy glare boring into her back.

She shook her head. Never would she divulge the location of Wulfgar’s secret passageway. “He scaled the walls, my lord. If I could, I’d warn him of your presence.”

“Would you, now?” William showed a grim smile. “No doubt you are smitten with the rogue. But I fear he’s undeserving of your loyalty.”

“Wulfgar de Conteville has earned my loyalty, my lord. He has kept his word to me and much more.”

The king frowned, his eyes filled with sadness and regret. “I wish I could say the same.”

The king waved his hand at his men and turned his steed toward Cynan. Ariana was given her own horse and silently thanked William for this small concession. She was all but forgotten as two knights came to escort her, riding along each side of her horse, shutting off escape as they fell back in line and proceeded onward.

Chapter Fourteen

Whistles and cheers split the morning air. Wulfgar’s men waved their weapons high, laughing and clapping one another on the back.

They had won Cynan! He was home again.

Joy bubbled up in Wulfgar’s chest as he watched his men celebrate their victory. Standing in the gatehouse, he smiled with satisfaction. Where was Ariana? He wanted to share this triumph with her. He’d just been told that the townsfolk would support his cause. Now, if he could find Carlinham, he’d get at the truth once and for all.

“Evan! Evan, where are you?” A young boy raced through the bailey, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Wulfgar glanced at the boy. His thatch of golden hair and impudent nose appeared identical to Ariana’s. Could it be? Of course!

“Dafydd!”

The prince skidded to a halt and turned to look at him, his eyes crinkled in confusion. Wulfgar was not surprised. The boy didn’t know him.

But where was Ariana? And Jenkin? Why was Dafydd not with them, safely locked in the chamber above the guardroom? Now the battle was over and the castle taken, Wulfgar had been preparing to go and get them.

A niggling doubt filled his mind with foreboding.

As he trotted over to the boy, Wulfgar tossed a glance past his shoulder at Raulf. “Herd the prisoners into the guardroom and hold them there for the time being. Get Vachel out of the dungeon and see that he’s fed and cared for. Put no prisoners in his cell.”

“But the cells of the dungeon are the safest place.”

“No prisoners in that cell,” Wulfgar ordered firmly. It would be horrible if one of them discovered the secret passage and escaped.

“Aye, my lord.” Raulf nodded and went to see to these tasks.

Wulfgar’s men stood guard over the castle, searching every corner of the keep to root out Edwin and any other man or woman who might defy the returned Lord of Cynan. Already Wulfgar had given the order to set up defenses and clear garbage out of the great hall. He’d clear this vermin from his home and set things right.

Sunlight glinted off the water in the trough by the stables as Wulfgar stood before Prince Dafydd. The morning air bore a distinct chill, the sky clear and blue.

A perfect day for a conquest.

The boy backed up a space and tilted his head as he stared at Wulfgar, his gaze wary. “Who are you?”

“I am Wulfgar de Conteville, Earl of Glyndwr. Where is your sister, Princess Ariana?” Wulfgar asked.

Blood pounded against Wulfgar’s temples. Urgency built within him and he was anxious for the boy to respond.

Dafydd wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his voice thick with tears. “Edwin took her. He let me go but he took her and Markus. A guard killed Jenkin and Ariana’s gone. She told me to find Evan. She said he’d know what to do.”

Edwin had Ariana? No!

A blaze of fury tightened Wulfgar’s gut. If Edwin harmed a hair on her precious head….

Crouching down, Wulfgar took the boy by the arms and gave him an urgent shake. “Where? Where did Edwin take her?”

“There.” The boy pointed toward the room where the sally port was hidden.

Ariana! In the hands of that monster.

Wulfgar hurried toward the door, his fingers itching to circle Edwin’s throat and squeeze the life from him.

“Evan,” Wulfgar roared.

“Aye.” The Welshman appeared atop the battlements of the gatehouse where he was organizing the guard in case of attack.

“Take the prince. See that he’s safe. You men come with me.” Wulfgar waved his arm at a cluster of Welshmen who stood sorting the dead and wounded.

The warriors stopped their task and followed as Wulfgar pulled his sword and raced into the room where wheat was stored. Inside, he braced one hand against the frame of the door as he peered out the sally port, his gaze searching the grass below.

He smacked his hand against the wooden frame. “Edwin of Carlinham.”

Edwin had knocked the ladder off the wall and broken it in two. They couldn’t follow this way.

Whirling about, Wulfgar raced back through the bailey and sprinted over bodies littering the ground. His men followed him to the stables and, within minutes, they were mounted on warhorses and clattered over the drawbridge.

Where would Edwin have taken her? Once word spread that Wulfgar was returned, there was no one that would harbor Edwin at Glyndwr.

He circled around the moat to the cliffs obscuring the sally port from view. Sitting in the saddle, he leaned over and peered at the tall grass, searching for signs of Edwin’s passing.

“There!” He pointed to where the grass had been trampled, the early morning dew disturbed.

Near the broken ladder, the glint of a shiny object caught his eye. Dismounting, Wulfgar picked it up, turning it over on his palm.

Ariana’s dagger. The jeweled hilt winked at her in the morning sunshine. She must have dropped it, or Edwin had taken it from her.

If Carlinham hurt her….

Clenching his jaw, Wulfgar stowed the dagger in his belt and mounted his horse. Placing his heels against the steed’s flanks, he set off after them, his blood pounding.

He would get her back. His own goals no longer mattered. Ariana was more important than all the titles and lands in the world. If he lost her, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Please, God. If You’re real as Ariana says You are, help me now.

It was the first time Wulfgar had ever prayed. Loving Ariana gave him the faith to believe.

Edwin’s trail led to a corral sitting just outside the palisade wall and then away from the town, toward the south. They must have stolen a horse.

On Wulfgar rode, until he crested a hill where he pulled his mount to a halt. The warriors with him did likewise, staring at the scene before them.

“William,” Wulfgar whispered his king’s name.

A powerful host of knights and men-at-arms moved toward the north. The ground trembled with their steps. In the distance, Wulfgar saw the king’s banners flapping in the breeze. Edwin of Carlinham and Ariana sat different horses, conversing with the king. Markus sat his mount beside his father.

Wulfgar tightened his hold on the reins. How had the king come to be here so soon?

Wulfgar needed more time to prove his innocence. The king’s army was large and powerful enough to crush Cynan. And Wulfgar and Ariana with it.

Wulfgar would never fight his king. Whirling his charger, he lifted his arm and called to his men. “Return to Cynan.”

As one body, Wulfgar and his knights raced back the way they’d come. One thought pounded in Wulfgar’s mind. He loved Ariana. He couldn’t stand to see her harmed. Whatever he lost, he must find a way to free her.

And he knew of only one way.

* * *

Lifting her head, Ariana looked at the ramparts of Cynan castle. Waving in the breeze was a banner bearing Wulfgar’s crest.

A red snarling wolf.

Her heart plummeted. Wulfgar had regained his castle but would lose it in siege. And this time, the king would kill him.

She prayed silently that Evan had sequestered Dafydd away to safety. The prince must be her men’s first concern.

Ariana felt the burn of tears. If only she could do something to stop this tragedy from happening. If only she could save Wulfgar’s life.

Edwin rode beside the king, conversing with animated gestures. Oh, how she loathed the man. Heaven help her, she hated him.

He was much taller than the king, sitting his horse easily as the army moved toward Cynan. Edwin leaned his head down to hear what the king said, then threw his head back and laughed deeply. His hair glimmered almost blue black in the sunshine and he swept it away from his high forehead with a brush of his hand.

As they approached the town, the sun gleamed on the sparkling waters of the River Teme. Sweat trickled down Ariana’s forehead. The skin on her arms was red and scratchy from the woolen tunic she wore. She longed to change into a soft linen gown.

By now, their approach would have been seen by one of Wulfgar’s scouts and reported to him. The massive army was a fearful site, dressed for battle, descending over the low hills to surround the town and keep. No doubt the people were terrified.

The gates of the town palisade were secured, the townsfolk armed and prepared to defend their homes as they peeked over the high walls.

There was a scurry along the ramparts as William rode with a small company of his men to the gatehouse. Edwin remained behind, the coward. He didn’t even reach to finger the shiny hilt of his sword as the other men-at-arms did.

Spearmen and bowmen lined the ramparts of the castle, looking down at the king’s host. Dressed in chain mail, their heads were covered by helmets. Horses blew dust from their nostrils and stomped their hooves, sensing the tension in the air. Heads were raised high as everyone watched and waited, prepared for the worst.

But where was Wulfgar? She prayed he was safe.

It was easy to make out Raulf standing between the merlons as he called down from the wall. “What do you want?”

“We demand entry into Cynan. Yield and we won’t burn the town,” Baldwin, the king’s captain, called back.

Raulf snorted. “I think we will oblige you to take the castle, if you can.”

From her vantage point, Ariana saw the king’s profile harden. Was Raulf daft? This large army would lay waste to Cynan.

Wulfgar, where are you? He would never abandon his men. Had he been killed?

Her heart squeezed painfully. She couldn’t stand to live in a world without him.

The king raised a gauntleted fist and roared with fury. “Open in the name of William, King of England.”

Raulf stilled and Ariana watched him stare hard at William. There was a heavy pause as the king prepared to depart into the woods to make camp and plan war. Ariana felt the bunched muscles of her horse beneath her. The other steeds pranced nervously.

Lifting a white flag, Raulf shouted once more. “My lord will come out and speak with the king.”

Wulfgar? No, he must not leave the safety of the castle walls.

A loud screech filled the air and chains rattled as the portcullis began to rise. King William and his men moved back as Wulfgar emerged, accompanied by Arnulf, who carried a flag of truce. Gaston, Evan, Cwrig and Ifor also rode beside Wulfgar, a mingling of Welsh and Norman.

Their men.

Pride flooded Ariana’s heart. They were united now, their cause was one. She felt the burn of tears as she watched them advance. No longer could she hate these Normans. Wulfgar’s knights had fought valiantly for her cause. She’d already lost Jenkin and didn’t want to lose any more.

Where was Dafydd? Was he still inside the castle? He was safe for now, but if William took Cynan, the boy’s life would be in danger once more.

The horses clattered over the drawbridge. Dressed in full battle gear, Wulfgar’s back was stiff as he rode his warhorse, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He wore no helmet and Ariana could see his expression was harsh. She imagined his dark eyes blazed with deadly fire.

Nay! Go back where it’s safe. She wanted to shout at him to return to the safety of the walls.

It’d do no good. A man such as Wulfgar would face his death with courage. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt like dry sand.

Accompanied by Baldwin and several other knights, King William rode forward to converse with Wulfgar. Though older now, the king had a fearsome reputation and Ariana doubted not this day could end in a bloodbath if all parties didn’t keep cool heads. How sad that Wulfgar must face in battle a king he loved.

This was a black day, indeed.

As they met, Ariana could hear their words carrying in the crisp morning air. Wulfgar separated himself from the others and urged his chestnut stallion further out into the open, just as the king did. From where she sat, Ariana could see the king’s profile tighten with fury. Likewise, Wulfgar’s features were hard as granite, yet now she could see his eyes and they bore no hatred as he looked upon his king.

“Now you have rallied the Welsh against me, Wulfgar?” King William’s tone sounded heated. “You still conspire treason? I thought I was done with you.”

“Nay,” came Wulfgar’s reply. “The Welsh are here for their princess. I’m here only to serve you.”

Ariana’s gaze lifted to the Welsh warriors who stood with Wulfgar’s knights along the battlements. Looking at their stoic faces and sparse clothing as they held their weapons, she knew it was true. Their loyalty to her even in their saddened state touched her deeply.

“What do you want, traitor?” William spat the words.

“I wish only to serve you, sire.”

The king tilted his head to one side. Ariana wished she could see the king’s expression and read his thoughts.

“The liar,” Edwin whispered low, his eyes narrowed with loathing.

Ariana tossed a scathing glare in his direction. She wouldn’t listen to aspersions directed at Wulfgar. “You call your king a liar?”

“Not him,” Edwin huffed. “I mean de Conteville. He’s just sealed his doom.”

What could she say to that? It could very well be true.

“Hush,” she hissed. “I’m trying to listen.”

King William heaved a heavy sigh. “No doubt you’ve won the heart of Princess Ariana. She is lovely. I find it interesting that she bought you at the slave market and you helped her get her brother back from Carlinham. Do you think to make yourself king of Powys?”

Wulfgar shook his head. “Prince Dafydd will be their king. It’s his right. I ask that you free Princess Ariana so she might return to her people.”

The king snorted. “You ask me? How dare you?”

Wulfgar remained silent, his jaw clenched.

The king lifted a hand. “And what will you give me in return for the princess’s life? Will you hand over her brother, Prince Dafydd?”

Ariana tensed. Now was the moment of truth. Would Wulfgar betray her?

“That isn’t my preference,” Wulfgar spoke low.

Ariana’s heart leapt.

The king shrugged. “You’ve nothing else I want. I’ve been told many things, Wulfgar. Things I’m not certain I should believe.”

Wulfgar frowned. “What things, sire?”

“That you are, in fact, loyal to me and always have been. That Lord Huntingdon lied when he said you conspired with him against me. I’ve seen the people of Glyndwr standing on their walls, thinking to defend themselves against my army. I’ve been told they’ll have no one else to rule over them but you. Bah!” The king smacked a gauntleted fist against his thigh. “It’s a bunch of pig slop if you ask me. I’ll say who will rule them, else I will harrow their lands and burn everything to the ground. Let them starve through the winter and we’ll see who they’ll accept as their overlord.”

As he spoke, William’s voice rose to a steady roar. If his anger had been aimed at her, Ariana would have been crouching in a box. But Wulfgar remained passive, meeting the king’s furious glare.

The jingle of spurs could be heard as Wulfgar’s horse shifted its weight and waved its head impatiently. Ariana noticed Edwin’s face had turned a sickly gray color, but he wisely held his tongue.

“Still,” William continued in a calmer tone, “these things make me wonder. Why do the people of Glyndwr love you, Wulfgar, hmm? It makes me think you could easily lead them against me, and I can’t allow that.”

Wulfgar leaned an arm against the pommel of his saddle. “Sire, these are your people. They’ll welcome you now they know it’s your army that has come and not Carlinham’s mercenaries. They’ll honor you before they honor me. It’s always been so, this is not new.”

“I’m not so certain, Wulfgar.”

“You can be assured that I’ve given the order for my men to surrender Cynan to you.”

William’s brows rose. “Oh? Why would a convicted traitor order his men to honor the king he’s accused of betraying?”

The northern wind stirred dust around them. Ariana closed her eyes and began to pray. Opening her eyes, her gaze lifted to the gatehouse where Raulf stood in one of the towers. The drawbridge was down, the portcullis raised. Extremely vulnerable. It would be no difficult task for William to rush Wulfgar and gain entrance to the keep. Both William and Wulfgar must know this.

Tears filled her eyes when she considered what might happen next.

“I’ve never betrayed you,” Wulfgar insisted. “I returned to England so I might find a way to prove myself to you, nothing more.”

“And have you found proof?” The king’s tone was filled with a hopeful lilt.

Wulfgar shook his head. “I need more time. I have my own deductions, but no proof. Yet.”

William heaved a great sigh and his black stallion pawed the earth. “I can’t afford to give you time, Wulfgar. You’re too powerful for that kind of trust.”

“Will you free the princess?”

Ariana’s heart squeezed. Why would Wulfgar think of her when his own life was now in jeopardy? His thoughtfulness touched her like nothing else could.

“If I return Princess Ariana to her people, what will you offer me in exchange?” William asked.

There was a long pause and Wulfgar’s lips thinned.

“Myself.”

Chapter Fifteen

Ariana’s horse shifted beneath her and she clutched the edge of her saddle, the padding stiff beneath her fingers. Shivering as the wind blew across the battlefield, she felt her heart plummet.

Wulfgar had offered himself in exchange for her. The supreme sacrifice. His life for hers.

The thought terrified her.

“Do you understand what you’ve offered me?” William asked Wulfgar.

The two men sat still as stone, their horses swishing their tails. Heavy silence filled the air with only the sounds of the wind and the subtle shifting of armor.

“I understand,” Wulfgar said.

Ariana also understood. Wulfgar would be taken to Winchester and beheaded with Waltheof of Huntingdon. His life would be forfeit. Never again would he reign as lord of Glyndwr. Never again would Ariana see his tender smile or feel the warmth of his hand around hers.

“Wulfgar, don’t do this. I don’t need your help.” She choked back a sob. Tears ran down her cheeks and her body trembled with grief.

The king swiveled in his saddle to look at her, his lips pursed tight, his narrowed eyes boring into her like a hot dagger. She’d spoken out of turn, but she didn’t shrink from William’s sharp gaze.

The king’s eyes softened and he faced Wulfgar again. “Why would you offer your life for the princess, Wulfgar? You could have your freedom. Go wherever you like. Do what you want. Yet, you returned to Cynan and now offer your life in exchange for a mere woman. Why?”

“I love her.” Wulfgar answered without hesitation.

Ariana felt the weight of his gaze. In his eyes, she saw the truth of his words. He loved her, just as she loved him.

Ariana blinked and tears tumbled down her cheeks.

William snorted. “Bah! Love. It’ll be your downfall, Wulfgar. It causes much heartache, I’m afraid. Yet, it makes men stronger, too. It gives them a good cause to fight for.”

Wulfgar’s eyes hardened as he met the king’s gaze. “That’s my request, sire. In exchange for Princess Ariana’s freedom, I offer myself and Cynan to you.”

“Without a fight?” William’s brows lifted.

“Without a fight.”

William’s eyes narrowed and he spoke slowly. Ariana could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind, thinking. “I understand from Lord Carlinham that you have Prince Dafydd inside Cynan. You may choose between your princess and her brother. Which one will go free and which will you hand over to me?”

Ariana froze. She didn’t blink as she stared at Wulfgar.

Please, God. Not Dafydd. Not an innocent child.

Wulfgar met her gaze and she shook her head, mouthing the words over and over again. “Not Dafydd.”

Wulfgar’s eyes filled with regret. Ah, he didn’t want to make this decision, but he must.

Ariana’s heart thudded madly in her chest. Would King William kill her? The sacrifice would be worth it, as long as Dafydd was safe. Her people would have a second chance.

Wulfgar clenched his eyes closed and lowered his head for just a moment. He spoke without looking up, his voice raw with emotion. “Prince Dafydd will go free. But I beg you, sire. Please don’t harm the princess.”

Ariana wept silently. He’d done the right thing. It wasn’t Wulfgar’s fault. He’d tried his best and would even now lose his life.

Because of her.

It was too much to bear. To hear this proud Norman knight reduced to begging almost overwhelmed her. After all they’d been through together, Ariana could hardly believe this turn of events. Even when Wulfgar had been reduced to the status of slave, chained, starved and beaten, he’d never begged for anything. Now, he begged for Ariana’s life. His only desire had been to see himself restored as Earl of Glyndwr. To prove his innocence.

Once again, he’d lost everything.

The king’s shoulders stiffened as he gathered the reins in his fist. “Don’t harm her?” he thundered. “You know Prince Dafydd will one day grow into a man. He’ll conspire against me, Wulfgar. His men will fight me. Yet, you ask me to let both him and his sister live?”

“Aye, sire.” Wulfgar nodded, meeting the king’s gaze without flinching. “Though he’s young, Dafydd is an honest boy and I believe he’ll do good for his people and ours. If you kill the boy, the Welsh will fight even more. I don’t believe Dafydd will give you trouble in the future, but rather bring you peace and fortune.”

The king tilted his head. “Fortune? In what way?”

“We can establish trade with the Welsh. When their people are dependent upon trade, they’ll be more eager for peace. I’ve spoken to Prince Dafydd about this and he’s amenable. He’s agreed to meet with the Lord of Glyndwr to make plans.”

Edwin grinned at this news and Ariana almost reached over to slap him. After what Edwin had done, she couldn’t imagine Dafydd willingly meeting with the man about anything.

“All right,” the king acquiesced. “The prince will return to his people. Actually, I think he’ll serve me better as you say, though I’ll want him to give me his pledge of loyalty first.”

Wulfgar nodded, but he didn’t smile. “Dafydd has already agreed to this.”

“Good. The princess will stay with me for the time being. Don’t worry. I’ll guarantee her safety. I’ll plan a marriage for her. In return, you’ll relinquish Cynan and yourself to my will.”

Marriage? She looked at Edwin, her skin crawling. William had no right to force her to wed Carlinham or any man.

“Aye, sire.” Wulfgar’s voice sounded strained.

“Agreed,” roared the king and the horses jerked.

Edwin laughed and turned to speak in a low voice to Ariana. “You see? All your scheming did you no good. Wulfgar will be taken and beheaded. It looks as though I’ll have Glyndwr without a fight and you as my wife.”

“Never,” she hissed. Even if it meant spending eternity in hell, she’d kill herself first.

“Sire,” she called to the king, daring to speak out of turn once more. She must speak for her people.

He looked over his shoulder at her, his heavy brows lowered in a disapproving frown.

She licked her lips and hardened her will. “Prince Dafydd will agree to trade only if Wulfgar is Lord of Glyndwr. Our people will make no more treaties with Edwin of Carlinham. He can’t be trusted, not after what he’s done to my people. No matter what you ask, we won’t agree to treat with Lord Carlinham.”

Edwin glowered at her. “Hush, you foolish woman.”

William’s mouth thinned. “Are the Welsh prepared to fight?”

She tensed, forcing herself to answer him bravely. “If you force us to it. You can see my men are here to fight even now, but we prefer peace.”

The king pursed his lips together in an irritated grimace. “I understand.”

Inclining his head, William indicated Ariana should be taken into the castle. Ariana was aghast. He said he understood, yet he wouldn’t heed her words.

Wulfgar would die. Edwin would continue as Lord of Glyndwr.

“No! Wulfgar!” She tried to jerk the reins away from the knight as her horse was led forward.

“It’s out of our hands, sweeting. All will be well. Do as you’re bid,” Wulfgar ordered gently.

She stopped fighting, her soul filled with defeat. Surely there must be something they could do. It wasn’t too late. Not while they had breath in their bodies.

Wulfgar raised his hand and dropped the white flag. It signaled the warriors standing guard along the castle walls, who laid down their weapons.

The portcullis rattled as Raulf opened the castle to William. A lump rose in Ariana’s throat and she trembled with fear. All was forfeit, except Dafydd’s life. Both she and Cynan were in the hands of the English king and Wulfgar would be killed.

The situation couldn’t get much worse.

Raulf left the ramparts and appeared minutes later at the gatehouse where he welcomed King William into Cynan. Inside the bailey, Evan and the other Welshmen were allowed to take Dafydd and leave Cynan.

Evan bid her farewell, his voice filled with hope. “Jenkin wouldn’t want us to leave you here. We’ll fight to get you back, princess.”

She shook her head, knowing it was futile. She couldn’t bear to see her men killed. “No, take Dafydd home. King William won’t harm me. You must return to our people. Keep them safe.”

“I’ll guard Dafydd with my life,” Evan vowed.

And what would become of her? Would she ever see her homeland again?

Hugging Dafydd tight, she bid him farewell as a lump formed in her throat.

“I won’t leave you, Ariana. I won’t,” the boy cried as Evan pulled him away. “Let me go. Ariana!”

She put her hands over her ears to muffle the sound of his voice. It took supreme effort not to melt into a puddle of tears. Evan picked the boy up and carried him to a horse. The boy fought Evan and his shrill cries filled the air. She watched him stoically and finally lifted a hand to bid him and her men farewell.

Standing in the yard, the king turned his back, ignoring the scene.

“Such a touching sight.” Edwin chuckled with delight.

Ariana blinked tears from her eyes and wiped her nose. Why had God abandoned her? She’d been so certain He would stand beside her. She’d kept her faith. She didn’t fight for wealth or position, but for the well being of her loved ones. Surely God would justify her in this mission. Surely He would help her.

But He hadn’t. He’d forsaken her and she felt almost hopeless. Almost. Until Wulfgar died, she hoped to sway King William to change his mind.

Raulf and Wulfgar’s other knights were taken prisoner. No doubt they also would be executed for supporting Wulfgar’s cause. Yet they surrendered their weapons without a fight.

“Why?” King William asked when Raulf handed him his double-headed battle-ax.

Raulf met the king’s gaze without flinching. “Wulfgar demanded that we honor our oath to you, sire. Never have we betrayed you.”

Edwin snorted, but William frowned thoughtfully.

Chapter Sixteen

“Get in there,” a guard ordered as he shoved Wulfgar into a cell in the dungeon.

The same cell with the secret passage.

With his hands bound in front of him, Wulfgar stepped into the dank room, ducking his head as he passed through the threshold. Three guards surrounded him, brandishing swords. One guard held a lighted torch. With Wulfgar inside, the guards stepped out, slammed the iron door closed, and locked it.

Darkness engulfed Wulfgar, with only the dim light from the small window above to invade his dreary world.

He knew Raulf and his other knights had been placed in another cell. The king had warned the guards to keep Wulfgar separate from his men, so they wouldn’t plot an escape.

If the king only knew.

Lifting his head, Wulfgar peered through the shadows, wondering what they’d done with Vachel. He stared at the wall above, his gaze shifting to the smooth stone where the key to the door was hidden. It’d be so simple to free his men and flee. All he had to do was open the cell doors. Then, he could lift the iron grille and go through the oubliette, swim through the moat, and gain his freedom.

No. He would stay and face his king. Never would he abandon Ariana to save his own life.

Strange how he’d fought so hard to gain his freedom, to prove his innocence to his king and have his lands and titles restored. And now, none of that seemed to matter. Not while Ariana was in danger. His only desire was to see her returned to her people. To know she was safe.

The king would wed her to one of his barons. It was what Wulfgar would do if he were king.

His blood ran cold when he thought of another man touching her. What if the king wed her to Edwin?

Wulfgar clenched his hands with fury. He’d kill Carlinham if he laid one finger on Ariana. Any other man would be preferable to Edwin.

Wulfgar hardened his jaw. Even locked in a cell, he was still determined to find a way to convince the king of his innocence. It was the only way to save Ariana.

The hollow sound of voices reached his ears and the flicker of light permeated his cell as someone came down the stairs.

“Open the door.”

The unmistakable rasp of King William’s voice was followed by the clinking of the key as a guard inserted it into the lock. The door groaned as the guard pushed it open and King William stepped into the cell. Three guards followed him, hanging lighted flares from iron rings in the walls.

“Leave us,” William ordered, fingering the hilt of his sword.

Although Wulfgar’s hands were chained, he was still dangerous. But the king was also a formidable master of arms. The guards were used to obeying William and they left without hesitation, closing the door behind them.

Wulfgar stood still while the king circled him, looking him up and down. Finally, William faced him once more and leaned near. “Why? Why did you return, Wulfgar?”

“You knew I would, sire. You also know my reasons.”

William clenched his jaw. “I gave you life instead of death. Why are you forcing me to kill you?”

Wulfgar met his gaze. “Life as a slave is death.”

Blowing out a harsh breath, William moved to the other side of the cell, just beneath the small window. His gaze never wavered from Wulfgar, nor did he turn his back. “Do you know how I’ve cared for you, Wulfgar? Do you know how much I loved your father? He was one of my best friends and advisors. He gave his life for my cause.”

A lump lodged in Wulfgar’s chest. “I loved him, too.”

A hoarse laugh slipped from William’s throat. “Then why have you betrayed his memory with treason?”

“I have never betrayed you.”

“How can I believe you? You were gathering an army, Wulfgar. You met with Lord Huntingdon on numerous occasions. He testified it was you who conspired with him. The evidence was damming against you.”

“He lied.”

William’s tensed shoulders relaxed. “I gave you a chance at life and you’ve returned. Imagine my surprise when a half-starved Welshman came to Winchester and asked for gold in return for telling me you’d returned. He saw you at Lake Elan with the princess. I could hardly believe it. Yet, it was true. I find you here at Cynan, gathering another army to come against me.”

Wulfgar shook his head. “Nay, sire, I went to Alnwick and met with Huntingdon at his request. He asked for my aid against Malcolm Caennmore, to hold the Scottish border. That was why I had gathered a large army, nothing more.”

“Hmm.” The king folded his arms and cupped his chin with one beefy hand. “There are many things I don’t understand, Wulfgar. You were convicted of treason, yet you returned to English soil at peril of your life. You set about helping Princess Ariana recover her brother and took your castle back through cunning. Your men reported to me that you immediately set about restoring order to Cynan, cleaning up the mess Carlinham had made of the place. Your men are loyal to you. They love you. That’s a sign of a good leader. The people of the town would welcome you back. They gave your men all their silver to purchase you at the slave auction, though I understand it wasn’t enough. All of this makes me wonder. Are these the actions of a true traitor?”

Wulfgar remained silent. It’d do no good to plead his innocence again. The king must make up his own mind.

“You’re too powerful for me to ignore the evidence against you,” the king continued.

The two men stared at each other for several moments. Wulfgar held his breath, praying for a miracle. Ariana had said God loved all His children and answered their prayers. Wulfgar needed the Lord’s help now more than ever. He needed God to hear his plea.

The king locked his jaw. “Guards!”

A clinking sounded and a guard opened the door. William stepped out of the cell, then turned to look once more at Wulfgar. “I’ll get to the bottom of this conspiracy once and for all.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

After the king left him, Wulfgar slumped against the stone wall, his mind filled with unease. There was nothing left for him to do but wait.

And hope.

The king had left the lighted flares for him and he was relieved. The darkness of his cell only added to the gloominess weighting his heart.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs again. Wulfgar came to his feet and stood in the center of the room, waiting.

“You’re certain King William gave you the order?” the guard named Robert asked.

“You dare question my word? I’m Lord of Glyndwr. Open the door. Now.”

Edwin of Carlinham!

Wulfgar stepped back as Edwin entered with four guards. Wulfgar’s gaze swept them all, noticing each man brandished a heavy club. Wulfgar didn’t believe Carlinham had the king’s permission to visit, but it didn’t matter now.

“What do you want?” Wulfgar asked in a lethal tone.

“I want you dead,” Edwin sneered. “Chain him.”

The guards swarmed Wulfgar. He fought them, but his hands were bound and he did little damage as they hammered him with their clubs. He soon found his hands pulled high above his head, the chains looped over an iron hook set high in the stone wall. His chest faced the wall, his back to Carlinham. Then the guards left Carlinham alone with him and Wulfgar wrapped his hands around his bindings, jerking at the chains.

Spitting blood, Wulfgar turned his face to the side. The cold stone felt rough against his cheek. How he wished he could look at Carlinham so he could spit in the man’s face.

A low chuckle came from Edwin and Wulfgar was conscious of the man standing just behind him. He felt Edwin’s hands at his neck and tensed. With two savage jerks, Edwin tore Wulfgar’s shirt and opened it wide to reveal the bare expanse of his back.

Stepping to the side where Wulfgar could see him, Edwin showed a sinister smile as he reached for a whip he had tucked into the waist of his pants.

“I think I’m going to enjoy this.” Unfurling the whip, Edwin stepped behind Wulfgar.

Crack!

The lash tore into Wulfgar’s flesh. Edwin’s laughter filled the room. Wulfgar flinched against the burning pain, but refused to cry out.

“Scream, Wulfgar. There’s no one but me to hear you.”

Crack!

Wulfgar jerked and clenched his teeth.

“Before I’m finished, you’ll beg me to stop,” Edwin mocked.

Thrice more, the lash fell, until Wulfgar’s back was on fire, his mind numb to anything but hate.

“Stop!” Robert returned and threw open the door. “King William didn’t give orders to whip the prisoner.”

Wulfgar breathed with relief. Praise God, the guards were William’s, loyal to him and not Carlinham.

Robert took the whip from Edwin and moved to the cell door. Wulfgar turned his head to the side and saw Robert’s harsh face as he waited for Edwin to follow him out.

Edwin peered at Wulfgar, his mouth curved in a cruel smile. “Too bad. I was so enjoying our little chat. Perhaps later we can finish this.”

“I’ll kill you one day,” Wulfgar growled low.

“I think you’ll find that difficult, once the king lops off your head. But I can promise you this.” Edwin leaned nearer, so that Wulfgar felt his foul breath hiss past his ear. “Once Ariana is my wife, I’ll remind her every day of your death.”

Fury blinded Wulfgar. With a roar of rage, he jerked upwards against the chains and used the leverage to climb the wall with his feet. Flipping the link off the hook in the wall, he freed himself from the wall and whipped the chains about, striking Edwin across the face.

Blood spurted across the wall as Edwin groaned and fell back, reaching a hand up to his nose. Wulfgar jumped on the man, knocking him to the stone floor, pounding his face with his bound fists.

“Hold!” Robert launched himself at Wulfgar’s back, trying to pull him off Edwin.

More guards raced into the cell, grabbing Wulfgar’s arms, trying to pull him back. It took six men to get him off of Carlinham.

Edwin came to his feet, wiping blood from his nose, spitting a tooth out. His dark hair fell into his eyes and he tossed a hateful glance at Wulfgar. “I’ll see you dead for that.”

“Out,” Robert ordered, leading Edwin to the door.

Wulfgar showed a jeering smile. “You’ll never live to wed Ariana, this I vow.”

No response came from Edwin as the guards hurried him outside and slammed the door closed.

Throwing back his head, Wulfgar laughed long and hard, the sound hollow as it echoed off the cell walls. When he finally quieted, his head slumped to his chest and he stared at his chained hands. Feeling the burn of tears, he turned his mind to Ariana. Pure and sweet, warm and strong.

How he loved her. His heart swelled and he could barely contain his emotions. He must not give up hope. Not as long as she lived. He must trust in God, for all else had failed him.

Chapter Seventeen

The bulk of the king’s army secured the town. Men-at-arms were stationed in the gatehouse, along the palisade walls and on the battlements. Ariana stared at their cruel faces. Fierce men of war. This was the army that had harrowed the north, laying waste to all who opposed King William.

Wulfgar had helped. And yet, she could remember nothing about him, but his tender embrace as he comforted her.

As two burly guards escorted her to a locked chamber above the great hall, she doubted she would ever see her homeland again.

Inside her room, she opened the shutters and stared out the window at the activities down below in the bailey. A group of soldiers came from the stable, leading fresh mounts. Archers lined the battlements as spearmen practiced against a target made of straw. William’s men were still dressed in armor, wearing their individual coat of arms beneath their chain mail.

Would she ever see her brother again? She prayed Evan was as loyal as Jenkin had been.

Down in the bailey, soldiers loaded bodies into wagons to take outside the castle for burial. When two guards carried Jenkin’s body out of the gatehouse, tears burned her eyes and she coughed, unable to contain a hollow sob.

He should be buried in Welsh soil.

She watched as the horses pulling the wagon plodded outside the castle and up to a lone hill with a single tree overlooking the valley. Peasants from the town dug graves and laid the dead men to rest. A man of God bowed his head and prayed over the graves.

Clutching the shutters with whitened knuckles, she ignored the tears running down her face. At least she knew where Jenkin was. Somehow, it was fitting for him to remain here, where he might watch over her always. She didn’t think the king would let her leave Cynan and she believed Jenkin would prefer to remain close by rather than returning to Wales. He’d given everything for her. His future, his life.

All gone.

What would King William do with her? Would she be taken away to the dungeons at Winchester or given in marriage to Edwin? Both prospects made her shudder, but she was smart enough to know she was a valuable hostage to keep the Welsh under control. No doubt William would wed her to one of his men. But that didn’t mean they would treat her well.

There was a knock on the door and she turned from the window, wiping her eyes.

“Enter.”

A young woman opened the door and poked her head in. “Begging your pardon, my lady. My name is Gwyn. My father was the blacksmith here at Cynan. The king has sent me to wait on you.”

Gwyn entered, carrying a tray bearing a savory meat pie, several red apples and chunks of golden cheese. As she set her burden down, she reached up and swept a wavy lock of auburn hair back from her face and tucked it beneath a woolen scarf on her head. Ariana knew from her coarse woolen smock that Gwyn was a peasant. From her pert nose and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, the girl appeared to be about Ariana’s age.

“Your father is dead?” Ariana asked

Gwyn knelt beside the brazier and lit a fire before answering. “Yes. Lord Carlinham’s horse stumbled and threw him, so he had my father killed.”

“Why would Carlinham kill your father when his horse stumbled?”

Adding kindling to the fire, Gwyn shook her head. “Because my father shoed the horse the day before, Edwin blamed him. Then Edwin killed the horse and gave me to his men to use. One day, I’ll see him dead for it.”

Her voice was whisper soft and chilling. The confession surprised Ariana. Was Gwyn so certain of Ariana’s hatred for Edwin that the girl would confide in her?

“Come and eat, princess. You must be starved.”

Ariana’s stomach twisted with tension. How could she eat? Shaking her head, she turned back to the window.

“You’ll want a bath and rest before supper. The king will summon you to come down later this evening.”

Summon! The word burned her mind with outrage.

Gwyn’s father had obviously served under Wulfgar. Since Edwin had murdered the man, would Gwyn be sympathetic to Wulfgar’s plight?

“Are you still loyal to Lord Wulfgar?” Ariana asked.

Gwyn’s gaze slid toward the hallway and she nudged the door closed with her foot. Her voice lowered. “Of course. But Lord Carlinham rules here now. The king will sentence Lord Wulfgar to death.”

Ariana felt a jolt of fear course through her veins. “Would you help Wulfgar and me escape?”

Ariana’s question was blunt and unexpected, but she had no time for niceties.

Gwyn’s mouth dropped open and she stared. “It would be foolhardy, my lady. The castle is overrun by King William’s guards. They are much more vigilant than Lord Carlinham’s men. If we were caught…” She shuddered. “We would be killed. Besides, the king has two guards stationed outside your door. One accompanies me wherever I go. The king is very cautious.”

Ariana sighed. It’d been worth a try, but she couldn’t blame the young woman for being wary. “Leave me.”

Gwyn’s mouth quivered. “But my lady, the king has sent me to prepare you for tonight. You don’t want to make him angry by appearing before him wearing rags.”

No, she didn’t want to anger William, but she needed time to brace herself for what was to come. She had no doubt the king would insist she marry Edwin of Carlinham. If it would save Wulfgar’s life, she’d gladly comply. Would the king bargain with her?

Her cooperation for Wulfgar’s life.

Her blood pounded in her veins. “I need time alone.”

Picking up the damp towels, Gwyn went to the door. “All right, my lady. I’ll return later, in time to help you dress.”

Gwyn closed the door quietly and Ariana breathed with relief. Alone in the privacy of her room, she stared out the window again, watching as William’s army set up their tents outside the castle walls. So many men. She was well and truly trapped. Wulfgar never had a chance.

Unable to bear the sight of their defeat any longer, she flung herself across the furs on the bed and gave way to her sorrow. Her ragged sobs filled the room.

Wulfgar. Dafydd. Jenkin.

All lost to her. She was alone. Despair flowed through her heart. Her soul ached for the love she’d found with Wulfgar only to lose it before she could even tell him how she felt.

How could she go on? How could she stand to live?

She must. For Wulfgar and Dafydd’s sake. Though she was a prisoner, she must do everything in her power to try and be a voice for them and for her people.

Later, Gwyn returned and helped Ariana wash her hair and bathe. Neither of them spoke as Gwyn dressed Ariana in a soft linen gown of mauve. Gwyn brushed Ariana’s golden hair until it glimmered like sunbeams down her back.

“Don’t look so sad,” Gwyn told her. “The king has given orders that you’re to have anything you desire.”

Except Wulfgar and her freedom.

Gwyn dabbed Ariana’s arms and neck with rose water, speaking in a gentle tone. “I overheard the king talking about a marriage alliance for you. Lord Carlinham has asked for your hand, but the king hasn’t agreed, yet. Though he’s handsome as the devil, Lord Carlinham would never be a kind husband.” Gwyn wrinkled her nose with repugnance.

Tension coiled in Ariana’s stomach. If she couldn’t have Wulfgar for her husband, she wanted none. All men paled when she compared them to him.

Sitting on the bed, Ariana twined her fingers together and watched Gwyn tidy up the room. A knock sounded on the door.

“Enter,” Ariana called.

A guard opened the door. “The king seeks your presence below.”

Ariana’s stomach clenched. She wanted to refuse William’s summons, but she longed to hear word of Wulfgar. When would they take him to Winchester for execution?

Standing, she walked through the narrow passage leading to the stairwell. Two guards were there to escort her and Gwyn below. Stiffening her spine, Ariana stared straight ahead as she took hold of the rope railing and walked down the steps. In the great hall, lighted torches had been set about the room and a cheery fire burned in the large fire pit. The scent of tallow and fresh bread filled the room.

She uttered not a word as she was ushered to the head table where the king sat on a raised dais. Baldwin and various lieutenants sat on the king’s left. Edwin hovered on the king’s right, sipping from a goblet of wine. When Edwin saw her, his brows lowered. What had happened to his face? His eyes were blackened, his lips swollen, and he had cuts and gashes on his cheeks and forehead.

She couldn’t suppress a wide smile. She longed to congratulate whoever had given him the beating.

Looking away, he tilted his cup to his lips and gingerly took a sip.

The hall was filled with soldiers and guards, the room stifling as she stood before the king’s high table. Servants rushed about, filling the men’s goblets with wine and ale. They had either just finished a meal or would soon partake of one.

A loud thud sounded behind her and she turned to see the large oak door thrown open and two guards accompanied Wulfgar inside. The moment she saw him, her heartbeat picked up and joy suffused her.

“Wulfgar.” She tried to run to him, but a guard grabbed her arms and pulled her back.

Wulfgar walked the length of the hall and stood beside her, his hands bound in front of him. He clenched his jaw, his eyes sparkling with fire as he surveyed the room. His gaze stabbed Edwin of Carlinham.

Wulfgar’s shirt had been torn into tatters and his back glistened with sweat and bloody stripes.

He’d been whipped. Had the king ordered this torture?

Anger pounded Ariana’s temples. She tossed an ugly glare at William, but her legs and arms trembled when she considered what other tortures the king might have planned.

Wulfgar’s gaze met hers. “Are you well?”

Ariana’s stomach turned somersaults. He’d been whipped, yet he sought after her welfare. Gone was the fury in his eyes, replaced by warmth. Jutting his chin, he demonstrated the pride and valor she knew was such a part of him. A comforting smile curved his mouth. How could he show such courage?

And then she knew. It was for her benefit. To offer his strength to her.

Oh, how she loved him. In the face of his tremendous valor, how could she show any less courage?

“Yes, I am well.” Standing in front of the king’s table, Ariana curtsied low before William.

“Princess Ariana,” the king acknowledged her. “I’ve decided the best way to unite the border is to wed you to one of my lords.”

Ariana tensed. “I’m a princess of Wales, sire. You have no right to do such a thing.”

A muscle began to tick in the king’s jaw. “You’re my prisoner. I may do as I wish with you.”

Like his knights, William still wore his chain mail, but the deep purple of his soft linen chainse declared him a royal. But she also had royal blood flowing through her veins.

She lifted her head and met the king’s eyes. “Before his death, my father entered into negotiations to betroth me to Wulfgar de Conteville. I’ll accept him as my husband and none other.”

Wulfgar shifted beside her, but she didn’t look at him. She held the king’s gaze without flinching.

The king shrugged. “Unfortunately, de Conteville has been condemned.”

“Then I’ll wed Lord Carlinham in exchange for Wulfgar’s freedom.”

One of William’s eyebrows rose and he spoke in a dry tone. “You’ll wed whom I tell you to wed, princess.”

He wouldn’t deal with her. A lump rose in her throat, choking off her air supply. She could not speak.

“In the meantime, sit there.” William pointed at a seat beside Edwin.

She hesitated. All was not yet lost. Obeying the king, she skirted the table. If she could get into the king’s good graces, perhaps she might help Wulfgar escape.

She sat beside Edwin, pulling the chair as far away as possible. When he grinned at her discomfort, she bristled, then blinked in surprise. Someone had knocked out one of his front teeth.

She laughed. Edwin closed his gap-toothed mouth and glowered at her.

William lifted a goblet and drank deeply, his eyes glowing with amusement. Then he looked at Ariana, his dark eyes boring into hers. “Tell me, Princess Ariana, do you support Lord Wulfgar’s cause, or your own?”

“I support the cause of my people,” Ariana answered truthfully.

“Yet, you have championed Wulfgar.”

She nodded her head. “I believe Wulfgar is innocent of offence against you. I don’t understand all that has happened to convince you otherwise, but I will never believe Wulfgar guilty of treason.”

She was conscious of the appreciation in Wulfgar’s eyes. Did her approval mean so much to him?

She glanced at Edwin. “If it means my death, I would revenge myself upon Edwin of Carlinham. In return for the death of my father, I will kill Lord Carlinham one day.”

Edwin’s eyes flared with surprise. Silence prevailed, her threat more chilling because of her calmness and also because she was a woman.

The king chuckled. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind about wanting the princess for your wife, Carlinham. She could kill you in your sleep.”

William took another long drink from his cup, his gaze never wavering. “I can understand your animosity for Carlinham. But why do you defend Lord Wulfgar? He’s a Norman and an enemy to your people. Do you forgive him so freely for the deaths he has caused?”

She thought of her brothers and father. Wulfgar hadn’t killed them. He’d tried to negotiate peace with her father, not war. Though she would have liked to punish the ones responsible for her brothers’ deaths, no longer could she hate all Normans. Or Wulfgar.

Shaking her head, she considered her words carefully. “Wulfgar has fought more for life than death. I believe, if he’s restored to Cynan, peace will return to our border. If Lord Carlinham rules here, there will always be war.”

The king tilted his head in acknowledgement.

Casting caution aside, she continued. “Lord Carlinham is a vile man with evil ambitions. He’s used trickery and deception and has broken every treaty he’s ever made with my people. He even confessed to me that he strangled his wife before throwing her down a flight of stairs.”

A gasp swept the room. Edwin’s face drained of color and he jumped to his feet, blustering with fury. “She lies, sire.”

The king held up a silencing hand.

“But, sire!”

The king’s hand did not lower and Edwin wisely sank back into his seat, staring at Ariana with naked hate. She inwardly shuddered to think what he might do to her if he had her in his power. She prayed silently that God never let that day come.

Anger darkened William’s ruddy cheeks and his brows lowered in an ominous glare. “Princess, do you realize what you accuse Lord Carlinham of?”

She lifted her chin. “I speak the truth. His own son heard him make the claim.”

The king’s gaze swept the hall until he found Markus sitting at one of the far tables by the outside door, his eyes wide.

Heads turned in that direction and the boy squirmed beneath so many stares.

“Markus,” the king called. “Come here, boy.”

Slowly, Markus stood and stepped over the wooden bench he’d been sitting on. His gaze swept his father, whose face beamed red with fury. Markus’s eyes widened and he glanced at Ariana, then the king. Walking as slow as honey rolling downhill in the dead of winter, he came to stand before William. The boy stared at the rushes on the floor and prodded a discarded chicken bone with the tip of his leather shoe.

“Did you hear what your father was accused of?” the king asked.

Markus nodded.

“And is it true? Did you hear your father claim that he’d murdered your mother?”

The boy glanced at Edwin, whose expression was dark and foreboding. Fear covered Markus’s face.

“Look at me, boy,” the king demanded.

Markus met William’s gaze. “I d…don’t want t…to….”

“Just nod your head yes or no,” the king said.

Markus hesitated, then nodded.

“Sire!” Edwin stabbed a finger toward the boy. “My son was very upset when his mother died. Now he blames me for her death. Surely you won’t listen to the imaginations of a half-wit.”

William’s disapproving gaze rested on Edwin. “Be quiet, Carlinham. I want to get to the bottom of this.”

Wulfgar shifted his feet and the chains binding his hands jingled. As Ariana looked at him, his eyes darkened, their depths filled with angry emotion, as if he longed to pound Edwin to a pulp.

At that moment, a messenger came into the hall and walked briskly to the head table. Going down on one knee before the king, he bowed his head.

“Sire.”

“What is it?” William growled with impatience.

Rising, the man stepped to William’s side and leaned near to whisper in the king’s ear.

William waved an imperious hand. “Good. Yes, of course. Bring him in.”

The messenger walked out of the hall and returned momentarily. Vachel followed behind, accompanied by two men-at-arms.

Wulfgar’s steward could barely walk. Aided by the two guards, he approached the dais on wobbly legs. Vachel had bathed and dressed in clean clothing. His gray hair was damp and slicked back, his beard trimmed, the wounds on his face and arms smoothed with shiny ointment.

It nearly broke Ariana’s heart to see Wulfgar’s loyal servant in such a bad way. Hopefully he’d been freed from the dungeon in time to save his life. With time, he might recover his strength.

When he reached the king, Vachel went down on his knees and bowed his head.

“Arise, Vachel,” the king said, his eyes softened with kindness.

Vachel was too weak to stand on his own. The men-at-arms lifted his frail body and he stood on trembling legs.

“Let him sit,” the king ordered gruffly.

A wooden chair was provided. Once Vachel was seated, the king peered at him. “Vachel Durand, it’s been a long time since last we met.”

“Aye, sire.” Vachel’s voice quavered. “Much sadness has befallen us since that time.”

“You were locked in the dungeon by Lord Carlinham. What is your crime?”

Edwin slapped his hand on the tabletop and half-rose from his seat. “Sire, this man is a thief and supporter of Wulfgar de Conteville. He refused to swear fealty to me. I caught him conspiring against me with the townsfolk. Later, he was found stealing bread from the kitchen. Surely you won’t listen to the ranting of a crazed old man.”

William held up a hand, his gaze showing irritation. “If you speak out of turn again, I’ll have you thrown into the dungeon. Now, sit down and shut up.”

Shifting restlessly, Edwin threw an ugly look at Vachel. Wulfgar locked his jaw, his brows lowered with suppressed wrath. He stared at Edwin as though he’d like to strangle the man for what he’d done to Vachel.

“The bread I took was for the poor, sire,” Vachel’s voice rasped. “While Lord Wulfgar ruled here, he offered bread freely to the widows and orphans. No one went hungry at Cynan as long as Lord Wulfgar had grain and meat to feed them. But Lord Carlinham let them starve.”

Sitting back in his tall chair, William rested his scarred hands along the armrests, pondering Vachel’s words. “That explains the bread. But why wouldn’t you swear fealty to Lord Carlinham after he became Lord of Glyndwr?”

Vachel coughed, a dry hacking sound. “I’ve always been faithful to my king.”

William nodded. “Of course."

“I’ve also been faithful to Lord Wulfgar.”

William frowned. “I fear he’s unworthy of your loyalty.”

“He’s always been faithful to you, sire.”

Sitting forward, William’s expression darkened. “His faithfulness was condemned by the testimony of another.”

Vachel shook his head, his gray eyes filled with sincerity. “I mean no disrespect, sire, but Lord Huntingdon lied.”

“How do you know that?” William demanded.

Lifting a scrawny arm, Vachel pointed at Edwin. “Last spring, this man imprisoned me in Cynan’s dungeon. He took great pleasure in torturing me. He told me he’d gone to Alnwick to meet with Lord Huntingdon and Malcolm Caennmor, the Scottish king. Edwin agreed to lend his forces to the Scots to come against you.”

Edwin’s face drained of color.

The king took a deep breath. “This is the first I’ve heard this tale. Waltheof of Huntingdon testified it was Wulfgar who conspired with him and the Scottish king, not Edwin. Why would Huntingdon lie?”

A weak smile curved Vachel’s thin lips. “It’s simple, my lord. Edwin of Carlinham was wed to Waltheof’s sister, Lady Sybil. Huntingdon lied to protect her from Carlinham’s cruel temper.”

The king’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t heard that Lady Sybil is dead? An unfortunate fall down a flight of stairs.”

Vachel’s mouth dropped open and his gaze swept over Edwin. “Nay, I hadn’t heard. But it seems a most convenient death, if you ask me.”

Ariana watched Markus lift his head, his gaze resting on the king. In the boy’s eyes, she saw deep, wrenching sorrow. His mouth worked, as if he wished to speak, his brows furrowed with the effort.

The king faced Markus and his eyes crinkled with thought. He beckoned to the boy. “Markus, come closer, my boy.”

Markus hesitated.

“Do not fear me. Come, stand here.” The king pointed at a spot directly on the other side of the table.

A guard went to retrieve the boy and William waved the man away. “Let him come to me on his own.”

Markus visibly trembled as he walked to stand just before the king. Once, the boy’s gaze darted over to his father, who gave a sharp shake of his head. Markus blinked and looked back at the king.

Edwin’s gesture didn’t escape William’s keen gaze. “No one will harm you, boy. Not even your father. You must speak honestly to every question I ask you. Is that understood?”

Markus nodded and a lock of dark hair fell over his brow.

“Do you have knowledge of your mother’s death?”

The color drained from Markus’s face and his mouth rounded as he tried to form the words. Instead, he nodded his head.

“My lord, this is ridiculous,” Edwin choked. “You can see my son is frightened near to death. He’s a half-wit and can barely speak.”

William clenched his jaw, his voice like rolling thunder. “Lord Carlinham, did I not make it clear that I’d have you gagged and clapped in irons if you made one more outburst?”

“Aye, sire. My apologies.” Edwin shrank back into his seat.

The king leaned forward, resting an elbow on the cloth-covered table. He smiled at Markus and spoke in a calm voice. “I know it might be difficult for you, son, but you must speak the truth. A man’s life depends on what you say. Do you understand the importance of the truth?”

Markus nodded and stood straighter. “Sometimes, to be a man, y…you have to conquer y…your greatest fears.”

Ariana tilted her head. He’d repeated exactly what she’d said to him earlier. Her words must have pierced the boy’s heart.

“That’s right,” the king agreed. “So, tell me what you know.”

“I was there, sire. At Alnwick. Mother was there, too. We h…heard them speaking.”

“Who?” the king urged.

“My father and L…Lord Huntingdon. They met with a big man with red hair and a vile temper.” As the boy spoke, the stutter seemed to disappear.

“Malcolm Caennmore.” William breathed the Scottish king’s name with disgust.

Markus nodded.

Ariana’s hands tightened. Edwin’s breathing increased and she glanced at him. His nostrils flared, like a charging bull.

“Did you hear what they were speaking about?” the king asked gently.

Markus hung his head, staring at his hands as he twined them together. “Lord Waltheof said you should be sent into exile after they took your stronghold at Winchester. He didn’t want you killed, but Father said…he said he’d see your head upon the executioner’s block and then put your head on a pike and let the crows pick out your eyeballs.”

Edwin snorted. “Absurd!”

A guard stepped to Edwin’s side, his hand on his sword. The gesture silenced Edwin.

“And what about your mother?” the king asked.

A lone tear rolled down Markus’s cheek. Ariana’s heart went out to him. Turning, she glanced at Wulfgar, who also watched the boy, his eyes filled with such hope that Ariana could hardly breathe.

“Mother told me we must leave with haste, to go to you at Winchester. S…she said she had to stop father, before our family was destroyed. She wanted to warn you.”

The boy’s voice grew stronger with each word.

“That night, I was in my bed when I heard mother scream. I went to her room and saw father with his hands around her neck. Her eyes bulged and her face turned blue. I hid and father carried her to the head of the stairs and threw her down.”

A gasp filled the hall. Markus sniffed and wiped his eyes.

Ariana watched William’s face grow hard. Would he believe the boy?

Everyone turned to look at Edwin, who sat still as stone, his face pale as buttermilk.

“My lord,” he said. “I would never murder my own wife. How could I have been part of the traitor’s conspiracy? I had no wealth and no army to come against you.”

“But you had ambition,” William replied. “Once I made you Earl of Glyndwr, you had Wulfgar’s vast army and wealth at your disposal. But his men deserted you and traveled to the slave auction to bring Wulfgar back. One of my spies has reported to me that you’ve met with Malcolm Caennmore often since Wulfgar’s conviction. Why do you think I sold Wulfgar into slavery instead of beheading him?”

The king leaned back in his chair, watching Edwin like a poisonous snake. He didn’t wait for Edwin to speak, but answered for him. “I’ve always suspected that Wulfgar was innocent of treason, but I wanted to find out the truth. I needed time. With Wulfgar sold as a slave instead of being executed, I could wait and discover if he was innocent or not.”

A hum of whispers filled the great hall. Several knights came to their feet, glaring at Edwin, their faces dark with outrage. Edwin’s eyes widened and he shrank beneath William’s penetrating stare.

“Then, am I to be convicted of these crimes?” Edwin wailed. “Will I not be allowed to defend myself?”

William’s lips thinned. “I remember another time when I listened to what you had to say and I passed judgment on an innocent man. Because of your lies, I took all Wulfgar had and gave it to you.”

Staring wide-eyed with fear, Edwin lifted his hands in supplication. “I am innocent, sire.”

“Your own son witnessed you murdering your wife before she could warn me of your evil plans. I have no doubt you tried to ruin Wulfgar and use his army against me.”

Ariana’s heart beat madly in her chest. Edwin was the traitor. She knew he had always sought power, but to conspire against his own king had been beyond her imagination.

Wulfgar took a step forward, the chains on his hands jingling, his eyes menacing. “It’s over, Carlinham. Your lies have seen your doom.”

Sweat poured off Edwin’s forehead. His gaze darted about like a trapped animal.

Markus watched this drama, his face almost as pale as his luminous hair. He stood absolutely still, but Ariana sensed a rising fury.

“Murderer,” he shouted at his father. “You murdered my mother. You’re not my father anymore.”

The boy didn’t stutter one bit.

King William’s voice thundered through the rafters as he made his final decree. “Edwin of Carlinham, you will be punished for your crimes. You will be taken to Winchester where you’ll be executed within a fortnight, alongside Waltheof of Huntingdon. Guards! Take him away.”

Armed men approached to take him, but Edwin spun about and jerked Ariana out of her seat. She gasped and raised her hands to protect herself.

“Don’t move or I’ll kill her,” Edwin cried.

Chapter Eighteen

Wulfgar jumped onto the high table, jerking at the manacles binding his hands. “Let Ariana go.”

“Stay back.” Edwin pressed a knife against Ariana’s throat.

Wulfgar froze. Ariana gasped as the prick of steel bit into her skin. Edwin pressed his face against hers as he jerked her toward the wall.

“I’ll slit her throat,” he warned.

His chest pressed against her back. She clutched the arm he wrapped across her and tried to push the knife away. He held tight, the knife poised to take her life.

Wulfgar jumped down from the table, his hands raised, a snarl on his lips. When he spoke, his voice sounded dangerously quiet. “Harm a hair on her head and I’ll see the skin flayed from your body.”

Edwin’s tone was just as chilling. “You’ll have to catch me, first. I mean it, de Conteville. I will kill her. I have nothing left to lose, now.”

Guards surrounded the king, protecting him. He sat stiffly in his chair, his face puffed with fury. “You dare this outrage, Carlinham? There’ll be no place for you to hide. You’ll be hunted down like a mongrel dog.”

“Do you think I care about your threats?” Edwin sneered.

“Free him.” The king jerked his head toward Wulfgar. A guard hurried to remove the manacles from Wulfgar’s wrists.

Edwin pulled Ariana away from the table. A collective gasp of outrage filled the room. Drawing their swords, several knights crowded close to Edwin.

“Stay back. He has the princess,” Wulfgar shouted.

The knights moved back, but still surrounded Edwin.

Wulfgar dropped the manacles and waved the guards away as he accepted a sword from Baldwin. He’d handle this on his own.

Wielding the sword, Wulfgar took a step toward Edwin. Fury pounded against his temples. For some time, he had suspected Edwin of being the traitor, but he had no proof.

Until now.

“You’ll pay for all you’ve done,” he told Edwin. “Put down the knife. Let Ariana go and I’ll make your death painless.”

Edwin drew the blade tighter against Ariana’s throat. Her jaw tightened as a drop of blood wet the blade. Wulfgar grit his teeth.

“Don’t come any closer,” Edwin barked. “I’ll leave England and take Ariana with me. If you want to keep her alive, you’ll pay a ransom to me. When I’m through, there’ll be nothing left of your fortune.”

Wulfgar snarled. He cared nothing about wealth, but he’d never let Edwin take Ariana out of Cynan. The thought of his beloved in the hands of such a man made Wulfgar sick.

Edwin backed around the table, pulling Ariana with him. Wulfgar met Ariana’s gaze. Her eyes widened with fear, her lips parted as she breathed. Would he be able to save her this time?

Edwin panted heavily and Wulfgar sensed the rising panic in him.

The fear.

Ariana stumbled as Edwin pulled her with him, passing the long tables filled with angry knights. He jerked her upright, giving her no opportunity to break free.

“Think what I’ll do to her,” Edwin said. Without taking his gaze off Wulfgar, Edwin grinned and licked Ariana from her chin to her cheek.

With a grimace of disgust, she shuddered and turned her face away, squirming against his hold.

Wulfgar’s grip tightened on his sword. Fury boiled in his gut. Edwin was a dead man. He just didn’t know it, yet.

As Edwin dragged Ariana the length of the hall, Wulfgar followed. Edwin turned the corner, stepping out into the sunlight. Wulfgar was right behind them as Edwin whirled with Ariana to face more guards standing in the bailey. The men gaped at Edwin in confusion. They didn’t know he was the real traitor.

“Stay back,” Wulfgar told them. “He’ll harm the princess.”

Doubt filled their eyes as Edwin pulled Ariana down the steps to the bailey. Guards came running from the gatehouse but Wulfgar held out a hand of caution.

The armsmen stared between Edwin and Wulfgar, looking baffled until the king appeared. William’s expression darkened as he shouted to the guards. “Carlinham is the real traitor. Sound the alarm. He’ll not leave the castle.”

“Don’t come any closer,” Edwin warned as guards wielded their swords around him. “I’ll slice her like a plum.”

The blast of a horn filled the air. Knights emerged from the guardhouse, armed with knives and swords. The air filled with the grating of the portcullis being lowered.

Edwin was trapped.

“You’re not leaving Cynan alive,” Wulfgar said.

Edwin swore viciously and swerved toward the stable, moving faster, jerking Ariana when she couldn’t keep up.

“Come on, witch,” he swore. “I’ll cut you if you give me cause.”

Guards appeared in front of him and Edwin swerved again, his head bobbing frantically as he found himself surrounded on all sides. Tall knights clutched swords, axes and spears, mingled with servants holding brooms and pitchforks. They surrounded Edwin but they didn’t advance. They waited for orders from the king or Wulfgar. Whispers sounded amongst them as word passed through the throng of what had occurred.

“Are you daft?” Baldwin shouted at Edwin. “Do you really think you can get away?”

Edwin gave a desperate whine. He must have realized his fate was sealed, but a trapped animal could be the deadliest. Wulfgar moved with caution. Above all else, he wanted Ariana safe.

“There’s nowhere you can go,” Wulfgar’s voice sounded calm. “Keep some bit of pride and put the knife down.”

Edwin’s beady eyes darted this way and that as he looked for a way out. The only path not blocked by guards was just to his right, where the stone steps led upward to the ramparts high above.

“You’ll never have her,” Edwin screamed. “If I must die, then so will she. I’ve seen the way you look at her, de Conteville. How will you feel when I kill the woman you love?”

As his hold tightened, Ariana gasped with pain. Jerking her around, Edwin darted up the steps, pushing her ahead of him. There was no railing. Wulfgar tried to follow, but a guard came out of the kennels, saw Wulfgar, and drew his sword, engaging Wulfgar in battle.

* * *

Halfway up the stairs, Ariana tripped and almost fell over the side. A scream tore from her throat. The fall could kill her.

Clutching frantically for the steps, she hung on. Reaching down, Edwin jerked her onto her feet, then shoved her roughly upward.

They reached the top walkway and Ariana turned to face Edwin. Holding out her hands, she stepped back to evade his grasp.

“Don’t do this, Edwin,” she pleaded. “It’s evil. If you would die, then do so as a man.”

He snarled at her. “If I had succeeded in seeing Wulfgar dead by the executioner’s hand, you would have been mine.”

Ariana shuddered at the thought. Shouting came from below in the bailey and she glanced down. Knights ran to stop the guard from fighting with Wulfgar. Men scrambled around to the other side of the castle where steps led up to the gatehouse. On the other side of the battlements, men raced up the stairs leading to the parapet, coming at Edwin from the opposite side.

Clutching his sword, Wulfgar reached the steps and hurried up them. His presence gave Ariana courage, but she wasn’t out of danger, yet.

Heaven help her. She prayed silently, asking for God’s mercy one more time.

She backed up against the merlons, the high section of the battlements cold and hard at her back. Ariana looked down at the moat. So far down.

Her head spun.

Thinking to put distance between her and Edwin, she edged further down the thin path until her side came up against the wall. The end of the walkway.

Cornered!

Flattening her palms against the wall at her back, she felt the rough stone against her fingers. On the outside of the castle wall, men-at-arms raced to the edge of the moat, shouting up at them. They seemed so tiny, like ants.

Ariana faced Edwin. Rivulets of sweat ran down his high forehead and his mouth curved in a lethal smile.

“Jump,” Edwin ordered.

“What?”

His shrill laughter sounded maniacal. “Jump, or I’ll throw you over. If I can’t have you, Wulfgar won’t either.”

“You have lost your mind.”

His eyes glittered like a serpents. He must be insane with jealousy, greed and fear.

With a flourish, Edwin tossed his knife over the ledge and quickly pulled his sword, brandishing it before her eyes. Archers stood on the opposite wall, their arrows aimed at Edwin. Why didn’t they fire? They must fear they might miss Edwin and strike her.

He spoke again, louder, more insistent, as he urged her over to the ledge. “Jump, or I’ll skewer you.”

Oh, Wulfgar, please hurry.

“I won’t do it.” She shook her head, shrinking against the wall. “You’ll have to kill me, Edwin. I won’t make it easy for you. And if I die, Wulfgar will have you tortured to death. There will be no where you can hide.”

A glimmer of doubt filled his eyes as he glanced back at Wulfgar, who’d reached the pathway and ran toward them.

Maybe she could distract Edwin so Wulfgar would attack. She lowered her voice. “Wulfgar will place you on the rack. He’ll torture you with hot irons.”

Edwin’s blade lowered just a bit, his brows curved in a hesitant frown.

“What she says is true,” Wulfgar confirmed as he skidded to a halt just a few feet away.

Edwin touched the sword to Ariana’s stomach. "Stay back or I’ll gut her like a rabbit.”

Wulfgar froze.

“You’ll die slowly, oh, so slowly.” Ariana tried again, twisting her voice into a soothsayer’s chant. “Begging for the knife to end your own life. You’ll scream in pain until your voice gives out and you can only whimper. Oh, Edwin.” She shook her head in sorrow for him. “Save yourself from excruciating pain. Let me go.”

“Nay,” Edwin bellowed. Spittle ran from his mouth, his eyes crazed.

He raised the sword and Ariana winced, prepared to feel the sharp blade pierce her flesh. A scream froze in her throat. Her muscles tightened as he drew back to spear her.

Her death had come.

A subtle sound reached her ears, like the wind rushing past, yet something more. What was it?

Edwin jerked. Blood burst from his left shoulder and he staggered sideways. His sword grated against the rock wall. His expression changed from rage to amazement.

Wulfgar growled low in his throat and attacked. Ariana watched with horror as Edwin whirled to face Wulfgar.

Now was her chance.

She pushed Edwin. He stumbled, but lifted his sword to block Wulfgar’s thrust. An arrow protruded from Edwin’s back.

Someone had shot him!

Drawing back her fist, Ariana hit his shoulder where the arrow was imbedded and Edwin screamed. He stabbed at her, staggering on his feet. She jumped to the side, barely missing the blade. Wulfgar advanced and the clash of steel rang in her ears. He fought like a berserker, wearing the wounded man down.

Edwin’s blows became weaker while Wulfgar’s became more powerful, forcing Edwin back, carrying the fight toward Ariana. She was pinned against the wall with nowhere to go and she shrank against the wall for protection.

Dodging a lethal thrust, Edwin bumped her hard, knocking her over the side. She screamed, grabbing for something, anything to keep from falling. Her hands clasped the decorative curve of stone and she dangled there in mid-air. She struggled to pull herself up, her long skirts hampering her legs. Panic climbed up her throat and she dug at the stones with her toes to gain a foothold.

Wulfgar thrust hard and deep. Edwin’s eyes widened and he dropped his sword, reaching for his belly. Blood poured over his hands. He stumbled back over the edge, his body brushing past Ariana.

Falling. Falling.

She heard a splash below as he landed in the dark waters of the moat.

“Wulfgar!”

Her fingers were slipping. Terror prickled her skin. She screamed again.

She fell. But Wulfgar grasped her arm and she hung there, suspended.

“Don’t you dare let go,” he commanded.

She grabbed for him, clutching his hands. She kicked her feet against the wall and one toe caught the edge of a stone. Pushing upward, she reached for Wulfgar’s arms.

His voice surrounded her, soft and reassuring. “Don’t fear, my love. I have you and I’ll never let you go.”

My love!

She latched onto his forearms with ferocity and he pulled her up. Once her feet were safely on the stone walkway, she threw her arms around his neck. He clutched her to his chest, holding her there for what seemed an eternity. He kissed her forehead, his hands caressing her back as he soothed the tears trembling down her cheeks. She sobbed with shock and relief, not even trying to stop the tide.

“Shh, sweeting,” he soothed. “You’re safe, now. Carlinham will never harm us again.”

Drawing back, Ariana touched his face gently. “You’ve never failed me. Always you’ve been there to save me.”

“Yes, my love, just as you’ve saved me.”

Guards stood below, staring up at Ariana, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open.

“Is she all right?” the king shouted from the bailey.

“Aye,” Wulfgar called back.

“Who shot the arrow?” Ariana turned to look around.

Numerous guards and knights had assembled in the bailey and outside the castle walls. Several men fished Edwin’s body out of the moat. No one had a bow. As her gaze traveled further out, she stiffened.

“Markus,” she whispered.

Standing at the foot of the stairs leading into the great hall was Markus, clutching a bow to his chest, his face ashen.

He had shot his father.

Ariana’s eyes filled with tears. The boy had shown courage to save her life. Looking at him, she tried to communicate her gratitude with her expression. He must be overcome by grief.

Beside her, Wulfgar bowed deeply to the boy.

Nodding his head once, Markus turned to go back inside the great hall, his shoulders slumped.

“If Edwin had one whit of his son’s valor, he could have been a great lord,” Wulfgar observed.

“What will become of Markus? All of his father’s lands will be forfeit to the crown.”

Wulfgar kissed her lips, his eyes glowing with warmth. “I think the king will make an exception in this case. Markus has been loyal in spite of his father. If not, he may foster here with us. I always have need of good men.”

“We always have need of good men. You know I’ll never leave you, now,” she said, then laughed at his astonished look.

He took her hand. “That’s good. If you left, I would follow. Come, let’s go down to the king. I can see he’s worried for you.”

Nodding, Ariana let Wulfgar lead her down the narrow steps to the bailey.

“I’m glad to see Carlinham didn’t harm you.” When they stood before him, the king smiled warmly.

Ariana trembled as she squeezed Wulfgar’s hand. His strong fingers curled around hers and he smiled. In joyous triumph, he let out a whoop of victory. In the next moment, Ariana found herself pulled into Wulfgar’s embrace and he kissed her openly, in front of King William and the host of knights.

Ariana was aware of Raulf, Gaston and Arnulf joining them. The king must have had them freed from the dungeon. They laughed and clapped Wulfgar on the back.

“We leave you for a short time and look at the trouble you get yourself into,” Raulf laughed. “Couldn’t you have waited until we were here to join in the fun?”

A chuckle rumbled in the king’s chest and he nodded with approval. “You have much to celebrate, Wulfgar. Indeed, we all do. For your loyal service to me, I vow never to doubt your word again. All you have lost will be returned. You’re once again Lord of Glyndwr. It’ll bring me great peace to inform your mother I’ve found you innocent of any wrongdoing. No doubt she’ll visit you forthwith.”

A grin spread across Wulfgar’s face. A cheer rose up as the people threw hats, baskets, and straw into the air. Ariana wept with joy.

“My mother is at Winchester? She is well?” Wulfgar asked, his voice roughened by emotion.

“Aye. Not a day has passed that she hasn’t begged me to pardon you and bring you home. As you know, she’s a dear friend to my wife. Even my Matilda has begun to complain that I should never have sent you away. But I knew of no other way to ferret out the real traitor.”

Wulfgar laughed deeply, a rich, vibrant sound that filled Ariana’s heart with incredible happiness.

The king’s brow furrowed. “I fear there’s still one small problem remaining to be solved.”

Wulfgar’s face crinkled in a quizzical expression. “And what is that, sire?”

William arched a brow as he looked at Ariana. “To whom should I wed the princess? She is my hostage. I weary of fighting the Welsh and I can’t let her go free.”

Nodding his head, Wulfgar took her hand and lifted it to his lips where he kissed her fingers. “Aye, sire, I think I know just the lord for her to wed.”

“And will this arrangement suit the princess?” William asked.

Ariana stared into Wulfgar’s eyes, thrilled by this magical moment. “It’s my fondest desire, sire.”

The king laughed. "Then I commend her to you, Wulfgar, with my blessing. You will wed her as soon as possible.”

“Aye, sire.”

Stepping back, William turned to his man Baldwin. “I want to see Edwin’s body myself. To know he is really dead.”

Wulfgar turned to follow. “I will go with you, sire.” He paused, brushing his fingers against Ariana’s cheek. “I will join you in the great hall anon. Wait for me there, cherie.”

“Forever, my lord.”

Chapter Nineteen

By mid-day, the king had departed with his army and Raulf came to inform Ariana and Wulfgar that her brother awaited her outside the castle walls. As they rode out to meet him, she sat in front of Wulfgar on his destrier. They left the gatehouse and traveled across the fields toward the forest where a horde of armed Welshmen awaited them. Dafydd sat his pony at the front of the throng, beside Evan and Cwrig.

In unison, Ariana and Dafydd slid off their horses and raced into each other’s arms. She hugged him tightly, breathing deeply of his warm skin.

“Oh, Dafydd. Dafydd. I love you so. How happy I am that you’re finally safe.”

“I feared I’d never see you again,” he confided.

“I feared the same.”

Drawing back, he smiled, his young face crinkled with joy. “Lord Wulfgar sent Sir Raulf to me an hour ago. Your betrothed has promised me the labor of his men to help rebuild Powys.”

“I know. I would have brought you word myself, but we didn’t know where you might be, so Wulfgar sent Sir Raulf to find you.” She laughed. “King William has put me under arrest until I’m wed to Wulfgar. I am his willing hostage.”

Dafydd’s face beamed. “Are you happy, sister?”

She nodded. “Very much. But I’d rest easier knowing you won’t take chances with your life any more. You’ll be king over our people and you must be more careful.”

Jutting his chin, he gazed up at her with more maturity than she’d seen in him before. “A king should never ask things from his men that he’s not prepared to do also.”

How true. No doubt Dafydd would make a good, wise ruler, just like his father.

“After we’ve rebuilt Powys, it’ll be even greater than when father ruled there,” he said. “Lord Wulfgar has assured me it’ll become a haven to all who wish to trade at the market. He and I will deal well together. Evan will serve as Regent until I’m old enough to be crowned king.”

Wulfgar joined her and tears of bliss rolled down Ariana’s cheeks. She could do little more than nod her head as she looked up into his eyes. He wrapped an arm around her back, squeezing her tight.

Dafydd eyed Wulfgar and Ariana. “Jenkin and father would be happy with this outcome.”

“I have no doubt,” Ariana agreed. “I only wish they were both alive to see the peace that’s finally come to our people.”

Dafydd’s eyes filled with sadness and his brow crinkled as he pursed his lips. “They gave their lives for me. I’ll never forget any of them.”

She cupped his young face with her hand and her voice vibrated with emotion. “Nor will I.”

Then Dafydd was gone, with Evan’s promise to return the boy to Ariana in four days, when she and Wulfgar were wed.

That evening, Wulfgar ordered a feast in the great hall, which lasted deep into the night. Knights and their ladies, guards, and lowly peasants crowded into the castle. Ariana ate, danced, and sang with joy until her voice was raw and her face felt flushed with heat.

Near midnight, she stood in the threshold of her chamber upstairs and a wave of happiness swept her as she stared at the cheery fire in the brazier. Soon, she would be Wulfgar’s wife. There would be more laughter within the walls of Cynan, love, happiness and children.

Clasping her hands to her face, she whirled about the room. The shock was wearing off and she began to realize what all this meant to her.

She and Wulfgar were free. Everything she’d wished for would now come to pass. The Welsh would prosper and there would be peace along the border. Edwin had been punished for his crimes and Wulfgar had been vindicated.

A sound came from behind and Ariana turned to see Wulfgar leaning against the doorjamb. He smiled and came toward her, his shoulders filling her view, his dark eyes compelling. Running to him, she threw her arms around his neck, laughing and spreading kisses upon his face and neck.

A chuckle rumbled in Wulfgar’s chest as he lifted her and danced about the room.

“God has been so kind to us,” she said.

“Aye, cherie, He has. We have so much to be grateful for. I haven’t heard your laughter for a long time and I cherish the sound. After we’re wed, I’ll demand you laugh each day, so be warned.”

“And I’ll gleefully comply, my lord.” She nuzzled his chin with her nose.

He kissed her again, clasping her close to his heart.

“I love you, Wulfgar,” she whispered against his lips.

“And I love you, sweet princess. My heart is tied to yours. Even without chains, I’ll forever be your willing slave.”

His eyes shone with the promise of joy to come. Ariana sighed with happiness. No longer would she live in fear. The silken cord of love had wrapped around both of their hearts, binding them more surely than iron chains. And she would have it no other way.

THE END

*****

Dear Reader:

I love medieval romance. I can never get enough of it. The rich history, the gallantry and daring deeds. The hardship and intrigue. Perhaps the clothing and technology has changed from our day and age, but not the situations. World leaders still conspire for power and exercise unjust dominion over their people. Since I have a degree in history, I suppose it’s only natural that I would write some historicals along with my contemporary books. I hope you’ll enjoy both genres of my books.

Enjoy!

Leigh Bale

*****

Discover other titles by Leigh Bale at Smashwords.com

Visit Leigh Bale’s website at http://www.LeighBale.com

*****

Excerpt from The Heart’s Warrior

Chapter One

Northern England, AD 954

Death surrounded her, a gruesome specter threatening to consume them all. The stench of lifeless bodies filled the early morning air. Screams of men vibrated throughout the forest along with the ringing clash of swords. A chilling breeze swept the copse and the tall pines surrounding the glade shivered.

Cold fear washed over Kerstin of Moere. She stood at the edge of the woods and stared at the carnage. Sweat trickled down her neck and forehead. Her knees wobbled and her arms shook with fatigue.

The destroyer had come, not a dark heathen with fangs and cloven hooves, but a golden warrior, fighting in the thick of battle. He stood shoulders above the rest, broader with hardened muscles. He wielded his sword with the skill and strength of a berserker.

He yelled orders to his men and they obeyed. His mighty sword gleamed crimson as he thrust and lunged. Several of Kerstin’s men surrounded him, seeking to cut him down. He hacked his way through one and sliced through another. Blood sprayed across his chain-mailed chest, spattering against a tree trunk to his right. As his muscled arms heaved, his shrill war cry vibrated in the air.

The cry of death.

Kerstin’s throat tightened at the grisly scene. She longed to look away, but could not. He must be stopped else all would be lost.

With trembling hands, she reached over her shoulder and plucked a long, straight arrow from the quiver strapped to her back. Her metal helmet made it difficult to see, but it shielded her identity and protected her head. Raising her bow, she aimed it at the warrior. His wide back made an easy target. Drawing back her arm, she let the arrow fly.

The thin head of the shaft pierced through a link of his mail and buried deep in his left shoulder. He didn’t scream at the impact, but grunted.

Pity that her aim had been poor, but her arms were weary from firing arrows at the enemy.

The man whirled, a snarl on his lips. His gaze stabbed her, marking her for death. With little concern, he snapped the shaft off, leaving the head embedded in his shoulder. Did he feel no pain?

He continued to slash his way toward her, his gaze leaving her long enough for him to slaughter any foe that stepped into his path. Kerstin’s men had little chance against his greater strength and a blaze of panic shot up from her toes. He would cut her down if he reached her.

Knut, one of Kerstin's best, turned in time to see the threat. Having been her protector since her mother’s death a year earlier, Knut placed his own large frame in front of her and yelled over his shoulder. “Flee! We have lost the advantage and it’s only a matter of time before we are beaten.”

Kerstin couldn’t move. Her feet were leaden with despair. She couldn’t abandon her men. Instead, she stared at the demon warrior as his burly shoulders flexed beneath his chain mail.

He was coming for her.

Terror clogged her throat. This man showed no mercy.

“Warn our people,” Knut said. "Your father will carve the blood eagle in my back if I let anything happen to you."

He pushed her around to face the dense foliage of the forest. With a mighty shove, he thrust her toward the sheltering trees.

“Go,” he roared.

She ran. With her bow clutched in her fist, she sprang through the forest, ignoring tree limbs and branches that snatched at her as she passed. Her long shirt of chain mail slapped against her knees, hampering her flight. Tripping, she crashed hard upon the ground, her heart pumping.

Lying in the dirt, she tried to catch her breath. Her lungs burned and her calf muscles cramped, but she had no time to tarry. She must warn the women, children and the old ones. Kerstin came to her knees, wiped her bleeding hands against her woolen hose, then picked up her bow where she had dropped it. As she placed one foot beneath her to stand, she heard a crashing behind her. Whirling, she saw the demon warrior plunging through the forest, moving at an alarming rate.

She gasped. Knut must be dead. Slain by this monster.

As she sprang to her feet, her heart lurched with grief. She raced through the woods, veering uphill, away from her home. Never would she lead this heathen to Moere, but she must find a way to outwit him before he caught her.

Dodging hanging branches, she swooped over fallen logs. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him gaining fast. Relentless in his pursuit, he didn’t bother to push tree limbs aside as he charged after her. His heavy chain mail and helmet didn’t hinder him at all. Clutching his bloody sword in his hand, he yelled with fury, like an evil fiend from the netherworld.

Twice, she evaded his grasp. For all his enormous size, he moved fast and light on his feet, his heavy breathing now at her back. Something brushed against her neck. His sword!

With a fresh spurt of speed, she dipped around a tall pine. He hurtled after her. She couldn’t lose him.

He knocked her to the ground. He was on her. Screaming with terror, she lay upon her stomach, her face pressed into the dirt. Bracing her hands beneath her, she tried to rise, but he flattened her again. Her skin crawled, awaiting the sharp bite of his sword.

Oh, please, God. Don’t let him kill me.

She rolled to press a frontal attack, kicking and biting. He straddled her with his great thighs, his chain mail leggings digging into her hips. He tried to grasp her flailing hands. Had he dropped his sword? Why didn’t he kill her? He had plenty of opportunity.

Their scuffling knocked his helmet from his head. His fierce gaze clashed with hers, blue as the ocean on a clear day.

If he subdued her, he would kill her. She clawed at his face. He knocked her hands away with a stinging blow and she sank her teeth into his hand.

“Cease,” he roared.

He struck a blow to her helm, knocking it from her head. As her long hair fell about them, the man grunted with surprise and his grip loosened.

“A woman?”

Kerstin took the advantage and clouted his head, knocking him backward. Now was her chance. She scrambled from beneath him, but he recovered and grabbed hold of her ankle, jerking her back.

Clawing the ground, her fingernails filled with earth. She scooped up dirt and threw it into his eyes. The man roared with fury and she tensed, ready to duck a blow from one of his hammerlike fists. Instead, he lay against her, holding her wrists to the ground. She lunged upward, meeting the solid wall of his chest. She couldn’t move, nor barely breathe. Her skin prickled. Terror screamed inside her mind.

“Hold still, woman.” His deep voice shook her.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes and she swallowed, refusing to let them fall. Her brothers had taught her to be strong and she wouldn’t disappoint them now.

His breath whispered across her lips, his chilling eyes crinkled with curiosity. Drawing back, he studied her, his voice like thunder. “Why would a woman battle amongst the men?”

She jutted her chin. “I came to fight for my people. If you plan to kill me, have mercy and get it over with.”

An evil chuckle shook his chest. “Nay, I have other uses for such as you.”

Even subdued, his suggestion outraged her.

“How dare you? You’ll have naught of me,” she vowed and shook her head.

He peered at her chain mail and hose, as if amused by her man’s garb. “Why did your men attack? We were on a peaceful mission.”

“Hah,” She snorted. “When has a Sigurdsson ever sought peace? You’re dressed for war.”

“We are dressed for protection.”

“Oh? And I suppose you also sought peace a sennight ago when your men raided our flocks and killed my youngest brother. Your presence in our hills can only be taken as a sign of hostility. You can’t blame us for attacking.”

He frowned. “I find it difficult to believe your men take orders from a mere girl. Yet, they followed your command.”

Pride enveloped her. “They are loyal.”

“Loyal to their death.”

“You could have sailed up the river, where we would’ve seen you. Instead, you hid your ships and landed behind my father’s steading. If you came in peace, you should’ve sent us word you were here.”

“Your father?” He tilted his head to one side, his brows quirked. His mouth tightened, his entire body tensing against hers.

“The Witch of Moere,” he whispered in a scathing tone.

Kerstin cringed. With her foolish babbling, she had given away her identity.

“You are Kerstin of Moere, are you not?”

She froze. Dare she deny it?

His eyes narrowed. “With your cheeks smudged with dirt, you look like a puling boy.”

It had been her intent to pass as a lad to hide her identity, but pride got the better of her. “I am no puling boy.”

His deep laughter filled the air, cold and hollow. “Nay, you are all woman. Your eyes aren’t blue, like most Vikings, but green as the damp moss that covers the trunks of pine. I’ve heard you’re Irish.”

She locked her jaw. “My mother was from Eyre.”

His brows lowered in an ominous scowl. “Is she the one who taught you the black arts of witchcraft?”

Breathless with anger, she shook her head. “Of course not. She taught me the ways of healing.”

“Your people say you practice magic and you’re a witch, but I don’t believe such foolishness. I think you’re a silly girl who likes to fight with men.”

“Let me up.” She clenched her teeth. “I’ll show you what a silly girl can do with her bow and arrows.”

He flexed his injured shoulder, flinching at the pain it caused. “You’ve already shown me your skill. I should kill you and be done with it.”

Her throat closed.

Releasing one of her hands, his fingers skimmed along the column of her throat. She tried to hit him but he leaned hard against her, stifling her fight. Swallowing heavily, her gaze never wavered as she glared at him. She was the daughter of a great earl and would not beg for mercy.

A deep sigh whispered past his lips and he spoke as if to himself. “We hid our ships so an Eiriksson spy might not discover them. Though your people have long feuded with mine, we’ve come to form an alliance and put aside our differences. The king wants us to unite with him against the Eiriksson’s.”

She didn’t believe him. Perhaps he was an Eiriksson, one of those heathens who murdered her mother last summer.

His frosty glare clashed with hers. Even faced with his rage, she could not retreat. Her people must be kept safe. Already he had the advantage. What more must she relent?

“You’re lying.”

“You question my word?” he asked.

“I have no reason to believe you.”

“Be very careful, witch. Your treachery is well known. I won’t play games with you.”

His warning made her tremble. “I never play games of war, but I would like to know who you are before I end your life.”

As he lowered his sculpted mouth to gently graze hers, she tried to bite him. Drawing back, he laughed, a rumble she felt deep in her bones.

“I think you’re in no position to make threats,” he said.

Kerstin placed the sharp point of her dagger against his throat and he froze. When he had released her hand, she had taken advantage of the opportunity. Her father and brothers taught her well.

“I underestimated you,” he confessed with a hint of respect.

“It would be wise for you to let me go.”

Dipping his head as if cowed, he raised his chest to release her. She gave a satisfied smile and started to sit up. In the next moment, he knocked the blade from her hand and pinned her once again to the ground.

His hearty laughter brought a rush of anger to her cheeks. Her hand throbbed from the blow and her face burned with annoyance. As he lowered his face to hers, his dazzling blue eyes sparkled with wrath.

She jerked her head away. “My father will kill you for this.”

His probing gaze roamed over her, touching her face, hair, neck and chest. “I don’t think so. Our king has sent me here on a mission of peace, not war.”

She frowned at this news. “Again, you’re lying.”

He drew back, but not enough to allow her an escape. Crinkling his nose, he sniffed, then nuzzled her temple. “Your hair smells of lavender.”

Shocked, Kerstin didn’t think to struggle until he lifted his head again. Did he seek to distract her with nonsense?

“Who are you?” she asked.

He showed a chilling smile. “Your new husband. By the king’s word, ere this day is through, you will belong to me.”

Outrage flooded her mind. It couldn’t be true. Never would she be trapped into wedding this horrible man. “I’m already betrothed to Elezer of Lade.”

“No longer. The betrothal is broken and you are mine.”

Her mouth dropped open and she stuttered over a denial. “But ... but that can’t be. Will you get off me?”

He stilled, considering her. “If you run, I’ll catch you. Will you give your word not to try to escape?”

“Only while the sun is high.” Thankfully the sun would soon slide behind the western hills.

He squashed her once more and she groaned at his solid weight, like a wagonload of rocks. “I cannot accept that.”

She grit her teeth. “I won’t promise more.”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, he lifted himself off her and watched as she took a deep breath. Her bow lay close by in the pine needles littering the ground and he positioned himself so she couldn’t reach it without going through him.

He was a shrewd one.

She faced him bravely, ignoring the dirt and leaves clinging to her hair. “Why did you spare my life?”

The wind blew her curls about her shoulders. She pushed them back and looked at him boldly. He stood close by, easily within reach.

“I thought you were a boy. I don’t murder women and helpless children.”

Should she be pleased or insulted? “I’m not helpless and I’m certainly no child.”

His gaze lowered over her body and she felt the heat of a blush rise to her cheeks. “Aye, you are a woman, though it’s hard to tell in your present attire.”

The man’s long hair stirred in the breeze, the color of ripe wheat at summer’s end. He wore no beard like the other warriors, his lean cheeks high and chiseled. Golden and bronzed, his brutally handsome face appeared angular and harsh.

Kerstin watched as he bent and picked up his sword from where he had tossed it upon the ground. The slim weapon bore the signature of Ulfberht, the blacksmith from Germany, one of the finest blades Kerstin ever saw. Many a man would covet that sword, and no doubt much rich coin purchased it.

He reached for his helmet and held it beneath one arm, his gaze never leaving her. When he sheathed his sword, she breathed with relief.

The scent of rain teased her nostrils. A storm was coming and she must get home.

His sardonic smile showed even, white teeth. Though his alert gaze remained on her, he gave her a deep courtly bow. “At last we meet, Kerstin of Moere.”

His words brought a thud of dread to her chest. She looked at him with curiosity, feeling as though she should know him. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Her heart pounded. Had the king truly sent him to marry her? How absurd.

The crooked length of his nose showed it had obviously broken before. His blunt jaw gave him an arrogant look. A thin, white scar ran along his left cheek. Did he have other scars won in battle? Aye, he was indeed a man of war.

Above them, clouds gathered in the heavens. He glanced up, his face grim. “Odin must be angry.”

She shook her head. “I am a Christian, like my mother. I don’t believe in the pagan gods of my father.”

He snorted.

“You haven’t told me who you are. I’d like a name to place you with.” She spoke in a tight voice, eager to run home and tell her father what had occurred.

“In time. For now, I wish to know why Alrik sent his only daughter to meet me in battle. Are all your brothers dead?”

Her youngest brother died less than a sennight ago, killed by one of this man’s warriors. The memory was still raw and a tremor of pain washed over her. “My father and two of my brothers yet live.”

“Why aren’t they here? Do they hide behind your skirts?” His brows quirked as he looked at her calves. “Such nice legs. Do you prefer woolen hose to a skirt?”

His words bit into her mind. She had always preferred her soft tunics and pinafores to the coarse garb men wore, but battle was no place for long, tangling skirts. "My father lies in his bed, wounded by a sword from the last battle he fought against your people."

"Will he die?"

"Nay, I won’t allow it."

"You do practice witchcraft, just as your people say," he whispered in a harsh voice. "Do you call upon the powers of Hel to aid you?"

Kerstin drew in a sharp breath, hating his insinuation. At one time, her people had called her a good witch out of fondness. Later on, it had become a vile label that brought suspicion and hatred from those who didn’t know her or understand her skill. “I am no witch. I simply tended his wounds and gave him something to ease the pain. I’m more interested in healing than causing mayhem.”

The man stepped closer, taunting her with a wave of his hand. “Your actions today indicate a desire for blood. Now that I have the Witch of Moere, my brother’s life can be avenged.”

Kerstin gasped. Could it be? Of course.

She knew him now. He was a Sigurdsson. All his people hated her because they thought she murdered his brother, Bjorn, last summer when he had come to wed her.

“Jonas? Jonas Sigurdsson?”

Even as she said his name, she recognized him from the few times she had seen him at the clan gatherings when she was no more than a child. The muscled body, the stubborn tilt of his head, the harsh jawline.

Eyes bluer than the sea.

A brutal warrior replaced his boyish charm. People didn’t call him the Strong Arm without good reason. Never beaten in battle, he was the youngest son of Sigurd, the Earl of Hawkscliffe.

The Undefeated.

Closing her mouth, she blinked her eyes. What a shame they must be enemies. She found him easy to look upon and respected his fighting skills. “I heard you were traveling the world, selling your sword arm as a mercenary. You’ve been gone several years. When did you return?”

“Recently.”

She lifted her brows. “Why did you come back? I would think our farms quite boring after the adventures you’ve had.”

Jonas’s blue eyes flashed. “I returned at my father’s bidding when he sent word you had murdered my elder brother.”

“I murdered no one.”

“You deny it?”

“Of course. I would have honored the betrothal my father made with your brother.”

“If you didn’t kill Bjorn, then who did?”

“I don’t know.” She refused to cringe or feel shame over a crime she did not commit, yet she couldn’t push aside the doubts shadowing her mind. Because of Bjorn’s death, people branded her a witch. In spite of the good she tried to do with her healing skills, the stigma remained.

“Now, who is the liar?”

“Nay! I tried to save his life. I wanted him to live.”

“Who would know better how to administer poison than a witch? Your own people accused you of killing Bjorn.” The low rumble of his voice filled the forest glade, seeming to join with the encroaching storm.

Shifting her weight, Kerstin crunched dried leaves beneath her feet. Sweat dampened her woolen shirt. She tried to ignore the cloying wetness, but wished she could remove the heavy chain mail and yank off the shirt.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she moved back, chilled by her damp clothes and the increased cold. He watched her in silence and though she couldn’t deny what he said, for hours she had tried to purge Bjorn when he became ill, to remove the poison from his body. Her efforts had been in vain. When he had drifted into a deep sleep and died, she had sobbed bitterly, knowing what his death meant to her people. Already there existed harsh feelings over land disputes. Bjorn’s death meant all-out war and they all paid dearly for it.

A drop of rain struck her hand and Kerstin shivered. The bleak clouds above them compacted, the treetops swaying like hulking beasts.

“I know you’re ruthless and cruel, Jonas Sigurdsson, but I’ve heard at one time, you were a kind man, a farmer and trader. That you had mercy and delighted in peace.”

His face whitened. As he took a step toward her, his fine mouth curved in a sneer of malice. “Mercy has no place during battle. I know your black deeds and won’t listen to your denials. I wish I could kill you and end this feud between our people, but the king has forbidden it.”

Kerstin held her ground, prepared to meet her death. Her blood ran cold. A morbid shiver ran up her spine and she drew in a hissing breath.

The wind sprayed dirt in her face and she felt the grit between her teeth. “If you kill me, there will never be peace between our people.”

Flickering doubt filled his eyes, so quick and subtle she almost didn’t notice. He did seem to care.

“Are you frightened of me?” she taunted. “I would think a strong warrior such as you wouldn’t fear a witch.”

“I fear no man, or woman. And I don’t believe in magic, though I believe in evil.”

She believed the same.

“Have you become a traitor to our king?” She gave him an accusing glare.

He cocked his head to one side and his brows lowered in a thoughtful frown. “Why do you think I’ve betrayed our king?”

“I saw the banner you fought under. It was the royal colors. You have an Eiriksson with you and they conspire to take the throne from King Hakon.”

His shoulders relaxed but his grim mouth betrayed him. “You are mistaken. My men would kill any Eiriksson we found. Like you, we support King Hakon.”

Kerstin knew what she had seen. The vivid red and green of the royal house of Vestfold had flown above them as they fought. They must have an Eiriksson spy with them, the dirty traitors.

She would take the news to her father and he would warn the king. Jonas wouldn’t be so smug when he faced the vast army of King Hakon. Yet, death was a constant threat and she was so tired of war.

There might be one other way to end this feud between their people. Seeking to be brave, she walked to stand before Jonas and tilted her head back to stare up at him.

“I can heal the Beast of Hawkscliffe,” she offered.

He blanched white and took her arms in his gruff hands. As he lifted her close, her feet left the ground and her chest pressed against his. His furious gaze locked with hers. “What do you know about the Beast?”

She braced her hands against his shoulders for support, her fingers biting into his chain mail. “Only that you are the Beast and you suffer from some malady that caused you great pain and many scars. The gossips say that’s why you left and have been gone for so many years. To hide and heal.”

His brow quirked with amusement. “I’ve never hidden from anything. There’s nothing that can heal the Beast. The scars run too deep.”

“How do you know they can’t be healed?” She stared at him nose-to-nose.

As he drew back, his eyes narrowed on her earnest face, his voice low and hoarse. “The wounds have long since healed.”

“Surely your soul cries out for a healing balm.”

“Healing from you?” His eyes widened, his brows drawn together in a horrified glare. “I want nothing more than your death. If not for the king, I would take my revenge and kill you now.”

Kerstin cringed as he held her in a gentle grip of steel, forcing herself not to struggle. He sighed with impatience. “No one can mend scars left upon the body, or upon the soul.”

“You’d be surprised what can be done. The heart, the mind ... close your eyes and you won’t see the scars upon the flesh. Look at them with your heart and there is no deformity.”

For several moments, they stared at one another. Their gazes clashed. She felt compelled by him and could not look away. Where were his scars? He seemed too solid, too strong, too godlike to have any flaws for her to heal. Perhaps the blemish was on his soul.

In his eyes, she saw raw pain. Then, it was gone, replaced once more by the savage warrior. “You want to heal me, little witch?”

“Yes, if it would bring peace.”

“There is only one way for peace between us.”

Pulling her close, he kissed her. His mouth covered hers and stole her breath and her senses. Time spun away until she felt numb to the world around her. Nothing mattered except him, his touch, the taste of him. Her reaction startled her. When he let her go and placed her on her feet, her breath caught with indignation.

He gave her a chilling smile. “There will be peace, once you are my wife.”

As Kerstin stood in shock, his gaze ranged over her. She opened her mouth to rebuke him but he gave her no opportunity.

“I treasure the thought of having a witch for my wife.” His tone filled with contempt. “It’ll be interesting to learn what talents you possess. I want to discover if you quail in terror as other women do when they see me without my shirt.”

“You seek to frighten me,” she accused.

If forced to wed him, would he brutalize her? Such a large, towering man could destroy her. And this man had no reason to be kind.

“You are a beast,” she whispered.

“And you are a witch.”

“I won’t marry you. You can speak with my father, but he won’t agree.”

“What, ho?” he crowed. “Just moments ago you pleaded with me to let you heal the Beast.”

“You’ve twisted my words,” she replied with mortification.

The fool. No doubt he would love to have power over her, to wield his strength to hurt her. “I will marry Elezer of Lade.”

He gave a scoff of disgust. “Lade is no longer a strong holding and Elezer has no great army to lend the king aid in battle. King Hakon has said you are mine.”

And what about Elezer? True, he had no great army like Jonas or her father, but he was young, strong and kind. He loved her, as she loved him. Since childhood, they had been great friends. After Bjorn’s murder, he had been one of her few allies, offering comfort when others stared at her with distrust and accused her of murder and practicing black magic. Their friendship had blossomed into love. She could never betray him this way. Alrik would not break the betrothal.

Alrik would not break her heart.

“I’ll never marry you, Beast.”

Jonas laughed and showed her a flashing smile. His blue eyes glinted with a steely edge. It reminded her of a wolfhound scenting prey in the forest.

“We shall see.”

Chapter Two

The journey to Kerstin's home wasn’t long. Through the forest, down the green hills that rolled out above the sparkling River Tyne, and along the well-worn path to Moere.

As he looked out on the quay, Jonas saw the protective inlet from the river. The natural harbor provided safe anchorage for Alrik’s ships. It also made a surprise attack by an enemy impossible, unless they came from the rugged hills above, which would prove difficult, but effective. Jonas and his men had hidden their ships and done just that, hoping to go undetected should there be an Eiriksson spy close by. Never had he expected supporters of the king to attack him, let alone his future bride.

The Alriksson’s had built the long pier of strong oak, the fortress a magnificent structure. Rather than being constructed of wood, the stone walls surrounding the hall would not burn and would hold better against attack.

As they walked, Kerstin stared in front of her, ignoring him. How amusing. Would her father refuse the king’s demand that they wed? Above all else, Jonas wanted peace. To escape the constant bloodshed of a mercenary. He had returned home for no other reason. But it had been a futile dream. He had arrived at Hawkscliffe and discovered his father and people were not only still feuding with Alrik’s people, but also embroiled in a battle to keep the king’s throne.

Again he must fight. Not out of duty, but out of friendship for his longtime friend, King Hakon. Having fostered together as boys, they were still close, still loyal companions.

Where were his men? After defeating Kerstin’s warriors, perhaps they traveled to Moere with the king. He could only imagine what he might find when he arrived. He prayed Hakon had been able to speak to Kerstin’s people, to stave off more fighting. Once he discovered what Hakon planned, Alrik would either agree or fight his own king. Jonas reached to cup the hilt of his sword with his hand. He must prepare for the worst.

Kerstin cast a quick glance at him. Their gazes locked, held, and she flinched. His gaze dropped to her shirt of chain mail and he tried to imagine her dressed in women’s clothes.

Her gasp of outrage told him she wasn’t pleased to have him ogling her with boldness. Her cheeks flushed with anger. Ah, she was lovely. A maiden warrior like none he had seen before. With witchy hair that told in truth what she was.

She swallowed and averted her gaze. His instinct was to be gentle with her. Under the circumstances, he doubted she would allow it. Whatever she thought of him, he had never been a cruel man. Never could he trust this woman, never could he let down his guard. Even in marriage, there would be no peace.

A thud of remorse filled his heart. Would she at least give him heirs?

He walked beside her along the narrow path, conscious that she held her breath.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” She spoke between clenched teeth.

Shifting his weight, he rolled his shoulder. Her arrowhead burned like a fiery ember lodged in his flesh. What kind of woman fought in battle like a man? No female he had ever met. Once he wedded her, she might try to kill him as she had done Bjorn.

The thought brought a swell of anger crashing over him. He would not allow it. Somehow he would control the witch and put an end to her magic spells.

She stumbled on loose gravel and cried out when Jonas caught her securely with his free arm. He pulled her tight against his side, enjoying the feel of her feminine curves. Her fist barely missed his jaw before he snatched it in his hand and held it still. “None of that. Our fight is ended.”

She snorted. “You think so? You don’t know me very well.”

Her green eyes blazed as clear as glass, her complexion smooth as alabaster. He’d been ordered to wed a treacherous woman, but at least she was beautiful.

As he bent his head down to her, she tried to bite him. She jerked against his hold but he held her fast. Her breath quickened, her lips parted. The curve of her face showed high, smooth cheeks. When her eyes narrowed, he wondered what it would be like to see her smile, to hear her laughter. Was she capable of being gentle and feminine?

She looked away and the scent of lavender spiraled around him, soft and tempting. A womanly scent.

Her warm breath glazed his cheek, her jaw harsh. In her eyes, he saw doubt and fear. When her gaze centered upon his mouth, she licked her bottom lip. The urge to taste her again gave him pause.

"Are you injured?" His voice sounded too low.

Kerstin shook her head. It wasn’t normal to want a woman this much. Had she bewitched him? Perhaps she had cast some spell over him. He should release her.

His hold tightened.

"You aren’t Elezer,” she said.

The way she said Elezer’s name…so sweetly, so lovingly…brought a thud of regret to his heart. How he wished someone would speak his name with such longing.

Bah! It must be the magic of her spell that made him think such foolish thoughts. He frowned at her, trying to see the maiden beneath the chain mail.

She struggled to be free and the tranquil moment vanished. He released her. Without his support, she almost fell. As she regained her balance and stepped away, she glared at him, rubbing her arms as if to erase his touch. If he moved toward her, she might try to run. Flexing his throbbing shoulder, he backed away. "For now, I will leave you alone."

Jonas moved down the trail, conscious of her staring after him. The cold wind whipped against them and a spattering of thick raindrops struck their heads. The storm was almost here, not a good premonition.

They approached the steading, perched high on a hilltop overlooking the River Tyne. A well-worn path led to the quay where a solid dock had been built. Several elegant ships swayed in the choppy water, tugging at their mooring lines. Higher up, a forest of spruce covered the mountain, winding over the hills as far as Jonas could see.

Kerstin followed him, plodding through the wide palisade gates of Moere. Thankfully, she didn’t try to flee. With his shoulder burning like fire, Jonas felt in no mood to chase her down.

Hordes of their men stood within the main yard, clutching their weapons, glowering at each other. It appeared to Jonas they had arrived but moments before. He expected chaos, yet they remained silent as they watched him and Kerstin approach. King Hakon must have spoken to Kerstin’s people. Nothing less would keep the two clans from killing each other.

Jonas’s gaze filtered through the crowd until he found his father standing amongst the men. Tall and proud, a formidable warrior in his own right, Earl Sigurd of Hawkscliffe smiled at his son. Affection filled Jonas, and also relief. Dying in battle was always a concern, but Valhalla would not claim them today.

The large farmstead included a manor house, a sturdy structure dominating the grounds. Home to many of Alrik’s people, Jonas knew they slept on the same wooden benches they used to sit on. Just like his own home, he knew more of Alrik’s serfs lived in small huts throughout the valley, close to their crops and Alrik’s vast herds of sheep.

Jonas caught the tangy aroma of stewed onions and meat simmering over the cook fire in the main hall. It made him homesick for a hearth and family of his own. Inwardly, he shook himself.

A few chickens scratched in the dirt. A single goat bleated and went back to chewing on a shrub beside the cow byre. Storage sheds, low timbered barns, a stable, and the main hall sat safe inside the stone wall.

A vast stone bathing hut rested across the main yard, with mighty cauldrons for heating water. Jonas made a mental note to enjoy it later on. Perhaps a hot bath would ease his aching shoulder and make it easier to remove the arrowhead.

He sighed, weary of bloodshed.

Men carried away the injured and Kerstin left Jonas’s side to give instructions for their care. A thrall woman scurried from the hall with a leather pouch and handed it to Kerstin. “Your healing herbs and bandages are inside, my lady.”

Mumbling her thanks, Kerstin accompanied the wounded. Jonas’s men went to one warm barn while Kerstin’s men went to another. Relief surged through Jonas that the two clans were separated. They needed the barest incentive to fight again.

Curious about Kerstin, Jonas followed her to where his wounded men were housed. Standing in the shadows of the low doorway, he fingered the hilt of his sword and watched her in silence. She didn’t appear surprised when his men refused her stilted offer to tend their wounds, but Jonas felt amazed she would tend his men first.

“You are foolish to refuse me. I can help ease you,” she said.

“You wish to ease us to our deaths. It was your arrows that caused many of our wounds. Come no nearer, witch,” one of Jonas’s men muttered.

Kerstin drew back, her mouth stiff, eyes crinkled. “We were at war then. Didn’t you also try to kill me and my men?”

“Not until you attacked us,” another warrior exclaimed. “Leave us be.”

The man grimaced with pain, his arm nearly severed.

“You’ll bleed to death within the hour if you don’t receive care.”

"Better that I die from my wounds than from a spell you might cast upon me."

Opening her mouth, she appeared ready to plead her cause. Another healthy warrior rose to his feet and lifted his heavy cleaver. A snarl curved his mouth. "Begone witch, before I sever that pretty head from your evil neck."

Large, angry men surrounded her, their eyes smoldering with hate. They would never allow her to give them aid. Clutching her healing bag to her chest, she backed away.

As she made a hasty retreat, she collided with Jonas at the door. He reached to settle her and she gasped, jerking away. Hoping to hide his inner thoughts, he glowered at her. Her eyes widened as she scurried around him and fled.

He let her pass, watching as she disappeared into the darkness where they’d taken her own wounded men. Jonas frowned. She had come to tend his warriors first and appeared concerned. It must be an act. A witch would not care who lived or died.

Jonas stayed close by, watching her, listening. He wanted to learn more about this woman he was to wed. What did her own men think of her?

“Ah, here she is,” one exclaimed when she entered the dim light of the shelter.

Shafts of fading sunlight filtered through cracks in the walls. The air smelled of straw and animals. The injured men rested upon fresh hay spread on the ground for their comfort. The hay soon soaked up their blood.

As she inspected the worst of the wounds, they sighed with relief, seeming confident in her abilities. Jonas snorted. He expected nothing less from a witch who practiced the black arts.

“I’ll need fresh water and more bandages,” she spoke to no one in particular.

An old man gave her a wan smile and gestured to several buckets of fresh water and piles of clean woolen strips. “I knew what you would need and have it waiting for you, my lady.”

Nodding, she set to work, giving instructions as to cleansing, sewing up wounds with an antler needle, wrapping gashes, applying poultices to swollen bumps and bruises.

A fire blazed with a cauldron hanging over it and the barn soon smelled of pungent herbs. Jonas watched to see what magical enchantments she performed, but he saw nothing that didn’t seem logical.

She stayed with her own men a short time. Jonas became aware they were more versed in dealing with injuries than his warriors. She instructed them how to wrap mild wounds and tend each other. Too bad Jonas had no healer like her back at Hawkscliffe. His people would benefit from someone with her skills, yet they could never trust her not to cast an evil spell on them.

She left her men and headed for the hall. Outside in the yard, she looked up and saw the old warrior who had tried to protect her during the battle. He wore a bloodied bandage around his head, to cover the wound Jonas delivered before he had chased Kerstin through the forest. Seeing him hale and alive, she gave a joyous laugh and hugged him tight.

Jonas saw his father standing beside the king. Hakon wore the royal crest upon his shield. When Kerstin glared hotly at the man, Jonas hid an amused smile. She believed the king to be an Eiriksson and therefore a traitor. Jonas would not be the one to tell her the truth. The Eiriksson’s were King Hakon’s brothers and sought to take his title. They were all royals, using the same crest. If Kerstin knew her mistake, she would doubtless bow down upon the ground and beg forgiveness for attacking her own king.

"I’ll see if my father can attend visitors,” she said.

Turning to go inside, she stopped abruptly, her mouth dropping open, her eyes wide. Alrik, Earl of Moere, stood before the door of the hall. Even with his pale skin, he appeared savage, a fierce opponent in his own right.

If Alrik refused the king’s demands, there would be more bloodshed. Jonas couldn’t stop it. His warriors were too angry with Alrik’s men.

Holding a sword in his fist, Alrik glared at them all, his eyes narrow and shrewd. His sparse, still-blond hair stood on end. Wearing only his trousers and overshirt, the wind slapped at his loose shirt. Jonas caught a glimpse of a bandage wrapped about his injured side. It bore a dark stain and Jonas realized the man had opened his wound and caused it to bleed. He appeared to have been roused from bed. He must be chilled, yet his eyes were glazed with fever. Jonas could see moisture on Alrik’s brow and anger in his steely eyes.

"I am here, daughter.” Alrik spoke with strength but Jonas wondered how he remained on his feet.

"Father!"

She tried to rush to his side but he held out a hand to stop her. "Go inside and make haste with a meal, Kerstin. We will greet our king with the comforts he finds in his own home."

Kerstin’s mouth dropped open, her gaze flashing toward the royal. Though she didn’t speak, the truth was there on her face. She hadn’t known she had attacked the king’s party.

“Oh!” A flush of heat stained Kerstin’s cheeks.

She glared at Jonas, her eyes filled with accusation. He kept his face void of expression.

As she looked at her father, her face softened with concern and she took a step toward the ailing man. Her actions confused Jonas. A witch wouldn’t feel anything but disdain, even for her father. Yet, this woman seemed so vulnerable. It must be a deception to take them off guard.

A clenching wind stirred through the farmstead. Shifting his feet, hand on his sword, Jonas waited to see what would happen. The next moments would set them on a course of death or of healing. God grant that it be the latter.

"So, Sigurd, you have come with King Hakon." Alrik snarled and rubbed a gnarled hand against his coarse beard. "What devious plans do you hatch now?"

A snide smile curled Sigurd’s lips. "It’s not what I plan, but what the king orders, Alrik, Lord of Swine. Your foolish daughter had your men attack the king when we brought him here to speak with you in peace."

Kerstin gasped at the insults. Her men tensed and glared at Sigurd’s warriors. Hatred pulsed in the air. Tension rushed all around.

Alrik's bushy brows rose and he turned his craggy head. For a brief moment, his disapproving gaze rested on Kerstin. “King Hakon, my daughter didn’t know you were amongst the Sigurdsson’s, or she would never have attacked. Our lookouts reported that you were Eiriksson’s, sneaking into the hills above us to come down and destroy Moere. You can’t blame my daughter for following my orders and trying to protect our home.”

“Eiriksson’s,” Sigurd growled. “Are you all blind as well as dimwitted? Couldn’t you see who we were?”

Hardening his jaw, Alrik lifted his sword as he took a step. “It was because we saw who you were that we attacked. Didn’t you come here recently to fight us?” He gestured toward the injury in his side. “Wasn’t that how I got this fine wound? You must bear part of the blame for today’s attack. You could have sent us word that you were bringing the king here. Instead, you snuck in like you always do when you try to steal my land and flocks and kill my people. You’re no better than the thieving Eiriksson’s.”

Sigurd’s face mottled red with fury. “Who are you to accuse us when you…?”

"Enough," King Hakon barked and the two men stilled. "I’ve lost many valuable warriors today and I don’t wish to lose any more. I’ve come to ask for your aid, Lord Alrik, just as you gave aid to my father in his many battles. You’ve always been loyal and I ask that you not fail me now. I demand peace."

Alrik’s gray eyes narrowed on his king. "You wish me to fight with you against your brothers, the Eiriksson’s?"

Hakon nodded. "I know you have no love for the Eiriksson’s ever since they murdered your wife. Let us speak together of war against them, our common enemy. Let us speak of peace between you and Sigurd."

Jonas saw Alrik's mouth compress with anger and the old earl cast his gaze about the yard, taking in his men, the blood smeared across their swords, the look of hostility in each of their eyes. Alrik could easily grasp the situation for what it was. Though he stood straight and proud, Alrik’s pale flesh made him seem weary unto death. He must be in a great deal of pain.

Kerstin faced the king. "Right now, my father must rest. You can plan your war tomorrow."

"Kerstin, go inside," Alrik ordered quietly.

"But, Father, you’re not well."

"Kerstin!"

She flinched. Though spoken in a low voice, his sharp command silenced her. She cast a quick glance at Jonas. He refused to meet her gaze, unwilling to let her see the sympathy that stirred deep within him. Against his better judgment, he was impressed by Kerstin’s courage and discipline. And dare he admit he admired her compassion in caring for the wounded? But he must never forget what she was capable of, or that she had killed Bjorn.

With a sigh, Kerstin obeyed her father's word. She disappeared inside the great hall, leaving Jonas feeling suddenly alone and empty.

* * *

Inside the manor house, Kerstin set about ordering the few remaining thrall women to place a meal on the long tables. Whether she liked it or not, their enemy was here to stay.

She had attacked King Hakon. How could she have made such a foolish mistake? Tears burned her eyes when she thought of the men who died today, many of them her friends. More would succumb to the wounds they had received.

Anguish tore at her heart. Guilt rested on her like a load of rocks on a funeral pyre. It didn’t matter that she had done what her father asked, or that the Sigurdsson’s were partly responsible.

She dashed the tears away with her hands, trying to ignore her misery as she removed her chain mail. It did no good. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, forcing her to stop and blow her nose on a cloth she kept tucked inside her pocket. Enough! She must set a good example for her people. Resolved to being strong, she went about her work.

It wasn’t a difficult chore to lay out a meal. Great haunches of meat already hung over the open fire pit in the center of the room. Dripping with sizzling juices, the meat awaited ravenous appetites of men returned from battle. They’d also prepared flatbread, golden cheese, broiled fish, baked apples, and vegetables.

The day before, they scattered fresh rushes across the clay floor. The air smelled of sweet spices and cooking meat.

Letta, the wife of Kerstin’s eldest brother, ran over to her as Kerstin set a pitcher of honey mead at the head of the table. "Do you know why the king is here? Will he lend Sigurd aid to kill us?"

"Nay, King Hakon has always respected my father," Kerstin reassured her. "Since he needs Alrik's help, he would never jeopardize that by allowing Sigurd to cause mayhem."

Jonas Sigurdsson entered the hall, interrupting them. He stood before the door, still dressed in battle gear, still tall and somber. His sword and war ax clanked as he looked about. Damp tendrils of wheat-colored hair curled on his high forehead. His sharp gaze took in every detail of the room, then rested heavily upon Kerstin. She swallowed twice.

"Your father has asked for shoes and warm clothing." His voice filled the hall like a blast of wintry wind.

At first, Kerstin didn’t move. She stood paralyzed as his gaze stroked down her body, then lifted again to her face.

If King Hakon had his way, Jonas Sigurdsson would be her husband. How could she stand to wed such a cruel wretch? She could never give up Elezer, whom she loved.

Jonas cleared his throat, and Kerstin hurried into the backroom. She returned with the requested items and walked to him. As she held out the clothing, her gaze lifted to his face. Flickering shadows twined along the walls as flames danced in the fire pit. In the dim light, it surprised her to see his worried expression as his brows lowered in a frown.

When he took the clothes, his fingers brushed against hers. Drawing away, she clasped her hands in front of her. The heat of an angry blush suffused her cheeks but she didn’t look away. She must not back down to this man, nor show him fear. Why did his presence affect her so much?

He spoke for her ears alone. "You’ve made it clear you don’t want to marry me, but if your father orders it, will you agree?"

Of course not! Was he an imbecile? "Father won’t agree. I am betrothed to Elezer."

Jonas offered no denial. "I’m sorry for your love of Elezer, but many lives depend upon our union. We must wed, Kerstin. There’s no other way."

It was the first time he had spoken her name and she shivered at the sound rolling off his tongue, smooth as honeyed butter.

His mouth softened, his eyes no longer angry, but such an intense blue they reminded Kerstin of rare gemstones she had once seen at a bazaar in York. She must stop looking at him as if he were a man instead of her enemy. If he tried to take her from Elezer, she would fight him----as long as she had breath in her body. "Surely you don’t want to be saddled with a woman who loves another man.”

He frowned, his jaw tense. "The king has ordered it. I will do my duty, even if I must marry a witch.”

She snorted. "I am no witch. You only want me so you can hurt me."

He didn’t respond and she became aware of the nervous chatter of the other women as they scurried to the back of the hall. They clutched heavy brooms and meat cleavers, peering at him warily.

"Hurting you has no purpose,” he said. “I need nothing more than heirs from you. Your love for Elezer is a thing of the past. Put it aside.”

Put it aside? To do so would bludgeon her heart.

“You treat me as if my only purpose is for breeding.”

“You will do your duty.”

The insufferable brute. "I will not have your children."

He flattened her father's clothes with his hands. "Don’t fight me, Kerstin. I’m a man who never accepts defeat. Unlike my brother, I will never let down my guard with you, so be warned."

Her eyes narrowed and she prayed silently. Please, God, help my father understand. “And I am a woman who won’t be forced to marry a man I hate, so be warned.”

Brief pain flickered in his eyes and was gone. Surely she imagined it. This man detested her. Her hatred for him wouldn’t cause him any dismay.

“You will do as you are told,” he said.

She tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come. Her pulse vibrated with fury.

He turned around and strode out of the room without even a backward glance. Kerstin stood like a statue where he had left her, stunned and hollow inside.

Her mind whirled. Her father loved her and wouldn’t give her to Jonas.

Or would he?

Looking at the women where they hid behind tall looms and chests, she sought to reassure them. "He’s gone now. You can come out."

Letta wrung her hands and whined in a pitiful voice. "I’m so afraid. My dead babes aren’t cold in the grave before their murderers come into my home. Your own brother’s death must be avenged."

Kerstin flinched at the reminder. "You’re right, Letta, but Tostig died in battle against the Sigurdsson’s and the Eiriksson’s murdered your children."

She tried to place a comforting hand on the woman's arm but Letta jerked away. "I’ll grow old and childless because of the Sigurdsson’s. I watched my own children trampled to death."

"I’m so sorry for your loss, Letta. But it wasn’t the Sigurdsson’s that caused the death of your babes.” Kerstin’s voice trembled with the memory of Letta’s face and her heart-wrenching screams when the men carried her children’s bodies back to her that fateful day last autumn. Letta had not seemed level in the head since.

"Once Thorir returns from trading, you will have more children,” Kerstin said.

As if that could ever take the place of the two precious souls Letta had lost. Oh, how Kerstin wished her big brother would come home right away. Thorir could calm his wife. Letta always listened to him, and maybe he could also reason with Father.

Thorir would surely take Kerstin’s side. He and her other brothers had always doted on her, protecting her. Though her elder brothers had a different mother than herself, Kerstin loved them all; but they weren’t here and she must be strong.

“Sigurdsson’s, Eiriksson’s," Letta spat with distaste. "One is just as bad as the other. They both bring death to us."

Kerstin agreed as she turned her head in the direction of the door. Resisting the urge to go outside and eavesdrop on the men proved difficult. They made plans that would affect the rest of her life. What would King Hakon do when Alrik refused the wedding match?

The women returned to their chores but they paused often, their eyes wide as they listened to the angry voices coming from outside the house.

Minin, who was Knut’s wife, ceased stirring a fragrant stew as a low boom of thunder reached their ears. It joined the dull thrum of angry men. Alrik’s voice roared in fury above the rest.

Kerstin's breath caught in her throat. Would the battle begin anew? Father was in no condition to fight. He could be easily killed.

"Surely Alrik won’t give you to Jonas Sigurdsson.” Letta sidled up to Kerstin as she set her father’s drinking horn on the table.

It sounded like a sacrificial offer. Indeed, Kerstin felt that was just what she would be if they forced her to marry Jonas the Strong Arm.

Drawing herself up, Kerstin jutted her chin and tried to still her trembling hands. "My father knows I love Elezer."

"Elezer can do nothing if your father decides to break the betrothal," Minin remarked. "And perhaps it would be a good thing. Beware of Elezer’s handsome face and kind ways, mistress. I’ve heard the men say he tends to be devious and selfish, interested only in a woman’s soft body, comforts and wealth. I don’t want to see you hurt."

Kerstin gasped. "You know nothing of Elezer’s goodness. How dare you carry such tales to my ears?"

Minin shrugged and Kerstin slammed a jug of wine onto the table, sloshing the contents across wooden bowls. The soft drumbeat of raindrops struck the roof of the hall outside. The storm had broken and would quickly end, but for Kerstin, it went on and on. She longed to take her fears to Elezer and had no doubt of his devotion. He would help her plead their case to her father.

Sighing deeply, she glanced at her sister-in-law, who cowered in one corner of the room. "Letta, please fetch the iron candle holders while I see about more ale."

Letta seemed not to hear. When the thunder boomed again, her eyes filled with a strange, wild light. Letta grabbed a carving knife from the trestle table and headed for the door. "I will not welcome these murderers into my home, nor allow your father to wed you to a savage man."

Kerstin went after her, catching the woman as she reached the door. Kerstin yanked the blade from Letta's clenched fist. As much as the thought of killing Jonas and the other Sigurdsson’s appealed to her, what would it accomplish other than Letta’s death? “Nay, Letta, you mustn’t try such a thing. You are crazed with grief.”

Losing her balance, Letta bumped into the tall loom against the wall. As if the thump knocked her senses back into her brain, Letta burst into tears and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, what am I to do?" she cried. "We will all be killed. My poor dead babes."

Kerstin’s throat constricted. Little Elyn and Ari. She remembered their soft hands and gurgling laughs as they pulled her hair or tried to steal sweet meats from the cooking pot. How could she fault the desperation of a grieving mother?

"Shh," she said, hugging Letta close against her breast as she smoothed her pale hair. "I know your misery, Letta. Come with me, and I’ll give you a soothing tisane to help you sleep.”

As she led Letta away, Kerstin wondered about tomorrow. Swallowing her own tears, she tried to be brave. Alrik would make the right decision, wouldn’t he? She must trust him.

“You know,” Letta whispered as they walked to the back rooms, “I could kill Jonas Sigurdsson, and he would die, like his brother did.” She laughed in harsh gasps, the sound shrill.

Kerstin froze as Letta dropped onto her sleeping furs. What had Letta said? She must have heard wrong. A horrible lump settled in Kerstin’s stomach. Could Letta have killed Bjorn? Did she know enough about potions to have mixed the poison that took his life?

Letta drew herself into a tight ball beneath the warm furs on her sleeping couch. Keening a quiet lullaby in a singsong voice, she rocked back and forth. Pity blanketed Kerstin’s heart as she pushed the unholy thoughts aside. "Don’t be afraid, Letta. I will protect you."

"But who will protect you?" Letta’s voice came as a whisper, trembling over Kerstin with such intensity that she flinched.

It took a moment to recover. “Rest now, Letta.”

* * *

Kerstin hurried back to the main hall. When she spotted Minin, she pulled her aside. “Letta is still upset. Watch her carefully while I’m gone.”

With a croon of sympathy, Minin nodded.

Kerstin took up a linen towel and lavender-scented soap and stepped outside the hall. To her surprise, the men were gone, probably adjourned to the counseling hall farther up the mountain. She could only guess at their mood. Jonas Sigurdsson must have accompanied them.

Water dripped off the eaves of the longhouse and the air smelled of rain. Black clouds filled the sky, not at all finished with their fury. Stepping over puddles, she scurried across the yard to the bathing hut.

A large stone and wood building, the hut contained an outer chamber lined with wooden benches. The inner room had more benches and a fire pit, the hearth cold now, and dark. Great shadows played across the walls as Kerstin hurried about her task.

She jerked her filthy garments from her body and sighed with relish now that she could finally lather her arms with the fragrant soap. She moved her hands over her abdomen in small, circular motions. She poured tepid water over herself, then ran her hands over her legs. Sudsy bubbles dripped down her thighs and calves. Lifting each leg in turn, she rested a foot upon a bench as she rinsed.

It felt good to cleanse away the blood and sweat of battle from her body. A throaty moan escaped her as she flexed her stiff shoulders. How she wished she could wash the events of the day away. She didn’t hurry, wanting to enjoy this time alone before she had to witness Jonas’s wrath when her father told him there would be no marriage.

After she scrubbed her face, Kerstin lathered and rinsed her hair, then toweled herself dry. She dressed in a long-sleeved, ankle-length tunic of fine pleated linen. She had dyed the soft fabric a deep golden color from the leaves and stems of agrimony. Over this, she wore a calf-length woolen pinafore dyed a vivid yellow from the flowers of chamomile. At each shoulder, she fastened a gilded brooch, decorated with intricate animal patterns, a gift from her father when he took her trading in York last summer. Then, she combed out her hair until it crackled with life.

Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes as relief washed over her. How good it felt to be attired like a woman again. She dreaded returning to the hall and wished she could remain here, alone. No doubt Minin would have her hands full if Letta awoke and decided to cause more mischief.

Kerstin sighed, feeling the weight of her responsibilities.

Bending, she picked up her dirty clothes. A movement caught her eye and she paused, peering into the deep shadows across the room. She made out the figure of a large man reclining upon one of the benches. The figure shifted and she gasped.

Jonas!

He sat silent. Kerstin sucked in a sharp breath, clutching her soiled clothes to her breast. How long had he been watching her?

His bright eyes gleamed in the shadows. Beside him on the floor lay his sword. She wasn’t surprised. Even when he took his leisure, he kept his weapon close at hand.

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks with heat and hot prickles tingled down her spine. He had watched her bathe. “Why are you here?"

Reclining on one elbow, he lifted a foot to rest upon the bench. His free arm relaxed across his raised knee. Cast in shadow, his expression looked fierce, his blue eyes sparkling.

"I came here for the same purpose as you. To wash away the stench of battle and to be alone for a time." His voice sounded low and husky.

"You should have made yourself known to me. Only a lecher would sit here in silence and watch a woman bathe."

"If I were a lecher, you’d already be flat on your back,” he told her without humor.

His long body unfolded as he stood up. Kerstin’s eyes widened. The movement must have jarred his injured shoulder and he flinched as if it pained him.

He wore a soft, long-sleeved shirt, which molded his torso like a second skin and defined the muscles of his arms and chest. He tied a bathing cloth about his lean waist to hide his heavy loins and Kerstin's mouth rounded as she took a step backward.

She glanced at the doorway on the other side of the room, realizing she would have to pass by him to reach it. Trapped, like a caged animal. Her gaze drifted back to him.

His eyes never wavered from hers and he appeared to be more pleased than vexed. "I didn’t mean to spy on you, little Kerstin. You were so intent upon your chore, I thought to let you finish bathing in peace. But I won’t speak a lie and say I didn’t enjoy the sight. I am a man, after all."

Kerstin's mouth dropped open. His confession filled her with confusion, something she hadn’t expected. He was toying with her. "Do you think to flatter me with compliments?"

"I merely speak what is on my mind. A man doesn’t want an old crone when he takes a wife."

She grit her teeth. "You know nothing about me."

Jonas shrugged lazily, then paled and grimaced, as if the movement pained him. "I know most accused you of murdering my brother. Only a fool would trust you. And I am no fool."

“And I will never trust you.”

“It’s just as well, Witch.” He spoke in a placid tone.

His accusations cut her deep. She longed for people to see her for the healer she was, not a witch.

A volcano of anger and frustration resided inside her, building up until she shook with it, ready to explode. “You are nothing more than a mercenary. Who are you to speak to me of honor?”

Kerstin edged toward the door. If he attacked, she had no weapon. Why had she left her dagger inside the hall? Even if she screamed, her father’s men wouldn’t hear her.

He took a step closer.

"Stay back." She held out a hand to ward him off.

Jonas stood in the shadows, his gaze fixed upon her face. Kerstin longed to kick him, but didn’t dare get that close. She remembered how he had caught her in the forest, quick and light on his feet.

She took another step toward the door. He also took a step and her heart sank. "My father will kill you if you touch me."

He shook his head and his rich laughter filled the room. "I don’t think so."

"I will die before submitting to you, or I will kill you first."

His white teeth flashed with a chilling smile. "I accept your challenge, Kerstin. It’ll be entertaining to see if I can prevent both tragedies from occurring while I bring you pleasure."

Another step toward the doorway. "I will find no pleasure in you."

"Ah," he breathed as he also moved closer. "Perhaps Elezer hasn’t been a generous lover. What has he taught you, Kerstin? Are you still chaste?"

Her eyes narrowed with fury. How dare he ask her such intimate questions? "Like me, Elezer is a Christian and cares for my feelings. You are a vile heathen who believes in nothing but pagan gods."

He came closer and Kerstin eyed him. She must move fast or be ensnared.

"I assure you, Kerstin, I can be most gentle. And when I’m finished, you’ll have no doubt that I am a man and you are my woman."

Kerstin felt her cheeks flush crimson. In sudden panic, she tried to dart past him. He simply stepped to the side and she ran straight into his solid chest, jarring his injured shoulder. A low groan came from his throat. Now he must let her go.

Jonas enfolded her quaking body in his iron-thewed arms.

"Let me go.” She struggled to free herself and felt his chest quake with laughter.

In the forest, she had wondered if his eyes would crinkle and sparkle when he smiled. Aye, they did indeed, but his amusement infuriated her. She managed to pull one of her arms loose and drew back her fist, striking his injured shoulder. He grunted, showing a pained frown.

Picking her up, he squeezed her against his hard body. Kerstin found her mouth seized by his in a searing kiss that curled her toes. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her closer. She couldn’t breathe. The sweet warm taste of him told her he had enjoyed some rich wine before his bath. She gasped for air as his kiss went on and on. A strange warmth spiraled through her, stealing her senses.

Before she realized what she was doing, she returned his kiss. The way her body betrayed her was more than she could comprehend.

Wedging her hands between their chests, she pushed away, succeeding only because he allowed it. Their gazes caught, held. His intense look no longer showed amusement, but sultry desire. "Your passion betrays you, Kerstin."

Humiliated, she stared at the wall, stained by years of weekly steam baths. How could she be so disloyal to Elezer? "I belong to another man.”

His jaw hardened. "Your passion belongs to me."

“I want no part of you.”

His eyes darkened. "You shall have all of me, Kerstin. It is only a matter of time."

Jonas placed her on her feet. Relief flooded her when he set her free. She whirled about and fled, the sound of his deep laughter rumbling behind her.

###

Excerpt from Healing the Forest Ranger, available May 2013

Healing the Forest Ranger

Chapter One

They didn’t know she was watching. Lyndsy Warner crouched low behind an outcropping of rock. Prickles of excitement dotted her arms. She held her breath, hoping the wild horses wouldn’t catch her scent and bolt. At least not yet.

Overhead, a hawk spiraled through the azure sky. The late April weather had been unseasonably warm. Tufts of green grass and red paintbrush trembled as the breeze whispered past, carrying the earthy smell of dust and sage.

Letting her camera hang limp from the strap around her neck, Lyn reached up to remove the bronze shield pinned above the right front pocket of her forest ranger’s shirt. A glint from the afternoon sun might give her presence away to the mustangs in the valley below.

After tucking the badge into her pants pocket, Lyn reached for the camera again. Holding it up to her eyes, she adjusted the focus and studied the herd through the lens. Five mustangs, led by a handsome buckskin stallion. The stud’s black mane and tail stood out against his golden coat. The band included three mares and a black foal with a white tail and mane. Not really black, but almost. With just a bit of white on her hind left foot and on her right under flank and in her mane and tail. Not a true pinto, either. Very unique coloring and absolutely stunning. The filly’s spindly legs looked long and strong, a foreshadowing of the beautiful mare she’d become. Wild and free.

Lyn snapped a quick series of pictures, wishing she could share this moment with Kristen, her ten year-old daughter. Like most girls, Kristen loved horses. But these mustangs carried a deeper meaning for Lyn. A reminder of the night her husband died.

The bony ribcages of the horses seemed too lean, an indicator of sparse forage on the range. As the herds increased, there just wasn’t enough for them to eat, not to mention the other wildlife roaming this area, or the beef cattle the ranchers paid the government to graze.

Lyn zoned in on the stallion she’d named Buck. This wasn’t the only herd foraging in Secret Valley. Lyn had named all the stallions roaming the mountains of McClellan National Forest, but not their mares and foals. She didn’t want to become more attached to them than she already was. Especially if she was forced to round up some of them for removal.

A low nicker drew Lyn’s attention to the plateau overhead. A smaller dun stallion stood gazing down upon the tranquil family of mustangs, his cream coloring similar to Buck’s except that tiger stripes circled his front legs. A throwback from prehistoric horses. Probably a bachelor stallion, with no mares of his own. His ears pricked forward with rapt attention and Lyn knew he wanted Buck’s mares. Or at least one of them.

“Don’t do it, buddy. Buck’s a lot bigger and he’ll hurt you if you try to steal one of his girls.” The warm breeze stole Lyn’s whispered warning.

While Buck’s lead mare kept watch, two of the other mares dipped their noses into the murky water of the shallow spring. No vegetation grew here, the banks beaten down and churned to mud by too many tromping hooves. By mid-May, Lyn figured the water would be gone. Dried by the baking sun to nothing but cracked earth. The horses needed this water. Desperately. Without it, they’d have to journey across the mountains to Cherry Creek, a thin stream nine miles away. An arduous trip that would sap their energy, keep them from feeding, and weaken their foals.

Always on the lookout, Buck noticed the bachelor stallion and snorted. He skirted the edge of his band, tossing his proud head and pawing the dirt with one hoof. With his long tail flying high like a flag, he raced toward the plateau, placing himself between the watering hole and the bachelor. Buck wouldn’t give up his mares. Not without a fight.

The dun neighed in challenge, then picked his way down the steep grade. As he reached the valley floor, he lifted his elegant head and arched his muscular neck. A dark dorsal stripe ran down the middle of his back and Lyn decided to name him Stripe.

Absolutely gorgeous.

Buck didn’t think so. He let out a shrill squeal. Ears laid back flat against his head, he raced toward the dun. At first, the two stallions circled one another, snorting and sizing each other up.

Stripe ducked away from Buck and chased after a plump dapple gray mare that looked ready to foal soon. Stripe nudged her rump, urging her forward, trying to whisk her away. Buck intercepted, biting Stripe’s hindquarters. The mare knew who she belonged to and lashed out at Stripe with her hind legs. Buck bared his teeth, the whites of his eyes showing. His black mane whipped across his strong neck like billows of smoke.

Stripe circled back, chasing after the mare. Desperate for a mate. Buck followed, neighing his disapproval. The bachelor stallion was lean and tough, but no match for the more experienced buckskin.

And the battle began.

Both stallions reared. Screaming, biting, slashing each other with their razor-sharp hooves. Again and again, their hooves thudded against each other like iron clubs. Lyn cringed at the horrific noise they made. Survival of the fittest. Their ferocity frightened her on a primitive level. She lowered her camera and stared in shock.

The mares galloped out of the fray, the black foal scurrying to join the safety of her mother. Stripe followed, still trying to separate the dapple gray from the rest of the herd.

Buck intervened with a roar of rage. He kicked. Once. Twice. Bludgeoning Stripe in the head and shoulder. The bachelor stallion staggered and dropped to his front knees. Buck offered no mercy. Rearing, he came down hard on top of Stripe’s head.

Lyn gasped, remembered her camera, and started clicking again. Later on, the unique photos would serve as an amazing record of wild horse behavior.

Stripe screeched in pain. Buck gave the younger stallion just a moment to recover his feet. With a loud grunt, the beaten horse sprinted toward the safety of the mountains. He’d been whipped and gave up the fight for now, but Lyn knew he’d return later for another try. The urge to have a family was as old as time. Something instilled in all God’s creatures. And one day, Stripe, or another stronger stallion, would defeat Buck. But for now, the older stallion had kept his harem intact. In this small corner of the world, he reigned supreme.

Buck trotted around the perimeter of the watering hole, head up and nostrils flared as he watched for the return of the dun. Still wound up. Still angry. Unwilling to accept any nonsense right now.

And that’s when Lyn saw the blood running down Buck’s right front leg. She focused the camera, trying to see the wound more clearly, but no good. She had to get closer.

Moving silently down the hill, she skimmed through snags of PJ’s, short for pinion-junipers. She stayed upwind, hoping to go undetected by the band of horses. As she inhaled the dry desert air, her booted feet sank deep into the sun-baked sand. And that was her first mistake.

She stumbled, twisting her ankle. She stifled the cry rushing up her throat, but her silence made no difference. The agitated stallion lifted his head and looked her way. Still territorial and furious. Still ready to fight.

With a scream of fury, Buck charged.

Lyn’s breath froze in her throat. A bristle of panic raced down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder. No use trying to reach her truck. There wasn’t time.

Instead, she ducked under a thicket of PJ’s and pressed her body back into the prickly trees. Sharp needles scratched her hands and face. Her fear overshadowed the pain. The stallion screamed again, thrashing toward her, ferocious and enraged.

Lyn’s flesh burned with alarm. Her heart beat madly in her chest. She was no match against the horse’s battering hooves. He’d kill her if he could.

Buck reared, hooves waving dangerously near Lyn’s head. She scrunched further back into the crowded trees. The hair of her long pony tail ripped against the pointed branches.

One thought pounded her brain. Kristen. All alone in the world. If Lyn were killed, her little daughter would have no one to love and care for her. No one to keep her safe.

The rearing mustang beat the PJ’s to splinters. Fiercely determined to reach her.

Lyn screamed in helpless anguish. How had this happened? A calm afternoon of checking the watering hole had turned into a life-threatening situation.

Lyn glanced left and right, desperate for a safer place to hide until the stallion gave up and left. A thick outcropping of sage and PJ’s jutted from the rocks just to her right. To reach it, she’d have to leave her fragile sanctuary and run for her life.

With a crazed beast hot on her tail.

Bracing her hands beneath her in the dirt, Lyn bent down like a track star. Knowing there was absolutely no way she could outrun this horse. Knowing she might be killed.

Taking a deep breath, she sprinted toward the rocks.

* * *

The wild horses were fighting. Caden Baldwin recognized their screams echoing through the canyon, reaching his ranch a mere six miles outside the town of Stokely, Nevada. Riding Flash, his bay gelding, Cade galloped toward Secret Valley. Maybe he’d get to see his beloved mustangs today. He couldn’t remember a single summer in his childhood when he hadn’t watched the wild horses with his grandfather. It’d been several weeks since they’d crossed Cade’s pasture land and….

A woman’s scream echoed off the rock walls of the ravine like a gunshot. What on earth…?

Cade tapped his heels against his horse’s sides. Flash tore off at a fast run. Someone was in trouble. Someone needed help.

And then the panic set in. So unexpected that it left Cade breathless and choking. He clung to the saddle, overwhelmed by a flashback to the war in Afghanistan. The drumming of the horse’s hooves became the pounding of gunfire and shells exploding all around Cade. Hammering his body with bits of rock, dirt and mortar. The memory of pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth seemed so real. And then a vision of Dallin filled his mind, his best friend’s body limp and bleeding.

Broken.

Cade shook his head, trying to clear his mind. To return to the present. Trying urgently to forget the haunting nightmare. He wasn’t in the Middle East now. He was here in the Nevada desert. God had brought him home.

Safe and sound.

Oblivious of Cade’s moment of crisis, Flash didn’t break stride. Cade sat frozen in the saddle, his body moving with the strong rhythm of the horse. He clenched the reins, his calves tightening around the animal’s sides.

As the wild mustangs came into view, Cade recovered his senses and his breathing slowed a bit. His gaze centered on a buckskin stallion rearing and thrashing through the pinions. A woman fought her way through the brush, frantically seeking cover. Chased by the stallion.

Urging Flash toward the wild mustang, Cade yelled and waved his arms. The lead mare neighed to the rest of her herd. From his peripheral vision, Cade saw her racing toward the sheltering mountains, the other mares and a young black foal following in hot pursuit.

The stallion snorted, shook his splendid head, and chased after his band. Puffs of dust and flying clods of dirt marked their passing. Flash came to a halt, his sides heaving. Cade patted the gelding’s neck, murmuring a soothing word to the breathless horse. Then, he looked at the woman…and groaned. In an instant, Cade recognized the drab olive color of her shirt and spruce green pants.

Forest Service.

He’d rescued a government employee. One of those people who wanted to move the wild horses off this land and lock them away in holding pens.

Cade had half a mind to turn around and ride back to Sunrise Ranch. The last person he wanted to help was a Forest Service worker. But he figured he should at least find out if she was all right. Since returning from the war, he had enough deaths on his conscience and didn’t want any more.

“You okay, lady?” he called.

She sat scrunched back within one of the taller pinions, trying to climb the slim tree trunk. As she descended from her perch, a sprinkle of gray-green nettles showered her head. The limb broke off and she landed on her rump in the dirt. She gasped, but came quickly to her feet, limping slightly. She brushed at her long pony tail and clothing before answering in a shaky voice. “Y…yes, I’m fine, thanks to you.”

Honey-brown. The color of her eyes. Beautiful, intelligent and filled with relief.

Cade pursed his lips and looked around for her vehicle. He saw nothing but scrubby sage and rabbit brush. “How’d you get out here?”

She pointed to the north. “My truck is parked beside the dirt road about a mile away.”

He jerked his gaze in that direction. Great! He’d have to give her a ride.

“You ready to go home now, or would you rather have more fun upsetting the mustangs?” He couldn’t keep an edge of annoyance from his tone. He was sick and tired of governmental employees rounding up the wild horses to send them to holding stations where most of them lived their life in captivity. He’d never been overly sentimental, but he wanted to forget what he’d seen and been forced to do as a marine in a war zone. The wild horse herds soothed his jangled nerves and helped him cope with his post traumatic stress disorder.

The mustangs were Cade’s version of therapy.

The woman showed a weak smile, her eyes sparkling like amber gems. Streaks of dirt marred the smooth curve of her sunburned cheeks. Pine needles and dirt clung to her long, white-blond pony tail. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose indicated she spent a lot of time outdoors. Because of her employment, Cade decided right then and there he wouldn’t like her one bit. No sirree. Not as long as she posed a threat to his wild horses.

She pointed toward the mountains. “That stallion is injured. He fought with a bachelor and I was trying to get a closer look to see how bad the wound might be.”

Her declaration surprised him. Since when did a Forest Service employee care if a wild stallion was wounded or not?

“The way he hightailed it out of here, I’d say he’ll be just fine,” Cade said. “It’s not wise to come out here and gawk at the mustangs. They can be very dangerous.”

Her pink lips tightened defensively. “I wasn’t gawking. I was checking water levels and observing the horses, trying to learn their habits and see how well fed they are.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “You can call it whatever you like. It’s the same thing.”

“I wasn’t gawking,” she insisted.

Okay, he wouldn’t argue with her about it. “So, how’d it all work out for you?”

She didn’t seem to catch his humor.

“They saw me when I changed position.” A frown of disappointment creased her forehead.

“As if a wild stallion would ever let you get close enough to offer first aid.” Cade muttered the words beneath his breath. What was she thinking? A mustang would never let her walk up to him and bandage his injured leg.

Her expression darkened. “I know that. I just wanted to see if he needed help.”

“Do you come out here often?” Cade asked.

Her gaze met his without flinching. “Every Friday, when I have the time. But not just here in Secret Valley. I make excursions to several areas, checking the water sources in the mountains and valleys. Quite frequently, I come upon the horses. What’s your name?”

Cade stared at the Forest Service woman for several moments, mesmerized by her commanding presence in spite of her short height and slim build. Not many people would get this close to a wild horse. Most stallions, even the tame ones, were fierce and treacherous. This woman had grit, he’d give her that. Or perhaps she was too foolish to realize the danger she’d been in. Another city girl who didn’t realize that wild horses were wild.

“Most people call me Cade.” He rested his arms across the saddle horn and leaned forward.

She paused, as though waiting for him to ask her name. But honestly, he didn’t want to know any more about her. In the ensuing silence that followed, Flash flicked his tail at a fly.

“Are you from around here?” she asked.

Cade jerked his thumb up. “I own a small ranch just west of here.”

“Ah, Sunrise Ranch.” She nodded her head.

He wasn’t surprised she knew his place. The community wasn’t large and everyone knew everyone else. So, why hadn’t he met this woman before? He longed to ask where she’d come from, but resisted the urge to show any interest.

“My name is Lyn,” she said. “I’m fairly new in town. Only been here two months, so I haven’t had an opportunity to meet you, yet.”

“Yeah. Come on. I’ll take you to your truck.” He removed his foot from the left stirrup and reached out a hand to help her step up behind him on his horse. His mind kept repeating her name. Lyn. It suited her. Feminine yet decisive.

“No, thanks. I can walk.”

She limped away and he watched her with a bit of doubt. Maybe it was for the best. It wouldn’t bode well if someone saw him riding with a Forest Service employee. He’d never hear the end of it. Instead, he rode along beside her, just in case she changed her mind.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He jutted his chin toward her left ankle.

“Just a sprain. I was out here checking the damage to the watering hole when I saw the horses. I didn’t expect Buck to attack me. I’m sure he was still feeling defensive after his fight with the bachelor stallion. Otherwise, I doubt he would have bothered with me.”

“Buck?”

“Yeah, that’s what I named the buckskin.”

Cade’s jaw went slack, but he quickly turned his face away so she wouldn’t see his surprise. “You actually named one of the stallions?”

“Uh-huh. I take pictures of all the wildlife I see out here on the Stokely Ranger District.” She explained about naming the stallions of each herd so she could keep track of them in her reports.

“Wait a minute. You’re the new forest ranger?” He’d heard they were getting a new ranger in town, but had no idea she’d be a woman, or that she’d care about the wildlife enough to document them.

“That’s right.” She nodded and smiled pleasantly.

“Hmm.”

“You don’t sound pleased.”

“I’m just indifferent.” And stunned. A petite, attractive woman wasn’t his idea of what a forest ranger ought to look like. In fact, he’d never met a woman ranger before. Especially not one this pretty. Most of the rangers he’d met were men with pot guts. Overbellies who wouldn’t listen to reason. At least not where the wild horses were concerned. Cade wasn’t sure what to think about this turn of events.

“I suppose you’re planning to round up the wild horses and take them off the range,” he grumbled.

“Not if I can help it.” She kept her gaze trained on the rocky ground in front of her.

“What do you mean?”

“I love the wild horses. But I also love the elk, antelope, big horn sheep, and mule deer. And they need to eat and drink out here, too.”

“There’s plenty of feed for all the wildlife,” he said.

She stopped and looked at him squarely, resting her hands on her slim hips. A blaze of fire sparked in her eyes. As stunning as the wild mustangs he’d seen minutes earlier. “No, there’s not. Buck’s herd is starving. They’re too lean, I could see that with my own eyes. And they’ll soon be out of water.”

What she said went against everything Cade had been brought up to believe in. “Bah! The mustangs have been running wild across this land for centuries. They’ll make do. They always survive.”

“Yes, but many will die a slow, cruel death. A lot of elk and deer will suffer the same fate. There isn’t enough water and feed out here to sustain so many wildlife and domestic livestock, too.”

He waved a hand. “You’re just another cow lover. Get rid of all the rancher’s fat cattle and the wildlife will have enough feed to live on.”

She chuckled, not seeming offended in the least. “Well, I do enjoy eating a nice steak and hamburger now and then. But the ranchers are definitely restricted on how many cattle they can graze on public lands. They don’t take more than their fair share, believe me. I won’t let them.”

That was just the problem. He didn’t believe her. “Ma’am, there are more important things out here than the ranchers and their cattle.”

She brushed her hand across a bushy sage. “There are miles of sagebrush out here. It’s edible, but provides very little nourishment for the horses. They need grass. Wild horses don’t migrate to better areas when food and water runs out. They just stay here and starve. And please call me Lyn.”

Not if he could help it.

She poked a tuft of Great Basin wheat grass with the tip of her scuffed boot. “It takes fifty acres of this kind of land to feed one horse for one month. That doesn’t include elk and mule deer, nor any cattle either. You can do the math as easily as I can to figure out how many miles of land are needed to keep that wild horse herd happy and healthy. But I can tell you this area can sustain about one hundred and fifty wild horses. We currently have over four hundred and fifty horses living in and around this national forest. And that’s too many if we don’t want to see them starve to death.”

She turned and continued walking. In spite of his desire not to, he found himself liking the jaunty bounce of her hair. Spunky and sure of herself. He’d never met anyone like her.

He flinched when she whirled around and continued her dialogue.

“And you’re wrong about the cattle. They’re just as important as the wild horses. Every man, woman and child in this country needs to eat. And cattlemen make their living by growing cows. The horses are important. The cows are important. And so is the other wildlife out here. The issues aren’t easy, but we need to find ways to make it all work together. And I have some ideas, if you’d like to hear them….”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Forget it. I’ve heard it all before and I doubt you have anything new to add that’ll make a difference to me.”

“Have it your way.” With a simple shrug, she kept walking. No argument. No blustering anger. She seemed easy going and laid back. Disarming in her candor. And he couldn’t help wondering about her ideas. For the first time, he really wanted to know. But asking her to explain seemed a bit like admitting defeat right now.

They soon arrived at her truck, her boots and pant legs covered by a thin sheen of dust. As she unlocked and opened the door to the driver’s seat, she tilted her head to look up at him. “We might have conflicting opinions, Cade, but I can make a big difference here in Stokely. And I intend to do just that.”

She climbed inside and reached for the armrest to pull the door closed. Before she did so, she gave him a smile so bright it made his jaw ache. “Thanks again for all your help. I appreciate you being so neighborly.”

He nodded once in acknowledgement, his tongue tied in knots.

As she started the ignition and pulled away, the tires of her truck bounced over the washboard road. Cade sat his horse and stared after her, feeling withdrawn and out of sorts. He didn’t agree with her assessment of the wild horse situation, and yet he felt as though he’d just been scolded by his mother. In the nicest way possible.

He’d noticed the growing herds of horses becoming emaciated. But the beliefs planted in his mind throughout his childhood were hard to ignore. Wild horses should be left alone to live in freedom. The government shouldn’t interfere. Right? Of course right!

Nope, he didn’t like the new forest ranger, but he also couldn’t deny she seemed to know her business here. He just wished he didn’t need to have any more dealings with her in the future. Since he was the wild horse spokesman for the Toyakoi Shoshone Tribe, Cade figured that wasn’t likely. He frequently participated in meetings and demonstrations to protect the wild horses.

Oh, yes. He’d see the new forest ranger again sometime soon. Much to his regret.

Chapter Two

“How’d school go today?” Lyn tightened her fingers around the steering wheel as she pressed on the break. Her car came to a halt at the only stop light on Main Street in the town of Stokely. Population eleven thousand and twenty-three, including dogs, cats and gophers.

“None of the kids like me.” Kristen’s simple reply vibrated with hurt and anger.

“I’m sure that’s not true, honey.” Lyn glanced at her ten year-old daughter who sat next to her, tugging against her seat belt.

“Yes, it is.”

“It just takes time to get to know everyone when you’re the new kid in town. Maybe you could invite one of the girls in your class over to the house to play on Saturday.” Lyn lightened her voice, trying to sound positive. Trying to encourage her daughter the only way she knew how.

The stop light turned green and she pressed on the gas, moving slowly down the street.

“They’ll never like me.” Kristen tugged her skirt lower across the C-leg prosthetic limb on her right leg, as though trying to hide as much of the amputation as possible.

Lyn studied her child’s tight profile and long white-blonde hair. The girl was beautiful. If only the other children would treat her like a normal kid. But that was just the problem. Kristen wasn’t normal. And she never would be. “How can they not like you? They hardly know you yet. We’ve only been here a couple of months.”

Kristen tapped her knuckles hard against the socket of the prosthetic limb. “This is all they see, Mom. They call me peg-leg and gimp.”

Lyn’s heart wrenched. Kids could be so cruel. If only they’d get to know Kristen, they’d learn what a smart, sweet girl she was. And so easy to love.

“I hate it here. I want to go home.” Tears watered Kristen’s voice as she flounced around and glared out the window.

“We are home, honey.” Lyn wanted to cry too, but didn’t think that would do Kristen any good. Alone at night in her dark bedroom, Lyn allowed her emotions to flow across her pillow. But in the light of day, she must be strong. For both her and Kristen’s sakes.

“Maybe you could wear blue jeans more often.” Dresses were easier in case Kristen needed to adjust her prosthetic limb, but pants hid the apparatus from view.

“It won’t help. I limp and can’t run. They know something’s wrong with me. They don’t like me.”

Lyn’s heart ached for her daughter. How she wished she could protect her from this pain. Even if they covered up the prosthesis, Kristen jerked so hard when she walked that people frequently stared at her. They knew immediately that the girl was impaired, but they didn’t understand why. Lyn had even heard a woman in the grocery store yesterday whisper loudly that Kristen must be retarded. As if her leg had anything to do with her brain. In fact, the opposite was true. Kristen pulled top grades in science and math. If only she could walk better, she might fit in more.

“Well, I adore you,” Lyn said with a smile.

“You don’t count, Mom. You have to love me because I’m your kid.”

Lyn snorted. “If that were true, there’d be a lot fewer abusive mothers in the world, honey. I love you more than my own life. And that’s that.”

Kristen tossed her head and huffed out a big sigh of exasperation. “You just don’t understand.”

Lyn understood more than Kristen realized. But friends and peer pressure were so important to a young girl. Especially a girl with only one leg. Moms didn’t count at this point in life. If only it had been Lyn that had lost her leg in the accident. Not Kristen. Not her precious little girl.

Pressing on the break again, Lyn came to a stop sign. A lance of vivid memory pierced her mind. The car crash had been caused by a drunk driver, now incarcerated in a state penitentiary. But that wouldn’t restore Kristen’s leg or bring Rob back. Nor did it ease Lyn’s conscience over her part in what had happened. Though it’d only been a year earlier, Kristen had been so young at the time. Only nine years old. They’d both lost the father and husband they dearly adored.

Rob. The love of Lyn’s life.

She glanced in the rearview mirror. No one behind her, so she paused long enough to talk with Kristen for a few moments. Reaching across the seat, Lyn brushed her hand down the silken length of Kristen’s hair. “I know this is hard, honey. But you’re so pretty and smart. All your teachers tell me you’re their best student. You’ve got a lot going for you. We’ve just got to keep trying.”

Kristen shrugged off Lyn’s hand, her voice thick with resentment. “You mean I’ve got to keep trying. I’m the one without a leg, not you. And Daddy’s dead. The only reason I’m a good student is because I promised him.”

Oh, that hurt. So much that Lyn thought there must be blood on the floor. Not a day went by that she didn’t feel guilty for surviving uninjured while her husband had died and her daughter lost her leg. But Kristen was too young to understand how much a mother loved her child. Or just how much Lyn missed her husband.

“I know, honey. Please believe me, if I could take this pain from you, I would. I just want to help. We can’t give up. Not ever.”

Lyn might have reached over and hugged Kristen, but a driver pulled up behind them and blared the horn of their car. Lyn jerked her head around. Kathy Newton, a woman she’d recently met at Kristen’s school, waved at them. Returning the gesture with a plastic smile, Lyn pressed on the gas. Two blocks later, she turned the corner and parked in front of the doctor’s office before killing the motor.

“Maybe this new doctor can help you walk straighter,” Lyn suggested. “Your old doctor highly recommended him.”

A prosthesis specialist in such a small town was rare. Apparently this doctor was a former U.S. marine. Lyn had been told that he’d seen several of his buddies lose their limbs during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that he’d done a lot of work in the field of prosthetics. And that was good for Kristen.

“Nothing can help me walk without a limp. Everyone will always know something’s wrong with me,” Kristen said.

The ominous words were spoken to the glass window pane. Kristen refused to look at her and Lyn couldn’t blame her. Since the accident, Lyn could hardly stand to face herself. She’d hoped her transfer to this small ranching town might help make a difference for both of them. The slower pace. Fewer people. The jagged mountains and open, windswept valleys covered by bleached grass and sage. They both needed time to heal. Lyn had no outward scars, but inside, the accident had disfigured her beyond recognition. She’d never be the same again.

Neither would Kristen.

If only there was some way Lyn could go back in time, she’d find a reason to miss their appointment to view the appaloosa mare. Their family had been so carefree that evening. Excited to buy Kristen’s first horse. Both Lyn and Rob had been raised on a ranch and Rob had been a regional rodeo champion during high school. They wanted to share their love of equines with their daughter. They’d discussed the idea for months. Kristen was fearless on a horse. She’d make such a great rider.

Having just picked up Rob from work, Lyn had been driving the car. Kristen had been sitting between them in the front seat, all of their seatbelts securely locked. They’d been talking. Laughing. And then Lyn turned onto a narrow street with a guardrail. The grille of a semi truck filled their view, followed by the sickening thunder of the crash. No time to react. No time to move.

Now, Lyn closed her eyes tight, absorbing the memory as though it just happened. If only she’d swerved and missed the oncoming truck. Maybe if she’d hit the brakes sooner. Or taken a different route. Anything to have changed the outcome.

Losing Rob had stolen all the joy in their lives. That night had been the last time they’d laughed together or felt genuinely happy.

The last time Lyn had prayed.

Filled with gloomy thoughts, she got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to help Kristen. Again, the girl brushed aside Lyn’s hands.

“I’ll do it myself,” the girl grumbled.

Lyn stood back, waiting nearby in case Kristen stumbled. In reality, an ocean of hurt separated them. Lyn wondered if they’d ever be close again.

Kristen hobbled toward the doctor’s office. With each wrenching step, the foot of her cumbersome prosthesis smacked the cement sidewalk like a club. Lyn had to keep herself from flinching at the horrible sound. She followed close by, wishing Kristen would use her wheelchair more. But the girl refused. Lyn held her arms outstretched to catch Kristen in case she fell.

Inside the small office, Kristen plopped down onto a cushioned chair. An older man sat across from them, his denim shirt accented by a turquoise bolo tie. Twin streaks of gray marred his straight black hair. Parted in the middle, the long strands flowed past his shoulders, ornamented by a single white and gray feather. He held a beat-up cowboy hat in his leathery hands. Though he showed no expression on his tanned face, his intelligent black eyes gazed at them with unwavering frankness. The wide bridge of his nose and high cheekbones clarified his heritage. A proud American Indian. Probably Shoshone. Lyn knew they had a tribe here in Stokely.

Ignoring the man’s piercing gaze, Lyn stepped over to the front counter and spoke to the receptionist. “I’m Lyn Warner. My daughter has an appointment at three thirty.”

“Yes, welcome. I’m Maya and we’ve been expecting you.” The matronly woman smiled, her rosy cheeks plumping. She swept a waterfall of straight black hair away from her face before handing Lyn a clipboard with papers attached. Maya also appeared to be of Shoshone heritage. “If you’ll just fill out this information, I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

Picking up a pen, Lyn sat beside Kristen and started writing. She was vaguely aware of Maya calling to the elderly man sitting across from them. He stood quietly and went to the counter to retrieve a bottle of pills.

“You take one of these every morning, Billie. And just so you know, I’m gonna call your wife to make sure you do. Helen will tell me if you’re on your medication or not.” Maya’s voice sounded thick with warning.

Billie grunted a derogative reply. The pills rattled in the bottle as he shoved them into a pocket of his blue jeans. As he passed by to leave, he stared straight ahead, speaking not a single word. The epitome of dignity and cool disdain.

Lyn dug inside her purse for her insurance card. When she finished the paperwork, she returned the clipboard to Maya.

“Thanks. Why don’t you come on back?” Maya indicated a side door.

Like always, Lyn stood beside Kristen as her daughter struggled to stand. Lyn’s fingers itched to help Kristen, who was determined to do it by herself whether she looked odd and stumbled or not.

The girl braced her hands on the armrests, gained her balance, then clopped forward, her upper torso jerking back with each awkward step. Maya opened the door and stood there smiling until Kristen passed through, then led the way down a short hall to an examination room.

Inside, Kristen sat on the only chair, a grimace of pain showing her discomfort.

“Is it hurting you today?” Lyn asked.

“No.” A short, curt word.

Lyn knew better. The wound had healed, but it’d only been a year. The stump continued to pain Kristen whenever she wore her prosthesis. But the girl hated her wheelchair even more. And Lyn knew Kristen’s autonomy would diminish with the chair.

Lyn was determined to speak with the doctor about this. The brave girl refused to show any more signs of weakness than what had been forced upon her. So daring and courageous. So determined not to quit in spite of the adversity she faced. If only this new doctor could help her somehow. If only…

The door rattled and the doctor entered the room. Lyn’s breath froze in her throat. The man glanced first at Kristen, then at the clipboard in his hand, but Lyn recognized him instantly. A tall, jet-eyed man with short, coal black hair shaved high and tight like a U.S. marine. Like her, Lyn figured he was in his mid-thirties. With high, chiseled cheekbones, wide shoulders and long, solid legs. Dark and extremely handsome, in a dangerous sort of way. Except for his eyes. Fringed by thick lashes, they sparkled with gentle warmth.

“Cade!”

He looked up, his gaze mirroring her shock.

No, he couldn’t be the angry rancher who thought Lyn was a threat to the mustangs. He didn’t like her, he’d made that obvious last week when he’d saved her from the wild stallion. Surely he couldn’t be Kristen’s new doctor.

But he was. Oh, this day just kept getting worse.

* * *

Cade lifted his head, but didn’t speak for several moments as he contemplated Lyndsy Warner’s presence in his office. Her golden eyes held his like a vice grip and he sensed her deep intelligence as she studied his face in return.

“You…you’re Kristen’s new doctor?” she asked.

“Apparently.”

“Oh. I guess I didn’t make the connection. But you said your name is Cade.” Her expression looked deflated.

“That’s right, although I’m Dr. Baldwin when I’m working in my office. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Now he regretted not asking her full name when he’d met her in Secret Valley last week. He hadn’t put it all together. Lyn was a bit different than Lyndsy. He decided the name Lyn suited her better. Finding out the new forest ranger’s daughter was one of his patients took him completely off guard.

The tribal elders wouldn’t like this. No, not at all.

His gaze skimmed the woman’s skinny jeans, red blouse and white tennis shoes. Instead of pulled back in a pony tail, she wore her long blonde hair straight and soft around her face. But her eyes. A tawny-gold color, like cooked honey, sweet and smooth. Right now, she looked like a normal housewife, not a forest ranger. Not a threat to the wild horses. And certainly too young to have a daughter so old.

Likewise, she inspected him. The stethoscope hanging around his neck. The white smock he wore open over his blue chambray shirt. His denims and scuffed cowboy boots. He shifted nervously, wishing she’d stop looking at him.

“Uhm, when you rescued me from Buck, I didn’t realize you were a doctor.” A stiff smile curled her full lips, but didn’t reach her beautiful eyes.

“Yeah, we didn’t talk about that.”

“I thought you were a rancher.”

“I own Sunrise Ranch, but it’s not big enough to grow crops and livestock anymore. My grandparents left the place to me. I just live there now.”

“Oh.” She continued to stare.

“You okay?” he asked, trying to hide his own feelings of confusion.

She looked away. “Yes, I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re not really what I imagined a prosthesis specialist would look like.”

He made a soft scoffing sound, the heels of his boots thudding against the wooden floor. “Is that because I’m part Shoshone Indian?”

“No, no. Not at all. I didn’t know until now. Although that’s fascinating, too.”

She found his heritage fascinating? Ironically that was how he would describe her. But he wasn’t about to ask her to enlarge on her comment.

“I’m one half Shoshone, on my mother’s side. Any less, and I wouldn’t be eligible to belong to the tribe,” he said.

With a Caucasian father and a Shoshone mother, he’d spent every childhood summer in Stokely with his mother’s parents. He’d been in Afghanistan when his grandfather died and left him Sunrise Ranch. All his life, Cade had dreamed of becoming a doctor and opening a medical office here to benefit the Toyakoi Tribe, his Shoshone people. Now he was here, he was haunted by memories of war. Only his faith in God kept him sane.

“Is my ethnicity a problem for you?” he asked.

She snorted. “Of course not. It’s just that you seem so…so casual for a doctor.”

Kaku, his grandmother, had always told him he was wild and untamed. Like the mustangs running free in Secret Valley. And yet, he wasn’t wild. Not anymore. The war had changed him. He’d come to realize what was really important in life. God, family and living with honor. Now, he just wanted to settle down and find peace. But one thing was missing. He had no family. They were all gone, now. No one to share his hopes and dreams with. No one to love.

And he felt the emptiness like a hole in his heart.

“I’d look a bit out-of-place in Stokely if I ran around in a business suit.” He reached for a stool on wheels. Pulling it over, he sat down in front of Kristen. “And you didn’t tell me your daughter was one of my new patients.”

“I didn’t realize at the time.”

And whether he liked it or not, it appeared he’d now get to know them even more.

He faced Kristen, smiling to alleviate the girl’s worried frown. “So, Kristen, how are you today?”

“Fine.” Her voice sounded uncertain as she held her clasped hands tightly in her lap. Rather than happy and smiling, she looked anxious and withdrawn.

Frightened.

He made a pretense of scanning the clipboard. “You’re what? Twelve, thirteen years old?”

Kristen’s brow crinkled and she shook her head, looking away. Unsure of herself. Cade didn’t like that. If he was going to help this child, he’d have to win her trust.

“I’m only ten, but I’ll be eleven next November,” she said.

Cade widened his eyes and drew back as though amazed. “Is that right? Well, you’re sure pretty and you look older than your age. Very grownup.”

His flattery brought a flush of pleasure to the child’s cheeks. Ah, he had her now. He loved helping people, he always had. But for some innate reason, he felt strongly that he must help this little girl feel better about herself. No matter who her mother was and what she did for a living.

“I’ve spoken to your doctor in Reno and he’s told me you’re wearing a C-leg prosthesis. Can I take a look?” Cade asked respectfully.

Kristen nodded, pulling her skirt up to a modest inch just above her skinny knees. Or rather knee.

Setting the clipboard aside on the counter by the sink, Cade studied the mechanisms of the prosthesis. Pink and white scars crisscrossed the thighs of her amputated leg and also her good leg. “Were both your legs injured?”

She nodded, but Lyn answered. “After the accident, they were only able to save her left leg.”

Thank heaven they were able to save that much.

Cade reached for the socket of the prosthesis, his fingers pressing and pulling gently as he tested the fit around Kristen’s stump.

“I don’t think it fits properly,” Lyn said. “She’s had a recent growth spurt, which may have changed the fitting. It’s hurting her. She isn’t able to walk very well.” She stepped near, hovering close by Kristen’s side.

Cade liked the genuine concern he heard in Lyn’s voice. The tenderness as she brushed a protective hand over the girl’s arm. It made her seem more human.

“We’ll see.” He bowed his head low, his attention on Kristen, but his words for Lyn. “How’d you hear about my office?”

“Dr. Fletcher said you’d recently completed an internship with the Craig Stratich Group. I’m aware that they’re leading specialists in prosthetics and research. I accepted my job in Stokely, knowing there’d be a qualified doctor here to work with Kristen.”

He grunted his acknowledgment, betraying his nervousness. The tribal leaders wouldn’t want him treating the forest ranger’s daughter, but he had very little choice. He certainly would never turn the little girl away. Above all, he felt compassion for the child. She needed his help and he couldn’t refuse.

He sat back and released a quick sigh. “You should know I’m not really a physical therapist. I’m not even a true prosthetist. I’m just a general practitioner who’s worked a lot with prosthetics. Unfortunately, my office isn’t currently set up to provide physical therapy for an amputee.”

Lyn’s brow crinkled and her voice filled with apprehension. “Are you saying you can’t treat Kristen?”

“No, I can work with your specialists in Reno. I’m sure we can come up with something to allow me to help you out, but I wanted you to know up-front what I’m able to do.” He made some mental notes of how he might install support bars for Kristen to hold onto as she learned to walk better. A floor mat and some practice stairs would help out, too. It wouldn’t take much to create a therapy room for the little girl, yet it could make a big difference in the quality of her life.

“I understand,” Lyn continued. “Dr. Fletcher said if anyone could help us, it was you.”

Cade chuckled, unable to resist feeling pleased by the flattery. “I’ll do my best. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my old teacher.”

“He also said you’d served several tours of duty as a marine in Afghanistan. When you got home, you finished medical school and focused on prosthetics because you had a good friend who lost his leg in the war.”

Cade stiffened, taken off guard by how much she knew about him. She’d touched a raw nerve buried deep inside. Dallin had saved his life, putting himself in harm’s way. Cade owed everything to Dal and much more. “Good ol’ Dr. Fletcher. He always did have a wagging tongue.”

“I didn’t mean to be nosey,” Lyn said. “It’s just that Kristen’s father was also a marine.”

“I see. Semper fi.” Cade nodded in understanding. Just one more thing he didn’t want to like about this woman.

“Always faithful,” she said.

“I’m sure your husband was a good man.” Cade almost groaned. Now, he was making small talk with her.

“My daddy was the best,” Kristen said.

Cade looked away, the knowledge of their loss impacting him more than he liked. He patted Kristen on her good knee before rolling his stool backward. He didn’t want to know about Lyn’s dead husband. Or anything else about her, for that matter. “Why don’t you stand and walk a few steps for me, sweetheart?”

The girl tossed a hesitant glance at her mother, then did as asked. Bracing her hands against the armrests of her chair, she lurched to her feet. She bit her bottom lip, obviously concentrating. Trying hard not to show her clumsiness. Lyn stood close by. Too close. Her hands open and ready to catch the girl if she fell.

Kristen walked forward, bending slightly at the waist and sticking her bottom out before jerking the prosthetic leg forward. The end result was that she walked with a pronounced limp.

Cade stood and stepped over to give Kristen some guidance. He had to brush past Lyn, catching the tantalizing scent of some kind of fruity shampoo. Sweet and feminine. “Excuse me.”

Lyn stepped back, but not far enough. Her gaze centered on Kristen like a mother eagle watching her young. And that’s when Cade wondered if she were a bit overprotective.

“You definitely need a new prosthesis,” Cade said. “We can get one fitted for you. I’ve got some good contacts for that. In the meantime, I’d like you to work on a few things for me. Can you do that?”

Kristen nodded, her blue eyes wide as she gazed up at him with a mixture of gratitude or doubt, he wasn’t sure which.

“First, I don’t think you’re trusting your prosthesis enough. It won’t collapse under you, so let it do the work for you. It’s strong and can bear your weight. As you walk, you need to make sure your hip is over the foot.”

He modeled the posture with his own hip and leg. “Set your weight down on the foot of your prosthesis before you take another step. Trust that it’ll be there for you. Brace your hand on the wall, if you need to support yourself. Then, bring through your good leg. This will pull you up onto the toe of your prosthesis. Keep your hip over your foot. That will load the springs in the prosthetic foot so that it’ll help propel you forward on your next step.”

Cade directed Kristen through the motions. When her hip and leg moved out of position, he gently pressed them back into proper order and Kristen was soon taking less awkward steps.

Then he moved away. Without his aid, utter panic filled Kristen’s eyes. “But what if I fall?”

Lyn took a step toward her daughter, but Cade held out his hand to stop her from interfering. “Then you fall. What’s the worst that’ll happen?”

He waited, letting both daughter and mother digest this comment. Hoping Kristen realized that falling wasn’t the worst thing she should fear.

“People will laugh,” Kristen said.

“So, let them. And what will you do?”

He hoped she didn’t say she’d cry. He couldn’t restore her leg, but he could help her toughen up so she could cope with her life.

“I get back up?” she asked.

A question, not a statement.

“Of course! Have you ever seen someone else fall down?” he asked.

The little girl nodded. Her mother looked tense and wary. Apprehensive.

“And did you laugh?” he asked.

“No.” A vague response. She didn’t understand what he was getting at. Not yet, anyway.

“Why not?”

“Because they fell down and might be hurt. I don’t laugh because I know how it feels.”

“Of course. But they don’t just lay there. They get back up, right?”

Another nod.

He bent slightly at the waist so he could look her in the eyes. “Kids fall all the time, Kristen. You just gotta quit being afraid of it. I can teach you how to land on your bottom so it won’t hurt as much. If you fall down, do you already know how to stand back up without help?”

She nodded, her eyes filled with a bit more trust, but not enough. Not yet. This poor girl had a lot of issues she needed to resolve if she was ever going to walk well and lead a normal, happy life.

“Then, there’s nothing to be afraid of, is there? You can get back up and walk on your merry way,” he reiterated.

She looked down, her chin quivering. A strand of golden hair swept past her cheek. She looked so sweet and vulnerable.

Just like her mom.

“But kids laugh when I fall,” she said.

His heart gave a powerful squeeze. “Then let them laugh. Show them it doesn’t bother you one bit. And pretty soon, they won’t laugh anymore.”

Cade couldn’t help wondering if Lyn had discussed this topic with Kristen. From the profound concern in the mother’s eyes, he knew the ranger cared deeply about her daughter. But maybe Kristen needed to hear this dialogue from someone besides her mom.

Maybe Lyn needed to hear it, too.

Taking a deep breath, Kristen took another step and another. She pressed her tongue against her upper lip, seeming to concentrate on doing what he’d shown her. Learning to trust her prosthesis. Lyn tightened her hands into fists, as though she fought the urge not to assist her child.

“Hey! I’m doing it better.” Kristen smiled at her mom.

“You sure are, honey,” Lyn agreed, her voice thick with emotion.

Cade’s gaze darted to Lyn’s face. Against his better judgment, he sympathized with the ranger and her cute daughter. How could he resist? He’d thought about telling Lyn he couldn’t treat Kristen, but that went right out the window. Only an unfeeling ogre would turn their back on this woman and her child. They needed him. Maybe even more than Dal had needed him after he’d lost his leg.

“When you feel the resistance of the prosthetic toe, you tend to want to avoid it rather than learning to work with it. Believe in your prosthesis. Make it work for you. Trust it to be there,” Cade advised.

“But it hurts.” Kristen cringed.

“That’s a different matter. You need a better fitting socket. I can give you some extra thick socks to wear over your stump, but I think this socket is too loose. You have a bony prominence that needs a flexible area around it so it won’t cause you pain.”

“I knew something was wrong,” Lyn sighed.

“We’re gonna take care of that for you,” Cade promised. “We’ll get you fitted for a new prosthesis. I also want to give you some new exercises I think will strengthen your balance, abdomen and thighs.”

He continued working with the child, learning her range of motion, strength and coordination. “You’re quite limber and strong. I don’t want you to lose that, so exercise every day. You just need more confidence.”

A bit of hope filled Kristen’s eyes. “Maybe when I get my new socket, I can play soccer with the other kids.”

Lyn shook her head hard. “No, honey. You could get hurt doing that.”

“Ahh,” the girl groaned. “Dad would want me to try.”

“Well, Dad isn’t here.” An unyielding edge of sternness laced Lyn’s voice.

Definitely overprotective.

Cade stood silently listening to this exchange. What had happened to Kristen’s father? Why wasn’t the guy here with his family?

“Kristen’s father was killed in the accident when she lost her leg,” Lyn explained.

From the sadness filling her eyes, Cade realized she’d divulged something very personal. Right now, she didn’t look like the proficient forest ranger he’d met last week in Secret Valley. Now, she just looked like a worried mom. Vulnerable and exposed. And that made him feel strangely protective of her.

No! He shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to feel sentimental toward this woman and her child. He was Kristen’s doctor, nothing more. He must remain neutral. With all his patients.

Cade cleared his voice. “I’m sorry to hear that. But with a running prosthesis, I don’t see why Kristen couldn’t play soccer. Staying active will help her retain her range of motion.”

He looked at Lyn, keeping his gaze insistent and unwavering.

Lyn’s mouth tightened. “A running prosthesis won’t be necessary. I doubt I can afford it anyway.”

“We can talk about the cost later, but don’t worry. We can find a way to make it happen.”

Now, why did he say that? Getting Kristen a running prosthesis at little or no cost would mean that he had to call in some huge favors. But if it meant she could run and play with the other children, he didn’t mind going out of his way for this little girl.

Lyn tilted her head and gave him a stern look as she enunciated her next words. “No. I don’t want Kristen hurt again.”

Okay, he got it. In a way, Cade couldn’t blame Lyn. Her husband had been killed and her daughter lost her leg in a bad accident. No doubt Lyn didn’t want to lose anymore. He didn’t argue the point, but their situation troubled him. Kristen’s psychological needs were just as important as her physical needs. Being overprotective wasn’t good if Kristen was to ever develop enough self-confidence and autonomy to lead a fairly independent life.

Cade would treat Kristen the best he could and keep his distance from them otherwise. He and Lyn would never be friends. Nothing more than acquaintances. And for some odd reason, that made Cade feel strangely sad inside.

###

*****

Discover other titles by Leigh Bale at Smashwords.com

Visit Leigh Bale’s website at http://www.LeighBale.com

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Dear Reader Letter

Excerpt from The Heart’s Warrior

Excerpt from Healing the Forest Ranger