Juliana Garnett

Almost desperately, Annice tried to twist away from him, but he held her much too easily.

“Do not force me, my lord,” she said between angry breaths. “ ’Twill go hardly with you when the king and my overlord learn what you have done.”

“I had thought to hear more convincing arguments from such a fierce adversary,” le Draca mocked without releasing his grip the slightest bit. “Do you not have a better reasoning than that?”

“Aye!” She glared up at him. “If you take that which I do not willingly yield, I will see you spitted for it like a wild boar.”

His teeth flashed. “Ah, ’tis a violent nature you possess, sweet vixen. Like the fox, you bare your teeth and snarl a threat that you cannot sustain.” One hand shifted to tangle in the loose twist of her hair. He lifted it slowly, letting it slide over his palm. “I am not a hare,” he murmured, “that will fear the red fox.”

Lifting his gaze to her face, he said softly, “And I can make you yield all to me willingly enough, milady.…”

Her breath came more quickly as he bent his head.…

M
ist curled softly around high stone walls, tattered trails shrouding the turrets of Stoneham Castle. A light wind blew, sifting through mist and the tree branches burgeoning with fresh green buds of new life. A cock crowed sleepily to herald the approaching dawn. The faint clatter of awakening inhabitants inside the castle could be heard in the thick woods stretching beyond the moat that encircled Stoneham.

Waiting with ill-concealed impatience for the sun to rise, Rolf of Dragonwyck quieted his restless destrier with a gentle rein and softly spoken word. He did it absently, his mind already on the anticipated meeting with the Earl of Seabrook. It was long overdue, as was a visit with Rolf’s son, Justin. Only recently returned from France, Rolf had hoped to see Justin by now, but Lord Thurston had delayed.

A surge of anger tightened his mailed hands upon the reins, and the black destrier gave a startled snort, shaking his head with a harsh jangle of bit and curb chain.

Leaning forward, Edmund de Molay said softly, “Patience,
my liege. Mayhap this time Lord Thurston will relinquish the boy.”

Rolf did not reply for a moment. Edmund meant well. But both men knew that the likelihood of Thurston of Seabrook giving up custody of his nephew was slim. If it would not endanger Justin, Rolf would have risked the king’s wrath by razing Stoneham to the ground to get his son. ’Twould not be the first castle he’d reduced to a pile of rubble; but if he acted without King John’s sanction, he’d soon find himself one of the outlaw barons. He had worked too hard, endured too much, to lose it all now.

This time, with a letter from the Church pressing his suit to recover his only son and heir, he hoped for success. It had taken two years and many petitions and bribes to get even this politely worded letter from the cardinal. It was a slim chance at best. Even John ignored the Church when it was expedient. John’s quarrel with the pope over the appointment of a new Archbishop of Canterbury had resulted in the king’s excommunication from the Church. Only the year before had the rift been mended, so now it was doubtful the letter he had worked so hard to secure would matter to Seabrook.

Yet Edmund de Molay’s hopeful words still rang in his ears, and Rolf managed a slight smile. “Mayhap he will, Edmund. I have heard that Thurston is not high in the king’s estimation at the moment.” His smile twisted into a sardonic curl. “Something to do with the debauchery of a young lady-in-waiting who had also caught John’s eye, I understand.”

Edmund laughed softly, his brown eyes gleaming with humor. “It has never been said that Thurston of Seabrook has either restraint or foresight.” He paused, then added as a curse, “Bloody swine.”

“Aye.” Rolf stared at the forbidding stone walls of the keep that held his son hostage. “But that swine had foresight enough to take my son from me. I have been held hostage as well as Justin and would have it done. If I must, I will pursue Seabrook to the death to take back that which is mine.”

Edmund lapsed into silence, and both men gazed at the
mist-shrouded castle. One of the men-at-arms coughed, and a horse whickered softly. There was the muffled sound of hooves against dirt, mingling with the metallic clank of weapons and chain mail. They had brought only a small band of men, just enough to make a show of force without being a threat. Rolf wanted only his son, and he would take whatever means he could to move Seabrook to consent.

But it was not in his nature to plead, even for that which he desired most. Nay, Edmund had oft made the remark that Rolf was as his ancestors of old, the daring Northmen who had mingled with Saxons to produce valiant warriors much more accustomed to storming castle walls with fire and sword than with letters and words. And it was true. Jésu, but nothing truer had ever been spoken of him. He had not earned his fierce reputation by offering up flowery phrases and stilted speeches. Since he’d been a boy barely strong enough to lift a sword, he had been used to taking what he wanted by force. Always large for his age, he had learned early and by necessity that the weak were quickly vanquished, while only the strong survived. Yea, he had learned it at his fathers knee and, in so doing, had accumulated keeps and wealth.

But he would yield it all to have again one small boy.…

“Have you heard who awaits without the keep?”

Annice d’Arcy turned at her cousin’s soft murmur. Gray shafts of early light streamed through a high window in hazy ribbons, picking out the pale glints in Alais’s hair as she leaned closer. Nearby, sleepy-eyed ladies huddled close to a large brazier, warming hands and bare toes at the glowing red coals. Alais beckoned one of them come to her to do her hair, then turned back to Annice with an expectant expression.

Annice was working a long strand of her hair into a neat twist, carefully winding a thin blue silk ribbon around the coil. As she tied the ends in a long bow, she looked up with a faint smile. Alais loved to gossip and usually prefaced her choicest bits with “Have you heard …?” If Alais wasn’t such a sweet-natured person who normally wouldn’t harm
anyone, her fondness for gossip would have been more than Annice could bear.

“No,” Annice asked dutifully, “who is outside the keep on such a chill morning?”

“A dragon,” Alais whispered with a dramatic lilt in her tone. She glanced over her shoulder at the girl binding her hair, then added, “I long to view the ravening beast my husband says is the most vicious warrior in the land.”

Frowning, Annice said slowly, “Do you mean Rolf, Lord of Dragonwyck? The man they call le Draca?”

Alais nodded. “Aye. Have you heard of him?”

“Yea. I have heard a little.” Annice paused. “His reputation is grim, even for one of the king’s warring barons. ’Tis said that he is ruthless with his enemies, and a stark man even with those of his close acquaintance. ’Twas le Draca who burned the entire keep of one of John’s enemies, giving no quarter to any inside.” She drew in a deep breath. “What does he here?”

“Thurston does not discuss business with me, but I know that he is guardian to le Draca’s son.” Alais smiled at her cousin’s surprise. “You have been here only a short time, so you could not know. Rolf was wed to my husband’s sister. She died in childbed, and Thurston was made guardian of their child. I do not understand myself why the king would name him guardian to Dragonwyck’s son, save that it does keep the Dragon on a short leash. Rather like a tame bear, Thurston once said.”

“I hardly think one could compare a man of le Draca’s brutish nature to a poor bear,” Annice murmured. “P’raps the title of dragon is more suited to him, after all.”

Alais laughed and gave her a quick hug. “Yea, and a comely dragon he is, I hear. Shall we see for ourselves how comely he is?”

“Of course. I am never averse to viewing a man said to be comely, even one also said to wage war as savagely as the Welsh.”

“I am so glad you came to stay with me. All the other ladies in residence are dull creatures, and much too dreary. I do hope your stay is lengthy.”

“No more than I do,” Annice replied. It was true.
Though there were times when Alais could try her patience greatly, she was grateful she was there instead of imprisoned. Circumstances had rendered it impossible for Annice to remain in her own keep after her husband had been executed. Luc d’Arcy had been all that stood between her and disaster; even he had failed her in the end.

“Here,” Annice said when Alais sharply reproved her serving maid for pulling her hair, “let me bind it for you. I’m much faster.”

“Aye,” Alais muttered in relief. She waved the girl away with an impatient hand. “I vow I shall go mad if Thurston insists upon putting one more of these slatternly girls in my care. Do I look like a nursemaid?”

“Nay, sweet cousin.” Annice hid a smile. It was unusual to find Alais interested in her own two daughters, much less the young girls Thurston seemed to favor as serving maids. Annice was the one who often visited the nursery, not Alais. She tied the last ribbon in her cousin’s hair, neatly binding the willful blond tresses. “There, Alais. ’Tis done.”