Juliana Garnett (10 page)

T
HE GROUP LEFT
Wulfridge castle and took the narrow, crumbling road that led from the promontory to the marshes beyond. It was cold and damp, and the mist was heavy as the troop settled into a steady pace. They forded the river at a shallow point near a sandy wash, then clambered up the steep banks and entered a shadowed wood where little light penetrated the ancient trees and brush. It was silent here, save for the steady clop of hooves and incessant jangle of bridles and spurs.

Luc resisted the temptation to seek out Ceara the first day, but rode at the head of the troop without looking back. Giles would tend her needs, and soon he would be rid of her. He knew he must leave it up to William to decide her fate, but at odd moments a vision of her wide blue eyes flashed before him in silent reproach. There was a part of him that admired her stubborn courage, and was astonished at her effrontery in donning battle gear and taking up a sword against him. That she had beat him in battle and single combat was as admirable as it was annoying. He anticipated many a jest at his expense when William’s court discovered it, as they surely would. In fact,
that
juicy bit of news would most likely reach William long before he did. Bad news winged swiftly, while good news plodded afoot.

His great destrier settled into a steady rhythm on the narrow, rough track that passed for a road in this northern region. The frequent passage of carts had formed two ruts that straddled a thin line of frost-killed grass. Much of the road was washed
away by rains, or gutted by huge holes that still held slushy puddles of brown water. When they at last broke from the forest into open land, the mist still blanketed the soggy moors stretching beyond the road on both sides. Gray skies melded with the dull gray mist to form a nearly seamless landscape. The dismal view made him long for the sunnier climes of France where he had spent so many years.

But England was his home now, and what had France and Normandy given him but bitter shame? Nothing. It was here he would make his new life, seize the promise that had once been his and make it manifest.

“My lord?”

Luc half turned, lifting a brow when he recognized Giles approaching. The man-at-arms was slightly flushed, and looked uncomfortable when he drew his mount alongside his leader.

“Yes, Giles, what is it?”

“It is the lady, my lord.”

A glance reassured Luc that Ceara was still with them, mounted on a fat gray mare that looked sulky at the brisk pace. The lady looked just as sulky, her mouth pressed in a taut line and her eyes mutinous. He looked back at Giles. “What about the lady?”

“She is … uncooperative, my lord.”

“Uncooperative.” Luc stared at Giles so long that the man-at-arms lowered his gaze and shifted uneasily in his saddle. “How is it you wish for her to cooperate?”

Giles cleared his throat nervously. “She will not obey when I tell her not to rein back her mount to a slower pace. It is very difficult to keep my horse apace with the rest if I must be constantly slapping hers on the rump.” Giles scowled, his eyes flashing with ire. “The lady informed me that she does not have to keep up, that it is my duty to guard her, not drag her down the road.”

“Did she now?” Luc suppressed a smile. “Then it is clear to
me that you must take matters firmly into your own hands, Giles.”

“But, my lord, she is very willful. When I tried to take the reins from her, she slapped me across the face with them. My cheek bled for near a mile.”

There was, indeed, a red welt across Gile’s cheek, crusted with dried blood. Indignation glittered in the young man’s eyes, mixed with frustration.

“Giles, when I bade you watch the lady, I did not say you must suffer insult at her hands. Take her reins and lead her horse, and if she resists, inform her that it is better you who takes them than me.”

Triumph replaced the frustration in Giles’s face. “At once, my lord. And with great pleasure.”

Luc watched with interest as Giles reined his mount around and returned to Ceara, and found it difficult to restrain his laughter when she sweetly relinquished her reins before the man-at-arms could even speak. It must have greatly diminished Giles’s satisfaction not to be able to convey the veiled threat he had been authorized to use.

Looking past Giles, Ceara met Luc’s eyes with an innocent lift of one brow, as if she could not comprehend the man-at-arm’s ire. A clever wench, bold and saucy, cool and poised even with a dagger at her throat. She had the courage of a man, yet the mysterious moods and caprices that marked her actions were as incomprehensible to him as any woman’s.

Strangely, it was not her defiance that nettled him as much as her compliance. Her inexplicable shift from snarling hatred to breathless yielding had nonplussed him most. He could deal with resistance handily, but her surrender had nearly undone him. His hard-won restraint had caused him a restless night and left his temper unreliable. Even now, he could visualize her naked body as if she were before him, the tempting allure of her sweet curves a prodding reminder that it had been overlong
since he had been with a woman. When he reached William’s court, he would rectify that lack as soon as discreetly possible.

As the day wore on, the morning mist finally lifted, and it grew lighter as the sun appeared from behind scudding clouds. With a gentle warmth filtering down over fields and road, the air grew pleasantly crisp. In a welcome contrast to the gloom of mist and cloud, the shafts of hazy light brightened the landscape and Luc’s mood. He felt as if he had the world in his fist.

On the second night they made camp at dusk near the banks of the Wansbeck River. A thick wood stretched beyond the river, providing ample fuel for the fires. After the arduous day’s ride over miles of rough terrain, the prospect of a warm fire was an agreeable one. The wind was from the northeast, cold and damp and smelling faintly of salt though they were miles from the sea by now. It seeped through mail and clothing with icy fingers, and fires sprung up on the banks as soon as the men could gather wood and light them.

Guards were posted around the camp at intervals, while others set about picketing horses, cleaning their gear, and preparing food for the evening meal. Luc cleaned his own gear as his squire had remained at Wulfridge, then knelt close to a fire to warm his bare hands. His mail gauntlets provided protection from sword but not the cold, and the heat slowly eased his cramping fingers.

Ceara watched him silently. He had avoided her until now, leaving her in the care of Giles, who had looked so harried and miserable that Luc had finally relented long enough to order Ceara left in his charge for a time. She was wrapped in her long wool cloak, the hood over her bright hair as she huddled against the wind. The flames reflected in her eyes made them gleam like rare jewels.

“Where do we go, my lord?” Her sudden question was so casual that he knew she had dwelt on it for some time before asking. Most likely, since they had left Wulfridge the day before. He shrugged.

“To the king.”

“Do you think me a lackwit? I am fully aware of the purpose for this journey, but not the destination. Is the king at Winchester?”

Amused, Luc shook his head. “No, he is not. What would it matter to you where we find the king? His whereabouts will hardly affect his decision as to your fate.”

She shifted, and held her hands out to the flames. The edges of her cloak parted, and the amber stone dangling against her breast glittered in the firelight. “I did not think it would, my lord. It’s just that I have never been to Winchester.”

“Ah.” Luc studied her in the flickering glow. “A pity you must take to travel in this manner, then.”

Her eyes flashed, and she bent her head so that the hood of her cloak cast a deep shadow across her face. “Just so, my lord. I cannot think what came over me.”

“Can you not?” Highly amused now, Luc rubbed his hands together briskly and asked, “Why did you break your sworn oath to the king? William does not take treason lightly.”

“Nor do I.” Her head jerked up, and her eyes were slightly narrowed. “But I never swore an oath of fealty to William.”

“Your father did.”

“My father and I did not always agree. He hoped the king would be just.”

“And you have found William not to be?”

“Hardly just, to have helpless serfs slaughtered, their huts set afire and kine stolen, I think. But then, I am not Norman, so my views may be different than William’s or Sir Simon’s.”

“Is that how your father died,
demoiselle
? Fighting Sir Simon?”

She expelled a heavy breath that made the flames dance. “I have told you time and again—
I
set the men against Sir Simon. When he came to Wulfridge to demand that I surrender the castle and all that it contained, I refused.” She shrugged. “In retaliation, he burned villages and serfs, and ravaged the lands. He
thought because I was a woman, I would be frightened into yielding.”

“Instead you called up an army.”

“Yea, and they fought well, every one of them.” Her voice quivered, and she lapsed into silence for a moment before adding softly, “They were all good men, but few were soldiers. Many of our fighting men were slain when the Danes attacked a fortnight before Sir Simon arrived. All we had left were serfs and a few vassals.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you pressed them into service.”

“Would you have me meekly yield up what is mine? Nay, I would not, not to Sir Simon, and not to you. You are like, in that you are both arrogant and insatiable.”

“You should have considered negotiation. Not even arrogant, insatiable men enjoy losing good men and horses.”

“I offered Sir Simon a truce when he first came to Wulfridge. He did not take it.”

Luc fell silent. It had the ring of truth to it, for he had known of Sir Simon, a pompous knight with a reputation for cruelty. After a moment, he looked up at her again, frowning. “What kind of truce did you offer?”

“What difference does that make? He slew the messenger I sent him, and returned poor Edric’s ears to me with a letter demanding unconditional surrender. Until then, I had offered only token resistance, for I listened to other counsel. But when my advisers saw Sir Simon’s reply, no one could argue that he would be merciful.”

“If what you say is true, Ceara, then the king will make amends. But if you lie, he will be ruthless.”

“And do you think the king would believe anything I might say?” She shook her head incredulously. “He will not.”

“You may be surprised.”

“I long ago ceased to be surprised by the nature of man, so I doubt seriously that your king can astonish me.” She bent her
head to concentrate on the folds of her cloak, as if they were the most important thing in the world.

Luc regarded her with reluctant compassion, an emotion that was as startling as it was aggravating. Beneath her prickly surface there was an innate dignity and hidden gentleness. The invisible armor she wore was thick enough to deflect pity and compassion from most, but there were moments in which she let down her guard. Like now, staring morosely into the flames, her tender years evident as she clung tightly to the edges of her cloak. It could not be easy for her, yet she refused to retreat, refused to swear a fealty she did not espouse. Her honor, alone, made her admirable to him. He had his fill of those too quick to swear, too quick to deceive.

It occurred to him as he watched her that perhaps he was becoming too involved with her. And when she glanced up at him with wide eyes and a tremulous smile that made his belly tighten, he knew it for certain.

S
PARKS FLEW UP
from the fire as a log burned through with a snapping sound. In the distance, a wolf howled, its desolate cry shivering through the night. Ceara’s head jerked up, and she half rose to her feet.

“It is only a wolf,” Luc reassured her. “It will not come too close to our fires. They avoid man for the most part.”

“And who said animals were dumb beasts?” Ceara replied in a shaky voice. Her hands trembled as she wrapped them in her cloak. Luc would not have expected this fierce little Saxon to be afraid of a wolf’s cry in the night, not the same woman who had defied Sir Simon to his teeth, and offered Luc a challenge in every breath. He was almost beginning to regret the necessity of taking her to the king.

It shouldn’t matter to him what happened to her, he reminded himself. But in these fearsome times it was hard for a man to keep his wits about him and remain steadfast, and for a woman to do so was even more surprising. If it was true that she had held Wulfridge against the Danes, it was an astounding feat.

“Why did word not come to William that Lord Balfour had
died?” he asked after a moment, and she turned to him with an odd look in her eyes.

“Why? ’tis obvious, I would think.”

“To you, perhaps. But I am slow. Tell me the reason.”

A faint smile curved her mouth. “I swore our vassals to secrecy. Do you think I wanted to be used as a pawn? If Earls Cospatric or Edgar learned of my father’s death, they would be as like to seize Wulfridge as William. When I explained it thus to Balfour’s loyal vassals, they understood well enough what was at risk. Our numbers were so few after Hastings that only William’s sanction had saved my father from the Scots and Danes who coveted our holdings.” She shrugged. “When the time finally came when I must choose fox or weasel, I chose the least likely to ravage the lands. It seems I was mistaken.”