The Silken Cord (10 page)

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?”