The Silken Cord (13 page)

“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.”