The Silken Cord (2 page)

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.

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.