The Viking's Woman (34 page)

“My lord, have you spoken with Ro—”

“Aye, lady, I have.” His fingers tightened so that she nearly cried out, but she swallowed back the sound. From the doorway that the servants hurried
through she could hear the laughter and the booming voices of the men. And still Eric nearly whispered as he continued, “By God, madam, how many times must I assure you that I do not blame the lad?”

“You blame me!” she choked out.

“Aye, that I do. Now, milady—”

“It’s just that you leave for battle again—”

“And though you would gladly have a Danish ax cleave my skull, you fear that I would, through malice, cast away the boy’s life?”

She paled, sensing the rise of his anger. “It’s just that—”

“I assure you,” he hissed, very close to her, “that your honor or lack thereof is not worth the life of one warrior, be he Irish, Norse, or English. Now, lady, I do suggest you follow me quickly, before I forget that I am supposed to be among civilized English company and take you yonder to redden that flesh you do seem so determined still to expose to others.”

She jerked free and swore, heading for the hall with her head high. She was brought back swiftly, swallowing down a cry, as his fingers knotted into her hair. He released her quickly enough, caught her arm, and proceeded out with her once again.

Eric led her to the head of his table, while the others grouped around them, according to their rank. That left William at Rhiannon’s side; Jon by him; Allen and Edward to Eric’s left; and Rollo, courteously giving up his own seat, down the plank with Rowan and others of Eric’s own host. Because of the seating, Rhiannon should have shared a chalice with William that day, yet despite the anger still emanating from
her husband, he came to her rescue when William offered the chalice to her first.

Eric caught her hand when protocol would have demanded that she accept the proffered cup, and he apologized to William with a pleasant ease. “William, you will excuse us, I beg, and indulge us. My wife and I have had so little time to explore the wonders of matrimony—it seems that war must always intrude. My lady will share this cup with me, as it is still a fascination just to have my lips wander where hers have touched before them.”

He spoke loudly enough for all to hear. Edward laughed and applauded, and Jon stood up with his chalice raised high. “My lords—English and other!—we have gained not just an able warrior but truly a man of wisdom and wit, a prince and a poet. My dear lady Rhiannon, I admit—if you’ll excuse me, Prince of Eire”—he bowed quickly to Eric, then looked to Rhiannon again—“we who watched you grow with courage and beauty were honor-bound to see to this match, yet in our hearts we bled. And now we discover that you are wed to a man who has gained more than our deepest respect and admiration, and who, by his very words, cherishes you deeply as well. Lady, to you, and to your Lord of Wolves!”

There was thunderous applause. Rhiannon found her husband’s eyes upon her with their mocking light. He lifted his chalice to her and drank from it deeply. She stood swiftly. “Aye, my lords, I thank you one and all for your care. What can I say? This marriage is indeed fantastic! I wonder what new fantasy each day shall bring. And I am astounded. Cherish! Why, trust me, my friends. His every word and his
every motion contain tenderness and care. He is most certainly a prince among princes”—she paused just briefly, staring into his eyes as she continued with dripping sarcasm—“unique among all men.”

She sat as more cheers arose. Eric lifted the chalice to her once again, and she nearly snatched it from him to swallow down a great quantity of the mead. But then the laughter and the cheers died down, and the talk turned swiftly to war. Rhiannon glanced to the side and realized that William was gone.

She turned and found Eric watching her once again. “Why did you start that?” she hissed to him. “What lies, what mockery, what—”

“That man covets you,” he said curtly, interrupting her. She fell silent, and he inclined his head, indicating William’s empty seat. “And I think that you even prefer me to him, so I suggest that you take grave care in his presence.”

The color drained from her face. There was so much about her that he read with appalling ease. She did despise William. No matter what she had ever thought of Eric, his touch had never dismayed her, it was true. While the very feel of William’s eyes upon her …

Long, powerful fingers closed over hers. Eric’s gaze held hers once again, startling, deep. “He’ll never touch you, I swear it.”

She shuddered despite herself. Then Eric’s words both warmed and chilled her, for he added, “Rest easy, for I swear I should kill him if he ever stepped too close.”

He released her hand then, rising quickly, and asked Allen casually where William had gone.

“I sent a messenger ahead to find the king and assure him that you had sent the ships and would lead your men against the menace just north of here. William has just gone to make sure that the lad has got off all right.”

“It is time that we were all gone,” Eric said, and it was a signal. About the table, men rose. They shifted outward until Rhiannon realized that she sat alone at the table.

She jumped up and hurried out. The grooms and stable lads had brought the horses, and the warriors were being assisted into their mail and helmets.

Eric was already clad in his mail and shimmering helmet and seated atop the white stallion. He turned, sensing that she had come from the house. Across the sea of men, his eyes, blue as the fjords of Norway, fell upon hers. She shivered anew and watched him from the step. He nudged the stallion, and the animal broke its way through the others and then Eric loomed high above her on his steed.

“Lady, you may yet have your wish. If I am slain, you must immediately make your way to the king, do you understand?”

She tried to swallow. “No Danish ax would dare to slay you. You would simply command it not to do so.”

“Take heed of what I say. You will go to the king.”

He was angry. She answered again, her words barely finding voice. “I will go to the king.”

“There is scarcely an army of defense left to you here. If there were to be an attack, you’d have to run into the forest. No heroics, lady. None of your flying arrows. The house and the walls I can rebuild. The land will remain mine no matter who seeks to wrest it
from me. But you, lady, you are to seek shelter in the forest, do you understand? Leave the men to try to hold the walls and to protect those serfs and tenants who remain to us. Do you understand me?”

“I—”

“Do you, lady?”

She nodded again.

Suddenly he was off the horse. He cast back the face shield of his visor and swept her into his arms. His kiss was so savage and bruising that her lips tingled with the pressure, and yet she realized dimly that she was clinging to him.

And that she was afraid.

He released her and mounted the white stallion once again. He cried out to the men. She stood upon the step until the dust from the horses and the foot soldiers had died away, and then she wearily reentered the house.

She bent down before the fire upon the balls of her feet and studied the flame. Why did it feel so very empty to have him leave? She could still feel her lips tingling from his kiss.

And she could still remember the passion deep within her soul.

“Come, dear, come upstairs.” Adela said, touching her shoulders. “Perhaps you should sleep awhile. It’s been quite an eventful day.”

How recently she had loathed his presence. Eric was gone and the house was empty. What did the hours change? He had certainly grown no more tender!

But then, that was not his way, despite his flowery words at the table. Yet he had known that she despised
William—aye, even feared him—and he had offered his protection—no, he had sworn it.

Ah, but she was his, like the white stallion. He let no man ride the stallion, and surely, ironically, he would let no man ride her.

Only a fool would love him. She did not love him, would not love him ….

She was losing her mind! And, aye, but she was weary!

She stood quickly. “Adela,” she said, hugging the woman fiercely, “I do love you. And I
will
rest.”

“Yes, dear, I know,” Adela said cheerfully.

Lying down felt wonderful. But she did not sleep. She remembered Mergwin’s words in the kitchen, and she felt the subtle changes in her body. Mergwin had been right all along; she could not deny it. And perhaps she should have told Eric. Perhaps he would meet with death and never know.

And perhaps, despite their wedding night, he would disclaim the child. Maybe he would allow himself to wonder if the child was his. Other men might wonder as well ….

Restless, she rose and sat before the fire. Even as she brooded there, she heard a tap upon her door. She absently bade, “Enter,” expecting Adela, and started when Mergwin entered her room.

“Two messengers were sent!” he said, pacing the room.

“Mergwin, I do beg your pardon, but—”

“Two messengers left. One was sent to Alfred. I know not who sent the other, but I learned from the grooms that two lads set out.”

“Perhaps they were anxious that someone make it to the king in case of accident—”

“Or perhaps someone was sent to the Danes.”

She leapt to her feet, staring at him. A trap? To warn the Danes of Eric’s approach, to see that he was ambushed?

And he still suspected her of the last treachery. Of betraying Alfred, of attacking him by choice upon his arrival. He would instantly assume that she was the traitor once again.

“No, it can’t be—”

“You must send someone. I am too old, I cannot travel quickly enough to catch him anymore.” She had never heard the Druid swear, or lament his age before. Now he did, his leathery hands trembling. “My God, to see and not to see clearly, it is a curse! You must send the guard immediately!”

“No one can catch them! They’ll be riding hard, into the valley. And Alfred’s men will have already turned to reach him at Wareham. I don’t—” She broke off and ran to the window, studying the landscape. “I can go!”

“What?” Mergwin demanded, amazed.

She swung around. “See, Mergwin—see the cliff just north, above the valley? I shall take my quiver and shoot a warning down the valley. I can stop them!”

“You could shoot them,” Mergwin muttered.

“Ask your lord, Eric!” she told him. “I never miss. Well, I can be sure not to kill anyone, and I can send many messages, and surely they will notice the arrows, take cover, and discover the messages.”

“No. You cannot go. If you were hurt—”

“I won’t go alone. I’ll take the Irishman Patrick of Armagh with me.”

Mergwin hesitated, then shook his head. “Send Patrick. You must not go. You must not go. Do you understand?”

What was the meaning of this? She had ruled this land in her own right, and now these invaders were all telling her what she could and could not do. She started to argue, then smiled instead.

“As you wish, Mergwin, as you wish.”

“I shall go find Patrick.”

“I will change and see that the warnings are written,” Rhiannon said serenely.

As soon as he was gone, she hastily found heavy hose, a short leather tunic, and a dull brown mantle with a hood. She brushed and braided her hair and sat down with a quill and ink and wrote out the warning of treachery ten times, then decided on five more. She raced downstairs and found that Patrick was mounted with an English quiver of arrows at his back and an English longbow rested over his saddle. Mergwin was at his side, giving him instructions. The old Druid brooded so that he didn’t seem to notice Rhiannon’s apparel. She was grateful for that small mercy.

She smiled and offered up the warnings, and thongs with which to secure them, to Patrick, then she bid him Godspeed. As Patrick rode away, Mergwin sighed and reentered the house.

As soon as he was gone, Rhiannon raced to the stables.

No one other than Mergwin was left behind to defy her will. Rollo was with Eric, as were all the others
high up in his command. When she ordered a horse, the stable boy, who had always done so in the past, thought not a thing of obeying her now. When she rode beyond the gates, she left word behind that she was merely catching up with Patrick and would return with him.

No one thought to waylay her. None could have stopped her except for the Druid, and she had deceived him, so she was free. If she hurt him, she was sorry, for he had already become very dear to her. This was something she had to do. She could not let Eric think that she had betrayed him again.

Patrick had not left so long before her, yet it seemed to take her hours to catch up with him. By the time that she did, it had long been dark, and she knew that there would be no way to warn Eric and his men that night.

When she came upon Patrick in a clearing, he had drawn his sword and stood wary, ready to face down an opponent. “Patrick, it is me, Rhiannon!” she called out quickly. By the light of the fire he had set, she could see the puzzlement that touched his features, as well as the dismay.

“My lady! What are doing here? It is not safe. If the Danes are moving in so close—”

She interrupted him with the ironic laughter that suddenly seized her. She saw the dismay cloud his features, and a certain irritation, and she tried to sober quickly to reassure him. “I’m sorry, Patrick, I really am. It’s just that I so recently fled this very way, and you and your …” She paused because Patrick was every inch an Irishman, a descendant of ancient kings, and she had no desire to insult him. She had no
need to. He supplied the end of her statement softly to her on the night air.

“Vikings?” he suggested.

She shrugged, dismounting from the mare she had chosen and joining him by the fire. They stared at each other a long moment, then she apologized. “Yes, Vikings, Patrick. I’m sorry, but they are Viking ships—”

“And Eric is the son of a Viking king,” Patrick supplied. He smiled, his freckled face showing deep dimples as he did so, then he swept off the mantle he wore over a simple shirt of protective mail and laid it out upon the ground. “My lady, would you sit? What roasts is a plump hare, and I believe it will be quite tasty.”