Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment (28 page)

The pain in her womb was gone. The pain in her chest subsided, but the pain in her heart, in her soul still gaped, raw and bloody. She knew the minute she awoke to see Wulfson sitting beside her that their child was lost. She had relived the blow to her belly over and over in her nightmares. She would kill Rangor for that.

For a long time she watched the Norman knight who had become her heart and soul, her sight and her breath. He looked haggard, as if he had aged a decade. She tried to move her hand to his, but she was too weak.

“Wulfson…” she croaked, and swallowed, her throat raw.

He was instantly beside her. Taking her hands, he pressed them to his lips, and she watched in stunned shock as tears filled his eyes. “
Chérie
, you gave me the scare of my life.”

She smiled slowly, for it too took strength she did not have. “Wulfson—” She had so much to tell him. So much to ask forgiveness for.

He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Shhh, there is time to talk later. You need to eat.”

“Thirsty.”

He turned to pour her a goblet of watered wine, and helped her sit up to drink it. The liquid worked its warm way down her throat. She lay back in the bed, and it was her turn for tears. “Wulfson, I am so sorry. For everything.”

He moved to the side of the bed and drew her up into his arms. “Nay, Tarian, you have nothing to be sorry for. The situation was impossible, and you did what you had to survive. I do not fault you that.”

“Not even my oath to marry Rangor?” He smiled down at her, and she choked back a sob. “He was bent on your death, Wulfson, ’twas my last resort.”

He kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

She moved his hand to her belly. “The child I carried was not Malcor’s, Wulfson.”

He was still then, and she watched emotions play across his face as her words sank in. “What are you saying?” he softly asked.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes. “I drugged you, and came to you in the night. I took from you what Malcor could not give me.”

He shook his head. “I—I do not understand.”

She inhaled a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He brushed the tears from her cheek and waited patiently for her to speak. “Malcor could not perform his husbandly duties. ’Twas because of it he went into a fit of rage and nearly killed me. You know what happened to him and why. But when you pulled me from the hole, and there was talk of the possibility of a child and that the child could save my life, I came to you.” Fresh tears erupted, and she grasped
his hands to her chest. “Wulfson, your child made me very happy. I mourn for his loss.”

After long-drawn-out moments, when he finally turned his green eyes to her she saw sadness but no anger. “Rangor will pay with his life for forcing the child from you.”

She set her jaw. “You will have to stand behind me. I get him first.” She threw her arms around his neck and drew him to her. “Do you forgive me, Wulfson?”

He drew slightly from her and pressed his lips to her wet cheek. “There is nothing to forgive. I love you, Tarian, and come what may, I will stand by you.”

His words were more potent then any balm, and finally peace settled over her and she closed her eyes. He loved her.

He pressed her back into the pillows. “Rest,
chérie
. I will call for your nurse. She has paced a hole in the hallway.”

Tarian’s recovery was slow and steady. Her strength came back with each day, and Wulfson watched for the day she smiled and blushed up at him, her impish dimples teasing him.

His spies told him that Rangor had gathered an army in Wales and was now on the move south. He wanted to wait until Tarian was stronger before they left for Normandy, but time was running out. He had yet to broach the subject with her, but after the evening meal he took his men aside and told them to be prepared to leave the next morn. He also informed Gareth, but asked him not to speak to Tarian on the matter. He would do so himself later that eve.

He had grown fond of the old Viking and gave credit to him for saving his beloved’s life. For had Gareth not instructed him to pound on her back as he did, he doubted the water would have worked its way up.

He came upon her as she soaked in the tub. He grinned and motioned to her nurse to be gone from the room. His heart pounded in his chest and his blood quickened. He knew it was too soon for her, but that did not change how he felt.

“Good eve, milord,” she said softly.

“Good eve, milady,” he returned. He pulled up a stool and sat beside her. Taking up the sponge, he lathered it and said, “’Twould appear you need assist with your bath.”

She settled back into the tub and arched her back toward him. His cock filled at the sight of her full, rosy breasts bobbing in the soapy water. “
Chérie
, you play with fire.”

“I have longed for you, Wulfson.”

He bent down and kissed her but when her arms slipped around his neck and drew him more tightly to her, he pulled away. “Nay, Tarian. ’Tis too soon.”

She sat back into the tub and pouted. He smiled. “I must speak with you on a very important matter.”

“Normandy?”

He nodded. “I know of no other way. I—”

She held up her hand. “You do not need to explain, Wulfson. When I turned on Rangor, I knew that should I survive, the very most I could hope for was that your king would accept me as his hostage. I am prepared to live out the rest of my life in a Norman dungeon.”

“Nay! You will not reside in a dungeon. ’Twill not be that way!”

He rose and began to pace the room. But he wondered whom he was trying to convince more, her or him. “Rangor has amassed an army, and he travels south toward us. We leave for Normandy at first light.”

“I will be ready.”

As the coast of Normandy broke the horizon, trepidation filled Tarian with the force of a summer storm. Strong arms wrapped around her and brought her up against a hard body. Warm lips pressed to her ear. “Draw on my love for you, Tarian, as your strength, and place your trust in my hands.”

She smiled and warmed to his touch and his words. “I do trust you, Wulfson. I have from that night in the ruin. ’Tis your king I do not trust.”

He turned her around to face him. His eyes searched her face. “Then why did you flee me?”

“I knew what word Warner carried, and I knew of the contingent of knights to come with the second messenger. I would not put you in the position of taking my life.” She smiled and kissed him. “Besides, I have always looked after myself. ’Tis my nature to take matters into my own hands.”

He grinned and kissed the tip of her nose. “Well, ’tis a habit you will have to break. I am here now.”

Once they had landed, much to Wulfson’s fury he learned that Rangor of Lerwick had arrived several days before them.

“The fool,” he said to Thorin. “What does he think to achieve by walking into the lion’s den?”

He kept the news from Tarian. The travel had taken its toll on her. She did not do well on the water and the roses had gone from her cheeks. He was given some hope when William did not meet them with an armed escort. Indeed, he sent his son Geoffrey to welcome them. The boy was a man now, and would one day inherit Normandy from his father.

When they entered the castle at Rouen, excitement stirred in Wulfson’s belly. Here was familiar ground. Here William held court, and the most powerful men on the continent came to pay him homage. He was powerful and ruthless, but he was fair. And ’twas that fairness in the man he respected above all others that Wulfson counted on.

Tarian and Edith were shown to a private solar. William was wily, Tarian thought. He did not want any of the women to make a friendship with her. Out of sight and out of mind. She found the bed comfortable, and the food edible. Almost immediately she called for a bath and as she languished in the hot sudsy water, she forced the tension from her body. Closing her eyes, she let Edie wash her hair with aromatic violet-scented soap. And when she was dried and sitting before a large table with an oval-shaped mirror, she watched Edie methodically brush her long dark hair to dry. She closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that Wulfson would appear and tell her there was no need to see William, but when there was a knock on the chamber door she knew ’twas but wishful thinking.

Edie took the message: the king requested an audience with her in two candle notches. And so Tarian would do as she had done all her life: rely on herself to see the next day, and to achieve that she would painstakingly prepare. It was her life and a life with Wulfson she fought for, and the Conqueror would find her a most worthy opponent.

She smiled, despite the nervous tremors in her belly. “Come, Edie, we have work to do!”

A little more than one candle notch later, she stood before the mirror, resplendent in her finery. A formfitting, deep-sapphire velvet-and-silk kirtle with wide, long sleeves em
broidered with rich crimson, gold, and silver threads set off her dark coloring and blue eyes. A golden circlet of a dragon head adorned her head, her hair hung free and wavy down to her waist. She smiled as she slid her broadsword into her ceremonial scabbard of gem-encrusted gold, hammered to a burnished glow and hanging from a gold and leather embroidered girdle. She wore a simple gold necklace with the dragon medallion of Draceadon hanging heavy between her breasts. Thick gold and silver bracelets adorned her arms, and the final touch was her soft leather and silk golden shoes.

She looked the warrior princess she felt herself to be. She nodded to Edie, who stood back in silent awe. Tears filled the old woman’s eyes. Tarian felt a rush of emotion for her, and shook her head, blinking back her own tears. “Do not, Edie. I cannot take more pressure.”

The nurse bobbed her head and smiled, smoothing a curl from her cheek. “You are worthy of a king, Tarian. William would be a fool to set you aside.”

Tarian smiled. “’Tis not a king I fancy, Edie, but a dark knight with a surly disposition.”

The old woman smiled knowingly.

It was not much time later when the page arrived. Tarian cast a glance to the candle. ’Twas still shy of two notches. So, William was impatient to see her, was he? She smiled. No more than she was to meet him.

Edie opened the door to find an attendant standing to attention. “Lady Tarian, His Highness King William requires your presence in the great hall.” He bowed, and Tarian looked to Edie. The maid grasped her hand and squeezed it.

“Let us go.”

The servant shook his head. “Only Lady Tarian.”

Tarian shook her head and stepped toward the young man. “My nurse comes with me or I do not go.”

Color blanched from his face. Hastily he bobbed his head and stood back. Both women followed.

When the door to the great hall opened, Tarian could not help the nervous skitter in her belly. She nodded to Edie, and took a deep breath; then she swept into the richly appointed hall as if she were Queen. She suppressed a smile as a collective gasp went up as she made her entrance.

She looked directly ahead to William, who sat upon a high dais at the head of the great room, his regal robes signifying who he was to all. To his left was a woman so tiny Tarian thought it must be a child. But on closer inspection she knew it to be his duchess. To William’s right were his knights. Wulfson, whose eyes she could see burned bright for her, Thorin, Rohan, Rorick, Warner, Stefan, Rhys, and Ioan. The only one missing was Manhku. Farther down from the knights stood Gareth. She nodded to the Blood Swords, then to her captain, as she continued to make her way forward. Tarian stiffened as her gaze swept to the left. ’Twas Rangor! And Alewith? Why did
he
stand with Rangor?

Tarian stopped at the end of the long aisle to the steps that led to William and peered daringly up at him.

Wulfson’s heart beat like a smith’s hammer against his chest. He could not tear his eyes from Tarian. She looked more regal than any woman, queen or otherwise, that ever he had set eyes on. Her color was high, her back straight and confident, her clothes fit for an empress, and her sword hung proudly from her slender waist. Her pride and confidence made his chest tighten with love for her. He wanted to break a smile and lay claim to her in front of every person in the room! How could William destroy such a woman?

He watched her stare confidently up at William, and just when he thought she would show insolence by not sinking to her knees in a deep curtsy, she did.

But her eyes never wavered from the king’s. Wulfson held his breath; men had died for the same thing. Trepidation played with his pride. If she were not careful—

William stood and stared down at her. He took a step toward her. “So you are the one who has been giving me all this trouble.”

Tarian rose, and answered his challenge clearly. “Aye, I am Tarian Godwinson, daughter of Sweyn, granddaughter of Godwine. Niece to the late King Harold the Second, and widow of Earl Malcor.” She smiled, and added, “And the trouble you accuse me of has come through no fault of my own, sire.”

Wulfson held his breath and looked to William, who cocked a brow at her and took another step closer. Tarian stood proud and calm, but he could see the short, rapid rise and fall of her breasts.

“Do you have an army, Lady Tarian?” William asked, as if an accusation.

Tarian nodded her head. “I do, sire.”

“What are your plans for it?”

“My men are at your disposal, if you but ask.”

“Did you slay your husband in cold blood?”

Tarian smiled. “Aye, I slew him, but in cold blood? ’Twould depend on your definition.”

“I would define it as a slaying without cause to gain something which is not yours to take.”

Tarian’s smile widened. She inclined her head toward William. “Then, sire, I would most defiantly have to answer nay to your question.”

William stood with his hands behind his back and stared at her. “Then what was the cause of Earl Malcor’s death?”

“He became most frustrated when he could not rise to his husbandly duties. He took his frustration out first by beating me. But after he tired of that, he took my own sword and pressed it to my throat. I but returned the favor by taking his dagger from his belt, and slit his throat.”

Another collective gasp went up in the room, most no
tably, Wulfson saw, from the duchess. ’Twas not a good sign.

William nodded. “I find your candor refreshing, Lady Tarian.” He cocked his head and asked, “Did you sign a contract to wed Rangor of Lerwick and then break it?”

Tarian looked to Rangor, and Wulfson could feel her hate for the man across the room. She turned back to her king and nodded. “Aye, I signed a document. But ’twas the only way I could save your man Wulfson’s life—by promising marriage to that rat!”

“So, are you claiming you were coerced?”

Tarian threw Rangor another glare and turned back to William. “What would you call it, sire, when someone kidnaps your beloved, tortures him, then before your eyes tortures him further, until you are forced to agree to a most disagreeable union?” William glowered Rangor’s way, and Tarian was pleased to see the lord pale a few shades. “’Twas a means to save your man. I would do it again.”

William stood for a long, contemplative moment, then turned to Rangor. “It appears we have more to discuss, Lord Rangor. I do not take kindly the torture of my men. Do not leave the hall until we have spoken.” William narrowed his eyes and added, “In private, of course.”

Rangor swallowed hard, but gave his king a short bow.

William turned back to Tarian, and drew his broadsword from his sheath. Wulfson made to move toward her, but Rohan and Thorin held him back. He watched her sink to her knees. She folded her hands and bowed her head, prepared to meet her fate. Wulfson could not bear it. He tore free from his men, and as he made to stop his liege,
he watched in amazement as William placed the flat side of his sword on Tarian’s right shoulder, then on her left. “Tarian Godwinson, do you pledge your fealty to me, King William of England and Duke of Normandy, forfeiting all others and serving me in any capacity I may ask?”

Wulfson’s knees nearly gave when Tarian looked up to his king. From where she knelt, he could see the glitter of tears in her eyes. “I do,” she whispered hoarsely.

William raised his sword, “Then I dub thee, Lady Tarian of Dunloc, a knight of the realm. Arise and pay homage to your king!”

The room was deathly quiet, and slowly Tarian stood. She cast a gaze to Wulfson, and he smiled so broadly he thought his face would split in two. She stepped to William, took his hand, and kissed his signet ring. “I, Tarian Godwinson of Dunloc, pledge my loyalty to you, William, my only sovereign.”

He nodded, and then clasped her hand. “Now, Lady Tarian, I will make my first request of you.”

She cocked her head and nodded. “I am at your command, sire.”

“I wish you to
parle
with your Welsh in-laws, who I fear are bent on breaching my borders, and entreat them to stay west of it. I do not want to clash with your kin, but if pushed I will strike.”

Tarian smiled and curtsyed. “Aye, my liege, I can oblige, but I have a request of you in return.”

Wulfson rolled his eyes. She knew not what she did!

William’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis not protocol to ask your king for a favor when given a royal order.”

“I understand, but bear with me, sire, I am new to this protocol.”

William stood rigid, and Wulfson knew he would put her in her place. But he did not. “What do you wish in return for negotiating with the Welsh?”

“I want your man, Sir Wulfson of Trevelyn, as my husband.”

Wulfson nearly fainted. But William threw his head back and laughed so loudly the rafters shook. “Lady Tarian, you are a bold wench!” He looked to Wulfson, who had the grace to blush. His men ribbed him, but he stood still, his gaze locked with Tarian’s. “Are you up to the task? Those Blood Swords are not wont to stay put for long.”

Tarian smiled, and gazed at Wulfson. “Aye, sire, I am up to the task, for no other man will do.”

As if on a cloud, Wulfson floated down the steps to his lady, and clasped her in his arms, twirling her around amidst her happy cries and his men’s cheers.

William called for silence, and turned smiling to the couple. “I have but one request before I hand my man over to you, Lady Tarian, and this is but a simple request, from a man who admires and respects your husband-to-be, not a royal order.”

Arm in arm, Tarian and Wulfson turned to their king. “Sire?” Wulfson asked.

“I wish to be godfather to your firstborn.”

Tarian smiled. “We are most honored.”

The hall erupted with more cheers and congratulations. William called for the tables to be set and a feast to celebrate the nuptials.

Tarian was ecstatic, and Wulfson could not stop beaming. William stood to the side, as if he were a proud new father. After Tarian had been swung up into the arms of each of the Blood Swords in turn, and twirled around until
she could not see straight, she landed in Gareth’s arms. He beamed down at her and she saw tears in his eyes.

She smiled up to him and hugged him close. “Gareth, be happy for me,” she whispered against his chest. He pulled back and looked at her, his lips trembling in a wide smile.

“Tarian, you are more precious than a daughter to me. I am most happy for you.”

She smiled back, her heart so full she could barely contain her love. “Give me away.”

His blue eyes blurred with tears. “Aye, ’twould be my honor.”

Wulfson swept her from his arms, and as he threw her across his shoulders as if to carry her off to someplace private, William called out to him. “There will be none of that, Trevelyn! There are enough of us bastards running around. Show some respect and wait until your wedding night.”

“Then I will marry her here and now!”

The room erupted in laughter, but Tarian pulled at his sleeve. “Nay, Wulfson, I would be married in England. At Draceadon.”

He pulled her off his shoulders, and she slid down the front of him, grinning when she felt his hardness against her belly. “You will have to wait, milord. For there will be no play before I am your lawful wife.”

His eyes searched her face, and he asked, “Why Draceadon? We both suffered so much misery there.”

Tears seemed to come to her easy that day, and once again they burned her eyes. “Aye, but it was also a place where we made a child and fell in love. I would like to build a strong castle there and raise our children.”

He smoothed the tears from her cheeks, and took her
face between his hands and kissed her. When he drew away, she saw that his eyes had misted as well. “You are a most amazing woman, Tarian Godwinson.”

“And thou art a most amazing man, Wulfson Trevelyn,” she returned, smiling up at him.

Wulfson’s heart swelled more, and he wondered how he had managed to live and breathe these six-and-twenty years past without her. The urge to keep her close and protect her from the world, so that he would never lose her, nearly toppled him. Any thought of leaving her sent his stomach to somersaults. And leave her he would have to. As a knight of William it would be years before England was settled. He, as had Rohan, would leave his family behind to serve and protect the realm. A calmness settled within him then. ’Twould make him all the more diligent in his dealings with the enemy to come home to her. For she would be like that bright burning star Draco in the sky, the constant beacon home. And home would be wherever this incredible woman was.

He pulled her back into the circle of his arms and guided her from the hall to a private alcove of which he knew. His blood ran hot and thick in his veins and when he pressed his lips to hers, he swelled against her. He groaned. He could not marry her fast enough!

“You are as bad as a rutting stag, milord,” Tarian whispered against his lips.

“Aye, I am worse when you are near.”

Tarian laughed and threw her arms around his neck. His heart thumped with the force of a hammer against his chest. He smiled down into her laughing ocean-blue eyes. As he bent to kiss her again, he saw them widen in surprise, then alarm. She pushed off him and drew her sword.
Wulfson turned on his heel, thrusting Tarian behind him, drawing his own sword.

“For Malcor!” Rangor screamed, lunging toward him, his sword poised at Wulfson’s gut.

In unison, Tarian thrust her sword past Wulfson as he thrust his own. Both blades, that of Norman and Saxon, combined to tear into Rangor’s gut, leaving him hanging like a skewered pig.

Wide-eyed, Rangor looked up from the impaling blades, first to Wulfson, then to Tarian. Red, frothy bubbles oozed from his mouth. “I will see you in hell, witch, and there you will scream for eternity,” he hoarsely said before his body went limp.

Wulfson took Tarian’s sword and, with both hilts in hand, he kicked Rangor’s body from the blades. Several servants and bystanders had stopped at the commotion. Gareth, Alewith, and Ioan hurried to them. All stopped to watch the circle of Rangor’s blood spread across the stone floor.

Alewith looked to Wulfson, then Tarian, who calmly watched her guardian, still curious as to his presence there.

“I will see him returned to Lerwick and buried,” Alewith quietly said, then turned on his heels and walked away.

Tarian stood and stared down at the dead man, and try as she might, she could not shed a tear for Rangor. His twisted love for her, then his demonic need for revenge, had nearly killed the man she loved, not once but twice. He had taken the most precious life of her child from her. That, she would never forgive. Aye, she might see him in hell yet, but ’twould be he, along with Malcor, not she, who would burn for eternity.

The feel of Wulfson’s big, warm hand as he took hers settled her more than any soothing balm Edie could concoct. He pulled her out of the door to a small, open courtyard. The sun was high, the skies blue, and the soft fragrant scent of violet wafted through the air. He gathered her into his arms and said softly, “You hold my heart and soul in your hands. Be gentle with me, Tarian, for I could not bear to lose you again.”

Emotion clogged her chest, and she could only nod before she could speak. She raised her lips to his, and said against them, “Have no fear, sir knight. England’s most fearsome knight is here to protect you.”