MacAuliffe Vikings Trilogy 3 - Lord of the wolves (24 page)

“A tub and hot water will arrive soon,” she advised.

“And—” Eric began.

“And wine, milord husband,” Rhiannon added with some amusement.

“Thank you, my love,” Eric said. He had no difficulty sweeping her into his arms, and did so, placing a tender kiss upon her lips.

Watching them together, Conar felt as if something seared his heart, and for the first time he realized that he was jealous of this brother. Not because he had come here and so firmly established himself on the land, but because he had done so in such … happiness. He served a great king, he ruled a strong household, and he was loved by this elegant golden blond beauty. He had a fine strong son and an infant daughter. There was warmth here that seemed to radiate from the hearth, and the laughter spread to the coldest nook and cranny of the place.

He hadn"t really been looking for warmth, he realized. He hadn"t even known that he desired it, until this moment. He had been too busy to do so, fighting in Eire as he was obliged, then spending his time upon his land, determined only to keep his grasp upon it.

Melisande"s land.

He thanked Eric himself and started for the stairway ahead of his brother, gritting his teeth. She accused him now of neglect! What other choices had he had? She"d been so young, he"d had to let her grow.

When he reached the room high above the hall with his brother behind him, Conar discovered that Eric"s servants were pouring the last of a steaming caldron into a wooden hip tub for him. He cast aside his drenched clothing and stepped gratefully into the tub, sighing. Eric handed him a chalice of wine, and Conar grinned at his brother.

“You"d make someone a fine wife, Eric, cub of the Wolf!” Eric frowned at him severely and then laughed. “Alas, brother, I think something is lacking in your life if you"re so easily pleased.” He took a seat upon a carved chair before the hearth, resting his feet upon a deerskin-covered stool, still grinning at Conar as he lifted his own chalice. “To your health, Conar!”

“And to yours,” Conar quickly responded, then fell silent for a moment. He shrugged. “There"s a lot lacking in my life,” he murmured. “But then, when I look back, there"s little I might have changed.”

Eric lifted a hand, comfortably leaned back, shrugging his shoulders. “I don"t see the cause of your displeasure. They are already calling you the Frankish Wolf, the great savior from the house of Vestfold. You earned your reputation fighting with Father and for Uncle Niall. You apparently bested the Danes so well on the coast of France with your first encounter that they are still speaking about it.”

Conar leaned back in the water, soaking his face and hair, letting the steam sweep around him. He surfaced, and blinked the warm water from his eyes.

“Having is one thing. Keeping is another,” he said wearily. He drummed his fingers on the tub and looked at Eric. “Ever since the day I first sailed to the coast of France at Manon"s invitation, when I fought the Danes there and won the land, I have been hearing reports of a massive Danish army that is gathering together to invade the Frankish kingdoms, straight to the heart of Paris.”

“I"ve heard these rumors, too,” Eric told him. “Alfred has done well here in the southern kingdom. Many Danes have grown weary of going against him, and so they are looking to greener fields. There is little that binds your country together, Conar. The Frankish nobles are too divided, as the land has been since it was all split between Lothar and his brothers, Charlemagne"s heirs. The power lies in estates, such as yours, and in powerful barons—such as yourself.” Conar arched a brow, sighing. “Perhaps. I have formed an alliance with a man, Count Odo, and I believe that we will both defend the land until the end.

But I"ve also acquired enemies.”

“Geoffrey, son of Gerald, neighboring count,” Eric said lightly.

Conar arched a brow. “What have you heard?”

Eric shrugged. “Jugglers, singers, lute players, all travel, brother. Not to mention that we have a large and talkative family. Still, there has been a very long poem written about you saving your wife from the arms of a fiend.”

“Umm. Is that how the poem goes?”

“Well,” Eric replied, rising to refill Conar"s chalice, “that"s how it goes, aye.

But I saw Melisande watch a rendition of the poem, and it strikes me that she may think she has traded one fiend for another.”

Conar stared swiftly at Eric, only to realize that his brother was amused. His fingers gripped the edges of the tub as he willed himself to fight his temper. His first urge was to leap out of the tub and wrestle Eric to the floor—the whole lot of them had tussled enough as children. But they weren"t children anymore.

Besides which, his brother was goading him.

He leaned comfortably back in the tub, laying his white linen bath cloth over his eyes.

“If I should recall,” he murmured thoughtfully, “your wife was less than enamored of you when first you met. In fact—if I remember correctly from that very talkative family of ours, didn"t she once impale your thigh with an arrow?” He felt a hand upon his head, ready to push him beneath the surface, and he laughed, ducking under, coming back up. He threw the linen cloth at Eric, managing to soak his handsome shirt and tunic.

“Alas! The trials of a large family!” Eric murmured.

Conar grinned but then sobered. “I know she thinks that I have been cruel to her.”

“It is difficult to know what she thinks. She is gracious and polite, but keeps her distance from me. She enjoys both Rhiannon and Daria—and Bryce, for that matter. She is quick to laugh with the children, and her eyes are very gentle and warm when she takes them. But despite her closeness with Daria and Rhiannon, I don"t believe she shares her true thoughts with them.” He shrugged. “Daria is, after all, your sister, your blood. A fool could see how close this family is, and your wife is hardly a fool. Indeed, she"s an extremely clever young woman—and a talented one, in many ways. I"ve seen her in the courtyard with Bryce, learning swordplay from him, and teaching him a few moves now and then, I"d warrant.”

Conar shook his head irritably. “The day I met her she was clad in gilded mail, having led her troops—and having fallen directly into the hands of the enemy! Can you wonder that I have tried to keep her safe?” He scowled suddenly, flashing Eric a quick glance. “She teaches more than swordplay, by the way, brother. When I came upon her by the stream, she had Rhiannon"s young kinsman well within her spell.”

“Gregory.”

“She was instructing him in love play.”

“Gregory?” Eric repeated, startled.

“You needn"t be alarmed. I am convinced she was making a last effort to seduce the lad into somehow saving her from me. I believe it was an innocent encounter on his behalf—he was quick enough to beg my pardon.”

“He"s just a boy—”

“Aye!” Eric sighed. “Yet at his age, you and I had already ridden with our father many times.”

“Father knew what we all must face. Alfred is now hungry for learning. He has fought and worked hard. He is due his time with musicians and mathematicians and learned men. I believe it is his wish that Gregory join the clergy, though he will leave the decision to the boy. However, I must beg your humble apology as well, Conar, for your countess has been residing beneath my roof—”

“At her own volition, Eric. She came here to thwart me, and truly, I know her far better than you can imagine. You have faulted me in no way, brother.” He hesitated a moment. “Again, I realize that she considers me a monster. A Viking monster. Yet, Eric, I never intended cruelty, though she has tempted me to much. There is so much at stake! Gerald was distant kin to her father, yet ready to kill him! I"m aware that his son covets both the land and Melisande.”

“Surely the church would never sanction a marriage between Melisande and this man, even if she were free to be wed!”

Conar shook his head. “I don"t know if you truly see the picture. In Ireland there are many kings, yet most of them recognize the authority of the Ard-Ri.

Here Alfred has fought long and hard not only to rule, but to create laws for men to live by. You were right when you first spoke—the Frankish lands are divided. The kings are weak. The barons have created their own bastions against invasion, and it becomes a case where the strongest survive.”

“That brother, is the world,” Eric warned him.

“But if this man were to abduct my wife, he might well manage to find a way to keep her! And, well, if he thought he could prosper more by her death than her company, I don"t think that he would hesitate to cut her throat.”

“Surely he would not go so far!”

“I don"t know. I do know that he would seize her the very first opportunity he had.”

“But would the other barons allow it?”

Conar shook his head slowly. “That"s one of the reasons I"ve come for her now. I am taking her to Rouen as guest of Count Odo, and we are going to renew our marriage vows before some select guests. Odo believes that will strengthen my hold upon both Melisande—and the land. She
is
the heiress,” he admitted wryly.

“The heiress,” Eric agreed, “but perhaps you have paid more than you realize for your right to claim her fortress. And there is something you"re forgetting.” Conar arched a brow.

“You are a power in yourself, grandson of a very great Ard-Ri of Ireland, son of the mighty king of Dubhlain, and also a prince of the Norse house of Vestfold.”

“And that means?” Conar inquired.

“That if the Danes do come upon you in hordes, brother, you might be surprised to discover the mass of fighting men you will have at your call.” Conar smiled, leaning back very comfortably again. He looked at his brother.

“Thank you.”

“Not at all. I take it, then, that you are not staying long here?” Conar shook his head. “I think the time has come to lay claim to the fortress together. The sooner our union is sanctified, as Odo seems to think necessary, the easier I will be. I know that the real test is coming, that Geoffrey will align himself with the Danes. I mean to give him no added fuel for his fire of longing and revenge. Melisande must be indisputably mine.”

“I see,” Eric murmured. “Then you must sail as soon as possible, with the tides. Might I suggest something?”

“Aye?”

“An heir would be a fine touch to secure the land!”

“I"m well aware of that, brother.”

“You"ve tarried quite a while.”

“Trust me. I will tarry no longer.”

“Well, then,” Eric said, striding to the door. “If the night is filled with screams, I will try to assure my wife that you are not slicing the throat of yours.”

Conar groaned. “If you"ve nothing better to do here than torment me—”

“I am going, Conar. I"ll see you shortly in the hall below. We dine soon, so you might wish to make haste. I think it might prove to be an entertaining meal!”

Eric slipped from the room, grinning. Conar stared across the width of it to a tapestry against the wall. It blocked the doorway that connected the rooms, he knew.

He wondered if Melisande was aware of the doorway"s existence. He smiled slowly, certain that she was not.

He was tempted to rise dripping from his tub and test his theory here and now, but he had waited this long. And he had extracted a promise from her. If he bided his time but another hour, he could demand she keep her promise.

He rose soon, as his water was growing cold and his flesh was beginning to wrinkle. He dressed simply in a shirt and tunic and chausses, and by habit, even in his brother"s home, he buckled his scabbard about his waist.

He kept his sword with him always. Even in his own house. His sword and the knife sheathed at his ankle. Peace, even here, was not guaranteed. He had been trained well. He was ever wary.

Still, when he came downstairs soon after, he was comfortably dressed, as were his brothers, Bryce, Bryan, and Eric. His sister Daria, not quite so tall as Melisande, but elegant and dignified in her height nevertheless, was wearing a tunic and gown of buttercup yellow and deepest gold. Her eyes were brilliantly blue against the yellow. She chatted easily with Bryan and Bryce, and Conar noted that they were a handsome group, all of them, Bryan and Bryce dark like their mother, Eric and Daria and he as golden as their father. They were a close-knit family, perhaps because they had been like an island themselves at times, one against those who decried either their Norse or their Irish heritage.

Brenna and Mergwin were deep in conversation by the fire. It had been some time since the two had been together, and perhaps it was natural that they should have a great deal to discuss.

Planning all our futures, Conar thought dryly.

Swen was with him and joked with Bryce and Bryan. Rhiannon came to greet him, kissing his cheek, welcoming him again. She slipped a delicate hand beneath his arm. “I"ve arranged that you be at my side, my long-wandering brother-in-blood. Melisande can be at your other side, Bryce at hers.” He lowered his lips to whisper against her ear. “Where is my dearly beloved?”

Rhiannon arched a brow to him. “I"m sure she"ll be down any moment now.” But Melisande did not come down. Rhiannon delayed serving the meal, then nervously murmured that she would send a servant to see to her health. A young girl with plaited hair was sent up the stairs, then quickly returned. “Lady Melisande has suggested that you begin the meal without her,” the girl said, bowing briefly before Rhiannon. “She has quite suddenly been taken ill and asks if you will all please forgive her this evening, she is going to try to sleep.” There was a vast silence within the hall. Conar felt all eyes rivet uneasily upon him.