Master of Craving (24 page)

 

“She will have more to fear if you do not give me a private moment of your time.”

 

“What is so pressing you cannot wait until I see her to bed?”

 

“Milady,” Jane said softly, “I can wait.”

Arian shook her head and moved past the surly knight. “I will be but a few moments.” And she hurried as fast as Jane could move past the knight into the hall. Once Jane was settled and her trunks brought to the solar, Arian sucked in a deep breath, squared her shoulders and nervously walked to the chamber door. She opened it, expecting to have a moment to compose herself, but instead Stefan’s wide chest and brilliant blue eyes awaited her. She cried out and stepped back into the room, but he grabbed her hands and pulled her down the hall to his chamber. “Nay!” she balked. “I will not go there again with you!”

He did not hesitate in his step, but dragged her over the threshold and into the room, bolting the door behind them. He whirled around to face her, and she caught her breath. A stormcloud of emotion ravaged his handsome features, and she realized he was showing great restraint; of what she was not sure.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forth. Swiping his hand across his mouth and chin, he whirled from her to the tapestry, then whirled back to face her. “I want your oath you will do nothing to interfere here. There is too much at stake!”

Wide-eyed, she stared. How dare he demand anything from her after—after his kidnapping and treatment here? “You ask much and give little, sir. Why should I do anything for you after what you have done to me?”

“I saved your virtue! Mayhap your life! Had I not interfered, you would not be a virgin still! And your precious Magnus would toss you out with his morning piss!” He stepped closer. “Would you like me, Princess Arianrhod, to take from you what you almost lost to Dag? Will you then stop throwing my rescue of it in my face?” He grabbed her upper arms and shook her.
Stunned by his outburst, she could not move.

“Would you?”

She twisted out of his grasp, and moved to a safer distance. His question shifted something inside her, something she could no longer deny. Slowly she raised her chin. Her anger thinned, then vanished. How could she be angry with him for saving so much? But more so, how could she be angry with him for feeling as frustrated as she? “If I could, I would,” she whispered. His eyes narrowed. “You evoke wanton thoughts from the very depths of me, Stefan. I yearn for something with you I will never have with my husband. But I will not shame my father, nor myself, nor Magnus. I cannot give you what we both so desperately want.”

He moved closer, slowly, in long, sure strides. “I asked you here, in private, to tell you not show yourself to me again. Do not come near me, Arian, until it is time to travel to Yorkshire, for I cannot promise you I will not take from you what we both so desperately want you to freely give me.”

He was close enough for her to touch, and though she knew she should not, she could not help herself. Softly she laid her open hand against his chest. The hard thud of his heart beat strong beneath her palm. His handsome face twisted in agony, his blue eyes, so full of fire, begging for what they could not have. “You may be a man of the sword, sworn to slay your king’s enemies, Stefan. But—” She moved closer and looked up into his hungry gaze. “You are a noble man, true, and I trust you would never force yourself on my person.” Dropping her hand, she stepped back. Drawing in a deep breath, Arian nodded, then slowly exhaled. “I will do as you request, but I ask a promise of you in return.”

He nodded.

“Promise me, sir knight, you will see me safely to Moorwood in Yorkshire, and there we will say our farewells.” She swallowed hard and looked up at him through misty eyes. “Promise me you will not look over your shoulder, and I promise I will not look over mine. ’Tis best for us both.”

“Arian,” he said hoarsely, and she almost succumbed to the ache in his voice. Clenching her jaw, she remained rigid, unwavering.

Stefan grasped her hands and dropped to one knee. She caught her breath, and for the first time in her life, Arian felt a deep raw unrestrained desire to put her own needs and desires aside for another. Bringing her hands to his lips, he kissed them. She moved closer, wanting to draw from his power and strength. His arms slid around her waist and he drew her to him. Her fingers sunk into his hair and she pressed his head to her breast. “Stefan,” she whispered, her voice mirroring the ache she heard in his. “I do not understand this thing between us. It terrifies me. I fear one day soon I will no longer have the strength to fight it.”

He looked up at her, his eyes blazing with desire, but behind the fire she saw raw pain. He pulled her down to her knees. Sliding his hands into her hair, he brought her lips up to his. “It terrifies me as well,” he said softly, then lowered his lips to hers in a deep passionate kiss that left her breathless.

Her world spun out of control. Never had she wanted anything more than she wanted this man before her, and never had she been so miserable knowing he could never be hers. Stefan tore his lips from hers and abruptly stood, bringing her up with him.

He extended his arm and smiled softly. “Come, my lady, let us go our separate ways.”

Moist heat welled in her eyes. Hastily, she nodded, and allowed him to escort her down to the hall, where he left her at the lord’s table and walked away from her, never once looking over his shoulder.

In the ensuing days Arian caught only a glimpse of Stefan when she visited the stables to tend her mare and to Belenus, the stallion she had bred and raised from a foal. To her surprise, she found a friend in Lady Tarian. She was drawn to the woman’s quick wit and sage running of the manor. By simple observation, Arian learned what she had never bothered to learn in Dinefwr. Lady Tarian allowed her to accompany her in minor dealings with the churls and the many servants assigned to duties in the hall. ’Twas enough to keep her occupied and to keep mind and body from thinking of Stefan.

Eight days after Gareth had ridden off to Powys, he returned not only with Cadoc but, to her delight, her brother, Rhodri, and word from the Welsh king.

Rhodri strode into Draceadon’s hall as if he were lord and master. Arian ran to his open arms. “Rhod!” she cried. For one so young, his face was stern to those who watched, but he could not help a smile when he embraced his sister, lifting her off her feet.

“Arian, you have worried a score of years off my life! Father is fit to be tied. I fear Rhiwallon will have a full-scale war on his hands if the lout double-crosses the great prince of Dinefwr!”

“Then he has agreed to the terms?” she asked, and lost much of her happiness when Stefan strode into the hall, followed by Ralph and that rodent lackey of his, Philip.

 

Everyone turned at his entrance, and Arian’s heart leapt high in her throat.

 

“Gareth?” Stefan called. “Does Rhiwallon agree to our terms?”

 

“Pray he does!” Lady Tarian said breathlessly, coming to join the group.

 

In a short span of time the, hall was cleared of all but those who had a stake in the trade.

“Rhiwallon is furious,” Gareth admitted. “But he relented when young Rhodri here arrived with an ultimatum from Prince Hylcon and his cousin Cynfyn in the northern kingdom. There would be hell to pay. Still the stubborn king refused, until he was assured that the Viking would sent a flotilla of longships to regain his bride.” Arian watched Stefan’s face tighten. Gareth grinned. “I of course informed him William was prepared to cross the Channel with two thousand strong, more than willing to breach the Marches if his men were not returned.”

“What of Wulfson, Gareth, did you see him?” Lady Tarian demanded.

 

Gareth’s smile waned. “He is alive; and though not in top form all of them will survive.”

 

Lady Tarian and Stefan let out a sigh of relief.

 

“This all sounds too easy, Gareth. What twist does the Welsh king put on the trade?”

 

Gareth scowled. “He wants not only Lady Tarian, but the Lady Brighid as well.”

 

“Nay!” Tarian cried.

Stefan reached to her and pulled her close, and softly but firmly said, “He will not harm the girl. She will no doubt be reunited with her father.” He looked to Gareth. “I agree to his terms. We will set out at first light.”

“There is one more thing, sir,” Gareth said.

 

Stefan nodded.

 

“He requires seeing the princess with his own eyes before the exchange is made.”

 

“He is free to come to Draceadon.”

 

“He insists she be present at the meeting place.”

 

Stefan laughed, the sound cold and calculating. “Does Rhiwallon think I am a clod? The lady stays here. Out in the open, too much can go awry.”

 

He looked to Rhodri. “You are her brother?”

 

He nodded, standing tall and unyielding before the Norman. Pride swelled in Arian’s chest. “Aye, and I will kill any man who lays even one finger upon her person.”

Stefan’s lips twisted into a nasty smile. “Ride ahead and assure your kin that you have seen your sister with your own eyes, that she is alive and well. She will not leave this place until my brothers are safely returned. We will set out tomorrow and meet. I expect you to convince Rhiwallon he has no other choice.” Stefan stepped closer to the young prince. “For if he does not agree to my terms, you will never see your sister alive again.”

Rhodri drew his sword. Arian screamed but it was for naught. Stefan kicked the lad from him, drew his own sword, and pressed it to her brother’s throat. “Do not begin a battle you can never win.” Stefan stepped back and waved his sword toward the door. “Go.”

Rhodri looked to Arian, and she slowly nodded. He turned stone-faced from the group, calling for his squire and his men, then disappeared through the hall door.

 

Stefan turned, sheathing his sword, and bowed to Arian. “You are excused, my lady. What we have to discuss now is of no interest to you.”

 

Anger at his rude dismissal boiled just beneath her skin. Haughtily she raised her chin, spun around, and turned to the wide stairway to her chamber.
SEVENTEEN

Two days later found Stefan, Lady Tarian, Lady Brighid, Sir Cadoc, and their respective companies high upon a ridge, overlooking a small clearing in the thick woods along the Welsh and English border. They watched as the dragon standard of the Welsh king Rhiwallon broke through the thick forest on the Welsh side, behind it a battle-ready accompaniment of mounted soldiers. Rhodri of Dinefwr also rode with them.

Stefan’s heart leapt high in his throat with happiness as his brothers emerged under heavy guard, their hands bound behind their backs, their horses roped in a train, each upon their own good steeds, looking no worse than what a good night’s sleep and a hot meal could not cure.

“My love,” Tarian said softly, as she leaned forward in her saddle to see her husband, Lord Wulfson, leading the group of them. “He lives,” she said between tears.

 

Stefan nodded. “Aye, Rhiwallon is no fool. Had he harmed them he would face William here or in hell.”

 

Stefan gave the signal for his men to follow, and very carefully, they made their way down the steep hillside.

 

Stefan felt Tarian’s excitement beside him as they approached. “Steady, my lady. Steady,” he cautioned.

 

When only thirty paces separated each side, Stefan called out to Morgan, Rhiwallon’s captain. “So we meet again, Morgan.”

 

The Welshman nodded. “I fear, Sir Stefan, it will not be the last time.”

“Pray that it is,” Stefan said, as he urged his mount closer. He made eye contact with Wulfson first and saw raw fury in his eyes. Did he know Tarian was to be traded for him and their brothers? Next to him, Rorick, whose lips quirked in a smirk. Then to Ioan, the big Irishman, stoic as always, to Warner, who nodded, and to Rohan, whose jaw twitched with anger. And finally he looked to Thorin who sat towering over most of them, his cool pale eyes ever watchful. Only Rhys was absent, and that gnawed at Stefan’s gut. With him gone, they would be much like a hand without a finger.

Stefan looked to Gareth, who escorted Lady Brighid to the other side. When Gareth made to escort Tarian, Wulfson shouted out, “Nay! She is not part of the bargain.”

 

Immediately Tarian was surrounded by armed Welshmen and moved further away.

 

“Wulfson!” Tarian cried, valiantly trying to retain her composure. “ ’Tis only until you deliver the princess to her betrothed.”

“Nay!” he roared, and urged his horse forward. Morgan drew his sword, backed by several others. Stefan spurred his destrier and rode interference between the raging Norman lord and the king’s captain. He grabbed the bridle of Wulf’s steed and yanked hard, bringing him around. “Think, man,” Stefan hissed in his friend’s ear. “Rhiwallon will not harm her for fear of retaliation! Leave with me now so that we all may live tomorrow!”

Morgan smiled a nasty smile. “You may all go, but the Viking returns with us.”

 

“Nay, ’twas not part of the deal,” Stefan said menacingly.

“Rhiwallon insists. Should Wulfson fall, there will be no urgency to carry out the exchange, and return for his lady. Thorin is kin not only to Olaf but blood brother to all of you. For him, any one of you who lives will see the exchange made to save his skin.”

“I will stay, Stefan, and keep watch over the ladies.” Thorin’s deep voice boomed over them all.

 

Angry, Stefan glared at Morgan and nodded. A man cut Thorin’s horse from Rohan’s and pulled him into the thick protective fold of soldiers.

Morgan motioned to another man, who nudged his horse forward and dropped a large satchel to the ground; it clanked when it hit. “Your swords,” Morgan said. He looked to Rhodri. “You are free to return with us.”

Rhodri spat and spurred his horse toward Stefan, crossing sides; his handful of men followed his lead.

 

Morgan sneered in contempt at them all, reined his horse around, and thundered into the woods; his men followed, surrounding Tarian, Brighid, and Thorin.

 

“I will kill him!” Wulfson yelled to the wind. “I will kill him!”

Stefan’s heart tightened for his friend. He was beginning to understand what he must feel. He would feel it soon enough when Arian married Magnus. Deftly, Stefan dismounted, and cut them all loose from their bindings. He handed each brother his sword, then remounted.