Master of Craving (28 page)

Rhodri threw his head back and laughed uproariously. Arian grabbed his sleeve. “I find no humor in their plot!”

 

Rhodri wiped his eyes. “Nay, ’tis not that, but that the little Norman thinks he is worthy to even consider wedding a princess of Wales!”

 

“Nothing surprises me, anymore, Rhod. This last month has been most unusual and unpredictable.”

He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. “Keep your dagger on your girdle, and I will keep close to you until you climb the stairway to your marriage bed. Never fear, you will see Magnus a virgin. I stake my life upon it!”

Foreboding swirled in her belly at his words, but Arian kept her eyes open and allowed no one to come too close, and for once was not irritated with the Norman guard that shadowed her every move.

When the sun had set behind the western horizon and still the Jarl’s train had not arrived, Arian felt a niggle of apprehension. What if he had heard the rumors and he chose to stay away, refusing to ask her if they were true?

Nervously she paced before the lord’s table. The gathered nobles who had come to witness the marriage grew as restless as she. Finally, having no other recourse, Arian called for the meal to be served. Just as she sat at the table, the lookout shouted that the Jarl’s standard had been sighted.

Arian felt her stomach drop to her feet. She looked up straight into Stefan’s eyes. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Arian looked away and allowed her brother to escort her to the stone entryway of the manor house. Nervousness feasted on her insides as the wait for Magnus grew interminable.

When the standard bearer broke through the wide-open gates to Moorwood, Arian’s knees wobbled. When Magnus appeared astride a great white destrier, his long blond hair flowing behind him like a cape, his tall muscular form sitting proud and square, she leaned on Rhodri’s arm for support. He patted her hand, steadying her. The trumpets blared as the train came up behind him, adorned in the blue and white colors of the house of Tryggvason. Arian wanted to feel pride, but dread engulfed her.

Magnus drew his great horse up in a flurry of fanfare. He smiled beneath his helm. He pulled it from his head, his hair spilling around his great shoulders, and his pale blue eyes, so much like Dag’s, glittered in excitement. He tossed his helm to his squire, dismounted and strode toward her. He dropped to one knee and took her hands into his and kissed them. “My lady,” he said in his thick accented Welsh, “How farest thou?”

She curtsied and said, “My lord, I am well.”

 

A flicker of pain scattered across Magnus’s handsome features, and Arian knew he thought of Dag.

 

He smiled up at her, then rose. Nervously, Arian pulled her hand from his and turned to Rhodri. “My lord, please, may I introduce my brother Rhodri.”

Magnus stood to his full towering height; taller than Stefan, Arian thought, and while Magnus was well-muscled he was not nearly the specimen Stefan was. She caught herself making the comparison.

“My lord, my sister has eagerly awaited your arrival. I am glad to see you safely here.”

The men made short bows. Lord Overly and Lady Lisette welcomed him, as did several of the lesser nobles. Magnus waved the rest of them off, then turned, beaming down at Arian. “My lady, I cannot express to you my distress when I learned of what transpired in Mercia. I thank God you are here and safe with me now.”

Her heart started. He did not question her virtue? Arian smiled. “Milord, I beg a private word with you before we dine.”

He took her hands into his. “There is time for that later. I want to savor you, Arian, for I would have swum the North Sea in my mail, so great was my desire to be here by your side.” He pulled her to him. “Come, let us reacquaint ourselves with each other.”

With his heartfelt candor, he was making what she had to say that much more difficult. Guilt washed through her. The hall glowed with a thousand candles as they entered, the aromatic scent of fresh herbs and flowers from new rush mats wafting invitingly in the air; the tables had been cleaned and set with fine silver goblets and silver candelabra. The scent of fine roasted meats filled the air; everyone had gathered in their finery to welcome the lord of the manor, Jarl Magnus the Tall. As they entered to the cheers of many, Arian felt her opportunity slipping away. She must speak with Magnus’ before the rumors made their way to him, causing him to doubt her. “My lord, please a private word first.”

He smiled down at her, and she could not resist a smile in return. His face glowed with love for her, and she felt as if Belenus had kicked her in the gut. “Of course, my love. Your wish is my command.”

Arian looked over her shoulder to find Stefan staring hard at her as she made her way up the stairway. With her eyes she pleaded with him to stay where he was and not interfere. But that was not to be; as she and Magnus entered her chamber with Jane and Magnus’s man in tow, Stefan, followed by Sir Wulfson, Sir Rorick, and Rhodri, strode into the shrinking room.

“What is the meaning of this?” Magnus demanded, turning instantly from love-sotted swain into angry magnate.

 

Stefan gave the Viking a short bow. “I am Stefan de Valrey, knight of William. These are my men Lord Wulfson and Sir Rorick.”

 

Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “What business does Normandy have with me?” Stefan glanced at Arian. “I am here to see to William’s interests in the east.”

 

Arian held her breath when Magnus turned sharp eyes upon her. “What interests would those be?”

 

“My lord,” Arian began, “did not Sir Sar explain the exact nature of my arrival here?”

 

Magnus’s face reddened in anger. “Aye, and yet I still do not believe Dag capable of such a thing.”

 

“What is there not to believe?” Stefan demanded, stepping closer to the Viking. “Dag was bent on breaching the lady for his own gain, knowing you would refuse marriage to her.”

 

Magnus’s pale eyes glittered. “What purpose would that serve him?”

 

“He desired me enough to shame me
and
you, then claim my hand for himself when you refused me,” Arian softly said.

 

Magnus swiped his hand across his face, finding the brutal facts of his nephew’s death hard to accept.

 

“It does not ring true to Dag’s character. He has a wife!”

 

“We will never know what ran through the knave’s head. I witnessed the exchange and can vouch for the lady’s defense and Dag’s transgression,” Stefan said flatly.

 

For a long moment, Magnus stood silent; Arian could see his mind working, asking questions, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

 

He turned and looked directly at Arian. “How did Dag find you?”

 

“He but followed the path to the pond.”

 

“What did he see?”

 

“What do you think he saw?” Stefan cut in.

 

Magnus turned glaring eyes on Stefan. “Pray you tell me, Norman. What did
you
behold?”

 

“An innocent woman preyed upon.”

Magnus smiled, his lips twisting into a white line. “Forgive me, sir, for having difficulty digesting the image of my betrothed being ogled not only by my nephew but by a complete stranger.”

Arian felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Her eyes darted to Stefan’s, then back to Magnus. “I was bathing, milord. When I came from the water, I wrapped the linen Jane had set out for me around myself.”

“Were you clothed when you ran into the wood?”

 

More heat warmed her cheeks. “Nay, I was not. Dag had ripped the linen from my person, and I ran for my life.”

When Magnus turned to Stefan, his eyes glittered in rage. “So my betrothed is set upon by my nephew, she runs naked into the wood straight into your waiting arms, you slay my nephew and then? What?”

“We rode for a safer place.”

 

“Why did you not return her to her train?”

 

Stefan smiled. “I had a use for her myself.”

 

“A true Norman. Greed first, honor second,” Magnus said carefully.

“Magnus!” Arian cried. “Enough of this! If the circumstances of my meeting Sir Stefan are too much for your pride to bear, say it now, and I will return to Dinefwr. I will not stand here and be humiliated for something I had no control over. Had Sir Stefan
not
been present, there would be no marriage between us.”

He stood angry and tall before her. She understood his wounded pride. More calmly, she continued. “There is more to the tale than Dag’s demise and my capture. The Normans remain here because, as Sir Stefan has said, my cousin Rhiwallon holds his man hostage. He still holds Lord Wulfson’s lady, as well as her sister and Sir Thorin, who I am to understand is your king’s half brother. They will not be released until we are wed. I suggest, my lord, you set your pride aside and we wed with haste.”

“Did you bed the Norman?” he asked, barely audible.

 

Arian’s jaw dropped.

 

“The lady’s virtue has not been compromised by me,” Stefan flatly answered for her.

 

Magnus stared hard at her. “I asked you, my lady, did you bed the Norman?”

 

“Nay!”

He turned from them, and with his hands behind his back, he began to pace the room. Arian looked up into Stefan’s stormy face, wanting some kind of reassurance from him, but not knowing what.

She turned to find Magnus’s brooding stare on them both. “Then explain this thing between you.”

Stefan stepped forward, but Arian placed a hand on his arm, halting him. She walked up to the proud Viking and placed her hand on his chest. Softly she said, “Is it not possible for me to be indebted to the man who not only championed my virtue but my life? And not on just one occasion but several? Is it such a small thing to be thankful?”

Magnus looked over Arian’s head to stare at Stefan. “There is more to it than that. I can see it in the way you look at him and he you.”

Arian stiffened. That her feelings for the Norman were so clear to all shamed her. Slowly, she shook her head, and lied. “Nay, Magnus, you are wrong. I am but grateful for his interference; nothing more.”

Magnus slid an arm around her waist and drew her to him. His eyes still blazed but ’twas not anger now. “I could not bear it if you loved another,” he said softly, lowering his lips to hers. Arian stiffened, then loosened under his assault. When his lips brushed across hers her body did not warm, nor did it spark with anything but mild annoyance. He pulled her tighter against him. She knew if she remained cool, he would suspect more. Her arms rose up and locked around his neck, and she opened her lips, accepting him, for in two nights’ time she would have to surrender all to him. In what seemed an endless kiss, he finally drew away from her.

“Where has the fire gone, milady?”

 

“I—you caught me off guard, and there are”—she turned to look at the men and Jane, raising her eyes to Stefan’s stony glare. She felt Magnus’s gaze follow hers.

 

“It seems I have caught you both off guard.” He set her from him and said to them all, “Are there others who know of the circumstances of Dag’s death?”

 

Stefan nodded. “Rumors swirl.”

“I have no doubt.” He stepped from Arian and commanded, “Here in this chamber the night of our wedding, I demand the priest, Prince Rhodri, Lord Overly and”—Magnus smiled—“you, Sir Stefan, on behalf of Normandy, to bear witness when I take Lady Arian that she bleeds virgin’s blood. Hang the sheets from the highest rooftop and let no one say she was not pure when she came to me. Should any man question her honor, they will ride my ax to hell!”

Stefan shook his head. “I will not witness your taking of her.” He looked to Wulfson. “My man will in my stead.”

 

“But I insist!” Magnus charged.

Arian kept her silence, understanding why Magnus flexed his might. “Insist all you wish. I will not do it,” Stefan said. He clicked his heels together and made a short bow. “I have matters that need my attention, but before I withdraw allow me to make several points clear to you. Until you are wed, Lady Arian’s safety and virtue are in my hands. My men will continue to stand guard outside her chamber door, as well as escort her about the manor and surrounding grounds. Her own men have been included in the details as well. I have no objection to you also appointing your men to see to her well-being, but this point is not negotiable. Once you are wed and satisfied she came to you pure, then I

and my men will take our leave of this place. Those are my terms.”

 

“What right do you, a Norman, have to tell me, lord and master here in my own house, what your terms are? You have no authority here!”

 

“Yorkshire is part of England and William is king. By his right of conquest I have the right to speak in his name.”

 

“I will see all Normans cast from my house!”

 

“Try, and you will have all of Normandy to fight.”

 

“Magnus!” Arian cried. “Let it be. There is no harm in the Normans’ presence; they will be gone in two days’ time.”

 

“Nay, they will be gone by sunset tomorrow!”

 

“But we are not to wed for two days.”

 

“We wed on the morrow.”

 

Arian’s blood chilled. Panicked, she looked at Stefan. Magnus laughed. “Pray you are a virgin still, Arian, for if you are not, the Norman will pay with his life!”

 

Arian pressed her hand to Magnus’s forearm. “Please clear the chamber, I wish to speak to you in private.”

 

Once they were alone, Arian looked up into the face of the man she was to marry. She took his big hands into hers. “Tell me truly, Magnus, do you believe me?”

 

“That you are a virgin still or that you hold no feelings for the Norman?”

“Both.” Carefully, she watched the emotions play across his handsome features. She understood his anger, his frustration, and his fear. Were she standing where he stood, her heart would be breaking.

He grasped her hands. “Arian, I am a proud man, and while I do not care what gossipmongers spew of me, I care that you are caught up in the viciousness. That a Norman is tied to your good name, even one who saved you from grave peril, sickens me. They are the scourge of this earth.”

Guilt assailed her. If Magnus knew what had transpired, he would cast her out like a dirty rag. “Be glad for him, Magnus. He saved my life.”