Nothing Else Matters (15 page)

Smal as she was, Eleanor very nearly lost her place as people mil ed about, changing position at some order from the judge who seemed to be acting as referee in the duel. Despite their rank, Edythe and she had to push and prod the people surrounding them to be able to have a decent view of the lists. By the time she was firmly entrenched in the front of the crowd, Stian and David of Ayrfel were facing each other. Instead of shield and broadsword, each man held the much longer great sword, heavy enough that it had to be used two-handed. Though the men were not that far from where she stood, Eleanor

could not make out the expression on either’s face for the cheek and nose pieces of their conical helms hid most of their faces from view. She could see their eyes, equal y blue, alert, determined, fierce as hunting hawks. And if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a glint of humor in Stian’s gaze as wel . She didn’t understand it, how a man could find humor in such a desperate situation, but for some foolish reason she found that hint of bravado endearing.

She was grateful he’d done what he could to save Bertran. She also wished she’d known he was going to chal enge the shire court to combat over the

boy’s innocence. She wouldn’t have tried to stop him but she would have liked to offer him some token to take into battle, though she supposed if any

woman should have offered him her favor, it was the one whose child he was defending.

The thought was unexpectedly painful and she found herself looking at Nicolaa Brasey as the fight began. Though her hand was on Bertran’s shoulder, the boy’s mother had eyes only for Stian. It was a look ful of worship and hope. Eleanor couldn’t look at her for long. Besides, as the clash of metal upon metal rang out, al of her stomach clenched with fear and al her concern focused on her ragged archangel.

My archangel? Sweet Jesu, when did he become mine?
she thought as Stian parried an overhand blow. How could Stian be hers? Was he not fighting for Nicolaa? He was her husband but he was another’s champion.

In the sophisticated court of Poitiers such a situation was perfectly normal. It was even the ideal, for al knew marriage had nothing to do with love. But…

this wasn’t Poitiers and Eleanor wasn’t feeling particularly sophisticated. Her hands clenched in tight fists as she watched the fight and she found it hard to breathe. She barely noticed Edythe’s arm around her shoulder or her sister’s encouraging comments. Al she real y saw were two very sharp weapons

coming together again and again.

The men circled in a quick, scuttling, sideways dance then Stian swept his sword toward Aryfel ’s thigh. His opponent jumped back and aimed a blow at

Stian’s head. Stian ducked and came up under the other man’s guard.

The great sword was a slashing weapon and chain mail was meant to deflect chopping sword blows. Stian ignored the accustomed roles for both

weapons and armor and used the heavy sword to stab at Ayrfel ’s upper arm. There was a grating screech as the tip of the blade penetrated the rings of the mail. The thrust didn’t pierce far before the armor deflected it but it did as much damage as Stian wanted.

He laughed as he jumped backward.

Then he cal ed, “Hold!” as a thin trickle of blood seeped from the puncture wound to stain Ayrfel ’s armor. “First blood!” Stian declared. He looked toward the judges as he lowered his sword.

Ayrfel roared with anger and rushed forward, ignoring the smal hurt as he swung his blade at Stian’s head. Stian knew he might have been in trouble if the sheriff hadn’t tackled Ayrfel from behind, bringing him down heavily on the dusty ground. Then sat on him.

“Hold!” the sheriff shouted when Ayrfel struggled to throw him off. “Curse your temper, David, the fight’s over! The lad’s innocent. God’s made his choice, now yield and be stil !”

It was some time before David of Ayrfel final y gave up the fight but Stian left him to the sheriff. He could have stood over his fal en cousin and gloated, and he was tempted to savor the victory that way. But al thought of doing so left him when Nicolaa Brasey threw herself into his arms, snatched off his helm and pul ed his mouth down to hers.

The excitement of battle was stil in him and she was ful of the energy of pent-up fear. The kiss they shared was fierce and hungry, for a while he forgot the reason for the fight, the fight itself, that he was surrounded by a laughing, cheering crowd and the woman for whose sake he’d actual y brought the

chal enge of trial by combat.

As soon as he tasted the salt from Nicolaa’s tears he remembered himself, why they were there and that they shared nothing more than friendship. He let her go and she immediately turned to her son. He looked around for his wife.

He saw Edythe, but for once Eleanor was not standing unobtrusively in her shadow. He made his way over to her, though it took some doing. First, he had to deal with Malcolm and Lars. They slapped him, hugged him, shouted in his face and thrust a tankard of ale at him. After he drank it down grateful y, he let them help him off with his armor.

Then he shook sweat-soaked hair out of his face and roared, “Where’s my wife?”

Ayrfel ’s people had taken him away. Nicolaa and her son were standing before the judges. Hubert was shepherding a large portion of the crowd toward

the chapel to give thanks. Dame Beatrice was marshaling the household to prepare for a celebration. A great deal was going on. Everyone was busy.

The abbot was gesturing for him to come before judges and jurymen. Eleanor was nowhere in sight.

Edythe made her way to his side. He asked her, “Where’s my wife?”

She gave one of her dazzling smiles and Lars sighed. She said, “She remembered that I loaned her my garnet brooch for her wedding. She said she

thought she must have left it in the bower where you took her on your wedding night. She said she thought she remembered the way and that it is not far.”

Edythe smiled again. She said to Lars, “Would you escort me to my lord, good sir? The crowd wil part easily at your command.”

Lars leapt forward like an eager puppy. With her hand on his arm, they started away.

Stian cal ed after Edythe, “Eleanor is at the cave?” She neither replied nor turned around or even seemed to hear him. Stian turned his puzzled, annoyed gaze from Edythe and found Malcolm watching him. “Eleanor is at the cave?” he repeated to his remaining cousin.

“It would seem so,” was Malcolm’s response.

“I just fought a battle.”

“A smal one,” Malcolm pointed out.

“For her.”

“For justice.”

“Aye. But she talked me in to it.”

Malcolm laughed. “Let her go then. Or beat her. It’s not like you to let a woman talk you into anything.”

“Why would she go alone to the cave?”

“Why would you kiss Nicolaa Brasey before the world and your woman?”

Stian had been growing angry but Malcolm’s comment brought him up short. “Oh.” He rubbed his hand thoughtful y along his jaw. “Think you she saw?

Think you she’s jealous?”

Malcolm’s boisterous laugh briefly blocked out al other noise in the bailey. He clapped Stian on the shoulder. “I know she saw. She certainly looked

jealous.”

“In truth?”

“By the Rood and al the saints,” Malcolm swore, hand on heart. He gave a sly smile. “Why don’t you go find out for yourself?”

“I wil . ’Tis not safe for her to go into the woods alone,” Stian said.

“Liar,” Malcolm made quick work of his lame excuse. He pushed Stian in the direction of the castle gate. “Go on then.” Stian went, and his ears grew red as his cousin added loudly, “If you’re not home for dinner we’l know the reason why.”

As he came into the clearing he saw the animal first then Eleanor, kneeling in the mouth of the cave, her cloak pul ed tightly around her. She was pale, her dark eyes were wide, staring in terror.

“Eleanor?”

Her voice was too calm when she answered, “It’s a wolf.”

“I know it’s a wolf,” he said. He walked boldly toward the black and gray creature. “She’s my wolf. I raised her from a pup.”

“She’s going to kil me.” Eleanor’s voice was strained, barely above a whisper. She wondered how she could manage to talk at al , she was so frightened.

She wished Stian would at least draw his sword.

Stian stopped a few feet away from the wolf, between it and the mouth of the cave where she huddled. “Wolves don’t kil people. Not usual y.”

“That’s no comfort.” She looked him in the face for the first time. “What do you mean, you raised her? You mean she’s tame?”

The wolf growled as Eleanor spoke. The wolf was standing stiff-legged with her head down. Her teeth were bared, looking bright and sharp against the

black fur of her muzzle.

“Your wolf doesn’t sound tame,” Eleanor pointed out in her too-calm voice.

“She’s not tame.”

“You said you raised her.”

“Then I set her free. Sometimes she comes back to the cave. Sometimes she lets me near her, but that doesn’t mean she’s tamed.”

“Oh,” she said as the wolf growled again. It took a stalking pace nearer to Eleanor. Stian careful y moved closer himself.

As he came closer to the cave mouth, Stian could see that Eleanor was trembling. If she broke and ran, the wolf just might attack. “You can’t show

weakness to a wolf,” he told her. “You’l have to show her you’re a stronger bitch than she is.”

“Why don’t you just kil her?”

“No,” he answered flatly. “Show her you’re braver than she is and you’l come to no harm.”

“I’m not brave.”

Stian took a step back. “Then perhaps she’l maul you.”

He didn’t know why he was doing this. It would have been easy enough to drive the wolf off. Maybe it was because he considered the cave and pool to be his and the wolf’s territory. Perhaps Eleanor needed to show she deserved a place in the world they occupied. Perhaps he just wanted to show her that

she could outface a wolf.

“Damn you.” The words were a hoarse, terrified whisper, but the anger underlying the fear pleased him. She looked as if she might faint at any moment

though.

He asked, “How long have you two been like this?”

“I don’t know. Forever.”

It wasn’t like the wolf to confront humans. It wasn’t like her to be threatening. “She just came out of the woods?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“Every time I move she growls at me.”

Why would the wolf behave like this? She was usual y shy of any human but himself. It made him wonder and then it made him laugh. The wolf’s ears

flicked at the sound but she didn’t take her yel ow-eyed gaze from Eleanor.

“What?” Eleanor demanded.

“She probably smel s me on you. She won’t like that.”

“Won’t like?”

“She thinks I’m a wolf, I think. Her mate. Wolves fight for their mates,” he added. “And the winners mate for life.”

“Don’t expect me to fight a wolf for you, Stian of Harelby.”

“I’m worth a fight,” he told his wife. “Don’t you want to mate for life?”

“Stian, please! I’m frightened.”

He moved swiftly to her side. Squatting beside her but not touching her, he said, “She knows she’s frightening you. Don’t let the beast win. Stare her down. That’s al you have to do. Look her in the eye. Don’t blink. Don’t look away. Dominate her with your eyes. Do it and she’l leave you be.”

Stare her down? That was al she had to do, stare down a wolf? Eleanor wanted to laugh but her throat wouldn’t work to make the sound. She could feel

Stian beside her, the heat and scent of him. She could sense the size and power of him. She knew he could save her if he chose, but instead he was

forcing her to save herself. What would he do if she lost? Would he interfere? Would he take the part of the wolf he’d loved enough to raise and free? Or would he take the part of the wife his father’d forced on him? She thought she was more frightened of the answer to that than she was of the wolf.

“You’re strong, Eleanor,” Stian told her. “Always remember that you’re strong enough to conquer a wolf.”

His voice held so much confidence she almost believed it herself. Since he gave her no other choice, Eleanor forced herself to look the beast in the eye.

At first she thought she was looking into the face of the Devil himself.

“You’re just a big, old, flea-bitten dog,” she heard herself say after a while.

She’d forgotten to think. She’d forgotten time. She’d discovered that this was indeed a dominance game. Stare and stare and see whose wil crumpled

first. She’d actual y seen King Henry and Queen Eleanor confront each other like this on the road outside Poitiers. Their fury with each other had been palpable, crackling like lightning between them. The queen had looked away first and she’d ended up a prisoner in Salisbury castle. Compared to what

humans did to each other, Eleanor thought, wolves were nothing.

She glared. She refused to blink. Al she saw were the other’s gold eyes. Eyes that seemed to be fil ing with uncertainty.

“You probably got the fleas from Stian.”

“Aye,” came a soft voice beside her. “That she did.”

The wolf whined. Then the wolf lowered her head and whined again. Then she rol ed onto her back. Eleanor could have sworn the expression on the wolf’s muzzle was hopeful.

She looked at Stian. “What?”

“You’ve won. When they expose their bel ies, it’s a sign that they’re defeated.” He moved forward, approaching the wolf on his hands and knees. When he was beside her, he looked back at Eleanor as he began to rub the wolf’s thick coat. “It’s also a sign they want their bel ies rubbed.”

“Dogs like that,” Eleanor agreed.

“Wolves too. This one does, I know.”

After Stian had given the wolf a thorough scritching, cooing and growling playful y al the while, the animal jumped to her feet. The bitch wolf circled the clearing, gave Stian one long look then loped away, back into the woods.

Stian came back to where Eleanor stil knelt. He put out his hand to help her up but she shook her head. She was stil trembling from the aftershock of facing down the wild—or nearly wild—animal.