Untamed (33 page)

Meg kept on talking, not allowing Rufus a chance to voice his question.

“Before my flesh is cold in its grave, Dominic will be wed to a fine, fertile Norman wife who will give him enough heirs to stand hip to thigh across the land.

“You have outsmarted yourselves, Reevers. Blackthorne Keep is Norman now. Thanks to your foolish greed, it will remain so until the Kingdom of God comes again to earth.”

 

“'T
IS
shrewd of my wife to demoralize them,” Dominic said when Sven paused in his story. “Did she recognize you?”

“I think not. She made no attempt to speak privately with me.”

Sven hesitated and looked around the great hall. No one except Simon and Old Gwyn was close enough to overhear.

“I suspect that at least two of the Reevers men spy for Duncan,” Sven added.

“No surprise in that,” Dominic said. “The Scots Hammer is shrewd when his passions don't rule him.”

“One of the spies slipped away from camp well before I did,” Sven said.

“Then we shall likely see Duncan soon,” Dominic said. “What else did Meg say?”

Sven looked at Dominic and wished himself anywhere at all but Blackthorne Keep. His lord was dressed for battle from helm to chausses. The hilt of his gleaming, well-used sword was never more than inches from his hand.

With a stifled curse, Sven ran his fingers through his artfully dirty hair and spoke again.

“Your lady asked once more for a priest, saying that if she died unshriven she would surely haunt them as Lady Anna haunts the keep.”

“Turning the knife.” Dominic smiled savagely.
“'Tis a foretaste of revenge for what they did to her. My small falcon is quite fierce.”

Sven looked toward Old Gwyn.

“Is Lady Margaret a good liar?” Sven asked bluntly.

“Nay.” The flat denial lay like a stone in the silence. “Meg is like a sacred spring, too clear to hide even the deepest parts of her soul.”

“I thought so,” Sven muttered.

As Dominic looked from one to the other, the smile on his face faded, leaving the savagery behind.

“What are you saying?” he demanded.

“Lady Margaret believed every word she spoke,” Sven said simply. “That's why the Reevers believed her.”

“What sane person wouldn't believe her?” Gwyn asked, watching Dominic intently. “It would be madness to ruin your estates in order to ransom a wife who can't give you a son.”

“Enough!” Dominic commanded.

Gwyn kept talking as though she hadn't heard. Her words were as calm and relentless as a cold rain.

“After moonrise tomorrow, the Reevers will defile Meg,” the old woman said. “Even if she survives what they do to her, it will be impossible for you to keep Meg as your wife. You will set her aside and soon the keep will have a new lady. And you, lord…then you will finally have the sons you want more than you want anything else on earth.”

“
Simon
.”

Though Dominic said no more, his brother answered the unspoken question.

“You are renowned as a tactician,” Simon said, choosing each word with care. “It would be a poor tactician who lost a war trying to win a battle that would gain him nothing.”

“Explain.”

Simon hesitated. He had never heard quite that tone of voice from his brother. Simon would be well pleased if he never heard it again.

“You came here for land and sons,” Simon said after a moment. “That is your war. Half of it is won. The land is yours.”

Dominic said nothing.

“If you fight this battle on the Reevers' terms,” Simon resumed, “you have nothing to gain and much to lose. Nor will the vassals of Blackthorne Keep require that you sacrifice everything—including them—in a futile battle.

“Meg knows that as well as you do. So, now, do the Reevers.”

Simon looked away from his brother. Like Dominic's voice, his expression was a terrible combination of rage and anguish.

“Finish it,” Dominic said bleakly.

“God's blood,” muttered Simon. “'Tis clear enough. Meg does not expect you to ransom her.”

With a speed that made his heavy war cloak flare, Dominic turned his back on the people in the great hall. He didn't want them to see what must lie naked in his eyes, memories and Meg's words turning like knives in his soul.

I could be a liar, a cheat, a robber, a felon…none of it matters to you. One womb serves as well as another, so long as it comes with Blackthorne Keep
.

Gauntleted hands became fists.

Is Dominic unkind to you?

To his Glendruid wife? To his sole hope of legal heirs? Does my husband strike you as a stupid man? My jesses, after all, are almost the equal of his fine peregrine's
.

Dominic stood rigidly, his fists clenched at his side.

You are in pain. Let me heal you
.

Only one thing can heal me
.

Then I give it to you
.

A tremor ripped past Dominic's control.

Send for the priest, for I will surely die
.

For a long time Dominic struggled for the self-control he had learned at such cost in the past. He had been very certain he had nothing new to learn about pain.

He had been wrong.

Meg, I never meant to wound you so. You saw into me so clearly, yet you gave to me so generously
.

Would that you could see into me now
….

A low sound came from the bailey, hundreds of voices held in unnatural restraint while whisperings gusted through the crowd like fickle winds.

“They still gather, lord,” Gwyn said calmly.

“For what?” Dominic asked.

Even the old Glendruid witch flinched at the sound of Dominic's voice. After a moment she answered.

“For you. They are in need and you are their lord.”

Without a word or a backward look, Dominic strode through the great hall to the forebuilding. When the vassals saw him appear in the wide doorway with chain mail glittering beneath his heavy cloak, silence spread through the bailey.

Before Dominic could speak, Harry climbed the steps. In his hand was a small leather bag. Coins jingled within.

“Adela and I heard what happened,” Harry said. “'Tis a terrible ransom they demand.”

When Harry extended the bag, Dominic was too surprised to move.

“Take it,” Harry urged. “'Tis not much, I know, but 'tis all we have. Please, lord. When Adela was in pain, Meg came to her.”

Before Harry turned away, the falcon master was climbing the forebuilding's stairs. In his hands was a wooden bowl holding a few precious coins.

“My second son was trampled by a war stallion when he was four. The lady knelt in the mire and eased his dying pain. She was not yet nine herself.”

No sooner had the falcon master set the bowl at Dominic's feet than other vassals stepped forward one by one, holding in their hands whatever small treasure had been gleaned from a lifetime of hard labor. With each gift came a sentence or two.

“She stayed at my father's sickbed.”

“When my brother was ill and there was no straw to burn, she gave him her cloak.”

“She healed my son.”

“My babe would have died but for her.”

“She comforted me.”

The money Dominic had given to the vassals at his wedding feast fell like a silver rain into the bowl, coin after coin returning, mute witness to the vassals' regard for their Glendruid lady. With the coins came whispered words that told of love beyond price.

“She healed my hand.”

“When my wife needed her, she came.”

“When everyone called me cursed, she cured me.”

“I am blind. Her voice is my light.”

Finally no one remained on the steps of the forebuilding but a boy who couldn't have been more than nine years old. At his heels limped a large, tattered dog. Dominic looked at the boy's carefully clenched hand and wondered what a child so young would have to offer, and why.

As though to give himself courage to speak, the boy buried one hand in the hound's thick ruff as he thrust out his other hand. On his palm was his
greatest treasure—one of the Turkish sweets Dominic had given to his vassals along with the silver coins. The sweet had been nibbled at one edge only, as though each day the boy took just a bit of the rare treat, savoring it.

“She saved my dog when a snare caught him.”

The boy dropped the sweet onto the pile of coins and fled. The hound followed like a ragged brown shadow.

Dominic tried to speak, but could not. Like drops gathering into rills and creeks until a mighty river was born, the gifts and words told the meaning of Meg's life to the vassals of the keep. She was peace and hope in a world of war and famine. She was sunlight and laughter and healing when everything else was pain.

She was all that and more to the warrior who had married for land and sons, and had received life and love.

Finally Dominic was able to speak.

“Our heart has been stolen.”

A low sound rose from the people.

“If she isn't returned to us alive and laughing,” Dominic said, “there will be a harrowing of the north such as will never be forgotten.”

The noise became a growl as though of a beast aroused.

“I will hunt down the Reevers and their families one by one, and I will kill them where I find them, man and woman and child.”

Sound rippled darkly, a beast prowling, unleashed.

“I will burn their homes, slaughter their stock, and poison their wells.

“I will tear down their stone fences, slay their game, and salt their fields until nothing can live therein.

“Then I will leave the cursed land to the unshriven ghosts I've made!”

A savage cry of assent echoed through the bailey.

Slowly Old Gwyn climbed the last step and stood before the lord of Blackthorne Keep, seeing for the first time what the vassals already had seen.

From eyes shaded by a battle helm came as many tears as there were silver coins heaped in the bowl.

“I have waited a thousand years for this day,” Gwyn said.

With quick, sure motions, Gwyn fastened a heavy silver pin to Dominic's black battle cloak. When she stepped back, sunlight struck the ancient pin, making the silver wolf's head burn. Clear crystal eyes flashed and glittered as though alive.

A great shout went up from the vassals as they greeted the Glendruid Wolf.

 

A
T
dawn, knights mounted on chargers galloped forth from Blackthorne Keep, heading north. Steel weapons gleamed and clashed with every motion the war-horses made. Behind them the drawbridge was lifted and the gates were bolted shut.

The Glendruid Wolf had gone to war.

“N
O
,” D
OMINIC SAID FLATLY
to Duncan. “You would be recognized and slain out of hand. Don't speak of it again. If you weren't valuable to me alive, I would have killed you twice over by now.”

Duncan and his knights had found Dominic in mid-afternoon on the northbound cart road. The Scots Hammer and the Glendruid Wolf had been arguing ever since. Duncan looked up to the oak branches overhead as though expecting to find help in the delicate green flames that burned at the tip of each twig.

“If someone isn't inside the palisade when we attack,” Duncan said through his teeth, “Meggie could well be killed before my ‘renegade' knight can stop it.”

“Do you think I don't know that?” Dominic shot back. “That's why I'm going inside the palisade as soon as it's dark. I'll be able to sneak past the—”

“God's blood!” Duncan and Simon exploded at once.

“You can't do that,” Simon continued harshly. “Your size alone would give you away!”

“Not to mention that great shining piece of silver you wear on your cloak,” Duncan muttered.

He eyed the wolf's head warily, as though expecting its silent snarl to be transformed into a living wolf at any moment.

“Lord,” Sven said quietly. “I will go. 'Tis my favorite kind of work.”

“By now they will have missed you,” Dominic said, his voice impatient. “What will you say when they ask where you've been?”

“I'll tell them I was worried about my flocks.”

Dominic grunted. “It wouldn't convince me.”

“Rufus isn't you.”

An explosive curse was Dominic's only answer.

“Your lady is chained to a tree,” Sven said. “There will be no chance for her to seek cover when you attack. Someone must be there to protect her.”

“I can't ask you to do anything that dangerous.”

Sven's smile was both savage and amused. “Ah, lord, do you know me so little? Danger is my wife, my mistress, and my child. That's why I like being your knight so well.”

A searing oath, a hissing sigh, and Dominic gave in.

“See the priest before you go,” Dominic ordered Sven. “This time you may find more danger than even you can survive.”

“There are many worse ways to die than defending my liege's lady.”

“Aye,” cut in Simon firmly. “Let me go with Sven. I can—”

“Nay,” Sven objected instantly. “You're as big as Dominic or Duncan. The Reevers would spot you in the blink of an eye. If they didn't, Eadith would.”

“You're hardly tiny yourself,” Simon retorted.

“They are used to me,” Sven said, turning away. “When will you attack?”

“At dusk,” Dominic said. “Will that give you enough time?”

Sven glanced at the angle of the sun. “Barely. Send men on foot to attack from the rear. With a bit of luck, the sally port in the palisade will be open.”

Before anyone could respond, Sven trotted into the forest and vanished.

“Where did you find that one?” Duncan asked Dominic.

“In a Saracen hell.”

“Can he open the sally port?”

“If any man can manage it, Sven can. It won't be the first gate he has opened for me from inside.”

“That I believe,” Duncan muttered. “He is like a cat in his stealth.”

Behind Dominic a horse snorted and stirred restlessly. The other knights and their squires had dismounted while their lord and the two knights argued over who would take the most dangerous position during the attack. Duncan's men were much like Dominic's: hard, competent, and well blooded in previous battles.

Most of the knights had taken off their heavy hauberks and were checking their weaponry. Crossbow and bolts, pike and staff, mace and sword and battle-ax lay in deadly array. The knights talked as they worked over their equipment, laying bets as to which man would be first through the palisades, which would be first to kill, even which would be first to draw blood or have it drawn from his own flesh.

Dominic heard the jests and conversations as though at a great distance. He was focused on one thing and one thing alone: Meg. He would have traded Heaven and taken on Hell single-handed if it would have guaranteed that his small falcon survived moonrise.

“Do you have any instructions for the knights?” Simon asked Dominic when all was ready.

“No quarter. No prisoners.”

 

I
GNORING
the Reever guards who called back and forth from their perches on the palisades, Meg tugged surreptitiously on the heavy chain that went from her wrist manacles around the trunk of a young oak. Though rusty, the chain was still strong.

She glanced at the sun. It was no longer visible over the raw wood palisade that surrounded the rough bailey. Soon dusk would pool in the shadows and hollows until darkness brimmed over, filling the land. Shortly afterward, the moon would rise in silver glory.

And then the Reevers would come for her.

Eadith paced near the bonfire where the remains of a venison roast congealed on a spit. Impatiently she looked from the fire to the guard who had the best view of the cart road to Carlysle Manor.

“Do you see anything?” she called.

“No,” the man said curtly.

Rufus hacked a piece off the roast with a dagger, stuffed the meat into his mouth, and chewed.

“He will come,” she insisted. “He is besotted with the witch.”

Rufus grunted.

Eadith resumed pacing.

A ragged Reever stepped up to the spit. His knife sliced easily through the tough meat.

“What of you, shepherd?” Eadith demanded. “Did you see riders?”

“No, mistress. My flocks are to the east.”

With a muttered curse, Eadith turned back to the guard, who ignored her.

The shepherd wandered toward the back of the
encampment. As he passed by Meg, he dropped the piece of meat. When he bent down to retrieve it, he spoke in a voice that carried no farther than her.

“The Sword comes at dusk.”

Meg's eyes widened as she looked at the pale hair and light eyes of the strange shepherd.

“He does
not
come,” she said softly.

“Be ready, lady.”

Sven smiled thinly, tossed the meat away, and kept walking toward the back gate. As he had hoped, Duncan's “renegade” knight sat nearby, sharpening the edge of a huge battle-ax.

“Dusk,” Sven breathed as he walked past.

The rasping of stone on steel paused just long enough to tell Sven that the knight had heard.

“Guard!” Eadith called a few minutes later.

“No one comes as far as I can see,” the man answered in a bored tone. The question had been asked and answered many times that afternoon.

Dusk settled over the camp like a cloak. Though the moon had not yet risen, its silver glow shone just above the western horizon. Rufus wiped his knife on his sleeve and looked over at Meg with naked intent.

Casually Duncan's knight stood up, hefting the ax as though to test its balance. He began swinging the weapon one-handed around his head, making the air whistle with the speed of the ax's passage. It was not the first time he had drilled himself with the ax since he had come to the Reevers, but it never failed to intrigue the ill-trained men.

The knight's skilled play with the ax was all the distraction Sven needed and more than he had hoped for. He went to the back gate as though to relieve himself. When he passed the guard, a knife blade gleamed dully and the guard slumped. Sven propped him up against the palisade and pulled the man's mantle around him as though he slept.

A few quick strokes into the earth cleaned the knife blade. Sven returned the weapon to its sheath and waited, knowing the battle would begin soon.

Suddenly the guard at the front of camp shouted and pointed toward the cart road.

“They're coming! Two knights. One is dressed in black. God blind me if it isn't the Norman bastard!”

“Do they have the treasure?” Eadith demanded.

“Aye! Their pack animals are fair staggering beneath their burdens.”

A ragged shout went up from the camp. Men jostled one another eagerly to catch the first glimpse of the riches that would soon be theirs.

No one noticed Sven quietly slipping the bolt on the sally port, opening it a crack, and then going quickly to stand near Meg.

“Soon, my lady,” he said softly.

Meg was too stunned to answer. As she watched, Dominic slipped through the sally port. In the slowly condensing darkness, he seemed like a part of night itself. Both his drawn sword and the ancient silver pin gleamed as he turned, encompassing the camp with a single glance.

Behind him, Simon and Duncan took shape out of the dusk, their swords drawn, but Meg saw only the Glendruid Wolf gleaming savagely on Dominic's shoulder. Chills coursed over her as she understood that her people's curse had finally been lifted. No longer would each Glendruid girl feel the weight of her people's hope on her shoulders.

A Glendruid Wolf had been born, but not of a Glendruid woman
.

Just as Dominic spotted Meg chained to the large oak, a shout came from the men gathered around the front gate.

“To arms! The bastard is among us!”

Reevers snatched up swords and shields and attacked without thought or order. Duncan, Simon, and Dominic took the brunt of the ragged charge, holding the gate open while other knights shouldered through the sally port and into the camp.

Soon steel rang on steel and blood shone blackly beneath the risen moon. Shouting, cursing, clashing, the battle surged back and forth across the churned earth like a mad, bleeding beast.

Meg watched in awe and fear, finally learning how Dominic had earned his name. If any man had questioned the Sword's mettle after he showed mercy in the church and again in the games, no man questioned it now. Dominic hewed through Reevers like a scythe through a summer meadow. There was no mercy in him for the men who had stolen his wife.

Abruptly Meg sensed someone coming up behind her. She spun just in time to see a battle-ax arc down through the dusk. The blade bit through the length of chain that was wrapped around the trunk of the oak. So great was the force of the blow that the blade sank into wood nearly to its haft. A gauntleted hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her to her feet.

“Quickly, lady. 'Tis not safe for—”

The knight's words ended in a choked cry as a bolt from a crossbow struck his helm and ricocheted off. Without another sound he fell to the earth.

Meg knelt, saw that there was nothing to be done, and stood quickly, dragging six feet of chain with her. With a growing sense of fear she searched for Dominic in the midst of the bloody battle. None of the men lying on the ground had his size, yet the certainty grew in her that the Glendruid Wolf could be lost almost in the same breath that he had been found.

Nay! We have waited too long for him!

Frantically Meg searched the gloom for sight of her husband. Dominic's well-trained knights were making short work of the Reevers. Few of them were still able to fight, but they didn't lack courage for all their wounds. They slashed with swords like madmen, trying to hew through the knights to the Norman bastard who had once again thwarted their ambitions.

Rufus was nowhere in sight. Nor was Dominic. Finally the flash of Glendruid crystal in the wolf's eyes drew Meg's attention. Dominic was at the far edge of the camp, running toward her. Though his sword was still drawn, he ignored the final swirls of battle around him.

Danger
.

With uncanny certainty Meg looked to her right. Just a few feet away, Rufus was stepping out from behind the oak that had been her prison. As she watched in horror, he raised his crossbow to murder the Glendruid Wolf.

“Nay!” Meg screamed.

With the strength of desperation, she swung her manacled hands in a fierce arc. Six feet of chain lashed out and tangled with the crossbow, jerking it toward Meg as Rufus fired. The crossbow's deadly arrow hummed harmlessly up into the night.

Rufus dropped the useless snarl of crossbow and chain. As he drew his sword with his right hand, he lashed out with his left hand at the girl who had ruined his aim. A mailed fist thudded into flesh protected only by cloth. Meg spun aside, staggered, and reached out for her husband with chained hands.

“Dominic—!”

Even as Meg crumpled, Dominic leaped forward and caught her with his left arm. His right arm swung in a fierce arc that made his sword flash in the firelight.

Grunting with effort, Rufus began a two-handed swing that was meant to cut Dominic in half, and Meg with him.

The blow was only a hand's span from its target when Dominic's sword sliced up through the darkness, deflecting the blade. Steel rang on steel with a force that sent shock through the men's bones.

Shouting a violent curse, Rufus swung two-handed again. Dominic barely parried the blow in time. He was fighting one-handed, holding on to Meg with the other.

When Rufus swung a third time, Dominic seemed to slip. As he fell, he turned, protecting Meg with his own body. With a cry of triumph, Rufus lifted his sword for a killing blow.

The Glendruid Wolf came up from the ground in a silent, deadly spring. Too late Rufus realized that he couldn't protect himself from the sword that was leveled like a lance at his naked throat.

Before the Reever could plead or flee, he was dead.

Dominic withdrew his sword, knelt, and eased Meg into his arms. She made a low sound and turned toward him. Even in the glow of the bonfire's leaping flames, her face was pale. From across the fire came the last flurry of battle. Dominic glanced up once, then ignored everything but his wife.

“Meg,” he said, fear rough in his voice. “Where are you hurt?”

Her eyes opened slowly. Reflected firelight made the silver pin on Dominic's cloak burn. Meg looked deeply into the wolf's savage crystal eyes and sighed. With fingers that shook, she touched first the Glendruid Wolf and then the man who wore it.