The Sea King

by Jolie Mathis

  Isabel's head snapped up and she stared at him. It was as if a thunderous clap of lightning resounded in her head.

  He knew the truth. All along, he had known she had no husband and had simply been toying with her.

  He leaned close. She found herself unable to look away from his eyes. "And I understand, Isabel, that this man, whatever he means to you, kissed you, and rode away, leaving you to me. For that alone, does he not deserve to die?"

  The world seemed formed of silence. He released Aiken's hair. The Saxon's head thudded to the ground.

  Moments later two warriors hoisted Aiken across the back of a horse and led him in the direction from whence they had come, toward Calldarington. About her, men secured whatever fowl or game had been culled in the hunt. Isabel arose, numb to her soul. She walked toward her mare and waited there silent and apart from the others, until the party resumed the journey inland.

  Soon, Leswick appeared, atop a large, extended knoll. Though the hall and outbuildings still stood, no smoke arose from the roofs. No one called out a warning of the Danes' arrival. Leswick appeared deserted.

  Vekell circled his mount to ride beside her. "We will pass the night here."

  Isabel gathered her cloak tightly about her, for the harsh cold of a winter night had begun to spread across the earth.

  How could she ever find comfort here, knowing the man to whom it belonged might already be dead?

  Chapter 11

  "Where have they gone?" Isabel stepped into the hall. While a large structure, Aiken's familial dwelling did not boast the private chambers of Ranulf's great keep.

  Her gaze swept the dim interior. He had been trying to come here. Perhaps to die.

  She walked to the center of the room and held her palms over the hearth. Though ashen, the logs still gave off faint heat.

  "Of whom do you inquire?" Vekell walked the perimeter of the room. His eyes consumed every detail.

  Upon the walls hung an array of rich tapestries, but in betwixt the exquisitely rendered pieces emerged a reminder of the violence of the day: the outlines of absent shields and swords, etched by hearth smoke upon the whitewashed timber. The male members of the household would have snatched the weapons from their berths as soon as they'd learned of the Danish threat. Like all loyal thegns, Aiken had hastened to his king's defense, and dutifully offered every man in his folc in the defense of the kingdom.

  Isabel traced the outline of a short sword with her finger. "A family resided here, and many others along with them. I wish to know if they are well."

  Aiken's widowed mother and his young sister would have waited here for his return, along with the wives and children of their numerous vassals.

  Vekell shrugged. "We did not force them away. Whoever was here before our arrival, left of their own accord."

  Isabel nodded, relieved. Though this man remained her enemy, she trusted he spoke the truth. He had no reason to lie to her. 'Twas her most fervent hope the people of Leswick had crossed the Northumbrian border and found sanctuary with kinsfolk.

  Footsteps sounded at the threshold. Though Isabel's pulse quickened, Kol did not appear. Instead several warriors entered, their arms laden with wood. Soon the dormant hearth blazed anew. Above the flames they hung a boar upon a spit, one of the beasts hunted and captured by the Danes.

  Just as the lord of this hall had been hunted and captured.

  Isabel avoided looking at the animal's lifeless eyes, but she could not silence the sound of its lifeblood as it fell and hissed into the flames.

  The warriors left. Beside the fire, Vekell rubbed his hands together and smiled. "Odin's tree! It seems an age since I have tasted boar. I have eaten so much fish in recent days, I expect to grow gills."

  She felt his eyes upon her, expectant of some response. Beneath Kol's cloak she rubbed her arms and looked away.

  "Hmph." He strode toward several wooden chests which lined the wall. After a moment of rummaging, he pulled out two pelts, and turned to walk a straight line toward the hearth. He dropped the furs, one beside the other. With the tip of his boot he spread them flat.

  "Sit. 'Tis warm here beside the fire."

  With the tip of her boot, Isabel dragged one of the furs a goodly distance away from the other. Holding the two cloaks about her, she sat.

  Vekell sat on the other, as stout and sturdy as an ancient yew. "My company displeases you."

  "Yes, it does." She met his eyes. "But why should that matter to you?"

  He shrugged. "I suppose because I hold you in such high esteem."

  "We are enemies."

  "Not so long ago, you spared my lord's life." He looked down at his hands, large-knuckled and scarred. "We should not have to be enemies."

  "As long as your lord seeks to murder my brother, and whilst your foreign army continues to occupy this kingdom, we can be nothing but."

  Flames painted dancing shadows on the wall. For a long moment, he remained silent. "Do you truly believe my lord to be Godric's sire?"

  With indignation on her face, Isabel answered, "You have no right to be so bold."

  He looked about the room, then hunkered forward. "No one is about, and the truth must be spoken."

  Curiously, Isabel felt no threat from the giant seated before her. So why not speak plainly? Surely he, of all people, knew the darker side of his lord and she would be able to read the truth upon his face.

  "Thorleksson is the father of my son." Her eyes glazed at the humiliation of voicing the accusation aloud to a stranger. She blinked the tears away. "Of that I have no doubt."

  She didn't doubt that. Not anymore. At least that's what she told herself when the alternative of another attacker, a Saxon, seemed so unreal.

  Vekell straightened, as if surprised by the frankness of her charge—or perhaps unseated by her tears. Although they remained alone in the vast room, he lowered his voice. "Surely then, you do not remember the event in which the child was conceived?"

  Why should she bare her heart to this stranger? She stiffened. "I am sure he hath told you my account."

  His eyes became bright pools of candor. "My lord is a private man. He hath said nothing of this to me."

  Isabel wrung the edge of Kol's cloak.

  Ah-ha! shouted his expression. "If you do not remember, how can you be so certain of my lord's guilt?"

  She waved an impatient hand. "You have only to look to see their likenesses."

  Vekell's words grew thick, his accent more pronounced. "The boy's features are yours exactly. My lord's dark coloring may only be coincidence."

  "I do not go about falling into states of senselessness where any man can—" She closed her eyes, feeling the heat climb to her cheeks. "What I mean to say, is there hath been only one opportunity for a man to—" She swallowed hard. The discussion grew far too intimate for her comfort.

  In contemplation, Vekell chewed the corner of his thumbnail. "There has to be some other explanation."

  "Why, when this one is so clearly the truth? Aye, he rescued me from death. And believing him a hero, I helped him escape." Against her knees, she fisted her hands. "But he was no hero."

  "A hero he was. I was with him from the moment he pulled you from the river, and watched as he carried you toward the burh. He risked his life for you, and still bears the scar of the Saxon arrow he took as he held you, protecting you with his own body." With one fist, Vekell pounded his shoulder.

  Isabel pulled her veil closer to her face. "I cannot believe you. 'Tis near impossible a Saxon of my brother's ranks would have dared assault me."

  " 'Near impossible' is not 'impossible.'"

  "No," Isabel whispered. "Even if such an atrocity had occurred, when would such an attack have taken place, that I would not recall it?"

  Though she had expected him to become angry, his tone gentled. "Do not hide from this truth, little one. What reason have I to tell you lies? My lord commanded I remain in the forest, but I watched from there. Did he drop you to the ground as the arrow pierced flesh
and bone?"

  Isabel pressed her palms to her ears, but she heard the words still.

  "Nei. He held you." He unfolded his legs, as if he prepared to crawl toward her. "Held you until they pried you from his arms and dragged him inside the walls of your brother's fort. Surely that alone testifies to his respect for a maiden's protection."

  "Stop, please. I do not wish to hear."

  But his words, and their proclamation of Kol's honor, echoed inside her head. Vekell simply sat, staring at her. Slowly, she lowered her hands. From outside the hall, the voices of men drew near.

  Vekell implored her. "He is not guilty of what you accuse. 'Tis impossible, for reasons I have no right to impart." Firelight glimmered upon his braids. For the first time, she saw the threads of gray, and the creases of age across his skin. He pressed a fist against his chest. "I vow, he is blameless."

  Kol crossed the threshold. With him entered several degns. His eyes lowered to Vekell and Isabel, who remained upon their furs. When he spoke his voice was as light as she'd ever heard it.

  "What? Thou hast not prepared a feast for us?"

  Vekell clasped his hands atop one knee and grimaced as he arose. "Apologies, my lord. These battered bones, once settled, are reluctant to stir again." He chuckled and moved to turn the boar upon its pike.

  "A lamentable excuse if I ever heard one." Kol's smile appeared forced, as a smile would be when its wearer did not often put it to use.

  Isabel paid little attention to their banter, for her mind buzzed full of questions, namely, whether Vekell spoke the truth.

  She watched from beneath her veil as Kol nodded to a young soldier. "Thrand, I require your assistance."

  Together they walked to the far end of the hall and pulled out several tall wooden screens. These they dragged close to the fire, and draped with linen. Once they had finished, Kol returned to her side.

  "I apologize for the lack of privacy, but I do believe you will be comfortable and warm this night."

  Isabel nodded, forcing herself to remember Aiken, and the way Kol had mistreated him. She unfastened Kol's cloak from atop her own and lay it on the packed earthen floor beside her, as if by doing so, somehow she denied any hold Kol had over her.

  Nay, 'twould be a long and miserable night. Indeed, she doubted she would be able to sleep at all.

  Kol entered the stable, a narrow structure which abutted the hall. Wind sidled through the timbers, and rustled the straw. Upon their arrival, the stable had been vacant. Only the horses he and his men had ridden stood within. Their gathered warmth shielded him from the frigid cold.

  Into the darkness he spoke. "Show yourself."

  "I am here."

  Kol saw the vapor of the Saxon's breath.

  "Have you seen him?"

  "Aye."

  Kol's blood quickened. Ranulf lived. He craved the moment they would meet again, face to face. He would have his vengeance, and soon.

  "Where is he now?"

  "He moves from crevice to weald, without revealing the next hiding place to anyone. Even now, I shall have difficulty rejoining him."

  "Where was he last?"

  "In one of the many caves along the cliffs of Calldarington."

  The idea of Ranulf looking down upon the keep, from an unseen vantage point, did not sit well with Kol. Indeed, he had bidden his men to search the cliffs and their honeycomb of caves on more than one occasion.

  "And?"

  The traitor shrugged. "And sometimes he retreats to avoid your warriors, and disappears into the forests of the west. He seeks a meeting with the Northumbrian, Osbeorht, in hopes of raising an unified army against you. But of late Ranulf had challenged Northumbrian dominion, so Osbeorht hath pleasured in drawing out the delay."

  Kol nodded. "Your influence over Ranulf, does it remain intact?"

  "At times."

  'Twas time to test the traitor. Kol detailed the location. "You have two days to convince him 'tis a safe haven. Bring him there, and I will be waiting."

  "I will make it so."

  They stood in silence for a long moment, until the spy spoke again. "The younger princess. She accompanies you, does she not?"

  Kol bristled. "You know she does, or you would not ask."

  A low, raspy chuckle arose from the blackness. "Such knowledge would drive Ranulf mad, for she is his favorite by far. And what of the boy? What of your son?. Is he also here, in Leswick Hall?"

  "The child remains in Calldarington's fortress," Kol lied. If this man wished for Ranulf's death, he might also wish for the death of Isabel's son, the only male who would carry the blood of the ancient Norsexian line. 'Twas not the first time Kol contemplated whether the traitor was responsible for the attempt upon Godric's life. But he had need of the Saxon for a short while longer. Then the truth would be extracted; the penalty, if warranted, would be meted out.

  "Depart now."

  "Two days." He heard the whisper of movement, and the shadow merged into night. "Until then."

  Kol stood there a moment longer, breathing in the darkness until it consumed him, inside out. Cold air pressed against his skin and soon he felt numb. Just as he should be. He preferred his hatred without the mind-hazing heat of his earlier years, preferred his decisions to be unencumbered by emotion.

  He moved between the posted guards, into the rear entrance of the hall. Immediately upon crossing the threshold, the savory scent of strewing herbs curled about him. Warmth pressed into and beneath his garments like comforting hands.

  She lay behind the screen, but firelight illuminated her supine form through the gauzy fabric. Too clearly he saw the curve of her hip, the rise and fall of her bosom.

  Outside, his soldiers surrounded the hall, protecting him from all those who might attempt to slay him before he fulfilled his final quest. Only he knew that the one who threatened him most lay here. She breathed quietly in her sleep, unlike Vekell and Svartkell, who lay sprawled upon nearby benches, their snores cutting the silence of the room to shards.

  Kol unbuckled his baldric and lifted off his jerkin. He dragged a fur to the space between, and lay down to face the princess. Only then did he realize she did not sleep. Her breath, though nearly silent, was ragged and deep.

  She shed tears, a young woman alone and amongst captors. The blackness inside him magnified. Did she mourn the tall, golden-haired Saxon they had captured in the forest? Emotions surged within him, a confusing mix of regret, jealousy, and compassion.

  He reached beneath the screen and grasped the edge of the fur upon which she lay. She clasped his hand, as if to thwart his claim, but he dragged her toward him, at the same time drawing nearer to her, until only a small space, and a thin veil of linen, separated them.

  Firelight edged her in gold, yet because the flames leapt behind her, he could not see her eyes.

  "A fortunate man, to have a woman such as you to weep for him." Kol kept his voice low, so as not to wake the warriors who lay nearby. "Is he the boy's father?"

  She inhaled sharply. "He could not be."

  "Do you love him?"

  She shook her head. "I only wish for him to live. His mother and sister have no one else."

  Her words resounded in his head. She claimed not to love the Saxon. His heart leapt, but instantly, he struck the hope down. For what did he wish? Isabel's devotion, as he sought to destroy her brother and king?

  Yes. That is exactly what he desired.

  He curled his fingers more deeply into the furs, and dragged her closer still, until her face was no less than an inch from his. Through the linen he saw the glistening of her tears. Impulsively, he smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheek, through the wetness. And then across her lips.

  Her hand moved beneath the linen and grasped the collar of his tunic. With an urgency he did not understand, she pulled the garment from his shoulder until its absence revealed his bare skin. Her fingertips fluttered across the scar.

  He murmured, "I vow, I did not hurt you that day."

  "I
want to believe." She turned her cheek into his palm.

  He traced the column of her neck, and threaded his fingers into her hair.

  Savoring the warm fragrance of her hair through the linen, he pressed his lips to her temple. He felt her breath upon his cheek. His mouth brushed hers. She did not turn away. Kol had never experienced such an intense, yet bittersweet pleasure. His body thrummed in reaction to her gentle capitulation.

  Unable to resist, he drew the cloth aside. Blood rushed to his head. Soft lips pressed against the corner of his lips.

  Too sweet. Too intoxicating.

  He exhaled raggedly and lowered the linen between them. "Nei, Isabel. I want you too badly, and fear, too greatly, you do not want me at all."

  When he sat up, she arose onto one elbow, her eyes bright and dismayed.

  He murmured, "None of this matters. Not in the end. Sleep." He stood, pulled on his jerkin, and caught up his scabbard. Stepping into the courtyard, he traversed the slough toward a cluster of his warriors.

  Soon, the cold and numbness returned, and he was glad to think clearly once again.

  Chapter 12

  Though a sea of men surrounded her, she felt utterly alone.

  Isabel guided her mare up the rocky path, just behind Vekell. Since the night before, Kol had eschewed her company. How thankful she was for that. Shame flushed her cheeks, a constant reminder of how firelight had combined with loneliness to make her see a man, and a connection, that did not exist. An illusion of the night. But in the daylight she saw her plight with the utmost clarity.

  She was a Norsexian princess, held prisoner by a mercenary warlord, one who very likely had taken her innocence two years before. One who presently hunted her brother with an all-consuming desire to kill him. How had she, in her childish yearnings, allowed herself to forget those things for even a moment?

  The group she rode amongst broke from the forest onto the mountain road, and joined the large contingent of Danish foot soldiers she had not seen since departing Calldarington the day before. The cadence of the warriors' footfalls echoed off the high jagged cliffs, steady as an untroubled heart.