by Ana Seymour
The portcullis gate was up and the way through the castle was clear, but, still on the drawbridge, Firestorm slowed from a canter to a jittery trot. Lord Wakelin had ducked low on the horse’s back in preparation for going underneath the spikes. Now he straightened up in confusion, unable to believe Firestorm’s sudden skittishness. Ellen frowned, equally puzzled.
Lord Wakelin urged the horse forward. At his back, the eighth and last rider had nearly reached the drawbridge. Firestorm’s head was at the castle entrance, when suddenly, above the noise of the crowd, came the sound of a piercing whistle. Her father’s horse pulled up and, to Ellen’s utter amazement began to prance backward. At the exact same instant, the gate full of pikes came crashing down, missing Firestorm and her father by less than a yard. The crowd around her gasped in horror.
Lord Wakelin looked at the deadly gate in astonishment, then down at his horse, which after dancing backward to the far end of the drawbridge, stood quietly, apparently unaware of the tumult going on around him. The eighth rider pulled his mount up next to Lord Wakelin’s and stopped.
Ellen slid down the slope into the trench that had been dug around the drawbridge, then heaved herself up onto the bridge itself, disregarding modesty as she sent her skirts flying up. Once on the bridge, she stood up and raced over to her father, who still sat on Firestorm, looking dazed.
She had paid little attention to the eighth rider. From his dress she could see that he was one of the entrants from the village, the only Saxon who had made it to the final stretch. As Ellen approached, the man pushed back his linen hood. revealing unmistakable blond hair. “Connor,” she cried.
Lord Wakelin’s expression was thunderous. He looked from his daughter up to the Saxon seated on the horse beside him. “What evil prank is this?” he roared.
A guard who had been on the sidelines rushed around the edge of the drawbridge and came to take hold of Lord Wakelin’s horse, though Firestorm had not tried to move. “’Tis a Saxon plot, milord,” the man said. “Had the horse not shied, you’d have been killed by that gate.”
Ellen had come to the same conclusion. She looked up at Connor, her eyes wide with doubt. “Do you know aught of this?” she asked him.
He addressed his answer to Lord Wakelin, not Ellen. “’Tis no Saxon plotted this misdeed, milord,” he said. “With your permission.” As Ellen and her father watched, he made a clucking sound with his mouth and Thunder began to walk backward, just as Firestorm had done. He backed all the way off the bridge, then Connor wheeled the stallion around, and said to the people who were crowding around trying to see what had happened, “Make way, please.”
The horse and rider moved slowly through the crowd around the drawbridge trench and to the other side of the makeshift castle, then disappeared inside it. In a moment, the treacherous gate creaked open and Connor appeared, now on foot, pushing one of the gate guards ahead of him. The man made an attempt to jump over the edge of the drawbridge, but Connor grabbed him by his shoulders and hauled him back.
Ellen gave a little gasp as she realized that the slender guard now being lifted in Connor’s arms like a sack of turnips was none other than her cousin, Sebastian.
“Methinks this gentleman is your culprit, Lord Wakelin,” Connor hollered, holding the struggling man firmly.
“What is this chicanery?” Lord Wakelin asked, turning a glowering gaze on his daughter.
But to Ellen, the meaning of the quick succession of events was finally becoming clear. She had no idea how Connor had known of the danger, nor how he had made her father’s horse back away from the potentially fatal gate, but she knew that somehow it had been his doing.
She met her father’s wrath with a steady voice. “I’ve tried to warn you about Sebastian, Father. Now perhaps you’ll be ready to listen. ‘Twas not a Saxon pulling those ropes to let the gate fall on you. ‘Twas your own nephew.”
Her father looked to the end of the bridge, where Connor had thrown Sebastian to the ground and was holding him pinned there with a foot in the middle of his back. “We’ll see to this thing,” he said gruffly, swinging down from his saddle.
He walked across the bridge with long, angry strides, and Ellen scurried to keep up. When they reached Connor and Sebastian, her cousin twisted his body to look up at his uncle and sputter, “’Tis a foul lie, Uncle. I can explain—”
His words ended in an “oof” as Connor pressed his foot more tightly into his captive’s back.
“I think this man shall do the explaining,” Lord Wakelin said, looking sternly at Connor. “And you can begin by telling me what devil’s spell you worked on my horse.”
Ellen stepped forward to protest. “Devil’s spell or no, you’d best thank heaven for it, Father. For in another instant you’d have been cloven in two by that gate.”
Connor smiled at her before turning to her father. “When I learned from some of your guards that Sebastian would be manning the castle today, I decided it would be best to ensure that this fine mount of yours chose another route.”
“By going backwards?” Lord Wakelin roared.
“Aye, milord.”
Her father’s chest was heaving from anger, and he still looked confused. “It saved your life, Father,” Ellen pointed out. “If you don’t believe it, why don’t you ask my cousin what he was doing manning the gate mechanism, disguised as a guard, when he’d told you that he was going to ride in the chase himself?”
Lord Wakelin looked down at his nephew, who finally lay still under Connor’s foot. Suddenly the anger went out of the old lord, and he looked sad, as if coming to terms with some things that he had long known, but had not wanted to admit.
He nodded to a quartet of guardsmen who had followed him across the bridge, but had remained a respectful distance behind. “Take Sir Sebastian to his quarters and see that he’s kept there under guard until I can deal with him,” he told the men.
Connor removed his foot at once, but Sebastian didn’t move. The guards finally had to pull him up to his feet. His eyes were glazed when they looked at his uncle, and this time there was no doubt that they held a glint of madness.
Lord Wakelin watched with a troubled expression as the guardsmen dragged his nephew through the raised gate and disappeared into the shadows of the mock castle. Then he turned to Connor. “As my daughter keeps trying to point out,” he said, sounding weary, “it appears that I owe you my life, young man.”
“I was happy to be of service, milord,” Connor said with a bow.
Ellen held her breath as the two men she loved most in the world stood face-to-face, sizing up one another. After a long moment, her father gave a little nod of approval. With a half a smile, he asked, “So how did you get my horse to perform such a stunt?”
Connor grinned and winked at Ellen before answering, “One could say that I talked him into it, milord.”
Lord Wakelin looked at his daughter, then gave a harrumph. “I’ll know more of this, but not at the moment I don’t want this to spoil the festivities. We’ve a race champion to crown.”
In fact, some of the crowd had left the area around the castle and had moved up to the finish line, where the top three finalists were waiting to claim their prizes.
“Wait a moment, Father,” Ellen said. “This morning you declared that Connor was still an outlaw in the eyes of the realm. Surely now that he’s saved your life, you’ll have to rescind that edict?”
“Ah, females, they are ever slaves to detail, are they not?” Lord Wakelin flashed his daughter an exasperated smile, then said to Connor, “It would appear that I am in your debt, sir. The edict of outlawry will be canceled. But in truth, I did not intend to hold it valid in any case, as the Cooper lad was innocent of the crime. So tell me, what boon would you have of me in return for my life?”
Ellen sucked in a breath and felt a pounding behind her ears as she waited for Connor’s answer. But when he spoke, she stiffened with disappointment.
“The only boon I would ask, milord, is for your c
ooperation in working to see that the Normans and Saxons who now share this land will live and prosper in peace.”
Lord Wakelin looked sharply at Ellen, and she could tell that he was aware of her reaction to Connor’s request. But he turned back to the tall Saxon, put out his hand and said firmly, “You have my hand and my word on it, sir.”
Connor took the offered handshake, then backed away. “By your leave, sir, I’ll take Firestorm and my own horse back to the stables and be sure they are none the worse for their efforts here today.”
Lord Wakelin nodded his permission, and Connor reached for Firestorm’s reins. As he turned to leave with the horse, he gave Ellen a smile and a wink. She mustered an answering smile, but as she watched him lead Firestorm off the bridge, she felt as if her heart had just been split in two.
“My child,” Agnes began, then she reached over from her chair to touch Ellen’s hand, which rested beside her on the trestle bench. “I trow you’ll not think me disrespectful to call you thus, since you’ve become as dear to me as one of my own.”
Ellen bit her lip and nodded. She looked around the little cottage. Karyn and Abel were sitting in front of the hearth, playing with the two little wooden dragons Ellen had brought them as farewell gifts. The tiny house was louder these days, with two children’s voices chattering instead of just one. “As you all have become dear to me,” she said.
“Then I’ll speak to you as I would to my own daughter. When love comes, ‘tis a precious thing, not to be discarded lightly. Are you sure you want to give up and return to that foreign land, when you know very well you’ll be leaving your heart behind?”
“Ah, Agnes, ‘tis not I who has given up. Connor had a chance to ask any favor he wished of my father. He asked not for himself, but for his people. That is where his heart lies. He has no room in his life for anything else.”
“If ‘tis so, then he is even more sadly mistaken than you. Connor has been a good leader to the Saxons. He’s brought us through a difficult time. But now ‘tis time for him to plan for a life of his own.” The widow looked over at her youngest children. “Mayhap ‘tis his destiny, and yours as well, to bring the most permanent kind of alliance to the Normans and Saxons of this land.”
Ellen followed the direction of her gaze, colored and said tartly, “I know little on the subject of producing children, but I believe it requires the active participation of both parties. I’ve hardly seen Connor these two days since the race. My father has occupied every minute of his time making him show off those infernal horse tricks.”
At Ellen’s response, Agnes sat back in her chair, a smile of satisfaction on her face. “A fact that appears to bother you no little bit,” she said.
“Nay. I’d merely hoped to be able to say goodbye before I left for Normandy.”
“I think you’ll have the chance,” the widow said as a light knock sounded on the door.
Abel ran to open it, and when he saw the identity of the visitor, he proudly held up his dragon. “See, Connor, ‘tis a fierce one, is it not? Karyn’s is gentle, but mine’s fierce and ‘tis called Gorgon.”
Connor smiled down at the boy. “How d’ye do, Gorgon?” he said. “Please don’t take a bite out of me.”
Abel grinned. “Nay, I’ll tell him you’re our friend.”
Connor nodded, but had already turned his attention to the ladies seated across the room. He gave a little salute with his hand to the widow, then said to Ellen, “I’ve been looking for you.”
Ellen’s fingers fumbled nervously with the braided rope bag in which she’d brought the farewell gifts, and which now lay empty in her lap. “I’ve not been hiding,” she answered.
Connor’s eyebrows raised at her chilly tone. “Widow Cooper,” he said firmly, “I don’t mean to cut short your visit, but I’m going to escort Lady Ellen back to the castle.”
“Mayhap I’m not ready to leave,” she said stiffly.
“Run along, child,” Agnes said. “I’ll see you again before, ah—” she looked over at Connor “—before you leave for Normandy.”
Without the widow’s support, Ellen could see no way to avoid the meeting. She might as well get it over with, she thought angrily. She’d ride out with him and let him tell her all about his great new friendship with her father and how much it would mean for his precious Saxons. Then she’d say goodbye and be done with it.
Connor was unusually quiet as she made her farewells and they started out on the road back to the castle. But when they reached the high meadow, he turned in his saddle and said, “Would you favor a race across the lea?”
She looked at Thunder, who was prancing nervously, sensing that he was about to be told to run. “’Tis Jocelyn’s last chance for revenge, I warrant,” she agreed without enthusiasm.
Connor smiled, then nodded. “Give the word.”
She wheeled Jocelyn around and headed out over the smooth meadow, with Connor close beside her.
At the midway point, when she saw him rest his hand on his horse’s neck, she did likewise with hers. The two mounts matched each other stride for stride, cutting a path through the long grass, their manes streaming in the wind. As the end approached, Connor leaned down and spoke to Thunder, who leaped forward, but at the same instant, Ellen whispered to Jocelyn, “Let it fly, girl.” Connor threw back his head and laughed as the two animals stayed neck and neck all the way to the edge of the woods.
“A draw,” he shouted, when the trees forced them to stop.
Ellen’s mouth turned down in a pout “Thunderation,” she said. “I’d wanted to beat you.”
Connor laughed again. “Follow me,” he told her, urging Thunder into the trees. The narrow passage forced Ellen to move behind him. She followed reluctantly. She had a feeling that she knew where he was heading, and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to see the place again.
She recognized the clearing immediately. Connor pulled up and jumped lightly to the ground, then turned to hold out his arms to her. “I realize that you can tend to yourself, princess, but allow me the pleasure of assisting you.”
She slid into his arms, half expecting that he would take advantage of the opportunity to kiss her, but he merely set her on the ground and stepped back. She fought back a sense of disappointment and said breezily, “I’d hoped to be able to best you before I returned to my country, horse master, but it appears I’ll have to be content with calling myself your equal.”
There was amusement in his eyes and a deeper intensity that was making it difficult for her to concentrate on her words. “You rode as well as any man in the shire. Nay, better,” he amended.
“Not better than you.”
“Ah, well, I’m the horse master, remember? ‘Tis my lot in life.” He tied the reins of both horses to a branch, then turned and reached for her hand. “Shall we see if there are wood faeries about today?”
They walked into the center of the clearing. Once again Ellen marveled at the magical feeling of the place. The mossy grass made a velvet carpet underneath their feet, and sunbeams seemed to dance in and out of the shadowy trees. “I could almost believe that they are really here,” she said wistfully.
Connor’s smile faded. “Aye, believe it, princess,” he said huskily. “They’re up to their tricks again, and they’re about to make me kiss you.”
She was surprised to see the sudden tension in his face, as if he was waiting for her to refuse him. In the past he’d kissed her without asking, without apology. Suddenly he seemed tentative. Surely he knew by now her feelings for him?
She ventured a small smile. “Do you need faeries to force you to such action? I thought my horse master was bolder than that.”
“Mayhap your horse master has heard that the lady Ellen is determined beyond all reason to return to her court dances and her royal suitors and her fine gowns. Mayhap he thinks the wood faeries are foolish to believe that she would exchange all that for a simple life in the forests of England.”
For perhaps the first time since she’d
known him, Connor Brand appeared to be uncertain. The knowledge filled her with tenderness, and, strangely, suddenly freed her of her own doubts. A simple life in the forests of England, he’d said.
Her smile became teasing. “Mayhap the lady Ellen thinks the faeries of England much more entertaining than all the courts of Europe.”
He turned her to face him and put his hands on her shoulders. “Truly, sweetheart?” he said, his voice low.
She moved closer so that his arms slipped around her, then she wound hers around his neck. “Truly, my love.”
She offered him her mouth for a long, fusing kiss, before pulling away to look up at him. His eyes were shining. She gave him an impish grin. “I’ll tell thee true, horse master, I do indeed like this English forest, but ‘tis not the faeries I find entertaining.”
He grinned back at her. “’Tis only their magic,” he agreed. Then his expression sobered. “’Twill not be easy, Ellen, this thing between us. I’ll be your servant in love and in body, but not in station, which means I’ll have to start afresh to find a place for myself in this new order.”
“You could have already had your place if you’d but requested it of my father. I waited the day of the race for you to ask for a match between us.”
“I’d not win you that way,” he said, shaking his head.
“I thought ‘twas that you didn’t want me.” She looked down at the ground.
He looked at her in amazement, then laughed and picked her up and carried her to the same small hillock where they’d lain long ago. “Ah, my foolish Norman beauty. Don’t you know by now that any man would want you, and I most particularly? If I hadn’t sworn to become a peaceful man, I’d spend my life fighting duels to ward off all my rivals.”
Ellen giggled as he laid her back against the grass and nuzzled her neck, but before she would give herself up to their lovemaking, she wanted to make her point. “My father will be returning to Normandy, and with Sebastian gone, Lyonsbridge has no castellan. I’m sure my father could be convinced to appoint you to the post.” When Connor began to protest, she put her hand on his lips and continued, “Not because of me. The tenants here look to you as their leader. You were Lord of Lyonsbridge before my people even knew of this place. What better choice could he find?”
