Wild Is My Love

by Janelle Taylor

  Isobail signaled she was ready for music and dancing, which began immediately with her and the host Lord Daron taking the floor first. Afterwards she danced with Lord Orin and Sheriff Trahern, the only men of enough rank to be allowed such a privilege.

  As she swept close to Trahern during a series of intricate steps, she whispered, “Come to my chamber as soon as it is safe. Make sure Phelan knows his orders.”

  “Everything is in readiness, Your Highness. End this night swiftly,” Trahern replied, his voice low his eyes scanning those nearby to insure that no one eavesdropped on the exchange.

  At the end of the dance Isobail spoke, and all lips went silent. “I have not enjoyed myself so much in many months, Lord Daron. I thank you. When my husband and our ruler is healed, I will beg him to plan a deer hunt in the royal forest near Malvern Castle. I shall repay my dear friends and loyal vassals with a great feast,” she promised.

  Isobail’s laugh was deep and sultry and rose above the cheers that filled the hall. “When we hawk tomorrow, I shall claim the largest rabbit taken for my evening repast, and I shall give the best trainer this scarf in gratitude.” She waved a sky blue one over her head, her gesture calculated to charm them. “After our hunt and meal, we shall sit together and decide how to resolve our problems. I wish to learn from each of you,” she said, knowing there would be no court tomorrow night after the brutal slaying she had planned. Already she had prepared a splendid funeral oration.

  Isobail glanced around the room and said, “I do not see my vassal Lord Fergus. Has he taken ill?”

  Lord Daron’s youngest son, a squire at Fergus’s castle and a messenger for him tonight, stood and bowed before replying; “Lord Fergus sends his regrets, Your Highness. Many brigands have been raiding his lands lately. He thought it best to remain at home to defend against them.”

  “All areas of our lands are under attack. Lord Fergus would be better served to attend this meeting to decide how to end such matters. He cannot defeat the raiders alone. We must band together, as they have done. We need the cunning thoughts of all our lords. Only then can we defeat them, crush and slay them for all time. I am sad he has chosen to disappoint me. I will depend on Lord Daron to report on our decisions and plans to him.”

  “Ye best git someone else to depend on, Yer Highness.” The accusation rose from the far comer of the great room. “Lord Daron is not to be trusted. I beg ye to rule on the way he has wronged me and others. I paid for two new assarts, but he kept my money and the land,” the farmer shouted as he struggled to push forward. But strong arms prevented him from reaching Isobail.

  An assart was a clearing or an enclosure near the woods or on heaths for which a peasant could buy permission to cultivate. When a peasant, or any subject, felt he had been wronged or abused by his local lord, he could seek justice from the traveling court—if he dared. The princess feigned shock at the man’s charges. She glanced at Daron, who had risen to his feet, and held up her hand to silence the outraged feudal lord. “There is no need to defend yourself, Lord Daron. I know such words cannot be true. Perhaps there is a misunderstanding here and you shall settle the matter for me. I know you are a generous and kind lord, and I trust your judgment.” To the peasant, she said, “Return home, sir, and ponder your wild charges against this fair man. If you still feel you have been wronged, return tomorrow to discuss it with him. This is my command.”

  The desperately poor peasant mumbled something, then nodded and left the hall, intending to meet with Sir Phelan for his payment. It was not until the next morning that his body was found outside the castle walls.

  Isobail smiled and walked into Trahern’s arms, delighted he would be the one to sate her desires tonight instead of the lovesick bard. Guinn was a pleasing lover, but she was only using him until it was safe to rid herself of Alric’s “spy.” It had been six nights since the poet had pleasured her, and her body was eager to surrender itself to Trahern’s skills.

  The sheriff had been her ally and lover for eight years, even before her marriage to Prince Alric. He had been rewarded with land grants she bestowed after her rise to power, for it was he who passed messages between herself and the raiders. The devilishly good-looking Trahern was one of the few men whom she both liked and trusted.

  Isobail eyed his sleek black hair and tanned features, then twirled his mustache around her fingers and stroked his heavy beard. The thirty-four-year-old man watched her tempting play through deep brown eyes. He grinned and stripped off his garments, revealing a strong and virile body. Slowly he removed Isobail’s garments, noting how her body differed from Kordel’s, his too-slender wife.

  As his hands cupped and caressed her breasts, Isobail asked, “Did Phelan take care of our foolish peasant?”

  “He served us well, my sweet. You have the lords fawning at your feet. No one will be the wiser when our guilt-riddled farmer is found dead by his own hand. It was a clever ruse which will win favor with the lords and prevent any suspicion from falling on us when Daron meets his fate tomorrow.”

  A wicked smile settled on Isobail’s face. “I am eager to quicken our pace, Trahern. I have waited a long time for my final victory. Soon all the foolish peasants will doubt that Alric’s lords are strong enough to defend them, and they will notice that it is my loyal vassals who fear no raiders and safely guard their domains. Make certain the raiders understand that no vassal of mine is to be attacked, or my protection will seem no stronger than Alric’s.”

  “They will obey us, my sweet. You are right to allow them to attack the feudal lords and their retainers. The raiders make a nice profit from reselling horses and cattle, and women to the slave trade; as it is, they cannot steal enough from the poor peasants to keep them here. I have passed along your warnings to attack only when and where we tell them it is safe. We cannot risk having one of them captured and questioned. I told the leader it was certain death to be caught, and worse to be loose-tongued.”

  “Our plan will succeed within two days,” Isobail said. “Sir Calum will control this area for me. Unfortunately, I thought it would be safe for my men to steal Fergus’s cattle and leave a trail into Logris, but I misjudged the old fool. How dare he ignore a royal summons to join me at this meeting! He must die slowly and painfully.”

  “Perhaps we can arrange a surprise or two for him in my dungeon,” the sheriff suggested.

  “Trahern, my handsome devil, you think of such wonderful things. I can imagine what fun you will have with him. Grease your racks and chains,” she advised amidst cold laughter. “Within a few days you must execute publicly a few petty criminals. We need a few scapegoats to keep the peasants’ blood hot and flowing.

  “Here is the plan: tomorrow Daron will be slain during a raider attack; Fergus will simply vanish, as if he had been abducted; Sir Kelton will perish by accident. That leaves only Lord Orin, whose life this courageous ruler will save—for now. But we must yet think of a plan to rid ourselves of Lord Orin. No two deaths can look the same, or we may come under suspicion.”

  “I can see it now,” Trahern declared between chuckles. “Daron’s body being sliced open like a ripe pear while a beautiful woman desperately battles a fierce enemy to save her friend and vassal from certain death…” He bent forward to seal his mouth to her breast.

  Isobail’s fingers wandered through Trahern’s hair, and she said, “As we agreed, it is wise to sacrifice one of our raiders. It would look suspicious if he killed both Daron and Orin, but left me behind. Besides, it will further our cause to bravely rescue Orin, for no doubt he will sing my praises across the land.”

  Trahern lifted Isobail and carried her to the bed. “Why is Earnon not traveling as part of your retinue on this trip? We might have use of his powers.”

  “He can serve me best at the castle by keeping watch on Alric. My husband must not be allowed to heal and intrude on our plans. Hush now, my handsome devil, and make love to me. It has been much too long since we have lain together, and my body aches for yours.”


  “We must find ways to meet more often, my sweet Isobail.”

  “Only when it is safe, Trahern, not before,” she replied softly. “Obey me well or all is lost, including our lives.”

  “I shall obey you, queen of my heart. What is your command?” he asked playfully, then flamed at her tantalizing response.

  The hunt began shortly after an early repast of hot bread and cold meat. The plans were to hunt until midday, halt for another small meal, hunt until early afternoon, then return to Daron’s castle to rest and bathe before a large feast and serious discussion.

  Hawking was the favorite sport of noblemen, involving boastful challenges, heavy gambling, and fierce quarrels. Lords had been known to lose a serf or strip of land or a pouch of gold over a bet. Losers were in foul moods for weeks. The “greatest huntsman of all” was the most highly skilled falconer, and few of his possessions were more valuable than his prized bird.

  A man’s education in falconry began during his days as a page, when it was his duty to follow the hunters, to wait upon them, and to observe the birds’ training and assist the falconer. As these hunting birds were capable of shredding flesh with their razor-sharp talons, they were kept hooded, with bells secured to their feet signaling their presence at all times. During the night or when not hunting, the birds had to be tethered securely to blocks, or they would attack each other lethally. The prized birds were housed in the castle mews and tended carefully, and to allow one to suffer harm or to escape meant certain death for the attendant.

  That morning, Isobail rode at the head of the party, leading the way to the clearing. The nobles and their retainers were on horseback, the numerous servants walking behind them or riding in carts with the hunting supplies and refreshments. The sporting birds were carried in wooden frames called cadgers, which prevented injury and escape before the hunt began. An assortment of leashed dogs, pointers and greyhounds, trailed their masters and eagerly awaited the action.

  After the group halted, some of the birds were released. They flew high to their pitch and hovered as they awaited the action, which they seemed to anticipate as eagerly as their owners. Other birds remained hooded with rufters and tethered with jesses on their masters’ gauntlet-covered arms, to be released after the quarry was flushed by the dogs. Once the sport began, the birds swooped down at awesome speeds to attack their prey with initial blows that killed or maimed. Trainers hurried about after each victory to retrieve the slain animals and birds before the trained birds of prey could tear into their kills.

  Princess Isobail stood between lords Daron and Orin as the men laughed, talked, and wagered on the next episode. She merrily joined their conversation and encouraged the boyish behavior of both men. As each prize was brought to them, she examined it and remarked on the skill of the bird that had brought it down without mangling it, or commented on how swiftly the bird had completed its task. She glowed with excitement and pleasure as the event continued. Several times she even bravely rewarded the victorious bird by feeding him strips of raw meat.

  At noon the trainers replaced leather hoods and leg straps, and either placed the bird in his cadge or tethered it to its wooden block. The guards gathered not far away to eat their meal and drink ale. Servants had prepared a delicious repast for their lord and his guests, and spread covers upon the ground for them.

  Before Princess Isobail could take her place and eat, thundering hooves and alarming yells rent the air. Daron and Orin quickly drew their swords to defend their regent, but already were cut off from the others by circling brigands. Within minutes, bloody corpses of men-at-arms and castle servants dotted the clearing, while amidst screams and shrieks of pain, others raced toward the woods.

  As Daron’s men were kept busy defending themselves against an overwhelming number of savage raiders, one large and powerful attacker stalked the two lords and the beautiful princess. The man’s fur and leather-clad body bulged with muscles, and his expression warned of death. His hair and beard had not been clipped recently, and he looked a horrid sight, one intended to petrify his victims. He chuckled cruelly as he playfully circled them on his horse, taunting them with his huge sword by striking it nonchalantly against the other men’s blades.

  “Move aside, old men. All I want is the woman, and your riches. Challenge me and you die,” he threatened.

  “Lay one hand on Her Highness and I shall chop it off!” Lord Daron shouted.

  The raider’s eyes widened at those words. “So this is the rarest jewel of Damnonia,” he sneered. “What a fat price you shall bring from our great chieftain Hengist,” he declared, licking his lips as if he wanted a taste of her before that sale.

  Isobail drew her dagger and warned, “Touch us and die, slayer of innocents and destroyer of good lands. Be gone from my domain or perish at the hands of my knights.”

  “How shall you conquer me, lovely creature,” the brigand scoffed, “when the least of my warriors can defeat both of your protectors in the flick of an eye?” In a foreign tongue he called a bandit to his side and ordered, “Slay the men and bring the woman to me, without even a tiny scratch to mar her matchless beauty.” He chuckled heartily as he rode away.

  While the lords were stunned momentarily to inaction, the bandit pierced Daron’s body, brutally twisting his sword as he withdrew it. With blood flowing swiftly between his fingers, the nobleman sank to the ground on weakened knees, clutching the fatal wound. The imposingly large bandit turned his attention to Orin, who desperately tried to defend himself. The two men battled fiercely, yet the raider made jesting comments with each parry, and made no attempt to kill the lord.

  Isobail’s knights and guards, who supposedly had been searching the area for danger, suddenly rode into sight. The brigand leader signaled his men to withdraw, which all did safely except the bandit playfully fighting with Orin. Sheriff Trahern and the knights charged forward to rescue noble and commoner alike.

  During the melee, Isobail seized her victory right after the bandit had nicked Orin’s arm, causing the nobleman to drop his sword and cringe in fear of death. She stealthily approached the raider from behind and stabbed him in the back. The warrior tumbled to the ground, and Isobail snatched up Orin’s fallen sword and plunged it forcefully into the dying man’s heart, shouting angrily, “Die, black-hearted villain, by the sword of an honorable man!”

  Hurriedly she cut a strip from her kirtle and bound Orin’s arm. “I will tend it properly when we reach the castle, Lord Orin. We must return there quickly, while our knights ride after them.” She rapidly moved to Daron’s body and checked it for life. Finding none, she wailed, deceitfully. “They have slain our beloved Daron.”

  Isobail jumped to her feet and shouted to her approaching men, “Pursue them swiftly, and slay each one! Do not halt until Lord Daron has been avenged.” She was aware that people had begun to gather around her for instructions, comfort, and protection.

  Sheriff Trahern and Captain of the Guard Phelan simultaneously protested, “We cannot leave you unprotected, Your Highness.”

  “Lord Daron’s men will remain here to guard us from harm and to escort us to the castle,” she replied. “Never before have we been given the chance to overtake the brigands. You must go swiftly before they mask their trails and are lost from sight again.”

  “What of the wounded and dead, Your Highness?” Phelan asked, stalling to allow the bandits time to escape.

  “These are our people, Sir Phelan, and we must help them. Worry not. The brigands cannot return if our valiant men are chasing them.”

  “What if there are others hiding nearby, Your Highness?” Trahern speculated. “This could be a trick to lure us away so others can pounce upon you after we are gone. Think of your people’s sufferings if you are captured.”

  The princess lifted her chin and declared, “I must not think of my own life when those of my loyal subjects are in peril.”

  “If there are more brigands lurking nearby, all will be in danger.”

  Iso
bail glanced around as she pretended to weigh her dilemma. “Your words are wise, but painful to accept, Sheriff. Trahern. Help us to load our wounded on the carts and escort us to the castle. Afterwards you must race after those merciless slayers and bring back their heads. Later I will send others to gather the precious bodies of our dead.”

  One of the guards asked frantically, “Are you wounded, Your Highness? Your hands and garments are covered with blood.”

  Isobail looked down at her clothes and hands, and wailed dramatically, “Nay, my faithful knight, it is the blood of our beloved Lord Daron. We must defeat these fierce killers, for I can bear no more blood of our loyal vassals and subjects upon my hands. If I were a warrior, I would ride after them myself. Surely I have failed my people…”

  Lord Orin clasped her hands in his and pressed them to his heart. “Nay, gentle lady,” he refuted emotionally, then addressed the people. “These strong hands saved my life, dear friends. If not for the courage of our fearless ruler, I would be dead.” Orin related the daring episode to the others, who looked on in awe. Pressing Isobail’s bloodstained hands to his flushed cheek, he told them, “Our cherished ruler tried to save Lord Daron, but his wound was too great. This day must never be forgotten, as our land abounds in luck to have Princess Isobail stand in Alric’s place while he is ill. No kingdom could have a better regent than this noble woman before us. May the gods grant you immortality, which you truly deserve,” Orin concluded fervently, then bent his knee to pay homage to Isobail.

  “Rise, Lord Orin. I do only as I must while my husband lies ill. I depend upon our loyal retainers to help me through this trying time. I have much to learn before I deserve your homage.”