Warrior's Surrender

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  Now, Robert was on his way, with instructions to make all haste.

  The only remainders of the six-month-long, ill-considered rebellion were the injured boy; the young woman; and her two men-at-arms, Larcwide and the younger one, Orlege, who had accompanied her to yesterday’s parley.

  The two men claimed no family and no skills apart from martial ones and were steadfast in their duty to protect their mistress.

  Although it rankled him, Sebastian couldn’t fault their loyalty. They were doing exactly as he would expect them to. Lady Alfreya, on the other hand, was the most unpredictable, difficult, frustrating female he ever had the misfortune to meet.

  His plans were clear at this morning’s breakfast. She would go back to the village with Dominic, who would then arrange a suitable escort to take her back to his keep. There, she would be a companion to his sister and behave like a proper noblewoman until he could figure out what to do with her.

  But the damn woman stubbornly refused to go, demanding—and quite loudly, too—that she should accompany her brother.

  He ground his teeth as he recalled the conversation. She had waited until he had turned and begun to walk away before answering.

  “No.”

  He halted and slowly turned back to confront the one who dared disobey him.

  “It wasn’t a suggestion.”

  His voice was cold and angry, an ill temper made worse by the peripheral awareness that Gaines, along with Alfreya’s two men, had stopped to watch the confrontation. He knew such a look and tone of voice was warning enough for his own men, all of whom knew better than to gainsay him, but this young woman refused to show any fear.

  She folded her arms in defiance and looked him directly in the eye. “We had an agreement,” she told him.

  “And so we do,” he replied. “Your rebellious rabble have returned to their homes without retribution, and your brother is about to receive the care he needs.”

  “Our agreement was for my men and I to transport my brother to St. Cuthbert’s.”

  Sebastian frowned. Was the woman addle-witted?

  “Where the hell do you think we’re going?”

  “I said my men and I, Baron. Although I thank you for the cart and the escort. You need not trouble yourself further on our account. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

  She turned as if to dismiss him. Sebastian didn’t let her get far.

  He grabbed her by the elbow and, as he spun her back around, damn if she didn’t smell like wildflowers.

  “That’s not the only promise you made, princess,” he intoned softly. Sebastian had to confess to a deal of satisfaction in seeing a shiver run through the girl. “As my hostage, everything you do concerns me.”

  Her rich blue eyes flickered nervously, and the tip of her ripe pink tongue emerged to wet her lips.

  He was mesmerized, and the arousal that smoldered in him burst into flame when her reply came, low and husky.

  “Then I suppose you’ll be accompanying us, my lord, because no force in heaven or earth will make me leave my brother.”

  So now, enduring the first defeat of his military career, Sebastian watched her issuing instructions to his own men about how best to secure Brice’s litter in the cart.

  Only when the job was completed to her satisfaction did she climb nimbly on board, despite being hampered by the skirts of the green kirtle she wore. At least it was a more appropriate garment for her sex than the hose and surcoat of the day before.

  Once seated, the imperious chit looked him directly in the eye and announced they were ready to go. Like two faithful puppies, Orlege and Larcwide scrambled up beside her.

  Sebastian clenched his teeth and bit down on the string of curses that threatened to bubble to the surface. He mounted his horse angrily and nodded to the cart driver.

  Two of his men rode ahead and set the pace. Sebastian waited until they and the cart were out of sight before he urged his own horse to walk. Perhaps if he didn’t have to look at Alfred’s daughter, the murderous feelings welling up inside him might ebb.

  “You’re making a mistake with her,” said a voice beside him.

  Sebastian glowered at Gaines who had ridden up alongside him.

  “I don’t recall asking for advice,” he answered.

  Gaines continued, ignoring the warning tone in his lord’s voice.

  “You’ve been too easy on the girl,” he said, looking straight ahead as he spoke. “You should have showed her who is master now over these lands. How can you demand the respect of Alfred’s men when you let her get her own way?

  “Word of your softness will have spread across the barony by the time we return from this fool’s errand, my lord. It would have been better to let the boy die and hang the lot of—”

  The knight stopped speaking abruptly as the sword pointed at the side of his neck touched his skin. The rolling rhythm of the walking horses caused the tip of the weapon to leave light scratches on his flesh.

  An involuntary shudder ran through the man. He glanced cautiously along the blade to the hilt and then along the arm that held it; up to the face of its owner, whose green eyes glinted dangerously.

  “Care to repeat those words?” Sebastian asked with deceptive calmness.

  Gaines mutely shook his head as much as he dared with a blade to his neck.

  “Then don’t question my judgment.”

  With that, Sebastian sheathed his sword and urged his horse into a gallop.

  * * *

  Frey smiled back at Brice, who bravely allowed his leg to be cleaned and freshly slathered with the honey-and-rosemary ointment. He even accepted the redressing of his wound without complaint.

  Now, as they got underway again, the jostling of the cart along the rutted path elicited only the occasional wince of pain from the boy.

  Aided by Orlege, Brice sat up partway and managed to drink a few mouthfuls of weak beer.

  “How far have we come?” he asked. It was the first complete and coherent sentence from him in two days.

  “About fifteen miles by my reckoning, my lord,” answered Orlege, holding a hand across the boy’s brow to protect his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun. “My guess is we’ll travel a few more before nightfall and arrive at the monastery on the day after tomorrow.”

  The knowledge seemed to both satisfy and exhaust Brice, who merely nodded and closed his eyes.

  “The wound is looking a lot better, my lady,” Larcwide observed softly.

  “The unguent Friar Dominic left does appear to be having an effect,” she agreed, glancing back at her brother. Indeed, the swelling was much less than it had been two days earlier, but the bruises around his ankle were like gathering storm clouds of dark blues and purples.

  Frey spoke softly to ensure Brice didn’t overhear. “I don’t know what other damage has been done. I'm afraid he might now be lame.”

  Larcwide gave a curt nod. Lameness was no less than might be expected considering the injury and the subsequent time the lad had been immobile.

  “What I don’t understand, my lady, is where the trap might have come from,” he said quietly and earnestly. “You know Orlege and I don’t let Lord Brice out of our sight, and I vow to you there was no snare there the previous day when we went out scouting.”

  Frey sighed. “I know we agreed at the time that Brice’s injury was simple misfortune, but I have to admit we experienced a lot of ‘simple misfortunes’ in the fortnight before Brice’s injury.”

  Larcwide frowned, considering Frey’s weighted observation.

  “It was always small things,” she continued. “The guy rope that went missing, the knife that disappeared. Our underestimating the amount of food we had in store. It could all be explained by carelessness or a foraging animal or simple bad luck. And yet…”

  “You don't think it was Lord Sebastian and his men, do you?” he asked, surprised.

  Frey gave the matter serious consideration and looked around. Two of the baron’s men were
ahead of the cart, too far away to overhear.

  And, despite racing past like the devil himself was chasing him at the start of their journey, Sebastian de la Croix had since dropped to the back of the caravan, bringing up the rear with his man Gaines. The two had since fallen back farther and had yet to round the bend.

  Apart from inquiring of Larcwide about Brice’s condition at their midday meal, Frey had not laid eyes on the baron for hours.

  “No, I suppose not,” she admitted at length.

  Larcwide endorsed her decision with a nod. “He is a trained warrior with far superior numbers and resources. What need has he to play petty tricks?”

  “None, I suppose,” Frey admitted. “But if not him, then who?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The lengthening shadows and the sounds of birds heading for their roosts marked the end of the day’s journey.

  Sebastian glanced up at the graying sky for the moment, then continued with the work of unsaddling his horse. Was it only this time yesterday Lord Alfred’s rebellion finally came to an end?

  He meant what he told Lady Alfreya. There were more questions he wanted answers to, but they could wait until the lad was delivered safely into the hands of a healer.

  Sebastian studied the two men who showed unflinching loyalty to Alfred's children. He caught the eye of Orlege, who was helping Larcwide erect a small lean-to. The man looked back at him with suspicion and ill-disguised hostility.

  “You!” Sebastian ordered. “Accompany me.”

  He watched Orlege glance at Larcwide, who give a brusque nod of assent. Orlege walked toward him indolently.

  The man was perhaps three or four years older than Sebastian and built like what he was—a soldier, broad across the shoulders with well-muscled arms accustomed to holding a sword or a battle axe.

  He would ordinarily be dangerous to face in battle, but a month of privation had dulled his edge. Sebastian believed Orlege recognized his diminished state also and resented it.

  Sebastian rummaged through one of the saddle packs and brought out a pair of hatchets, one of which he lobbed to Orlege.

  The man deftly caught the tool and adjusted his grip, making a couple of practice swings while a cold smile spread across his lightly whiskered face.

  “Ah, for months I’ve longed for the day I stand before you armed,” said Orlege, again weighing the heft of the tool.

  At the exchange, Larcwide looked up, cursed the young man under this breath, and stood, ready to intervene if necessary.

  He glanced over to the cart where Lady Alfreya was tending to Lord Brice. She remained unaware of the tension, so too were Sebastian’s men, who were occupied with the horses and building shelter for the night.

  Sebastian was unmoved by Orlege’s threat, watching him with arms crossed in front of his broad chest.

  “And if I didn’t have confidence in your love for Alfred’s children and your oath of fealty to me and William, you’d be already dead where you stand,” he warned Orlege.

  Sebastian turned his back and walked from the clearing into the wood as he did so, calling back, “Come. We need firewood.”

  Orlege trembled with fury, hatchet still in hand. He lined up his aim.

  “Let it go,” murmured Larcwide, who now stood at Orlege’s side. “Let it go, for Lord Brice and Lady Alfreya’s sake. It’s over now. It’s done.”

  Orlege let his hand drop and a shudder, almost like a convulsion, shook him from head to foot. He blinked his eyes rapidly to clear them of the emotion that threatened to leak out.

  Larcwide clasped Orlege’s shoulder and then shoved him in the direction Sebastian had taken.

  “Go,” he said. “We need firewood.”

  Sebastian knew he had taken a risk with Orlege, but it was calculated, and he knew he was right to trust his instincts with both of Alfred’s men. He could see that Larcwide, being so much older and at the end of his soldiering life, was a much more practical and pragmatic man. He would be an asset on the training field.

  He stopped walking and rubbed the blade of his hatchet before glancing across to where Orlege now stood a few yards away, surveying a large deadfall bough. Soon, the rhythmic sound of metal striking wood began.

  Sebastian suspected Orlege was a good man too. So long as he could learn to master his temper. In this new England, Saxon and Norman together would find their place in time; Orlege if not in his service, then certainly in the employ of another baron.

  The thought of Alfreya crossed Sebastian's mind. Wasn’t she as much a warrior as her two men-at-arms?

  And yet she pledged homage to no one.

  A voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like Gaines, mocked him. “Women make vows of submission and devotion to husbands, not to barons and kings.”

  Sebastian struck a knot with his hatchet and the jarring resonated up his arm to the shoulder, proving a welcome distraction from his thoughts.

  But it was a short-lived distraction. Sebastian’s curiosity about this woman burned bright. Even his dreams last night were about her.

  Dreams about the sound of booted feet echoing around a stone crypt. The body of a young woman lay on a slab of stone atop the tomb in which she was to be laid to rest. The midnight blue of the freshly laundered dress she now wore made the pallor of her skin even more pronounced. The kirtle had been one of his sister’s cast-offs. At least in death the girl would be afforded the dignity she was denied in her last moments of life.

  Here, in the quiet of this holy place, she looked at peace, as though asleep.

  Sebastian, in his dream, found himself drawing closer.

  Golden hair that once would have been this young woman’s crowning glory had been butchered. Her closed lids were sunken, made shapeless by the lack of eyes beneath them. They had been gouged out by the same creature who defiled her before slicing off the four fingers of her right hand, the mutilation mercifully covered by her left as she lay prepared for her eternal repose.

  Sebastian's hand reached out and touched her cheek tenderly, as a lover might, ignoring the small cuts and bruises that marred what would have been a pretty face.

  He leaned in. “I have never forgotten you,” he whispered into her ear, then drew back to look at her one last time.

  Her eyes were open! And they were the color of cornflowers.

  Hair that had been chopped away, now lay across her breast in a long fair braid, a much lighter shade than it had been before.

  And in his dream Sebastian cried out silently.

  Against recollection of the nightmare, Sebastian gritted his teeth and hacked at a log all the more furiously.

  “There are easier ways to get kindling,” Orlege called.

  Sebastian halted and blinked up at him as though he just emerged from a trance. Orlege’s expression on him remained bemused. Sebastian straightened and looked around to see who else might have witnessed his display, then gathered wood in his arms.

  “Don't be long,” he told Orlege, and began walking back to camp.

  Although spoken softly, Sebastian heard Orlege's muttered words clearly enough.

  “An odd one to be sure. A man who is so controlled one moment and crazy the next.”

  No doubt Orlege would gossip with Larcwide about what kind of lunatic they had delivered their mistress unto.

  * * *

  Frey busied herself about the campsite. The activity was a welcome relief from the jolting of the cart and the restlessness of her thoughts. The routine had become second nature to her over the past few months and she took comfort in it.

  She smiled, recalling the surprise on the faces of Sebastian’s men as she shouldered her share of the responsibilities for setting up camp.

  The last of the meat from the previous night’s feast, along with some vegetables and the fresh herbs she had foraged, sat in a small iron cauldron, licked by the compact, brightly burning fire beneath it.

  Tomorrow, they would need to hunt, not so cautiously as she and her men had while avoiding
capture, so they were more likely to meet with success. A brace of rabbits would be adequate until they reached St. Cuthbert’s.

  She checked on Brice who now slept, having done so since this afternoon.

  The afternoon sun disappeared completely, leaving only the weak light of a waxing moon waiting to take its preeminence in the night sky. Frey could hear Orlege and Larcwide taking in low voices. She approached and the men ceased their conversation, their expression hidden in shadows.

  “At your service, m’lady,” Larcwide greeted formally.

  “Come now,” she chided. “After all this time you’ve suddenly remembered your manners?”

  Neither man spoke, and Frey was instantly suspicious.

  “What is it that has you two gossiping like washer women?”

  Again silence.

  Frey stood at ease and folded her arms. She looked at Larcwide, who met her stare with the practiced ease of someone who had been under its scrutiny often.

  Frey turned to Orlege, who gazed at the ground.

  Aha!

  Sensing a wavering resolve in the object of her inspection, Frey shifted position and concentrated on the weak link.

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Orlege?” she asked pleasantly.

  Reluctantly he looked up at her, opening his mouth and closing it without speaking, as though unsure of the words.

  Frey frowned.

  Eventually he spoke, muttering, “No, m’lady, ’twas nothing” before turning on his heel.

  She swiftly faced Larcwide.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  Larcwide glanced at the younger man before answering her.

  “He’s fine. He’s seeing threats where there are none,” he said.

  “I don’t understand. A threat to whom? To Brice?”

  Larcwide shook his head.

  “There is no threat,” he explained. “He’s jumping at shadows. When one has been in a state of war, it can be difficult to adjust to not being in that way. He hasn’t learned that there is a time for war and a time for peace. Now is the time for peace.”