Falconburg Divided (The Falconburg Series Book 1)

by Sarah Waldock

  And yet ….

  Annis did not lie … even in her disobedience there was a kind of honour.

  The warlord cursed again, pungently; and drew himself a goblet of wine.

  It would, he decided, be a bad idea to get into such a situation again. If he had misread, and were then rejected ….

  Her knife throwing would take place outside like her sword practice; and if it were erratic, why then, his men must learn to stay out of the way.

  And Elissa could teach her some holds and throws.

  And so it was for the next few days, that Annis perfected her aim at a target without; and Elissa wrestled with her in the warlord’s chamber under his instruction and away from most prying eyes that would leer on two women fighting.

  And if such disappointed Annis she tried to show it not. Indeed, she told herself firmly, it was as well; for she was a little apprehensive about what might have happened had not Elissa arrived knocking; and knew deep down that she would have yielded in whatever way the warlord demanded, for her feelings were strange and intense and she was glad of a space of time to come to terms with them. This was arousal and it were a greater force than ever she might have imagined!

  And meanwhile she might strive for martial excellence and please Gyrfalon thus; and that she learned for her own satisfaction was subordinate to her desire to please the man she now realised she loved with all her being.

  And that he was distant with her was perhaps that he did not wish to acknowledge that he had any feelings for her; if she were not mistaken in all that his face and body said to her. Why that should be Annis was not sure; but decided that it must be something to do with her status as a hostage.

  Well doubtless he would get over it.

  Chapter 8

  Annis had had a busy morning. She had woken feeling sure that something was going to happen; but as nothing seemed to be she had instead put in some work plying her needle on the robe she had all but finished for the warlord. Each stitch in it now was personal; and she hoped he would like it. It was calf length, slit at the sides for ease of movement, and the rich black brocade had a silver thread in the weave in an intertwining spiral pattern that was as exotic and foreign as the fabric itself. She had cut the fur lining larger than the robe, and turned it over the edges of the garment that it show the richness of the fur; and had taken the intricate trim from another garment, knotwork in silver thread on a blood red ground, and was applying that at the edge of the fur where it lay against the brocade, as a separation one from the other. It looked very fine.

  She put it aside as Elissa awoke.

  The woman warrior looked at her curiously.

  “You’re such a odd girl,” said Elissa .“You do not have to sew, you know.”

  “I like to sew,” said Annis placidly. “It satisfies me. Do you think he will like it?”

  “He’d be a fool if he did not,” said Elissa laconically. “And that's another example of your oddness; any other girl confronted by such fine fabrics would sew herself a gown, methinks – not make something for her captor.”

  “Are you jealous I have not sewn for you?” asked Annis.

  “No I’m not; I confess, I have enough woman to me to like the fabrics and if you have time I’d not be displeased to have something to wear for best; that I have a chance to be all woman on mine own terms once in a while ere I get to old to enjoy it. But if you choose to sew for my lord it does not make me jealous. Only confused.”

  “I suppose I started it in some gratitude to him for being my good rescuer and protector,” said Annis.

  “You are mad” laughed Elissa.

  Annis had just sheathed her sword after the day’s practice – Gyrfalon had merely disarmed her this time and had not forced her down – when the messenger clattered in, his horse lathered with effort. Annis realised that this was what she had woken up expecting.

  One ran to take the bridle of the beast and see to its needs as the messenger all but tumbled off in exhaustion and hurried as best he might to Gyrfalon. As Annis’ lesson generally attracted no little interest the man had an audience as he knelt, trembling with fatigue.

  “My lord, a great army approaches. There are within it the banners of more than one war leader. The troops number thousands.”

  Gyrfalon nodded.

  “You have done well,” he said. “Ale and a hot bath for this man – for Bertric! Foregrim, have one sent to the village to inform them all that the time has come to come within the castle. Check and recheck the supplies of arrows at the defences and all such other appurtenances.”

  “I will go to the village, my lord,” volunteered Annis. “It will save a fighting man going.”

  He nodded and turned to the messenger.

  “Bertic – how long?” he asked.

  The man swallowed the mouthful of ale he had readily been given and looked overcome that the warlord knew his name.

  “A day – perchance a day and a half,” he estimated “I rode mine animal into the ground; I spied them beyond the great forest. It was then first light; and I spied them encamped on the rise before they enter the woods.”

  Gyrfalon nodded.

  “If they are not used to working together we might even have full two days” he said satisfied. “’Twil take them time to mesh the wants, needs and facilities of more than one army; and to deal with frictions between those partisans of one lord over another that be emotionally charged for war that quarrels break out more easily. And even, should we be truly fortunate, a split lead or disputed captain.”

  He looked forward to discussing such with Annis; who had already saddled Rowan to ride off to the village, that she might quickly circle every part of it calling her news as well as asking the priest to ring the alarm bell. Elissa was not with her; but Annis’ comings and goings were so common now that none challenged her. Indeed it was more than all had forgotten that she was a hostage and most saw her as one of their own. Annis rode around quickly, working out in her own mind how a single man might ride in a few hours a distance that might take an army a couple of days. For a single horse required as much care as any in an army. Of course, an army required properly set out camps with pickets, food preparation on a grand scale and usages of courtesy that fighting men not start fighting their own. Inevitably in a large collection of horses, one must need shoeing from time to time, holding up all the rest, where a man alone had more flexibility, and might at need to carry message, risk his horse’s feet by evening up all hooves in quickly taking the rest of the shoes off. Bruised feet would heal.

  She jumped off Rowan by the church and strode in, giving a hasty genuflection to the altar. The priest was seeing to the candles, but turned as the girl’s boots rang on the hard stone floor.

  “Father,” she greeted him gravely, “armies come. It is time to ring the bells and bring everyone within the bailey.”

  The priest sighed and crossed himself.

  “Will they be safe with that devil, daughter?” he asked.

  Annis’ eyes flashed but she answered levelly.

  “They will be a sight safer under Lord Gyrfalon’s protection than from the depredations of a marauding army,” she told him dryly. “They are, after all, his people now. To any attacking soldiery they are but prey. Morality tends, after all, to be applied only to one’s friends in war,” she added cynically. He smiled sadly.

  “Alas, too true, daughter Annis. I of course will take my chances without and trust that they will respect a man of the cloth.”

  Annis snorted.

  “With due respect, father, you will not. Your flock will be frightened and confused and in more need than ever of spiritual guidance. Would you wish to desert them in their hour of need? For if you would, and come not willingly, I fear I must send a man to bring you in unwillingly.”

  He flushed.

  “I understood that Lord Gyrfalon would have no members of the clergy anywhere near him,” he said. “I did not wish to bring retribution on my congregation.”

&nbs
p; “I will guarantee your safety,” said Annis simply.

  “Forgive me, but I understood you were a hostage; how come you speak of sending men, or guaranteeing the safety of another?” he was dubious.

  “It gets a little more complex than that,” shrugged Annis. “Lord Gyrfalon knows that I am a Christian and I think he will respect both my wishes and those of his peasantry and serfs.”

  The priest nodded, not entirely satisfied, but accepting; and soon the bells rang above the church’s thatched roof in a carillon of alarum.

  Elissa relaxed in relief as she watched Annis escort the motley band of peasants and serfs and their livestock within the safe, encircling walls. She dreaded the outcome of Lord Gyrfalon finding out that she had lost sight of her charge. Whilst Elissa was fairly certain Annis was daft enough to prefer being Gyrfalon’s hostage to making a bid for freedom, one could never be quite sure with the mad chit. And she had failed to do the warlord’s bidding, of not losing sight of the girl.

  Annis, unaware of the terror she had caused by not wanting to trouble Elissa, smiled and waved cheerily.

  “Help me get them billeted, Elissa and out from being in the way of all this military mayhem,” she said.

  Elissa nodded as the dryness in her mouth receded, acknowledging to herself that Annis had not frightened her a-purpose.

  “The girl doesn’t even understand that you’re supposed to be scared of Gyrfalon,” she growled to herself; and applied herself with rough kindness to hurrying the peasants to where they were supposed to be as Annis comforted weeping, frightened children.

  Gyrfalon was too busy to worry himself with Elissa’s worries; but he had noticed that Annis had ridden off on her own – and had returned. He contented himself with bellowing a teasing,

  “What, froward wench, hast saddled me with a priest and all? I’ll have nothing to do with the fellow; if you want him made comfortable, shalt see to it for yourself!”

  Annis raised an acknowledging hand.

  “I don’t think he likes you either, my lord!” she called cheekily.

  “Good; let it stay that way!” Gyrfalon shouted back. Annis laughed.

  “See?” She said to the priest. “Make yourself at home in the chapel; I’ve swept it clean long since save where we be storing some of the grain; for want of space to house that and the villagers. They may sit on the sacks after all on Sundays.”

  “Thank you daughter,” said the priest.

  As the mayhem decreased, Gyrfalon saw Annis passing, and grabbed her by a wrist and pushed her against a wall roughly.

  “When you went out to the village you could have carried on riding, you know; I know you’d not go to your father, but you had time to take a route away from both of us.”

  She looked surprised.

  “Why ever would I do a daft like thing like that?” she asked.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and shook her.

  “Little fool! Have you forgotten that you are a hostage?” He demanded “At my command?”

  “Oh,” she said. “Am I so? I had thought you had changed your mind and had said you would keep me … I thought you planned to marry me instead; we spoke of it,” she bit her lip and looked down “Perchance I misunderstood.”

  “That was a hypothetical conversation,” he told her roughly. Her shoulders slumped under his hands.

  “I see,” she spoke to the ground. “So my skills and abilities count for nothing? Your apparent p-pleasure in my company counts for nothing? It cannot be just the gold you crave more than me, for you could just as well demand a dowry. Then it must be that you cannot reconcile yourself to a wife of my Faith; and I cannot change that even if I would. I can swear not to talk about it; indeed I thought not that I spoke so much of it that it might annoy you.”

  Gyrfalon stared at her. She seemed distressed; truly, genuinely distressed and disappointed. Devastated even. He forced her chin up to gaze in those smoke grey eyes. They held hurt and bewilderment.

  “You were serious then?” he asked abruptly “When you said in your teasing fashion that you would marry me?”

  She nodded as well as she was able held so tightly controlled by him.

  He pulled a wry and self mocking face.

  “Of course, compared to your supposed bridegroom, I suppose almost anyone would be preferable – even me,” he said bitterly.

  She wrenched herself from his grasp, eyes blazing.

  “Oh you impossible idiot!” she shouted at him “Put aside thy self pity, Gyrfalon, it becomes you not! You are the mighty warlord Gyrfalon not some April maid smirking vanity at her spotty face in the millpond!” And she stalked off leaving him gaping in confusion at her angered outburst.

  Elissa, not far away, as she had vowed not to lose the girl again, cringed slightly and fell into step as Annis slammed through the door into the tower and marched to her room in high dudgeon.

  “You shouted at him!” Elissa accused.

  “He irritated me,” snapped Annis. Elissa blinked. The concept of shouting at Gyrfalon because he had been irritating was a new one on her.

  “He isn’t the sort of person you ought to shout at,” she suggested caustically. Annis sniffed.

  “I thought I just did,” she said, going on into her chamber and slamming that door too. Elissa blinked, shrugged, and settled down outside the door. Either the crazy chit would get away with it – the way Buto had so often got away with it – or he’d want Elissa to bring the girl to him to punish. Elissa hoped it would not come to that; she would regret it a lot. She was more or less fond of Annis.

  Gyrfalon slammed up to and into his own chamber in near as towering a rage as Annis. And when within he engaged in furious thought; and his rage evaporated in other, confused feelings. Was he placing too much thought on the scar? Did Annis mean he should behave as though it were not there? Was it even a sign of weakness that he let it affect him? Did she even despise him for such a weakness?

  He called for a mirror to be brought to his room; and a minion ran to get one, in some trepidation. The warlord had been relatively douce of late and this argument with the Lady Annis could be bad news for any unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place while the warlord raged. The servant almost passed out in relief and surprised when Gyrfalon barked a word of thanks to him and fled thankfully.

  Gyrfalon took off his helmet and studied his face, trying for objectivity rather than using its ravaged appearance to whip him to a frenzy of loathing as he had been wont to do before.

  He found its appearance somewhat improved by the salves; and the more repellent of the open, oozing sores had closed and had pink scar tissue to them. He knew cynically that, even as it had looked before Annis’ ministrations, there would have been women who would have lain with him; for a price – be that power or wealth – but that was irrelevant.

  “That is not what I want,” he informed his reflection aloud. Then he pondered. “What do I want?”

  The reflection gazed at him and sneered as he twisted his mouth up.

  “You fool,” he told it. “Physical gratification is not enough for you. You want the love that you imagined that you would find with Alys. You want a woman – you want Annis – to care for you. That is why it matters. Can a woman truly love a man with a dead eye and tatterdemalion features and a damaged soul?”

  He resisted the urge to hurl the mirror to the floor as he had often done before; and laid it down gently enough ere he laid himself down upon his bed staring at the ceiling, his view interrupted by the memory of a pair of stormy blue eyes.

  The stormy blue eyes in question had cried themselves to sleep but arose determined to reflect nothing but calm. Nothing passed between Annis and Gyrfalon as she applied his morning salve; just a curt nod on his part and the usual gentle ministrations on hers. Annis wandered onto the battlements after breaking her fast to watch for the armies that might hold her fate. As a sharp-eyed watchman called of the flashing of armour in the distance, Gyrfalon found her there. They watched in si
lence; but somehow it was a companionable silence, not an ominous one. Annis slid a little hand into his; and he squeezed it gently and absently. He half turned to her; but spoke not, for it would have shattered the long moment shared.

  And neither of them, caught up in their own feelings, realised the collective sigh of relief that rippled through the ranks that their lord and their little lady no longer quarrelled; and spirits raised.

  Dawn of the following day found Gyrfalon and Annis again together on the battlement.

  Annis’ long hair whipped out behind her in the breeze, dancing like a pale flame springing in an aureole around her head. Its lightness, with her white, set face and the plain unbleached woollen gown she wore that morning were fair contrast to Gyrfalon’s black-clad, armoured figure. And though Annis was a cause for the coming conflict, her presence at their lord’s side was a comfort to the troops. Their lord’s temper had noticeably improved since the girl’s arrival; and her herbal skills had also improved the general state of health of the troops. So, Annis was a mascot, albeit an acknowledged ruthless one; and the battle was one to keep her and not to let them steal her away. Annis knew nothing of this; she merely felt a deep feeling of regret and guilt that she would be the cause of fighting; and if anger at her father and Lord Marfey that they would plunge their men so blithely into battle without even pretence at negotiation.

  “You should call for a parley, my lord,” she said.

  “Parley?” he almost spat the word. She laid a hand on his arm.

  “I will not pester you about my beliefs. If there is no-one else you prefer, to marry me is an ideal solution,” she said.