by Leigh Bale
Her fine brows lowered in a disapproving frown. "What do you intend?"
Lifting one hand, he beckoned to her. "There’s no need to fear me, demoiselle. Surely I’ve proven I won’t harm you."
She didn’t move, staring at him like a viper. He took two steps toward her and she took five steps back.
"Leave me be," she ordered with a wave of the dagger. "I don’t wish to harm you."
She would do him harm? An engaging notion. He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. In return, her eyes flared with indignation.
"I find nothing amusing,” she said.
Considering the situation, he thought her quite endearing. Had he met her under different circumstances, he might have sought her father to discuss a marriage arrangement. But she was Welsh, and he had no love for her people, who had caused him nothing but trouble along the English border. Besides, he had other matters to think about now, like how to get out of here and return to England.
He looked toward a low hill that edged past the sea. Once they had eaten, he planned to gain higher ground to get his bearings on the island. Hopefully his men would find them soon. If not, he would make arrangements to borrow Callum’s dinghy and take the chance of reaching the mainland. He would see that the little boat was returned to Callum later on.
Lifting his arm, Wulfgar pointed to the east. “We will travel to yonder hill so we might see where we are. Perhaps we will find our people over there.”
"I do not take orders from you," she reminded him in a bristling tone.
He shrugged. "Gara has gone to milk the goat. Are you hungry?"
An eager light filled her eyes and she looked where he pointed. He took advantage of the distraction, whisking the dagger from her hand before she could even whirl on him. She promptly brought her foot down hard and stamped her heel against his bare instep.
Wulfgar dropped her dagger. Scooping up the blade, she raced down the pebbled beach and disappeared over a low hill.
Squinting his eyes against the sun, Wulfgar groaned and cursed her agility. She was intelligent and quick and he wouldn’t underestimate her abilities again.
Unable to ignore his aching foot, he grabbed up Callum’s spear, and hobbled after her. Heaven only knew what trouble she might get herself into. There was no telling who else might have taken refuge from the storm here on the island.
Her piercing scream split the stillness of the beach. Wulfgar jerked his head up and took off after her at a dead run.
* * *
Fear gripped Ariana’s heart as she raced over the hill, clammy and breathing hard. The cold air bit into her skin and she was almost tempted to return to the warm hut. But she was desperate to get home and must signal her men if their ship came near the island.
Perhaps she should not have stomped Wulfgar’s foot. It was a trick her brothers had taught her, guaranteed to stop a man if done right…and she had learned to do it just right. But Wulfgar had saved her life and look how she thanked him. Still, she couldn’t trust him. He was a Norman after all and a convicted felon. He might try to hold her for ransom.
As she ran, her feet sank deep in the sand, filling her shoes, and she felt it wriggling between her toes. She must find a place to think, until she could decide what to do. Her gaze scanned the water, looking for a ship. Had her men perished at sea? Her heart pounded with the horrible thought. She must reach the mainland before all was lost. What if she wasn’t in time for the ransom exchange and Edwin of Carlinham killed her brother before she could reach Cynan?
Her stomach cramped with terror as she left the beach and headed inland. She mustn’t consider such a terrible thing, but remain strong, or she would lose what little control she had over her emotions. What good would she be to Dafydd and their people then?
Cresting a hill, she plunged downward and her long hair blinded her. Before she knew what had happened, she ran straight into the solid back of a man.
As he turned upon her, he grunted, his face drawn with surprise. He yelled at her in a foreign tongue she didn’t recognize.
Tripping over the man’s feet, Ariana screamed before she could stop herself. She fell, landing hard in the prickly heather covering the ground. Twisting about, she stared up at him. No, three men. Heaven help her.
They were tall and thin, wearing woolen trousers cross-strapped to the knees with strips of red cloth.
Vikings!
Gasping, she shoved herself up out of the heather and stepped away. She had almost fallen into their campfire.
The three men stared at her, their eyes wide with shock. Their packs had been gathered together, as if they prepared for departure. Close by, Ariana saw the remains of a large wooden building. The charred remnants of a wooden cross lay beside the rock foundation of an abandoned church.
The men spoke excitedly together, but she didn’t understand their words. From their clothing, she guessed they must be Danes, heathens from the north. She had heard horrible stories about brutal Vikings and cautiously held her ground.
“Can you help me?” she asked, hoping they spoke English.
They came closer, showing wicked grins.
She tried French. “I need help. Do you have a ship?”
Their puzzled expressions told her they didn’t understand her. She spoke several languages. Why hadn’t she also learned Danish?
Their gazes skimmed the length of her. She held the dagger in her fist and glared at them. They laughed, speaking in their strange tongue, their voices sounding like they were chewing rocks.
Ariana looked behind her at the steep incline of the hill. Could she reach Wulfgar before…?
The Vikings circled her, blocking escape. A tall, redheaded man lunged at Ariana and she dodged to the side, evading his grasping hands. As she whirled about, she sliced her dagger across his forearm, opening a long gash in his arm.
Stunned, the man stared at the crimson wound, then shouted something at Ariana. The other men silently eyed her, no longer grinning, their eyes narrowed with vengeance. Fear coiled around her like a damp blanket.
The injured man growled like a wounded bear. He beckoned to her as he pulled an ax from the waistband of his breeches. Though she didn’t understand his words, Ariana understood his intent. He’d learned his lesson and would be ready for her the next time.
He lunged at her. Ariana tried to dart to the side but he anticipated her and caught her with one arm around her waist, yanking her off her feet. Panic climbed up her throat and she tried to stab him. He struck a stinging blow to her wrist and she dropped her weapon.
The man threw her to the ground, his menacing laughter filling her ears. She landed on her knees in front of the other two men. A sharp stone bruised her calf, her knees and hands scraped in the dirt. Pushing hair out of her eyes, she turned to face them.
The Vikings reached for her and she darted for her dagger, but one of them kicked it away. They yanked at her hair. No longer could she contain herself and she screamed long and shrill, fighting fiercely.
A roar of rage filled the morning air as Wulfgar appeared over the hilltop. Ariana found herself freed from her attackers. She hurried to her feet and clutched a piece of driftwood. Lifting it high, she prepared to defend herself.
The men shouted in their foreign tongue as Wulfgar descended on them like a rabid wolf. They no longer laughed as they found themselves thrown aside in the sand.
Her protector had come for her. Why did Wulfgar not leave her to them? They would kill her and he would be free.
Gratitude swept her as Wulfgar placed himself in front of her, waiting for the Vikings to rise. His profile seemed hard as chiseled granite, his massive arm holding Callum’s spear like a javelin.
The Vikings sized up the large giant. Undoubtedly they could tell Wulfgar’s status, for he still wore the slave collar. Towering over them, he appeared to outweigh them each by at least forty pounds. From their wary expressions, they knew it would require much effort to take him down.
Ariana edged away as Wulfga
r’s face contorted with fury. The cool wind blew the long, dark hair back from his muscled shoulders. His biceps flexed as he crouched low in a fighting position.
No wonder King William feared him.
“Come on, you cowards,” Wulfgar said. “I’m not a defenseless woman. Let’s see how you fight a grown man.”
The redheaded Viking charged. Wulfgar wielded the spear with ease and when he finished, the three Danes lay in a groaning heap at his feet. No doubt they each would have a vile headache.
Ariana stared with amazement. How had one half-starved slave defeated so many men? Wulfgar could have killed them all, yet he didn’t. Why had his knights not shown such mercy to the Welsh over the past years, instead of the murder and mayhem the Normans had caused her people?
Each of the Vikings groaned and crawled to their feet, their faces and clothing covered with sand. They backed away, clutching their wounds, making soothing gestures toward Wulfgar.
“Fools,” Ariana muttered.
Their small fishing vessel was moored nearby on the shore. The waters tugged at the ship, eager to take it away.
“Just leave.” Urgency built inside her and she thrust out her arm.
Wulfgar’s muscles bulged as he crouched low, prepared to fight again if they pushed the issue. It mattered not that he was a slave. He was in control.
The Danes didn’t dally as they stumbled toward their ship. Perhaps they would deliver her and Wulfgar to Wales. Ariana thought about calling them back, but closed her mouth, unwilling to tempt fate. If Jenkin and her other men didn’t find them soon, she shuddered to think what might happen.
Her knees weakened and she dropped the stick of wood and fell to the ground at Wulfgar’s feet. She watched as the Vikings took in the mooring lines, waded into the sea, and climbed into their boat. They raised the single sail and began to row. As the wind breathed upon it, the ship shot away from the island, leaving her alone with Wulfgar. A Norman slave who had saved her life twice.
Chapter Four
“Thank you.” Ariana couldn’t help feeling grateful to Wulfgar.
His head dipped in acknowledgement. Tilting her head, she looked at him, her gaze caught by his gleaming black eyes. The silence lengthened between them, with only cries of sea birds to fill the void.
Looking around, she searched for her dagger. It lay a short distance away on the ground.
His gaze followed hers. With two fluid steps, he scooped up the blade and presented it to her in a gallant flourish. “If it gives you comfort, then I wish you to have it.”
Taking the weapon, she clutched it with chilled fingers. As if she could ever use it against him. If he decided to take it from her, he could do so with little effort. But the weapon had sentimental value and she didn’t want to lose it.
“Thank you.”
His expression softened. “You’re welcome.”
“Wulfgar. My lady. Are you all right?” Callum came running over the hill, carrying a long spear.
“Now he comes to our aid.” Wulfgar mumbled with an amused chuckle.
Turning, Ariana walked to the Viking’s camp in the rubble of the deserted monastery. She pointed toward the campfire. “They left us some food.”
Three large salmon lay across a wide, flat stone. Her stomach rumbled ravenously.
With both hands, she picked up a heavy fish by the tail and waved it at Wulfgar and Callum. “Should we invite them back to break the fast with us?”
Shaking his head, Wulfgar’s mouth quirked upward as he stabbed his spear into the ground. “I think it best if we dine alone.”
Callum grinned and took the fish from her. “Gara should be pleased. We’ll have a feast.”
He turned and jogged off toward the hut.
In their haste to leave the island, the Vikings had also left two leather packs behind. Ariana rummaged through them and discovered a skin filled with water, small packets of dried meat and berries, a cooking knife, and some bronze cups and plates. She would give the provisions to Callum and Gara, for their kind hospitality.
“Here.” She called to Wulfgar.
When he looked up, she tossed him a chunk of dried meat. He caught it deftly in mid-air and grinned as he popped the morsel into his mouth and chewed. Ariana tilted the spout of the water container to her mouth and drank deeply. Ah, fresh water. Truly one of the joys in life.
Having quenched her thirst, she felt much better. She offered the water to Wulfgar and watched as he took the container, tilting the brim to his lips.
“Why did you betray your king?” The question came from her mouth so fast that she couldn’t stop it. Whatever had made her ask such a thing?
His eyes clouded over. “I never betrayed William.”
“But everyone knows you were convicted of treason.”
“I did not betray my king.”
He turned away and she let her questions die. Surely his king would not have sentenced him so harshly without ample proof.
She tamped down her feelings of friendship, trying to remember not to trust this man. Wulfgar was a traitor, his Norman people the lowest scum on earth.
“Tell me why you bought me,” he said.
Ah, he’d turned the tide on her. If he knew what she wanted, he might refuse. She wasn’t yet ready for him to know the truth. Not until her men were here to lend her aid should he refuse.
“Who are your people? Which clan are you from?” he persisted.
Like him, she didn’t respond. She blinked, feeling some semblance of control returning to her trembling limbs. Wulfgar might guess who her father was if she told him who her people were.
The sounds of wind and sea beat all around. The warmth of the sun glimmered on the sandy beach, the brightness intense enough to make her blink.
Returning to the hut, the tantalizing aroma of cooking fish filled the air. Callum crouched before a large rock where he sliced long filets for Gara to skewer with sticks and place before a fire they’d built outside. To distract herself, Ariana tried to comb her tangled hair with her fingers. The sun rose higher and covered the island. Indeed, it was a pleasant day and Ariana almost forgot she was stranded with a man who was her enemy.
She watched as Wulfgar stepped into the sea and washed his face and other injuries. Perhaps she should offer to tend his wounds, but she had no bandages or ointments to use and didn’t think Gara’s meager possessions consisted of such luxuries. No doubt the salt water would help heal his injuries.
“Your man watches over you well,” Gara said.
Ariana jerked, surprised to find Gara standing close by holding a bronze plate of cooked fish. Indeed, between scanning the sea for their two ships and washing, Wulfgar rarely took his gaze off her.
“He’s not my man. He’s my slave,” she spoke rather harshly.
Gara glanced at Wulfgar and smiled. “Perhaps he doesn’t know that.”
Gara handed the plate to Ariana, then moved away to serve Callum. Ariana fumed silently. No, Wulfgar would never be anyone’s slave. They could chain him, starve and even beat him, but his spirit belonged to himself.
When he returned, water dripped from his bearded face. Ariana’s cloak lay nearby on a rock and she inclined her chin toward it. “Use it to dry off.”
He smiled his thanks before wiping his face and arms. She couldn’t help laughing at the sight of this large man all but wearing her woman’s cloak.
He chuckled and waggled his eyebrows at her. “What? You don’t think me stylish in this pretty piece of clothing?”
Shaking her long hair back from her shoulders, she wrinkled her nose. “I think you look like a court jester.”
He narrowed his eyes in a shaming frown and drew one hand dramatically to his chest. “I am injured, demoiselle. I sought only to please you and here you make fun at my expense.”
Ariana smiled as she slid a large piece of fish onto a bronze plate and handed it to him.
“Be quiet and eat,” she admonished in a lighthearted voice. “The fish is delicious
. I’m so famished, I would eat a leather shoe.”
She didn’t want to jest with this man. If he hadn’t been convicted of treason, Dafydd might not be in the hands of Edwin of Carlinham and her father would still be alive. The thought was sobering. Wulfgar had no idea his own treachery had played such a dramatic role in Ariana’s life and she mustn’t forget what he was capable of.
Although Wulfgar didn’t recognize her, she had met him as a child. Before his conviction, he had been Earl of Glyndwr, a Norman stronghold at Castle Cynan. A truce had been called and he had met with her father on several occasions, to talk of peace along the border. They had reached an agreement, but Wulfgar was convicted of treason and Edwin of Carlinham had taken his place at Castle Cynan.
With Edwin as their leader, the Normans began brutal raids on the Welsh. Edwin’s men harried Ariana’s people night and day, murdering, kidnapping their women, burning their fields and homes, slaughtering livestock to eliminate their food supply.
The ploy had worked. During the harsh winter, Ariana’s people had starved. Then, while she had been away seeking help elsewhere, Edwin’s men had raided her father’s camp. During the fight, Ariana’s father had been mortally wounded and Dafydd, a seven-year old boy and the last remaining heir to her father’s throne, had been captured.
Edwin’s ransom demand was too high. Lands and wealth her poor people could not pay. So, Edwin had tried a different ploy. If Ariana agreed to wed him, he would release the boy. But Ariana knew Edwin would kill her brother anyway and use her to steal her people’s lands. It was an impossible situation. Of course, Edwin didn’t know her father was dead.
Yet.
It was the only reason Edwin hadn’t killed Dafydd already. With Dafydd dead, there would be no heir to her father’s throne. Ariana shuddered at the thought.
With his last breath, Ariana’s father had begged her to get Dafydd back and see the boy placed upon the throne. If it meant her life, she would see her brother safely returned.
