by Leigh Bale
Ariana had good reason to hate the Normans. Wulfgar couldn’t condone this slaughter. Never would he have had his army attack the Welsh without reason and certainly not without inviting them to surrender first. And even then, the women and children would have been spared.
Ariana hiccupped and continued to stare at him as he turned her over to Cwrig. Her eyes were filled with accusation. Did she blame him for this, because he was a Norman?
“Keep her here. We’ll check to see if there is any danger,” he said.
With a solemn nod, Cwrig wrapped a stiff arm around her shoulders. He was a big, rawboned man and, though he tried, it was obvious he didn’t know how to show tenderness to a woman.
Drawing his knife, Wulfgar turned to lead the way up the hill. What he really needed now was a sword.
Jenkin stood to the side, his face stony with fury. Wulfgar brushed past him. He had no patience for the Welshman, now. If Jenkin wanted to challenge him, Wulfgar would oblige.
The other men followed close behind Wulfgar, their swords and axes drawn, their gazes wary and alert for danger. Jenkin looked at Ariana a moment longer and his clenched jaw relaxed. Turning, he also ascended the hill.
They found nothing but the burnt remnants of the fort, and the gory remains of the dead. A senseless massacre. Men, women, and little children lay slain upon the ground. Not one had been spared. The lifeless eyes of the dead were a testimony to the cruelty. Wulfgar was sickened by it. And furious. He’d seen his fair share of battle but had never condoned this kind of butchery.
“This is Edwin of Carlinham’s work.” Evan hefted a discarded shield bearing the black dragon of Edwin’s crest. “The Lady Frida and her son Rhodri are among the dead. The boy was no more than six years of age. The princess will take the news hard, for she loved them both. Except for Prince Dafydd, they were the last of her family and Lady Frida was like a mother to her.”
Wulfgar’s gut tightened. An old ache filled his heart. He remembered the last time he’d seen his own mother, her eyes dripping with tears as she cried for the king’s men to free him. He didn’t know if she still lived or if William had banished her to exile. Perhaps she’d been able to return to France where she might find sanctuary with her brother.
Not knowing what had happened to his mother tore at Wulfgar. It had been his father’s dying wish that Wulfgar protect her and keep her safe. It was his duty and he had failed.
No doubt Ariana would be bereft when she discovered the woman who raised her was now dead. For some reason, Wulfgar wished he could spare Ariana the news. He wanted to protect her. To keep her safe and never see her sad again.
Fool! He mustn’t let his feelings for Ariana interfere with his plans. And yet, somehow the importance of his own desires lessened when faced with her misery. He wanted her to be happy. He wished to see her smile and laugh.
“The bloody devils didn’t even spare the little children.” The Norman Cedric spat with disgust. “What manner of man is Edwin of Carlinham?”
“An evil one.” Jenkin spoke with loathing. “They don’t call him Barbarian for nothing. He’s earned the title.”
For once, the Normans agreed with the Welshmen. Wulfgar looked at Ariana’s men and saw raw despair in their eyes. They were grown men, hardened by war and strife, but grief drew their faces into grim harshness.
“The Princess will have to be told about Lady Frida.” Evan looked toward the burnt gate, reticence filling his gaze. Obviously none of the men wanted the horrible task.
Jenkin sighed with resignation. “I’ll tell her.”
Wulfgar breathed a deep sigh, for once grateful Jenkin was here. Jenkin had known Frida and it’d be best for him to take Ariana the news. But still, Wulfgar wished it were him Ariana would cling to when she cried. He wanted to be everything to her. Her hope and strength. They had been betrothed once. But now, he had no right to hold and comfort her.
“Spread out and search for survivors,” Wulfgar ordered tersely.
The men did as asked but no living beings were found.
“How long ago do you think they were attacked?” Arnulf asked.
Jenkin stared at the smoldering timbers. “No more than a day. Had the storm not delayed us, we might have been here to help them fight.”
“It must have been a large army to have attacked the summit,” Gaston remarked as he rubbed his injured shoulder where Ariana had stabbed him. “The western slopes are too steep for an assault. The raiders must have come from the east.”
“Has King Rhys been found?” Wulfgar called.
The Welshmen who would have recognized their king glanced at Jenkin. They shifted uncomfortably and shook their heads. Perhaps Edwin had taken the king captive.
Jenkin cleared his throat. “I believe King Rhys is at Powys Castle in Trallwm.”
“Has it not yet been destroyed?” Wulfgar asked with amazement. “It was made of wood. Surely Carlinham’s army has burned the stronghold to the ground by now. Why would the king be there when his son is held hostage at Cynan?”
Evan shot a meaningful look at Jenkin. What was wrong with them? Why were they acting so strange? Something was not right. Wulfgar got the impression they were hiding something from him. But what could it be?
Jenkin shook his head. “We’ll go on to Cynan. That’s our objective.”
Wulfgar didn’t question this. Simultaneously, he and Jenkin looked down the hill to where Ariana awaited word of her people. Sitting at the base of the hill, she stared up at them, her face ashen and stoic.
Wulfgar hated to cause her more grief and he frowned as he called to the men. “Gather what supplies you can find. We’ll meet again at the bottom of the hill. Arnulf?”
Arnulf came near. “Aye, my lord.”
Wulfgar spoke in a quiet whisper. “See if you can find the princess another clean gown to wear, and a warmer cloak. Her clothes are bedraggled and badly torn.”
“Aye, my lord.” Arnulf took off to search the ruins.
“We must bury the dead,” Cwrig said.
“With haste,” Jenkin said. “The Normans could return. It’s dangerous for the princess to stay here longer than necessary.”
“Bloody Sais,” Evan said. “The Normans didn’t even leave us a horse for the princess to ride on our journey.”
Wulfgar’s men flushed deeply with shame. They didn’t condone this massacre and knowing it was Normans that had done the deed angered and embarrassed them all.
Wulfgar drew Jenkin aside and the two men walked off alone together to speak. The wind blew past, bringing with it the putrid stench of burned flesh and charred lumber. They looked at each other with distrust.
“I don’t excuse what happened here.” Wulfgar’s tone sounded cold. “Never have I been a party to such deeds.”
“I know. Though you fought against warriors, you and your army never slaughtered my people while you were Lord of Glyndwr. It’s since you were sent away and your king placed Edwin of Carlinham at Cynan that this kind of terror has been unleashed upon the Welsh. Edwin makes treaties with us one day and breaks them the next. If I have the opportunity, I’ll kill him.”
Wulfgar agreed. “As will I.”
The two men were joined in this single purpose.
“Your king isn’t among the dead,” Wulfgar said. “Carlinham would have taken him alive if he could. Perhaps the king was away when the fort was attacked. Where would the survivors have taken refuge?”
Jenkin shifted his feet in the dirt and didn’t meet Wulfgar’s eyes.
“Come now,” Wulfgar urged him to speak. “It wouldn’t be wise for your people to return to Powys. Surely Carlinham’s army watches for their return and would take delight in cutting them down. Where would King Rhys have gone to recover his forces?”
Jenkin shrugged with resignation. “I understand I have little choice but to lead you to his stronghold. Ariana will insist on going to her people. I don’t like what the princess plans and I want nothing to do with you. You gave your word to me
and I have trusted you, albeit you are a convicted traitor. Now, I ask you to swear to me you’ll not harm the princess, or cause our people injury in any way. Will you give me your oath?”
Wulfgar studied the man intensely. Jenkin was large for a Welshman but he was not nearly as big as Wulfgar. Regardless, Wulfgar had seen Jenkin fight, and knew the man was a formidable warrior. Only when he looked at Ariana did Jenkin’s countenance soften.
“You love her,” Wulfgar observed. It wasn’t a question.
Jenkin didn’t reply, but Wulfgar saw the truth in the man’s eyes.
Wulfgar smiled with sadness. “It’s a pity, Welshman, for I like you. It’s been less than year ago that her father betrothed her to me. Our marriage will unite the border. You must know that.”
Jenkin’s dark eyes gleamed and he flushed red with anger. “Your betrothal is broken. You’re a traitor and unworthy of the princess. You walk around and give orders when you’re no more than a lowly slave. I’ve allowed it because we need your help, but don’t push me too far.”
By this point, Jenkin stood toe-to-toe with Wulfgar. Both men clutched their weapons with whitened knuckles.
They wanted the same woman.
Once Wulfgar had taken Ariana inside Cynan, he knew he would be forced to deal with Jenkin. First, Wulfgar must speak with King Rhys, to seal the alliance. No doubt Rhys would demand Wulfgar regain his lands and titles before he’d agree to renew the betrothal, but Wulfgar was determined to do just that.
“I’ll speak with King Rhys about this, not his underling.” Wulfgar’s tone sounded chilling.
“He won’t hear your pleas. Because of you, his people are being slaughtered.”
“That’ll change once I’m Lord of Glyndwr again,” Wulfgar vowed. “There’ll be peace along our border.”
Jenkin’s eyes widened and he gave a harsh laugh. “Have you gone daft? You’re an outlaw, now. A slave.”
Wulfgar couldn’t respond, but rage twisted inside his gut.
“Will you give me your oath not to do anything to harm the princes or her people?” Jenkin’s biting tone was unforgiving.
Wulfgar regretted he must be an enemy with this man. Under different circumstances, they would have been great friends. Although Wulfgar didn’t like Jenkin, he respected him. But there would be no friendship as long as Ariana stood between them. “I’ve already given my oath to the princess. I’ll not make promises to you.”
Seeming satisfied with this, Jenkin backed away. Turning, he walked down the hill where Ariana met him in a flurry. Wulfgar followed, watching as Jenkin leaned his head down and told her the fate of her aunt and cousin. Her step faltered and she threw herself against the Welshman. A thin wail of grief tore from her throat and Jenkin clutched her to his chest, his arms wrapped around her shaking shoulders.
Jealousy pierced Wulfgar and he took a shuddering breath. Wild fury made him clench his hands. The urge to tear them apart and deal Jenkin a deathblow overwhelmed him. Ariana’s sobs filled the air and his gut tightened. He could hardly stand her tears. It should be him offering her solace, not Jenkin. Wulfgar longed to take her into his arms and wipe away her sadness and keep her safe.
No doubt she’d refuse him if he tried. Jenkin was her friend and she trusted the Welshman.
Were they also lovers?
Wulfgar’s blood boiled at the thought. He no longer had a right to feel possessive, but he did. So strong he could taste it on his tongue and had to look away.
Then, he remembered what Ariana had said to him about faith in God. If ever Wulfgar needed help, it was now. Yet he felt abandoned by the Lord. Was it possible God merely wished to humble him? To bring him to depend on Him for help?
It was a thought Wulfgar didn’t wish to contemplate, yet he couldn’t help himself.
The men gathered what provisions they could find. Food, water, and weapons. Arnulf found the gown and cloak Wulfgar had requested and tried to hand him the blue linen.
“You give them to her,” Wulfgar said.
Fearing what he might say, Wulfgar didn’t dare go near Ariana right now. He was a Norman, and look what his people had done. How she must hate him now.
Keeping to himself, he helped the other men bury the dead in shallow graves. Hammering at the hard ground with a pick, Wulfgar took out his anger on the earth. He stopped only long enough to take a drink of water or wipe the sweat from his brow. Each time he stopped his labors, his gaze searched for Ariana. He watched as she waded through the fields, picking armfuls of blue and yellow flowers to put on the graves.
Later that afternoon, Ariana stood beside her Aunt Frida and little Rhodri’s graves, and stared out to sea. What was she thinking? Wulfgar wondered.
Her eyes remained dry while Jenkin spoke of a greater place where all might find peace. Ariana’s back stiffened as she clenched her hands, her face pale, her eyes hollow. When Jenkin finished, she knelt beside the burial mounds, her head tilted to the side as she spoke in Gaelic, her voice soft and soothing. Her long hair spilled past her face, hiding her profile. She placed her hands on top of the mounds and smoothed the dirt, her fingers moving in a loving caress. The scene was so poignant that Wulfgar closed his eyes for several moments, barely able to watch.
He would kill Carlinham for this.
With the dead buried, Jenkin took the lead with Ariana and their men following behind as they traveled over the thin road leading down the steep hill. Wulfgar and his warriors brought up the rear, moving in silence, somber and cold. Wulfgar’s gaze followed Ariana as she plodded along, staring at the ground, her face ashen, her cheeks tear-stained. She looked small and forlorn, her hands clutching the clean dress and cloak Arnulf had found for her against her breast, as if they were a small child.
Wulfgar’s throat tightened. What could he say to ease her suffering?
Moving to walk beside her, he held out a windblown field flower and tried to find words to lessen her sorrow. “Ariana, I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her gaze swept past the flower but she didn’t take it. Though her eyes filled with sizzling fury, her voice was smooth and soft. “You Normans have brought my people nothing but death and sorrow. If I didn’t need your help to free my brother, I would want nothing to do with you.”
His throat closed. She hated him.
Brushing past him, she went to join Jenkin, who had paused to watch this exchange with a dubious frown.
Staring after her, Wulfgar dropped the flower and hardened his jaw. He looked away and blinked his eyes, to keep his men from seeing how her words cut him to the core. Although he couldn’t blame Ariana for being angry, his men had become outlaws to support his cause. He wouldn’t swoon over a Welsh princess and have them think he didn’t appreciate their great sacrifice on his behalf.
Nor could he keep himself from caring about her.
Nonsense! He did not, would not, care for this woman. Just as she didn’t care for him.
Hardening his will, he shook his head to clear such thoughts from his mind, and took a step to follow the others into the hills.
Whoosh! Thump!
An arrow whizzed past Wulfgar’s head and struck Cwrig in the thigh, knocking him to the ground. With a cry of pain, Cwrig rolled, his hand reaching to grasp the shaft of the arrow, his eyes wide with amazement.
Wulfgar whirled about. A chilling wind brought the distant sound of many riders and Ariana called a warning.
“Normans. Edwin’s mercenaries.”
Six men on horseback appeared to the east and raced toward them. Although there were only six riders, Wulfgar’s group was outnumbered. The destriers gave the enemy a strong advantage. The riders wore dark armor and shields emblazoned with a black dragon. Carlinham’s crest. Armed with swords, spears, and crossbows, they were no doubt confident of the kill as they leaned low over their saddles and charged across the fields.
Her eyes wide, Ariana stared with horror at the riders. They’d dallied too long in burying the dead and now faced a formidable foe.
“But we are Norman,” Arnulf exclaimed. “Our own kind wouldn’t attack us.”
Lifting his arms, he walked forward to speak with the mercenary knights, but Wulfgar called him back. “Nay, Arnulf. Carlinham’s men won’t care who we are. We’re outlaws and a threat to Edwin. He would want us all dead.”
Arnulf’s mouth turned grim and he reached for his sword. “Then, let them come. We’ll have to do something about that, eh?”
* * *
Ariana noticed Wulfgar fingering the hilt of his knife, looking at the puny blade with disgust. It would be of little use in fighting the Normans. Jerking her head toward him, she spoke to Jenkin. “Give him a decent weapon. We cannot outrun the riders and must stand and fight.”
Jenkin scowled but tossed Wulfgar a long pike. Wulfgar caught it with both hands, his fingers tightening over the smooth shaft.
“If we can’t dismount the riders, we must kill their horses to bring them down,” Raulf advised as he hefted his double-headed battle-ax with two hands.
“I sure would like a few of those horses for us to ride,” Arnulf said. “Let’s see how many men we can kill while saving the horses.”
The men grinned, silently accepting this challenge. Ariana couldn’t believe they were enjoying this sport. The thunder of hooves filled the air and the wind picked up, cold and biting. Ariana felt a tremor of dread, but pushed it aside, letting anger replace her fear.
Wulfgar took his position beside the other men and crouched low in a fighting position. Watching him, Ariana shivered, remembering his calm violence when he had dispatched the Vikings on the island. He knew how to handle himself in battle and she was grateful for the presence of him and his men.
She fingered her daggers. A sword or spear would be more useful against armed knights on horseback, but she wasn’t strong enough to heft them. Her gaze scanned the ground for a stouter weapon. Spying a dead tree branch, she picked it up, holding it like a club. Glaring at the riders, she locked her jaw and hardened her will.
Let them come.
“What are you doing?” Wulfgar asked her. “Get behind us where it’s safe.”
