A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Stop pacing,” Bryk Kriger hissed between gritted teeth. “Vilhelm and Louis will be here in a moment and I don’t want them to believe my son is a lunatic.”

  Magnus halted. It was true he’d been distraught since word had come five days before that Judith was to remain at Gonthard’s residence. He had tried several times to see her but been ordered to leave. On the last occasion the Archbishop had threatened to have him removed physically.

  He combed his disheveled hair off his face with his fingers. “I apologize. I cannot think straight.”

  His father chuckled. “Lust fogs a man’s brain.”

  Magnus clenched his fists. Arguing with his sire wouldn’t solve anything. “I love her, Papa. Surely you can understand my feelings.”

  Before Bryk replied, Duke Vilhelm strode into the Council chamber, accompanied by King Louis.

  They bowed. Magnus thought it odd the two men were not accompanied by their usual retinue of attendants and bodyguards. This was evidently to be a private meeting.

  “You need not bow, Bryk Kriger,” Vilhelm said. “Your family’s devotion to mine is recognized.” He turned to Louis. “I myself wouldn’t be alive today were it not for Bryk’s nephew, Torstein, and Cathryn Kriger saved my mother’s life during the fight for Chartres.”

  Louis arched his brows but said nothing. Magnus recalled his father’s advice to be cautious in the presence of this young monarch.

  Vilhelm ushered them to the council seats, but he and the Frankish king remained standing. “There are matters to discuss privately,” he said to Bryk. “They are affairs of governance, but they involve Arnulf of Flandres, and hence you.”

  An army of booted beetles marched up Magnus’s spine, but he heeded the warning in the slight shake of his father’s head.

  “We are honored by the confidence you place in us,” Bryk replied.

  Vilhelm bade Louis be seated, then took his own chair at the head of the Council table. “Arnulf has requested we meet to sign a peace treaty.”

  Magnus folded his arms across his chest to tame the hissing viper curled in his gut.

  “What are the terms?” Bryk asked.

  Louis leaned forward to rest his arms on the table. “Herluin keeps Montreuil,” he said as if it was obvious.

  Magnus was secretly pleased when his father ignored the young king and directed his next question at Vilhelm. “Do you trust him?”

  Bryk referred to Arnulf, though Magnus suspected his father also mistrusted Louis.

  As if sensing the undercurrent, Vilhelm gestured to Louis and announced, “His Majesty has confirmed our right to the lands originally granted to my father, Rollo, by his father, Charles.”

  The Senseless! Magnus thought. But his son is not so simple.

  “He has also recognized my son Richard as my successor.”

  Magnus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The boy must be all of ten years old, and a bastard, the son of a concubine. He wondered momentarily why Vilhelm had fathered no children with his wife, amused by a passing fancy that mayhap the sword had got in the way.

  “This strengthens our borders and our line of succession,” Vilhelm continued, jolting him from his reverie. “Arnulf and his allies have accepted we Norsemen are here to stay.”

  Secret talks had evidently been ongoing, but Magnus noted his duke hadn’t addressed the matter of trust. It seemed unbelievable the Flemish comte had ceded everything so easily. Based on the man’s disregard for his sister’s safety, Vilhelm would need to be wary.

  “Where would such a meeting take place?” Bryk asked.

  “The Comte has suggested Picquigny, on the Somme.”

  “Too close to Flandres,” Magnus exclaimed.

  His outburst earned him a glare from everyone else in the chamber.

  “His Grace will be protected by his bodyguards,” Louis said to Magnus, as if speaking to a silly child.

  “And I will have Judith of Valognes with me, as a good faith hostage,” Vilhelm declared.

  The snake bit into Magnus’s flesh. “No,” he yelled, leaping to his feet. “I will not allow it.”

  Vilhelm scowled. “Sit down. You have no say in the matter. Arnulf will not harm his own sister.”

  Magnus clutched the edge of the table and stared at his duke. “He abandoned her at Saint Riquier,” he growled. “He cares for naught except power.”

  “He has requested she be returned to Flandres.”

  “She doesn’t want to go.”

  Vilhelm drummed his fingers on the table. “She will accompany us. If the Church rules in favor of her annulment, and if she expresses a desire to stay in Normandie, I am confident Arnulf will allow it. He has acquiesced to our demands.”

  Desperation threatened to choke Magnus. His father’s glare urged caution, but he believed Arnulf would not allow Judith to return to Normandie. “Then I too will ride to Picquigny,” he said.

  GOOD NEWS AND BAD

  Judith paused outside the heavy door of the library, having been summoned there by the Archbishop. Smoothing down her skirts, she turned to Beatrice. “No matter the decision,” she whispered, “I want you to know your love has kept me alive these past few months, since we left Bruggen. You had to leave everything behind, yet you have never complained.”

  Beatrice pressed her lips together, trying hard not to shed a tear. “My life is where you are, my lady,” she said softly. “Let’s hope for the best. Young Magnus will make a fine husband, and I’d be content to live out my days in Montdebryk.”

  Unexpectedly, the door opened inwards. Judith gasped. Magnus stood on the threshold. Her spirits soared. He had reportedly been ejected from the house during the past days. His presence must mean the annulment had been granted.

  Yet his expression was stern.

  “Magnus,” she exclaimed with a smile, her eyes darting into the stacks behind him, seeking some sign of Gonthard.

  “Judith,” he rasped, taking her hand.

  She held it to her cheek. “I have missed your warmth,” she whispered, desperately wishing he would return her smile. “Is something wrong?”

  He kissed the back of her hand, letting out a long slow breath. “Yes, and no.”

  Without warning, Gonthard appeared from behind a teetering pile of parchments. “Come in,” he beckoned warmly. “What he means is the Church has granted the annulment.”

  He handed her a rolled up parchment tied with a red ribbon. If there had been a moment of greater happiness in her life, Judith couldn’t recall it. She was free to wed the magnificent giant who stood beside her. She rushed into his embrace. His arms tightened around her, and she pressed her mons to his manhood.

  But something was amiss. Why wasn’t he as full of joy as she? Had he changed his mind and no longer wished to marry her? She stepped back, her dreadful suspicions confirmed when she gazed into bleak hazel eyes. “Tell me,” she murmured.

  The Archbishop took a step toward them, but Magnus shook his head. “I will tell her.”

  ~*~*~

  The cluttered and airless library wasn’t the place Magnus would have chosen to explain Arnulf’s conditions for peace. Given the Archbishop’s presence, he was forced to keep his hands under control. Perhaps if he held Judith in his embrace and murmured soothing words, things might go better.

  Her beautiful smile fled in an instant when he laid out the details of the Duke’s plans to meet Arnulf. The fear reflected in her face broke his heart.

  “This doesn’t sound right,” she wailed, echoing his feelings of dread. “Explain it to me again.”

  “It doesn’t matter how many times he explains it,” Beatrice interrupted. “It won’t change the reality that you have to go. Don’t be angry with Magnus. He doesn’t want this any more than you do.”

  Irritating as the maid’s presumption was, her words seemed to calm Judith. She took his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m thinking only of myself. It seemed happiness was within our grasp, and now—”

  Magnus decided the cleric woul
d have to understand his overwhelming need to press Judith to his body to heal both their broken hearts. He gathered her into his embrace.

  Gonthard coughed politely as he eased by them to get to the door. “Don’t despair,” he said as he left. “All shall be well.” He beckoned Beatrice to follow him.

  Magnus wished he shared the Archbishop’s confidence, but didn’t want to worry Judith further. “I will be beside you all the way to Picquigny and back,” he rasped. “No harm shall befall you while I still live.”

  She looked up into his eyes. “Kiss me, Magnus. Breathe your breath into me. I need your strength.”

  He kissed her then, hungrily, desperately, his tongue the only means of joining their bodies. She responded in kind, her tongue mating with his, fingers caressing his scalp. When the need to breathe broke them apart, they clung together until the shadows lengthened.

  “Come,” he whispered. “We must be wed before we leave. Your brother will have no choice then but to allow you to return with me.”

  Her frown troubled him.

  “I want to be your wife more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but Arnulf won’t be pleased,” she said. “If we ask his permission he is more likely to accept our union. It’s what we want, isn’t it?”

  He should argue, but she had already endured too much, and she knew Arnulf better than he did. “Mayhap you’re right,” he replied, squeezing her hand. “Beatrice has probably fallen asleep in the corridor. My men are waiting outside. We must return to the fortress before it gets dark.”

  EMISSARIES

  After a day on horseback, they camped in a treed valley near the tiny village of Alba Maria. Unused to taking care of her own needs, Judith regretted insisting Beatrice stay in Rouen. However, it was comforting to know her faithful servant was safe. Magnus’s family would take care of her if she failed to return.

  Her beloved had tried hard throughout the journey to keep her spirits up, telling her tales of the antics he and his brothers had got up to as boys. He retold the story of his parents’ meeting. She sensed he wanted her to understand love can triumph in the worst circumstances.

  The autumn evening was chilly. He wrapped her in furs and cleared away rocks and twigs to make a place for her by the fire. “Dag and I will sleep either side of you and I’ve set four men to keep watch,” he said. “Vilhelm has also posted guards.”

  She watched the sun go down behind the gentle hills. “This is a peaceful place,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll be safe.”

  “Alba Maria marks the boundary of Norman territory,” he explained, nodding to the west. “Beyond is Herluin’s domain.”

  Alarm pricked her skin. “The meeting is in Ponthieu?”

  “We’re not far from Abbatis,” Magnus replied. “Picquigny is on the same river, the Somme.”

  The news was troubling. “Not far from Flandres, then?” she murmured.

  ~*~*~

  Magnus and Dag rode either side of Judith in the center of the long column. Magnus hadn’t slept, pondering the wistful words she’d murmured before falling asleep. Was she homesick for Flandres? Would her brother try to convince her to return with him?

  Vilhelm rode in the vanguard. Magnus studied the Duke’s rigid back. He still believed they were riding into danger, but had to admit his chieftain had come with an impressive brigade of heavily armed troops. If Arnulf planned a trap, he’d have a fight on his hands.

  The sun was high in the sky when they arrived at the hamlet of Picquigny. It glinted off the rippling water. There seemed to be no sign of Arnulf and his troops on the heavily treed bank opposite. Vilhelm called a halt and pointed out to his lieutenants the location for his camp. Then he rode to where Magnus, Dag and Judith waited.

  “No Arnulf?” Dag asked.

  Vilhelm gestured towards the narrow river. “My scouts tell me the trees you see are on an island in the river. He’s probably camped on the other side. We’ll remain here and wait for his emissary. I have ordered a tent set up for Lady Judith, but we may not need it if the envoys arrive quickly. Be prepared to accompany me.”

  He rode away before Magnus had a chance to ask what he meant. No matter what happened, Judith was coming back to this side of the river, back to him.

  Dismayed by the confusion in her eyes, he dismounted, handing the reins to his brother. “Let’s get you off your horse,” he said with a wink, reaching for her waist. “Your lovely bottom must be sore.”

  She smiled weakly, glancing at Dag.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “He didn’t hear.”

  She slid into his arms. “Hold me,” she whispered. “I’m afraid.”

  Dag dismounted and gathered the reins of the three horses. “I’ll take them to the water,” he said.

  Magnus watched him, narrowing his eyes for any sign of movement on the island or beyond.

  “I see nothing,” he rasped.

  Judith raised her head. “But listen,” she said.

  Magnus held his breath, straining to hear what she had heard. “You’re right. They’re hammering tent pegs on the other bank.”

  “My brother,” she breathed. “I’d hoped he wouldn’t come.”

  Her words reassured him, but his heart raced when he caught sight of a rowboat manned by three men pulling into the bank on their side.

  Seeming to sense his agitation, Judith turned in his arms, shading her eyes against the sun. “The emissaries,” she said hoarsely.

  They watched as the newcomers moored their boat. Two of them hastily straightened their armor, adjusted their swords, donned helmets and strode up the bank to where Vilhelm stood waiting.

  The duke ushered them into his tent.

  “Nothing to do but wait,” Magnus said. “Let’s go down to the water.”

  She nodded woodenly, staring at the canvas shelter where their future was being discussed.

  “This river disturbs me,” she murmured.

  ~*~*~

  Despite Magnus’s cloak beneath her bottom, the dampness in the grass was seeping into her skirts when Duke Vilhelm and her bother’s emissaries emerged from the tent a short time later.

  “They’re coming,” she said softly.

  Magnus’s face betrayed his annoyance as he helped her stand. She supposed she should feel safe. Vilhelm towered over the two messengers, his enormous sword on his hip. A loyal army stood ready to defend them.

  Her knees threatened to buckle as the men drew nearer and she recognized Arnulf’s envoys as men who had come to Bruggen from Vermandois, with Adela. “La Vermine,” she croaked.

  Magnus frowned. “What?”

  Perhaps she was being overly anxious, but she hoped her brother hadn’t been influenced by men who were ultimately loyal to Herbert of Vermandois. “Nothing,” she replied.

  Vilhelm bent to speak close to her ear. “Lady Judith, your brother and I are to meet on the island to sign the peace treaty.”

  She looked across to the trees, filled with a compulsion to urge him not to go. But the determination in his eyes and the set of his jaw convinced her she would be ignored.

  “He wishes to see you.”

  “No,” Magnus declared.

  The messengers glared.

  Vilhelm drew out his sword far enough so its famous name was plainly visible. The sun caught the inlaid letters. Judith noticed a small cross, chiseled between two of the letters. Perhaps that augured well.

  “She will be safe with Ulfberht, Magnus,” he declared. “We’ve settled on the terms. Judith will tell him she wishes to remain in Normandie to wed with you. Once he understands she isn’t a prisoner—”

  The envoys gawked at the blade as Vilhelm shoved it back in its scabbard.

  Magnus took her by the arm, but she reassured him. “Duke Vilhelm is right, my love,” she said hopefully. “If I refuse to go, Arnulf will believe I am being held against my will. Blood may be shed needlessly as a result.”

  Magnus stood nose to nose with the duke. “I am entrusting my wife into your care, my lord
,” he said through gritted teeth. “You may be my chieftain, but if she doesn’t return—”

  Vilhelm thrust his chin in the air. “Arnulf, Judith and I will be the only people on the island. What can go wrong?”

  Magnus shook his head. “Your bodyguard won’t be with you?”

  “Arnulf and I have agreed to come alone.”

  “Then I am coming with you.”

  One of the messengers stepped forward, but Vilhelm waved him off. “No, Kriger. I have given my word.” He took Judith’s arm. “To the boat if you please, my lady.”

  ASSASSINS

  The men from Vermandois watched her with undisguised disdain while the third rowed them to the island. She avoided their gaze, trying to slow her heart to the rhythm of the oars as they sliced into the swift water.

  Vilhelm offered his hand when the boat nudged against the shore of the island, and she stepped onto the rocks. He jumped over the side without any difficulty and shoved the boat off. He helped her keep her balance while they watched the three men row away.

  “To this point, all bodes well,” Vilhelm said.

  She turned to look up the bank. Arnulf stood at the edge of the tall trees.

  Alone.

  Relief flooded her veins. She hitched up her skirts and climbed the incline. He met her half way and opened his arms. “Judith, I am relieved to see you safe. I have missed you, and the girls have too.”

  She went into his embrace, not forgetting it was this same brother who had shipped her off into a war zone to marry Theodoric. How had he explained that to his daughters? “Baldwin must have grown,” she said, drawing back as Vilhelm came up behind her.

  “My lord Duke of Normandie, may I present my brother, Arnulf, Comte of Flandres.” She turned to her brother. “Arnulf, I don’t believe you have met Duke Vilhelm.”

  The two men eyed each other, then Arnulf grinned and proffered his hand. “No. But I’ve heard of you of course, my Lord Duke.”

  Vilhelm accepted the handshake but didn’t return the smile. “And I of you,” he replied.