Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment (27 page)

They would stand and fight here, and not be caught on the run.

She reined Silversmith and rode back to the men. “The Normans come!” Tarian called to Rangor and Ednoth.

The two men—so much alike—smiled. “Let them!” Rangor called. He maneuvered his horse to face his men. “The Normans approach. We will stand here and fight and rid our land of them once and for all! Bring the archers forward.”

Tarian sat upon the hill and watched in quiet awe what unfolded before her. Wulfson had at least thirty more knights than she had anticipated. She swallowed hard, her heart tightening as she watched him lead the cavalry to the edge of the water. He urged his mount halfway across, and looked up. She nudged Silversmith down the hill, despite Rangor’s shouts for her to stop. She ignored him.

She stopped just at the edge of the water. She raised her sword and called to Wulfson, “Return to Normandy!”

He laughed, the sound caustic and deadly, and urged his mount forward. “’Tis impossible. I am of
les morts
.”

She nudged Silversmith forward to the edge of the water. She could see Wulfson clearly. Tarian shook her head at the dense man. How could she make him understand Rangor would kill him this day? And there was nothing left for her to bargain for his life with. “I have done everything to protect you!” she cried out to him.

“I do not need your protection!”

“Nor do I need yours! Leave me. Tell your king I will not go to Normandy. I will not marry a Norman, I will not raise up an army against him! But I will protect my child at all costs! Now go!”

“Nay, Tarian. I asked you to trust me. You gave me your oath that you did. Is this how you honor it?”

Pain like a band of steel clamped around her chest. “You expect me to stand by whilst you separate my head from my shoulders?”

“Tarian—”

“Nay! Do not lie to me! Your man Warner brought word and”—she pointed with her sword to the new contingent of William’s knights behind him—“and by this show of force I know the answer from the second messenger is the same! Do not play me false!” She shook her head, and hot tears blurred her vision. “William wants me dead, Wulfson, and he is the vilest of men to ask you to do the deed.” She straightened in her saddle and set her mind to the matter. “And I love you too much to let you do it, for you would not be able to live with yourself.” She reined Silversmith back, but quietly said, “Let me fall today by any other sword than yours.”

“Tarian!” Wulfson shouted.

But she continued to back away. As she did, Rangor drew up beside her. He glared menacingly at Wulfson. “She gave her freedom to save you,” he laughed, and turned to Tarian, “Now he will see you slain for the effort!” He sneered and looked back to Wulfson and spat. “Was he worth it?”

Tarian gasped, and turned to see Wulfson’s eyes narrow behind his helm. “’Tis a lie! He taunts you! Return to Normandy!” she cried, then spurred Silversmith past Rangor, cringing at his last taunt to Wulfson.

“Tonight will find her in my bed as my wife, Norman,” Rangor crowed. “We will celebrate your death!”

Tarian cast a glance over her shoulder to see Wulfson unmoving in the water. He raised his eyes to her for the truth. She could not turn back. There was no future for them. As she crested the hill, a hailstorm of arrows rained down. She spurred Silversmith faster. Rangor raced up behind her.

“Prepare to engage!” she called. The men came forward, and she turned to watch as Wulfson charged through the river, his men behind him, his battle cry reverberating against the hill.

The archers would soften the knights before the horses and foot soldiers engaged. But Tarian watched in awed fascination as the knights all formed the tight quadrant, their shields raised in such a fashion that the arrows were hard-pressed to slip through.

“Foot soldiers!” Tarian yelled, and the Welsh flew down the hill, followed by Ednoth’s men. As they came closer in the water, the archers had a more difficult angle from which to hit true. The clash below was brutal, and she watched in horror and awe as Wulfson and his men hacked their way through the water.

Rangor took several of his men and moved down along the bank before entering the water to come around on the Norman’s flanks. But the Normans were prepared.

Tarian could not tear her eyes from Wulfson. Ednoth and several other men on horseback swarmed him. She caught her breath when a blade slammed across his back. He turned with his double swords in hand and hacked off the arm of his closest assailant. But three more replaced him. Her heart pounded high in her throat. She raised her
hand and brought it down: the signal for her men to engage. With Gareth by her side, they plunged down the hill and into the fray, her eyes never leaving Wulfson, who literally battled for his life. Ednoth and his men were all over him, and though Wulfson made mincemeat of many, he was outnumbered, and his men were equally engaged.

As her horse thundered down the hill, a hard rush of emotions tangled dangerously in Tarian’s heart. Her life for Wulfson’s. He had asked her to trust him and she had failed him!

“Gareth!” she called to her captain. “Pull the men back! All of them!”

And in that instant she gave herself over to William. Her oath to Rangor meant nothing. For he would see Wulfson dead this day. She would, in exchange for Wulfson’s life, live out her days in Normandy if William would allow her to, for nothing meant more to her than Wulfson’s life. Not even the child she carried.

As she came charging down the last of the hill and into the water, she saw Wulfson look up. Their gazes caught and held. Her eyes widened as Ednoth’s blade came down on his back. “Noooooooo!” she screamed. “Noooo!”

Wulfson took the brunt of the blow, and as she spurred Silversmith toward him, Rangor turned, and she realized he knew he had lost her. As she plunged into the water downstream from Wulfson, Rangor turned his horse and charged toward her. “You gave your oath, Tarian!” he shrieked. “His life for your hand!”

Tarian set her jaw and raised her sword. She would see to Rangor once and for all. Abruptly she reined Silversmith around, and he came full turn. Using her legs and one of the maneuvers Wulfson had taught her, she gave the horse a
sharp command and drew up on the reins. The gray reared and came down on Rangor’s horse.

She twisted in her saddle and raised her sword to plunge it deep into Rangor’s chest, but his horse broke free. Rangor snarled, and with both hands he took up his sword. As his horse turned he used the velocity to bring his sword around.

“Wulfson!” she cried, and watched in horror as Rangor, both hands grasping the hilt of his sword, struck her in the belly, unseating her. Pain shot throughout her entire body. She heard Wulfson’s enraged snarl, and then cool water encompassed her.

Rage and anguish tore through him like a thousand swords to his gut. Wulfson roared in pain, fury, and desperation. He died the instant Rangor’s blade struck Tarian. But when the water swallowed her up, claiming her for all time, he knew he would rather die than live a day without her. He spurred the black forward through the throng of men trying desperately to take his life. Seeing the bloodlust in his eyes, Rangor turned tail and fled. But Wulfson had eyes only for Tarian.

Flinging his helm and swords from him, he leapt from his horse, diving into the chest-high river where she had fallen. Desperately he felt for her in the murky water. Each time he surfaced without her, another piece of his heart broke off. He dove again, his eyes searching desperately for her. His chest swelled with no air, but he would not give up until he found her.

He surfaced, gasping great gulps of air, then dove again. And again, and again.

Just as he had no more breath, he touched something
hard. His finger grasped it and he pulled it up with him. He cried out, triumphant. Her arm. He pulled her limp form from the water into his arms. Choking on the water, he coughed and spewed the liquid from his lungs. His legs felt like stones. He pulled her up to him, his arm clasped around her waist keeping her face free of the churning water. She hung limp in his arms, her dark hair plastered across her face. He pushed it away, wanting desperately to see her beautiful blue eyes sparkling in mischief at him. Instead, her eyes were closed, her skin white as paste, and her lips blue. He shook her limp body. “Tarian! Open your eyes!” he shouted.

When she did not respond, he looked to the bank where most of his men had gathered, and trudged through the deep water, her cold limp body hanging in his arms. His chest felt as if it were going to rip open from the excruciating pressure of his emotions. He pressed his lips to her cold ones and breathed his breath into her. He shook her again when she did not respond. He pushed harder for the bank, continuing to breathe his own life breath into her.

He stumbled, and nearly fell with her in his arms into the cold swirling current. With strength born of desperation, he kept his balance, and when he looked down he nearly dropped her. Blood swirled around her hips. “Nay!” he screamed. He threw his head back and like a wild wounded animal he howled his sorrow to the heavens. He felt hands grasp him and pull him toward the bank. He dropped to his knees with Tarian still in his arms and laid her down on the soft mud.

“Breathe!” he shouted at her. He shook her and pressed against her chest. Her lips turned darker blue before his eyes. He pulled he to him again and threw his head back
and cried out, “God! Save her!” He was oblivious to all that happened around him.

He tore her mail from her small, cold body. Blood stained her chauses. He pressed a shaking hand to her belly, and knew that the child died with her. Like a wolf whose mate had succumbed to hunters, Wulfson screamed his pain and heartbreak. His hands furiously moved across her face and chest as great sobs racked his body. He pulled her face to his and pressed his lips to hers, again and again blowing his life into hers. Still she lay limp. He rolled her over on her side and pushed against her back. Slowly he realized shadows surrounded him. He looked up to find his men surrounding him, their faces drawn and haggard.

Rohan knelt down beside him and put his hand to his shoulder. “She is gone, Wulfson.”

“Nay!” he roared and pushed on her back again and again. He pulled her limp form up into his arms and rocked her, pushing the wet hair from her face. “She but sleeps,” he whispered, and pressed his lips again to her cold blue ones.

He moved his hand to her chest, desperate to feel the beat of her heart.

“Set her again on her side and thump her back!” Gareth commanded running up to him. He slid down into the mud beside Wulfson. “Rid her chest of the water so that she will breathe!”

Wulfson rolled her onto her side, and this time he pounded with his fists. When she did not respond, he pounded her back again. Her chest heaved in a sudden convulsion, then she coughed and gagged as water spewed from her. But she did not open her eyes. He pressed his ear to her chest. And there, he felt, barely a whisper of a heartbeat. Hope swelled.

He shucked his mail and scabbards, then hauled her up to him and stood with her still and limp in his arms. “My horse! Bring me my horse! And find her nurse. Bring her to Draceadon!”

With Tarian in his arms, he rode like a demon to hell for Draceadon. He refused to think of her not surviving. He would bargain with the devil if he would give her life. When he entered the hall with her in his arms, he strode directly up to his chamber, and there, lovingly, he placed her on his bed. His heart stopped when he saw the fresh blood between her thighs. His gut tightened as if a fist twisted it. Gently he pulled her wet muddy clothes from her body, and just as gently he cleaned her, but the blood did not stop. He wrung his hands, pacing the room, unable to help her.

When Gareth broke into the room, Wulfson turned snarling at him. “How could you allow her to battle?”

“She’s a warrior! She was fighting for her life and that of her child! Would you have her do anything different?”

Wulfson swiped his hand across his face, wanting to lay violent hands on the captain. “She almost died! The child is gone!”

“Through no fault of yours! At every turn you let her know her life was but William’s whim and you his henchman!”

Wulfson could not take the truth. “She lied to me!”

Gareth shook his head in disgust. “Aye, she did, but once again she had no one to defend her.”

“She had you.”

Gareth’s head snapped back, and Wulfson saw the pain in the Viking’s blue eyes. He felt the same pain. They had both failed her.

“I have failed her miserably,” Gareth said slowly. “I in
dulged her every whim. She is most hard to resist once she has her mind set.”

“Was her heart set on Rangor?” Wulfson sneered, thinking of the Saxon he would love to finish off.

Gareth snapped then. Wulfson saw it in his eyes and his face. He strode right up to Wulfson’s face and snarled, “She sacrificed all for you, can you not see it? ’Twas Rangor who held the power over your life. To save it, she agreed to marriage. Today she forsook her life to come to your aid, and in doing so she nearly lost it.” He looked at the small pale form in the bed. “She lost the babe, and may still lose her life.” Gareth stepped to the bed and sat down on the edge, taking her limp hand into his. “There is too much blood,” he choked.

As the words left Gareth’s mouth, Edith burst into the chamber and flew to her lady’s side. “Move aside and let me tend her!”

Gareth and Wulfson stood back and watched the nurse poke and prod Tarian. She turned grave eyes to them. “Her brain is asleep. But that is not my concern. The babe is lost, and I fear she will bleed to death.”

Wulfson knelt down beside Tarian and pressed his hand to her heart. “Tell me what to do.”

“Her womb is full of blood. Get me linens and straw to soak it up from the bed.”

He hurried to the task and for long hours he watched Edie tend Tarian. Relief overcame him when he noticed the blood begin to lessen. But still he worried: for such a mite, she had lost so much.

Wulfson looked down at the small naked form in his bed. He knelt beside her and took her cold hand into his much bigger, much warmer one. If he could give her his own blood he would. “Will she live?” he asked the nurse.

Edith did not look up from where she sat close by. “If there is no more blood she will. Many women survive miscarriages.”

“Will she be able to bear other children?”

Edith looked at him sharply. “Mayhap. Time will tell.” She stood and kneaded Tarian’s belly once more, and both watched for the linens to darken. When they did not, both Edith and Wulfson let out a long sigh. The nurse looked up at him. “Are you angry with her?”

Wulfson shook his head. “Nay. How could I be? She sacrificed everything for me.”

“What of your king?”

Wulfson sighed heavily and stood. “Once he understands she has no desire to take up arms against him and that she does not bear a child of Royal Welsh blood, he will listen.”

“He will keep her in Normandy.”

Wulfson nodded. “There is no other way.”

“I go where she goes.”

Wulfson nodded, and thought the same thing.