The Barbarian (11 page)

They turned their
horses and set off at a slower pace this time. Grim clouds rolled overhead,
ready to break apart at any moment and send down another deluge of rain. But
she felt no desire to rush back to shelter. She was enjoying the ride, even if
she could not show it. Ami tugged her fur hat further over her ears and stared
out at the sea. She knew she'd sailed over that water when she was a very small
babe, leaving her birthplace for the first and last time. It was strange to
think of traveling over that swelling mass of dark water, bobbing along in boat
that barely stayed afloat. They were almost wrecked at sea, so she'd been told.
How odd that people felt the need to explore over water, she thought. The first
sailors must have been brave indeed to venture out on a wild, unpredictable
sea, especially when they could not know there was more land beyond the
horizon. She glanced at Stryker Bloodaxe, proud descendent of Viking
adventurers. Yes, she could imagine him fearlessly dashing out into water,
pushing a boat into the roaring waves and leaping aboard with wet boots. He was
reckless enough. Foolhardy.

But she too was
something of an adventurer, for she came here to his manor, not knowing what
she would find. In her case, of course, she had no choice. That was the
difference between men and women.

Looking to her
right along the cliffs, she spied thin trails of smoke rising from buildings
down in the next valley. Beyond that, on higher ground, there was a fortress of
granite. She couldn't tell, from that distance, whether it was half built or
half fallen down.

"Is that your
neighbor's land?" she asked.

He gave it only a
cursory glance and then looked out to sea again. "Yes."

Ami studied his
rugged profile. No teasing smile in evidence now. "That is where Elsinora
lives."

He sharply turned
his face to her. His jaw was tight, his eyes cold.

She calmed her
horse as it jibbed sideways along the path. "I heard about her."

Still he stared,
cheeks drawn in, lips pressed in a hard line.

"You were in
love."

A low growl
finally rumbled out of him. "That is no business of yours."

"You needn't
worry," she assured him, just as firmly as she tried assuring herself.
"I have no feelings on the matter. It does not trouble me." She
wanted to hear him confess his love for another, because that would crush any
ideas she'd begun to experience.

His face darkened,
his fierce gaze tore into her. "You have no feelings, eh?"

"I mean to
say, I am not a thin-skinned, emotional woman. I am practical. As I told you
last night, it is not possible for me to be disappointed. My expectations could
not be any lower."

His horse skipped
around hastily, doubling back down the hill.

"Are we going
home already?" she asked, annoyed.

"Yes,"
he snapped, his mantle lifted by a strong gust of wind as he looked at her over
his shoulder. "Back to the manor."

"There's no
need to get cross. It was only a comment about Elsinora. It was only
conversation."

"I do not
care to talk of her with you." Every word was curt, exhaled in a mist of
hot breath.

Of course, his
heart was out of bounds. She was merely his possession—a wife to breed. Amias
was not entitled to question him. For a moment she'd forgotten that. Blame it
on the unexpected kiss and his hand around hers. And his desire to make her
smile.

Alas, she'd been
tricked. It would not happen again.

****

Ifyr was out of
the drunk shed in time to help him dress for the ceremony. Still pale and slow,
the young man fumbled to such a degree that Stryker soon lost patience. His
nerves were already stretched thin and Ifyr's carelessness only increased the
anger brewing in his veins.

"Who told
Lady Amias about Elsinora?"

The younger man
made an effort to open his eyes wider. "Everyone knows about Elsinora, my
lord."

That did not
answer his question, but perhaps it didn't matter. Within four and twenty hours
of her arrival someone had told her of his great, shameful weakness. He had
wanted to be strong in her eyes, masterful, impressive. A man thwarted in love
was flawed, humiliated.

"I suggest
you imbibe less ale tonight at the feast," he muttered, as he watched Ifyr
drop his belt on the ground for the third time. "It is not necessary to be
in your cups every night of the week." It's all well and good when you're
young with no responsibilities, he thought sternly, but it was time Ifyr
straightened up. No man could be free forever.

"Yes,
sire."

"And for
pity's sake chew on some mint leaves. Your breath is rank."

"Yes,
sire."

Stryker had no way
of seeing what he looked like in his best new clothes. He had only Ifyr's
opinion to go by and the man looked at him through heavy, yellowed eyes, before
burping and pronouncing solemnly, "I reckon you'll do."

But he worried.
Would she turn her prim nose up again? "I need a wench's opinion."

"The kitchen
maids are dressing the hall, sire." Ifyr blinked and tried leaning against
the wooden screen until it rocked on its feet and Stryker saved it from
falling. "Besides they'd never find fault with the lord and master."
He burped again and yawned.

It was true, he
supposed, that the maids might no give a true opinion. And since they'd never
been off the moor what would they know of proper attire? He thought hard,
frustrated. "What about the whore you were with last night?”
"Which one, sire?"

Stryker sighed.
"Whichever one you remember."

Ifyr turned his
gaze up to the roof of the cookhouse and the broad beams that stretched the
length of the building. Finally he raised a finger and exclaimed happily,
"Morwenna."

"Fetch
her."

****

The wedding
ceremony was brief. A little monk, brought there to draw up the Bloodaxe family
tree, was called in to officiate. Some attempts had been made, she noted, to
dress the great hall for the wedding. Bowers of pine decorated the timber walls
and dried herbs were scattered among the floor rushes so that every step
released a sweet fragrance. Someone had even sewn together a horsehair cushion
for her chair at the head table.

In her
too-youthful wedding gown, Ami took her place at her new husband's side and
silently watched him raise a toasting horn while the inhabitants of his manor
danced and drank with the merry whores from Marazion.

Thus it was done.
She was married, no more a spinster.

Yet she felt no
different than she was when she rose from her pallet earlier that day. There
was no transformation at all; she was still Ami. A woman in the way.

She had slipped up
today by mentioning Elsinora. She bit down on her tongue and felt her cheeks
grow hot whenever she relived that moment by the cliffs. He thought she was
questioning him, showing a spark of jealousy. It was too intimate a subject.
Clearly his wounds still smarted. And why had she mentioned it as they rode
together under the iron-grey clouds? Had she hoped he would deny it, tell her
Elsinora was nothing to him?

Surely she did not
begin to cultivate any romantic ideas about her husband.

Villette had
informed her that Stryker Bloodaxe called for a whore, only half an hour before
they said their vows. The man was insatiable and had no conscience. He was
every bit the barbarian she'd expected and Ami could not believe she ever thought
he might have more substance.

Looking across the
crowded hall, she found Villette, pink-faced and dancing happily with that
young soldier Ifyr—the one who had watched her and Stryker in the forest
yesterday. So much for Villette steering clear of the brazen fool as she'd
promised her mistress. The maid was plainly enamored for she mentioned his name
at every opportunity. Ifyr, meanwhile, was busy surveying the hall over her
head and shooting sly winks at every other young woman who danced by.
 

A short way into
the feast, their neighbors from across the moor arrived. They'd been delayed
due to the bad storm that blew in from the sea that afternoon, but they were,
it seemed, determined to attend. Ami strongly suspected that the scarred Norman
warrior, Dominic Coeur-du-Loup, was so anxious to be there because he wanted to
ensure the wedding took place. Although there was supposedly peace between the
two men, since everyone knew Stryker was still in love with Dominic's wife, how
deep and meaningful could their friendship be?

The
Norman
introduced Ami to
Elsinora in a proud and loving manner that told how much he loved and esteemed
his wife. Why would he not? Elsinora was stunningly beautiful
and
sweet natured. She had an easy way
about her and there was no pretense, nothing but an open friendliness in her
gestures. She presented Ami with wind-chimes she'd made from shells and pebbles
found in the sands at the base of the cliffs. "If you hang it by a window,
it will catch the breeze and play music for you," she said, smiling.

And keep me awake all night like a constant drip through a leaky
roof
, she thought.

Ami thanked her
for the gift and they talked politely about the weather, the moor, their gowns
and many unimportant things. She learned that Elsinora had two children—a boy
and a baby girl. "You must visit us soon," she said. "It will be
good to have another woman of my age about the place." Before they parted,
Elsinora extended an invitation for her husband's Yuletide celebration to bless
his half-built castle on the cliff side. "Many knights will attend with
their wives. People you might know from court. It may help you feel less
homesick."

Although Ami had
not often been to the royal court, folk assumed she was frequently in such
exalted company. With the king for a father and the powerful Baron Burleigh for
an uncle, it was natural, she supposed, for that mistake to be made. In truth,
she'd been shuttled from one dank, dismal castle to another and when she met
with her father it was usually a brief, stilted audience in which he feigned
interest and she feigned gratitude for his "notice". The bright
little girl he once found amusing was now a grown woman of only mild
attractiveness and limited accomplishments. By her uncle she was treated as nothing
more than a burden on his household accounts—and in recent years he'd begun
referring to her as his "bane". In some attempt to pay for her food
and shelter she'd assumed the chores of housekeeper and he thought nothing of
giving her the lowliest tasks to perform. She'd often thought he might be
hoping to make her so miserable that she would throw herself out of a window.
Ami had actually considered it, but she did not know who would find her
shattered remains and she would not like her little cousins to be thus cast
into hysteria. They were annoying little turds at times, but they could not
help what their father made them. They were not to blame for the ways of the
world.
 

She thanked
Elsinora for the invitation to share the Yuletide with them, although it would
not be her place to accept it. That would be up to her husband, of course.

Glancing across
the hall, she caught him looking at Elsinora as he drank his ale. He looked
especially handsome tonight, cruelly so. His eyes were bluer that evening,
trying to hide their admiration for Elsinora and failing. Ami quickly turned
back to her conversation, ignoring the strange, pitiable ache in her heart.

Chapter Five

The bed chamber,
so she'd heard, was newly constructed, as was the boat-sized bed housed within
it. Ami might have been impressed if she could imagine it was made for her, not
for Stryker's fantasy wife—the woman he loved and lost. But as soon as she
thought this she shook her anger aside. She had not sought his love. When she
came there, she knew what to expect and he made it clear when they discussed
the terms of their marriage. They were two people doing what had to be done. He
needed her money and she needed a husband to save her from a life of drudgery
in her uncle's household. Possibly even to save her from death, or worse—a
convent. At her darkest point she knew that. Her uncle's patience with her had
run its course, and it was said that her father, the king, would not live much
longer. Ami the unwanted was therefore living on borrowed time.

Here, in the
barbarian's bed, she would begin a new life, become a new woman.

Villette readied
her like a calf for sacrifice, untying her braids and combing her hair with
scented oil. She remained dressed in her wedding gown, too nervous to remove
it. The noise out in the hall died down at last now that the master and his
lady were ready for bed. Folk of the manor would be preparing their own pallets
by the fire-pit in the great hall, or in other warm niches around the place.
She looked at her maid, who was humming and tapping her feet, a distant smile
on her lips.