Raven felt almost calm, each stroke of the claymore springing forth from strength born of long hours of practice. He felt a nick to his wrist between his mail and the gauntlet he wore on his hand, but it was not a serious wound. He took a hard hit to the mail chausses covering his thighs, and knew he’d be well bruised. Cheers and cries of encouragement or dismay rang through the air. Up on the battlements, more torches had been brought, lighting the sky as if it were the birth of dawn. From up there, he knew Abrielle was watching. After endless weeks of tedious meetings or long, boring, cold journeys across two countries, at last he was almost with her again. He had to end the battle, to make his wife safe from this fool.
In the next instant, a downward stroke of the claymore evoked a loud, tortured scream from Thurstan, who lifted what remained of his left arm and, in growing horror, stared at the bloody stump. Knowing he would soon die if something weren’t done to stem his copious loss of blood, he stumbled in agony toward the fire. Another bloodcurdling scream was wrenched from him as he thrust the stump into the flames and held it there until the wound was seared black and the loss of blood had been adequately stemmed.
The sudden silence was eerie, and was followed by the sound of the claymore, cleaned on moss, sliding home into its scabbard.
“We are done,” Raven said in a cold, calm voice. “You can no longer hold a shield. Do you guarantee my reward?”
Mordea came forward, teeth gnashing, arm raised, but Thurstan grabbed her before she could get past him.
“Aye, you…have won,” Thurstan said, breath coming in gasps, eyes stinging with sweat, “but only this battle. Enter the keep. We shall…see how long it lasts before falling…to our siege.”
The soldiers ringing the battlements began to cheer, but they also readied their arrows as the drawbridge was lowered, in case of treachery. Raven suddenly whistled, and from the darkness came three of his mounted men bearing a flag of truce, and leading Raven’s stallion. All four clattered over the drawbridge, and it was slowly lifted closed again.
Only when Raven was safe within the curtain walls did Abrielle sag against the embrasure, where she had stood to watch the battle. To see him risk his life for her, and for her family, left her weak, and it unleashed an avalanche of questions and second thoughts, so many it would take her a week to sort them all. For now, one rang out clearly above the rest, the one that mattered most of all. If all Raven cared about was wealth, as she had been so certain was the truth, he could have waited in Scotland while the castle was besieged, but he had not done so, he had not abandoned her. Nay, he had acted as honorably as any husband could, and suddenly Abrielle could not bear to wait another moment to be by his side.
Vachel put his arm around Abrielle, and although she protested that she was fine, he supported her down the narrow stairs leading to the courtyard. Knights and serfs and castle residents were all streaming into the courtyard, surrounding Raven and his men, throwing question after question at him.
Abrielle pushed her way through. “Enough!” she cried with force.
All around her, people fell silent. Raven focused that intense gaze on her. She saw flecks of blood on the cote over his hauberk, dirt smeared across his face, and a coolness in his features that she was not used to seeing. But still, his blue eyes were hot as they took in the length of her body. It took her some moments before she could compose herself enough to say, “Husband, you need tending. All else can await the morrow.”
Raven did not hesitate, but rather with haste pushed past all others to take her hand and lead her through the castle to their bedchamber. Thanks to Nedda, the bed was turned down, linens were laid out, and water heated over the fire. Even the bathing tub had been set up, and a line of servants arrived with steaming buckets of water. Abrielle watched the grateful looks they gave Raven, and though he be a Scot, he had already proven a far superior master than Desmond. They obviously did not care what country he came from as long as he treated them well and fairly.
When they were alone again, Abrielle helped Raven remove his mail and gambeson, and she was relieved to see that the blood did not seem excessive. His breeches, bloodstained shirt, and braies came next, and she still found herself averting her gaze as he sank into the tub and began to soap a cloth.
“Wash your wounds well,” she said, sorting through her medicines. She had to keep busy, for it was far too easy to be swayed by the tension between them. They had parted weeks ago, leaving her to feel awkward and worried about their marriage. Now there was an energy and excitement moving through her, and she tried to tell herself it was only because he was safe and because he was here to help rescue her family and her people.
She glanced at him over her shoulder and felt a strange tenderness to see his big body crammed into that tub, shoulders out of the water, his head tilted back awkwardly against the rim as if he were almost asleep out of weariness. Through slitted eyes, he watched her warily as she soaped his face and took a blade to his many days’ growth of beard. She pushed his shoulders forward to bare his wide, strong back, and then began to scrub diligently with a soapy cloth, for she didn’t know when he’d last had the luxury of anything more than an icy stream. He groaned softly, his head dangling forward. She put her soapy hands in his hair and started to rub.
“Let me rinse your hair,” Abrielle said at last.
“Bring me the bucket, and I’ll rinse everything at once.”
With a splash, he rose to his feet, holding out his hand for the bucket. She delayed a moment, simply watching the soapy water run down his glistening, nude body. At last she put the handle of the bucket into his grip, and he lifted it over his head to pour. Steam rose from him, and he gave a big sigh as he stepped from the tub. She held out a linen for him, and he took it, beginning to dry his body.
“Your wounds,” she began.
He interrupted. “They’re na worth bothering about.”
To her shock, he went to the bed and fell into it, rolling onto his back as he closed his eyes. She came to stand over him, his glorious nudity a threat to her concentration as she tended to him. There was a slice near his wrist that still oozed blood, and a dark bruise at his thigh with raw scrapes where the chain mail had abraded his skin through several layers of garments. While he slept the deep sleep of one exhausted, she used her herbs to cleanse his wounds and speed the healing.
After blowing out the candles and leaving only the fire in the hearth, she changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed. He rolled onto his side, and she was able to draw the quilts up over him. Then, without giving it much thought, she curled against him, her thighs tucked behind his, her arm around his waist, and she soon fell into a peaceful sleep.
RAVEN AWOKE IN the gray before dawn to a luxurious warmth he thought he’d forgotten how to feel. Cold nights spent on dangerous roads faded away. And then he realized that he felt his wife’s curving form against his side. He opened his eyes and found her head pillowed on his shoulder, her long auburn lashes blinking the sleep away. She rose up on one arm, and her hair slid forward over her shoulders to drape across his arm. He shuddered.
And then she slid her nightgown over her head and came down on him, her mouth taking his, her slender hands exploring his chest. Raven groaned and gathered her against him, cupping her buttocks as he pulled her over him.
“I’m starved for ye, lass,” he murmured between deep kisses.
“And I for you, my husband. My husband,” she said again, the word delicious on her tongue. She put her hands on both sides of his face. “You cannot know how good it feels to freely admit it.”
He grinned and rolled to press her into the mattress. “Ye canna know how good it feels ta hear it. Nearly as good, in fact, as…” His hands wandered boldly, his purpose clear and arousing. He kissed every part of her as if relearning her body, making her skin flush, setting her limbs atremble. In his arms, Abrielle felt truly a wife at last and she gloried in it, and when he came into her, she gasped at the very rightness of his possession.
“Oh, Raven,” she whispered, arching her back, offering her tender breasts to his greedy mouth.
With his lips and tongue he aroused her, with his manhood he stroked deep inside her, until the passion that always existed between them burst in her mind and through her body—and in her heart.
AT DAWN, THE household gathered in the great hall to break their fast and plan their counter to the siege. But first they had to hear Raven’s report on the doings of those who called themselves royal.
“Betwixt Maud and Stephen,” he began, “there’s na much ta be greatly admired. Maud has her prideful temper, and when the occasion has mattered, Stephen has never proven himself a skilled warrior or an arbitrator. Ta be sure, his failures have taken precedence over his victories, and yet, in his eagerness ta be king, he has enforced his will upon noble and priest alike, as if the lot of them are but lowly serfs meant only ta do his bidding.”
“Then to whom should we give our allegiance?” Abrielle queried worriedly. “To be sure, I care no more for Maud than I do for Stephen.”
“As a Scot, my allegiance must be ta King David. As for ye”—his gaze took in all of his new English friends and kin—“ye must choose the one ye prefer, whoever that may be, but my advice is ta keep your thoughts a secret from those who can do ye harm. Far too many have died already in this struggle betwixt Maud and Stephen after foolishly admitting where their allegiance lies.”
Abrielle shook her head sadly as she thought of the injustices now being invoked upon those seeking to fulfill Henry’s wishes in the succession of royals. In her opinion, Maud was just as guilty as Stephen, for the woman could have easily complied with her father’s wishes and taken the throne as empress of the realm. Perhaps Maud had expected the nobles to hasten to her side and entreat her to comply…in spite of her contentious temper. As it was, her willful disposition had likely cost her the crown. It had definitely left the country reeling from the uncertainty of what the morrow would bring.
Vachel nodded solemnly. “We shall take your suggestion to heart and keep our preferences private except when we’re amongst those we can trust.” He looked around the table at Elspeth and Abrielle, the Graysons and the Seaberns. Nodding, he said, “Like our good friends and family gathered here.”
“I was able ta tell Stephen of the trouble caused ta ye by the northern lords,” Raven said. “He sent a regiment of soldiers with me, for he doesna want problems on the Scottish border. This morn, I will tell Thurstan and the rest of your neighbors that we will soon have assistance. They shall soon be fighting a battle on two fronts.”
Cedric’s face was hard with satisfaction. “We’ll see how eager they are ta ‘hold’ this land for England. As if me and mine would try ta take what isna ours and use it against them.”
Although Abrielle said nothing, surely Cedric had to realize that Raven now owned English land, and that was part of what was causing problems.
“This turmoil that’s erupted may be only a smattering of the trouble yet brewing,” Raven said. “Ta be sure, the violence may continue ta menace us for months, if not years to come. The safety of all is my greatest concern. We must depart for Scotland the moment the siege lifts. Should any of ye here choose ta join us, my da has a fortress there nearly as grand as this. We can house anyone of a mind ta make the journey north. But we cannot make the assumption that we’ll remain safe here while this madness rules the countryside.”
“Your offer is generous,” Vachel said soberly. “Let us discuss how it would work.”
As Abrielle listened to the men absently, her own thoughts circled about in confusion. If she was honest with herself, she had known that whoever she married would not want to linger forever in the de Marlé keep. A lord with more than one property must travel every few months, seeing to each castle, and eating through its stores before rot set in. She was not foolish enough to refuse to live part of the year in her husband’s home. But “nearly as grand” as Weldon de Marlé’s keep? She had a difficult time imagining such a thing.
“Abrielle?”
She gave a start, and realized that her mother had come beside her and touched her elbow. She gave Elspeth a smile. “Aye, Mama?”
“Come speak with me a moment, daughter.”
They walked to the hearth and sat on a bench before it, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
“Abrielle, what thoughts give your expression such sadness?” Elspeth asked. “You and I will not be parted right away. For reasons of safety, we will journey with you and take up temporary residence in Scotland.”
“Oh, Mama, glad I am for such tidings. And I know that Vachel and Raven will make certain that our homes are well protected while we’re gone, but…” Suddenly she was speaking past a lump in her throat. “I feel caught between these misguided Englishmen and my loyalty to my husband. Just when my people have begun to accept him, we journey to his household, where I will be a Saxon in Scotland, my place with Raven now in reverse.”
“Such is the lot of a wife, my dear. Ever we must move with our husbands, learning to fit in among his people. Think you that it was easy for me, a Saxon widow, to marry a Norman?”
“Nay, I know it was not. Your behavior has surely been a guide for me.”
“Then trust that you have learned well. I believe in you. It is obvious this morn that there is a new understanding between you and your husband.”
Abrielle tried not to blush. “’Tis true, Mama. I am learning to accept this marriage.”
“And appreciate it—and him?”
Now Abrielle’s face was truly hot, and she could only stammer. Elspeth smiled.
Suddenly they heard the sound of a horn being blown from the courtyard. Raven threw open the double doors to the great hall and went outside. Several minutes later, he returned to say, “’Tis a royal courier. He has been granted passage through the siege lines. The soldiers are lowering the drawbridge ta allow him entrance. I will escort him inside.” He turned and disappeared through the doorway.
“Whatever could it be?” Elspeth asked, her hand protectively over her belly. “Will the new king help us?”
“Raven did say that royal soldiers were not too distant,” Abrielle offered.
A moment later, Raven escorted a somberly dressed man into the great hall. To everyone’s surprise, Raven pointed out Vachel, and the courier approached him.
“Sir Vachel de Gerard,” the courier said, and held out a leather-bound missive. “I come bearing an important dispatch for you from His Majesty King Stephen. Should I await a reply?”
“Perhaps you should, since I have no idea what this is all about,” Vachel acknowledged.
Isolde drew the man away to offer him food, then swiftly returned to gather around with everyone else.
Vachel unrolled the parchment and began to read the contents silently as Elspeth looked on with growing apprehension. Raven watched the couple curiously, and then happened to glance aside at his young wife, whose smile seemed unusually radiant and hopeful. He canted his head inquisitively in an effort to claim her attention, but she was far too busy watching the astounding wonder that soon swept over her stepfather’s face.
“What is it, Vachel?” Elspeth asked with a hopeful smile, unable to mistake her husband’s mounting elation.
Vachel’s lips widened into a grin as he met her gaze. “’Twould seem, my dear, that His Majesty has decided to bestow a title of some rank upon me and to grant me lands of my own for my loyal service to his country as well as my efforts during the Crusades. Upon the receipt of such an honor, I shall be known as the Earl de Venn.” He swept into a low bow before his wife. “And you, my dearest Elspeth, will soon be known as the Countess de Venn, a most fair and wondrous lady of the peerage.”
“Oh, my!” Elspeth’s smile could not have been any brighter as she clasped her slender hands to her rosy cheeks. “But what in the world brought about this honor?”
Vachel flicked the back of his fingers lightly against the parchment as he replied, “A
ccording to this decree, His Majesty was recently reminded of my loyal service to the crown by none other than Abrielle.” Fixing his smiling gaze upon the younger woman, he raised a brow questioningly. “What I’m now wondering is how you managed to accomplish such a feat without leaving the keep prior to being kidnapped?”
Grinning back at her stepfather, Abrielle shrugged nonchalantly. “I merely wrote a missive to His Majesty pointing out that your gallant service during the Crusades had been overlooked, then I asked Raven to see to its delivery. Obviously, King Stephen received it after Henry’s death and understood the need to honor a good man whom his predecessor had overlooked.”
“Or he sees the need to woo more men to his side during this battle with Maud,” Vachel said drily. “But I care not why. ’Tis obvious that I would never have received such an honor if not for your efforts, Abrielle,” he replied humbly. “And if my new title can aid us in this desperate siege, then it will not only be myself who owes you a debt of gratitude.”