Margo Maguire (21 page)

A
elia felt shaken when they returned to camp. She’d thought there would be naught to compare to Mathieu’s intensity the night before, but she was wrong. He’d made love to her by the pond with a fierce possessiveness that rocked her soul. She must have been mistaken about his indifference that afternoon.

She felt her body quake even now, just looking at him.

Wincing with discomfort, she moved to sit by the fire. Mathieu took her hands and came down upon one knee before her. “I hurt you,” he said.

Aelia leaned toward him and kissed him with all the love in her heart. “You could not hurt me, Mathieu. I…I am merely unused to such sport.”

He touched her face, running his fingers across her mouth, her cheeks. “I did not take time to shave this morn. My beard was too rough for you.”

His usually clean-shaven face was dark with the stubble of whiskers, but they had caused Aelia no pain. She closed her eyes and relished his gentle caress.

Surely his bristly mood this afternoon had been
brought about by talk of his family, and his mother’s death. Aelia would remember in future not to mention them, for they clearly brought him unease.

She covered his hands with hers and drew them to her breast. “I love you,” she said, looking into his deep blue eyes. “When first I saw you, even as I loosed my arrow against you, I knew that you would change my life.”

She touched the reddened track across his cheek. “I am sorry for this…and for—”

“Listen,” he said, abruptly turning away. “Riders.”

He stood and took her by the hand, leading her to a concealed place away from the light of the fire. “Wait here,” he said, drawing his sword.

Fortunately, Aelia had little chance to fear for Mathieu’s life, for the shouts from his men announced the identity of the intruders before they rode into camp. Raoul came first, with Osric perched upon the saddle before him. The rest of the men followed, all but Halig, Guilliaume, and Foque.

They dismounted and greeted one another. Mathieu asked about the missing men. “They became ill after the feast,” one knight announced.

Which left them only six men in their escort, and two did not appear in good health. Both were pale and gaunt. Hugh and Guatier wasted no time, but pulled down their saddle packs and made beds under the tarpaulin near the fire.

“I think ’twas the quail they ate, baron.”

“Please do not speak of it,” Hugh said, groaning from within his blankets.

Aelia came out from the shadows and took her brother by the shoulders. He had a scab on his lower lip and a bruised eye. “Osric, you are well?”

“Aye,” he said, shrugging away from her. “I ate no quail. They kept me prisoner in the stable, mucking out manure.”

Aelia looked up at Raoul, who turned away, unsaddling his horse, giving orders to the men. ’Twas as if he intentionally avoided speaking to her.

“Did you see any sign of travelers?” Fitz Autier asked.

“No, Baron,” Raoul replied. “’Twas an uneventful day.”

“Still, I want two of us on guard at all times. Osbern and Henri. Unpack your gear and take the first watch.”

Since the newcomers carried the bulk of their food and supplies, they set up camp under the tarp and went about preparing a meal. Raoul, whose manner was usually cordial, was terse and decidedly unfriendly. Even Osric was quiet.

Aelia felt drained. She was physically exhausted, and there was much left unsaid between her and Mathieu. Mayhap when he joined her in their tent…

She finished the simple meal, then rose from her place and left the group, picking up a blanket to arrange inside her tent. When their bed was prepared, Aelia walked alone to the pond, taking a few minutes of privacy before retiring. Rain clouds still approached, but the moon was nearly full, and Aelia easily found her way down the path she and Mathieu had made earlier.

There was no confusion about the way she felt for him, but she was uneasy. Whether ’twas due to Raoul and the other men’s different demeanor…or the knowledge that Mathieu’s fierce lovemaking had changed naught between them…

She filled her water skin and headed back toward camp, stopping short when she heard voices arguing in
hushed tones. Two men stood near the horses, oblivious to her presence.

“You’ve always counted me among your friends, Mathieu,” said Sir Raoul. “And I must speak frankly to you now. Your insult to Roger de Saye will come to plague you someday.”

“’Tis my own affair, Raoul.”

“Your leman’s contentment has more import than an affront to a powerful baron?”

“She is
my
slave, Raoul.
My
leman.” Aelia’s heart thudded in her throat at his words. “My actions are none of your concern.”

“That’s where you are wrong, Mathieu. King William will take her from you. You know as well as I that he will send her to Rouen after he displays her as his vanquished enemy. He—”

Raoul’s words were cut short by a sharp scream in the night, and the sound of swords striking swords.

Half-blinded by tears welling in her eyes, Aelia ran toward camp in search of Osric.

Men on horseback, at least a dozen of them, invaded the camp, swooping down like hawks on their prey. Mathieu’s men met them with swords drawn, but they were no match against the Danish attackers, with their axes and blades. Mathieu and Raoul joined in the fray, but Aelia could see no sign of Osric.

“Aelia! Run!”

The invaders trampled the tents, shouting in their unfamiliar tongue as they parried against Mathieu’s men, and nearly crushed Hugh and Guatier with their horses’ hooves before the two men could move.

Aelia could not follow Mathieu’s order to run away, not without her brother. Not while Mathieu battled against so many foes. She cried out when Henri fell, and
again when Gerrard’s blood spilled on the ground beneath him. She watched in horror as Mathieu pulled one man down and speared him with his sword. Relentless, he went after another as the rest of his Norman warriors fought for their lives.

“Osric!” she cried, even more terrified now. These Normans had seemed indestructible before. Now, as they fought for their lives against the brutal Dane warriors, she feared for them.

For Mathieu’s life.

She could not think about what she’d overheard a few moments ago. ’Twas most important to find Osric, and then she could get the two of them away from the fray. She kept to the perimeter of the battle, running from tree to shrub, searching frantically for her brother as the rain finally began to fall.

“Get away, Aelia! We have no chance here!” Mathieu shouted.

Hugh and Guatier were barely able to stand, but they drew swords and fought bravely against thrice their number. The horses churned up the ground, making a muddy mess in the rain. Aelia tripped over her sodden skirts, but managed somehow to stay on her feet. She suddenly heard Osric’s voice calling out a youthful battle cry. Her heart dropped when she saw him standing among the mounted Danes, wielding the short sword he’d used when he’d taken instruction from Mathieu.

She could not get to him through the mass of horses and warriors.

Aelia trembled as she watched her small brother thrust his blade upward, somehow managing to unseat his target. She lost sight of Osric as the man fell, and started toward him. But one of the Danes took note of her, turning his horse and riding in her direction. Aelia
ran into the dark woods, hoping to find a place to hide among the trees.

The Dane laughed, clearly understanding the futility of her move. He swooped down and grabbed her, lifted her up and tossed her across his horse.

Aelia screamed and struggled to get away, but she was no match for the barbarian’s strength. He rode back into the melee, shouting to his companions, pulling Aelia up by her hair as if to show them what he’d captured.

“Mathieu!” she cried, futilely. She reached for her knife, but the Dane knocked it from her hand, then struck her.

She caught sight of Mathieu, just as his assailant landed a massive blow. Crying out with despair, she watched him fall. They’d killed him. The savages had murdered Mathieu.

Aelia fought to get down, to go to him, but the barbarian held her in place, bruising her arms and legs. When the Dane struck her again, Aelia was too shattered, too dazed to continue the struggle.

Mathieu pushed himself up off the ground and shook his head to clear it. ’Twas dark, and all was quiet. The fire had gone out in the rain and—

Gesu.
Aelia!

He’d seen her carried off by one of the Dane bastards. When his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, he saw bodies all ’round him. His men. Danes.

Where was the boy?

More important, how was he going to get Aelia back?

Quickly, he got the fire going again, ignoring the blood that oozed from a gash on the top of his head, and
the burning pain in his left shoulder. When there was enough light, he set about the grim task of checking his men for signs of life.

Only Raoul and Osbern survived, and Osbern was unlikely to live very long with the injuries he’d sustained. Mathieu wrapped a cloth ’round the man’s wrist, where his hand had been severed, and spoke gravely to Raoul. “See if you can find Osric. He must be here among the dead.”

He did all he could to make Osbern comfortable, then joined Raoul in the search for Osric. Mathieu had seen the boy join the battle, wielding Raoul’s seax just as he’d been instructed, using his small size and his speed to harry the enemy. He was afraid the lad’s over-confidence had gotten him killed.

They found him half concealed under the body of one of the Danes, unconscious but otherwise unhurt. Mathieu roused him.

“Aelia,” he said. “Where is my sister?”

“They took her,” Mathieu replied.

“Most of the horses are gone, Mathieu,” said Raoul. “There are only three here. One belonged to the Danes.”

Mathieu picked up his sword and sheathed it. “Stay here with Osbern. When you are able, take Osric and continue south. Get him to London. I’m going after Aelia.”

“You cannot,” said Raoul, watching as Mathieu grasped the reins of the Dane’s horse, which was already saddled, and laden with bulging packs. “You are wounded yourself, and she is gone. There is naught you can do for her.”

Mathieu mounted.

“She is a slave, Mathieu. ’Tis a waste of—”

“Tell King William what transpired here. Ask him to
keep Osric in his household. The boy will make a formidable warrior someday.”

Mathieu dug in his heels and rode out of camp, following the path the Danes must have taken. He moved slowly, straining his eyes to see signs of their trail.

He wiped blood from his face and felt for the bump on his head, wincing when he found it. There was pain in his left shoulder, too, but Mathieu thought his hauberk had deflected the worst of the blow.

Eight Danes lay dead in camp, but Mathieu did not know how many had survived, how many were in the party that had carried Aelia away. They had left a clear trail, trampling down the low grass on the forest floor.

He followed for hours, carefully watching the trail they’d left, unwilling to lose track of them on a time-wasting detour. His strategy was effective until he reached a swiftly flowing river. Had they gone north or south along the riverbank, or had they crossed the stream?

Dismounting, Mathieu saw tracks in the muddy bank. In spite of the rain, he could tell that several horses had gathered here. And it looked as though this was where they’d entered the river.

Mathieu muttered a curse. Crossing the rain-swollen river was much too dangerous in the dark. He did not know how deep it was, nor could he see exactly how fast the current flowed.

He shuddered at the thought of Aelia being carried across.

He unclenched his teeth. He could not think of all the things that might have already happened to her. He had to believe they’d reached the opposite bank and that she was still on the trail with her captors, alive and well.

Assuming the Danes had already made this crossing
once, Mathieu entered the water. He was wet from the rain, so the additional soaking meant naught. But the current was strong, and the river deeper than he liked. Still, he went forward, urging his horse on, even when the water reached his thighs.

In the shadowy light, Mathieu could see the far bank. ’Twas a struggle for his horse to keep its footing against the strong current, but Mathieu held on, fixing his eye on a landmark so he would not lose his way. He tightened his legs ’round his mount to increase his control, and leaned forward, badgering the animal to keep moving.

But the horse faltered and lost its balance, hurling Mathieu into the rushing water.

The weight of his chain mail dragged him down, and the current tossed him in every direction. He fought to unfasten his sword belt and the cumbersome hauberk, and when he finally dropped the heavy metal, he was able to surface.

There was no doubt he’d been carried some distance downstream. With powerful strokes, he fought the current, swimming toward the far side, unwilling to give up his pursuit of Aelia.

Numb with cold, his injured shoulder burning with every stroke, he struggled to get to the far bank, and finally crawled onto firm land. The terrain was somewhat more open now, which would make it easier for Mathieu to search for tracks, but he had no idea how far he’d been carried downstream.

He started walking back along the bank, thankful he still had his boots, for he had no doubt it was going to be a long walk. Soon the sound of birdsong filled the air, and a sudden, loud snort that made Mathieu turn abruptly.

’Twas the horse he thought he’d lost.

It seemed hours before his mount took the first few steps toward Mathieu, who remained unmoving, until the beast stood only a few yards away. Then Mathieu started speaking quietly to the animal, careful not to frighten it again, but mindful of Aelia’s plight.

As soon as he could, Mathieu took hold of the reins and led the animal behind him as he continued looking for signs of the Danish riders.

It was several more minutes before he found what he searched for. Far upstream was an area of tall weeds that had recently been trampled. Mathieu mounted the horse and followed where the hoofprints led, certain these were the tracks of the Danes who had abducted Aelia.