RECKLESS: A Medieval Romance (Age of Conquest Book 5) Page 2

  William gave a bark of laughter. “At last we meet, Vitalis of the Rebels of the Pale.”

  “At last, Duke of Normandy.” Vitalis sighed heavily. “I must tell I expected something more.”

  “More?”

  “An opponent not easily bested. I am disappointed.”

  The usurper adjusted his stance, causing light to streak his blade. “Be assured, do I deem you worthy of meeting me at swords, you will learn I am not easily bested. Indeed, never bested.”

  Vitalis reached the cloth to the side where light more boldly tread. “You are certain of that? As told, this scrap is not common. That from which it was cut was woven of the finest wool and embroidered under the direction of a lady most high—if not her own hand.”

  After a long silence, William said, “What is your game?”

  He supposed it was a game, albeit a deadly one. “Regardless what one calls it, Duke, I have won, the same as…” He feigned searching his memory. “Was it not David of the Bible who stole upon his treacherous king in a cave and spared his life though he could have slit his throat?”

  This king set his head to the side.

  Sensing the moment he unraveled that, Vitalis said, “It is true, Your Majesty. Do you inventory your person, you will discover you miss the same thing King Saul lost to the man he persecuted.”

  Was it a credit to William he did not scrabble at his mantle to verify it was despoiled while he was ashamedly vulnerable? That his only visible reaction was further darkening of his face?

  “I am impressed, Vitalis. As you seem a worthy opponent, let us meet at swords.”

  Great the temptation, especially since it could cool this anger. Were he in good health, therefore more confident of success, he would accept. “I am not here to slay you, Duke, neither by stealth, as must be obvious since you breathe, nor to issue or accept a challenge.”

  “Then you wish to surrender to me personally in the hope of gaining mercy for having taken only a piece of my mantle?”

  Vitalis wished he could laugh. “No surrender, defiler of England. I am here because your prey could not resist becoming acquainted with his prey.”

  The point of William’s blade wavered. “You think I will allow you to depart alive?”

  “Allow?” Vitalis stepped nearer to reveal the sword at his hip, then raised his dagger higher. “If I sought permission and agreed to leave your life intact, it would be a temporary state.” It sounded a challenge, and not a wise one considering the mess his insides made of themselves, but so great was this hatred for the man who had stolen all, it had to be spoken.

  Though there was satisfaction in the expansion of William’s ire, also much warning.

  I should have heeded Zedekiah, especially as he insisted on accompanying me, Vitalis silently rued. To endanger him like this, tempting him out of the shadows and onto the conqueror’s blade… Mayhap proof I am as ill of mind as of body.

  “Even were you capable of slaying me, Saxon,” William said, “you would not get past my men. Hence, your life forfeited, and in the most heinous manner for spilling the blood of an anointed king. Your king.”

  It was hard not to set his blade against the devil’s, and surely for that Zedekiah had refused to be parted from him.

  Attempting to exude confidence despite a cramp so sharp it nearly bent him over, Vitalis returned his dagger to its scabbard. “No matter a warrior’s renown,” he said, “ever the possibility he will lose his life in pursuit of honoring his calling, especially when he stands alone. I do not.”

  So slight was the movement of William’s head, only because Vitalis watched for it did he know the man searched the shadows.

  “Nor shall I depart the cave by way of your entrance, king of the Normans. So allow me to further impress you, this time with dire warning. For all the evil and injustice you visit on my people, you know little of what is concealed beneath England’s skirts.”

  William grunted. “There is another entrance to the cave.”

  Thinking he should not be surprised the conqueror did not protest the charges leveled against him, Vitalis inclined his head. “Five widely divergent entrances, more if one is exceedingly small of stature.” He tucked the cloth beneath his belt. “Now I shall take my pound of flesh and go.”

  Seeing William’s eyes move to that which evidenced his shame and the mercy of which he was unworthy, Vitalis was prepared when he asked, “Why did you not put a blade in my back? And do not say it is because you are a Saxon to my Norman, you whose people think naught of murdering a rival and his family in their beds.”

  It was true some Saxon nobles and their kin found a bad end in that manner, whereas William leaned hard toward sparing those whose nobility he believed placed them nearer God. Were the usurper’s enemies not forgiven after great trials to prove themselves trustworthy, they were hobbled by imprisonment fashioned of close watch on their persons or iron bars.

  “Non,” Vitalis said, “I do not claim the Saxon in me grants you mercy. It is my training at Wulfen by Lady Hawisa’s sire.”

  “Ah, that rebellious woman I wed to my man, Guarin D’Argent.”

  Cousin to William’s captain of the guard, Sir Maël. Vitalis nearly smiled. Le Bâtard could have forced marriage on the Saxon lady by threatening her people, but because of Hawisa’s feelings for the Norman to whom she had joined her life, it had not been necessary. And that made Vitalis ache, though not as once he had when his heart was denied the lady he served.

  Sir Guarin, who was not as much the usurper’s man as believed, was a great warrior with whom Vitalis became acquainted when the Norman was captured by Hawisa’s men. For nearly two years, Vitalis had been the jailer of one who proved honorable, unlike most of his kind. Thus, it was hard to begrudge Guarin and Hawisa their happiness and the babe they were expecting—a child who would bear the surname Wulfrith, William having required his man to take his wife’s name to preserve that family’s reputation for training up England’s greatest defenders—warriors who, henceforth, would serve a Norman king.

  Vitalis inclined his head. “That lady, indeed.” It being increasingly difficult to remain upright, it was time he and Zedekiah make their way back to their mounts. “Ere we part ways, William of Normandy, I have a boon to ask.”

  Le Bâtard snorted. “If naught else, I am curious, Vitalis of Wulfen.”

  Seeing no reason to let pass the assumption his would have been a life of service to that family, Vitalis said, “Not of Wulfen. Had you not thieved my family’s lands, awarding them to one who put finish to others of my line, I would be Lord of Gaulbridge.”

  The usurper thought on that, shrugged. “I know not the name of Gaulbridge.” Since it was of far less account than Wulfen, likely he had bestowed it with a flick of fingers as if it were breadcrumbs. “Your loss is unfortunate, Vitalis no longer of Gaulbridge. But as you know, warriors do not give service without compensation, and the vanquished who resist the new order are prone to losing all. Had Saxons conquered my Normandy, no different would it be for my people. Now, what boon may I refuse you?”

  Vitalis breathed deep to calm anger as well as settle a body intent on shaming him. “I believe Maël D’Argent awaits you outside.”

  “He is the captain of my guard.”

  A warrior who would not have approved of his king advancing far ahead of his forces. Doubtless, the chevalier was also displeased his liege had not allowed him to inspect the cave. William was a mighty warrior, but much too confident.

  “I would have you deliver words to Sir Maël.”

  William snorted. “Does the King of England look a herald?”

  Though tempted to point out it was not uncommon for carriers of tidings to be ragged of mantle, Vitalis said, “Here the words—I shall continue to watch for you, Sir Maël.”

  “I am to know what that means?”

  “Non, it is a matter between the two of us.” Vitalis shifted his shoulders beneath the fur-collared mantle that felt more weighty than earlier. “Until next we meet.” He stepped back into shadow and turned away.

  Sensing no movement behind, he entered the tunnel that would soon require him to fold his bulk—and make it difficult for the enemy to follow. As there were many twists and turns, it was several minutes before Zedekiah and he emerged into a day brighter for the lightening of clouds and the sun slipping through gaps to set the snow to sparkling.

  Bending low and hastening to mounts tethered out of sight, Vitalis looked around and wondered which figures were Maël D’Argent and William. Surely the two nearest the cave, both being of similar height.

  Would William reveal to his captain of the guard what had transpired and play herald to the enemy? Providing there was something distinctive about the piece taken from his mantle, likely he would since he would wish it recovered lest the tale was spilled of how it was gained and proof given of that claim. No king, man, or otherwise wished to be so humiliated.

  Once mounted alongside the silent Zedekiah, Vitalis drew forth the cloth. The lower portion was heavily embroidered with many-stranded black thread shot through with a strand of gold. The flourishes, worked by a beautifully precise needle, made it distinctive. But more distinctive were the letters W and R embroidered between those flourishes.

  W for William, R for Rex. William the King.

  “An ill portent,” Zedekiah muttered.

  Vitalis did not need to confirm the man looked upon the cloth, but peering around he saw it was so.

  “’Tis not for me to tell you what to do,” his friend said, “but I must speak, my lord. No matter your Wulfen training, no matter your honor, no matter what Lady Hawisa decreed whilst she led the rebels, better had you put a blade in Le Bâtard’s back than make a fool of him.”

  Better had I walked away, thought
the one whose youthful impulse had been trained out of him. Unfortunately, it had crept back in when the warrior of much anger saw who entered the cave.

  “Now he shall seek not only your head but all beneath your neck regardless you are of high blood,” Zedekiah continued.

  Drawing and quartering, Vitalis silently named that form of barbarism, then shoved the cloth in his purse. “All the more reason for the final disbanding, Zedekiah. I will not have my men pay any portion of my foolishness. Once we are clear of these mountains—”

  “Disband the others, aye,” Zedekiah interrupted, “but I shall stay your side no matter how many pieces are made of me.”

  If not for a cramp bending Vitalis forward, he would have wasted breath on argument.

  “My lord—”

  “We ride, Zedekiah!” With gnashed teeth and scattered prayers his men would turn from the clash at Cheshire, Vitalis spurred his mount ahead.

  Chapter One

  The Humber, Northern England

  Spring, 1070

  A fairly simple trade. Or it would have been had not Lady Nicola D’Argent voided Vitalis’s every effort to see her restored to her family following the abduction of her and the Abbess of Lillefarne four days past.

  Having given his word to Lady Hawisa he would recover both her sister-in-law and the holy woman, yestermorn Vitalis had infiltrated the band of Danes who had carried them off.

  Though the English resistance could no longer count self-serving Danes as allies, Vitalis had made use of his reputation as leader of the Rebels of the Pale and played well his gratitude for their aid. Thus, he gained their confidence and learned the reason for the abduction.

  The Saxon abbess, Mary Sarah, was to wed the King of Denmark’s son, and the visiting Lady Nicola had interfered with the collection of the prince’s betrothed. What caused the Norman lady to be taken as well was more than fear she would raise the alarm. It was the prince’s cousin being instantly besotted with her.

  Much to the Danes’ surprise, Mary Sarah had escaped their camp the night before Vitalis joined them, landing in the hands of Maël D’Argent whose pursuit Vitalis had evaded since the cave encounter and final disbandment of his followers weeks past.

  Though Vitalis cared less for the Norman lady than the Saxon abbess, he had persuaded Prince Canute to exchange the former for the latter since the younger woman was in greater danger than Mary Sarah for how much Nicola tested her captor’s patience. Too, Vitalis had believed he could extract the so-called abbess later.

  During the exchange at the inn where Sir Maël and his men passed the night, all went awry when a traitorous Saxon attempted to gain favor with the Norman king by capturing Vitalis. He had failed.

  Some would say Vitalis had slain his own countryman, but he had not.

  Not in this instance, his conscience reminded him of Sigward whose death he could not entirely justify.

  Returning his thoughts to Sir Aiken, he reasoned that just because a man was Saxon did not mean he was true to the bone, the blood, and the marrow as the mother of the slain King Harold named those who fought to take back their country. Aiken and his son had sided with the Normans as soon as William came to power, betraying their own to better their lots. For that, breaking the truce during the trade, and his attack upon the rebel leader who shamed a king, Vitalis had dealt Aiken a mortal blow and Zedekiah had injured the man’s son.

  In the midst of the chaos, not only did Prince Canute regain his betrothed, but Lady Nicola was retaken. If not that outrage at being bound and gagged caused her to refuse aid in dismounting when she passed to the Norman side, she would be safe. Instead, Bjorn had reclaimed her and moved her distant lest once more his cousin deprive him of the woman he wanted.

  Vitalis and Zedekiah had followed, but before they could overtake the young man, Bjorn reached Danes patrolling near the Humber estuary, and among them was his sire, a man also known to Vitalis.

  While still the resistance had believed the Danes their allies, Vitalis had met with the King of Denmark’s brother—an arrogant man, a greedy man, an over-indulgent man where his misbegotten son was concerned. Likely, the earl’s shortcomings would prove the end of King Sweyn’s quest to claim England for himself.

  “Much trouble that woman,” Zedekiah murmured, shifting on his mount alongside Vitalis. Receiving no response, he made his gaze felt.

  Wondering what the man saw that caused him to linger over the one he named his lord, Vitalis took inventory of his face. Assured his expression was temperate and no ill shone upon it now he had recovered from the flux, he said, “She is much trouble, but for Lady Hawisa and her husband, I shall bear this burden.”

  Zedekiah returned his regard to the Danes surrounding the horse that carried Bjorn and Nicola, the latter stiff with anger as the earl conversed with his son. “Lady Hawisa’s sister-in-law may be fine of face and figure,” he murmured, “but she is a termagant.”

  That was what Vitalis had named her a fortnight past when curiosity bade her discover who was in the abbess’s apartment.

  Having escorted to Lillefarne children separated from their families by Le Bâtard’s harrying, Vitalis had found himself trapped inside the walls when Sir Maël rode upon the abbey. But the chevalier had not come for the king’s enemy. He had delivered his cousin, Lady Nicola, who was to aid with the refugees fleeing Northern homes torn from their hands and hearts.

  Following the departure of the king’s man, Vitalis would have rejoined Zedekiah in the wood, but the flux that continued to bedevil him during the struggle to stay ahead of his pursuers had finally dropped the warrior to his knees.

  For three days Abbess Mary Sarah had secretly tended him, and on the day he was to depart, the curious Lady Nicola had sniffed him out. Though he could have stayed behind the locked door of the abbess’s private chamber, he had invited her inside.

  The first reason for doing so was to give into her keeping the mantle piece for which her cousin pursued him. Vitalis had not believed its return would end Le Bâtard’s desire for vengeance, but as he could make no use of the trophy which, at best, would shame the devil firmly seated on the throne, at worst, see more Saxons punished for that shame, he had decided to send it back by way of the lady.

  As for the other reason he let her in…

  Two years ago, after she crossed the channel and took up residence on the demesne King William awarded one of her brothers, Vitalis had met her when he freed another of her brothers from the resistance’s camp. The chevalier he delivered to Stern Castle had been half dead from beatings dealt by the rebel who betrayed Lady Hawisa for her refusal to indiscriminately slay Normans overrunning her lands.

  Believing Vitalis responsible for Sir Guarin’s beating, Nicola had rushed over the drawbridge, named him a Saxon pig, and threatened to kill him should her brother die. Had not men-at-arms snatched her back, she might have tried.

  Hence, the second reason for admitting her—curiosity over what those years had wrought in she who had become a woman in full. And regrettable attraction.

  It was only the silver in her hair, he had told himself when she stood before him in the abbess’s chamber, dagger drawn and the D’Argent in her green eyes challenging him to test her skill. But it went beyond that, there something very appealing in her spirit and confidence, and he knew what it was.

  Lady Hawisa, whom long his heart had leaned toward, possessed the same in greater measure. And it was that Saxon lady, a dozen years older than Nicola, who had gifted her sister-in-law with training beyond what her brothers began in her.

  The termagant, as Zedekiah named her this day, now the vixen, as Vitalis had amended that day, had agreed to deliver the cloth to Sir Maël, and a strange loss Vitalis had felt when she departed. And greater that loss when he learned that whatever she knew of warring had not been enough to keep her out of the hands of the Danes who came for the Abbess of Lillefarne.

  There had been no opportunity to speak with Lady Nicola when he joined her abductors shortly thereafter, but regardless of how near she had stood to Bjorn, how many smiles she bestowed, how many flutters of the lashes made the young man puff his chest, Vitalis had been certain her promises were empty.