The Rose and the Shield (Medieval 2)

Gunnar Olafson was standing behind her.

Rose gave him an impatient glance, trying not to show how edgy his proximity made her. “Edward is not a fool, Captain. He knows his own friends and relatives. Let them in, Edward!” The old man scuttled away before anyone else could gainsay him. Rose turned to Arno, ignoring the mercenary captain. “We must send a troop of men to the village, Sir Arno. If the attackers are still there, then we will be able to capture them. If they are gone…well, we must help where we may.”

Sir Arno stared at her glassy eyed. “Merefolk,” he muttered, and laughed. “Capture the merefolk? Ah, but can you, lady?”

The wine had clearly done its work, and he was incapable of making sense. She should be angry—she just felt bleak. Arno’s drunkenness meant she would have to go herself.

Rose took a step forward, only to be halted again by a very strong, very warm hand clasping her shoulder. Startled, she turned and met Gunnar’s calm blue eyes.

“Lady, is this not the reason we are here?”

She had forgotten. She had believed that, as usual, it was all up to her, that she must stiffen her shoulders and carry this burden as she had carried all the others. And now suddenly here was the enigmatic Captain Olafson, steadying her with his grip, offering to take this task upon himself.

She wanted to refuse him, and yet at the same time the thought of his help was an exquisite temptation. Rose found it curiously difficult to breathe.

Could she trust him? And did she want to?

Rose stepped back, away from the others, until the wall hangings brushed her sleeve. As if he read her mind, Gunnar followed, treading softly after her. He was so large that he blocked the hall from her sight, until all she saw was him, his chest and shoulders in woad blue, a pulse beating in his throat. His face was in shadow, his eyes dark hollows, only his hair caught the candlelight, an aura of molten fire.

She made herself look up at him and hoped her haughty exterior was firmly in place. A disguise for the tumult within.

“Captain, I will not have anyone harmed unless it is completely necessary, unless it is a matter of life or death, and even then I do not like it. Do you understand me?”

He stared back at her.

Can I trust him? Or is he, right now, just trying to think of a lie to tell me that will satisfy me? It was no easy thing for Rose to place the lives of her people in this man’s hands. Why didn’t he answer her? Mayhap it was just that she was a woman, and he did not take his orders from women. Best she disabuse him of that matter right now!

“You may think that Sir Arno rules Somerford Manor,” she went on in her firmest tone, “but I am lady here, and I give the orders. If you cannot abide by that, Captain Olafson, then you had best step aside and let me go in your stead.”

Something flared in his eyes. “I have no difficulty taking orders from a woman,” he said softly. “I wondered whether you would trust me now that you know I fought against your brother.”

Rose hesitated, carefully choosing her words. “That is not something that would cause me not to trust you, Captain. Many of the people at Somerford fought for Harold, any one of them may have faced my brother, perhaps even dealt him the deathblow. I do not hate them for that.”

Still he stared and did not speak. As if she had said something remarkable.

“Well then…?” she demanded impatiently. “Do we understand each other?”

“If I can find one of these outlaws I will bring him back to you, lady,” he offered.

She tried to read his expression. The blankness had gone; he looked curiously elated. “Why would you do that?”

“He will tell us his secrets.”

“Why should he?” she replied.

He bent closer, crowding her. His body gave out heat and strength, his thigh brushed her gown. His breath against her skin was warm and faintly scented with cloves. “Because I am better even than the Lady Constance at making men give up their secrets. There are ways.”

Of course there were, Rose thought, her skin prickling, and a man such as this would know them all. Savage tortures far beyond imagining. And yet what choice had she? What he suggested, capturing one of the merefolk, made perfect sense. She answered him carefully, her throat feeling constricted.

“Do not…do not do anything until I have seen and spoken to any man you capture. There must be no killing. Do you swear it, Captain? Do you swear to obey me?”

He held her gaze for a long moment. She sensed some struggle in him, though she could not read what it was in the vivid blue of his eyes. And then he sighed, a barely audible sound, and his voice came quiet and intense.

“Aye, lady, I swea

r it.”

He didn’t wait for more. Rose watched him turn and stride quickly through the hall, a brief nod sending his men hurrying to fall in behind him. And then they were gone and the keep seemed empty without them.