Warrior's Song (Medieval Song 1)

“Then he would lie. Who is he?”

“He is a very hard man, smarter than he should be, merciless to his enemies, a man who is also a very dangerous renegade.”

“What do you mean?”

“Durwald was in line for a rich estate in Galloway, but King Alexander would not back his claim and gave it instead to his cousin. You see, Durwald would not swear fealty to his king. Unfortunately, the trouble is now ours. He’s not stupid. He never wreaks enough damage to gain the attention of King Henry or King Alexander. He has been until recently content to raid farther to the east. But now he is here, and we must kill him or he will pick our bones.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“There was no reason not to tell you. There is nothing harmful you can do with the information. Good night, Chandra.”

“Do you hate me so much?”

Mark rose to his feet, looked down at her for another moment, then turned on his heel and left her without a backward glance.

A short time later, Jerval wrapped himself up in his blanket and lay down near his wife. He knew she had to be in some pain. That was too bad. He wondered why he’d bothered to give her a blanket. She had her conceit, her god-awful arrogance, to keep the chill night air at bay.

The fire was nearly out, but from the dim shadows cast by the orange embers, he could see clotted blood over a cut near her jaw. She deserved it.

They were a few miles north of Camberley late the next morning when Jerval turned in his saddle and waved his hand toward Chandra, who was riding by herself at the rear of the troop.

For a moment, he believed she would ignore him.

Then, just a moment later, she reined in beside him. “Aye?”

He never looked at her, just said, “I have thought about what to do with you. I gave you all the freedom you had at Croyland, until you broke trust with me. Even then, I allowed you your manly trappings. After your ridiculous performance with the Scots in the tiltyard, I ordered you to learn from my mother, hoping, praying, it would temper your actions. That did naught but make my mother howl in frustration.

“But now, I will make no more excuses for you. No, you will not interrupt me. Close your mouth and listen carefully, for I can assure you that all hell will break loose once we are home.” He felt the pain rumbling through him even as he forced himself to say, “I have done all that I can to change your feelings for me. I give you a woman’s pleasure every night. Then I feel your tears against my shoulder at what you believe to be your humiliation, your subjugation, by me, your husband. You see it as a battle and see yourself, after you have recovered from the pleasure I give you, as having somehow lost something and been bested by me, your enemy. I believe you are incapable of recognizing that there is caring between us, and your passion with me is a sign of your caring for me.”

Her face was frozen.

He continued, his voice harsher now, because the pain cut him so deeply. “Every morning, you flee from me. Tell me why you must run away.”

He did not believe she would answer him, but she did. “I have no choice. I cannot stay.”

“Why?” She remained silent, and he said, “If you did stay, and I awoke with you, then I would bring you pleasure yet again and that is something you would never forgive yourself for. Is that it?”

She said nothing. The dried blood itched on her cheek.

“It would be in the light of day, and you would have to see me in that full light, not in the dim shadows of night, and you would know I was looking at you and you would see my mouth and my hands on you and you cannot bear that, can you?”

He didn’t think she would answer that, but she did, saying slowly, “You’re right. I cannot bear it.”

“Why the hell not?”

And that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer. Which, she didn’t know. She stared down at her scraped and torn hands and remained silent.

He said at last, “This last example of your thoughtlessness, your childishness, your absolute selfishness, has shown me clearly that you have not a pittance of sense, or maturity, and no regard at all for my wishes.” Indeed, he thought, as a husband, as her lord, as a man to whom she owed respect, he had failed spectacularly. She’d accused him of changing after they’d wed. Now, he knew that he must change.

“You will practice no more with the men, nor will you again wear your men’s clothes. You will spend all of your time learning from my mother the things a lady should know. Never again will you set yourself against me, or I will deal with you as befits a disobedient, ill-tempered wife.”

It was more than she could bear, more than she would let pass. “I am not ill tempered.”

He nearly laughed at that one. “Mayhap that wasn’t what I meant exactly. You are more heedless, mayhap more oblivious, than ill tempered. There, does that suit you?”

She said nothing at all.

“Just look at you. Some lady I bound myself to. You’re filthy. Your hair is tangled around your face.”