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  THE RED WOLF’S PRIZE

  Regan Walker

  The Red Wolf’s Prize

  Copyright 2014 Regan Walker

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  “Regan Walker has delivered an exciting tale and a passionate love story that brings to life England after the Conquest—medieval romance at its best!"

  Virginia Henley New York Times Bestselling Author

  HE WOULD NOT BE DENIED HIS PRIZE

  The door opened with no warning knock.

  Serena gasped and pulled the cloth over her breasts and belly, keenly aware her legs were bare for anyone to see.

  The Red Wolf stepped into the chamber, his piercing gray gaze sliding over her body and coming to rest where her breasts strained against the thin cloth. She could feel the heat of her blush as she looked to see the drying cloth clinging to her wet skin.

  Without saying a word, he turned to the side and took off his belt. Then, with a grunt, he pulled his mail over his head and struggled out of his tunic. She would have offered to help had she not been so scantily clad. Had she not been so shy of his disrobing before her.

  When his tunic slid to the floor, she nervously asked, “What do you intend, my lord?”

  “I should think that was obvious, my lady. I am claiming my bride.”

  “Now?” She gripped the drying cloth more tightly to her still damp body. The long strands of her hair, wet from the bath, clung to her skin. No man had ever seen her in such a state.

  “Yes, now.” His eyes considered her carefully, and he shook his head. “God knows I’ve left it overlong.”

  While still staring at her, he shed his spurs and boots and doffed his linen shirt, leaving his chest bare and his lower body clad in only hosen and braies. He was a beautiful man with his bronze skin and muscled chest. Her eyes were drawn to the white cloth circling his upper arm.

  “Your wound,” she said, as she focused on the white bandage around his upper arm. The wound from the arrow he took for Jamie. How could she not love such a man?

  “Aye.” He glanced down at the bandage. “My token from the siege at Exeter.”

  “Does it pain you?”

  His gray eyes narrowed intently. “If you are asking if it will impair my performance in our bed, nay.”

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  CONTENTS

  Map

  Characters of Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Author Bio

  Synopsis

  Other Books by Regan Walker

  Characters of Note

  (Both real and fictional)

  Sir Renaud de Pierrepont (the “Red Wolf”)

  Lady Serena of Talisand

  With the Red Wolf:

  Sir Geoffroi de Tournai

  Sir Maurin de Caen

  Sir Alain de Roux

  Sir Niel le Brun

  Mathieu, the squire

  Maugris, the wise one

  Sir Hugue, the mercenary knight

  At Talisand:

  Cassandra, handmaiden to Serena

  Maggie, cook and housekeeper, mother of Cassandra and wife of Angus, the smith

  Theodric, captain of the old thegn’s guard

  Leppe and Alec, guards

  Hunstan, steward

  Jamie, the orphan

  Aethel, herb woman

  Eawyn, widow of Ulrich

  Rhodri, Welsh bard and teacher of the bow

  Eric, serving lad then stable boy

  Ingrith and Annis, weavers

  Hulda, Godfrith and young Edith, potters

  Others:

  William I, the Conqueror and Duke of Normandy

  Morcar, former Earl of Northumbria, and his brother Edwin, Earl of Mercia

  Fugol, merchant spy for Morcar

  Steinar, brother to Lady Serena

  Prologue

  County of Maine, south of Normandy 1063

  “Wolves!” Renaud de Pierrepont’s voice was a low hiss as the howl of a wolf pierced the thin night air, setting every nerve on end. The heat of the battle lust from the assault at Mayenne had worn off long ago. The wind blowing in gusts off the snow caused his sweat to grow cold.

  Clutching his mantle tightly around him, Renaud glanced at Geoffroi de Tournai, riding beside him. The knight’s eyes were focused on the dark woods as if trying to penetrate their depths.

  “The beast is close,” whispered Geoff.

  Renaud’s horse tossed its head, sidestepping away from the rock outcropping in front of the trees. Reining him in, Renaud took off his glove and reached out to stroke Belasco’s sleek gray coat.

  The predator howled again.

  “Do I imagine it, Geoff, or are there more in the woods these last days?”

  “’Tis the lack of game, Ren. The wolves suffer along with our men. No knight can fight without meat to sustain him.”

  “Cheer up, my hungry friend,” encouraged Renaud. “The campaign for Maine is over. Duke William has his victory. We will soon return north to his table in Rouen where food and wine are plentiful.”

  Geoff grinned. “And you can claim a share in the duke’s victory since ’twas you who provided the strategy that gave him his victory.”

  “It was only a thought I had that appealed to him. He is the master of strategy.”

  “’Twas more than that, Ren, and well he knows it. William values your advice as few others. ’Tis a fact he is a worthy master. Make no mistake, you will have your reward.”

  “I am but William’s man, Geoff. Mayhap one day that will—”

  Without warning the wolf leaped from the rocks and sank its claws into his hauberk, cutting off his words. Yellow eyes flashed as the beast bared its teeth and reached toward the pulsing vein that held his life’s blood. Gripping the fur of the wolf’s shoulders, he strained to hold the beast at bay.

  The panicked horses
screamed. His stallion reared, toppling man and beast to the snow-covered ground. Renaud hit the frozen earth with a heavy thud, his breath leaving him with the force of a fist in his gut. Gasping for air, he struggled to hold the beast’s snapping jaws away from his neck.

  Geoff quickly dismounted and drew his sword but it was a fruitless effort.

  Renaud and the beast rolled across the frozen ground, locked in a battle to the death, leaving Geoff no clear target.

  Renaud grunted as his bare hand slipped on the wolf’s throat. The beast jerked its head around and sank its teeth into the flesh of Renaud’s wrist. He shouted his anger as pain burned through his arm and blood trickled over his hand.

  For a scant moment, the wolf released its hold on his wrist allowing Renaud to grip the wolf’s neck below the snapping, snarling jaws.

  Geoff circled the battling pair, looking for any opening to offer assistance.

  Razor sharp claws raked Renaud’s hauberk as the beast sought to tear the flesh beneath.

  Rolling on top of the wolf, Renaud delivered a crushing knee kick to its body. But the wolf’s desperate fight continued.

  Drawing upon his remaining strength, Renaud straddled the thrashing animal. With an anguished battle cry, he jerked the beast’s head to the side and twisted the corded muscles of its neck.

  The wolf’s neck gave with a crack. Its body went limp.

  The battle was over.

  Renaud gasped in the frigid air, his frosted breath escaping his lips in a rush, as relief flowed through him. His throat burned and his lungs heaved as he looked down upon the dead wolf still clutched in his hands. The smell of blood, like iron and earth, rose to his nostrils.

  “Mon Dieu!” He thrust the carcass away.

  Geoff sheathed his sword and rushed to Renaud, kneeling at his side. “Here,” he said, handing him a cloth, “wrap this around your wrist ’til we can see to it properly. We had best be away. The scent of blood will draw more.”

  Still breathing heavily, Renaud wrapped the cloth tightly around his damaged wrist and rose, brushing snow off his mantle with his uninjured hand. He whistled and his stallion turned toward him from where he pawed at the ground a short distance away. It seemed the animal was as eager as his master to leave the dark threatening woods.

  Renaud strode toward his approaching horse with Geoff close on his heels. The woods had gone quiet, the jingling of their spurs on the ice-crusted snow the only sound.

  He paused as a thought came unbidden. Turning, he looked past Geoff to the dead animal lying in the snow. The full moon’s light reflected off the white-blanketed earth revealing the copper tinge of the beast’s fur. An unusual red wolf.

  “What is it?” Geoff asked.

  “Bring the wolf. I may have a use for its pelt. Mayhap ’twill serve as a worthy reminder to any who cross me in the future. Their fate will be the same.”

  The wolf will hunt for the jewel hidden among the stones, and if he finds it, his cubs will advise kings for generations.

  —Maugris’ vision during the crossing to England, September 1066

  Chapter 1

  The North of England, spring 1068

  Serena contemplated her reflection in the small silvered glass.

  Soon I will be another woman. Soon I will have another life.

  While she could not change her violet eyes or her curves of a woman full grown, her flaxen hair was another matter. Undoing her long plait, she let the loose waves fall below her waist to shimmer in the early morning sunlight streaming into her bedchamber through the open shutters.

  With a sigh, she lifted her hand to touch the gilded frame of the silvered glass. She could still hear her father’s voice when he told her he had bought the extravagant gift from a Spanish merchant who claimed the Moors had made it. No one at Talisand had ever seen such a magnificent wonder before he brought it home to the manor. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered the look on his face, the warm smile reflecting his love.

  Her father had been her protector and teacher, a man of great wisdom and a thegn dearly loved by his people. Deprived of his guiding presence, and with her brother in Scotland, Serena was all too aware she alone of her family was left at Talisand. Fear crept over her like a winter chill as she remembered the messenger who had come with a writ from the Bastard King.

  She was to become the bride of the new Norman lord of Talisand.

  Nay, I will not!

  But how could she deny so fearsome a warrior as the knight they called the Red Wolf?

  Serena’s brow puckered in consternation. And what would become of the other women at Talisand? Would not the Norman conquerors claim them as spoils? Peasants fleeing the advancing horde the year before had spoken of the knights’ villainy. Women were merely vessels to satisfy their lust.

  Anger flared in her eyes staring back from the silvered glass. She would not have it! The young women of Talisand would not fall victim to the rampaging knights if she could help it.

  But what choices were left? Some English women had taken the veil, but she was not suited to the cloistered life and that would not be a choice for the maidens at Talisand. But mayhap she could save the most vulnerable.

  The door opened and Cassie, her handmaiden, entered with her mother, Maggie.

  “’Tis ready, m’lady,” said Maggie, handing Serena a leather flask. “I have made ye the dye from walnuts.”

  Serena accepted the flask and poured the dark liquid into a bowl.

  “’Tis a shame to dye such beautiful hair,” remarked Maggie.

  “She must, Mother, if she is to look the part of a servant,” Cassie insisted. “’Tis nay just her speech and her clothes that make her stand out. ’Tis her hair that tells all who she is—like a pale flame on a dark night.”

  Maggie nodded, resigned. “Then oil yer hands and the skin around yer face, m’lady, before ye apply the dye. It will make yer hair brown like mine, but ye will have to add more as yer hair grows. And remember to keep yer hood up should it rain for water can make the dye run.”

  “I will, Maggie, and thank you,” said Serena as she spread the oil on her face and hands.

  Cassie oiled her own hands and began to work the dye into Serena’s hair. “I know the messenger said ye were to be the new lord’s wife, but it might be well ye are leaving. The tales of the Normans’ brutality are frightening. Ye must be safe.”

  “To be sure,” echoed Maggie, “the Norman who comes isna a man yer father would have chosen for ye. Mayhap it will be easier for us to accept his yoke, knowing ye and yer brother are beyond his grasp and safe in me own homeland.”

  “I could not bear to take a Norman as husband,” Serena said with firm conviction. Cassie poured the last of the dye onto Serena’s head and she let the dark liquid drip from the wet strands into the bowl. She was glad she would not have to color her brows. Like her lashes, they were already dark. “It is not enough the Bastard from Normandy has taken my father and my country. Now he would give my family’s lands to one of his knights.”

  “If the traveling cottars’ words be true,” offered Cassie, “the one who now claims Talisand is one who fought with the Bastard at Hastings. He might even be the knight who slayed yer father, the thegn!”

  “Yea, ’tis a hard time that has come upon the land,” said Maggie, regret showing in her eyes, the same vivid green as her daughter’s. Then shooting a glance at Cassie, she added, “When I think of the men the Norman lord brings with him, I fear for me own daughter as well.”

  “I want to go with Lady Serena,” the flame haired Cassie blurted out while she squeezed the excess dye from Serena’s hair. “She will be saving me and the others from certain rape.”

  Maggie smiled sadly. “Aye, but will ye be safe?” She handed the drying cloth to her daughter. “’Tis a long road ye travel. I worry for ye both. The woods are full of thieves.”

  “Nay, Maggie,” insisted Serena. “The woods are full of fleeing Saxons.”

  Cassie wrapped the drying cloth arou
nd Serena’s head. “Would it not be better for us to flee than to stay and fall prey to the Bastard’s men? Have we not heard the tales of their terrible deeds as they ravaged Wessex?”

  Maggie nodded, her countenance fallen. “Aye, I have heard of the killing and the burnings. They even robbed churches. ’Tis a gift from God we have escaped such, and only because Talisand lies so far north. I pray the new Norman lord will not harm the villagers. They will now be his villeins, caring for fields that are his.”

  “I will worry for you,” said Serena fighting the urge to stay even as she knew she must go.

  “Ye must not worry about me and Angus,” said the cook. “The Red Wolf will need me to feed his men and Angus to keep his horses shod.”

  Cassie nodded to her mother. “Aye, ye both will be needed.”

  “At least the young women I take with me will not be here to face the Red Wolf and his men,” encouraged Serena. “We will search for my brother and accept the sanctuary offered by Scotland’s king.” Serena finished blotting the moisture from her dyed hair and unwrapped the drying cloth. “I wish I could take all of the women, but not all want to go. Like you, Maggie, some have husbands.”

  “Do ye know where yer brother, the young master is, m’lady?” asked Maggie.

  “Steinar’s last message said he was at King Malcolm’s court in Dunfermline, north of Edinburgh, where many Englishman gather, hoping for an opportunity to return to fight for Edgar Ætheling, the true heir to the throne.”

  Maggie sighed. “At least ye and the young women will have protectors traveling with ye. And I will pray ye stay safe.”

  “We welcome your prayers,” said Serena. Looking into the faces of the two women who were so dear to her, she added, “I am glad for all you have done for me. Your friendship has meant more than your service. And your company, Cassie, will be most welcome.” She thought of those women who would travel with them, and the face of another rose in her mind. “Do you think Aethel would want to go with us? Her knowledge of herbs would be welcome.”