The Red Wolf's Prize Page 6

  “Would it be acceptable, my lord, if I undertook the task?” asked the blond knight.

  Serena did not miss the tenderness in Sir Geoffroi’s eyes as he glanced at Eawyn. She remembered his kindness to her friend in the clearing.

  The Red Wolf gave his knight a curious glance before nodding. “As you wish, Sir Geoffroi.”

  * * *

  Tired, Renaud climbed the stairs to his chamber, every muscle in his body tense from the trials of the day. The duties of being lord of Talisand were ones he readily accepted, even looked forward to, but they did not allow him the single focus that warfare did. It was a different kind of fatigue, not so much bone weary as mind weary, and it left its mark.

  When he reached his chamber, the door was ajar. Thinking it might be his young squire’s doing, he pushed it open and surveyed the room, looking for Mathieu’s brown head of hair. The usually dark chamber was aglow with light from candles set on each of the tables and rush lights near the bed. Renaud was instantly wary. It was not Mathieu’s habit to spend the candles so freely.

  His eyes were drawn to the bed cover, which had been turned down. Resting upon it was a woman, the same dark-eyed wench who served him wine at the evening meal.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. As he said the words, he realized the question was unnecessary. The woman was in his bed, her dark hair splayed over the pillow and her breasts barely covered by the thin undertunic she wore. Her intent was easily discerned.

  “I thought ye might want some company m’lord.”

  “Where is Mathieu?”

  “I sent him away, thinking ye might prefer to be private.”

  She rose up and sat back on her heels, the effect being to push her breasts out in blatant offering.

  The woman was attractive and clearly had seduction in mind. But she held no appeal. Mayhap it was her dark eyes. There was only one woman at Talisand he wanted in his bed and her eyes were the color of violets.

  “I appreciate your offer, Aethel…is it? But not tonight.”

  “Yea, m’lord, I be Aethel.” She climbed off the bed, and came to stand in front of him, reaching her palm to his chest. “Ye’re a fine man, m’lord. I would be proud to warm yer bed. Are ye certain ye’ll not be wanting me this night?”

  Her scent of heavy spices wrapped around him like a cape as she sensually slid her palm up his chest to his neck. He stopped her progress, pulling her arm from his body. “Quite certain.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Renaud was relieved, hoping his squire had returned. After the day he’d had, he had no desire to deal with the schemes of this woman. But when he opened the door, Sarah stood before him.

  Merde!

  Sarah’s gaze shifted from his face to where Aethel stood to the side. Renaud clamped his teeth on another oath.

  Averting her gaze, Sarah said, “Forgive me, my lord. I was told Mathieu had need of me.”

  Before he could ask her to stay, she hurried away, her cheeks flaming in what he assumed was embarrassment at the scene she had witnessed.

  A feeling of regret washed over him. He sighed and turned to the scantily clad woman “Out!”

  Disappointment and anger flashed in Aethel’s dark eyes as she grabbed the robe she had draped over a chest and stomped toward the door.

  Reaching for the handle, she looked back over her shoulder. “She will nay have ye, m’lord.”

  “Of whom do you speak?”

  “Sarah, m’lord. She hates all Normans.”

  “Aethel?”

  “Yea, m’lord?”

  “Never come to my chamber again.”

  Without another word, the woman departed, briskly closing the door behind her.

  Renaud poured himself a goblet of wine, took a large swallow and slumped onto the edge of his bed. What was it about women that produced such different reactions? Aethel, who came willingly, though uninvited, to his bed, and Sarah, who he was certain would deny him even a kiss? It might be because Sarah was still a maiden, but he knew it was more. Sarah was a proud English maiden who had no love for his kind. He was certain Aethel would not care about a man’s origins if he pleased her in bed. But to Sarah, the Red Wolf was the Norman who, along with his liege, had conquered her people.

  So, why was he so attracted to her? It was not her dull brown hair, or her attitude, though it might be her violet eyes and her lithe form. What man would fail to be attracted to her lush curves? Even her servant’s attire did not hide them. But there was something more—something in the way she held herself, the way she looked him in the eye as if they were equals, and her courage in facing down the mercenary. She was like no woman he knew. After the women of William’s court, the novelty of a woman like Sarah, even though a servant, was refreshing.

  * * *

  “I believe I am in love,” said Geoff as he took his place next to Renaud at the dais the next day, a blissful smile on his face.

  Renaud considered his friend. He had a dazed look about him like he was waking from a dream. “And what, or should I say, who has brought about this revelation?”

  “Eawyn insisted I stay for a meal and the food she prepared was better than that at Rouen. It did not lack for being served by such a lovely woman either…hair the color of a raven’s wing and eyes like a summer sky. She invited me to stay the night.” Renaud could not hide his surprise. Seeing it, Geoff added, “In an alcove reserved for guests, of course. Yea, I think it must be love.”

  “I see. Well, if you can shake yourself from the dream, Geoff, I want you to plan an archery contest for the morrow. I would see my archers compete with those trained by the Welshman, including any of Talisand’s women who would want to participate.” He had not forgotten that Sarah used a bow.

  “The men would like that, Ren. It will give them a chance to demonstrate their prowess as archers and interact with the younger women. Will you compete?”

  “I am not an archer.”

  “Yea, but neither is Sir Maurin, and the two of you could best any of them.”

  “I suppose I could use the practice. But I plan to watch, too. I am interested to see how the shorter bows the Welshman fashioned for the women fare against the longer ones. It will also allow us to judge how many of the Englishmen can be considered candidates to join my archers.”

  “’Tis a grand idea, Ren. It will be a welcome diversion and may serve to provide some entertainment for the people.”

  * * *

  The next day, Serena stood with Cassie at the gate watching as the Red Wolf’s men posted three targets outside the palisade and marked out a line with flags, indicating the place from which the archers would shoot. Normally such a sight would cause her to feel great excitement, but instead she was wary. The Red Wolf had invited all at Talisand to participate, giving notice there would be rewards for those scoring the highest points. What was his purpose?

  “Will ye join in the contest?” Cassie asked, holding her hand over her eyes to shelter her gaze from the midday sun. “Ye could best any of the Red Wolf’s men. Ye know ye could. Ye are even better than Leppe and he is the best.”

  “Lady Serena may shoot well, but she is not here, Cassie. Remember? I will encourage Leppe to compete, but I am thinking Sarah is only a fair shot. After all, Sir Geoffroi thought I missed my target when I sent that arrow into the mercenary’s arm. No, the servant Sarah will pose no threat to the Red Wolf’s men or their display of skill. Yea, I will participate.”

  A grin spread across Cassie’s face, a younger version of her mother’s with the same green eyes save they were framed by her father’s red hair. “Ye’re a devious one, Sarah.”

  “Mayhap I am,” Serena said with a faint smile. “But in this case I must act consistent with my disguise, else I be discovered.”

  Cassie told Serena that a score and one had entered their names in the archery tournament: fifteen of the Red Wolf’s men, including the Norman lord himself, and six from Talisand: Leppe, Theodric, Alec and three women. Rhodri had taught many more b
ut, regrettably, only the six had the skills necessary to compete.

  As the match began, Serena felt a slight wind stirring wisps of her hair, but it was naught a skilled archer would fail to consider.

  The first round included Cassie, Theodric, and Sir Maurin, who Cassie had bragged was a skilled archer.

  Theodric went first, his shot hitting at the edge of the red center. Serena smiled, pleased to see him do well. Cassie went next. Her arrow, though close, fell short of the target’s center. Serena thought her handmaiden’s anxious looks at Sir Maurin might have thrown off her aim. Finally, Sir Maurin stepped to the line, his weathered face void of emotion as he studied the wind moving in the trees. Then, with a confident look, he let his arrow fly, the shot piercing the red center. Many “Ahs” were heard from the crowd, but the people of Talisand who crowded around did not smile as they had for Theodric.

  The next round matched Alec and a woman from Talisand against the Red Wolf. Serena’s eyes fixed on the proud Norman knight as he sauntered to the line. Pulling back on the arrow as if ’twere nothing, he sent the shaft soaring. It hit dead center with a loud thwack. The crowd let out a sigh. Unfortunately, the Talisand archers, who followed the Red Wolf, were unable to sink their arrows into the center of the target.

  Other rounds followed. In his round, Leppe’s arrow found dead center, and Serena silently cheered. He had always been the best of Talisand’s archers taught by Rhodri, save possibly for herself, but she had practiced much.

  The Norman archers who followed did well, some consistently hitting the target.

  When it came time for her to shoot, Serena stepped to the line. She nocked the arrow and focused her eyes on the target, her stance sure. The crowd grew quiet as the villagers waited to see what their lady would do. She worried over their reaction and what it might reveal. She had not taken into account their anticipation.

  Serena stood, legs apart, and pulled back the arrow, changing her line of sight at the last minute to focus on the edge of the target, not its center. When she let the arrow fly, a whooshing sound filled the silence. The thwack of the arrow as it hit the wide edge of the target echoed through the air. The stunned crowd looked on.

  A clear miss.

  She stepped back into the crowd, smiling to herself—until she saw Maugris nearby, his blue eyes staring intently at her.

  Wiping the smile from her face, she scurried away. The old Norman’s gaze haunted her. It was as if he could see right through her. Dismissing her worries, she hurried to find Cassie so they could watch the last rounds together when the best archers of the day faced off.

  Two more rounds eliminated all but four: Leppe, Sir Maurin, the Red Wolf and another of the Norman archers. Each took a shot at the target. Each hit the center.

  “Move the target back twenty paces!” shouted Sir Geoffroi from the sidelines.

  The target was moved back and each man took up his stance. The shots that followed were fired in rapid succession. The small wind picked up to rustle the leaves of the trees nearby. Serena was disappointed to see Leppe’s arrow hit off center this time, but was mollified when the Norman archer’s shot also fell short of the center circle. Only the Red Wolf and Sir Maurin remained. Their shots again hit the center of the target. This time, even the faces of the villagers bore smiles.

  Upon the order of the Red Wolf, the target was moved back another twenty paces. The tension grew palpable as all eyes fixed on the two men standing next to each other, their eyes focused on the distant target.

  Cassie bit her lower lip and her hand gripped Serena’s forearm. “’Tis exciting, no?” whispered her handmaiden.

  “Yea, it is. I only wish Leppe was still in the competition. I’d like to see him beat the Normans.”

  Sir Maurin shot first. With a whoosh, his arrow flew to hit the center. The crowd sighed in unison, “Ah….”

  “See if you can split the shaft,” urged Sir Geoffroi from behind the Red Wolf loud enough for Serena to hear.

  The Norman lord took a deep breath. For a long moment he watched the leaves of the trees, moved by the rising wind. Then, he narrowed his eyes on the target like a beast focusing on its prey. “Aye, I shall.”

  With a whoosh, his arrow flew and a cracking sound echoed through the open meadow as the Red Wolf’s arrowhead split the shaft of Sir Maurin’s arrow. The crowd gasped.

  With a small smile, the Red Wolf turned to Sir Maurin. “Would you try again?”

  “Nay, my lord.” Sir Maurin bowed in grand gesture. “I concede and congratulate you.”

  * * *

  Renaud walked toward the place where he was to give out the prizes, his pace slower than usual as he pondered the servant girl Sarah. She had been quick to hurry away from the shooting line when her arrow failed to achieve the target’s center. But something about the whole scene bothered him.

  As if reading his thoughts, Geoff leaned in to whisper. “Ren, why do I have the feeling Sarah is better with the bow than her performance today would suggest?”

  Renaud remembered the faces of the crowd gathered to watch the match. “Mayhap it is because the English held their breath as she stepped to the line, as if they expected something unusual.”

  Geoff’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What is your meaning?”

  Renaud paused in his stride and looked at the blond knight. “When she first began to shoot, they held their breath. I think they expected a show. With her shot, their faces bore stunned disappointment. You had only to look at them.”

  Geoff turned toward the mingling crowd of villagers, servants and children who had come to witness the competition. “Ah…I remember now. They walked away with downcast eyes. But Ren, though I did not doubt her intent to kill Sir Hugue, even rising to defend another woman’s honor, she missed, hitting only his arm.”

  “You may be right. Still, it is curious. Mayhap she refused to do her best in front of her Norman conquerors.” Renaud rubbed his chin in contemplation. He was certain the girl could do better than she had. And if that were so, why had she held back?

  They resumed their stride toward the place where the prizes were to be given.

  Geoff wondered aloud. “If the girl has a talent with the bow, why would she hide it when there was a chance to make us Normans look the fools? She has no fondness for us.”

  “Why indeed? I know not, but I intend to find out. This will not be the last shooting match at Talisand.”

  Just then, a lad with golden hair streaked across Renaud’s path. He called out to the boy. “Say there, lad, come here.”

  The boy looked up at the two knights, his smile telling Renaud he was eager to please. “Yea, sir?”

  “What is your name, boy?”

  “I am called Jamie.”

  “Jamie, can you tell me, of those the Welshman trained to the bow, who is the best?”

  “Oh, that would be Lady Serena, sir. Rhodri said her arm is so fast ’tis as if the bow is part of her, as if they are one. She is both fast and sure. Serena never misses.” Pride gleamed in the young boy’s eyes as he spoke of his lady.

  Renaud frowned. The lad’s mention of Lady Serena only reminded Renaud the woman who was to be his bride had defied William’s order, a lady of many talents it seems, including escape. He remembered Maugris had also said Lady Serena was good with a bow.

  One of the mercenaries Renaud had dispatched was already winding his way through Scotland in search of the lady, a man who spoke both English and Gaelic. Yet it would be some time before he could expect a message.

  He thanked the boy and watched him walk away, relieved there were some among his new villeins who did not hate Normans. He and Geoff approached the table set with the awards to be given, and Renaud shoved thoughts of Lady Serena to the recesses of his mind. “How many of the Englishmen could stand with our archers?” he asked Geoff.

  “Based on today’s performance, I would venture at least two, and possibly with more time and training, the other one who competed.”

  “See t
hat those you consider candidates are invited to train with my archers. When William next calls upon us, we shall take the proficient ones with us. Now I must see to the prizes. I will pass my own to Sir Maurin.”

  Chapter 6

  The rider approached the gate as Serena watched from the roof walk. She had gone to the roof that morning to think, as she often did when the knights engaged in their swordplay outside the palisade, and had spotted the familiar head of dark curls, the Welsh pony and the small harp and bow dangling from the saddle. Her heart leapt in her chest.

  Rhodri!

  Lifting her tunic, she ran down the stairs leading from the roof to a small landing on the outside of the manor and then down another set of stairs to the ground. She raced across the yard and out the gate guarded by the Red Wolf’s men.

  When she reached the rider on the pony, she whispered, “Rhodri, I will see you through the gate. Say nothing until you hear me out.”

  “What are you up to, my lady? And why are you dressed in such manner and your hair that awful color?”

  “Shssh!” she hissed, as she led his horse forward. To the Norman guard she smiled sweetly and said, “Sir, ‘tis an old friend of Talisand, a bard to entertain us.”

  The guard’s harsh eyes examined the Welshman, pausing on the harp. He nodded and waved them on. By now the Red Wolf’s men knew her, unaware her recent pleasantries were only an act.

  Serena walked alongside Rhodri’s horse leading him to the far side of the yard where they could talk without being overheard.

  He reined in his pony, and she looked up at him. “I am in disguise, Rhodri, as you can plainly see. The Normans have come to Talisand at the Bastard’s command, and I am hiding among them. Do not give me away. I am the servant Sarah.”

  “Fine,” he said casting his gaze over the yard at the Normans who had not been there before and then back to Serena. “But welcome me. I have traveled far to come to Talisand and I have missed you sorely, Ser…Sarah.” He dropped from the saddle to stand next to her, looking directly into her eyes for they were the same height. She gave him a warm embrace. He grinned and his dark curls tossed about his handsome face. A well-trimmed mustache and clipped beard only made him more attractive. “I have heard your father was slain at Hastings. I am sorry.”