Warrior's Surrender Read online

  “It’s in talking to the village priests that I’ve learned the party has the same description. Four men, two donkeys, and a cart filled with tools. The priests remember them because they were never seen for mass.”

  “The quality of the sermons perhaps?” Rhys quipped.

  Dominic quirked his lips in wry amusement.

  “Very possibly. Nevertheless, it is another thing these events have in common.”

  “Do we know where these men are now?” asked Sebastian, returning to business.

  “We don’t, but I have heard reports of a group matching their description heading back north. They may be looking to winter in Northumbria.”

  Sebastian nodded and stood, drawing the meeting to an end. “I’ll have patrols keep an eye out for them.”

  As the three headed outside, Sebastian felt a tap on his arm.

  “I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you on your betrothal, Sebastian.”

  “Is this a genuine felicitation or one of those that lies behind a false smile?” Sebastian grumbled.

  “Since when have you ever known me not to speak honestly?”

  Sebastian conceded the point with a sigh.

  “Never. I know not everyone is happy. Gaines and Rhys have made their reservations plain.”

  “Are you marrying them or Lady Alfreya?”

  Sebastian pinned him with a look, but Dominic shrugged it off.

  “You have the Crown’s approval and presumably the young woman herself is willing. Since when did you care for the opinions of other people?”

  Silence stretched out for several long moments until Dominic was struck by a spark of revelation.

  “This is more than just a political and strategic marriage for you, isn’t it?”

  When Sebastian answered, his voice was low and uncertain, his head bowed.

  “I love her, Dom, and I think I always have, but she…”

  “Fight for her, Sebastian,” said Dominic gravely. “Alfreya’s past still haunts her. Win her mind and win her heart and she will surrender willingly to the love you offer.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Frey sat on a bench facing the open-air stage. Warmth enveloped her as the weight of a wool mantle was pressed on her shoulders from behind.

  She looked back at Sebastian. He studied her briefly with an expression that, if pushed, she would have described as wistful. She opened her mouth to ask if aught was amiss, but Sebastian, sitting beside her, had already turned his attention to the entertainers.

  Frey continued to view his profile in the lamplight.

  He was to be her husband the day after tomorrow. A life together, forever joined. The thought beat steadily in her chest. Forever, forever, forever.

  It was easy to acknowledge her desire for him. The smell of him lingered on the cloak she wore; it aroused her so she had no doubt coupling with him would be pleasurable.

  Over these past weeks, she had watched him, not just the play of his muscles as he trained his men, his sharp reflexes and surprising agility, but also the gentle way he would cradle his nephew, and the authority he wielded.

  It would be easy to love him as his men did, out of respect and loyalty, but Frey yearned for something more and knew in her heart of hearts that it would only come if she let go and fully surrendered her past and her fears. It was as though she stood on the edge of a great rock face with a voice in her ear that whispered, if she would only step off, she would fly and soar high like the terns that swooped and dove along the North Sea cliffs.

  But she was afraid.

  “You there!”

  The magician, a man in his late forties, tall with a great theatricality to his manner, pointed right at her.

  Frey was taken aback. Could her private thoughts be so publicly manifested on her face?

  “He wants to know if you would like to be part of the trick, my lady,” said Robert, who stood behind. “He says he can make a woman disappear into thin air, then bring her back.”

  Frey’s first reaction was to shake her head and decline.

  “Come now!” cajoled the man. “Surely my lady, the Amazon of Tyrswick, is not afraid?”

  Afraid.

  The word resonated through her. Perhaps she should stop being ruled by fear. Frey squared her shoulders.

  “I am not afraid,” she answered softly.

  Sebastian’s voice rang through the crowd, “Alfreya of Tyrswick is afraid of no one and of nothing.”

  Buoyed by the accompanying claps and cheers, Frey stepped forward and took the hand of the conjuror.

  He called for another volunteer from the crowd. Young Robert surged forward.

  “Now, young man,” the magician told him, waving demonstratively at the brightly painted box he had unveiled on the stage, “examine this and testify to the people it is indeed a sturdy and complete box.”

  Robert jumped up to the platform and walked up to the object. Much like an upright coffin, it stood in front of a length of black curtain that hid the back stage from the audience.

  “Go ahead, test it! Do you agree this is a solid box?”

  Robert leaned in and rapped on the back and sides and nodded his agreement.

  With great deference and courtesy, the magician assisted Frey up the risers.

  “No need to fear, my lady, all you need to do is just stand in that box.”

  She did so with a wan smile.

  The magician made a further show of asking if she was comfortable before taking hold of a large panel of wood that leaned against the side of the box and turning to the audience.

  “I'm going to put this on the front of the box, say a few words of magic, and, when I remove it, the lady will have gone,” he announced.

  “You'd better bring her back,” said Robert, seriously. The audience laughed.

  “Indeed, I will, young man. Don't be concerned!”

  Frey’s smile demurred and the front of the box was secured, but even as the front was closed, she heard movement behind her. The back of the box was as much a removable panel as the front, and, from an aperture in the backstage curtain, a young blonde woman in an olive and ochre kirtle was shushing Frey to remain silent and gesturing to her to slip out of the box.

  Going along, she exited behind the curtain.

  “Say nothing,” said the woman, stepping to one side, but before Frey could nod, a hand clamped firmly over her mouth from behind.

  She struggled fruitlessly. Her assailant, much taller and stronger, manhandled her from the backstage into a neighboring tent in which a figure waited in the semidarkness.

  “You’re looking well, beloved.” Drefan stepped forward from the shadows into the lamplight. “Playing whore to that Norman dog suits you.”

  To Frey’s relief, the hand that covered her mouth disappeared, and she drew a deep breath, ready to shout a few choice names, but the hand returned, holding a blade at her ribs.

  “You have some gall, Drefan,” she hissed. “As soon as I tell Sebastian you’re here…”

  Drefan surged forward and gripped the hair on the back of her head cruelly. He nodded once and the blade disappeared. With his brutal grip, he forced Frey’s head around to the view beyond the parted doorway of the tent. At the edge of the crowd she saw a young man standing close beside Heloise.

  “You do remember Baldwin, don’t you, my dove?”

  As though the man sensed he was being talked about, Baldwin turned, faced away from Heloise, and waved a quick salute.

  “You won’t say anything to de la Croix until we’re well away from here if you value what happens to that pretty little girl over there,” he whispered.

  Drefan pulled Frey's head back and threw her into the arms of the knife-wielding man.

  “Our time here is short,” Drefan told her. “I want to make sure you don’t forget my face and my name. I’ll be coming for you.”

  Drefan gave his accomplice a curt nod. The man hauled Frey outside and dragged her up behind the backstage curtain. The blonde was n
owhere to be seen. The man shoved her into the magician’s box just moments before the front panel opened, leaving her blinking owlishly at the crowd, which erupted into cheers and applause.

  Her eyes sought Sebastian in the crowd, and she walked toward him blindly. She watched his expression change from amusement to concern as she drew near.

  “Frey? What’s amiss?” he asked.

  To her distress, she couldn’t form the words; her teeth chattered and sweat beaded her forehead.

  “Are you ill? Come sit down inside the tent.”

  With a gentle hand at her back, Sebastian steered her toward their marquee. Once seated and with Sebastian’s warmth beside her, Frey started to feel more calm.

  “Heloise,” she forced out. “Where is she?”

  Sebastian looked at her for a second before calling behind them to where a clutch of familiar faces from the Keep had gathered in concern at the couple's sudden departure from the performance.

  “Gaines! Find Heloise.”

  Gaines left with a grunt of acknowledgment.

  “Drefan is here,” said Frey. To her distress she realized her hands shook. “I’ve seen him.”

  “When?”

  “When I was in the box.”

  Sebastian frowned.

  “You were only gone a minute.”

  Frey explained to Sebastian everything that had taken place and watched his normally open expression harden.

  “Robert!” he yelled, the sound of which made Frey jump. “Find Orlege, tell him Drefan is here and he's to take all the men he needs and search the tents. Start with the magician’s and hold him.”

  “Frey?” Sebastian chafed Frey’s cold hands with his. “Frey, listen to me. We will find Heloise…”

  “I don’t need finding, I’m right here.”

  Frey started at the voice and saw a matching expression of surprise across Sebastian’s face. Standing behind Heloise in the doorway was Gaines.

  “Lady Heloise was right outside, my lord.”

  Frey didn’t miss the sarcasm in his tone. By the way Sebastian shifted she knew the disrespect didn’t go unnoticed by him either.

  “Then see if you can aid Orlege,” said Sebastian, dismissing his man-at-arms and turning to Heloise.

  “Explain to me where you’ve been.”

  “Here,” she stated, stepping farther into the tent and folding her arms across her chest defiantly. “I’ve been right here under your nose all the time.”

  Rhys barreled in and looked at Heloise, then at Sebastian in confusion.

  “What the hell’s going on? The men are going tent to tent and I was told Heloise was missing.”

  “No, I wasn't, brother,” said Heloise in exasperation. “I don’t know what Lady Alfreya’s been saying, but I’ve been here all along.”

  “Alfreya saw Drefan here at the fair,” said Sebastian levelly. “I’m not going to take any chances with her or your family.”

  “Agreed. Heloise, we’re leaving now,” said Rhys tersely, forestalling a squeak of protest from his sister with a raised finger.

  Sebastian squeezed Frey’s hand and stood.

  “Go with Rhys. If Drefan is still here, we’ll find him.”

  * * *

  Weariness weighed heavily on Sebastian as he led the last of his men along the road to Tyrswick Keep.

  The moon had passed its zenith. It was now the early hours of a new day.

  The search for Drefan had proved fruitless, and the magician innocent. His real backstage assistant was found bound and gagged in one of the tents. Drefan had disappeared so completely, he might give the magician some pointers.

  Orlege’s frustration at his failure to find Drefan seemed to weigh heavy on him. Sebastian appreciated the man had gone to great lengths to assure him of his loyalty, and the fact that young Baldwin was now in league with the Saxon traitor was another matter Orlege appeared to take personally. He had offered to lead patrols daily until both men were found.

  “What does this man d’Aumont want, Sebastian?”

  The question startled him out of a half doze as his mount walked on.

  “He could have taken Frey if he'd wanted, but he let her go,” replied Sebastian thoughtfully. “It seems he's intent on tormenting her, for what reason I cannot fathom, but what concerns me is he seems intent on casting his net wider.”

  Rhys regarded him with a fatigue that equaled his own.

  “You mean Heloise.”

  Sebastian grunted his assent.

  “I spoke to her,” Rhys continued, “and she denies knowing this d’Aumont or seeing this Baldwin. She says Alfreya has set against her because of you.”

  Sebastian’s answer was a long-suffering sigh.

  Rhys fixed him with a serious gaze. “She is my sister and I believe her.”

  “And Frey will be my wife tomorrow,” said Sebastian. “You will be leaving at the spring thaw and Heloise will be betrothed by summer, so the issue is neither here nor there.”

  Steam rose from their mouths as they breathed and from the flanks of the horses; the jangle of bridles and the steady clop of the animals, weary as their masters, filled the silence between the men.

  “I know I asked you this before, but are you certain about this girl?” asked Rhys at last. “Are you sure she’s not in league with d’Aumont?”

  “Yes. On both counts.”

  “Well for your sake, I hope that’s true.”

  Sebastian gave no further response and felt he didn’t owe Rhys any. To be sure, he'd asked himself the same questions aplenty over the past three months, but Rhys didn’t know Frey as he did.

  Exhausted, Sebastian rode into the inner bailey and gave the order to close the gates.

  Every step to the final story of the keep taxed his tired muscles, but the comfortable and familiar warmth of his chambers beckoned. The fireplace called to him like a siren and he gravitated toward the heat to melt the chill in his bones.

  His steward, Beyard, had anticipated his master’s needs. Water heated on the fire for him to wash, but first some warm spiced wine would ease the chill from the inside.

  “Allow me,” a soft, feminine voice offered.

  He watched Frey step forward into the firelight and pour some of the heated water into a bowl. He waited for the frozen words in his head to melt and make their way to his lips.

  “Frey…you shouldn’t be here.”

  “Where else should I be?” she shrugged. “You are my husband, or at least nearly so.”

  Sebastian allowed her to unclasp his cloak and closed his eyes. Despite the removal of its weight, he actually felt warmer without it. He started when he felt the tug of the strings at the neck of his tunic.

  Slender fingers brushed against his bare skin, sending sensation straight to his groin. Sebastian opened his eyes and swiftly caught Frey’s hands in his.

  He took in her face, her bright blue eyes dark with desire, moist lips slightly parted.

  “Do you know what you’re about Frey?”

  Her answer was to step closer.

  “Make me forget him, Sebastian.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sebastian released Frey’s hands and imprisoned her lips instead. She responded willingly.

  Her hands trailed up the battle-hardened muscles of his arms; her fingers explored the broad expanse of his back through the linen of his shirt. His hands spread across her back, working heat through the layers of fabric as their lips mated and tongues dueled, sparking warmth that trickled down her arms, her breasts, and her belly before banking and growing warmer between her legs.

  Frey thought she knew what desire was, thought that she had been in love before, but never had it touched her heart and her spirit as this man had done.

  Not because of his beauty—Drefan too was a very handsome man—something tugged at her, pulled her toward Sebastian, to mesh and knit itself together into something indivisible. Did she love him? She wouldn’t lay claim to, but if any man was capable of rousing such a wor
thy emotion from her, it would be Sebastian.

  Frey drew deep breaths as he released her lips and caressed her cheeks and then her neck. His firming desire nestled below her belly and, driven by instinct, she rubbed herself against it, stoking her own need. Sebastian’s arms dropped to her buttocks, where he pressed her firmly against himself and the embers of her desire ignited into flame.

  “There’s no turning back after tonight,” he told her. “We may say our vows before an assembly tomorrow, but now in front of me and God, I want your word.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I am willing and I want you. Make me yours.”

  Sebastian groaned and swept her from her feet and carried her over to his bed. She received his kisses eagerly, clinging to him as he dipped to pull back the furs that covered the bed. A moment later, she could feel the soft feather mattress at her back.

  The chill of the night air swirled about her as he stood to release the bed curtains that would shroud them in darkness.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “I want to see you.”

  “Then keep your eyes open, princess,” he responded, hauling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor behind him.

  With the firelight behind him, he looked every inch the warrior, the glow of the fire limning his muscles in gold. She reached out to touch him, but he remained out of grasp. He untied the strings of his chausses and rolled them, one-by-one, off his feet before untying the drawstring of his braies.

  The fabric released with a tug and Sebastian stood before her in all his glory. Her eyes were drawn to the magnificent length of his erection, and something within her opened and demanded its presence.

  Frey was not conscious that her expression had changed, but it must have done so, because Sebastian’s own turned to one that promised pleasure beyond her experience.

  He climbed into the bed and drew the woolen blankets and furs over his waist.

  Frey parted her legs in anticipation of his entrance.

  He lowered himself on his arms over her and whispered, “It does a man good to know his wife is eager for him, but there is more to this sport that I’m looking forward to teaching you.”