Warrior's Surrender Read online

  Frey shrugged and returned to the high table. Heloise Villiers would be leaving in spring and likely married soon after, henceforth ceasing to be Frey's problem.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Snow started to fall at Tyrswick on Boxing Day and continued each day for a sennight, coating the ground with a soft, powdery white that deadened sound for miles around.

  The bleats and lowing of sheep and cattle warm in their pens leaked out from the doors when owners checked on their livestock. The sound of Tyrswick River, which ran despite the freezing cold, seemed so much louder in the absence of other sound.

  It was cold this morning, and Frey snuggled down between the blankets, keeping her eyes closed as she listened to Sebastian rummage around their chamber. He was awake just before dawn, as he always was, while Frey pretended to be asleep. One chest was opened, its hinges squeaked, and she heard the sound of a casket being lifted out.

  “Hmmm, I wonder where I put it?” he muttered.

  “Whatever it is you’re looking for could be found here under the blankets, where it’s warm,” she suggested.

  “No…,” he replied absently. “I’ve already been there.”

  And Frey could hear the casket being returned to his coffer. Curiosity was not a good-enough reason to leave the warmth of their bed nor to open her eyes.

  “Never mind,” Frey answered. “You’ll find it at a more civilized time. Come back to bed until it’s light.”

  “It’s light already.”

  “Then look when it’s more light. Perhaps in spring,” she grumbled.

  Frey gave a light purr of satisfaction as Sebastian responded by sinking back into the mattress.

  “You’re cold.”

  “Then keep me warm, wife.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back until she fell into another semidoze.

  When she awoke, it was to a strange sensation—a light tickle on her arm. She dealt with it by rolling away onto her back, but then it returned across her shoulder. Whatever it was stopped as she swept her hand across.

  Then it returned across her chest and now, alarmingly, in the valley between her breasts.

  Frey’s eyes opened wide to see Sebastian watching her with a sensuous half-sleepy grin that warmed her from the inside whenever it was thrown in her direction.

  She looked down to where the sensation continued and, from beneath the neck of her nightshift, Sebastian’s hand emerged trailing a finely made gold chain, from the links of which hung beautifully wrought garnet beads encased in strips of gold. She sat up and Sebastian raised the necklace to let it dangle in front of her eyes. Frey could see the red wink of the stone as slivers of morning sunlight leaked between the wooden window shutters.

  She reached out to touch the object. It was a singularly beautiful piece, something a fine lady at court might wear.

  “Happy New Year, Frey.”

  Frey swallowed.

  “You spoil me, husband.”

  “You deserve it and more. Come, lean forward. Let me see you wear it.”

  Frey did as he asked and she found the weight of the necklace and beads resting against her chest.

  Sebastian sat back and admired his gift before focusing on her with equal regard.

  “We’ve been wed two months; do you have any regrets?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to answer they made vows before God and man, so it was too late to express regret, when she caught something in his expression, something so fleeting that had she not been looking, she might have missed it.

  Frey caught herself more and more recently noticing things about her husband, subtleties of expression that made themselves known through a slight movement of his jaw, a twitch of an eyebrow, the curl of a lip revealing his mood a split second before he spoke or acted.

  She suspected only Gaines knew his moods as well as she.

  His expression now told her the question was not made lightly or to tease. She tried some words in her mind and discarded them. In their absence, she stroked his cheek, dark with morning stubble.

  “No regrets, Sebastian, never any regrets.”

  Frey hesitated and Sebastian raised his eyebrows, inviting further explanation.

  She owed it to him, that and much more.

  She had promised no more secrets and, since arriving at Tyrswick Keep, kept her word. Yet just a short while ago, she forced herself to acknowledge there was one secret she kept from him. One she'd only just become aware of keeping.

  Frey drew a deep breath and looked directly into his soft green eyes, which were now filled with curiosity and speculation.

  “I didn’t think that I could,” she started. “I mean, I didn’t know whether I was capable of…”

  Frey shook her head and started again.

  “Would it be inconvenient to declare I have fallen in love with you?”

  Sebastian’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared with surprise. He took his hands in hers and held them firmly before bringing one, then the other, to his lips to kiss.

  “Love never arrives when it is convenient, but when it does, it is always welcome.”

  * * *

  Sebastian persuaded her back into his bed for a while, but when her maid knocked on the door to attend her, Frey insisted that he bathe as well as shave, something he never did in the mornings. She also presented him with her New Year’s gift, a soft lamb's wool tunic made from Tyrswick’s own wool and knitted by Frey herself.

  Frey left him to bathe, and he used the time to consider her words of love to him.

  He suspected, well, hoped, that his wife returned his love, and to hear it confirmed with her own lips, of her own volition, was worth more to him than the gifts they exchanged.

  He was surprised how much he needed to hear them spoken. Now Sebastian felt the world was on balance, truly righted for the first time, and he was sure that he was on a firm foundation.

  On her return to their chambers, Frey was dressed in a mulberry-red kirtle with cream fitted undersleeves and wearing his necklace. It looked magnificent on her.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen Frey, but aren’t you dressed too formally for breaking fast in the hall?”

  All she would offer in reply was a secretive smile and a promise that all would be revealed.

  As he took in her form and desire filled him, Sebastian made a vow to hold his wife to that.

  The lord and lady of the Keep were decidedly late arising this morn and when they did descend to the Great Hall, Sebastian slowed his stride, surprised to see his men-at-arms dressed in livery.

  As though they were at a state occasion, the men escorted the baron and baroness of Tyrswick to the high table. As Sebastian looked about, the servants were all formally standing to attention by rank, and he wondered if they had been surprised in the night by the arrival of the king himself.

  Sebastian turned to Frey and nodded at the assembly.

  “Would you care to explain this?”

  Frey offered him an enigmatic smile. He was intrigued. He suspected she had been up to something for days. Little clues were there for the reading—the greater industry of the man and maidservants, Frey ending her day exhausted. Even Rhys commented that his men were grumbling because they had been put to work in the service of Tyrswick.

  Sebastian saw her nod to Beyard, Tyrswick’s one-armed steward, who sent a boy from the room. The youngster quickly returned ahead of a great silver bowl being borne by one of the large men from the kitchen and watched as he placed it at a table below. The steward waited for the boy to pour a cup and, with his good arm, Beyard handed the cup to his lord.

  Frey whispered in Sebastian’s ear, “Waes hael. Good health. It’s a very old Saxon custom to welcome the New Year.”

  Sebastian nodded his understanding and stood, raising his goblet high.

  “Waes hael!”

  At once, a loud cheer went up with responding calls of waes hael! before the sounds of a carol broke out.

 
Here we come a-wassailing

  Among the leaves so green,

  Here we come a-wassailing,

  So fair to be seen:

  Love and joy come to you,

  And to you your wassail too,

  And God bless you and send you,

  A happy New Year,

  And God send you,

  A happy New Year.

  Sebastian laughed, delighted by the entertainment. Beneath the table he squeezed Frey’s hand.

  “Thank you, my love, for the finest beginning of a new year Tyrswick has ever seen,” he said.

  Frey shook her head and squeezed his hand back before releasing it to stand.

  “I have another gift for you,” she told him. “Something the housemaids and I have been working on for two months, but you will not see the effect of it unless you come down here.”

  Sebastian glanced across the hall into the sea of faces. Each expression told him they knew something he did not.

  He wasn’t sure about how he felt about being unaware of something going on under his very nose. Surprises sat ill with him, yet another quick look back at Frey and the look of excited expectation on her face satisfied him that it was motivated by good. At her beckoning, Sebastian stood and followed his wife from the platform onto the floor to stand several feet back from the fireplace, the remains of the Yule log still burning brightly.

  “Would you like to give me a clue?”

  Frey shook her head and the gathering laughed, clearly enjoying this little bit of theater between master and mistress.

  Frey directed Robert and another squire to take hold of the lengths of cord twenty feet in length that dropped on either side of the fireplace.

  In a loud voice designed to carry across the Hall, Frey spoke, “My lord, I would direct your attention to the breast above this fireplace.”

  Sebastian duly looked up to see a rod about fifteen feet above the mantel around which was draped what was obviously a tapestry.

  At the count of three, the squires tugged the cords and a massive ten-foot-wide, twelve-foot-long wall hanging unfurled, its bottom edge fluttering before settling. Across the chimney breast was a tapestry of the likes he had only seen in great houses of Normandy. A border of sky blue and gold interlocked squares, the old cipher of Tyrswick, framed the new red lion rampant on a background of blue and white stripes.

  When it descended, Sebastian was glad the occupants of the hall gasped then erupted in cheers; it masked his own surprise. He turned and hugged Frey to him. Over the din he heard her say, “I love you my husband.”

  His heart ached, filled to bursting with the love and admiration he felt for his wife. He drank in her beaming features like a thirsty man and wondered how quickly he might empty the hall and make good the tempting thought of laying his wife across the high table and making love to her.

  He refrained. This was her moment. This Christmas season was the first real test of the baroness of Tyrswick, and, judging by the sea of happy faces in front of him, she acquitted herself well.

  Larcwide had caught his eye when he entered the hall and gave him a nod that said all he needed to know. Frey may have surprised him with the magnificent tapestry, but he still had one more gift to surprise her with.

  He raised a hand that asked for silence.

  “I’m not a man for making grand speeches, so I’ll make this one short.”

  That in itself was enough to elicit a cheer. Sebastian grinned along with the jest and continued.

  “This tapestry is more than impressive ornamentation, although a finer example could not be found even in White Palace itself. It shows that when Tyrswick is unified, it will never be defeated!”

  A roar of ascent filled the Great Hall, and the New Year feasting began. Sebastian turned to Frey.

  “You think yourself clever, my wife, to organize the women into keeping my gift under wraps, but I wish to show you are not the only person in this Keep who can hold a secret.”

  Sebastian beckoned Larcwide. The man-at-arms placed on the table before them a magnificently tooled leather quiver filled with arrows fashioned from the finest yew, but it was the bow that captured Frey’s attention.

  It was a hickory longbow, smaller than the one Sebastian's men used, but perfectly proportioned for its intended owner.

  He saw the moment when the realization dawned on her. Her head swiftly turned and the vivid blue eyes that warmed him like a bright summer’s day were wide.

  Her hand went to the gold and garnet necklace. “My lord, you have already given me your gift.”

  “Is there a law that says a man may not present his wife with two?”

  She shook her head slowly and ran her hand over the bow longingly.

  “It has been months since I’ve held a bow…perhaps I have lost the art?” she breathed.

  “I shouldn’t think so, but there is only one way to be certain,” he answered. “Because it is the pride of Tyrswick that the baron’s wife is a skilled archer, and you can show me your prowess when we hunt in the spring.”

  On that sunlit afternoon while the Keep enjoyed the crisp air and the brisk activity of snowball fights in friendly competition between the houses of Tyrswick and Goscote, Frey put her new gift to use and was thrilled to find she had not lost her eye or her aim.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Frey wrapped her red cloak around her more securely against the blast of frigid air and buried her nose deeper into the cowl. It was black out, so dark it seemed to make little difference whether she had her eyes open or closed.

  The wind picked up strength, making it difficult going, yet something compelled her to continue. A small pinprick of light, little more than a candle in strength, came into view. The light danced and leaped as though entertained by the wind whose task was to snuff out the little flame.

  Although it was so small and some yards distant, Frey could feel the flame's warmth, so she pressed on despite the wind. Soon the light gave shape to the landscape around it. The little yellow glow underlit the bough of a spreading yew and, sitting next to the candle, a person with head bowed.

  “Hello there!” Frey called.

  Diera! Frey recognized her from the moment she raised her head and the candle caught the golden yellow strands.

  As Frey approached, the warmth increased and she released the painfully tight hold on her cloak. Even the wind that howled around about her in protest seemed muted here.

  “Darkness is coming,” said Diera, so softly Frey strained to hear.

  Frey frowned and looked about her.

  “It’s dark now.”

  “It’s not dark now. It will be soon. Darkness is very near.”

  A flash of lightning illuminated the meadow and Frey swiftly turned. There was something else out there! She lost sight of her quarry the moment the angry crack of thunder split overhead. The candle spluttered and guttered in its earthenware holder, determined to shine against the forces opposing it.

  Frey backed slowly toward the yew and peered out over the darkness. The restless murmuring of thunder much farther away filled the night air. She stopped when her feet nudged something firm. Frey turned. Diera lay on her back, one hand resting over the other, the whiteness of her skin stark against the deep blue of the gown she wore.

  Frey bent down to see if Diera slept, and, as she reached out to touch her friend, the girl’s lids opened, and a pinprick of fear edged its way up Frey’s spine. Instead of Diera's familiar brown eyes, the sockets were empty red and tears of blood ran down her cheeks.

  “The darkness is here!”

  Diera screamed and the blood-curdling sound hit Frey in the chest with the force of a blow. It was then she became aware of someone standing behind her. Frey rose and spun around just as another flash of lightning rent the sky.

  A figure stood just three feet away. It seemed to absorb light itself; not even the flash of the lightning or the glow of the candle could give it form.

  It took a step forward, then a second, reaching
out a hand before Frey heard another scream.

  Her own.

  Frey awoke with a start to hear the end of a roll of thunder from the series of storms that marked the start of spring. Rain lashed the wooden shutters and wind gusted through the narrow gap between them in a high-pitched whistle. The wind eddied around the room, rustling the drapes surrounding the bed. Then the whistling was choked off by a loud bang that sounded closer than the thunder.

  Now she was wide awake and her heart beat loudly. She reached across for the familiar warmth and strength of her husband but found the bed empty.

  “Sebastian?”

  The lack of response brought to the fore the tendrils of fear that lingered from her dream.

  The darkness is here!

  Suddenly the comforting cocoon of the bed became stifling and its darkness oppressive.

  Frey clawed open the curtains. The low-banked fire was the only light in the room. A silhouetted figure sat by the now-open window, and, for a horrible second, it was the formless figure from her dream.

  “Sebastian?”

  The figure shifted.

  “It’s still night, princess. Go back to sleep.”

  The endearment, once issued with sarcasm that would rankle her, was now part of the language that was theirs alone.

  She ignored Sebastian’s admonishment and slipped out of bed. A jagged streak of lightning lit the night sky through the window, and Frey paused, waiting for the crash of thunder so close even the solid stone that made up Tyrswick Keep seemed to shake with it.

  When the rumble ended, Frey’s hand was enveloped in one of Sebastian’s. He gave it a quick tug, and she found herself cradled in his lap. Frey rested her head against his chest and took comfort in the steady beat of his heart at her ear.

  “Storm wake you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Bad dream?”

  Frey nodded and nuzzled farther into his embrace.

  He made no further inquiries; instead trailed a hand up and down her arm. She stayed like this for long minutes, warm and comfortable before she spoke.

  “Do you still dream of Diera?”