Page 15

L ondon , England

Rolf didn’t know what he had expected but…

nothing? After all these centuries, he’d finally broken the curse and not a rumble of thunder or a bolt of lightning pierced the sky, no roar from the direction of Scotland.

The wine-colored stone that hid beneath his tunic did not even pulse.

He had to admit it was a bit disappointing.

Until he looked down at Melissa, her green eyes shimmering with love and happiness.

She was all that mattered. He pushed away the anxiety that still niggled along his spine.

Habit, he knew. Unease had been part of his daily diet since his tenth name day.

It would take time for his spirit to relax and accept his new path.

A new life. God’s bones, what would he do with himself now?

You could serve me well, keeping an eye on Wales.

Henry’s words came back. A fitting title for my royal wizard.

He baulked at the idea of Wales. Scotland would be ideal.

He wanted to meet his mother’s family. And he would be closer to his sister, Cristiana.

Tension along the borders had steadily increased since King Stephen had died.

Would the Scots keep Northumbria? Rolf doubted it.

The vast territory would be a bargaining tool for the crown, and every noble within its reach would be grappling for the prize.

Would Henry split it up and favor several families to win support or one?

Northumbria bordered along not only the Arbrec property, but also the Duke of Sunderland and the Earl of Leicester.

As it stood, the duke had greatly reduced his chances of gaining any favors from the king.

“You look so pensive,” Melissa whispered as they walked down the stairs to the inner bailey. “Where is your mind, if it’s not on me?”

“My sweeting, you will always be foremost in my thoughts.” He kissed her hand on the bottom step, tipping up her chin to gauge her reaction. “Methinks a swift ceremony would be wise. Would you object if we did not wait for the rest of our families to arrive?”

Melissa shook her head. “It may be best. The anger Charles showed today revealed a man I didn’t recognize. He will not take this disappointment well.”

“I’ll speak to your father.” Rolf offered his elbow and they continued across the yard. He whistled and a boy came running out.

“Aye, milord.” The boy with bright blue eyes, panting slightly from his run, gave them a low bow.

His smooth manners were at odds with his disheveled appearance.

He held a ragged cap in his hands. Frayed sleeves peeped over nails that held at least several weeks of grime.

A soiled brown tunic and leggings matched the boy’s hair. “At your service.”

“Bring my horse and meet me later at the inn. I’ll need you to take a message for me to the priest.” The boy bowed and started off in another direction. “And Trystan, if you return clean, there will be something extra for you.”

“Aye, milord. I’ll do me best.”

“And who is Trystan?” Melissa asked with a chuckle as the boy scampered off.

“He was a lad I came across during a Welsh border skirmish two years ago. His mother died when he was a babe, and his father was killed in the fighting. He didn’t seem to know any other kin, so…

” Rolf shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under her curious gaze.

“I, uh…found him an apprenticeship with a friend of mine, William. I mean, Sir Blackbourne. When we land in the same place, the lad sees to my needs as well.”

“You look embarrassed. Why? For helping a young orphan?”

“I did nothing. William’s squire died in the fighting as well. And the boy’s turned out to be quite useful at times.” He reddened as she continued to study him in silence. “He learns quickly and seems happy with his master.”

“We met Sir Blackbourne our first day in London. Large man with reddish-gold hair and clear blue eyes? A knight?”

“Aye, my lady, it does sound like him,” he responded quickly, glad to be off the subject of the boy. “Now let us join your parents.”

He put his hand on the small of her back and gave her a gentle, distracting nudge. They approached the earl, who had also sent a boy off to collect their horses. “Lord Garrick, may we speak?”

“I believe that would be prudent, sir. Since my plans are no longer feasible, you can share what arrangements you have in mind.” His voice held tension but no anger.

The Earl of Garrick did not seem to be a man accustomed to being crossed yet was known to be fair-minded.

Rolf would still tread carefully until he knew his future father better.

“Mayhap we could meet for supper tonight? I am staying—”

“I know where you are staying. Leicester will not object to your invitation?” Lord Garrick seemed irritated. “Or do you impose your will on all of your acquaintances?”

“Nay, my lord,” Rolf answered easily. “He is my liege and more often imposes his will on me.”

“I see.” The earl gave a loud sigh. “Well, I suppose we will have to make the best of this situation. But you should know, I had nobler plans for my daughter.”

“I will do everything in my power to make you appreciate rather than regret this match. I shall arrange a quiet meal for the four of us so we may talk uninterrupted.” He bowed and took the reins from Trystan, who approached with his courser. “Until tonight, my lady?”

Rolf bowed over the countess then bent over Melissa’s hand once again. She whispered, “Find a goose for dinner instead of fish. It will improve his mood.”

***

The clash of steel reverberated in the courtyard.

Rolf held his sword in his right hand, a shield with the image of a howling golden wolf in his left.

Blackbourne stood before him, a blade in each hand.

He advanced, striking with his left and following through with his right sword.

Rolf pushed his shield forward to stop the first blow and parried with his sword.

He kicked, spun around, and swung his blade in a lethal side blow, crashing his blade onto his opponent’s helmet.

The huge knight wavered for only a moment then advanced with a relentlessness Rolf always admired in battle.

Metal slicing metal screeched over the cheers of their audience.

Blackbourne folded his weapons into an arc and parried the next blow, pushing against the attack with his great weight.

He lunged again, but Rolf blocked the move with his shield.

This time the impact jolted his arm to the left and he heard a pop in his shoulder.

Though they used dull swords, practice between seasoned knights could still be hazardous.

Both wore their cuirasses over their chain mail as a precaution, the heavy metal plates providing extra protection from a wrongly placed jab.

God’s bones, his body would be sore on the morrow, but he had needed this physical release.

Rolf had sent for his most trusted knight, Sir William Blackbourne, as soon as the Garricks had left.

He exchanged his courtly clothes for a soldier’s garb and now welcomed the sweat that seeped beneath his hauberk. His hair was wet beneath the coif.

Looking at the man in front of him, he saw only Roker’s face.

Rolf’s gut tightened. Rid yourself of this rage.

Find your inner calm. He backed up a step, collected his strength, and lunged forward with a thrust to the middle.

Blackbourne reflected the blow with the flat of his blade, leaned in, and kicked at stomach level.

Rolf stumbled backward and lost sight of the knight.

He moved his head, scanning the yard through the narrow slits of his helmet.

Sweat from his hair stung his eyes, and he blinked, the sound of his own heavy breathing echoing in the tin cage.

His body was soaked beneath the mail and thick padded tunic. God’s teeth, where was he?

Blackbourne was a good sparring partner. There was no one he trusted more on the battlefield. He was surprisingly fast for such a giant of a man. And goading as a fishmonger’s wife. “Over here, you loathsome churl.” A whistle pierced the air followed by a deep laugh.

Rolf turned just as a blade struck him on the side of his head. The impact stunned him momentarily. The loud clanging in his skull blocked out all other noise; he shook his head to clear his vision.

“You worthless son of a mongrel,” Rolf called back, stalling for time as he regained his balance. If a soldier fell on his backside, it left him vulnerable to attack or being trampled by the surrounding army. A destrier’s hooves could crush a man’s windpipe is the blink of an eye.

Someone pushed against his shoulders and sent him back into the middle of the yard.

It was time to finish this game. His eyes swept around and found William again.

The knight advanced with one sword out and the other at his side.

Rolf thrust to the left and swung up, blocking his opponent’s strike and disarming him of a blade. One more to go.

With the flat of his sword, he caught Blackbourne’s blade just before it descended on him. The men stood like statues for a moment, pressing against the other. Both knights, breathing hard, waited to see who would make the next move.

“Call it, you lousy cur. I could send you to your maker, unless there’s some magic hovering over my head.” The knight chuckled, but Rolf could only see the white around his eyes. They’d been at it for over an hour. In truth, he was tiring but not enough to yield.

“By Christ, I’ve needed a good fight. It’s been a nice playing with you.

” With a fluidity that came from years of practice, Rolf stepped back, dropped his shield, and spun as the larger man came at him.

With both hands on the hilt, he lunged with the sword in an upward arc and knocked the blade from Blackbourne’s grasp as he turned back to face him.

“S’truth! What just happened?” bellowed the fallen soldier.