Page 20 of The Rose and the Shield (Medieval #2)

The gate was wide open.

Rose urged her horse forward, damping down the fear inside her, needing to see what was inside and yet frightened of what she would see. She hardly noticed the men riding with her. Ivo was close behind her and Gunnar was in front of her. The rest were strangers—Lord Radulf’s men.

Ivo had told her the story. Radulf had set out for Somerford as soon as Alfred had arrived at Crevitch with Harold the miller and Millisent and Will.

Lily, told the bare bones of the facts, had given her husband a long, cool look and told him to mend his mess. Radulf had glowered back at her, but set off for Somerford immediately.

He had taken back the keep that same day. The easy victory had been a combination of the small army Radulf had taken with him, and the fact that Arno and Miles had not counted on Rose’s people inside the keep working against them. Miles in particular had thought to conquer the English with fear and threats, but old Edward and his cohorts had used stealth, waiting until Radulf was close and then opening the gate to him.

After a brief and bloody battle, Somerford was won.

“Thank God for it,”

Radulf had allegedly said, when it was over. “I could not have faced my lady wife if I had lost.”

Rose had smiled when Ivo told her that. “You are alive,”

she had added, looking him up and down. “I saw you die.”

Ivo had laughed, his smile transforming his fierce features. “Aye, ’twas a trick. Didn’t Gunnar tell you? We have used it before. I have returned to life more than once, lady.”

Gunnar had told her, and she had said she believed him. Now, with the evidence before her eyes, she realized that she hadn’t really believed him, not truly. Not until now.

She felt shamed by her mistrust, even remembering all the untruths he had told her. And then, as they approached the Somerford ramparts, she tried very hard not to feel anything at all.

“How many of my people have died?”

she asked quietly of no one in particular.

Gunnar glanced at her over his shoulder. She wondered what it was he saw, for his usual tranquil expression wavered at the edges, and for a moment she saw tenderness in his eyes. It nearly undid her.

“Rose…”

“Lady Rose,”

she corrected him savagely, afraid he would make her cry. She could not cry, not when her people needed her strong.

His face stilled. Too late she wondered if her words might have stung his pride, made him feel the lesser man. And then he had turned away, and she was gazing at his broad back and the fall of his copper hair.

So it was they passed through the gate into the bailey.

It was quiet. Everywhere Rose looked there were armed men. But when her eyes had grown used to armor and helmets and grim expressions, she noticed that her own people were also there. They appeared a little shaken and unsure, but they had lived through other battles and they would heal.

They even managed a ragged cheer at the sight of her.

Rose felt tears sting her eyes and lifted a hand in salute. Turning her head, she searched for loved faces, praying that none was missing. There was old Edward, standing tall and proud, his wrinkled face grimy, a cut on his cheek, but still grinning.

“Lady Rose!”

he shouted. “God bless our lady!”

Others took up the cry, and Rose bowed her head, tears trickling down her cheeks. If this was to be her last homecoming, it was surely special. One she would never forget no matter what came after.

The horses had drawn to a halt near the keep. Blindly, Rose tried to tug her foot from the stirrup, but a firm hand closed over her instep, freeing her. Warm fingers caught her about the waist, strong arms lifted her effortlessly to the ground. Through her tears and tangled hair she had a glimpse of searching blue eyes, but when she would have retained her clasp on his arm, Gunnar moved back, away from her.

Keeping his distance.

Rose swayed, momentarily distracted, lost in a way she had never felt before. It was not weakness, for she knew now she was strong. It was a sense of lack, as if a part of herself were now missing because he stood too far away.

Before she could grasp the significance of this, a cry shrilled through the noise and chatter about her.

“Lady! Dear lady!”

Constance was hobbling down the steps. Rose ran forward with open arms to hug her. It was only as she held those fragile bones in her strong arms that she realized the old woman had a black eye.

“They have hurt you,”

she gasped, her voice shaking with anger.

Constance chuckled. “I have had worse,”

she retorted with bravado, though her mouth trembled. “When that Miles found you had gone, he hit me, so I fell down and pretended to take a fit. They left me be after that, lady.”

Rose put a hand to her lips, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “But you are all right, Constance? Nothing is broken or—”

“No, lady, nothing is broken. I will live to see you give Somerford Manor an heir, you may be sure.”

Rose shook her head, smiling.

“You should have seen Miles’s face when he knew it was Lord Radulf coming,”

Constance went on, eyes gleaming with grim enjoyment. “I thought he’d piss his breeches!”

“Miles is gone?”

Gunnar came and frowned down at her, his anger and disappointment palpable.

“Aye, Captain,”

Constance replied, eyeing him a little warily. “He escaped before Radulf took back the keep. Gone back to Fitzmorton his master, I’ll be bound.”

She glanced at Rose as she said it, and Rose saw the concern in her face. The old woman was probably wondering if her lady would also be riding in that direction, before the sun had set that night.

Sweyn had followed Constance, and Reynard hovered behind them. Ethelred, his arm tied up in a makeshift bandage, looked pale but determined not to show he was hurt. When he stumbled and grimaced with pain, Ivo gave him an exasperated look and shoved him down onto a mounting block before he fell.

Gunnar was looking around him. “Where are the rest of Miles’s men? There were at least twenty. Did they all escape?”

“Radulf trussed them up and sent them back to Crevitch. They are his proof, he says, when he sends word to the king. Fitzmorton will be out of favor when his treachery is known—Radulf is a king’s favorite, after all. They found Steven trussed up beyond the woods. The boy was bruised but alive, but probably only because they meant to ransom him.”

Gunnar nodded as if that made sense to him. “And Arno?” he added.

Ivo looked to Rose and away again. “Sir Arno was slain, Gunnar. There was courage in it. An honorable death. After Miles had left him, he fought like a berserker. ’Twas as if he preferred death to capture.”

“Aye.”

Gunnar also looked at Rose, coolly assessing her expression. “He knew what awaited him if he was captured.”

Rose closed her eyes against them both. Arno, dead? It was inconceivable. As if one of her family had died. Even though he had betrayed her, was a traitor, she could still pity him. She knew, when she thought of him in the days and weeks to come, that she would mourn the man she had once believed him to be.

“Lady?”

Gunnar was standing very close to her, still watching her. Did he think she was going to faint? Rose stiffened her back. “Aye, captain?”

she said, as if they had never lain together, panting and gasping from their lovemaking. As if they were strangers again.

“Lord Radulf is here,”

he said quietly.

Rose had a sensation of the bailey tilting, and by sheer effort of will she made it right itself. She turned stiffly toward the keep. Radulf was indeed there. He stood in the doorway, watching her, waiting.

The moment she dreaded had come, then.

Rose walked toward him, the soles of her feet touching the earth as if it were unfamiliar to her. When she reached the bottom of the steps, she dipped low in a curtsy. He was her lord and she his vassal. She was in his hands and she knew it. Her future depended on the next few heartbeats.

“Lord Radulf,”

she said, breathless but proud.

“Lady Rose,”

he retorted, his voice low and husky but perfectly audible.

“Thank you for coming to our rescue, my lord. I—I am most grateful.”

He made a sound that could have been a laugh. “Are you, Lady Rose? Come inside and we will discuss what has been happening here at Somerford and why you should have told me about it.”

“Aye, my lord.”

She started up the steps, as if they weren’t slipping and sliding about all over the place.

“And we will talk about your father, lady. Let us talk a little about him.”

His tone had turned menacing.

Rose froze, wavering, her foot half raised to take the next step. A hard, warm hand closed on her back, steadying her. She had not realized Gunnar was there until then. He stood behind her, like a shield, and she was very grateful.

“I knew nothing of his plans,”

she whispered, her throat raw with terror. “I have hated him all my life and now he would drag me into a plot of which I knew nothing. Please, my lord, believe me, I knew not what he and Arno were at!”

Radulf was watching her, considering her, his black eyes seeming to pierce her very skull.

“Her father?”

Gunnar had come to stand beside her, as if he would share equally in her disgrace. “What is this talk of her father, Radulf?”

Radulf raised his brows, but he didn’t take his gaze from Rose’s face. “Will you tell him, lady, or will I? I have kept the truth to myself all this time, as you asked me to do after the marriage papers between you and Edric were signed. But now I think it is time to speak it aloud.”

Rose swallowed, her eyes flickering to Gunnar’s frowning, puzzled face. She had wanted to tell him in the Mere, but somehow there had not been the time. Or the moment.

No, that was not true. She had not trusted him. She had wanted to tell him, she had known she should tell him, but she had stopped herself from doing so. If she had accused him of telling lies, then she was equally accused.

“My father is Fitzmorton.”

She said it bleakly. “I am his bastard daughter. He brought me from Normandy when my mother died, to use to further his ambitions. He and Lord Radulf thought to secure a peace through me. I would marry Edric, and Fitzmorton would not seek to steal Lord Radulf’s land. A show of his good faith. But the truth was my father never valued me, so breaking his word and my heart meant little. Mayhap he always intended to betray me and Radulf when the chance came his way. When Edric died, he sought to control Somerford Manor through Arno, and when that did not work, he decided he would send Miles. And now Lord Radulf thinks I am in league with him, plotting to hand him Somerford, but ’tis not so. I hate him. I would rather die myself than let Fitzmorton take my lands.”

Gunnar was staring back at her, his face blank, empty. There was no warmth in his eyes, there was nothing.

She was Fitzmorton’s daughter.

How he must hate her.

“I cannot go back to him,”

she said quietly, speaking to him alone. “I really will die.”

“Lady, you are very dramatic!”

Radulf had come down the last few steps that separated them to take her hand. His fingers were warm, and they squeezed hers in an attempt at comfort. But Rose was too distressed to understand what he meant.

“Come,”

Radulf went on gently, “and we will talk. Gunnar? Will you come? We had a deal, did we not, my friend? And you have carried out your part of it, as I knew you would. I have a compromise to suggest…”

Gunnar was still looking at her. Rose knew very well what deal it was he had with Radulf. Radulf had offered him Somerford Manor in return for uncovering the plot. Strangely, aside from her fear for her own future and the pain of her loss, she was glad that her lands and her people would now be under Gunnar’s care. She knew he would protect them with his life, and care for them as if they were his own flesh and blood. Beneath his handsome face and cold logic, he was a deeply honorable man.

She knew that at last, when it was too late. But still the acknowledgment lifted something dark from her heart. Rose took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, not knowing exactly what she meant to say, only that she could not be silent any longer…

But he didn’t give her time to say anything. Gunnar turned to Radulf, drawing him a little away, murmuring in a low, serious tone. Rose stood, unwillingly left out and uneasy as to their conversation. It was about her, she knew it. They should not speak of her without giving her the chance to reply.

Just as she was about to step in and demand to hear, Radulf nodded brusquely and came back to her. Gunnar stayed where he was, one hand resting on his sword hilt, the other by his side, his strong legs slightly apart. It was a stance he adopted often, familiar now. But it was his eyes she stared into. They were very blue, and there was something shining in their depths like grief.

Her heart plummeted within her.

No, not that. Please, not that.

He turned away. He was striding down the steps and across the bailey, his men falling in wordlessly behind him. He was leaving; without a word to her he was going.

Shocked, Rose swung back to face Radulf, her whole body shaking.

“My lord! What—”

Radulf took her hands in his, holding her steady. His black eyes were intense, forcing her by the sheer strength of his will to heed his words.

“Lady Rose, you will retain Somerford Manor. I believe you were an innocent victim of this plot. Somerford is yours, you are my vassal still, but you must swear to me that you will never again fear to ask for my help.”

She shook her head, overwhelmed by what he was saying. “But…Gunnar? I thought…”

“Gunnar Olafson has relinquished any rights he had to your manor. He has given them back to you. He tells me he made you a vow, lady. You were fortunate in your choice of mercenary, were you not?”

He was watching her closely, as if he sought something in her face. Rose managed a nod.

“Aye, my lord,”

she whispered, “I was most fortunate.”

He smiled. “If you need help again, you will know where to seek it, won’t you? I would not be adverse to you looking to Gunnar Olafson if you were ever in…need. I spoke just now of a compromise. I meant to suggest a partnership between the two of you, a joint ruling of Somerford Manor. Maybe, at some other time, we can speak of it again, hmm?”

The look he gave her was almost wicked. And then he had dismissed her, calling out for his horse, and turning to shout his goodbyes with a smile.

“I leave you enough men to protect Somerford from your father’s greedy gaze, lady! Now I must go home. Lily awaits.”

“My lord. Of course, my lord…”

Rose stared after him, wondering what it all meant. Had he meant to give her hope where Gunnar was concerned, or was he threatening her? A partnership could mean many things. She never knew with Radulf, and she was too weary now to make sense of it. There was only one thought in her head, and it drove all others before it.

I want him back. Please, oh please, I want him back…

Is it really too late?

Her heart ached, but as she turned to her people the familiar mask slipped over her face. The lady of the manor. And her voice lifted, cool and authoritative.

“Listen to me, my people! We are safe from Lord Fitzmorton and his plot, but it is not just Lord Radulf and Captain Olafson who have saved us. I want to tell you of the merefolk and what their bravery has meant to us in these grave times…”

The dream slipped over her like a well-worn cloak.

Rose was alone on the Mere, Burrow Mump at her shoulder like a familiar black shadow. She was already running, knowing what would come, and they were behind her. The horde of men, roaring across the Levels, their passing flattening the reeds like a giant hand and making the water slap and hiss.

She screamed and made no sound.

Ahead of her lay Somerford Keep, a pale candle flickering in the window. The dark stones looked solid and safe, and yet Rose knew very well she could never reach it in time. She glanced behind her and the warriors were close. Their savage faces were set, their eyes fixed on her. She searched them, but saw no one she recognized.

Where was he? Why was he not there, riding before them?

Rose almost gave up then, and sank to her knees and awaited her fate.

But then she saw him.

He was coming toward her, but he was riding from the direction of Somerford Keep! The gray horse pounded across the Mere, tail and mane streaming. His copper hair was dulled by the moonlight, tangling in the roaring wind that came with the horde from Burrow Mump. He drew his sword and held it aloft, and then he swung it down, and it seemed as if it cleaved the very air in two.

Behind her, Rose heard the ghostly warriors give a terrible shriek.

The world shimmered and splintered about her, light flashing as though there were a great storm. Rose covered her head with her arms, expecting any moment to be swallowed into blackness. When she dared to look up again, there was only silence.

The warriors were gone, back to their cavern in the Mump.

Only he was there, her own warrior. Gunnar Olafson upon his gray horse, smiling down at her. When he stretched out his hand, she took it, and he lifted her onto the saddle before him.

“I am taking you home,” he said.

“Lady?”

His breath was warm on her cheek; the familiar feel of his body was pressed to hers. Rose blinked and opened her eyes, and it did not seem strange at all that Gunnar should be there in her bed. He had brought her home, hadn’t he?

“Hmm.”

She sighed and curled her arms about his neck, nuzzling his jaw, enjoying the scratchy feel of it.

He stiffened and then relaxed, his hand smoothing back her sweet-scented hair. “Lady? I am come to say goodbye.”

That got her attention.

Rose’s eyes opened wide, and she leaned back to give him a startled glance. “Goodbye?”

she repeated. Then, as if suddenly realizing where they were, she sat up, making space between them. “I cannot think. What do you here in my chamber?”

Gunnar sighed, and propped himself up on one elbow as if he belonged in her bed. “I did not mean to come here at all, but then I could not go without saying goodbye. We have work in the north, there has been a skirmish and Radulf wants us to travel to Lily’s lands and—”

“You mean, go away?”

He gave her a long look. “Aye, Rose, that is what I said. We are going away. I will not see you again for—”

But he shook his head, and his mouth turned grim. “I will not see you again.”

She shook her head back and forth, several times. “No! I will not allow it. Radulf can send Ivo. You are needed here, Gunnar. Somerford…Somerford needs you. Even Radulf agrees with me on that!”

He blinked slowly, as if to give himself time to assimilate what she had just said.

“I know you gave up your rights to my lands, and I am grateful. I don’t know why you did it, but—”

“They were always yours, Rose. Besides, I did not take Somerford back for you as I promised. Radulf and Ivo did that. I was not worthy to take your lands anyway because my vow was not properly honored.”

Rose stared at him. “But you did give me back Somerford! If it had not been for you, I would have lost everything. I would have been dead, or worse. My father would have given me to Miles, you know that, don’t you? You saved me from that, Gunnar.”

Her voice wavered and stopped.

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Maybe.”

He glanced at her sideways, still propped up on his elbow, his long body on the rumpled covers of her bed. “You are Fitzmorton’s daughter,” he said, as if that were an answer.

“Aye, his bastard daughter. It means nothing.”

“You are the daughter of a powerful lord, lady. It means something.”

Is that why he had left? Because he thought himself too lowly for her now? Rose could not bear it. Constance was right—there was more to a man than his blood relatives. There was what he was inside, what he did with his life, whether the travails he faced strengthened or diminished him.

Gunnar was strong, and he had come into her life and made her strong, too. But it was more than that. She loved him, she needed him. She was not her mother, pleading for Fitzmorton’s cruel love. She was Lady Rose, and she loved a man who was her equal. Her complement. And if he should go from her now, then winning back Somerford would be a hollow victory.

Rose shook her head, and suddenly she was walking toward him, her hands clenched into fists by her sides. “Gunnar, please, please don’t leave me. Please don’t go north. I want you…I need you here, with me. I cannot be the Lady of Somerford unless you are by my side. I am sick with longing for you. Stay with me and be my shield.”

Still he said nothing, watching her. “Do you trust me?”

he asked her quietly.

“Aye, I do. I will. I know now that what you told me was part of your mission for Radulf. You had to pretend. Lives depended on it. I understand that.”

She was gazing at him so earnestly. “You would never betray me, Gunnar.”

“No, I would not,”

he vowed softly. He reached out and caught her hand with his fingers, drawing her onto the bed and into his arms. She went with a gasping laugh.

His body rolled onto hers, pinning her down. He was fully dressed, even down to his sword and his boots. She didn’t care. He was her man, her warrior, and she loved him.

Rose tried the words out in her head and they sounded good. She tried them out loud.

“I love you, Gunnar.”

He smiled slowly, his blue eyes blazing down at her. “I love you, too, lady.”

“Then kiss me, Gunnar, for I can’t wait any longer.”

“But do you command me, Rose?”

She laughed, stretching up until her mouth brushed his. “Aye, I command you, Gunnar.”

And so he did.